Rosa Nelson Jonas

Christian & Rosa Andersen

This is another chapter of the Jonas history book compiled by Carvel Jonas.  This chapter relates to Rosa Nelson Jonas.  Reviewing this information in FamilySearch shows some changes and updates to some of the information presented.

The following story was written by Rosa and is typed from a hand-written copy in the possession of her daughter, Verla Jonas Andersen Lythgoe.

“The story of Mrs. Rosa Jonas Andersen.  Miss Rosa Nelson Jonas was born in Ellensburg, Kittitas County, Washington, on 5 Sep 1886, the third daughter of Annie Josephine Nelson Jonas and Joseph Jonas on a farm.

“Being Catholic, when about two months old, mother took me to church to be baptized, which was done by mother holding me in her arms, while the priest poured a few drops of water on my forehead.  (St. Andrew church records this date 26 Sep 1886)  In the meantime two persons stood by her side, one on each side of her, a man and a woman, they are called the God mother and father, they are to become your guardian in case anything happens to your parents.
“When I was about four years old, I followed a cousin of mine to school.  Not understanding the rules of school, I would talk out loud and go from one seat to another, so the teacher asked me if I hadn’t better go home, my mother may need me.  I told him oh, no she has got some more kids home.  I said it so loud the whole room began to laugh.  That got me, I was so hurt at being laughed at I never went back.
“The fall of 1895, we went to Yakima to pick hops.  Although only nine years of age, it was a very interesting trip.  People came from all parts of the country.
“One family in particular which attracted my attention was a family traveling in a covered wagon, which had on the outside “Olympia, Washington or bust.”  While picking hops they turned their chickens loose, and every night they would go to roost in the back of the wagon, they had a place fixed just on the outside of the end gate.  They stayed during the hop season, which lasts about a month or six weeks.
“We were paid one dollar a box and it took four, forty gallon barrels or what they called flour barrels to make a box of hops.  The hops were grown in large fields like we grow beets which was one of the prettiest sights I ever seen, to see the way the hops grew.  The rows were far enough apart to cultivate between with a cultivation horse.  Large poles were even so far apart with strong wire over the top to which a strong cord was tied and fastened to a peg driven in the ground, the hop vine would wrap around this string as it grew.  The hops were between six and nine inches long.  The most interesting part of this occasion was the Indians, whose camp was just across from where we made our camp.
“We were afraid to go too close so we stood off at a distance and watched them put up their tents.  The women or squaws as we call them, did all the work.

Rosa Nelson Jonas

“After we had been in camp about a week, while strolling through the bushes we came upon a squaw making a bed for a new baby, she dug a great big place in the ground, put a layer of rocks in it and made a fire on the rocks.  Of course, we didn’t know what she was making but I did know she didn’t want us standing around watching her, and would make motions with her hands for us to go away.  I told Mother and she said for us not to go around there any more, because the poor woman was sick.
“Well, we didn’t but one morning before sun up and the ground was white with frost, my sister and I went down to the river and to our great surprise we saw that same squaw that was sick with a tiny baby.  We watcher her undress her baby and in the cold water she dipped it.  We run home and told mother to come quick that an Indian was drowning her baby.  She laughed and told us she was giving her baby its morning bath.
“Now in the Catholic Church the Sunday School has two classes, one that they call the catechism and the other the Bible.  They are not allowed to go to Communion or partake of what we call the sacrament, until they graduate from the catechism (spelled Katakismn in her story) class.  The day before you go to communion the whole class has to go to confession, which is quite an affair.  I’ll try and describe how it is done.  They is say, a large closet with a partition running through the center making two average sized closets, with dark maroon draperies hanging in each door way.  You go to the right little room, and you’ll find a small bench, to the left, you kneel on it and you find a hole in the partition wall, that comes about to your chin, looking through that you see the Priest sitting in his nice comfortable overstuffed chair waiting to hear you confess your sins, which is done by your saying, “Father forgive me for telling a lie,” or whatever you done that was wrong since you went to confession last.  Your punishment is if you haven’t a rosary to get one.  It has from 25 to 20 beads each having a different design, each bead means a certain prayer.  I had to get one of those beads and say six hail Mary’s every night before retiring and every morning before dressing and two Apostle Creeds so I must have been one of the worst, I thought well, I’ll just show you Priest-I’m not going to freeze my toes saying that while I was kneeling by the bed side, so I’d get up in the center of the bed, cover the quits over my head and bury my face in the pillow and start praying just as fast as I could, sometimes I’d skip a bead and sometimes two, but that did not make any difference because I was covered and no one could see me, and that old Apostle Creed it was too long to say once, say nothing about saying it twice, not me, I didn’t see any sense in learning prayers out of a book when I wanted something because I thought the Lord wouldn’t understand what I wanted.
“Well the next day at Communion all the girls wore white dresses with veils and wreaths on their heads, and boys in black.  Up to the altar or railing covered in white you kneel down, put your hands under this white cover that goes over the railing, close your eyes, put your head back, open your mouth, put out your tongue and the priest will put this Communion on your tongue, don’t let it touch your teeth, close your mouth, bow your head.  When he had given each one in the class a Communion you all arise and go to your seat.  This Communion is about as large as a small sop cracker, I guess that is what it is from what I could see just partly closing my eyes.  I wanted to see what he was going to give me anyway and I did.  He took it out of a goblet with his forefinger and thumb and layed it on my tongue and stood there and drank the wine it was soaked in.
“In the year of 1901 July 3, I came to Utah.  Feb 6, 1902 I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, by N[els]. A[ugust]. Nelson who took a pick and broke the ice in the Jordan River in South Jordan, Salt Lake County, and was confirmed the same day by Bishop James P. Jensen.  In the year of 1903 I spent a week in the Salt Lake Temple being baptized for relatives and had my endowments and went through for those I was baptized for and had them sealed.  This made me sixteen years of age when I had my endowments.
In April 1902 I had my patriarchal blessing which (is) a great comfort and help to me because of the wonderful promise of temple work, and of the great relief it would be for those I did work for.  It sure is a great comfort to go and read it and reread it.  The more you read it, the more it means to you.  “So girls, don’t miss getting your Patriarchal Blessing.”
“The following is Rosa’s blessing. 
“A blessing given to Rosa Jonas, daughter of Joseph and Josephine Nelson Jonas born in Ellensburg, Kittitas Co, State of Washington. 
“Sister Jonas in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood conferred upon me, I confer upon your a patriarchal blessing.  In as much as you desire to know what God requires of you.  If you are faithful you shall never be deceived.  You have a knowledge that God lives and your prayer will be answered in those things that will be for your good.
“You are of Israel and are entitled to the blessings which the gospel imparts, and although young, God will increase your testimony.  If you are humble, your heart will be fully satisfied.  Be careful of the company that you keep.  Be modest and careful in the selection of your companionship or you may be deceived.  There is much for you to do in the Temples of the Lord, and many of your ancestors names will be presented to you and they will bless you for the labor that you performed for them in the flesh.
God will give you judgement to select a man of God for a companion, who will lead you back into the presence of God from whence you came.
Cherish virtue more than your life.  Never allow yourself to step from the paths of truth and virtue for I seal this blessing upon you with all your born blessing and I seal you up unto Eternal Life, promising you that none of these blessings shall fail if humble on your part in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Rosa lived with her Uncle August Nelson and did housework for her room and board.  She wasn’t very tall and some of her children have said she would measure to their arms if their arms were held out horizontal with the ground.  A guess she would be a few inches above five feet tall.  She had thin brown hair and brown eyes.  When she was young she had white hair, until it grew darker as she became a young woman.  All her siblings had white hair when they were children.  Her hair was probably thinned because of the typhoid epidemic which killed her older sister, Mary.  At that time Rosa’s hair fell out by the hand full.  Since Mary died 21 Sep 1899, Rosa would have been 13 years old when she lost her hair.  Rosa was the only left handed sibling.  I am told that Rosa would argue about religious doctrines with her brothers and would hit the stove with a pan to give emphasis to her point of view.  Apparently these siblings would argue and defend their point of view vigorously for a few hours at a time.  However, after their debates they were affectionate with each other and were able to be good friends after any discussions.  They were very loyal to each other.
“A land record in Logan tells us that on the 8 Nov 1905 Rosa and her husband, Christian Andersen, first bought their house in Richmond, Utah.  It was located at 137 East 1st South.  They bought lots 2 and 3 for $500.00.  They lived there until 2 Jun 1920 when they sold their house for $2400.00 and then moved to Thatcher, Idaho.  While they were living in Richmond two of her brothers would live with them from time to time.  William and Joseph would stay at her home when they came back from the Brigham Young College at Logan.  She also lived within about a block of her other brother, John, who had bought a home.  She was very helpful to her brothers by washing their clothes and given them a place to sleep when they came home during the weekends.  Joseph, her youngest brother, often sought her for advise, and often would take the advice of his sister in substitute of the parental advice he missed.  She lived in Thatcher, Idaho, with her two brothers on a far and after a short few years moved back to Richmond, Utah.  Later (about 1922) the family moved to Preston, Idaho at 295 West 4th South, where she died years after.  The following is quoted in the life story of her husband, Christian Andersen, and was written by their daughter, Mabel.
Father met my mother, Rosa Nelson Jonas, about a year before they were married.  One night (Christian) was singing and playing a lively song and mother and Aunt Delia walked into the dance hall and there sat father playing the accordion and singing this song.  Mother took one look at him and said to Aunt Delia, “I should think he would be ashamed of himself.”  She thought him repulsive at first.  But later on in years she rocked his little kids to sleep and he sang these very same songs to us.  Mother did not mind in the least.  Aunt Delia and Grandma Andersen decided that Christian and Rosa were meant for each other, so Aunt Delia gave a party and invited the Andersen boys.  They were a lively bunch and had a good time that night.”
“…Rosa made a nice cream cake with plenty of whipped cream on it.  (Christian) came to see her that evening in his rubber tired buggy so he could eat it, batched by himself…  On the way home father put the cake on the floor of the wagon so it would be safe.  The high spirited horse became frightened and started to run away.  Father pulled back on the lines and raised his foot up and set it down right in the middle of the cream cake!  When he got home he cut around his foot print and ate what he could of the cake.  As a result of these meetings father and mother were married on 29 Jun 1904 in the Salt Lake Temple.”
“Rosa wrote a letter to her oldest sister, Margaret, to apologize for not writing her until after she was married about her marriage.  Joseph Jonas, her father, wrote back and said that Margaret would forgive her because she had died.
Rosa became the mother of Christian’s two children, Pearl and Ivy, who were from Christian’s first marriage.  “Rosa was strict and so was Christian.”
“Rosa and Christian moved into a house in Richmond, Utah.  Christian added one room downstairs and two rooms upstairs and a bath.  He made a stairway and maintained a “well groomed house and yard.”  “We had a shanty or summer kitchen where “Rosa and her daughters” did the canning of fruit and washing.  The shanty was a couple of rods from the backdoor.  We had a cement sidewalk and a big stone rock for a step…”  Their “home had the first running water in it to come out of the wall hot… We had the first electric light in Richmond.”
Rosa and Christian had six children.  The first five were born in Richmond.  The last was born in Lewiston.  They are the following children: Mabel Rosetta, born 23 Oct 1905; Cyrus Christian, born 21 Dec 1907; Cleone Annetta, born 24 Nov 1909; Merlin Jonas, born 19 Sep 1913; Verla Jonas, born 16 Mar 1917; Arvie Jonas, born 31 May 1921.
“I remember moving from the ranch at Thatcher to Lewiston.  Mother was expecting Arvie and she rode in the back of the wagon on some hay.  The meager furniture was loaded into the wagon drawn by Jupiter and a bay horse named Sailor.  Verla was bundled up in blankets and quilts, also Merlin and I (Mabel).  Snow was on the ground, it was cold.  While we were pulling the dugway by Riverdale where it was icy and slick, ol’ Jupiter fell on his right front shoulder.  This turned the front wheels of the wagon causing it to tip.  But quick as a flash Jupiter was on his feet and gave a lunge throwing the wagon the other way.  Sailor pulled his line and up the dugway we went.  I always felt that I owed my life to Jupiter because if the wagon had gone over it would have dumped the stove on top of me…”  Another night during the trip they stayed at a range house and they fixed breakfast for them.  Joseph Nelson Jonas was driving the wagon.
“Rosa and Christian had one of the most beautiful homes.  (They) had a beautiful garden bed of tulips; and beds of gladiolas…(their) lawns were nice and green with no weeds…In Richmond and Preston they used to have large raspberry patches.  We girl used to get up at four in the morning and pick the berries before it would get too hot.  Then again at five in the afternoon when it was cooler we would again go into the patch and pick berries.  (Rosa) sold many of the berries to people living near.”

Rosa & Christian Andersen

“In the winter when the snow was deep a group of people would get together and decide to have a surprise on some member.  The women would open the door and yell SURPRISE!!!  In they would go and take all the furniture out of their room and take up the rug or carpet and start to dance.  Christian would be there with the accordion.  He would take a chair and sit in the corner and play all night.  About midnight they ladies would give the rest of the people lunch.  They  would eat and dance some more.  After the dance was over the men would carry the furniture back into the house again.”
“The following information was taken from the obituary of Rosa Nelson Jonas.  “Preston-Mrs. Rosa Jonas Andersen, 64, died in a Preston hospital at midnight Tuesday.  She served as president of the Young Women’s Mutual Improvement Association in the Preston Sixth Ward, as a Primary teacher, and for eight years was captain of the Hiawatha Camp, Daughters of Utah Pioneers.  Funeral services will be conducted on Saturday noon in the Preston Sixth Ward Chapel by Bishop A.C. Lundgreen.  Friends may call at the family home Friday evening and Sat. until time of the services.  Burial will be in the Ogden Cemetery under the direction of the Webb Mortuary of Preston.”

Jonas History: Nilsson/Bengtsson

This is another chapter of the Jonas history book compiled by Carvel Jonas.  This one is on the Nilsson/Bengtsson line, which was anglicized to Nelson/Benson.  Reviewing this information in FamilySearch shows some changes and updates to some of the information presented.
   “Johannes Nilsson was born 4 Oct 1827 in Tonnersjo, Hallands, Sweden.  His parents were Nils Nilsson and Pernill Larsson.  He was the youngest of a family of four sons.  He married Agneta Bengtsson who was born 9 Dec 1832 in Oringe, Hallands, Sweden.   Her parents were Nils Bengst and Johanna Johansson.  She was the oldest child of eight children, having four sisters and three brothers.  They married 17 Nov 1855.
    “Agneta had two children by an unknown suitor who failed to post the necessary dowry.  They were Matilda, born 31 Dec 1853 and James Peter, born 13 Dec 1855.  Both children were born in Veinge, Hallands, Sweden.  James Peter was born less than a month after Johannes and Agneta were married.
    “In 1862, Elders from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints baptized Agneta’s mother, Johanna Bengtsson, her sister, Ingar, and her two brothers, Nils and John.  They immigrated to America in 1862 and settled in Sanpete County, Ephraim, Utah.  Agneta’s father never came to America and died in Sweden.  After this Agneta was baptized and the Johannes Nilsson family came to America in 1864.  About a month after they got to Logan, Utah, our great grandmother, Annette Josephine Nelson (Jonas) was born.  More details will be given in the following life story which was written by August Nelson, a brother of grandma Annie Jonas.  The author has quoted August’s story and has omitted genealogical family line.  Also, interesting facts have been added to this story to make it more complete.  These facts are included inside the brackets.

L-R: Johanna Benson, Johanna Icabinda Benson, John Irven Benson, Nels Ernst Benson, Mary Ann Angel Works holding Merrill Lamont Benson.

 

    “Nels August Nelson, third child of John and Agnetta Benson Nelson was born in Oringe, Hallands, Sweden, on May 18, 1857.  “My memory of the beautiful country around our home is still vivid even though I was not quite seven when we left.  In 1861 we moved to Tulap, near Marebeck, a Swedish mile from Halmstadt.  We had two wagons loaded with household goods, mother and the four children were on the second wagon which father drove.  I can still see the hayrack.  It had four poles tow in the standard of the wagon, with holes bored and sticks driven in them to keep them apart the width of the wagon.  Then there were holes in each pole on the upper side slanting outward so as to extend over the wheels gradually to about four or five feet high.  Finally the pole crossed the top on both sides and ends to keep it from spreading.  This is the pictures of it as I remember the morning we moved. 
    “Our new home consisted of two long buildings, I should judge considerably neglected because father was continually repairing them between the hours on the farm.  There was a peat bed some distance to the south of the house, a steep slope to the West, a small stream to the east, and cultivated land on the other side.  Father planted trees from the northeast corner of the dwelling due East some distance north and west to the northwest corner of the barn forming a beautiful hollow square.  My recollection is that the trees were birch.  A road ran due east to the nearest neighbors.  On the west a path ran to Marebeck.  A public highway went through our place and led to Halmstadt.  The village near had beautiful homes and churches.  A large bell rang out at twelve and six, possibly other times.  It seemed to say, “Vin Vellen, sure sell, some balhang, slink in”, translated, “Water gruel, sour fish, come gulpdog, tumble in.”
    “At the north end of the farm the stream turned east where the bridge was.  Just south of the bridge the slope was steep and below on the herded the cattle land sheep.  In the three years we lived there father broke up all the land except the meadow.  This was all done by man power.  A man would have a :shere chich” which he pushed with his body.  It cut a sod about two inches thick and eight or ten inches wide.  When the sods dried they were piled up and burned.  The women did most of the piling and burning.
    “We had such a heavy crop of potatoes on this new land that the land burst open along the rows and the potatoes could be seen on top of the ground from the road. 
    “Now a few incidents of child life in Sweden.  The school teacher boarded round at the different homes of the pupils.  I marvel now at the progress they made.  My sister, only ten knew most of the New Testament, and my brother attended only one winter when he learned to read and write. 
    “One of our cows swam the river while we were herding one spring.  When we drove her back she missed the ford and got her horns caught in the roots of the trees and drowned. 
    “Baking day was a big affair because mother baked enough bread to last a month.  It seemed to improve with age.  It took a lot of wood to heat the oven.  On these day sister and brother had to tend baby and I had to herd the cows alone.  One day I rebelled but it did no good.  I was about five years old.  James helped to drive the cows down to the pasture and about all I had to do was watch the path to prevent their return…After I got to Utah one fall a fox bit one of the lambs.  Father must have seen him catch it because he picked it up and brought it home before it died.  Oh how bad we felt.  All the animals on the farm were pets. 
    “One winter there was no snow on the ground but there was ice on the river.  Three of us went down to slide on the ice.  We were forbidden to slide with our shoes on because it wore them out.  At first we slid with our stockings on, then we took them off and slid barefoot.  The ice was so clear and smooth that we had a good time.  Then uncle Lars Benson came and helped put on our shoes and stockings.  I was the smallest so he carried me all the way home.
    “In the spring of 1862 mother went to the old home to bid her mother Johanna Bengtsson, her sister Ingar, and brothers Nels and John, good-bye before they started to America and Utah to live with the Mormons, she brought us all of Uncle John’s toys.  One I remember especially, was a little cuckoo.
    “It must not have been long after when the first Mormon Elders came to see us.  Andrew Peterson of Lehi was one.  Later Uncle Lars came to love the peace that entered our home.  We children would run up the road to look for the Elders.  I was five years old (if mother got baptized the same winter that we left in the spring then I was six) when the elders instructed father to get his family around the table and have family prayers.  I got up from that prayer with the light of the Gospel in my soul.  Everything had changed!  A new light and a new hope had entered my being.  Everything seemed joyous and more beautiful and even the birds sang sweeter.
    “After we joined the Church there were numbers of people young and old who came to visit us.  I remember Andrew Peterson, and the mother of the Lindquists who were undertakers in Ogden and Logan.  When we were getting ready to come to America the sisters would come to help mother sew and get ready.  The songs of Zion that they sang will ring in my ears and soul to the last moments of my life if I continue faithful to the end.  “Heavenly Canaan, Oh Wondrous Canaan, Our Canaan that is Joseph’s land, Come go with us to Canaan!” are some of the words one of the sisters sang.  Ye Elders of Israel and Oh Ye Mountains High were my favorites.  The Swedish Language seemed to give these songs more feeling than the English.  I had a Birdseye view of Zion and I longed to go there.
    “I well remember the morning mother had promised to go to Halmstadt to be baptized.  We all arose early and mother was undecided until father told her to go.  In the evening as father was walking back and carrying the baby, he stopped and said, “Now mother is being baptized,” we looked at the clock and when mother returned she said father was right.  The baptisms had to be done at night and a hole cut in the ice but mother felt not ill effects of the cold. 
    “We had a public auction and sold everything in the line of furniture and clothing that we could not take with us.  I remember two large oak chests and a couple of broadcloth suits and over coats.  One they brought with them and had it made over for me.
    “Father was a steady and prosperous young man, he worked seven years in a distillery and seven as a miller.  We had a small keg of whiskey every Christmas and the children could have what they wanted of it.  We often sopped our bred in it as a substitute for milk.  I never saw father drunk.
    “Now came the time to sell the home and farm.  The ground was all in crops and a rain made everything look good. Father said it was God who made it look so prosperous and we got a good price for it.  James, Matilda, and I with a big part of the baggage were left with friends in Halmstadt while father went back for mother and the younger children.  The morning we were to sail was a busy one.  We all did what we seldom did before, messed the bed.  Mother said, “The Devil cannot stop us,” and we were on deck in time.  It was a beautiful Friday morning, 10 Apr 1864, (They left at 5 p.m.) when the Johanns Nelson family hustled along the rock paved streets of Halmstadt to the docks.  The noise of the horses feet and the rumble of the vehicles drowned all the voices of the little ones who complained of the unceremonious departure.  Then all were safely on board, the gang planks withdrawn, and before we knew it we were out at sea and the men on shore became mere specks. 
    “Later we were all startled by the sound of a shot ringing out and we were ordered below deck.  When we could return to the deck we were told that a pirate crew had shot a hole in our ship just above the water line.  In return our ship shot off their main mast.  As we neared Denmark we saw all the ships in the harbor and could hear (cannon fire) as Denmark and Germany were at war.  We walked around in Copenhagen and saw the fine homes, lawns, statues, in the beautiful city.  This was the first time I had heard the Danish language.  We stopped at so many places that I cannot remember all of them.  Cattle and sheep were loaded on at one place.  We were seasick too, and so many crowded together.  Before we left Liverpool (Thursday April 21) we enjoyed watching the ships being loaded; fishing snacks came in and unloaded their cargo, and big English shire horses acted as switch engines.  There was a large ship about finished in the dry dock.  It must be a stupendous job to build a huge ship.  There seemed to be some leak at the gates because we saw a man with a diving outfit on go down and men were pumping air to him.  He was down for some time.
    “The beautiful green foliage and sward through England has always remained with me.  It passes into the sublime of my soul.
    “The ship which we boarded to come to America was a huge one.  (It was named Monarch of the Sea and there were 973 people on board.)  Before it was loaded it stood so high above the water, and we had to wait some time while the sailors loaded heavy freight into the hold. 

Monarch of the Sea, 1020 LDS passengers on this voyage.

 

    “I have always tried to forget the journey across the Atlantic.  Our rations were raw beef, large hard soda biscuits, water mustard, and salt.  Sometimes we would have to wait most of the day for our turn to cook our meat.  Brother James knew no sickness on the whole journey and was a favorite with the sailors.  On one occasion he was riding the loose timbers, that slid back and forth with the motion of the ship.  One time he went so dangerously near the railing that they sent him below.  The winds and waves were so high sometimes that the flag on the main mast touched the waves as it rolled.  Trunks and boxes had to be tied down.  The vessel had three decks and there were bunks all around the two lower decks.  I had seen several bodies go down the gangway into the deep.  Then came the day that baby Amanda’s little body with a rock tied to her feet was lowered into the water.  A little later it seemed as if it were my turn, I could not eat the crackers.  Mother tried everything, but I got worse.  Then she fed me the raw beef and I began to improve…We did see many varieties of fish.  Sometimes the passengers, men and women, helped bail out water, when it seemed the ship might sink.

Nilsson family on the Monarch of the Sea passenger list

 

    “Finally we reached New York, and the main body of the saints took steamer for Albany, New York.  (They reached New York the morning of Jun 3rd).  We crossed New Jersey by train to the Delaware River.  We had to wait a number of hours for the ferry, and when we got aboard it was so suffocating that sister Matilda succumbed.  Mother laid her out under some tree on a beautiful lawn.  The setting sun, and approaching dusk cast a hallowed gloom over the scene.  We sat silently watching by the side of mother, while father was off looking for a place to bury her.  It was a beautiful, and sad sight to see father and another man carrying her body away from her loved ones to be laid in an unknown grave.  The setting of clear, blue sky, and the twinkling of the stars overhead, shining down through the trees made a variegated carpet where we sat.  It would be impossible to describe mothers feelings as she was the guiding star of the family, and she knew we would meet Matilda again beyond the grave. 
    “We went by train from here, and the first incident of note was the crossing of a very high, and long bridge; large vessels with high masts could pass under it.  The train stopped on the bridge while another train passed us.  A few days later we were informed that the bridge had collapsed.  We saw much of the country that had been desolated by the Civil War.  Then we were joined by the group that went by way of Albany.  They were riding on boards in cattle cars. 
    “(Some time about this time in the story of Johannes Nilsson was baptized.  It was 25 Jun 1864.  He was confirmed the same day and later that year he was ordained an Elder)
    The car we rode in had no cushions on the seats.  Sister Josephine’s cheek began swelling; we thought from the jolting of the car.  Some people recommended a certain poultice which ate the flesh off her cheek.  Next we went aboard a steamer on a river.  It was restful for a few days.  All of us made our beds on the floor, starting in the center of the main mast or flag pole.  Then another circle started at the feel of the first.  Brother James and I slept on a board which formed a shelf on the side of the ship.  The space between each shelf was large enough for a full grown colored gentleman so there was plenty of room for us boys who were small for our ages.  There seemed to be two streams in the river, one quite clear, the other very muddy.  By this time we were getting tired with never any rest or change and the vermin were getting unbearable.  Josephine steadily got worse and mother realized that it was only a matter of time until she would go to join her sisters.  When we reached Omaha Josephine was a corpse.  With the dead child and the luggage to carry father and mother could not help me.  I remember that I crawled and walked alternately, with my parents waiting and encouraging me.  We finally go to the top of a hill where mother laid me on the grass among some shrubs while she and father went for more luggage.  When I became able to walk I went down by the river and watched the people do their washing, and try to get rid of the cooties before we started on the tip over the plains.  Several graves were dug in this place.  (The family reached Omaha in Jul.  They rode the steamer from St. Joseph, Missouri up the Missouri River to Wyoming.  They had taken a train from Albany, New York to St. Joseph Missouri.  LDS teams took them from Wyoming to the Salt Lake Valley)
    “In due time bays and wagons from Utah arrived and everything was loaded for the trip.  There was a stove and tent in each wagon.  Then the luggage and two families were piled in and we were off for Zion. 
    At first there was an abundance of grass.  I liked to watch the donkeys in the train.  Day after day we traveled and the only living thing of any size was an occasional stage coach and the station built along the way.  One day I got out of the wagon and ran ahead until noon.  After that I had to walk most of the way.  One day two young women sat down to rest.  All at once the screamed and jumped up.  Then a man killed a large rattler where they had been.  I have seen families take a corpse out of the wagon, dig a shallow grave and then hurriedly catch up to the train which did not stop.  Then we got a glimpse of the mountains in the distance.  We also saw large herds of buffalo.  While camping one night a herd was coming directly towards us.  Some men rode out and turned them.  To avoid a stampede of our oxen we started out and the teamsters were able to keep them under control.
    “The first Indians I saw was at the stage station.  There must have been several hundred of them and we could see their wigwams in the distance.  We were now getting into great sage brush flats and everybody was warned against starting fires.  One day at noon we joked up in a hurry because someone had let their fire get the best of them. 
    “Now we began to meet companies of soldiers.  They generally led horses with empty saddles.  Next we saw where a fire had burned some wagons in the company in which grandmother crossed in 1862.  The whole country round was black and the grass had not started.  When we crossed rivers they were not too deep, the men and women waded.  Two government wagons were caught in the quick sand near where we forded.  As we got into the hills there was a lot of elk, deer, and antelopes.  One man on a gray horse did the hunting for the group.  Several times the oxen tried to stampede.  On parts of the trail men had to hold the wagons to keep them from tipping over.  The most interesting of all to me was at Echo Canyon where they told how the Mormon scouts had marched round the cliff and made Johnston’s army believe there were a whole lot of them when in fact there were very few.  We found chokecherries along the road but they were too green.  The last hill seemed the longest and steepest and we did not reach the top until late in the evening.  Next morning everyone was happy.  Cherries were riper and so good to eat they failed to choke.  Happy beyond expression we hastened to get a view of Canaan and Joseph’s land, where the Elders of Israel resided and Prophet’s and Apostles to guide the Latter-day Saints.  (They arrived about the 15th of Sep in Salt Lake City)
    “Having seen some of the big cities of the world you may imagine our disappointment when we looked down from Emigration Canyon upon Great Salt Lake City by the Great Salt Lake.  We saw Fort Douglas where some of the soldiers were stationed.  One aged man exclaimed, “why the children cry here as they did at home!”
    “We entered the dear old tithing square and rested for noon.  Now it was for us to decide where we wanted to settle.  We decided to go to Logan and it happened that John, our teamster was going there too.  While in the yard Sister Lindquist who had visited us in Sweden brought us a large watermelon, the first I had seen in my life.  She was a beautiful young woman and I thought was very nice. 
    “We soon headed north with John driving the wagon and mother, father, James and I walking behind the wagon.  As we were nearing the outskirts of the city a good lady sent a little girl out to us with two delicious apples.  How good people were to us.  It would certainly be a pleasure to know these fine people.  It was about sundown when we passed the Hot Springs and we kept going until quite late.  When we got to the canyon above Brigham City we over took a number of wagons and Scandinavian Saints.  When we reached what was called Little Denmark, now Mantua, we were feted by these good saints, and given a new send off.  It seemed such a long trip through the canyons, but interesting as the teamsters had a number of bear stores it tell.  Later we learned that some people had been attacked by bear at this place.  We camped just below Wellsville near the bridge above Cub Creek. The people here gave us some potatoes.  They were boiled and their jackets all cracked open.  This was a treat I shall never forget.  We arrived at the Logan public square about noon.  There was a liberty pole in the center.  On one corner was a lumber shack where all our worldly good were put and the teams drove away.  Father located a short, robust Swede who hauled our wealth into his cow yard and we made ourselves comfortable.  We cooked over the fireplace in the log cabin.  For a few days father did not have work so all four of us went out gleaning.  When threshing began with the fall, father was in his glory and never lacked a job. 
    “The most important thing ahead was to prepare a shelter for the winter which was fast approaching.  Logan was planning to take care of the emigrants and her future by digging a canal north along the East bench.  All newcomers were given a city lot to be paid for by work on this canal.  At the same time the number of acres of farm land was apportioned with the number of cubic yards of dirt to be removed to pay for the land. 
    “The first homes were mostly dugouts in the side of the hill.  That first winter, Father carried willows from the Logan River bottom which was our fuel.  He cut some small green sticks short and buried a few of these in the ashes each night to start the fire with in the morning. 
    “We were just moved into our home when Annetta Josephine (Grandma Annie Jonas) was born on 18 Nov 1864.  She was the first child born in Logan Fifth Ward.  Mother was alone except for James and me.  James was sent to fetch father who was threshing wheat for John Anderson.  When he arrived with a sister, mother had already taken care of herself and the baby.
    “All went well until January when it began to thaw.  Soon our dugout was filling with water.  It was knee-deep when father made a path so we could get over to the neighbor’s cabin.  We carried water out all day, and the rest of the water soon soaked up.  So that by laying a few boards on the floor we were able to go back in the evening. 
    “It was the most severe winter.  The snow was deep and it drifted so that only the tops of the houses could be seen.  Thatcher’s mill, the only on one in town, was frozen up, and we had to get along on bran bread.  Father moved the cow to the side of the house that afforded the most protection from the wind. 
    “As soon as spring started, all hands set to work on the canal.  The men and boys had to pass our place on the way to work.  The boys seemed to delight in calling us “Danishmen.”  James and I carried the water from the old Fourth Ward canal down on the river bottom.  We always took a slide down the hill.  This was alright as long as the snow was on the ground, but as soon as it began to thaw, we got soaking wet, and we usually ended up sick with bad colds.  Poor mother had not time to be sick. 
    “The first Sunday School we attended was in the cabin of John Archibald.  Soon there were so many that we could not get in.  The Superintendent was Sandy Isaac, a fine young man. 
    “The summer was a happy one.  Father bought two ewes, and they each had a lamb.  This, with the cow, made a herd for me to care for.  Most of the town drove their sheep past our place up on the college hill to feed.  While we herded we also picked service berries.  The boys showed us where the best berries were over on Providence flat.  One day mother and two other women went with us…
    “This fall we were much better prepared for winter than we were a year ago.  We had two cows, four sheep and a yoke of steers.  There was a barn for the animals, and we had a log house.  We raised 120 bushels of wheat on six acres, and mother had done considerable gleaning.
    “When mother went gleaning, I had to stay with the baby.  One day I left her on the bed while I went out to play.  She rolled off the bed and got a big lump on her head.  She was still crying when mother came home.  Some days she took both of us with her.  When baby slept then I could help glean.  Mother would carry a two-bushel sack full of heads on her shoulder, and set the baby on top.  It surely looked like a load to carry.  James was with father.  He would rake the hay while father cut it with the scythe and snare.  Father did not like to have mother go gleaning, but the money she got from the wheat was her own, and she liked good clothes and to be dressed well.
    “In the fall the ward organized…The old meetinghouse had a fire place in the east end. and the door in the west.  We held school in the same building…Dances generally kept up until morning…They began around seven o’clock in the evening.  About nine there would be some singing…after singing, we had games of strength, wrestling, and boxing.  In the wee small hours we were ready to go home.  These dances were opened and closed with prayer…
    “I almost forgot one incident that happened in 1866.  Father turned his steers on the range in the spring.  One of these was to be given to the Indians to keep them friendly.  The other one Bill, could not be found.  Father located the first one in the Indians herd.  We went down and told them that this steer was his. “How can you prove it is your steer?”  Father went up to her, took hold of his horn and led him to the Indians.  They laughed and told him to take it.  He led the steer home, a mile away, by holding to the horn.  James hunted every where for Bill.  He searched in almost every cow herd in the valley.  In the anguish of his soul he knelt down and prayed.  As he arose a feeling of satisfaction entered his bosom.  He was soon rewarded by finding the long, lost steer.  He succeeded in driving him home, and all were joyful and recognized the hand of Providence in answering James’ prayer.
    “More and more people moved into the ward.  A great many of them were Scotch.  There was a sixteen year old girl who used to visit with mothers.One day she told mother she thought Mr. Nelson was a lovable man, and that she would like to be his second wife.  Mother was delighted and did everything to get father to accept her, but in vain…
    “(In 1867 they went about 90 miles and were sealed in the Endowment house in Salt Lake City.  The Endowment House records for 4 Oct 1867: Johannes Nilsson and Agneta Bengtsson Nelson received their endowment and were sealed.)
    “Father made a fish trap out of willows like the one mother’s family had in Sweden.  We had fish all of the time.
    “Every other week we herded cattle down in the fork of the Logan and Bear Rivers.  It was seven miles from Logan.  The banks of the river were covered with willows, where lived bars, wolves, snakes, skunks, and other pests.  James herded alone most of the time.  The Indians called him a hero.  I stayed with him one week.  The dog went home, and I was ready to leave.  The wolves looked defiantly at us, and at night the snakes crawled over our faces.  I was glad to stay home and herd the small herd near home, I had my prayers answered in finding sheep when they were lost…
    “On June 14, 1867, mother had a baby boy whom she named Joseph Hyrum.  That fall we moved into the Fourth Ward.  I soon learned to love Bishop Thomas X. Smith…
    “On Christmas and New Year’s Eve, we stayed up on Temple hill all night so we would be ready to serenade early in the morning…
    “Our grain completely taken by grasshoppers in 1867.  The sun was darkened by them they were so thick.  We had to sell our oxen, but got $175.00 for them when the usual price was only $125.00.  We had bought them four years before, and father always kept them butter fat.  We bought a pair of two years old steers for seventy five dollars, and grain with the other seventy five.  Then father worked on the railroad and James and I gleaned corn.  James traded a good pocket knife for corn.  Again we traded corn for shoes.  There wasn’t enough money for us to go to school that year, but father bought a large Bible, and the two of us read through to Chronicles the second time.  Here I gained the fundamental principles of the gospel which helped me throughout the rest of my life, and I always knew where to go for information, God and the Bible. 
    “Father traded his oxen for a team of young mules, very poor, but gentle.  The first time we tried to drive them was to a funeral.  On the way home a dog rushed out at us and the mules were off.  They ran home, and stopped at the corral.  We learned they had run away the first time they had been driven.  As long as we owned them we were in danger of our lives because they could not be handled.  Mother did a better job than any of us in driving them.
    “The year that the grasshoppers took our grain I furnished fish which I caught in the Logan River.  There were chubs and some trout.  The time when the hoppers were so thick I will never forget.  I was fishing down in the river, and an electric storm was over near Clarkston.  There seemed to be an air current in that direction and in a little while I could scarcely find any bait. 
    “I think it was in 1869 that we had a glorious 4th of July celebration.  A whole band of boys dressed as Indians and tried to pick a fight.  Some of us really thought they were Indians.  Then we saw President Brigham Young with mounted men riding along side his carriage.  Quickly we all formed in line along the main street, and as he came along he would bow to us bare foot children.  We really loved these men and rarely missed a chance to go to the Tabernacle to hear them talk.  One time he asked the grown ups to leave while the boys and girls gathered around the stand to hear Martin Harris bear his testimony about seeing the plates from which the Book of Mormon was taken.  We were told to never forget these things and to always tell the boys and girls during our lives this story.  I have sometimes forgotten to do this.  Martin Harris was a school teacher when a young man, and came to the assistance of the Prophet by giving the money necessary to get the Book of Mormon printed.  A short time before he died in Clarkston, he related the whole story of the part he played in the coming forth of the Book of Mormon.
    “This year (1868) we planted two acres of sugar cane on some new land up by college hill.  We hoed and petted that cane until it surpassed any thing around.  We barely took time out to eat our lunch.  Men working near said we were foolish to spend so much time on it.  James was a very good worker and a good leader for me.  In the fall he worked at the molasses mill down town, receiving a half gallon of molasses for twelve hours work.  Father hired a boy to help me hoe the cane at the same price.  He never came to work on time so I sent him home and did the work myself.  From one acres we got 175 gallons, and the other 225 gallons, a small fortune. 
    “The last spring that I herded, father had about 75 sheep and 50 cows.  There was no snow late in the fall and water was scarce.  When I started home at night the cows would almost run to get to Springs where Greenville now is.  Then before I could get them they were in somebodies field.  I usually had a lamb or two to carry and had to run till I was exhausted.  At last a small Swiss boy with only one cow to herd helped me out.  He soon got tired of mixing with me but I did not let him quit.  I have herded in the spring when it snowed so I could hardly see the animals.  All others had gone home, but I had to stay because we did not have fee feed at home.  My clothes would be soaking wet, and when a sharp wind blew, I got mighty cold.  One time two of the ewes got lost.  They had been shorn late so they could not stand the cold and I found their carcasses later.
    “Mother sheared the sheep, washed, carded, spun, and wove the cloth to make our clothes.  It was about 1870 (born 9 Dec 1870 and died the same day.  They were buried 10 Dec, 1870) when mother had the twins, Jacob and Jacobina.  They were very tiny and lived only four hours. 
    “Father was a hard worker.  He cut hay with a scythe and swath.  One time a neighbor was vexed because his five acres had not been cut.  Father went down on Sunday and did not come home until he had cut all of it on Monday.  The man could hardly believe that it could be done. 
    “Mother led the social set in this part of the Ward.  I would listen as she related different incidents told her at these parties.  One pertained to our friend…He married a young woman after his first wife had no children.  But after consenting to the new wife, she gave birth to a son and they very soon after two sweet girls.  Almost the same thing happened to a fine young Danishman who moved into the community….When his wife consented to give him a second wife she had a son herself.
    “In the fall of 1871 father bought ten acres of land planted to hay and right along side the other five.  I was sent out to drive a team making the road bed for the Utah Northern Railroad.  I was fourteen, weighed 75 pounds, and had never driven horses.  I was given a broken handled chain scraper and a balky team.  With these handicaps, and jeers from some of the men, it was a hard moth of two for me.  We had good food, so I gained in weight, strength, and experience.  With the money earned, father was able to bend the bargain on the land, and the fellow he had agreed to sell.
    “About this time we had a new baby sister come to our home.  (She was born 16 Dec 1872).  She was named Charlotte Abigail….to my mind the baby was a jewel.
    “I gave the money I earned herding cows to mother who bought all of her clothing, and always had a dollar or two on hand when it was needed most.  She always looked nice in her clothes, being very tall and slender, with beautiful golden hair.  At one time she weighed only 90 pounds.  She loved her children dearly, but required obedience, that we be neat and clean, and attend our church duties.  One morning before Sunday School she asked me to do some chore before I left.  I said “no” though I really wanted to do it.  Mother grabbed a strap lying on the floor, and hit me a smart rap across my shoulders.  A buckle on the strap cut my back and I yelled with pain and so did mother.  She washed my back quickly, and put a plaster on it, so it would not be seen through the thin shirt, which was all I had on my back.  Many times after in life I have thanked God for that blow.  It was just what I needed to get over being coaxed to do anything.  I also learned to love mother more if that were possible. 
    “Mother furnished the house and bought his tobacco with the butter and egg money.  Father was surely miserable at the end of the week when his weekly supply was gone.  When I was allowed to go to the store to buy tobacco, I would put it in my hands and hold it over my nose so I could get a good smell of it.  Father had quit the habit on the way to Utah, but some foolish men persuaded him to take a bite, and he never could quit again.  He tried one time, and was so sick he had to go to bed and get a doctor to bless him.
    “Brother James was quick to learn, and was especially good at entertaining and on the stage.  A Mr. Crowther from the Salt Lake Theatre gave him a part of a colored boy, and with only two rehearsals and no book, he made good, and people were wondering who the darky was.  Mother was proud of her boy…
    “All the boys in town received military training down on the tabernacle square…
    “About this time we had our last episode with the mules.  They tried to run from the start.  We boys got out of the wagon to fix the chin strap on one of them.  They leaped in the air, and as they came down they broke a line and away they ran.  One by one parts of the wagon were left behind.  Father was thrown out with the bed.  When we finally caught up with them, the tongue, one wheel, and a hub of the front axle was all there was attached to them.  We were grateful that no one was hurt.  We traded them off for a team of horses.  The man who bought them drove along the railroad through sloughs and no roads and beat the train. 
    “Mother made dances for us boys, and served refreshments to all who were present.  We had attended two terms at the dancing school the year we had so much molasses, and mother went with us the one term.  This made us the best dancers in Logan…
    “I found James working on a gravel train, and began working with him.  Two would load a car, each one his half.  George Watson, the boss, told me I could not shovel the gravel fast enough.  I told him I could do anything my brother did.  I almost failed the first few days.  We would load as fast as we could, then jump on the car and ride to Mendon, unload and back again.  When this job was completed James got work on the section at Hampton, and father and I on a railroad spur between Dry Lake, near Brigham City to Corinne.  When we reached Corinne we were treated to all the beer we wanted.  On the way back to Brigham City, the crew and all the workers were feeling the effects of the beer.  Father said, “you act as though you were drunk,”  I retorted, “I have never been drunk in my life.”  A man thirty five years old said, “That isn’t saying much for a boy.  If you can say that as a man of thirty five you will be saying something.”  Right then I made the resolution that I would never get drunk.  Now at sixty nine I can say that I have kept this resolution.
    “This was a prosperous year for our family.  (1873)  We bought a fine team of horses to do our farm work, and we had had work on the railroad.  In October, mother gave birth to a little boy, Moses Nelson.  (born 25 Oct 1873)  She was very sick, and we had a nurse to care for her.  I always felt inferior to James, but one day mother called me to her and said, “August, if I die I want you to care for the children.”  That had always been my job around the house.  Later one evening, mother kissed me and said, “You have been a good boy.  God bless you.”  With a smile she turned her head and breathed her last.  (died 4 Nov 1873)  God alone knows what little children lose when mother is gone.  While sick I had heard her say, “I do not want to leave my little children.”  Little did I know or realize what home would be without her.  She was more than ordinarily ardent and spiritually minded, with high ideals, and a comprehensive knowledge of the gospel.  (buried at Logan Cemetery 9 Nov 1873)
    “After mother was laid away, I was sent up to Richmond to work on the railroad.  The weeks passed in a whirl.  Soon baby Moses died, (died 12 Nov 1873 and buried 14 Nov 1873 in Logan Cemetery) and father came up to work with me.  James was with the children and took care of the things at home.  We soon returned and James started school.  I did all the house work except the starching and ironing.  I was 16, Annette 9, Joseph 5, And Charlotte 2.  The washing was a stupendous job.  The water was hard.  I tried putting the clothes in a sack when I boiled them to keep the hard water from forming on them.  If only some friend had called and told me how to break the water and to put a little soda in the bread when it soured, it would have been a God send.  It would have meant better bread and cleaner clothes for the next three years.  I also had to shear the sheep.  This had been mother’s job.  I managed for the first day, and in time finished in some fashion…
    “Sometime in January Uncles Lars and Nels Bengtsson came and took James with them to Spring City in Sanpete County.  I always loved that brother, the only one left who had come with me from Sweden.  We sometimes quarreled, but we were always together.  Now we had no work from him for over a year. 
    “The baby, Little Abigail, generally asked for milk during the night, but she would not accept it from me.  One night I told father to lie still and I would give it to her.  She refused to take it from me.  I went outside and cut a switch from a current bush.  When she called for milk again I held it out to her.  She refused.  I said to father, “Cover up,” and I struck the covers over him with considerable force.  I sat down and began reading.  Pretty soon she called for milk.  I said “Here it is Lottie,” she drank it and never said “no” to me again in my life.  She grew to be a tall and slender; had light golden hair and had a sensitive disposition with high ideals.  I have seen her swing on our gate most of a Sunday all alone, because she felt her clothes were not good enough to mingle with other children.  Before I left home in 1876, I could pick her up from the floor and dance with her.  She had perfect rhythm and enjoyed going to the dances to watch and oh how her little soul leaped with joy when she could get on the floor and dance.  (Charlotte Abigail died 23 Nov 1902.  She never married.  She missed her 31th birthday by a few weeks.  She is buried with Annette and August in the Crescent Cemetery.)
    “My soul cried out for a mother’s love and care.  I am very fearful that when mother sees me, she will say, “You have done tolerably well but you failed to care for the children.”  In my weak way I am still trying to care for children, everybody’s children, God’s children. 
    “I remember when father married again.  The woman had several children of her own.  It was a sad day for mother’s three little ones when step mother and her children moved into out home…
    “I had my try at tobacco too.  An exbartender from Salt Lake City was smoking a pipe.  I asked him to let me try it, and began puffing away.  Father called me to one side and said in an undertone with so much soul that it penetrated my very being, “Don’t be a slave, be a free man.  You have seen me try to quit the habit, even suffer because I couldn’t.”  His advice, I felt, was too good to discard, and I never took up the habit…
    “It was the 16 Oct 1876 when I and three other fellows started for the smelters in Sandy…  John Benson took his team and wagon and took James and me to Sanpete County.  We went to Ephraim to see grandma Johanson, who left Sweden several years before we did.  She was delighted with her grandsons.  She had told her neighbors what nice people were hers in Sweden, of course they thought she was boasting, but now they could see that it was the truth.  How nice it would be if we always lived to be a credit to our ancestors. 

Back (l-r): Virgil, Lawrence, Fidelia, Moses. Front: Paul, Nels, Fidelia, August

 

    “Uncle Nels had two little girls, one could not walk as the result of a fever.  I began to take part in the talk and general pleasure, and stood well with all.  Uncle lectured every evening on doctrinal subjects…a patriarch came to the home and every one had a blessing.  Uncle Nels, his wife Philinda, and her sister Fedelia, and their blessings John was promised a family; James, a stupendous power over the elements but no family….My blessing has come true as far as I have lived for it….(date of blessings 16 Sep 1890)
    “It is just possible that I shirked my duty and promise to mother to care for the children.  Father offered me my lot, home of the land, and would help build a house if I would take the children.  but I wanted to go and make money.  When I think of mother’s charge to me, and the sad life of the children, my whole soul weeps over my dereliction, but fate drew me to the south…
    “It is difficult to note details by memory, but I have this to record for 1893.  My sister Charlotte Abigail lived with us that summer.  When she went to Logan that fall she had the fever.  Later she went to Washington to visit my sister, Annie, wife of Joseph Jonas.  (Jul 1901)  Annie had been sick for a long time, but none of us knew the nature of her illness until Charlotte brought the whole family to Utah with her.  It turned out to be mental illness.  She kept running away so we finally had to put her in the institution at Provo, where she died a short time after…(She died 23 Dec 1907 and was buried Christmas Day)
    “…When Charlotte brought to Jonas family to us there were five children.  It was sad to see sister in her condition.  I had not seen her since 1873 (28 years).  The last letter I had written her was from Bristol, Nevada.  I suggested to her that she should marry a Mormon boy.  Her reply was that Mormon boys were not as genteel as Gentiles…  Her husband destroyed her letters to us, so we never knew what she was going through…  The Jonas children became ours.  My sister Lottie, worked in Logan until she became so sick and weak she came to our home where she died, 23 Nov 1902.  Father died 20 Nov 1902, and Annie was sent home from Provo a few years later (1907).  From father’s estate I received about $700.00 and the same amount as guardian of my sister’s children.  Mothers last instruction to me keeps running through my mind.  “August, you have been a good boy, God bless you.”  Oh, Father in Heaven, have I at least with all my weakness striven with a desire to do my duty to them and to my mother?” 
    “…I had three of my sister’s boys and two of my own to help (while two of his sons went of missions).  We put up as high 400 tons of hay and had at the ranch nearly two hundred head of cattle, and often over 200 head of hogs, besides the milk cows.  We had 160 acres on the State Road and rested 80 acres from Men Mill for many years.  There were two homes on the farm at that time two on the ranch.  Forty acres on the ranch were cultivated and irrigated, and the 1000 acres was divided into different sized pastures open at the top.
    “The work that my lads did seemed to others beyond their power.  I had some hired help most of the time.  The boys were generally out of school two months of the school year, but never lost a grade…
    “So ends Nels August Nelson’s history of his parents, siblings, aunts, uncle, and grandmother.  The following is an account of the voyage that Johannes Nilsson and Agnetta Bengtsson made.  It is recorded from the History of the Church.  “On 10 April 1864 at 5 pm the Swedish Steamer L. J. Bager sailed from Copenhagen, carrying 250 emigrants from Sweden and Norway and some from Frederica Conference, Denmark, in charge was J.P.R. Johansen.  This company of saints went by steamer to Libeck, then rail to Hamburg, thence by steamer to Hull, and thence by rail to Liverpool, where the emigrants joined the Company from Copenhagen on the 15th of April…”
    “On Thursday 28th of April, the above emigrants sailed from Liverpool, England, in the ship ‘Monarch of the Sea’, with 973 souls on board.  Patriarch John Smith was chosen President of the Company, with Elders John D. Chase, Johan P. R. Johansen, and Parley P. Pratt as counselors.  Elders were also appointed to take charge of the different divisions of the company.  During the voyage there was considerable sickness and several children died.  On the morning of June 3rd, the ship docked at New York where the landing of the passengers at once took place.
    That evening they were sent by steamer to Albany, New York, and from there by rail to St. Joseph, Missouri, thence up the Missouri River to Wyoming, from which place most of the Scandinavian saints were taken to the valley by the church teams of which 170 were sent out that year. 
    “Thus about 400 Scandinavians crossed the plains in Captain William B. Preston’s Company of about fifty church teams that left Florence Nebraska in the beginning of June and arrived in Salt Lake City on 15 September.
    “Agneta Bengtsson had blue eyes and reddish brown hair.  Her son, August, said she had golden hair, so it must have been a lighter shade.  We don’t know what color eyes and hair Johannes had, although he most likely took after the traditional Scandinavian.  After Agneta Bengtsson died Johannes married two different times.  One marriage took place about 1876, and the second sometime after 1884.  The county clerk of Cache County wrote the following when Johannes Nelson died in the death record p. 18, line 112, “Johannes Nelson died Nov 26, 1902 age 75.  He was a farmer, had lived in Cache County 38 years…He was a Caucasian, white male and lived in Logan.  The cause of death was General Debility.”  He is buried at the Logan City Cemetery and was buried Nov 30, 1902.  Johannes had given the church a donation of money which was considered a large sum in those days.  When hard times came Johannes asked for some of the money back.  Since there wasn’t a receipt made he wasn’t given the money, or a part of the money back.  Because of the money not being returned he decided not to pay his tithing to the Church the last years of his life. 

Milo Ross 1997 Interview

Interview of Milo Ross

By

Wayne Carver

08-13-1997

Tape I – A

University of Utah Veterans Commemoration in 2009

Wayne: Okay. I’m at Milo Ross’ home in Plain City, which is just through the lots from where I grew up at and the date is what, August the 13th?

 

Milo:    Probably the 13th today.

 

Wayne: Wednesday August 13th. This is tape one, side one of a conversation I’m having with Milo.

(tape stopped)

 

Milo:    Should have put on there Plain City.

 

Wayne: Oh, well, I’ll remember that.  But I have trouble if I don’t do that little preliminary stuff, is I get the tapes mixed up.  You have a quiet voice, so I think I could find a book or something to – oh—

 

Milo:    Here’s one right here.

 

Wayne: Just to prop this –

 

Milo:    How about this?  What do you need?

 

Wayne: Just something like this.

 

Milo Ross in uniform at Fort Lewis, Washington

 

Milo: Oh

 

Wayne: Since I want –

 

Milo: Here’s some more book.  You know, you said you was talking to Aunt Vic Hunt.  I’ll tell you a story about her.  She’s over to the rest home, see.  Yardley, he came in and he says – he and an attorney came in and he says, Mrs. Hunt, he says, you sure got a rhythm out of heart.  He says, you gotta start moving around taking it a little more easy, don’t hurt yourself.  She says, “listen you young punk.” she says, “Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know anything about. I’ve lived with that all my life,” she says.

 

Wayne: Well Paul – or Milo, can I just ask you a few obvious questions for the — and then – can you tell me your full legal name?

 

Milo: Do you wanna start now?

 

Wayne: yeah.

 

Milo: My name’s Milo James Ross.

 

Wayne: And what date were you born?

 

Milo: February the 4th, 1921.

 

Wayne: So, you’re two years older than I.

 

Milo: Born in ’21.

 

Wayne: Right, I was born in ’23?

 

Milo: ’23.

 

Wayne: Yeah. Where were you born?

 

Milo: Plain City.

 

Wayne: And who were your parents?

 

Milo: My mother was Ethel Sharp Ross.  That’d be Vic Hunt’s sister.  Ed Sharp’s sister, Dale Sharp’s sister.  My dad was Jack Ross.  And he came from Virginia.  They came out west and settled over in Rupert and Paul, Idaho.  When they found out they was gonna have a sugar factory in that area.  So, they run the railroad track a ride out.  What they really done, they bummed their way out on the railroad, flat cars at that time.  They was bringing coal and stuff out from Virginia out into that country.  And Dad and Grandad and all the relatives that could decided to come out.  And that was the only way they could afford to come out because nobody had any money.  So they settled around Paul and Rupert, Idaho area.  And that’s where my dad met my mother, Ethel Ross, because she had that store I was telling you about in Paul.

 

Wayne: Yes, go back and tell me again for the tape how your mom got up in Paul running a store.

 

Milo: Well, the – when they were going to work and back and forth from Plain City in to Ogden, they used to ride the Old Bamberger track out here.  And when they – when the first came out, they had a – it was an electrical trolley car, you probably remember it had an arm on top that had –

 

Wayne: Right, yeah.

 

Milo: — Track.  I remember riding the car once and I was down to Wilmer Maw’s helping them unload coal and stuff like that out of the boxcars down there.  But that old dummy car used to bring them cars down there.  They had a spur at Wilmer Maw’s store and also at Roll’s garage.  Stopped right there.

 

Wayne: That’s right, yeah, I remember that.

 

Milo: Then they used to ship vegetables and stuff out from the railroad track from there out.  But mother was going to Ogden on this – I don’t know how – how you call it a Bamberger Track Car, Trolley Car, or whatever you call it.  But when they got making a turn and transferring, probably around 17th street in there where they used to be the headquarters, they got bumped and some of them got knocked down and hurt.  I never did find out how bad my mother was, but the railroad company settled out of court and give them all so much money apiece, the ones that got hurt.

Well, my mother, she knew of a place in Paul Idaho that had some property.  She decided to go there and buy that little store front and live in Paul, Idaho, because she married this Mark Streeter at that time.  Maybe you remember him.

 

Wayne: oh, yes, yeah.

 

Milo: Mark Streeter.  They went into Paul, Idaho and –

 

Wayne: Was she married to Mark?

 

Milo: She got married to him –

 

Wayne: When the accident occurred:

 

Milo: No. not – not – just after.

 

Wayne: uh-hu.

 

Milo: But she got the settlement and he found out that she had the money and everything and she had gone to Idaho, so I figured he – he probably figured she was a rich old dog, he went to Idaho to marry her.

 

Wayne: I see yeah.

 

Milo: So he went to the – up the store, Paul, Idaho, up there and they got married.  And then they had a child, June Streeter, that lived with Dale Sharp, if you remember, for a long time.

 

Wayne: Yeah, vaguely.

 

Milo:  But – and then she stayed with the Streeters in Ogden most of her life, June did.  And then the war broke out, World War I.  Mark Streeter, her husband, joined the army and left my mother, Ethel Ross, Sharp Ross Streeter, abandoned in Idaho without a husband with this daughter, and he never did return.  So after so many years, my dad met my mother in Paul, Idaho at the store because the Ross had come there to work at the sugar factory from Virginia, the grandparents and the whole family, Phibbs and the whole – lot moving out, have a moved out down to there to try to get work.  So that’s how my dad met my mother was in Paul, Idaho, because they had Streeters confectionery.  And that’s (unintelligible).

 

Wayne:  Did your mother have no contacts up at Paul?  Were there Plain City people or-

 

Milo:  That’s something I never did know because Uncle Ed Sharp never told me.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  See, I was – mother came back here after she married dad, Jack Ross, we lived down by Abe Maw’s in an old log cabin house.

 

Wayne: With your father and mother?

 

Milo:  Yes, Jack and my mother, Ethel.  And then mother got sick with childbirth.  There was – here mother had Milo – well, she had June to start out with Streeter.

 

Wayne:  With Streeter, yeah.

Milo Ross in Canada 1986

 

Milo:  And then she had Milo, my name, Milo James Ross, with Jack Ross, dad.  And then there was Paul Ross.

 

Wayne:  Little Paul?

 

Milo:  Paul Ross, the blond, he fell out of Ed Sharp’s barn, broke his arm, fell on his head and concussion and he died when he was about 11 or 12 years old.

 

Wayne:  I remember that, yeah.

 

Milo:  And that was up at Ed Sharp’s barn.  Then there was Harold Ross, and then baby John Ross.  But John Ross died at childbirth with female trouble.  And that was down in Abe Maw’s property where the old log cabin house was.

And then when Mother died, my Dad, he had no way of feeding us down here because he’d come from Idaho down here with her to come back to live in Utah around her folks.  They decided to – he didn’t’ know what to do.  He couldn’t feed us.  So he went to each one of the Sharps families and Os Richardson ad everybody else and they said they wouldn’t help him.

 

Wayne:  Os had married Mary—

 

Milo: Mary –

 

Wayne:  –yeah.

 

Milo: — Sister to Ethel.

 

Wayne:  Mary Sharp.

 

Milo:  So – and Ray Sharp, he didn’t want us.  Over in Clinton.

 

Wayne:  Oh, I didn’t know him.

 

Milo:  Well, he was Ed Sharp’s brother.  There was Ed Sharp, lived out here, and Dale Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  But it was hard times for everybody.  They didn’t have no money to feed nobody extra.

 

Wayne:  This would be in the twenties?

 

Milo:  That would be back in nineteen twenty – I was born in ’21 and I was five when I come back here, when they brought – the Sharps brought us back here from going back to Idaho.  But when I was five, my dad took us to the hot springs and carried us kids – took us to the hot springs, and put us on an old – I don’t know whether the church built a railroad track into Idaho or not.  But they got on a dummy or a car and they went into Paul, Idaho, from the hot springs at that time.

 

Wayne:  And you went up on that?

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  And –

 

Milo:  My dad?

 

Wayne:  — Harold.

 

Milo:  — Harold.

 

Wayne: And Paul.

 

Milo: And Paul.

 

Wayne:  And you went back up to Paul?

 

Milo:  Paul, Idaho.  I was – I was in the neighborhood about four years old at that time when he took us back.

 

Wayne:  Now, he went with you?

 

Milo:  He took us back there because dad – Grandpa and Grandma lived in Paul or Rupert, right in that area.

 

Wayne:  Grandpa and Grandma –

 

Milo:  Ross.

 

Wayne:  –Ross?

 

Milo: Ross.

 

Wayne:  Okay, yeah.

 

Milo:  And they was from – Where’d I tell you?

 

Wayne: Virginia:

 

Milo:  Virginia.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.  And how long did you live up there?

 

Milo:  About a year.  But you see, there was no money to feed kids.  They couldn’t buy groceries and stuff.  They came out here poor people.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And they was working at the railroad – sugar factory trying to make a dollar.  And Mother, she figured maybe send the kids – when she got sick, send them back up to Grandpa and Grandma.  And see, Grandpa and Grandma was old and they couldn’t take care of us, so she – she just couldn’t make a go of it with the store and because she was sick, you know, with childbirth.  And then they – I don’t know what they done with the store and everything back up there, but it really wasn’t a lot, but still it was a place they was making a little money.

 

Wayne:  But had your mom passed away by –

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  – – When you went back?

 

Milo: Yes.

 

Wayne:  Did she die down here?

 

Milo:  She died in the log cabin house.

 

Wayne:  So she’s buried in the Plain City Cemetery?

 

Milo:  Right on Ed Sharp’s lots next to Ed Sharp and his wife. (Telephone rings.) Let me catch that.

 

Wayne:  Can I borrow – –

(Pause in Tape.)

 

Milo:  … Ross and gas station there at five points.  And this is his boy, Nick Kuntz, married this Rhees girl and the lived right across the street.

 

Wayne:  I probably know her aunts and uncles up in Pleasant View.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Beth and – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  – -Dorothy and – –

 

Milo:  See, her dad helped build these homes here for Jones when they built this housing unit when they bought that ground from Blanch Estate there.

 

Wayne:  Oh, the Wheeler – –

 

Milo:  Wheeler Estate.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I was telling you about my mother.

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  Go ahead and tell me what you want.

 

Wayne:  No, that’s fine because I don’t know this story.  Harold told me some of it years ago, but – –

 

Milo:  But – – are you still on tape?

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  I’ll tell you a little bit more about dad and mother.  My dad, he always walked to work.  They had no cars then.  They had horses and buggies and that’s about all.  And he walked from Plain City over to Wilson Lane to work at the sugar factory.

 

Wayne:  Oh, yeah.

 

Milo:  And let Folkman – –

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  – – Mark Folkman, them guys used to walk through the fields to Wilson Lane every day.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: Or ride a horse.

 

Wayne: Yeah, that’s four miles or so.

 

Milo: Four or five, yeah.

 

Wayne:  Four or five, yeah.

 

Milo:  Used to go over there to work at the sugar factory.

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  And whenever they come home or anything like that, they’d bring groceries and stuff home and carry it, you know, they – – nobody had transportation at that time.  But it was tough for everybody.  You don’t – – you talk about money, there was no money.  They used – – they used scrip money, you remember, for a long time they give them kind of a paper money.  If you took a veal or something to town, they’d give you scrip money for it, and then you could trade it back for groceries.

 

Wayne:  Can you remember the scrip money?

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  I don’t think I can.

 

Milo:  I’ve got – – I’ve got some papers and stuff like the stamps they used to save, sugar stamps and stuff – –

 

Wayne:  During the war.

 

Milo:  During the war – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – You had to have a stamp and stuff like that.

 

Wayne:  Remember those tax tokens:

 

Milo:  I saved – –

 

Wayne:  Plastic – –

 

Milo:  I tacked some of them with a hole in them, you know.

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  They called them Governor Blood money or something, your dad did – –

 

Wayne:   Yeah

 

Milo:  – – Mr. Carver.  But there was no money for nobody around the country.  And my Dad tried to feed us kids when we went back to Idaho wit Grandpa and Grandma.  And they was – – they was probably like some of us today, didn’t have shoes – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – You know what I mean?

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Hard going.

 

Wayne: Did your Dad go back with you to Paul

 

Milo: He rode back to Paul and stayed back there.  He worked at the sugar factory for a long time with Grandpa.

 

Wayne:  Uh – huh

 

Milo:  And the Phibbs, there used to be a Judge Phibbs that married into the Ross Family.  And they stayed in that area there for a long time.  But I’ve – – my son now, Paul Ross, Milo Paul Ross, he’s – – he lives in Paul, Idaho.

 

Wayne:  Oh, does he?

 

Milo:  And it’s quite a coincidence, you know, and – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – I went back and I was gonna try to buy the building, one thing another, but it’s so hard to get the records and everything.  But I do have the records and plot plan and some papers of my mother’s.

 

Wayne:  Is the old store building – –

 

Milo:  The old – –

 

Wayne: – – Still there?

 

Milo:  The old store is there.  I wanted to try to buy it, but Paul, Idaho, wants to restore the – – that street.  Kind of run down, dilapidated, you know.  They don’t wanna do anything right now until they get the money to go ahead and do things like that with it.  But my dad called and said for the Sharps to come and get the boys because they couldn’t feed us.  So that’s why Ed Sharp, Dale Sharp, and Fred Hunt, Aunt Vic Hunt, they took each one of us a kid.  Ed Sharp took me Milo.

 

Wayne:  Uh – huh.

 

Milo:  Dale Sharp took Harold.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  And Fred Hunt, that would be Aunt Vic, my mother’s sister, Vic Hunt, they took Paul.  And then June, she stayed with the Streeters all the time.

 

Wayne:  Now, they’re in Ogden.

 

Milo:  In Ogden.

 

Wayne:  Uh – huh

 

Milo:  So that’s how – – that’s why June didn’t stay here with us all the time.

 

Wayne:  Now, this Streeter business, did – – Mark you say disappeared.

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne:  Did he never come back?

 

Milo:  He came back later on in years.  He went as prisoner – – He went A.W.O.L.

 

Wayne:  Uh – huh.

 

Milo: Do you understand me?

 

Wayne: Yeah

 

Milo:  They called him a traitor of the country.  They figured he spied against the United States.

 

Wayne:  Was he overseas?

 

Milo:  I don’t know.

 

Wayne:  Good heavens, I – –

 

Milo:  But, you know, you hear these stories.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And then in World War II, he done the same thing.  He collaborated with the Japanese out of San Francisco, see.

 

Wayne: Good Lord.

 

Milo:  Yeah, Mark Streeter.  But he says he didn’t, but he did.  You understand me?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  He – – He seemed like he always had his nose with the enemy.  You understand what I mean?

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  Trying to make money that way.

 

Wayne:  What did he do to make a living when he came back?

 

Milo:  He’s just a dog catcher, something, picked up side jobs, Mark Streeter.

 

Wayne:  Of course mother had divorced him then – –

 

Milo: right.

 

Wayne:  – – on grounds of desertion.

 

Milo:  desertion.

 

Wayne: Okay

 

Milo:  That’s why she married my Dad.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  But, see, Dad called the Sharps and asked them to come and get the kids.  So that would be in the wintertime they come and got us, and Ed Sharp took me, Fred Hunt took Paul, Dale Sharp took Harold.

 

Wayne:  And June?

 

Milo:  Stayed with the Streeters.

 

Wayne:  In Ogden.

 

Milo:  Grandma Streeter.

 

Wayne:  And she was – – she was a Streeter.  Her father had been Mark Streeter.

 

Milo:  My sister is a Streeter.  I’m a Ross.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  We’re half.

 

Wayne:  Yeah. Is – – is June still alive?

 

Milo:  June’s still alive.  She lives down in California.

 

Wayne:  I don’t think I ever knew her, but I’m sure she was in Plain City a lot.

 

Milo:  She stayed around with Fern Sharp all the time.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  They used to come out and stay there.  And – –

 

Wayne:  When she went – – when she came down from Paul and you guys went to the Sharps, she went – – did she stay with Mark Streeter then her father.

 

Milo:  Mark Streeter’s mother.

 

Wayne:  Oh, not with Mark?

 

Milo:  Well, Mark Streeter lived with his mother.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Do you understand it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And, oh, you remember Christensen, lives down by the store.

 

Wayne: Pub?

 

Milo: Yeah

 

Wayne:  And Cap – –

 

Milo:  He – – he lived down below Jack’s garage.  But he had a brother that lived up by – –  Ralph Taylor lives there now.

 

Wayne:  Well, Cap Christensen – –

 

Milo: Cap Christensen.

 

Wayne: A – – (Unintelligible)

 

Milo:  That was Cap, wasn’t it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah, that was Cap.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  But you see, they had a daughter, would be Harold Christensen and – –

 

Wayne:  And Max.

 

Milo: Max and all them – –

 

Wayne:  Artell.

 

Milo: Artell.

 

Wayne: (Unintelligible)

 

Milo:  Artell used to run around with my sister, June, and Fern Sharp – –

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo: – – The three of them.  You probably remember them together.

 

Wayne:  I just spent an afternoon with Fern.

 

Milo:  Did you?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Fern Sharp?

 

Wayne:  Yeah. Shields.

 

Milo:  Yeah

 

Wayne:  Well, I’ve got that straight at last then.  But do you know how long Mark Streeter was away before he came back?

 

Milo:  Mark Streeter must have been away about four, five years, a deserter of the country.

 

Wayne:  I wonder what he did in those – –

 

Milo:   They – – they figured he was a traitor to the United States.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But he said he was sick in the hospital.  They – – I really never did know.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  I wonder if anyone does.

 

Milo:  The only way you could ever find out would be to go through court records.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Weber County.

 

Wayne:  Yeah. Okay.  So that you’re with Ed, Paul’s with – –

 

Milo:  Fred and Vic.

 

Wayne:  – – Fred and Vic, and Harold’s with Dale and – –

 

Milo:  Violet.  She was – –

 

Wayne: Violet.

 

Milo:  Her name was Violet Grieves before she married Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  She’d be related to Pete Grieve and them.

 

Wayne:  Uh – huh

 

Milo:  And they would be related to the Easts in Warren.  And Ed Sharp’s wife was East from Warren.

 

Wayne:  She was.

 

Milo:  So see, there’s kind of a – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – Intermarriage through the – – each family down through that line down – – but when Dad told the Sharps to come and get us out of Idaho, they came up to get us.  And I was about five years old when they come.  And before – – before we was ready to come home to Utah again, us kids was playing in bed and I got a – – a fishhook caught in the bottom part of my eyelid here.

 

Wayne:  Good Lord.

 

Milo:  And I was only maybe five years old and – –

 

Wayne: yeah.

 

Milo:  – – I remembered it.  And I can remember my Grandpa telling me, do not pull, leave it alone, leave it alone, and he said, I’ll have to get you some help.  So, they went and got some help and these guys come back and I heard one of them say, you take his feet and I’ll take his arms.  You know.  And somebody else hold his head.  So, what they done, they – – they – – I think they must have cut the hook or something and then reversed and took it out.  I don’t know what they done.  But it was caught in the bottom of my eyelid.  But they – – I was sore of that when I come to Utah.  And then when – – I don’t know whether Dale Sharp was with Os Richardson when they come up to get us or not.  But they come up in a big car to Paul, Idaho, and they brought us home across the Snake River at Paul, between Paul and Rupert there someplace to bring us back home.  And every so often, I’d look back and I – – I thought I could always see Grandpa and Grandma and my Dad waving goodbye to me.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  And farther down the road we got, it seemed like we were always stopping, the car had trouble or something, tires or something.  Putting water in it and that this – –

 

Wayne: This is Os and Mary’s car.

 

Milo: Yes.

 

Wayne: Did Mary come up?

 

Milo: I don’t remember whether Aunt Mary was with us or not.  I don’t remember who was in the car, but I do remember Os Richardson because he was kind of a heavyset man and he was quite blunt.

 

Wayne: Yeah, I remember him.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  He was our neighbor down at Warren.

 

Milo: Yeah

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  He was quite blunt.  And he’s – – I figured him a mean man.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo:  And when I’d wave, he’d also say, put your arm down, you know, don’t distract me, and this and that, you know.

 

Wayne: Yeah

 

Milo:  But we rode in the back seat, but I’d look back and didn’t matter which hill.  I could see my Grandpa and Grandma.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.   Yeah.

 

Milo:  But it was quite an experience.  We came home and they.

 

Wayne:    How old you were then, Milo?

 

Milo:  Five years old.

 

Wayne:  Five.

 

Milo:  But they – – they brought me back and give me to Ed Sharp.  And they took Paul down and left him with Fred and Vic.  And then they took Paul – – Harold down and give him with Dale Sharp.  But I think Dale Sharp went us with us – – them to bring us back.  And we were only within what, two or three blocks of each other, and yet I couldn’t go see him.  They was afraid I’d run away.

 

Wayne: Oh

 

Milo:  So I was kind of quarantined, you know, and you’ll get to see him on the weekend.  You know, they was trying to separate us.

 

Wayne:  Could be, yeah.

 

Milo:  And when Paul come here, he had a hernia down right this side of his groin.  And when he’d cough or sneeze, it’d pop open like a ball inside.

 

Wayne:  He’s just a little boy.

 

Milo: Little boy.  And it would pop open and they had kind of a – – like a leather strap or something around there and a pad around it to kind of hold it in – –

 

Wayne:  A truss.

 

Milo: – – Truss or something.

 

Wayne:  A trust, yeah.

 

Milo:  But it was tough for us kids.

 

Wayne:  I’ll bet it was tough.

 

Milo:  It was tough.

 

Wayne:  You – – you were the oldest.

 

Milo:  I was the oldest, five.

 

Wayne:  Five and – –

 

Milo:  Four and three.

 

Wayne:  Harold was four – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  No, Harold was – –

 

Milo:  Paul.

 

Wayne: Paul.

 

Milo:  And Harold.  Five, four, three.

 

Wayne:  Five, four, three.  Yeah and June was maybe six?

 

Milo:  She was probably two years older than us.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Three, I don’t remember just what.

 

Wayne:  Did you ever see your dad – –

 

Milo:  Yes, sir.

 

Wayne:  – – Again:

 

Milo:  After the war, I went into the service, World War II, and I received a letter from Livermore, California, and it stated that my Dad was a veteran, World War I, and he was in Livermore, California not expected to live over maybe a week, three, four days.  And he would like to see one of his boys if they’d like to come and see him before he died.  And the Sharps and everybody told me leave him alone because he was a no good man.  He never cared about us.

Well, I’d married my wife, Gladys, and we had this son, Milo Paul, but her dad Donaldson says, “Heck, Milo, if you wanna go down see your dad,” he says, “I’ll give you the greyhound bus fair down.  $55, $80, whatever it is.”

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  He said you’ll have to thumb your way back.  I said, well, if I get down there I’ll get to see him, that’d be fine.  I asked my wife, if it would be all right to go, and she said yes.

 

Wayne:  Were you living in Plain City?

 

Milo:  Living in Plain City.  And we were renting at that time just a house, you know.  And I says to Dale Sharp and them, I says, I thought maybe I’d go down and see my Dad.  And they says, forget about him.  Him he’s no good son of a bugger, you know, they called him by a name – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – So I decided to go and I went to Livermore, California, and I jumped a ride out with an army truck and to Livermore, California, Hospital.  I got there late – –

 

Wayne:  Was this an army hospital?

Milo:  Yeah. Veterans’ Hospital, Livermore.  And I got there late in the evening.  And nothing was going around and nobody was doing anything, it was on the weekend.  So I go into the hospital and nobody’s around so I just kind of walked through the – – it was late and maybe 1:00, 1:30 in the evening, night.  And I walked down through the halls and went up on the second floor and walked down the aisle a little bit, and I thought, well, maybe what I better do is just sit here in the corner, and maybe have a catnap for a while.  Then I heard somebody cough, and heard them say, “what time is it?”  And somebody said, “it’s about 1:30, 2:00 o’clock,” see?  So I heard this talking and I walked down the hall a ways and I seen the one light on one of the beds and I says – – stepped towards the door, and I says, “Does anybody happen to know a Jack Ross or anybody in here, is anybody here can hear me?”  And a voice come back and it says, yes.  “Come on in, Milo or Harold.  I’m your Dad.”

 

Wayne:  Oh, boy.

 

Milo:  And I walked right to that man’s door.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  And It’s – – And about that time, two guys grab me by the arm and escorted me out of the room.  And they gonna have me put in jail because he had no visitors.  You understand me?  He was on oxygen and this and that.   So I says, “Oh, what difference does it make?”  I said, “I’m his son.  I don’t remember my dad.”  I says “At least you could do is let me tell him goodbye.  If he’s gonna die, what difference does it make?”  So these two orderlies says, “you stay outside for a while.”  So I stood there by the door and they hurried and they put some needles and stuff in his legs.  Was probably giving him morphine or something.  I don’t know what they were doing, trying to do keep him alive longer, something, I don’t know what they were doing.  But I says to the one gentleman, he run past me fast, and I says, “Couldn’t I just say goodbye to my dad anyway?” And he said, “Well, just wait a while.”  So pretty soon there was about three of them over my dad working with him, and finally the one young man says to the rest, he says, “Oh, let the kid come in and say goodbye to his dad.” So I walked in, talked to dad.  He says, “I’m sure glad you come.”  And I said, “Well, I’m Milo.”  And I said, “I don’t remember you, Dad,” but I says, “I decided after reading the Red Cross letter I would come and see and you tell you hello.  Tell you thanks for letting me have a Dad, anyway.”

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So he says, “Well, Milo,” he said, “I’m gonna tell you a secret.” He says, “When I took you kids to Idaho, I was a son of a bitch.”  Then he says, “When I got into Idaho, he says, I was a son of a bitch.”  And he says, “It didn’t matter what I done, I was a son of a bitch.”  He said, “Then they told me if I ever come back to see my kids after I sent you down to Utah, they would kill me.”

 

Wayne:  The Sharps told him?

 

Milo:  The Sharps.  I says, “Which one of the Sharps?”  And he says, “It’s best not to say, Milo.”  But he says, “I’ll tell you secret, if you don’t think I ever come to see you, ask Betty Boothe.”  He says, “You remember Betty Boothe?”  And I said, “She’s been in my home, many, many, many times.”  And he says, “I come out in a taxi cab three times, and I got Betty Boothe to go with me to see you kids.”  And he said, “I rode out to Ed Sharp’s Farm and I didn’t dare get out of the taxi.  Because I – – I was threatened I’d be killed.”  So he says, “I did wave out of the taxicab and sit there and watch you out in the field,” us kids.  And says, “If you don’t think I did,” he says, “ask Betty Boothe.”  And then I got a different feeling towards my Dad – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – when he said that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, I can imagine.

 

Milo:  Because I could see – – now I have letters that was sent to the Sharps and the Hunts and they hid the letters from us kids.  They would not tell us that Dad and Grandpa sent us letters or anything.  And I have these letters.  And in these letters it’s Grandpa and Grandma asking please, tell us how the little kids are.  And then my Dad, he wrote a letter and he says – –

 

Wayne:  Now, were there – – they up in Paul all this time.

 

Milo:  Paul, Idaho, all that time.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But the Sharps and them, they’d never read us the letters and everything because they – – they wanted us to be with them.  The Sharps and Hunt.  Do you understand?

 

Wayne:  Yeah, I understand.

 

Milo:  Kind of hard – – but I have those letters.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And when – –

 

Wayne:  He was thinking about you a lot more than you thought he was.

 

Milo:  Well, this is the bad part about life.  Now, Aunt Vic Hunt, when Fred Hunt died, Howard Hunt got killed in the war, her son – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: – – Fred Hunt got – – died.  Bert Hunt, their son, got electrocuted and Bob, the grandson, got electrocuted.

 

Wayne:  I remember that.

 

Milo:  The night before they got electrocuted, I helped Bert Hunt carry the milk from the barn to the milk parlor where Bert and his boy got electrocuted.    And I helped carry that milk cans the same as they did the night before.

But Aunt Vic Hunt says, “Oh, Milo, she says, I just feel like I – – I’m being punished for something.”  She says, “I’ve got a box here that came from you folks.”  And she says, “I’ve got all these letters and everything.”  She says, “I’ve read them.  And I’ve never told you about them.”  But she says, “I’m not gonna give them all to you now, but I will give you some of them.”  So she give me some of the letters.  And she had kind of an old cigar box.  Remember the old cigars boxes with a lid on it?  And she says, “I’ll give you this, too.”  She says, “I think maybe I’ve been punished long enough now.”  She says, “I’ve lost too many in my family.  Maybe I’m being punished because I haven’t been fair to you kids.”  She says, “Here’s the box, the gifts and everything they’ve sent to you.”  I says, “Aunt Vic, if that means that much to you,” I says, “You keep the box.  And then when you’re dead and gone, you tell your family to give it to me.”   But I says, “I will take these letters.  And I sure love you for it.  And thanks for being good to us kids.”  And I says, “Gladys and I will go now.”  My wife was with me.  She was really brokenhearted.  I told her she was forgiven and everything.  I says, “Live you life out.”  I done  a lot a work for aunt Vic after that.  Helped her wire the house and anything went wrong, I’d go help her, help her, help her, help her, help her.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But when she – – she died, the family never did give me the cigar box of stuff back.  They kept it.  And I think today Archie Hunt probably has it.

 

Wayne:  Now who would – – who is he?

 

Milo:  That would be Vic Hunt’s boy, grandson.  Bret Hunt – –

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  – – That got electrocuted.  This is my wife and daughter, if you’d shut that off a second I’ll help them.

 

(pause in the tape.)

 

Milo:  The letters and stuff that my wife and I got from my aunt Vic Hunt.  And when I read them, I – –  I felt a lot better towards my dad and my family because it’s – – they wanted to separate from us that Ross family altogether.  But I have an old, old bible on the Ross side that’s a great big hardback bible from Virginia.  And I have a half-brother back there.  And my dad had married a day lady back there.  When my mother died, he went back to Virginia to see if he could make ends meet to bring the family maybe to Virginia.  But he couldn’t make a go of it with the day.  And this son of his, Hobart Day, he told him about having a family here, Milo, Paul, and Harold, and John that died.  Well, all these years, Hobart, the half-brother back there, instead of keeping the Ross family, he kept the Day family.  So he kept the old bibles and everything back Virginia at the home back there.  So I got Hobart, after I made contact with him after doing genealogy work after the war, then he – – I bought his way out here, him and his wife out here twice to visit with us.  And he brought this old, old bible out here and it’s one of the King James, I’d say it’s about five, six inches deep, hardback.  You’ve probably seen them.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I that have of the Ross Family there, but it’s quite a deal, you know.

 

Wayne:  Did you ever see your Ross grandparents?

 

Milo:  Not after.  See, they were old and feeble.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  I never even got to go to their funeral.  That’s what makes it bad.  But my brother, Harold Ross, his wife, Colleen Hancock, she done a lot of genealogy work and she’s the one that got us together on genealogy to get the Ross family back to Virginia.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And Hobart Day, the half-brother.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But it’s – – and then I have – – I have my grandparents’ old china cabinet.  And I have the old wooden washing machine.  And I have the old cream separator they used to turn the handle on.

 

Wayne:  Now, Which grandparents?

 

Milo:  The Ross and the Sharps.

 

Wayne:  After the – – your Ross grandparents passed away?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  And Paul.

 

Milo:  Yeah, I’ve got part of their – –

 

Wayne:  How did you get those – – That?

 

Milo:  Through the – – through the people in Idaho.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  See, they – – they set them aside.

 

Wayne:  In the ward – – well, they weren’t church members, were they?

 

Milo:  No.  They were Presbyterians.  They were not LDS.  But I have this old wooden wash machine.  I’ve recent – – redone it and put it together.  Made new stays for it so every part works on it and all the metal.

 

Wayne:  Did you go up and bring them back?

 

Milo:  No, they were given to me from Paul or Rupert, Idaho.  On the Phibbs side family or something like that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So I do have – – And then on the Grandma Sharp side, I have parts of her old stuff, too, books and stuff.  I have my mother’s records of Paul, Idaho store where they – – where they sold eggs, a dozen eggs like for two and a half, three cents.

 

Wayne:  A dozen.

 

Milo:  A dozen.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  They – – It’s amazing.  I have – – I have a lot of old antiques and stuff.  Before you leave, I’ll show you lot of my old antiques and let you see the washer and stuff like that.

 

Wayne:  I’d like to see that.

 

Milo:  Then maybe someday you’d like to come by and take a picture or of them or something.  Or you can talk to them – – while we’re looking at them, talk to us.

 

Wayne:  While we’re on family, your mother was a Sharp.

 

Milo:  Ethel Sharp.  Her dad was – – they lived where Ernie Sharp lived.  Milo Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Oh, yes.  Now, was it Milo – – Milo Sharp was one of them group that separated from the church, was he not?  And they became Episcopalians.

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne:  Do you know anything about the cause of that split?

 

Milo:  One Bishop.

 

Wayne:  Really:  I’ve not been able to pinpoint it.

 

Milo:  The way I understand it, they – – they asked them to pay a tenth of the tithing of everything.  And he – – he told them if they killed a beef, he wanted a certain part of that beef.

 

Wayne:  The Bishop told them?

 

Milo:  The Bishop.

 

Wayne:  Do you know who the Bishop was?

 

Milo:  I think Thatcher.  Does that sound right?

 

Wayne:  That sounds too late.  Gil Thatcher was Bishop,  we’re back in 1869 and ’70 when this Schism, this Split, so it wasn’t Gil Thatcher.

 

Milo:  Well, I don’t know for sure.

 

Wayne:  Shurtliff, maybe.

 

Milo:  I was back in that area.  But the Bishop at that time, the Hunts excommunicated from the church also.  Fred Hunt, Vic Hunt, all them, they went to Episcopal Church.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  They build the Episcopal church down by Dean Baker’s there.  They use that for the Lions Club now.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  My mother used to be the organist for it for many years, they said.

 

Wayne:  Your mother Ross?

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.  But she was a Sharp, Ethel Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Of course, Sharp.

 

Milo:  She was a Sharp.  She played the organ for them when she was younger.  And she played the organ and kind of led the music and everything like that.

 

Wayne:  You know, Vic didn’t know for sure what had caused – – it was her father, Milo.

 

Milo:  Right, Milo.

 

Wayne:  And he – – she said, oh, Wayne, they liked their – – to play cards and they did a lot of things that church didn’t like and they just finally got tired of it.  But I think there was some – – something somewhere.

 

Milo:  It was over – – it was over the meat.  Dale Sharp – –

 

Wayne:  Uh – huh.

 

Milo:  – – Took care of Harold and Ed Sharp took care of me.  And Ed Sharp gave the church an awful lot.  He used give them the asparagus, he used to give them potatoes.  When they harvest or anything like that, he’d say, Bishop Heslop, Bishop Maw, whoever the Bishop was, come up and get sacks of stuff for some of the people.  But Ed Sharp and them, they always give to the Mormon church.

Now, when they built the Plain City church down here, they used to sell cakes and stuff, raffles.

 

Wayne:  The new one?

 

Milo:  The new one.

 

Wayne:  That’s gonna be torn down.

 

Milo:  Yeah, but I – – see, I helped build that.  I was a carpenter on it and Lee Carver was the supervisor on it.  And I was – – George Knight was the Bishop on it.  But when they auctioned these cakes and that off, Fred Hunt was probably one of the ones that bought the cakes probably more than anybody.  He probably paid four, five hundred dollars for a cake.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, yeah.

 

Milo:  So you see, it wasn’t religion against religion because they did  – –

 

Wayne:  Not by that time.

 

Milo:  – – They were together.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But the earlier Sharps and some of them, And I think some of the Taylors pulled away from the church, too – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: – – And they went farther east.

 

Wayne:  The Thomases.

 

Milo: Thomases, they pushed out, too, on account.

 

Wayne:  But then they slowly worked back.

 

Milo:  Come back in.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  As a little guy then living in a family that was not LDS – –

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne:  – – What was your religious upbringing, Milo?

 

Milo:  Never had much.  We did go to church.

 

Wayne:  To the LDS?

 

Milo:  No.

 

Wayne:  Or to the Episcopalian?

 

Milo:  Episcopalian – –

 

Wayne:  Really.

 

Milo:  When we went to Idaho, see, they didn’t have a Mormon church there.  See, the Presbyterian, whatever it is.  But I’ve got some of my mother’s song books and stuff, some of the old songs books.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  They sing the same songs there as we do today in our church.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  It’s kind of nice.

 

Wayne:  I can remember as a kid, we would hear the bell ring, the bells – –

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  – – Ring, and we’d run down to the end of the lane – –

 

Milo:  To look at it.

 

Wayne:  – – And look at the people going to church.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  But that – – those were – – those were only maybe once a month or whenever the minister could come out – –

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  – – From Ogden.  And that someone told me, I think, oh, Leslie’s wife, Ruth – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  – – Poulson, that there was a lady lived out in Plain City, lived in that house where Leslie and Ruth lived, who was kind of she – – the representative of the Episcopalian Church, and she taught school.

 

Milo:  Uh-hu.

 

Wayne:  Did you go to that school?

 

Milo:  I didn’t.

 

Wayne:  Might not have been around when you – –

 

Milo:  If you reach down there to your right side down there’s a little tiny book right there.

 

Wayne:  This one?

 

Milo:  I got a lot of little books like that.  That book right there came from Huntsville.  That came from the Joseph Peterson’s library in Huntsville probably, huh?

 

Wayne:  Yeah, yeah.

 

Milo:  But I’ve got – – I pick up all these books and stuff like this when I’m out around traveling, and I buy them and get them.

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  Now, I’ve got a lot of books like this and I’ve got a lot of mother’s books and stuff where she’s wrote poetry and stuff.  My mother wrote a lot of poetry.  And Albert Sharp got almost all the poetry and everything of my mother’s.  So if you got on the Sharp – –

 

Wayne:  I did talk to Albert, but I didn’t see any of your mother’s poetry.

 

Milo:  She wrote a lot of poetry.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.  Well, that was probably true of Harold growing up with Dale Sharp – –

 

Milo:  Non Mormons.

 

Wayne:  But Harold went to Mutual with us.

 

Milo:  We went to Mutual.

 

Wayne:  You went to Mutual.

 

Milo:  I went to Mutual.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.  And Harold became a member of the LDS Church.

 

Milo:  Right.  So did I later.

 

Wayne:  Do you know – –

 

(End of Tape I-A.)

 

Wayne:  …Of a conversation with Milo Ross in Plain City.

 

Milo:  See, when we were – – When we went to school, we – – they’d always ask us to go to Sunday School or Mutual or whatever they had.

 

Wayne:  Primary.

 

Milo:  Primary.

 

Wayne:  Did you go across the square – –

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  – – to – –

 

Milo:  Yeah, we always – – he went anyway.

 

Wayne:  Sure.

 

Milo:  You know, because everybody kind of went together.  Then we went to Weber High.  I took Seminary.

 

Wayne:  You did?

 

Milo:  So – – well, Ruth took Seminary too.  Your sister, Ruth.

 

Wayne:  Oh sure.  So did I.

 

Milo:  So we took – – we took Seminary – –

 

Wayne:  Floyd Eyre.

 

Milo:  – – Together.  We took seminary from Mr.  Eyre, he was the principal, he was the teacher of it.  But, you know, I enjoyed – – I enjoyed listening to the stories.  Then I enjoyed taking the assignments, reading certain scriptures and things that they give us.

At that time, they did not press the Book of Mormon like they do now.

 

Wayne:  No, I think that’s true.

 

Milo:  See, And – – But I enjoyed it.

 

Wayne:  And Ernie didn’t object to this?

 

Milo:  Nobody ever – – nobody ever objected to anything.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  It’s like the Martinis and the Ropalatos in West Weber, I’ve done a lot of building for them.  The old grandpa and grandma and them guys, you’re not gonna convert them, but you see the young girls and the young boys are joining the Mormon church.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh, yeah.

 

Milo:  See, the Martini girls marries the Dickemores that’s Mormons.  So see they – – but the old – –

Turn that off just a minute.

(Tape pauses.)

 

Milo:  …Truck – – truck and trailer all loaded.  And I seen aunt Vic get hit.  She came up to the stop sign from the west side and she stopped.  And then she went to go across the road, and when she went to go across the road, there was a car came from the north, I’d say hundred miles an hour, some young girl.  And the young girl was gonna pass her on the front as aunt Vic went ahead.  She throwed on her brakes a little tiny bit and she got caught Aunt Vic back, just back of the door, back of her car.  And that throwed Aunt Vic’s car around in a spin and the young girl come right on down to where I was at watching it.

 

Wayne:  Where were you?

 

Milo:  I come from the south.  And see I – – I seen it all.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Well, I knew it was Aunt Vic’s car, and this young girl, she come down to road, and she was unconscious laying over the steering wheel.  And she come down the road, so I pulled off the side the road so that she wouldn’t hit me, then she made kind of a slump over on the wheel and she pulled to the right side and got off the side the road and that’s where her car stopped.  So I opened the door there and a kid come up on a motorcycle and I said, run back down to the store on your bike, motorbike, and get some ice and let’s put on her and see if we can revive her.  So the kid, he went back and got ice and the called the cops and that.  I told them to call the cops.  And he come back with this bag of ice and I was putting ice and that on when policeman came, and she came to by that time.

 

Wayne:  Now, is this the young girl or Vic?

 

Milo:  The young girl.

 

Wayne:  Oh.  Where’s Vic all this time?

 

Milo:  She was up at the intersection about 50 – – oh, a hundred, hundred feet farther up the road.

 

Wayne:  In her car.

 

Milo:  In her car.  But she had spun around and she had went on the east side of the road facing south.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  It spun her completely around.

 

Wayne:  Didn’t tip over.

 

Milo:  Didn’t tip over.  But I seen it.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  Her sister Mary was with her – –

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  – – That day, I talked – – and I did – – I asked Vic what was it like growing up in Plain City as a not only a non Mormon, but as the daughter of one of the ringleaders in the separation.  And she said, oh, made no difference.  She said, I never had any prejudice.  And Mary wouldn’t agree with her.  Mary said they looked down on us.

Did you ever have any sense of being looked down on because you were not a member of the church?

 

Milo:  I don’t think anybody ever looked on any of us.

 

Wayne:  Did you hear Vic or Dale or any – – or Ed – –

 

Milo:  Nobody ever – – nobody ever looked down on the church.

 

Wayne:  Did the church look down on them?

 

Milo:  I don’t think so.

 

Wayne:  Dad was a great friend of Ed’s.

 

Milo:  Every – – they were the closest buddies in the world.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And Joe Singleton.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

Milo:  You dad and Ed Sharp and Joe Singleton was probably the first appraisers and supervisors of the home loan administration or something like that, weren’t they?

 

Wayne:  Dad as a – – worked for the assessor’s office.

 

Milo:  Okay.

 

Wayne:  In Weber County.

 

Milo:  That’s why they got Ed Sharp and Joe Singleton to work with him then.

 

Wayne:  Oh, I guess, yeah.

 

Milo:  But they went around and appraised property and one thin another, when these guys was trying to get home loans for farms and stuff.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Now, when they got the loans and stuff like that, they got them on a loan, real low interest rate.  And then when they settled my grandmother Sharp’s estate and one thing another, my estate money from my mother’s side, us kids being young, they decided instead of giving us kids the money, the one that was taking care of us would get the money and they could put – – apply it on their home loan – –

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  – – To keep their farms because a lot of people was losing their farms because a lot of people was losing their farms at that time.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Mr. England and some of them had lost their farms, you know, and the Maws and some of them, they’d – – that’s when the banks went broke.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  And so when they settled the estate and one thing anther, my share went to Ed Sharp.  And Harold’s share of his when the split it up amongst us kids went to Dal Sharp.  And Fred Hunt took Paul’s share, see?

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  And they applied that to their home loans.  To keep them from losing their farms.  Then after Ed Sharp, these guys die, Vic settled the Sharp Estate on their side, Ed Sharp’s Estate, and Ed Sharp’s girls and boys, they didn’t wanna pay me back the loan that they had taken from me as a youngster.  They said I wasn’t entitled to it because I hadn’t applied for it.  You know, they go back to the legal deal.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, yeah.

 

Milo:  So I says, well. I’m not gonna fight nobody.  But I said,tell you what I’d like you to do.  Why don’t you just pay me four or five percent interest on it all those years.

 

Wayne:  Just give you the interest.

 

Milo:  Yeah, but it was kind of a sore thumb.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I told them I don’t care.

 

Wayne:  It was a loan that you had made without knowing it.

 

Milo:  I – – I didn’t know anything about it.

 

Wayne:  Right.  That’s an odd way of handling that, you know, anyway – –

 

Milo:  Well – –

 

Wayne:  – – If it should have been put in a trust of some sort and the – – so you would be sure to get it.

 

Milo:  I didn’t really want it because I helped my uncle Ed save his farm that raised me, you understand?

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  So I – – I said, oh, he was good enough to give me a home, I don’t care.

 

Wayne:  Just to – p for the tape and to jog my memory, who were Ed’s kids?  I remember liking – – there was Ruby.

 

Milo:  Louise, start with Louise.

 

Wayne:  Okay.  She the oldest.

 

Milo:  Louise.

 

Wayne:  Louise.

 

Milo:  She married Ralph Blanch.

 

Wayne:  Oh, okay.

 

Milo:  Florence, married Nielson.

 

Wayne:  From Taylor?

 

Milo:  West Weber, Taylor.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Leonard Nielson.

 

Wayne:  Did he used to pitch.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, stiff-armed and – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.  And then there was Marjorie, she married Ferrel Clontz, big tall guy, went to Idaho.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Then there was Ethel Sharp.

 

Wayne:  I remember Ethel.

 

Milo:  She married Garth Hunter.  Then there was Ruby Sharp.  She married Norton Salberg.  There was Milo Sharp.  You remember Milo Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Mutt?

Milo:  Mutt Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Okay.

 

Milo:  That’s Milo.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And then there was Dean Sharp – – no, there was Josephine.

 

Wayne:  Josephine.

 

Milo:  Josephine Sharp, she married Darwin Costley, Paul Costley’s brother.

 

Wayne:  uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Then Dean Sharp, the baby.

 

Wayne:  Dean.

 

Milo:  Dean Sharp.  And Louise took care of Dean when Ed’s wife passed away.

 

Wayne:  Oh, who was Ed’s wife.

 

Milo:  She was Lilly East.

 

Wayne: Right, okay.  From Warren.

 

Milo: From Warren.

 

Wayne:  Yeah?

 

Milo: Yeah

 

Wayne: So there were two Milos in your house.

 

Milo:  Both Milo, Milo Ross and Milo Sharp.

 

Wayne: Right.

 

Milo: I was older.  Now, they had another son, Elmer Sharp, that died young with scarlet fever or something, around 12 or 13 years old, but I don’t remember him.  When we were kids at that – – living with Ed Sharp’s at that time, they had diphtheria, they had different things that they used to have this doctor that used to come out, Dr. Brown or somebody, and they’d always give us a shot and medicines and stuff, you know.

 

Wayne: Yeah.  So how – – you were – – you were five when you went to live with Ed?

 

Milo:  I was five when they brought me back down here to live with Ed Sharp, five.

 

Wayne: So those kids were your brothers and sisters in effect.

 

Milo: Not that close.

 

Wayne:  Weren’t you?

 

Milo: Un-unh.  They always – – I don’t know, they – – they felt like Ed Sharp showed me a little more prejudice or something.  When he got his truck, I got to jump in the truck and go with him once in a while to feed the cattle and stuff, do you understand that?

 

Wayne: Uh-huh.

 

Milo: Then had he his truck and he’d – – he’d get the neighbors they’d all get in the truck and go for rides and camp overnight up in the canyons.  And they used to go down to Warren, pick up the Easts and Caulders.  And they used to get in this truck and they’d go up to Pineview Dam, up to the wells – –

 

Wayne: Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  And they’d stay overnight.

 

Wayne: The old artesian wells.

 

Milo: Uh-huh.

 

Wayne: Yeah, before the dam.

 

Milo: And Jack Singleton, do you remember him?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: Now, Ed Sharp, he had a salt mine out at Promontory. And he used to – – he used to run that through the winter and harvest salt.  And I was with Ed Sharp – – you got a couple minutes:  I was with Ed Sharp once when we was coming back with a load of salt from Promontory up on the hill, and there was a place there we always stop and get a drink.  And there was a note there.  And Uncle Ed read it and this Charlie Carter, and old hermit out there, that used to prospect, mine, and one thing another, decided to end his life so he jumped down in the well and killed himself.  So Ed Sharp and I went down the railroad to Promontory, and Uncle Ed had them – – done something on teletype or wherever you call it, code, and they sent a message back to Brigham City to Sheriff Hyde, and he came out and told us to stay there until he came back out.  But they – – they took ropes and everything and lowered lanterns down in this here well.  When they’d get down so far where uncle Ed was down there trying to tie the rope around Charlie Carter, these lamps would go out. No oxygen, I guess – –

 

Wayne: yeah.

 

Milo: So – –

 

Wayne: But body was there, huh?

 

Milo: It was down in there.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: But Uncle Ed Sharp, after he went down in there and tried it a few times, the lights would keep going out, they said, well, we – – there’s no use putting down anymore because they’re gonna go out all the time.  But Charlie Carter, he came out there, the Sheriff, and he had somebody with him. But Ed Sharp, he went down – –

 

Wayne: Not Charlie Carter, he’s the body.  Hyde.

 

Milo: Hyde.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo: But he went down, Ed Sharp went down in the bottom to get Charlie out, Tie a rope on him, get him our if he could.  And we let the ropes down and then when Ed Sharp pulled on the rope or this or that, they could holler down and talk to him.  It was a deep well.  And they tied these ropes together three or four times, lowered him down in there and – – and finally they signaled, and they said, help us pull.  So, I was a little tot, maybe 14, 15. I really don’t remember, but I remember helping pull on this here rope, and they worked a long time to get him up out of the well.  Then when we get him right just up here to the top of the well to get him up of there, we couldn’t get him out over the well.  And somebody jumped up on that wooden platform there and took a hold of him and helped pull him out and over.  And Ed Sharp was underneath him, helped pushed him up out, dead Carter.  They pushed him out on the ground and he just kind of flopped out there on the ground where we were at.  And these – – Hyde and his friend took a hold of Ed Sharp and helped him out of the well, they untied the ropes from around his body because they – – If anything went wrong, we could pull him back up.  And soon as he got out on the ground, he went into a cold shock because he’d been down in that cold water.  And when he – – he started to shake and tremble and just – – he couldn’t control the nerves in his body.  And they made Ed Sharp lay down on the ground and they took his clothes off and they took blankets and gunny sacks and stuff and rubbed him and rubbed him and rubbed him and tried to circulate his blood or something.  I don’t know I’d – – hardly what was the matter.  I remember I was crying.  But remember I was so scared and – – And when he got out, they laid him down like that, I got down and I give him a big love, you know, and I told him, I said, I’m sure glad you’re out of there, you know, I – I was scared and I – –

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – I’m sure glad – –

 

Wayne: How old were you?

 

Milo:  I don’t know.  I must have been about 12, 14, I don’t remember.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I was just thinking about it, and Mr. Hyde and that guy, they rubbed him and rubbed him and rubbed him.  And they got him so he wasn’t trembling so much.  And then they – – they changed clothes around from one to another so he could have some dry clothes on.  But little things like that in life, you never forget it.

 

Wayne:  No. Lord.

 

Milo:  But see, nobody knows about Ed Sharp going down in the well and sav – –

 

Wayne:  No.

 

Milo:  – – Saving a dead man’s life and give him a burial.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Now he wasn’t a Mormon.

 

Wayne: Well, he was dead.

 

Milo:  He was dead.

 

Wayne:  Didn’t safe his life.  Saved the body.

 

Milo:  Saved the body, but he give him – – he give him life, he give him burial.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  But you see now, he wasn’t Mormon.

 

Wayne:  No.

 

Milo:  But see, he went down in there – –

 

Wayne:  What did Ed – – what did they do with the body.

 

Milo:  Sheriff Hyde, they – – Sheriff Hyde had that – – looked kind of like a square – – like an old square Hudson or something, Graham or something, I don’t remember.  An old square car.  And we had to help them put him on – – put his Charlie Carter on the back seat.  And they rolled him up in canvases, put him on the back seat and took him to Brigham.

Not long ago there was a piece in the paper about Mr. Hyde, they – – somebody wanted to get a little history about Sheriff Hyde, and I was just thinking, well, maybe I should let them people know that – –

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  – – I was – –

 

Wayne:  He was Sheriff up there for a long time.

 

Milo:  And then his boy took over after that, they tell me.

 

Wayne:  Oh, did he?

 

Milo:  They tell me.

 

Wayne:  Maybe that’s why – –  wasn’t it Warren Hyde or – –

 

Milo:  Warren, something like that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah. I didn’t know about Ed’s salt operation.

 

Milo:  That was one of the biggest in the state.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  Yeah. Then they opened that one up down towards Wendover.  And see, they – –

 

Wayne:  Ed did?

 

Milo:  No. Morton Salt or somebody – –

 

Wayne:  Oh, yeah, yeah.

 

Milo:  – – opened up a big one down there.  But we – – in the winter, they used to load boxcars, salt out – – out at promontory.

 

Wayne:  Now, did Ed own this operation.

 

Milo:  Ed Sharp and Ray Sharp.  They took – –

 

Wayne:  Who’s Ray.

 

Milo:  A brother.  Ed Sharp’s brother, Ray Sharp.

 

Wayne:  He never lived in Plain City?

 

Milo:  They lived in Clinton, Sunset.  But they run that salt pond and they – – but they had this salt pond out there and they – – they’d harvest the salt.  They took the horses out there to use the horses to plow the salt loose so they could harvest it.  It used to come in layers after water would evaporate.  They take the horses out there, but the horses hoofs would get coated up with salt so bad the horses got so sore they had to bring the horses back out.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So they rigged up the trucks and tractors and made little tractors and ski-doos to maybe haul maybe a half a ton out at a time – –

 

Wayne:  uh – huh.

 

Milo:  – – without using horses.

 

Wayne:  Did they – – they just sold it in gross weight or did they bag it?

 

Milo:  We bagged a lot of it.

 

Wayne:  Did you?

 

Milo:  100-pound bags.

 

Wayne:  And you worked out there.

 

Milo:  Oh, I had to work out there.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  They had a pond – –

 

Wayne:  Did all the other kids?

 

Milo:  The girls never did.  Let’s see, Eddie Sharp, Milo’s brother, Eddie Sharp, walked from Promontory across the cutoff to West Weber out here to back to Plain City.  He got homesick.  He wouldn’t stay out there.

 

Wayne:  He went over on the Lucin cutoff?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  How far is that”

 

Milo:  That would be about 75 miles – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: – – Going down to Brigham, down around there.  But he cut across the railroad track this way.  What is it, about 12 miles?  Maybe four – – oh, it’d be 12 miles to Little Mountain – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – Then the cutoff’s be about ten miles.

 

Wayne:  Little Eddie, huh?

 

Milo:  After that – – that’s be Ed Sharp’s young boy.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  But he got homesick and we were working in the salt and Ed Sharp and them guys, see, they was trucking salt over to Brigham and over to Corrine, they was stockpiling it.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  See, they’d truck pile it in, then they’d go get rations and stuff and come back.

 

Wayne:  Did you stay out – –

 

Milo:  We stated out there.

 

Wayne:  – – overnight:

 

Milo:  They had a big cave back in there.  Charlie Carter and them guys had dug their caves.  And the Indians had had caves back in that area, Indian caves and stuff back in there, and lived back in these caves for a long time at Promontory.  Then they had big tents and stuff that they had out in there.  They had the kitchens and stuff out there for the laborers.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  In the wintertime, they had probably ten, 15 guys – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  That’s come out with their trucks.  They all – – they all bought small trucks and – – they weren’t big trucks, you know, they – – young kids get these trucks and they’d come out there and try to make a dollar.

 

Wayne:  And he loaded them all with this scoop shovel.

 

Milo:  Scooped, everything was scooped.

 

Wayne:  uh-huh.

 

Milo:  No tractor.

 

Wayne:  No.

 

Milo:  It was all shovel.  We done a lot of work at nighttime.  Nighttime, lot of wok at nighttime.

 

Wayne:  Why?  Why nighttime?

 

Milo:  Cool.

 

Wayne:  Oh, yeah.  Did that go on the year-round?

 

Milo:  Just in the winter.

 

Wayne:  Just in the winter.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.  Through the winter months.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  The summertime, see, the – – you could fill your ponds up and then keep – keep your ponds full through the summer.

 

Wayne:  That’s when they make the salt?

 

Milo:  That’s when the evaporation (unintelligible) to salt there.

 

Wayne:  So the winter’s the harvest.

 

Milo:  The harvest.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But in Promontory, when they put that track across to Promontory, they went across and left a part of the lake with salt and everything in it, deep salt, and Ed Sharp and them harvested a lot of that slat right in there.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  And one time we was there and it was – – they had this pond of salt and they piled it up to dry, make it white.  And the pelicans used to come around.  They used to feed them.  And they put the dynamite in to blast this salt, and uncle Ed Sharp says, oh, he says, there’s the pelicans.  Shoo them away, shoo them away.  And they all flew away but one.  And he says oh, John, he says, I gotta get you out of there.  He ways, gonna blow you up.  So Ed Sharp he run back to where the dynamite was and he grabbed this pelican.  And he grabbed the pelican and he run, I don’t know how far, not very far when this blast went off, the salt blowing it up.  But the – – he fell, fell down on the salt and the bird went away.  The birds couldn’t fly because they had salt on their wings.  So they’d take these pelicans up and they’d wash them so the pelicans could fly again.  But he saved that pelican’s life. But he could have got killed himself.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, I’ll say.

 

Milo:  But I – I’ve often thought about Ed Sharp doing things like that.  But he raised me to be a good – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – Boy.

 

Wayne:  Dad used to love to talk to Ed.  We’d sometimes leave here, Grandpa’s place, headed for Warren.  But we’d sometimes end up at a – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  – – Ed’s and I would set there on the hay rack waiting for those two people to stop talking.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  They really, genuinely liked each other, I think.

 

Milo:  But see, Ed Sharp, he – – he rented ground off of Bill Freestone down in Warren.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Where Milton Brown lives, there used to be a house out in the back.

 

Wayne:  Oh, okay.

 

Milo:  And Bill Freestone lived out in the back of there and Ed – –

 

Wayne:  I remember that.

 

Milo: – – Ed Sharp – – see, I was a kid, we used to go down there and he planted – –

 

Wayne:  Just across the creek from uncle Earl – –

 

Milo:  – – Potatoes and stuff.

 

Wayne:  – – Hadley’s.

 

Milo:  Yeah, down by uncle – – now, where your uncle Earl Hadley and his wife lives, me and Howard Hunt seen that twister that come through the country and tore down the creamery.  The old pea vinery.

 

Wayne:  Down on the salt flat or on the – – in the pasture.

 

Milo:  Yeah. Me and Howard Hunt seen that cyclone pick that building up.  We was in Howard’s dad’s car.  We seen that twister come through the country.  And we was kind of watching it, riding through the dirt roads, and we rode over here by the dump road going down to Hadley’s, and that picked that building right up and it twisted it around tight up in the are and twisted it around and then it just set it down and then it crumbled.

 

Wayne:  I remember that.

 

Milo:  And it went right – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And it went right down, this twister went down across the road and then it come back towards your uncle Earl Hadley’s and it come – – missed his house.  But it went – – his barn was kind of front and north of the house, and it went right through there and it picked up part of that barn on the west side, it picked that sloping part up.  Mr. Hadley and his wife had just come in to have dinner, and they put the horses in there with the harness, hames and that all on – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – And that picked that shed up and set it back down on them horses.  And me and Howard run in there to help Mr. Hadley, we pried that up.  Mr. Hadley reached in and talking to them horses and his wife, Liz, I think is her name – –

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  – – But each one of them talked to them horses so they didn’t jump around.  And me and Howard helped pry that roof up, and he took them horses right our of there.  And them horses – – I often thought about that.  If nobody was around, see, the horses would have probably died.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  And you were down there working on Ed – –

 

Milo:  No – –

 

Wayne:  (Unintelligible)

 

Milo:  Me and Howard was in the car.  He’d borrowed his dad’s car.  We was – – we had the water our there by uncle Ed Sharp’s, and Howard said, come and ride down to the store with me.  So we go down to buy the ham – – the baloney to make a sandwich.

 

Wayne:  Just down to Olsen’s or Maw’s?

 

Milo:  Maw’s Store.

 

Wayne: uh-hu.

 

Milo: And we seen that twister coming.

 

Wayne:  Oh, you – – oh.

 

Milo:  You could hear it.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  You could hear it.  And we was startled.  We was dumb.  We wanted to drive in it.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, you bet.

 

Milo:  If we’d a drove in it, see, it’d a probably picked us up.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  That’s how you got such a good view of it though.  You were chasing – – out there chasing it.

 

Milo:  Well, we was watching it.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But we got to see the creamery – – the vinery go down.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And we got to see the barn pick up, the lean-to on the west side and then we seen it set – –

 

Wayne:  That’s right.

 

Milo:  We could see the horses.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And then it set that right back down.  And them horses, I guess the rafters and that probably wedged just so that it didn’t kill them, you know.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Then you see, right after – – right after that, see, we had to go into the war.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  World War Two.

 

Wayne:  I wanna cut back.  Taking much more time – – of your time that I meant to.  But can you tell me briefly what you know about how Howard got killed in the war?

 

Milo:  Howard – – Howard Hunt, they tell me, got killed by our own ammunition.

 

Wayne:  They were in Italy?

 

Milo:  In Italy.

 

Wayne:  And he was with the Gibson kid and Arnold Rose?

 

Milo:  Also Folkman.  I think Folkman was in the – –

 

Wayne:  Oh, I thought he was in Navy.

 

Milo:  I don’t know.

 

Wayne:  Leon?

 

Milo:  They were all close together at that time.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Whether they was on the move or what, I don’t know.  But Archie Hunt could tell you.

 

Wayne:  Probably – – Archie’s Vic’s son.

 

Milo:  Yeah, grandson.

 

Wayne:  Grandson.

 

Milo:  But he could tell you.

 

Wayne:  Gee, I maybe oughta go see him.  Who did he marry?

 

Milo:  He’s remarried Ez Hadley’s wife.  Now, you know Harold Hunt?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Harold Hunt might be able to tell you about Howard.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, I’m not gonna be able to see Howard.  I’m going home tomorrow.

 

Milo:  Are you?  I can run you down to Archie Hunt’s.  But see I went into the war.  Howard went into the war.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Out of all of us guys from Plain City that went in on the first draft, they sent us down to Fort Douglas, Utah.

 

Wayne:  When did you go in?

 

Milo and Gladys Ross, 30 May 1942

 

Milo: In what was it, ’41?  Took us all in town the first draft.

 

Wayne:  Howard went with you?

 

Milo:  No.  No, they come in later.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  But the first draft, they sent us all out, we went out of the Bamberger tracks.

 

Wayne:  Who was with you, remember?

 

Milo:  Ellis Lund.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

(l-r): Kenneth Barrow, Ellis or Keith Lund, Milo Ross, Jim Jardine, Unknown, Victor Wayment, Earl Collins 16 Oct 1942

 

Milo:  Yeah, Ellis Lund and – – now I’ve lost it.  But we all went down to Fort Douglas.  We got down to Fort Douglas.  They examined us, shoot us, and everything else like that.  Put us in barracks.  And they called my name our after they examined and tested us on everything, they called my name out to come up the office.  I go up to the office.  I was supposed to go get my duffel bag, be ready to move out so – – so many minutes.  I run back to the barracks, got my bags and everything, and come back up where I was at.  They put me in a jeep with four, five other guys.  They took us right down to the railroad station in Salt Lake.  They shipped us out to Fort Lewis, Washington, the same day, night we got down to Fort Douglas, they shipped us to Fort Lewis, Washington.  And I was the only one out of the whole group that was sent out.  And the rest of them guys all stayed here a week or two down here to Fort Douglas, Utah and they sent me up to Fort Lewis.

 

Wayne:  You were just at Douglas long enough to get a – –

 

Milo:  Examination.

 

Wayne:  – – Uniform and – –

 

Milo:  Yeah, they hurried me right through.

 

Wayne:  Why?

 

Milo:  I don’t know whether they had a call they wanted so many to go on this troop, Illinois outfit, National Guard outfit coming through, I don’t know.

 

Wayne:   What, so you did basic training at Fort Lewis?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  That’s where Norm and Paul – –

 

Milo:  They came there, yeah.

 

Wayne:  uh-huh.  For the 41st division.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  But they come up a little later.

 

Wayne:  If we’re on your war career, we might as well stay with it, then we can cut back.  What else did you do in the war besides go in early and – –

 

Milo:  Well – –

 

Wayne:  – – Get hijacked in Salt Lake?

 

Milo:  Well, here’s the deal.  What I was gonna tell you about.  They asked us these questions about putting these pins together.  If you open a window, how many panes would you have if you opened – – as a window over there, if you open that there window over there halfway, how many panes would you have?  You understand it?  Like a sliding window?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  If you opened that there window, how many panes would you have if you opened it halfway?  How would the four – – would you have it if you opened it halfway?  You understand it?

 

Wayne:  Has that army general intelligence (unintelligible)

 

Milo:  Intelligence stuff.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I didn’t care.  I was mad.  You understand it?  I – – I really didn’t care anything about that.  And they – – they says, do you like to shoot a gun?  And I says I’m – – I’m an expert rifleman.  And maybe that there’s why they throwed me out, you know?  They didn’t like me down there.

 

Wayne:  This is at Fort Douglas?

 

Milo:  Fort Douglas.  And they put me on a train and I went from here right on the – – tight up to Fort Douglas, Utah, and done all my basic training there.

 

Wayne:  Fort Lewis, Washington.

 

Milo:  Fort Lewis, Washington.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  And I spent my time there, and then after we done our time at Fort Lewis, we went down to Needles, California, Barstow, and opened up a big army training camp down there.  We dug great big latrines and trenches and they brought wooden boxes in for toilets and stuff like that.

 

Wayne:  What kind of outfit were you in?

 

Milo:  That was with the 33rd division.

 

Wayne:  In an infantry – –

 

Milo:  National Guard.  Illinois National Guard.

 

Wayne:  Oh, okay.

 

Milo:  33rd, Golden Cross.

 

Wayne:  Okay.  Is that you?

 

Milo:  Yeah.  I’m a highly-decorated soldier.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, you are.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Well, tell – – let’s stay with that.

 

Milo:  But.

 

Wayne:  tell me about your war.

 

Milo:  We was – –

 

Gladys:  Before he leaves, I’d like you to show him the plaques that you made (unintelligible).

 

Milo:  Okay.

 

Gladys:  (Unintelligible)

 

Milo:  Okay.  He can hear you.  At Fort Douglas, Utah, they had an air base there also.  They had the B-51’s and P-38’s and they were training the pilots and everybody.  And we were training there.  And they put me in the infantry.  And I done a lot of – – lot of latrine duty.  We was in barracks.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Fort Douglas – – Fort Lewis.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And didn’t matter what I done, the company commander, whoever it was, he liked me.  If we go out on maneuvers, rifle shooting, anything like that, they liked me because I could hit the targets.  They could pull a target up and I could shoot it.

 

Wayne:  Like Plain City kids, you’d grown up – –

 

Milo:  I done it.

 

Wayne:  Sure.

 

Milo:  If we run infiltration course or anything, get down on your guts and crawl.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Go under the barbed wire and this and that – –

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  – – I done it.  And they liked me.   And they – – they come along with the 60- millimeter mortar.  Told me all about that, an one thing another.  And they said, do you know how far that is down to that tree down there?  And I says, yeah, I say, it’s probably about 150 yards.  And didn’t matter what they done, they’d fire this mortar, 150 yards, they’d be on their target.  You know, I wasn’t doing it.  But they was asking me these things.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: And they’d say, how far away is that tree over there.  I’d say, well, it’s close to a thousand yards.  But I was good on – –

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  – – Distance.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  And it didn’t matter what I done.  And as soon I was there, I was the soldier of the month the first month.

 

Wayne:  Wow.

 

Milo:  I got a pass out of it, you know, and then they made me a private first class and then a corporal and then a buck sergeant, you know.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Then when I got down to Barstow, they made me a Tech Sergeant.  Give me a weapons platoon.  And that was your 30 machine guns and your 60-millimeter mortars, see?  But they give me a platoon down there.  And then when they give me the platoon, they put us on guard duty one night.  And they took me way out in the desert and left me.  Now, you’re gonna stay here until certain hours and then you’ll be relieved.  Well, I was gone through the night.  The next morning at about noon, here they come to get me.  And they said, well, why didn’t you walk in?  I said, walk in?  Why walk in?  I was told to stay here.  Was you scared?  I had an order.  I done it.  I get back to camp, they give me a five-day pass for being a soldier of the month down there.  You see?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So they give me a platoon sergeant.  They made me a two-striper.  One stripe under at that time.

 

Wayne:  Oh, a staff – –

 

Milo:  Yeah, a staff sergeant.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo: Then.  And then they made us a two star later on.  Two stripe after.

 

Wayne:  And that’s the tech.

 

Milo:  Tech, yeah. After that.  But they was changing at that time.  But they give me a five-day pass.  And I come back to Utah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: They give me a five-day pass, but I could only have three because we were shipping out.  So I hurried home see my wife, Gladys.  She’d come back from Washington so she could be with me just that – – say hello.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo: And I come home to see my wife and I had to go right back the next morning so I’d be able to ship out.

 

Wayne:  You went back to Barstow?

 

Milo:  Barstow.

 

Wayne:  Your outfit was – –

 

Milo:  Barstow.

 

Wayne:  – – Still there.

 

Milo:  We was ready to ship out.  But I’d received this five-day pass that had – – soldier of the month award.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So that’s why I got to come home and to go back.  So then they – –

 

Wayne:  When had you got married?

 

Milo: Well, we got married in ’41.  See, then – –

 

Wayne:  Just before you went in?

 

Milo:  Just before we went in.  And see, I never seen my boy, Milo, he was born while I was overseas.  I didn’t see Milo until he was three years old.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.  Who did you marry?

 

Milo:  Gladys Donaldson.

 

Wayne:  From Ogden?

 

Milo:  Ogden, yeah.  Dave Donaldson’s daughter.  Dave Donaldson.  They lived on – well, Norm, he used to go up there.  They used to pick Gladys up.  And Frank Hadley, they used to go pick Gladys and their sisters all up.  They used to go up there.  But they – – they shipped us out of Barstow and they was gonna send us – – they was gonna send us in to Alaska.  They give us all this here heavy equipment and everything, go to Alaska. Then when we get on the ships, the first thing the do is give us new clothing and everything, and we’re going to the southwest pacific.  So we went into the Hawaiian Islands.  So that’s where – – where we started out at, Hawaiian Islands.

 

Wayne: Right.

 

Milo:  Then we went from Hawaiian Islands down through – – down Past Kanton Island, Christmas Island, Fiji Islands.  We was gonna go into Australia, then they decided instead of going into Australia, they had kept the Japs from going into Australia, so they sent us back up into the Coral Sea, back up into New Guinea.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: And so we went up into Finch and Lae and Hollandia.  And while we were in there, we unloaded ships and stuff for the ship guys and everything like that.  And then while we were in there, I got the soldier of the month award because I got the guys to help dig trenches to get water down out of the – – the fields so that it wasn’t swampy all the way through.  And we dug these trenches and they gave me soldiers of the month down there.

We went down to the ocean front in these trucks and we brought coral rock and gravel stuff and made us sidewalks and stuff in our camps.  And then the next thing you know, the whole outfits’s done it.  And then we put poles and that up and so we didn’t have to have tents, we put a canvas over the top, more like a roof, so everybody done that.

 

Wayne:  And this was in New Guinea.

 

Milo:  In New Guinea.  But you see, we went down to Finch Haven, down to Lae, then over to Hollandia, see, and helped unload ships.  Then over – – when we was unloading ships, we – – I was in charge of unloading the ships.  We unloaded at nighttime so the Navy could sleep and then get their rest, we worked through the nights for them.  And we was unloading different things, and one of the guys down below, one of the buck sergeants, I heard him say, hey, this casket here, I put old Sergeant Ross’s name on it, he says make sure this son of a bitch gets it.  You see, you could hear them talking.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I knew who it was.  So when we got through off the ship, we have about 50 guys I was in charge of, and another shift come on to relieve us, we go on for four hours, so when we go to load up, I says, say, Sergeant so and so, you gotta come over here a minute, I got a detail for you.  Yes, Sergeant Ross.  I said, bring three buddies with you.  So he brought three buddies over with him.  And I says, I got a detail for you.  I says, you ride back down to camp with us.  I says, it’s only a mile and a half.  But I says, I heard you guys talking down – – down in the ship down there, and I says, I got this casket with my name on it and I wanna be sure and keep it.  I want you to carry this back to my tent.  Maybe I’ll sleep in it a night or two.  And he says, oh, Sergeant Ross, I didn’t mean that.  You know, but he was mad, you know, he’s irritated to think that the Sergeant would have to go down there and work.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But little things like this happens.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But we unloaded tires, 50-gallon drums of oil, gas, out in trucks and they took it out into the bamboos, you know, out in the – – out in the mud swamps.

 

Wayne:  What port were you at?

 

Milo:  Finch Haven.

 

Wayne:  Finschhafen.  Now Port Moresby’s on the other side.

 

Milo:  That’s on the upper – – back down farther.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But when you go up into Coral Sea, you go up kind of towards Borneo, the Big Island.  Now, Borneo from where we were at, Finschhafen, you could see Borneo Volcano eruption 24 hours a day.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Borneo.  And then after we – – after we stayed in there, they said there was no Japs in there.  But me and Palke, my friend, army buddy, we was down to the ocean and this native guy come and asked us if we’d shoot two Japs.  That these two Japs had taken these native girls prisoners.  And we thought he was just kidding we says, yeah we will.  So we go with this native.  They call them fuzzy tops, New Guinea.  We go back, back over here where he’s at and he’s pointing to us.  He says, right here, right here.  See, this native.  And I says, well, thems Japanese.  They’re not supposed to be any Japs here.  And he says, two of them.  I says, Palke, you take the left one, I’ll take the right one.  So we shot them.  You understand me?

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: And then we got – – we got a Japanese flag apiece.  My buddy Palke and my – – myself – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And Then – –

 

Wayne:  They had captured two native girls?

 

Milo:  Yeah.  They were shacking up with the native girls, these Japs.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And this here native fuzzy top, he didn’t want these Japanese there.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So he asked us to shoot them.

 

Wayne:  You just sneaked up on them in their – –

 

Milo:  Well, we – – we thought he was kidding us.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So I says to Palke, I says, you take the left one, I’ll take the right one.  And we never did tell nobody.  You understand me?  We didn’t dare.  We was scared.  We was chicken.  We was afraid we’d get in prison.  You understand it?

 

Wayne:  uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But see – –

 

Wayne:  You probably broke an article of war.

 

Milo:  We broke an article of war – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – Because we didn’t talk to the commander in the first place.

 

Wayne:  Right.  And it was not a combat situation.

 

Milo:  We were in combat.

 

Wayne: Were you?

 

Milo:  We were loaded with ammunition at all times ready to fire you see, the Japs come across with their airplanes and strafe us and bomb us and they said – – they said the planes and that wasn’t in there, but – –

 

Wayne:  It’s a combat zone.

 

Milo:  It’s a combat zone.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo: But we – –  wherever we went, we had to have a gun and two of us had to be together.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  You understand?  At all times.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  If we went down to the ships to unload everything like that, we ha a patrol, guard duty.  You had five men, guard duty besides you’re unloading guys stuff like that.  But see, after we left Finschhafen, Lae, we went to Dutch East Indies, Morotai, and that used to be a Leper Colony, British Colony.  Used it be a Leper Colony.  And we went to Morotai, Dutch East Indies, and we had big airstrip there we had to guard.

 

Wayne:  All this time you were in the 33rd – –

 

Milo:  33rd Division.

 

Wayne:  – – Division National Guard from Illinois.

Milo:  Illinois.  130th Infantry. But everything that I’ve done, I got the solder of the month award.  I even got a soldier of the month award for fixing up the drain ditches and fixing the gravel sidewalks and stuff like that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And then the Latrines and stuff, we fixed them back farther away.  Then I took the drums and we took – – cut the drums in half and put them by our tents to save the water that came off the tents.

 

Wayne:  Oh, the oil drums.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: We saved all these drums and stuff.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And we got our own water to wash our clothes and stuff with.  And I got a soldier of the month award for that, and I had a chance to go to Australia for five-day pass, but what can you do?  You don’t have no money.  You – – no way to go.  I could have went down with the Australian boy to fly down and back – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But, you know, I didn’t go.

 

Wayne:  You weren’t getting paid?

 

Milo:  Army?

 

Wayne: Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Oh, yeah, they paid.

 

Wayne:  Fifty-two – – well, you were – – you were a staff sergeant.

 

Milo:  But we send money home.  We was taking out insurance and sending most of it home.  We was maybe getting $20 a month, you know, not much.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But we went from – – from New Guinea we went up into Dutch East Indies, Morotai, and we guarded the airstrip.  And the Australian boys, when the would take off the with their airplanes, they would always do a barrel roll.  They’d roll their plane over and – – plane over and – – and we had this guard duty to guard this airstrip.  And then when the Japs started to giving the airstrip a bad time, we had to make a drive back up through the airstrip and up through the country in towards – – I don’t remember the town now.  Morotai.  But we made a drive back up through there to locate the Japanese and get them our of there.  And they killed quite a few of the Japanese did, the leading forces.  We always brought up the rear, the weapons platoon.  But we always had to be on the guard duty.

 

And then when we got back in farther, they had more Japanese farther back up into Morotai in Village, so they put us in ducks and took is out in the water in the lake, in the ocean, and put us in P.T. Boats.  And there was I think about 12 of us.  We had a lieutenant Early that went with us.  And I volunteered to go as a weapon platoon tech Sergeant.  They put us in there p.t. boats and they too us up to this city – –

 

Wayne:  There were 12 of you in the – –

 

Milo:  About 12 of us.  About 12 of us, if I remember right that volunteered to go up.

 

Wayne:  In one p.t. boat?

 

Milo:  No.  They had the two p.t. boats.

 

Wayne:  Two.

 

Milo: They brought the two p.t. boat in.

(Tape I-B ends.  Tape II-A Begins.)

 

Wayne:  . . . two side one of a conversation with Milo Ross at his home in Plain City.

 

Milo: Number three.

 

Wayne:  What?

 

Milo:  One, two, three.

 

Wayne:  One, two – – third side.

 

Milo: third side.

 

Wayne: Tape two.

 

Milo: Yeah.  But they took us up in these p.t. boats out of the ducks, then we get out, starting out towards to where we was supposed to go, up to the city, this kid, he pushes a handle down on that p.t. boat and that thing just sat back on its tail, you know, and we – – we though it was gonna tip over backwards.  You know I mean?

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Because we’d never been in a p.t. boat.  And he rammed us right up in on the beach.  And we got up in there and we – – we make a beach landing, war-type landing for the Japs, we go in there Bayonets and rifle ready to go, and nobody was there.  We run through the – – around the buildings.  Run down through the streets like we was trained to do.  Run our – – right on down along the side the beach, clear down where the boats and everything was at.  And when we got down where the – – they’d tied their boats and all that all up, there was a great big open well, and it was lined with rock and everything, beautiful, beautiful picture.  If you ever seen anything in the – – a picture of a open well water, and that’s where they got their drinking water out of, out of buckets and ropes.  And then no Japs, no people around at all.  So one the follow – –

 

Wayne:  This is – – this is a native village then.

 

Milo:  Native village on Morotai.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: Dutch East Indies.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: They have Gilden money, Gilden and different type.  But one of the fellows hollered and says, come quick.  O the five or six of us that was looking at this water and well and stuff broke and run to where he was at with our rifles, we figured he had some Japs pinned down.  But he got to the bank.  So we go over to the bank and they had a great big standing vault.  And he says, look it here, all the money in the world.  So without thinking, we took our ammunition, we put armor-piercing ammunition in our clips.  And we cut a hole in this vault to take the money out.  You understand me?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  Was it Japanese money?

 

Milo:  It was New Guinea – – not New Guinea, but – –

 

Wayne:  Dutch?

 

Milo: Dutch East Indies.

 

Wayne:  Paper money.

 

Milo:  Paper money.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So we – – we loaded this all up in our coats and, you know, your fatigues and stuff like that, we loaded ourselves all up.  And the lieutenant Early, he says, well, I gotta have some, too.  See, he’s – – he’s in charge.  And I’m the platoon sergeant.  We even put it in our pants down to our leggings, we had these leggings on.  So we – – we robbed the bank.  But we did accomplish our mission, no Japs, nobody around.  We go back and get into the p.t. boats, go back down, he kicks us off into these ducks.  And then the ducks take us back and puts us on the beach down there on Morotai.  And as soon as we get down there, we’re under arrest.  They strip us off completely.  Nude.  We’re ready to be court martialed.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And here’s Lieutenant Early stripped off just like we are.  Somebody had went down the ground from the bank, down to where we come back in at.  It probably wasn’t very far.  They came back down and told them that we’d robbed the bank.  So when Lieutenant told them what it was, we give them the money and everything like that, they was all satisfied and contented.  Lieutenant Early kind of shut it up some way.  I don’t know how they done it.  But we was – – were under army arrest.  Then they tell us, go ahead and get dressed back up in uniform.  No charges will be pressed.  You’ve returned the money.  So they release us.

And about that time, another ship, barge, came in, and it was artillery guys coming in to observe for artillery.  Sergeant Ross, go with them.  Set up.  Yes, sir.  I tell the guys, must have been about six of them, I said, just head straight out through here, and I said we’ll go out about 40, 50 yards and stop.  Then I says, we’ll call in one shell and find out how close you are with us.  So they called in the one shell.

 

Wayne: What are they gonna fire on if there were no Japanese?

 

Milo: Well, we have to have artillery wherever we go.  For our own protection.  They know there’s Japs in Morotai.

 

Wayne: But you didn’t find any.

 

Milo: We didn’t find them, but we wanted artillery.

 

Wayne: You wanted (unintelligible).

 

Milo: Around us.

 

Wayne: Okay.

 

Milo: And they have a shell that they throw in there that’s a smoked shell.

 

Wayne: Right, you’re just spotting target.

 

Milo: Just spot – – spot target.

 

Wayne: Yeah, okay.

 

Milo: And they – – the one – – the observation man says, I’m gonna run over here to the side and he says, I’ll – – I’ll be right back.  I gotta go to the bathroom a minute.  So he left us and he just started to walking maybe 20, 25 feet, and boom.  We thought the artillery shell had come in and got us.  But where – – we looked back to see where it was at, and there was booby trap that this observer had booby trapped, and it had jumped up out of the ground and it had exploded just about his waist height.  And it looked like it blew him all to hell.  We ran over there to see if we could help him, and his hands and his legs – – the one leg was almost completely off, you know, and his hands was just strung out, you know, you could see the bones and all that in there.  And he – – he was conscious, and he says, oh, what did I do wrong?  And then he passed out.  And then we hollered for the medics and the medics come up, and they decided they’d have to finish amputating his leg because the – – these cords and everything was bothering, hindering, and everything, so they bandaged him all up and tourniqueted him up and fixed him all up.  And while we were there, I says, listen, you better get that shell in here on us pretty soon now because, I says, the Japs will know we’re here.  So the observation guy from the artillery guy, he called in for this shell and they brought one in and it was close enough to us to where we are at, we knew where it was at, and I says, don’t bring it in any closer, that’s fine.

But all the time we’re talking on the radio back to the company commander, our company commander Kelly, and told him what had happened.  With probably booby traps all the way around, watch your area back there, too, because there is booby traps.  So the artillery guys, they back out, we go back down to where the company’s dug in, and they call in for two or three shells, artillery shells.  They fired way back from the distance off another island back to you, and you can hear them old guns go boom, boom.  Then pretty soon you can hear them coming in, shoo, shoo, shoo.  And then they boom, you know.  And I flag them off and say, that’s enough, that’s – – that’s right where we need it so we know we got some protection and the Japs’ll know we got some protection.  And I told the company commander on the radio, I says, we’re zeroed in, sir, right about where we need to be.  Good go, sergeant Ross, he says, have the men dig in for the night.

So we stay in this here area for two or three days, then we go back down to Morotai, the airport.  And we’re still down there until after Christmas.  Christmans eve, they used to have a wash machine Charlie bomber come across, Jap bomber, he’d drop bombs on Morotai.  And then after he got so far across and about so high up, they’d turn these search lights on him.  They had these great big search lights.  They’d turn about six, six to 12 of them if they had all fired up ready to light, and they’d turn these lights up on there and then when the lights would get on the Jap plane, then our planes would be able to spot the bomber and then the P.51’s and 38’s, P.38’s would shoot them down.  But that was in the best side in the world if I ever seen in my life was to see a Jap bomber shot down in Morotai.  To see – – to see the light on him, to see him explode, and then see a flash, the black – – black explosion then a flash, then hear the motors revving up and going down into the ocean.  Then you see your airplanes do their tip of their wings and everybody turns their lights off, follows this airline right on down to the ocean, you know.  But it was quite a thrill, something different for us to be able to see how the air corps and everybody worked as a unit.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  And we stayed – –

 

Wayne:  What Christmas would this be?

 

Milo:  Oh – –

 

Wayne:  ’42, ’43?

Milo: Let’s see, ’43, ’44.

 

Wayne:  ’44.

 

Milo:  ’44.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: Then we went from – – they told us – – they told us we’d be loading out – – we stayed there and guarded the airstrip (Pause in tape.  Unintelligible) we killed all them Japs up the side there.  Those Japanese let us go through them in that cocoon grass.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: They let that first group go right on past them, about the first squad.  And after we got about the first squad past, we always have a signal, we stop.  We talk to them on the radio.  You have your walkie-talkie and you have everybody stop.  And when you stop, one faces one way and one faces the opposite way.  Back to back.  Combat.  And one of the fellows radioed on and he says, I just seen movement in the grass.  Japanese to our left front.

The orders were hang by, on signal, everybody fire to our left, mover forward.  So when the signal come, every – – everybody starts to shooting and they stand up and they go, walk through the cocoon grass.  But they took the Japanese by surprise right on the ground.  We never lost a man at Morotai.  Them riflemen, them riflemen really protected us, I’ll tell that you.  They – – they just done a good job.  But the Japanese let them go right through.  But if us guys in the back hadn’t seen it, them guys would have been cut off.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  From Morotai we went – – they was gonna take us up into different islands and they kept us on the ships for quite a while.  We’d go from one island to another to make landings, and they’d hold us out.  And then after so many days, they told us they told us we would be going up to – – into Luzon.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So then they went up into Luzon, and Harold’s Bunch, 32nd, and probably Norm’s bunch from the 41st and that bunch that Norm and Paul Knight’s and them, they went down into Manila.

 

Wayne:  I’m not sure – –

 

Milo:  Down by Clark Air Base, Subic Bay, they probably come in down there.  But we went up above and come back in Lingayen Gulf where MacArthur came back in.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And they sent us back up in Lingayen Gulf as guard duty, so when MacArthur comes back in on his, I shall return – –

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – That, that is the 33rd division where he comes back in there, if you know the history of it.  That is your golden cross assignment, the return of MacArthur, right in there.  That’s where MacArthur comes back in the 33rd division.

 

Wayne: Did you have to fight your way in there?

 

Milo: Never. Not there.  We could hear the Japs’ artillery fire coming back out of the hills out of Baguio City down into the valleys.  But see, Harold and them guys, they come through clear down into Subic Bay, down in Manila, and they worked their way back up through the island.  And Milo Sharp and them guys, they went back to Kibachiwan, the prison camp.  Milo Sharp, his bunch went over to Kibachiwan and relieved all the prisoners of war over in that area.

 

Wayne: Oh.  You know what outfit Mutt was in?

 

Milo: I don’t remember.  But Harold was with the 32nd division.  And Harold and them went over to Galiano Valley, wasn’t it?

 

Wayne: I don’t know.

 

Milo: Galiano Vallley.  They went – – they went past Kibachiwan, the concentration camp, and they went back into Kibachiwan and we went over into Baguio City.  So we were all close together.  And I – – that’s – – that’s when I – – I met Harold down in Luzon.

 

Wayne:  Oh, did you?

 

Milo:  Up in – – but up in Lingayen Gulf.  He come up through there.  And I was in charge of distributing the trucks and stuff as they come off the ships, and I was in charge of having them relay the companies, to companies into certain areas and – – but I seen Harold and these guys come through, his buddy.

 

Wayne: Was that just by chance?

 

Milo:  By chance.

 

Wayne:  No kidding?

 

Milo: But he knew we was coming in.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo:  See, he had a radio.  And on the radio you communicate with each other.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh

 

Milo: And he picked up our code and he was so many miles away and they came through the field.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Instead of going around the road, they come through the field to us.  And I throwed my glasses up and I says to Lieutenant Early, I says, there’s a couple soldiers coming down through there and they’re not Japs, you know.  And I was bringing these trucks in, keeping them going where they was supposed to go, and hollering the different guys where to put them.  And pretty soon, these two soldiers got up close enough and I throw my glasses on there and I thought, hell, hell, oh mighty. And then I say to Lieutenant Early, I says, what’s going on here?  He says, aw, don’t pay no attention to them, they’re all right.  So pretty soon, Harold and them guys, they got, oh, probably here to the road, and I heard Harold say, God, big brother, don’t you even know me?  See, he had his glasses.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And he’d come down to a dentist probably.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: And see, I was just coming in off the ships, but – –

 

Wayne:  So he had an idea you were in the area.

 

Milo:  Well, we have radios.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  See, they knew, they knew we were coming in there.

 

Wayne: Did you ever run into any other guys from Plain City.

 

Milo: I didn’t know – – Raymond Bitton from West Weber.  He married Beth Skeen.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo: Now, he was in the 33rd division also.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo:  He got a bronze star, yeah.  And see, we went – – we – – after we left Luzon, they sent us up into Aringay.  We stayed at Aringay and prepared to drop to – –

 

Wayne: Milo, I gotta use your – –

 

(Pause in tape)

 

Milo:  They sent us from Luzon after – – after MacArthur and them came in, they relieved us out of there as guard duty and they sent us over into Aringay.  They sent us over into Aringay to go through the homes and villages through there, house by house, and searching for the Japanese.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo: Outside of Aringay.  And outside of Aringay, we trained to go from one house to another, and we had to take – – go in in twos.  One of you walk into a house.  These are only one – or two-room building shacks.  One would go one way and one go the other way, and you had your rifle and bayonet and go right on in, ready to pull trigger any time.  And that was the hardest thing in the world for me is to go in a house ready to shoot in case you see a Japanese or somebody in there.  And it was pretty hard, but we – – we searched these villages, we searched the houses, we searched the outside and everything around Aringay.

And then around Aringay, we dug in.  And after we’d dug in for one day, the Japanese threw artillery shells in on us, and one of the shells exploded down by the – – a trail, being and it left something burning.  And the fellows went down to see what it was, and it was money.  The had hit a cache of money that the Japanese had buried, and the paper money and that had caught on fire and the silver coins and that was scattered all over.  And I’ve got clippings on that where they found over half a million dollars in coin the Japanese had buried.

But in this artillery barrage that they throwed around us, they throwed the 90’s artillery and whatever it was in on us.  And that was on February the 14th in the morning about 8:00 or 9:00 o’clock, February the 14th.  That’s when the one shell knocked me down and about four other guys got – –

 

Wayne:  This is 1945?

 

Milo:  ’45.

 

Wayne:  yeah.

 

Milo:  knocked us down, and – – February the 14th.  And then I realized I was down on the ground and wanted to get up to help, and then my one leg, I couldn’t get it up.  I was paralyzed in the one leg.  I’d been wounded.  So I go get up, and I go crawl over to help my buddy because he was bleeding on the side quite a bit on his neck.  And I put this compress on there as tight as I could, and told him to hold it.  And I says, I’ll have to help Fred, my buddy Palke over here – – not Palke, but one of the other fellows, said to come and help him.  I crawled over to help him and I thought, well, I’m stand up.  And when I went to stand up again, then another shell come in and hit us again.  So I got hit once, and then I got hit again, see.  So I got hit from the front and I got hit from the back (unintelligible) over that side.

 

Wayne:  Where was the second hit?

 

Milo:  From the back side on the artillery, see, caught me in the back.

 

Wayne:  In the back.

 

Milo:  It was shrapnel, but they – – I think they knocked about 11 of us down.  And Palke, he come running over, that’s my buddy here, and I says, Palke, I says, get my pictures of my wife and Gladys and my wallet out of my pack over there, will you?  I’d just come back off of guard duty through the night.  I went out on a suicide post, and I’d just come back.  And I hadn’t had any sleep, and I got wounded as I come, and I was just having a sip of drink with the guys, and I says, you guys, I says, we better split this up.  I says, we’re gonna get artillery up here, too.  And I no sooner said it than these two shells come in about the same time and got us.

But they shipped me down to 144 station hospital, and I was down there for about a month.  And I said, I gotta get out of here.  So I volunteered to go back to the company.  And then when we got back in the company, they sent us out – – out to San Fernando Valley where the Japanese were out over in that concentration there.  We was supposed to make a road block in that area to keep them there.  And we waded the Aringay river through the night.  And that’s after we’d been wounded.  I come back to camp that day, I come back to camp about 3:00 o’clock, and they was preparing to go out.  And I was just coming out of the hospital.  And they says, what are you gonna do, Sergeant Ross?  And I says, well, I’ll go with you.  Oh, why don’t you stay with the company?  And I said, no, I’ll go with you.  So I went and got my ammunition and everything, full pack and everything, and went with them.  We waded the Aringay river about 3:00 o’clock in the morning just below the bridge because they knew it was dynamited.  Japs was gonna blow it up.  We waded the Aringay river and went over into San Fernando Valley and waited until daybreak there to go back up into – – up towards Baguio City where we done most of our fighting.  But we done a lot of – –

 

Milo J Ross

 

Wayne:  So a day after you come out of the hospital, you’re engaged in a fire fight with – –

 

Milo:  Well, the day I come back out, I was loading up my pack that night to go with my company back into combat.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I was kind of chicken when I waded that river.  I had a little fear in me.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  The wounds were – – didn’t – –

 

Milo:  Just shrapnel wounds.

 

Wayne: didn’t break any bone; they were flesh?

 

Milo: Flesh wounds.

 

Wayne: Didn’t shatter any bones or – –

 

Milo:  Just – – just poke holes through you – –

 

Wayne:  uh-huh.

 

Milo: – – you know, just – –

 

Wayne:  yeah.

 

Milo:  – – poke, poke holes through your body, you know.  And my legs was the same way.  But I – – they wasn’t gonna release me out of the 144 station hospital, and I said, I’ve gotta get out of here, I’m gonna go nuts.  But I went back in and the next, that – – the same night I got out, we waded the Aringay River.  We went right over to San Fernando Valley and then we worked our way back up on the ridges, back up through there, and starred to crawling down, down ridges, trying to wipe the Japanese out.

Then we got – – We got – – we had to take Hill X.  And Bilbil Mountain.  My Company got the Presidential Unit Citation.  But I got – – I got the Purple Heart, the Silver Star, and the Good Conduct Medal, and the Presidential Unit Citation.

 

Wayne:  You know, I had no idea you’d got a Silver Star.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  That’s – – that’s impressive, Milo.

 

Milo: I got the Presidential Unit Citation with the company.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  We had about a 40 – – they tried to take Hill X.  About seven or eight times before, and then they called upon Company C to take it.  We tried to take that, we got fired on and pinned down.  And we had to dig in for the night.  We lost quite a few men. And then we stayed and worked our way up the ridge, but we got up on top and on Hill X, we made our mission.  We dug in, we built pill boxes and stayed in.  We stayed there for seven, seven or eight days.  And they dropped ammunition and stuff from the airplanes, the C-47, they dropped ammunition and stuff our to us.  And then they had Filipino people bring rations and stuff up on their heads.

 

Wayne:  The Japanese are above you on the hill?

 

Milo:  They was on the – –

 

Wayne:  Dug in?

 

Milo:  – – Hill X.  And also on Bilbil Mountain.  And that’s where we was getting most of our fire from is Bilbil Mountain.  And Hill X, we had to work our way up that.  And when we got to our point up here, we dug in, then we built pill boxes with a roof over them.  We’d put logs and stuff over them.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  And then the night when they was gonna release us, they told us that high officials would be up.  Make room in the foxholes for them after dark.  So all the colonels and majors and everybody come up to see what they’re gonna do, so they get in our foxholes with and bunkers with us, and they stay through the night with us, and then the next morning they see what they gotta do, and decide they’re gonna relieve, take us off of this hill, Hill X.  So they relieve us off of Hill X. And they bring another company up to take our position.  And we go on back, back out of here, back down to rest area.  And when we get down to rest area, they feed us and let us drink and have clean up.  And about dark, they told us that we’d be combat ready again, with no sleep, after supper we would go back up on Bilbil Mountain where the other company was pinned down.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: After we ate, loaded up, went back toward Bilbil Mountain, we had to walk back up where they let us off.  Through the night, we walked up on top towards Bilbil Mountain, made contact with the company that was pinned down.  On radio, you’re always on radio, you understand me?

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo: And they have their patrol back and forth.  We make patrol with them right on back up to where their company’s at, pinned down.  And they tell us that in morning we would – – all bayonets would be fixed bayonets. Ready to fire and move forward.  If anybody goes down, you move on past them, you do not stop, you move right through the company that’s pinned down, our own troops.   And the rifleman at daybreak – – you could see movement of the Japanese.   And you could see our troops down in the foxholes where we had to go down through.   And as soon as they give the signal, our troops went right on down through the first platoon, second platoon, third platoon, and I was the last platoon, fourth platoon.   We seen what was going on.  Our first squad of men that went down,  that – – all that firing was from the hip.  They – – they went through there.  You know, they caught the Japanese by surprise.   They took them right in their foxholes, right through the other company.  The other company was told stay in their foxholes.

 

Wayne: (Unintelligible )

 

Milo:  They had to stay down, let us through them.  And C Company went right through them.  And when we come through,  there was not a soldier of our company that got wounded.   We went right through the company that was pinned down and right off of Bilbil Mountain,  right on across the ridge, went right down to hill X,that we had been on the day before.

 

Wayne:  Good grief.

 

Milo:  And went right on down.

 

Wayne :  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Back down to camp.  I never did know what the company got for that.  I’ve – – you know, I – – I come back out of the service right after that because we was up in Luzon fighting on them hills and stuff like that.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I – – I did have a chance to stand and – – with Captain Kelly when we received his – –

 

Wayne:  He was your company commander?

 

Milo:  Company commander.  He got his Silver Star.   I got one.

 

Wayne:  And you got one.

 

Milo:  And I got to stand down with him on the platform they fixed for us.  P.W. Clarkston, sixth corps commander, pinned that Silver Star on me star.  He says, sergeant Ross, come and go to – – with us in Japan, and he says, I’ll give you a platoon – – a company of your own.  I’ll make you a lieutenant.  I says, sir, let me go home.  I got enough points.  65 points.

 

Wayne:  Is the war over by now?

 

Milo:  It’s just about over.   I says, the Japs are whipped, they’re coming in.  I says they’re coming in.  I says, I took a prisoner of war, and I says, 25, 30 others, I had them come up the next morning and I says, they’re coming in, they’re coming in.

And he says, Sergeant Ross, we need more just like you.  I says, please let me go home.

But I had the chance to stand on a platform with Captain Kelly and have a division pass by in review.

 

Wayne:  Wow.

 

Milo:  You know, that’s quite an honor.

 

Wayne:  Right

 

Milo:  Each company come by, and you hear then holler, Company C, eyes right.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Right on down through,  you know  – –

 

Wayne:  Not many tech sergeants get that privilege.

 

Milo:  That’s really a privilege.

 

Wayne :  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I was honored.   I felt proud.   I am a huge-decorated soldier.

 

Wayne:  Can I look at those pictures?

 

Milo:  You bet.

 

(Pause in tape)

 

Milo:  Sorry I took so much of your time.

 

(Pause in tape)

 

Milo:  Some people’s got them, but I’ve never got them.

 

Wayne:  I’m gonna ask Milo to run over these decorations again on the tape.  I had it off.  So we’re standing in front of a framed kind of collage of photographs and medals from his war – – there’s  the – – you have the Good Conduct Medal.

 

Milo:  Good Conduct Medal.

 

Wayne:  The Silver Star.

 

Milo:  Silver Star for gallantry in action.

 

Wayne:  Right.  And now that’s just the step below the – –

 

Milo:  Medal of Honor.

 

Wayne:  The Medal of Honor.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  Right. And the Purple Heart.

 

Milo:  Purple Heart.

 

Wayne:  And the good – –

 

Milo:  World War II.

 

Wayne:  World War II.   Okay.  And then there’s a ribbon for a Presidential Unit Citation.   And the – –

 

Milo:  Combat Infantry.

 

Wayne:  Combat Infantry badge.

 

Milo:  The picture of P.W. Clarkston, sixth corps commander.

 

Wayne:  And up there’s his hash marks for – –

 

Milo:  Service points.

 

Wayne:  Right.  Is that – – I’ve forgotten  – –

 

Milo:  I don’t remember.

 

Wayne:  Six months.

 

Milo:  Yes.  That’s the old golden cross, 3rd division,  and that’s our  – – that’s our battle stars.

 

Wayne:  Two battle stars.

 

Milo:  See the one over here in the southwest pacific.

 

Wayne :  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Down into New Guinea.   Morotai.   And then the Philippine Islands over here.

 

Wayne:  The two battle stars are for the Philippines.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  And the one to the left of the cross is the New Guinea.

 

Milo:  New Guinea.

 

Wayne:  Right.  What is this?

 

Milo: That’s the expert.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  I’m an expert in everything that I used.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I have citations, written citations, I have M-1 rifles, carbine, hand grenades.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I have certificates of everything.  I have a plaque made up that I’ll show you in my bedroom.  I’ll bring out and show you.  But it’s P.W. Clarkston pinning the silver star on me.  That’s captain Kelly standing by me.  And after he pinned these on me, we had the division, 33rd division pass by in review.

 

Wayne:  Yeah J.

 

Milo:  Honored me and Captain Kelly.

 

Wayne:  And that was essentially the end of your army career?

 

Milo:  I wanted to get out at that time.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  While you were still whole.

 

Milo:  I’ll show you the plaque.

 

(Pause in tape)

 

Milo:  His name’s Milo Paul Ross.  And he’s an Eagle Scout.  And he has a son here named Paul after his – –

 

Wayne:   Oh.

 

Milo: – – After his dad.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  Is that his Eagle Scout?

 

Milo:  He’s an Eagle Scout.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  And he’s  – – he’s a high-decorated Eagle Scout also Milo’s and Eagle Scout and his son’s an Eagle Scout.

 

Wayne:  Where does Milo live?

 

Milo:  Paul, Idaho.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Paul, Idaho.  He – – this here bit here received a – – an award out of Minico.  This school in Rupert give almost a million dollars scholarship out in high school graduation,  and my grandson, Paul Ross – –

 

Wayne:  Paul Ross.

 

Milo:  – – right here received from there clear on down to there.

 

Wayne:  Well.

 

Milo:  About $52,000 scholarships,  that the young buck, Paul Ross, received.

 

Wayne:  To USU

 

Milo:  Yeah, up to Logan.

 

Wayne:  Right. What did he do?

 

Milo: He’s in drafting, engineering,  and computers.  But you can – – can you read them here?  That’s a presidential.

 

Wayne:  Presidential.

 

Milo:  $24,000.

 

Wayne:  For $24,828.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  USU Drafting and Music.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  $1,500.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  USU Academic honors, $250.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  James Dixon Honorary,  $1,000.   Harry S. Truman Library Institute,  $2,000.  Colorado School of Mines Achievement,  $6,000.  Freshman, $2,000.  Performing arts,  $800.  John and Doris Jensen, $750.  Conoco, $1,000.  Delano F. Scott, $1,500.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  That’s quite a list.

 

Milo:  Well – –

 

Wayne:  Now, is this when he graduated from high school?

 

Milo:  From high school.

 

Wayne:  Then he gets these for the college or – –

 

Milo:  yeah he’s going up to Logan.  He has a scholarship here now to go to Logan, tuition paid.   But he has to pay $3,000 for his board and room I think up there.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But other than that  – –

 

Wayne:  Is he up there now?

 

Milo:  He’s going this fall.

 

Wayne:  He’ll be a freshman?

 

Milo:  (unintelligible )

 

Wayne:  Oh, this has just happened then?

 

Milo:  Just happened.

 

Wayne:  Oh, yeah, this is June 4th.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  1997.

 

Milo:  He’s a brilliant boy.

 

Wayne:  Minidoka  County.

 

Milo:  Yeah, he’s been – –

 

Wayne:  Rupert, Idaho.

 

Milo:  He’s been back to Kansas City twice.  He went back later year on a scholarship fund.  This year he went back to Kansas City with his dad.  They spent ten days going back, come back again, and he placed 16th last year and he placed 16th this year national.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Scholarships.  He got to go back to Harry S. Truman scholarship school back there that they have for scholarships.  And he placed 16th each time.  And that’s Milo’s boy.  Now, he wants – – what he wants to do now,  when he’s going to Logan, if Logan will let him go this fall when he’s a in school to California on a scholarship for Stanford,  I think it is – –

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  – – If they’ll let him go to Stanford on a scholarship, oh, like a scholarship deal, he wants to go down there if Logan will let him go long enough out of college to go down there to – – on that time limit for that scholarship down there.  He’s gonna try to get it.  I don’t know whether he’ll been able to get it or not.

 

Wayne:  Huh.

 

Milo:  But he picked up about $52,000 scholarships.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  Where did your son, Milo, go to school.

 

Milo:  He went to Plain City.  See, he had his schooling here.

 

Wayne:  But he – – did he go to college?

 

Milo:  He didn’t go to college.

 

Wayne:  He went to Weber High?

 

Milo:  See, I bought him that ’59 Chevrolet Impala convertible, that red one.  Do you remember him driving that around?   I bought him that – –

 

Wayne :  No, I haven’t been around.

 

Milo:  I bought him a ’59 Impala convertible to keep him in school.   And then I tried to get him to go on a mission.  He wouldn’t go on a mission.  And I says, son, here’s $5,000, I’ll give it to you now, or I’ll put it in the bank in your checking account if you’ll go to – – go on a mission.   He says, dad, I’m old enough to know where I wanna go.  So he just went to work for Circle A Trucking outfit,  and he’s been with them ever since.  He’s  the – – he’s their supervisor up at Paul, Idaho, for the big trucking outfit up there.  That’s one of the biggest outfits there is in the states is Circle A Trucking.

I’ve got a plaque here that I’ve just kind of put a little junk together.

 

Wayne:  Oh, boy.

 

Milo:  And it really isn’t put together very nice.   But come over here.

 

Wayne:  Now Milo’s showing me a mock-up he’s  got of some material on a kind if a – –

 

Milo:  Clipping.

 

Wayne:  – – two-part clipboard here.  There’s his Chevron.

 

Milo:  I even got a – – I got a clipping of Plain City School play night, see.

 

Wayne:  Oh, my heavens.

 

Milo:  Here’s – – here’s your sister, Ruth, in here.

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: She was my leading girl.

 

Wayne: Right, I remember that play.

 

Milo: She was – – she was my girlfriend.   And you know what?  I tease her.  I always say, when I was supposed to kiss you, you always used to put a handkerchief up so our lips never touched.  She gets a kick out of that.  But that was in the school.

 

Wayne: Yeah

 

Milo:  Can you read what day that was?  I don’t remember.

 

Wayne:  Plain City Junior High School  – –

 

Milo:  ‘36

 

Wayne:  – – Will present “The Girl who Forgot” in the ward recreation hall tonight.  That is something the 3rd, 1936.

 

Milo:  1936, Yeah.  But I kept that.

 

Wayne:  Rex McEntire.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  Keith Hodson.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  Ray Charlton.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  Van Elliott Heninger, he’s in there.

 

Wayne:  Ray Richard  – – Ray – – Ray Richardson.

 

Milo:  Charlton.

 

Wayne:  Oh, Ray Charlton.

 

Milo:  Ray Charlton.

 

Wayne:  Middle row Dorothy Richardson.

 

Milo:  Dorothy Richardson.

 

Wayne:  Right.  June Wayment.

 

Milo:  June Wayment.

 

Wayne:  Larne Thompson.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  Margarite Maw.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  Ruth Carver.  Back row, principal  J.M. Rhees.  Eugene Maw.  Director,  Van Elliott Heninger.   He was our baseball coach.

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Milo Ross

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  And teacher, Ernst Rauzi.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Who taught us shop, didn’t he?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Oh, that’s something.

 

Milo:  Isn’t that?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I – – I had some of these pictures made up and give the kids all some.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Then this here one picture here that – –

 

Wayne:  Plain City Clubbers Show ability.

 

Milo:  That’s baseball.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I don’t remember what year that was either.   That probably won’t even tell you.

 

Wayne:  No.  Are you in there?

 

Milo:  Yes, sir. Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, there’s Elmer.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  That Freddy?

 

Milo:  Yeah, that’s old Fred.

 

Wayne:  Glen.

 

Milo:  Glen.

 

Wayne:  Norm.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  My brother.

 

Milo:  Frankie Skeen.

 

Wayne:  Oh, is it?  Yeah.  Claire Folkman.

 

Milo:  Claire Folkman.  Dick – –

 

Wayne:  Dick Skeen, Albert Sharp – –

 

Milo:  Albert Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Abe Maw.

 

Milo:  Yeah.   Milo Ross.

 

Wayne:  Is that you?

 

Milo:  Yeah, that’s Milo.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Hang onto that there.

 

(Telephone rings.)

 

Wayne:  And on the front row there is Frankie Skeen, Walt Moyes, Arnold Taylor, Lynn Stewart,  (unintelligible).

 

Yeah, the rest of this caption reads, Plain City’s Hustling Ball Club has many of the bleacherites at the 1938 Utah Farm Bureau Baseball Championship picking it to walk off with the slate – – the state title.  Before the joust closes.  Yeah,  we recognize the Al Warden prose there.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.   I don’t think they won it.  I don’t think we ever won that.  Played those games up at Brigham City, didn’t we?

 

Milo:  We got placed second.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Denver and Rio Grand got first.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  Yeah.   And thus is a picture here of – –

 

Wayne:  Oh, of Luzon.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Now, here’s one of New Guinea.   Picture of New Guinea.  Here’s a picture  – –

 

Wayne:  Now, I can’t pick you out there.  Where are you?

 

Milo:  Well, I won’t be in that picture.

 

Wayne: Oh you’re taking the picture.

 

Milo:  I’m taking the picture.   Here’s my brother,  Harold Ross, and Milo Ross.  We got a little write-up against  – –

 

Wayne:  For heaven’s sake.  You was all so lean.  Yeah.  You did.

 

Milo:  Then I got a picture here of me in the hospital, 44 station hospital.   And that’s McFarland, Delmar White, and Milo Ross and Lyman Skeen.

 

Wayne:  This was all in the Pacific – – or in the Philippines?

 

Milo:  Yeah.  That’s the Philippine Islands right there. 144 Station Hospital.

 

Wayne:  Were they all – – were they in the hospital?

 

Milo:  They came to see me.

 

Wayne:  Oh,  they came to see you.

 

Milo:  They – – they –  on these radios, you have communication back and forth.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  In the war.   And here’s our Japanese flag we took.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  I that have there.  Here’s  – – I have a Silver Star, a citation.   Here’s Captain Kelly and Milo Ross here.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

2004

 

Milo:  Here’s Presidential Unit Citation.   I – –

 

Wayne:  Company  C., 18th infantry regiment – –

 

Milo:  one hundred thirty  – –

 

Wayne:  – – of the 33rd – –

 

Milo: Division.

 

Wayne:  – – Division.

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne: Okay.

 

Milo:  This here’s  the 33rd division.   Here’s the copy of it, that over there.  Now, I have a – – oh, here’s a picture where we were at in New Guinea and different places like this.  But everything that I  – – the ships and that I was on, I kept a record of everything that I rode on.

 

Wayne:  Well, yeah.

 

Milo:  Can you see it?

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  I even have the dates and everything that I kept them on.  I kept – – I kept it in my helmet so it wouldn’t get destroyed.   Isn’t that amazing?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I got more time on the shop than a lot of Navy boys have got.  And then I got the battles that you was in here, see?  Different places here.   Here’s the 33rd division strikes gold, see, recovers a half million dollars plot – –

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  – – Uncovered.

 

Wayne:  This is a – –

 

Milo:  That’s what – –

 

Wayne:  – – Newspaper, your division newspaper.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  See I was telling you about this one here.  But see, I have the certificates, the mortars, and machine guns, and everything.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  These are all nice.  But I – – I kind of kept a record of all of it.  These here are little clippings like these here.  Sergeant Ross leads an attack and all that, you know, and – –

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  I have them all together.

 

Wayne:  Is it – – what paper is this from?

 

Milo:  That’s standard.

 

Wayne:  Oh, Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But I got a – – I got lot of copies of it.  I’m trying to put a bunch of them together.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I was wondering if I could find that one down to – – here’s Morotai right here.   That was September the 16th, ’42.  I told you ’44.

 

Wayne:  Was when you were in Morotai?

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.  Let’s see, let’s see what I wrote on here.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  This is ’44, in December 1944 in Morotai, that – – I was right when I told you before.

 

Wayne: Oh,  this is from the time  – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  – – this was when you went in the service.

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne:  September 16, 1942.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  And you were discharged September 30th, 1945.

 

Discharge Certificate

 

Milo: Right.

 

Wayne: Almost three full years.

 

Milo:  Three years.  And then December ’44, see, we was in a battle down in Dutch East Indies,  Morotai, our first combat,  see, out here.  That’s Christmas Eve,  see, right here?   Under combat fire, February the 14th.  First enemy fire in Rosario, Luzon.   The last of February,  202.  See, we was on a lot of hills.

 

Wayne:  Hill 18 – –

 

Milo:  – – Yeah.

 

Wayne:  – – 02.

 

Milo:  1802, near Rosario.  Near Arringay, Luzon.  And then middle of March, Ballang City.  Last of March through April, May, Hill X, with seven unsuccessful attempts,  they had tried taking that hill before us – –

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  – – the army, our army, they asked company C., our company , to take it, after what did I say, seven?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  So they tried to take that hill seven times.  We went up and we took it ourselves with the company.   We had a high casualty rate, about 44 percent if I remember, it’s on one of these here clippings here that says it.  This Presidential Unit Citation probably tells me.  And we was on Hill X.  And then we went back up on top.

 

Wayne:  But you took Hill X.  By going up – –

 

Milo:  Walking right up after them.

 

Wayne:  Well, I thought  – – weren’t you brought down from Hill X.  Then you regrouped and came up where the artillery – –

 

Milo:  We go up to Hill X first.  We take Hill X and hold it and dug in.  And then after we dug in, they took us out, back to camp area, they take us back up over here and come up on Bilbil Mountain.

 

Wayne:  Okay.   I had.

 

Milo:  Right next to it.

 

Wayne: Okay.   You – – so you took Hill X.  Before Bilbil Island.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Okay.

 

Milo:  I’ll give you some clippings, if you’ll give me your name and address, I’ll send you copies of them.

 

Wayne:  I will. I’ll be glad to have them.

 

Milo:  Look, here’s the Presidential Unit Citation.  They’re just clipped on kind of easy.  These are cute.  This is my wife here.  Here’s one right here.  His platoon received the mission to protect from the left flank along this – – also to push forward and capture a section of the hill.

 

(Tape II-A.  Ends.  Tape II-B begins.)

Wayne:  His platoon received the mission of protecting the left Flank of the company’s assaults, and was also to push forward and capture a section of the hill.  The Japs’ positions were peppered with heavy barrages of artillery and mortar fire before the attack.  The unit started the attack with Sergeant Ross leading his platoon.  After reaching half of the – – just half the distance, the infantrymen were stopped by Japan fire consisting of knee mortars, rifles, and machine guns.  During rest of the day, the two groups slugged back and forth at each other with their arms.  During the night, the Japs launched an attack against the 130th perimeter, but were driven off.  Sergeant Ross’s machine guns and mortars played an important role in stopping the enemies attack.  The following date the Doughboys slowly started – –

 

Milo:  To gain.

 

Wayne:  Oh,  to gain yards until by late afternoon they had pushed to the top and captured the positions, killing a large number of Japs.  Sergeant Ross’s platoon captured it’s objective before any other of the other units were able to secure theirs.  Sergeant Ross has been in the services for nearly three years – –

 

Milo:  Two.

 

Wayne:  – – Two of which have been spent in the Pacific area.  Prior to participating in the Philippines liberation campaign, he battled the Japs in Netherland East Indies in the second battle of – –

 

Milo: Morotai.

 

Wayne:  – – Morotai.   Who wrote this?

 

Milo:  These come from – #

 

Wayne:  You don’t know what that’s from?

 

Milo:  I don’t know, but I’ll give you a copy.

 

Wayne:  That apparently is a news account.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  Here’s a Presidential Unit Citation.  Can you read this one right here?  Do you wanna read that?

 

Wayne:  I would like it on the tape, yeah.

 

Milo:  Okay.

 

Wayne:  Is that the same as this?

 

Milo:  Same as that.  Turn it over by your light there.

 

Wayne:  Huh?

 

Milo:  Turn it over by your light.  Maybe you see it better, can you?

 

Wayne:  Unit Citation,  5 July, 1945, Headquarters 33rd Infantry Division,  A.P.O. 33, General Orders Number 159.  Under the provisions of Section 4, Circular Number 333, War Department, 22 December, 1943, the following unit is cited by the Commanding General of the 33rd infantry division: Company C., 130th Infantry Regiment, is cited for outstanding performance of duty in armed conflict with the enemy.  Bilbil Mountain of Province Luzon – –

 

Milo:  Come in.

 

Wayne:  – – Philippine Islands  – –

 

Milo:  Come in.

 

Wayne:  – – An extremely rugged forest covered – -, key defensive positions was occupied by a company of Japs reinforced with heavy machine guns, section – – 90-millimeter mortar section and two sections, two guns of 75-millimeter howitzers.  This commanding ground afforded excellent observation and enable the enemy to maneuver it’s forces and supporting- – weapons to advantageous positions,  to successfully – – to success – -I can’t read – –

 

Milo:  To seize.

 

Wayne:  To success – –

 

Milo:  Oh – –

 

Wayne:  To success – –

 

Milo:  Important – -oh, two previous unsuccessful – –

 

Wayne:  To successfully repel seven previous attempts – –

 

Milo:  They’d been tried taking it seven times before.

 

Wayne:  All right.   To seize Hill X.

 

Milo:  But we took it in the first time up.

 

Wayne:  The strategically important know on the southeastern slope of Bilbil Mountain.   Hill X.  Was honeycombed with prepared positions from which the enemy observed and harassed our movements along the Galiano-Baguio road.  That’s B-a-g-u-i-o.

 

Milo:  Baguio.

 

Wayne:  Baguio,  the Galiano – Baguio – –

 

Milo:  Galiano.

 

Wayne:  Galiano-Baguio road.

 

Milo:  Baguio road.

 

Wayne:  On Ap- – on 12 April 1945, company C. Under the sweltering sun laboriously climbed steep mountain trail which followed the crest of an extremely narrow hogback ridge, which except for shot – –

 

Milo:  Cogon Grass.

 

Wayne: – -Cogon Grass and sparse bamboo growth was devoid of cover, and pushed to within 400 yards of the crest of Hill X.  When they were met by heavy barrage of 90-mortimer – -millimeter mortar fire which enveloped the entire ridge.  From the simultaneously intense enemy machine gun and rifle fire emanating from the many camouflaged spiders holes and caves astride the trail,  evac- – inflicted many casualties forcing the company to dig in.  A reconnaissance revealed no other route to the objective, so the company evacuated it’s casualties and aggressively pressed against this seemingly impenetrable fortress throughout the day making the enemy – –

 

Milo:  Disclose.

 

Wayne:  – – Disclose its strong points.   On 13 April 1945, despite the fact that the constant watchfulness against the night infiltration  – –

 

Milo:  You lost a line – –

 

Wayne:  No, I skipped a line, didn’t I?

Milo:  On April first – –

 

Wayne:  It’s my glasses.  On 13 April 1945, despite the fact that the men weary from the strenuous climb, the fierce fighting and constant watchfulness against night infiltration, the company launched a dawn attack.  Undaunted by the intense fire which inflicted five casualties to the leading elements, the gallant fighting men of company C. Imbued with an indomitable fighting spirit swiftly worked their way up, up – – way up the knife – like ridge,  and in the fiercest kind of close-in fighting wiped out six Jap machine gun nests in succession, killing the defending Japs in their hole.  The enemy fanatically contested with intense fire every foot of the way to the summit, but undismayed,  company C. Seized Hill X. And dug in tenaciously holding on despite continuous harassing fire delivered from the dominating positions on the Bilbil Mountain.

That night the Japs counter-attacked another company sent to assist in the attack on Bilbil Mountain, on 14 April 1945, succeeded in reaching the summit only to be driven off by the fierce Jap counter-attack.  The full fury and power of the Japs was again turned on company C.  Which alone held its, position, successfully repulsion gallery the severe and determined counter-attacks.  The tired fighting men of company C.  Exhibiting unwavering fighting spirit despite nearly 50 percent casualties, tenaciously held Hill X.  For five days until reinforcements were available to continue the attack and annihilate the enemy.

 

Milo:  That’s right,  but I’ll give you a copy of these.

 

Wayne: Yeah, that would be great.

 

Milo:  I’ll fix you up something.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, they’re kind of hard to take off the tape and – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  – – Get accurate.

 

Milo:  But I’ll  – – I’ll give you a copy of it.

 

Wayne:  Hi.

 

A Voice:  Hello, how are you?

 

Milo:  This is Dick Skeen’s boy.

 

A Voice:  (unintelligible)

Wayne:  How did you do?

 

A Voice:  Cody (Unintelligible)

 

Wayne: Cody – –

 

A Voice: (unintelligible)

 

Wayne:  Across the street?

 

A Voice:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Trying to do an audio on visual stuff.  We should have a video.

 

Milo:  They told about the Philippine Islands people would give you a ribbon, liberation ribbon.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  So I wrote to the Philippine people, that I really appreciated them, one thing and another, see.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Then I thought, well, I’ll just tell something about the people.  So I told about the people carrying the water and the stuff up on their heads and that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I said, I don’t know whether the Army’s ever told you this or not, but I wanna thank you personally.  I never had guts enough to get out of my foxhole, do you understand it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  To help you carry that stuff up the hill.  But the women and the men and the girls that carried the ammunition and water up to us, I’d like at this time to thank you people from the Philippine Islands for helping us while we were in the war to save your country.

 

Wayne:  That was mighty – – mighty thoughtful of you Milo.

 

Milo:  Well, I wrote a letter and I sent it to the Philippine people and I kept this copy.

 

Wayne:  Right, did you get any response?

 

Milo:  Not yet.  You don’t get much back.

 

Wayne:  Probably not.  I’m sure it was delivered.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: Now, is there anything else?  But I will, while you’re still on your tape, I will give you a copy of my Presidential Unit Citation.  I’ll give you a picture of myself.

 

Wayne: Right.  And if you’re gonna make, you know, I could go into Kinko’s and get copies made in a hurry.

 

Milo:  Well – –

 

Wayne:  If you wanted to trust me with any of this stuff.

 

Milo:  I’d  – –

 

Wayne:  But you – –

 

Milo:  Let me get them all together for you.

 

Wayne:  – – Maybe rather have them – – I’d like a copy of that, if you wouldn’t mind my having one.

 

Milo:  Well, it’s not too good a writing.

 

Wayne:  Well, wasn’t gonna grade it.

 

Milo:  Well, professor  – –

 

Wayne: It’s not a theme.  But there’s nor many soldiers that wrote letters like that – –

 

Milo:  See I – –

 

Wayne:  – – 40 years after the fact.

 

Milo:  But the idea of it is, the idea of it is, see, I did write to the people.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  And thank them for it.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I – – I – –  where  is Gladys?  But I did  write to the Filipino people, look, I wrote this here April 7, 1994.  Can you see it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Dear Philippine people and the government,  do you understand it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: Thanks for not forgetting and out the war, do you understand that?

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Then I put down Milo Ross and my number and everything like that.  Filipino.  But it’s your country, not my country.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  Have you ever been back?

 

Milo:  No.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, that’s a very, very thoughtful letter, indeed.

 

Milo:  Well, I wanted to write to the people.

 

Wayne:  That’s – –

 

Milo:  That’s my little Milo.  This is Mr with the horses.   You remember that?

 

Wayne:  This is the guy I knew.

 

Milo:  That’s many years ago, Wayne.

 

Wayne:  You haven’t got one of you in your baseball uniform?

 

Milo:  Yes, sir, that’s the only one down here.

 

Wayne: I was probably the score keeper for that team.

 

Milo:  You was the scorekeeper – –

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: – – Wayne, you was the scorekeeper.  They called you the bat boy.

 

Wayne:  Right.  In English.

 

Milo:  English.

 

Wayne:  I called Ted Christensen and I said I – – it’s a long time ago, and he said, I remember you, English.

 

Milo:  But I – –

 

Wayne: – – I’ll never live it down.

 

Milo:  If you will get – – give me your name and address and that and I – – I will get you – – I’ll put you a bunch of stuff together.

 

Wayne:  Good, I’d like that.  Yeah.  Are you gonna have to stop for dinner?

 

Milo:  Beg pardon?

 

Wayne:  Are you gonna have to stop for dinner?

 

Milo:  No.  You just tell me what you wanna do and I’ll – –

 

Wayne: Okay,.  Well, I’d like to cut back from Army.  You came home in – – from the Army in – –

 

Milo:  ’45.

 

Wayne:  In ’45. In what, July – – what did it say?

 

Milo:  I came home in September.

 

Wayne: September of ’45?

 

Milo:  Yeah, August.

 

Wayne:  Right.  Let’s go back a little bit to – – we’ll have to be a little  – –

 

Milo:  He’s on time because he’s gotta fly out.

 

(Conversation in background.)

 

Milo:  Here, you go here.  Do you want that (unintelligible)

 

Wayne:  Well, it might be a little better.

 

Milo:  Why don’t you sit over here?

 

A Voice:  Nice to meet you.

 

Wayne:  Nice to meet you

 

A Voice:  See you later. (Unintelligible)

 

Milo: Wayne and them used to live where the homes and that’s in here.

 

A Voice:  Over here?

 

Milo:  Carver.

 

Wayne: We lived in the house where Lorin – –

 

A Voice:  Oh,  okay .

 

Wayne:  – –  And Carolyn lived.  That’s the old – –

 

Milo:  He’s a professor back in Minnesota.

 

Wayne:  Minnesota.

 

Milo:  He’s taking, putting a little stuff together.

 

Wayne:  I’m interviewing all the old people.

 

A Voice:  All the old people, huh?  Well, this guy sure is interesting, so I’m sure – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah, he is.

 

A Voice:  – – (unintelligible) lot of information.

 

Wayne:  Fascinating, yeah.

 

A Voice:  Well, I’ll let you go.

 

Milo:  Gladys, it’s 6:00 o’clock.  Are you gonna feed Judy?

 

Gladys:  She’s been fed (unintelligible).

 

Milo:  Okay.  We got a little bit more.

 

Gladys:  Did you get my dishes done?

 

Milo:  Did you get them dishes done, she says?  Did you want (unintelligible)

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: I’m gonna tell you – – can you hear me now?

 

Wayne:  I can hear you.  I’ll stop in a minute to see if we’re – –

 

Milo:  See if you pick it up.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Then I’ll wanna tell you you two things more.

 

Wayne:  Okay.

 

Milo:  Tell me when you’re ready.

 

Wayne:  Go ahead.

 

Milo:  I wrote to the Philippine people in ’94 and thanked them for the help that they give us on Hill X.  The time we were there, we could not leave.  You understand me?

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  We were pinned down.  And when you’re pinned down, the only place you go is crawling.  And these natives would bring that water, ammunition up to us, get to a certain place, they’d drop it off and run back.  I never seen an Army man jump up to help any of them bring it up, you understand me?

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  I didn’t either.  But maybe we all should have went and helped them, I don’t know.

 

Wayne:  You’d have got shot.

 

Milo:  You understand what I’m trying to say?

 

Wayne:  Sure.

 

Milo:   But I thought, wonder if anybody ever thanked those people for doing it for us.  Because we couldn’t have stood there.  We wouldn’t have – – we wouldn’t have stayed there.  So I wrote that letter to them and thanked those people, to let the people know that their help to carry that ammunition up.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Sunday we was up to church services up to the Dee Hospital.  I’ve been going up there for six years.  I go up there and I help them pass the Sacrament, bless people, or anything like that in the hospital that wants to be blessed or have Sacrament or anything like that for six years.  This two Sundays ago a Japanese girl came from Tokyo.  Sister Sparrow introduced her to me.  And while I was sitting there, I got thinking, I wonder if that young girl would be a relative of – – to the soldier, Japanese, that I took prisoner of war outside of Baguio.  So it all run through my mind and finally I think, oh, gee, I’ll write a little letter to her.  I made an appointment to meet them next Sunday at the hospital,  so they came back next Sunday to the hospital, and I wrote this here little letter there and I told her, I says, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, but I said, during the war, outside of Baguio City, I give a Japanese a soldier to live his life.  I took him a prisoner of war.  I did not get his name, didn’t get his address, didn’t do anything like that.  But I said, I took him prisoner of war late in the afternoon, dark, and I says, I told him to tell his buddies to come up the next morning out of the cave.  There’s 25 or 30 more of them in there.  Come up with a white flag in the morning, up the trail with their white flag and surrender, because you’re done.  You’re gonna be blowed up if you don’t come out.  So he took back with me up the hill, and I never bothered me a bit taking him back as a prison of war.  I was down there alone.

I get back up to our foxholes and I told, I was on radio, I had my radio, I told them what we was doing, they was, watching me.  I get back up on the hill where we were at, dug in, one thing and another, and they have somebody there to take this man prisoner of war.  So before they take him prisoners of war, I shared a candy bar with him.  I give him a candy bar and shook his hand.  And says, good luck, I’m glad you came up the way you did.  And I says, your friends will probably meet you tomorrow someplace else.

I never thought anything more about it until I was to church after all these years.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Fifty-two,  three years.  You understand it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I see this Japanese girl, and I think, wonder if she could have a grandpa that I saved his life.  Wouldn’t that be something if that young girl goes, back to Tokyo and maybe it’s her grandpa or somebody in her family that I took a prisoner of war.  And I give her my name and address and I told her about what had happened.  I says, when you go back home, you see in your family or relatives, and around if they know some man that was taken prisoner of war outside of Baguio City, and if he did, I’m Milo Ross.  And I’d sure like to write to him.  And if he’s still alive, I’d even pay his way over here.  You know what I mean?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I would.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  I – – But you get attached to this.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And it’s in your heart.  Now, lot of guys say, how – – how can you do things like this and do that?  You don’t do it.  You’re a trained.  Day in day out, day in and day out.  The guys that trained and stayed trained is the guys that come back home.  The guys that was lazy, they didn’t make it too good.  It was hard for them.  But the guys that stayed alert physical  – – there was five tech sergeants, first sergeant,  second, third, fourth sergeant,  and the master sergeant,  the company.   Five of us.  Trained together.   Five of us sergeants came home on the same bus ticket – – boat together.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Isn’t that amazing?

 

Wayne:  Yeah,  it is.

 

Milo:  Five of us.  And it just shows you, you can do ‘er.  And see then, I didn’t get to see my son until he was three years old.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:   I was gone for three years old.  But I have a wonderful wife that sent me letters, encouraged me.

 

Wayne:  It’s amazing, you know, how much the war has stayed with you, though.

 

Milo:  Nobody knows, though.  If you told somebody you used your helmet to mess in, do you think they’d believe you?

 

Wayne:  Well, I would.

 

Milo:  See, you have to.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, because I did.

 

Milo:  You had to.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  You had to.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: And people don’t realize.

 

Wayne:  But there are a lot of guys from world war two, you know, I think they – – were able to cut it right off.

 

Milo:  Forget it.

 

Wayne:  And forget it.  You haven’t.  Or you wouldn’t feel that way about that Japanese girl.

 

Milo:  It touched my heart.

 

Wayne:  Yeah,  yeah.

 

Milo:  I thought, here’s a young girl.  Maybe I saved her daddy to give her a life.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Huh?

 

Wayne:  Yeah,  indeed.

 

Milo:  See, I’m – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – I’m kind of a Mormon, you know.

 

Wayne:  When did you become a Mormon?

 

Milo:  Oh, what was it, back in ’36, ’37, when I was going into seminary, you know.

Hi Judy.

But, you know, little things like this in life, if I hadn’t of had a wonderful wife, I would have never come back home.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  Never.  I’d have never come back home.  I’d have went into Japan  – –

 

Wayne:  You mean you’d have – –

 

Milo:  I’d have stayed.

 

Wayne:  You’d have pulled away somewhere.

 

Milo:  I would have stayed in the war.  Because I – – I’d have been – – I’d have been up, you know.  They – – they wanted me to take over platoons, they wanted me to do this, do that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  They even sent me over to headquarters, you know.  And helped me over there.  You know, and helped me,  helped me, helped me.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  They liked me.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But if it hadn’t have been for – –

 

Wayne:  That’s interesting.  It didn’t surprise me when Harold became a career soldier.  Always thought Harold would like that.  But I didn’t  – – I wouldn’t have suspected that of you, you know.

 

Milo:  See, Harold got a Bronze Star.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Did he – – you talked to him?

 

Wayne:  Yes.

 

Milo:  He got a Bronze Star.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, over at Dad’s place right after Dad died.  Paul Knight got a Bronze Star.

 

Wayne:  Did he?

 

Milo:  He did.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh, in the Philippines.

 

Milo:  Dale Moyes – – Dale East was there, too.

 

Wayne:  Really.

 

Milo:  Yeah,  Dale East was there.

 

Wayne:  Yeah

 

Milo:  Blair Simpson was there.

 

Wayne:  In the Philippines?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Did you run into all the guys.

 

Milo:  Never met a one of them.  Harold, my brother Harold – –

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  I went to Kibachiwan to see Milo Sharp, and the night I got to Kibachiwan, about 2:00 o’clock in the morning,  those guys were in trucks going out.  And how are you gonna find him?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  See, they’d relieved all the prisoners of war out of Kibachiwan.  Them guys, are the ones that caught the devil right there.  They – – they had a dirty setup taking prisoners of war there.

 

Wayne:  I didn’t see a soul from Plain City in the three years I was in the service.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Until I got back home.  I was in Europe course.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  And I think the Philippines, they cluster together more.  We were spread all over, you know.  Or I the – –

Can we cut back for a little bit to your life in Plain City – –

 

Milo:  (unintelligible)

 

Wayne:  – – you went to Plain City school, you went to Weber High school.   Any big adventures there?

 

Milo:  In school?

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  Oh, Mr. Bates, do you remember him?

 

Wayne:  Parley – – Parley Bates?

 

Milo:  Year, I remember Parley Bates.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.   Was he a big adventure?   I must have missed that part of him.

 

Milo:  He was – – oh, he was kind of like a prophet.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  Yeah understand me?  You can do it.

 

Wayne:  Well, we tried to teach me mathematics.  And he thought he could.  He was no prophet there.

 

Milo:  Well, what I mean is, he – – he tried.

 

Wayne:  Oh, yeah, he tried.

 

Milo:  He tried, tried, tried, tried.  Do you understand?  Now, in algebra and geometry, I was easy.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  Spelling?  I couldn’t even spell mother.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  They asked me to – – in school once to draw a Robin.  So I tried to draw a Robin, you know, Charcoal, whatever we had.  And when I got through drawing this little robin, the lady, sister Stewart, Norma Stewart, she says, Milo, what is this?  Is this an elephant. And I said, no, that’s a Robin.

 

But you know, spelling and  English,  things like that, I couldn’t go for it, you know. .

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But when it come to building homes and stuff like that, I could take a set of blueprints and I could tell you every board that went into it.?

 

Wayne:  Right.  Now, did you – – did you just learn that on your own?

 

Milo:  It’s  – –

 

Wayne:  All your building skills and – –

 

Milo:  It’s probably like in your brain, you know, you take school and you take math and one thing another, and you – – you pick it up here and you pick it up there.  And Harold Hunt taught me a lot.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Harold Hunt, Del Sharp.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo: Harold Hunt’s probably one of smartest men there is in the world on a square

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Big framing square.

 

Wayne:  One of the quietest men in the world.

 

Milo:  Quietest men in the world.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: Wonderful.  They’ve done a lot of good for Plain City.  If you want to ask me questions, go right ahead.   I’m just talking.

 

Wayne:  No, that’s fine.  I – – I’ve wanted to go talk to Harold, you know, but I’ve been scared a little bit.

 

Milo:  I’ll go with you.

 

Wayne:  Well,  I’m not sure we will because I’m out here tomorrow.

 

Milo:  Oh, But he’d be tickled to death for you to come over.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo : Yes, sir.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, I always feel like I’m butting in on people.

 

Gladys:  You ought to go see him a minute before you leave.

 

Milo:  He’d  be glad to talk to you.  And you could ask him about Howard.

 

Wayne:  Yeah that’s true.

 

Gladys:  Jump in the car and go over and see him before you go home.

 

Milo:  You got a minute?

 

Wayne:  Oh, boy, I gotta go see Frank Hadley pretty quick.  Maybe I could catch a minute tomorrow.

 

Milo:  Okay.

 

Wayne:  I can call you?  Or I’ll just go over and – – will he mind if I call him?

 

Milo:  He’d be glad to see you.

 

Wayne: His wife’s Ina.

 

Milo:  Ina.

 

Wayne:  Who was she.

 

Milo:  She was an Etherington from West Weber.

 

Wayne:  Adele’s  – – Ladell’s brother – –

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne:  – – Right.  Tell me, you made your life after the war as a builder,  right?

 

Milo:  I worked for the American Pack for many years.

 

Wayne:  Oh, did you?

 

Milo:  I was assistant foreman on the killing floor for many years.

 

Wayne: Oh, that became Swift.

 

Milo:  Used to be the American Pack, then Swift took over.  Then when Swift come over, they came in with the union.  And I could see what was happening.   They put them on piecework.   And when they put them on piecework,  I could see what was happening and I decided to get out of there.  So I got out of there and I went into – – to the carpenter business and I went to work – – second day I quit, I went to work on the 24th street Viaduct as a carpenter.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  So, I helped on the 24th street viaduct I built some scaffolding horses for them on them a-frames, on them I-beams and stuff like that,  to put the plank and that on – –

 

Wayne:  Is that the – – Are you talking about the new – –

 

Milo: 24th street viaduct.

 

Wayne:  When they pulled the old – –

 

Milo: West side down.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: They took that all down right after the war.  But I went to work over there for Wheelright’s Toughy Wheelright.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo:  And they sent me from – – they sent me up on Kaysville up there with another guy and we went up there and we laid out a great big water tank hole.  He was a surveyor,  and he took me up there and he taught me how to survey, how to use an instrument, you know, and how to lay it out.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And everybody seemed to like they kind of liked me when I got on a job with something like that, and it just seemed like everything fell together.  And then I went to work for Westingskow and Clay.  And I was a purchaser for them.

 

Wayne:  I’m sorry, who?

 

Milo:  Westingskow and Clay.

 

Wayne:  Westing- –

 

Milo:  Westingskow.

 

Wayne:  Skow.

 

Milo:  Yeah.   And Ben Clay.  They were builders.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  We built down in Roy, Clearfield, and right in that area there.  They- – one of the biggest builders right after the war.

 

Wayne:  Work on all those homes that have filled up – –

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne :  – – The country?

 

Milo:  Yeah. And then I – – I went – – I built 1q units,  four-plexes for C.R. England in Roy.

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  You remember that?

 

Wayne:  Well, I remember Chester.

 

Milo:  Chester England,  he had the lumber yard.

 

Wayne:  I wasn’t around when he was in the lumber business no.

 

Milo: But I- – I went down into Roy right above the old folks’ home there and built 11 four-plexes for him. That’s the first – – first million dollars he made.

 

 

Wayne:  Really?

 

Milo:  Yeah.  He was offered a million dollars for them after we got completed.

 

Wayne:  Well, he just built them on speculation?

 

Milo:  Well, he had me build them and he furnished all the material and everything out of his lumber yard.  And he had me as a foreman and I overseen them.  And I helped them survey their sewer in for Roy sewer and we run the water and everything.  It was kind of new to all of them at that time- –

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  – – to have that many units.   And they were kind of glad to have somebody help them, you know, to get their right measurements from the road and everything.   And it kind of work out nice.  But I worked for Chester England for all those years.  And then I work with Chester England in Plain City.  See, we built about 15 homes in Plain City for C.R. England.  But he financed each one of the homes we built for those people.

 

Wayne :  We’re these just individual lots?

 

Milo:  Individual lots.

 

Wayne:  They’re not side-by-side.

 

Milo:  No, just individuals.

 

Wayne: Uh-huh.

 

Milo: Down by the cemetery.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  See, he built them down through there.  And then after we got through with C.R. England, see, I went into business on myself and I had five guys working for me.  And we started to remodeling like Milton Brown’s house and built Dale Moyes’ house and Ike Moyes’ house.  We went right on through, Claire Folkman’s house, you know.

 

Wayne:  Where – – did Milton Brown live in Plain City.

 

Milo:  He lived in Warren,  down by the creek.

 

Wayne:  That’s what I thought.  By third creek.

 

Milo:  By Earl’s.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, that’s right,  yeah.

 

Milo:  See we remodeled his house.  And but I- – I  built Plain City Church with Lee Carver.  I built 38, 39th ward chapel on – – in South Ogden with Lee Carver.  He was the supervisor there.

 

Wayne:  He kind of worked for the church, didn’t he?

 

Milo:  He did work for the church.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Worked for the church  (unintelligible).  I wrote Lee Carver a letter too.

 

Wayne:  I understand he’s in a rest home now.

 

Milo:  He’s in a rest home on 9th Street with his boy, Brent.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  I’m glad the two of them can be together.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  I tried to call his daughter, Karen, but I can’t get them. I think they’re out – –

 

Milo:  If you wanna get a hold Lee Carver, I’ll go with you.  On 9th Street.  Take you right to his room.

 

Gladys:  Lee would be thrilled – –

 

Milo: He’d be glad  – –

 

Gladys:  – – to see you.

 

Milo:  You’d be- – you’d  do you good to get some tapes of that.

 

Wayne:  I’ve got – – I’ve got about ten tapes from Lee about ten years ago when he was still working out in his shop.

 

Milo:  They never give Lee Carver credit for building the Plain City church.  They didn’t even mention his name, dedication, you know that?

 

Wayne:  No.

 

Milo:  They didn’t even mention Milo Ross name a builder on it when they dedicated our church.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  It’s sad.  The guy that does the work and everything, he don’t get – – when we built Plain City Bowery up there, Junior Taylor and I done all the cement work.  They didn’t even mention that.  They mentioned the other guys that was in Lions’ club and this and that.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Do you understand?

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  But us guys, Junior Taylor and Milo Ross, they never give us credit for nothing.

 

Wayne:  Was Junior a builder?

 

Milo:  He helped cement, yeah, he helped us.  You see Clark Taylor run a housing building outfit up 2nd Street.  They called it Vitt’s Constitution.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  Clark Taylor was the strawman of it.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  He was the driver.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  That was up 2nd Street.  And Junior Taylor and Hugh Taylor and all then guys and Wilmette Taylor and all them come in, and he give us all work.  And that’s – – it helped each one of us progress.  But it’s really special.

 

Wayne: Yeah.  Well, I’m gonna have to go and I’ve kept you long enough.  Can you make a – – you’ve lived here all your life except for those four years you were in service.

 

Milo:  Three years.

 

Wayne :  Three years.   What do you make of it all?

 

Milo:  I’ve seen – – I’ve even got a picture of Milo, myself, in a buggy,  four, five of us in a buggy, one-horse-drawn buggy.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo :  I’m back that far.  And I remember we only had one light in a house, ceiling.

 

Wayne:  hanging from the – –

 

Milo: Hanging down.  You had to turn that on.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  I remember Merle England gathering up milk after a while, he started gathering up the milk.  They used to have to take their milk to the creamery there they separated it, cream and milk.

 

Wayne: Right.

 

Milo:  I’ve got a cream separator out here I’ll show you before you go.

 

Wayne:  Have you?

 

Milo:  And I remember Ed Sharp getting one – – probably one – – not the first truck in here, but one of the first trucks.  Winer Maw, remember that great big truck they brought in here that had hard wheel rubber tires.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  And – –

 

Wayne: A motorized truck?

 

Milo:  Yes, sir.

 

Wayne:  Not on pneumatic tires?

 

Milo:  It didn’t have on the – – it didn’t have on the air tires.  It had on – –

 

Wayne:  Good heavens.

 

Milo:  It had hard pressed rubber, like hard rubber on it.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: And the young boy, George Maw, was probably the one that drove it from Ogden out to here.  I’m not sure.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Because we used to be able to go down to Maw’s and work a little bit to get a – – some lunch meat, baloney, and black Nigger Babies, and stuff like that, you know.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Used to go help them unload coal and stuff like that to pick up a dollar.  We didn’t have money.  That’s what makes it bad.  But I – – remember the one light and milking the cows by hand.  Everybody had cows.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Everybody had chickens.  They had animals.  Ducks and geese.  They traded eggs.  They traded wheat and grain.  I can remember when they used to grind their grain through that grinder.

 

Wayne: Oh.

 

Milo:  Grind it, you know, and make their own bread.  And they’d – – you didn’t have butter and stuff like that.  You couldn’t buy it.  You make your own butter.

 

Wayne:  Do you remember the old creamery out there.

 

Milo:  Yes, sir.  Right across  – –

 

Wayne: That was ruins when we were kids.

 

Milo:  Yeah.   That was right where Timmy Folkman lives there now on the north side by Fred Hunt’s house.

 

Wayne:  That’s just about across from Fred.

 

Milo:  Barn.

 

Wayne:  Down by the barn. Whose creamery was that?

 

Milo: I don’t know.

 

Wayne:  Do you know who started it or – –

 

Milo: I don’t know.  Lee Carver tore that down for the materials.

 

Wayne:  Did he?

 

Milo:  Uh-huh.

 

Wayne:  I remember that.

 

Milo:  Yeah.  Lee Carver –

 

Wayne:  Used to go down there and play in the ruins.

 

Milo:  Yeah.   He used to go there.  And on Saturdays and Sundays, they used to come there, and we used to box.  Harold Hunt had boxing gloves and he’d get us to use the gloves and box each other, you know.

 

Wayne: Yeah, Ted was telling me about that.  I hadn’t realized that.

 

Milo: Yeah, but we was having fun.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  And then Harold Hunt and Bert Hunt and Lloyd Robbins and a bunch of them guys had their horses they used to ride. And they’d also play Wyatt Earp and all that and go underneath the horses belly and all this and that.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  And Lloyd Robbins – – Lynn Robbins, he went underneath the horse up by uncle Ed Sharp’s, and when he went underneath the horse and came back up, the horse was running, and there’s a guy – wire that comes from the poles down into the ground?  And he caught that guy-wire on the side of his face and tore his face open that’s why he had a scar there.

 

Wayne:  I remember that.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  He was a tall skinny kid.

 

Milo:  Tall skinny boy.

 

Wayne:  Was he Dob and Blaine’s  – –

 

Milo:  Yeah,  brother.

 

Wayne:  Or, no, who was Dob?

 

Milo:  Blaine.

 

Wayne:  Blaine.  And it was Blaine and Lloyd.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  And Lynn.

 

Wayne:  And Lynn.

 

Milo:  And Lois.

 

Wayne:  We’re they Ire’s – –

 

Milo:  Ire’s kids.

 

Wayne:  Kids.

 

Milo:  But everybody had cows.  Everybody drove their cows from Plain City out to pastures.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Carvers done the same thing.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And – –

 

Wayne:  Some came east, some went west.

 

Milo:  Did I tell you about the log cabin, the Carvers – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: Okay.  I’ll tell you about the log cabin in Plain City.  The kids got into the old log cabin they had a roof over it to protect it.  And the kids got in there after the war and they – – they play up on the roof of the old cabin house, between that and the roof that they put over it to protect it.  And they got to using it for a latrine.  Instead of getting down, they’d urinate.   And in summer, you go down there to help fix up the old log cabin house, it smelled so bad, you couldn’t hardly stand the odor.   So the daughters of pioneers – – who had it at that time, Gladys?  Aunt Vic  Hunt?

 

Gladys:  Aunt Vic Hunt was one of the leaders.

 

Milo:  Who was the other one?

 

Wayne:  Mindi?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  In Moyes?

 

Milo:  Oh, the Carver girl.  Bud Carver’s daughter.

 

Wayne:  Beth?

 

Gladys:  Beth.

 

Milo:  Beth.

 

Wayne:  Oh,  okay.

 

Milo:  She had me come down and see what to do with the log cabin house, the Carver log cabin house.  They wanted to kind of restore it and keep it because it was going down to nothing.

 

Wayne :  Yeah.

 

Milo:  The plaster and everything was falling out of the walls.

 

Wayne:  That’s when it was down here by Walt’s

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: But the plaster and everything was falling out of the walls and the roof and the ceiling and all the thing was going down .  The windows were broke out and everything like that.  So I went down and I told them, I says, I’ll fix it up, but I’m not gonna leave that roof on top because that’s where the kids are doing your damage.  I’m gonna take it all down, and make the log cabin, the Carver log cabin, so everybody can admire it.  So I – – over years, I’ve kept the log cabin up.  And Rosella Maw, Arlo Maw’s wife has a key to it now.  Where I used to have a key, now they won’t let me have a key to it anymore.  Since Rosella Maw took over, I don’t have a key.

 

Gladys: (unintelligible)

 

Milo:  Huh?

 

Gladys:  Rosella wants it.

 

Milo:  Rosella Maw.

 

Wayne:  We were in it just Saturday because there was a Carver reunion and Joanne went over to Rosella and got the key.

 

Milo:  You have to get the key.

 

Wayne:  We went in.

 

Milo:  I used to have a key.

 

Wayne:  That’s a shame

 

Milo:  I took care of it all my life, you understand?

 

Wayne :  Yeah.

 

Milo: Since the war and- –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  And I fixed it all up and I put them big heavy shakes shingles on it and everything and I’ve put the mud back in the walls and fixed it up.  And I’ve put the steel gate and that on there.  And the windows.  I’ve fixed it all up.  And I’ve put great big long spikes through some of the logs, drove them spikes in through there so they cannot pull them out.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  See, I’ve cut the heads off the spikes and drove them – –

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  – -right in so kids – – and the kids use to tear them apart.  They’d take a log out and go through.  And that’s why them spikes are in there, put all them in there.  But over the years, Harold Carver- – Harold Carver donated money to president Calvert to shingle it and fix it up, some money one time.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  So president Calvert said he had this, money and that for it.  And I says, well, let me tear the roof and that all off and, let me fix it so it’s nice.  So that’s why theses thick but shingles are on there, them big slate shingles, and that.

 

Wayne:  Uh-huh.

 

Milo:  But otherwise,  you wouldn’t have a Carver building.

 

Wayne:  I hadn’t known that, you know, Milo.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne:  I’m really proud that that’s the Carver thing up there.

 

Milo:  I am too.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Because the Carvers meant a lot to me.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo: Yeah.  Your dad, your mother was – – they were gold to us.  They shared their garden with us.  She’d pick beans and stuff and say, Gladys, would you like a mess of beans?  Gladys says, yes, I’ll be over to pick them.  She’d go over to pick them, they were already picked.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Gladys:  I had to take care of my handicapped daughter and that before I could go pick.

 

Milo:  But you see – –

 

Gladys:  Already had them picked.

 

Milo:  The Carvers- – the Carvers had really been a dad and mother to a lot of us.

 

Wayne:  I remember – – I’ve got a letter, you wrote dad a letter – –

 

Milo:  In the war.

 

Wayne:  – – in the war.  A very tender letter, yeah.

 

Milo:  But it come from my heart.

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  Do you know why I wrote him a letter?   Sent me a card.  Joe Hunt sent me a card.  Do you understand it?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  You never forget that.

 

Wayne:  No. Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I – – I am a high-decorated soldier.  I was turned in for Congressional Medal of Honor and one of the lieutenants wouldn’t sign it.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:   You have to have two signatures.  But I did get a Silver Star.

 

Wayne:  Right.

 

Milo:  Do you understand me?

 

Wayne:  Yeah.   Did you ever meet George Whalen that got the Congressional medal?

 

Milo:  No.

 

Wayne:  The Slater Villegas kid?

 

Milo:  He was – –

 

Wayne:  He was in the navy- –

 

Milo:  – – Paramedics.

 

Wayne:  Yeah,  he was in – – oh, well, ever sorry you came back to Plain City?

 

Milo:  Well, I’ve lived in Plain City all my life.

 

Wayne:  I know.

 

Milo:  Plain City’s been our home all of our lives.  Its, like I was telling you about my dad, everybody told me not to go see him, I went and seen him.  And I’m glad I went and seen him.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo :  You understand me?  And this Japanese girl I was telling you about, if she is a daughter or relative to that guy that I took prisoner of war, my heart will be full of joy to think that I saved another generation of families.

 

Wayne:  Right,  but – – that will be one of the great miracles of all time- –

 

Milo:  It can happen.

 

Wayne:  – – If – -if she finds someone out of that – –

 

Milo:  It’s could be.

 

Wayne:  Oh,  it could be.   I don’t doubt that it could be.

 

Milo:  It could be.

 

Wayne:  But it’s called a miracle.

 

Milo:  Miracle.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But it does happen every day.

 

Wayne:  Yeah?  So I know Harold lives over in West Weber.

 

Milo:  West Weber.

 

Wayne:  Paul was killed, you say?

 

Milo:  My brother Paul?  He died in a barn at Ed Sharp’s.

 

Wayne:  Your brother.

 

Milo:  My brother.   See, they were playing in the barn up at Ed Sharp’s and he fell out of the barn and broke his arm and concussion of the head, broke his head open.

 

Wayne:  How old was he then?

 

Milo:  Paul would have to be about nine or 11, somewhere in there.

 

Wayne:  So that happened not long after you came back to Plain City.

 

Milo:  We came back home down here.

 

Wayne:  And your sister – –

 

Milo:  June.

 

Wayne:  – – June.

 

Milo:  She’s still alive and living in California.   In Anaheim, I think she lived down around Anaheim, (unintelligible) district area. But tell him – – tell him about the letters aunt Vic Hunt was gonna give me, then she didn’t give me the cigar box.

 

Gladys:  I’ve got some letters.  And they’re Milo’s, they were sent to Milo’s, and I’ve kept them all these years and I wanna give them to him.  Se me and Milo went over this night.  And she says, well, they’re upstairs.   I’ll have to go upstairs and get them.  So she opened that door to go upstairs, then she come back and says, no, Milo, I don’t think I’m gonna give you these letters yet.  So Milo never got those letters.

 

Milo:  She’s handed me the cigar box.

 

Gladys:  She handed them to him, then took them back.

 

Milo:  I says, Aunt Vic, if that means that much to you, you take this box back.   I never got the box.

 

Wayne:  And you said you think you know who has that?

 

Milo:  I think Archie Hunt’s family got it.

 

Wayne:  Archie.

 

Milo:  But I’m not never gonna say anything to Archie Hunt.

 

Wayne:  Now, who – – yeah.

 

Milo:  It’s Bert.  That would be Fred Hunt’s- –

 

Wayne:  Did Archie marry Carol?

 

Milo:  Yeah.  Ralph Taylor.

 

Wayne:  Ralph and Elma’s, yeah.

 

Milo:  What’s in that box, little bit of money and that was in that box, do you understand?   Were the gifts that they’d sent me.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Gold pieces and stuff like that.  I really don’t care.  Silver certificate notes, gold notes.  You know, they had silver and gold certificates then, you know.

 

Wayne:  I’ve heard of them.  I don’t remember seeing them.

 

Milo:  Well,  I got some.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  But I got – -but I will – – I’ll – – I’ll fix you up a copy of my citations.

 

Wayne:  I’d appreciate that a lot.  And I’m not gonna have time to see – –

 

Milo:  Now, Frank – – Frank Hadley has got a lot of history about the baseball playing.  And he’s got a lot about Milo Ross pitching the ball game, 13 strikeouts, 12 strikeouts, 11 strikeouts, you know what I mean?  No hitters.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: And Frank Hadley has all of that.  But I’ve never been able to get him- –

 

Wayne:  has he got the score books?

 

Milo:  Yes.

 

Wayne:  Has he?

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Wayne:  I’ve gotta go over and talk to him.

 

Milo:  Yeah.

 

Gladys:  He’d love to see you.

 

Wayne:  What?

 

Milo:  You know where he lives.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Down there.

 

Wayne: Yeah.  I see him in the winter at st. George.

 

Milo:  Do you go down there?

 

Wayne:  We’ve been renting a place, so we go whenever we can find a place to live.

 

Milo:  Archie Hunt has a home in – – ground in St. George,  Archie Hunt. And they rent that out.

 

Wayne:  Oh.

 

Milo:  So maybe you ought to get a hold Archie Hunt and put a trailer on there once in a while.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  Are you still teaching?

 

Wayne:  No.  I retired.

 

Milo:  You’ve retired

 

Wayne:  Yeah.   I taught until was 70 and decided that was enough.

 

Milo:  Dr. Burst has a son that he’s – – Nicholas.  Just put him in Stanford, California for $31,000 for one year, schooling.  Thirty, thirty-one thousand.

 

Wayne:  Yeah,  I can believe it.  My school is about 28.

 

Milo: Yeah.

 

Wayne: Yeah.  And there are families that have got two or three kids – –

 

Milo:  Right.

 

Wayne: – – that – – I couldn’t afford Weber College.

 

Milo:  Well, that’s the way – –

 

Wayne: Which was 56 a year.

 

Milo:  But I have that grandson there that picks up close to $52,000 on paper – –

 

Wayne: Yeah.

 

Milo:  – – Besides what other he gets.   When they went back to these here scholarship meetings and stuff like this,  they give them tapes, they give them the recordings, they gave them pamphlets for the computers.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo:  They pick up like- – what did he tell us – – $7,000 in these pamphlets and stuff for the computers, disk and stuff like that.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: They’re gifts to these kids.   If you had to buy them, it’s amazing.

 

Gladys :  He’s just a very smart boy and he isn’t a smart alec

He’s just as nice as can be.

 

Milo:  He’s nice like his father and his grandfather.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.

 

Milo: But you take – – you take the Carver family, probably respected more than any family in Plain City that I’ve ever known, the Carver family.

 

Wayne:  Yeah, well, I’m real pleased to hear that.  I’m, you know, it’s been so long since I’ve lived here, I – -and it almost breaks my heart when I see the that the old town has disappeared,  you know, bears no relationship.

 

Milo:  You see, I remodeled your dad’s place.

 

Wayne:  Oh, I thought that’s all you did. I didn’t know you worked for contractors.

 

Milo:  Well, I worked for contract- –

 

Wayne: You built mom’s kitchen that she was so proud of.

 

Milo:  I got underneath the floor, put the floor back together.  There wasn’t even any floor under it.

 

Wayne: I don’t know what’s in there now.

 

Milo:  Your family’s in there.

 

Wayne: Well, it breaks Joan heart the way Lorin and Carolyn have just let it – –

 

Milo:  They let it go.

 

Wayne:  Yeah.  Well- –

 

(Tape Ends.)

Irwin John Jonas

With the 70th anniversary of D-Day and the events that occurred on that date, I thought I would make a special tribute to my Grand Uncle Irwin John Jonas.  He participated in D-Day and lost his life on 11 July 1944, just over 70 years ago, near Saint-Lô, France.

Irwin John was born the third child to the marriage of Lillian Coley and Joseph Nelson Jonas.  He was born on Friday 2 September 1921 in Thatcher, Franklin, Idaho, at 6:30 PM, although likely born in Cleveland, Franklin, Idaho, while the family made a go of farming.  The family could not make farming work and moved to Lewiston, Cache, Utah as his father took a job with the Utah-Idaho Central Railroad.  When Irwin was about 6, the family moved to Uintah, Weber, Utah.  Joseph was promoted to Section Foreman and the family moved to Ogden, Weber, Utah.  It was in this place that Joseph was accidentally electrocuted in 1932.  Afterward the family moved back to Richmond, Cache, Utah, Lillian’s hometown.

Irwin Primary Graduation Certificate

1025

The family moved around quite a bit and some of the children struggled with the moves and changes in homes.  The family lived in everything from a boxcar to a nice home in Ogden.  Joseph and Lillian were stern but loving parents, dealing with their own issues as well as with the children.

Irwin John Jonas

Irwin John Jonas

Lillian purchased a small home in Richmond with the funds from Joseph’s life insurance.  Lillian’s family helped raise the rowdy six boys, including Irwin, and youngest two girls.

Irwin Boy

Irwin continued through school.  He did not graduate high school, but at least made it a few years into North Cache.

Irwin High School Certificate

Here is a picture of Irwin at North Cache with Glacus Godfrey Merrill’s class.  Irwin is on the back row, third from the right, fifth from the left.  His brother, Norwood, my grandfather, is on the far right of the third row from the front.  You can see the other names for this photo here.

Glacius Merrill's Class about 1938 or 1939

Irwin Receipt

Shortly before his 18 birthday, 6 July 1939, Irwin enlisted with the Army.  He departed shortly afterward for training.

Irwin Jonas Departure

Unfortunately, the Army had a massive fire that destroyed most of the military records for World War II in 1973.

Irwin Jonas Guitar and FriendFamily recollect that he trained in the southwest as this picture also seems to show with the large cactus.

Irwin Jonas Target

He did make it to the rank of Sergeant in the Army.

Irwin Jonas Military

Irwin met Mary Elizabeth Popwitz at a dance at Camp McCoy, Sparta, Wisconsin.  They were later married 21 June 1943 in Winona, Winona, Minnesota.

Mary Popwitz and Winifred Perley

Mary Popwitz and Winifred Perley (Mary was Winifred’s Nanny)

Irwin wrote a Christmas Card home in December 1943 with the following photograph.

Irwin Jonas Christmas Card

Irwin was then sent to go overseas.  Irwin sent Mary to live with his mother in Richmond.  Mary gave birth to Robert Irwin Jonas in February 1944.  Irwin went to New York City in preparation for the D-Day Invasion.  At least that is the story told by family.

This following envelopes show Irwin was still in New York City in May and July of 1944.

Irwin Envelope 1944 May

 

Irwin Envelope 1944 Jul 8

An explanation could be the preparation for D-Day and not wanting to give anything away so they made it appear like it was in New York City.  Or it could very well be that he did not take part of D-Day and arrived after that date.  However, since he died on the 11th of July in Saint-Lô, it is unlikely he was in New York City on 8 July 1944.  Further that letter was dated 6 July 1944.  It was likely he was writing from France but marking the envelopes New York City.  At any rate, here is the single page of the postmarked 8 July 1944 letter.  You will have to click on it to read it properly, the pencil is hard to scan.  One of Irwin’s obituaries indicates he was sent to Europe in October 1943.

Irwin Jonas Letter 1944 Jul 6

Lillian received the dreaded personal visit from the Army in August 1944.  She received the following letter in September.

0001

The US Army determined to bring Irwin’s body home to the United States rather than bury him in France.   Lillian and Mary finally received Irwin’s body in late January 1948.  His burial took place 6 February 1944 in Richmond.

Irwin Jonas Obituary

Irwin Jonas Honored

Irwin Jonas Newspaper Article

2014-06-26 20.15.08

Robert Irwin Jonas continued to grow under the love and care of his mother and grandmother.

Bob Jonas Baby

After Irwin passed away, Mary moved to Preston, Franklin, Idaho near her close friend Colleen Andra who would later marry Irwin’s brother, Norwood.

Bob Jonas Young Boy

Through the family, Mary and Bob moved to Ogden to work.  There, Mary, Irwin’s widow, met Irwin’s uncle Art Coley.  Irwin and Art were born the same year, even though Uncle and Nephew.  Arthur “Art” Christiansen Coley and Mary were married 3 May 1946 in Evanston, Uinta, Wyoming.

Art and Mary continued to raise Bob as their own.  Two additional sons joined the marriage, Stephen “Steve” G and Ronald Gary.

Steve, Bob, Gary

Steve, Bob, Gary

 

Steve, Mary, Gary, Bob

Steve, Mary, Gary, Bob

 

Bob Jonas Boy

 

Bob Jonas

Bob, Janet, and Bobby Jonas

Bob, Janet, and Bobby Jonas

As of my writing today, Mary is still alive.  She lives in an assisted living home in South Ogden, Utah.

Bob and Janet Jonas, Mary Coley, Steve and Julie Coley

Bob and Janet Jonas, Mary Coley, Steve and Julie Coley in 2004

Postcard from Thatcher

This post card has no value to anyone besides family, but because it has Joseph Jonas’ signature and handwriting I thought I would make it available.  Some of the information I referenced in the article I wrote on Joseph and Lillian Jonas.

Joseph and two siblings had just purchased some land near Thatcher, Idaho in Cleveland, Idaho.  While they got the farm up and running his wife, Lillian Coley Jonas, stayed behind in Richmond, Utah to deliver a son.  She joined him that fall in Cleveland.

Postcard from Joseph Jonas to his wife, Lillian Coley Jonas.

Postcard from Joseph Jonas to his wife, Lillian Coley Jonas.

“I reached Thatcher Monday 4 o’clock, 2 hrs. ago.  Cows stood it fine.  Write to tell me how you are making it.  From your liveing husband Jos. Jonas.”

Jonas – Coley Wedding

Herbert and Martha Coley are pleased to announce the marriage of their daughter Lillian to Joseph Nelson Jonas, son of Joseph and Annie Jonas.  They were married 6 September 1916 in Logan, Cache, Utah at the LDS Temple.  The photo above we think was taken around 1930 or so and is not a wedding photo.

Lillian was born the first child of ten to Martha Christiansen and Herbert Coley 26 August 1898 in Lewiston, Cache, Utah.  Both Herbert and Martha were Mormon immigrants to Utah in the 1880’s.  Herbert and Martha both had native land accents from England and Norway respectively.  Herbert was a diligent laborer who would acquire full ownership in their home by 1910.  Martha was a strict and involved homemaker and mother.

Lillian grew up assisting her mother in maintaining the home, large garden, and raising younger siblings.  By the the time she married, she had six younger children who were in the home (three more were yet to be born).  When Lillian was born, the family lived in Lewiston.  By 1910, the family had moved to Wheeler, Cache, Utah (or the 1900 Census did not have Wheeler broken from Lewiston).  The Wheeler area is almost 6 miles directly to the west from Richmond, Cache, Utah as indicated by the link.  We do not know where they lived in Wheeler.

By the time Lillian married Joseph, the family lived at roughly 1950 E 9000 N to the south and east of Richmond.  The remainder of the cabin built by Herbert Coley was still in the middle of a cow pen in fall 2012 on the south side of the road, but was in pretty poor condition.  Ellis Jonas took me there about 2002 and indicated the home to me as where they lived when he was a little boy.  Martha moved in to town, Richmond, after Herbert passed away in 1946.

Joseph Nelson Jonas was the sixth of seven child born to Annetta Josephine Nelson and Joseph Jonas 19 November 1893 in or near Ellensburg, Kittitas, Washington.  About 1896, Joseph’s mother, Annie, went to the Eastern Washington Hospital for the Insane in Fancher, Spokane, Washington (she is listed as Ann J Jonas).  She was in and out of hospitals throughout her life but as Joseph was one of the younger children, he would not have known his mother a little better.

Joseph and Margaret Jonas about 1899

Annie got out of the Eastern Washington Hospital 31 October 1899 and went home to Ellensburg and continued to be a handful for the family.  The family on the 1900 Census in Cle Elum, Kittitias, Washington does not include Annie though and the census that year has Joseph Sr in both Cle Elum and Spokane about two weeks apart in June 1900.  Annie’s sister, Charlotte, visited in 1901.  Due to Annie’s mental and emotional state, and with Joseph Sr’s approval, the whole Jonas family went to Utah to stay temporarily with Annie’s brother, Nels August Nelson.  Uncle August lived in Crescent, Salt Lake, Utah and the Jonas party arrived 3 July 1901 from Washington.

John, Joseph, and William Jonas probably right before moving to Utah in 1901.  The photo is stamped with Ellensburg on the matting.

Joseph Sr for one reason or another went back to Washington with the youngest child Margaret.  Nels suggested it was legal issues, it might have just been the farm that needed attention.  Annie’s issues were such that August and his wife, Fidelia, signed an affidavit of insanity and had her admitted to the Utah State Hospital 1 November 1901.

Joseph Sr had been raised as a Catholic and Annie Nelson had been raised LDS.  Annie decided she did not like LDS men and wanted to marry a Gentile and did so.  The children were raised Catholic in Washington.  Now in Utah, Uncle August made sure the children learned about the LDS faith.  The three boys elected to be baptized LDS on 10 January 1902 in Crescent by their Uncle August in an ice covered Jordan River.  All three were confirmed 12 January 1902 by Jaime P Jensen.  Rosa joined 6 February 1902, also in Crescent under the hand of Uncle August in a hole chipped in the Jordan River.  Margaret did not join as she stayed near her father in Washington.

In 1904, Rosa married a boy, Christian Andersen, from Richmond.  They married in Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah.  They moved to 137 E 100 S in Richmond.  Joseph and his brothers resided with Uncle August until after their mother passed in 1907, then they would regularly and for prolonged periods stay with Rosa in Richmond.  The 1910 Census lists Joseph at home in Crescent.  Read more of Brother John Jonas.

Joseph Nelson Jonas’ Brigham Young College yearbook picture

Joseph attended Brigham Young College in Logan and graduated with his diploma 3 June 1915.  We don’t know much about his time at Brigham Young College but the story goes he wrestled with their team and did so very effectively.  William, Joseph’s brother, was apparently here at school during some overlapping periods.  Joseph became well known for his love of gospel conversations.  He was known for regularly discussing and even arguing the gospel with extra determination.  No hard feelings developed due to his ardor in arguing since others would always agree to a handshake after a good debate.

Joseph Jonas graduation diploma from Brigham Young College in Logan, Utah

Below is a copy of a picture believed to be from his graduation at BYC.  I have not been able to find the original of this photo or a copy at Utah State University’s archives where the Brigham Young College limited records are located (which are less than cooperative on letting me rummage through all the unknown photos).

In Richmond Joseph and Lillian met when Lillian’s father, Herbert, hired Joseph to help harvest hay.  It was within six months, according to the story, that they were married.  The two were married 6 September 1916 in the Logan LDS Temple.

Joseph registered for the draft of World War I on 5 June 1917.  When he registered, he indicated he was a laborer working for Olaf Neilson, the man who would later become a brother-in-law.  He indicated he was taking care of his wife and father.  He also indicated that his eyes were brown and his hair was brown.  He is listed as short and stout.  Here is his signature from that registration.  According to his family, he stood about 5’6″ and was very muscular.

Joseph’s father passed in Richmond in June 1917.  Lillian gave birth to Joseph Herbert Jonas 14 August 1917 in Richmond.

In 1919, Joseph and his two siblings, Rosa and William, had all moved to Idaho.  They operated a dry farm raising grain in Cleveland, Franklin, Idaho.  Christian and Rosa, along with Joseph, did most of the work on the farm and lived about a mile apart.  William taught at the school in Thatcher, Franklin, Idaho.  The Andersen and Jonas families also kept cows, pigs, chickens, and a sizable garden.  This is the only home Joseph and Lillian Jonas would together own.  Joseph arrived with the cows in Thatcher on 1 April 1919.  Lillian stayed in Richmond due to her pregnancy and while Joseph established the farm.  Communications were slow because mail was held at Thatcher.  Joseph and Lillian only heard from each other when Joseph made it in to Thatcher to pick up the mail or send a letter.

Spencer Gilbert Jonas was born 1 September 1919 in Richmond.  Lillian and the two boys joined Joseph in Cleveland.

The 1920 Census found the Jonas family on 26 January 1920 living on the Cleveland Road outside of Thatcher.

Irwin John Jonas was born 2 September 1921 in Cleveland, but listed as Thatcher.

In 1923 or early 1924, the family then moved to Lewiston, Cache, Utah.  The farm was not working out and he was able to obtain employment with the Utah-Idaho Central Railroad.  Joseph worked on a section gang, just like his father had.  The gang’s job was to repair rotten timbers, hammering in spikes, tightening bolts, and maintaining the rail line.  He worked 7 days a week, sometimes all night, coming home only after a shift was over.

The family lived in a boxcar that had its wheels removed.  A ditch ran under a portion of their home.  Another boxcar nearby was used as a storage shed.  It was here 15 May 1924 that Wilburn Norwood Jonas was born.  Ellis Seth Jonas arrived in this home 6 September 1926, their 10 year wedding anniversary.

Joseph kept a tub of furnace oil in the shed.  It accidentally caught on fire and and Joseph immediately announced to Lillian that the storage shed would burn down and probably their home too.  Joseph, known for being a bit of a prankster, was not believed by Lillian despite his insistence.  Joseph ran back to the shed and picked up the burning tub of fuel and carried it outside the shed.  While he saved the shed and his home, he found himself in Ogden for several weeks with 2nd and 3rd degree burns.  A 9 February 1927 newspaper mention in the Ogden Standard Examiner tells of his being brought to the Dee Hospital on Tuesday the 8th for treatment of burns to the face.

In 1927, Joseph was promoted foreman and oversaw the Quinney line through Wheeler, Thaine, and ending at Quinney (now Amalga).  Later, he accepted another foreman job and moved to the railroad town of Uintah, Weber, Utah where he lived in row housing.  Here is a picture taken while living there.

Picture from Uintah Railroad Camp toward Weber Canyon about 1927

Joseph filed for divorce 2 March 1929 claiming Lillian had deserted him.  The article in the paper indicates they had not lived together since 20 February 1928.  It was during this time on 4 September 1928 that Evan Reed Jonas was born in Ogden.  The divorce was dismissed on 9 March 1929 due to the party’s stipulation.  Joseph again sued on 8 April 1929.  He was ordered to pay $75 a month until the case was resolved.  Joseph and Lillian had the case dismissed after they worked out their issues.

The family later moved into a comfortable home owned by the railroad at 102 17th Street in Ogden, Weber, Utah.  It was a row house, but since he was Section Foreman, the only one with a porch.  Joseph’s father, Joseph, had also served as Section Foreman.  Joseph’s main responsibility dealt with the Huntsville and Plain City/Warren lines.  During this time Joseph and Lillian became known as generous hosts where all visitors were always given more than enough to eat.  Joseph prided himself on the vegetable garden they grew at this home.

On 6 November 1929 Lillian was hit and ran over by an automobile driven by Jack Mobley.  It knocked her unconscious but she quickly regained consciousness.  She spent the night in the hospital and was pretty seriously bruised and lacerated but suffered no broken bones.  Joseph and Lillian admitted they were walking in the middle of the road when the accident occurred.

Joseph and Lillian continued active in the LDS church.  Joseph regularly debated and discussed religion with others.  He was also known to be strict in adherence to principles and expected his children to do the same.  He was not afraid to “switch” his children when they got in trouble or disobeyed.  One thing family members always commented about Joseph was his ability to remember and recall scripture in a conversation and discussion.  Not only that, but when questioned to prove it, he was familiar enough with the book that within moments he could find the chapter and verse.  His familiarity with the bible surprised many people, especially from a railroad laborer.

Joseph and some friends at work after a game of shoes

Lillian Annetta Jonas was born 15 July 1930 in Ogden.  The 1930 Census found Joseph and Lillian at their home on 9 April 1930.  The family was fairly comfortable, they could even afford some of the best appliances.

Joseph Jonas Maytag Warranty Certificate

Joseph was especially glad to have a girl after six sons in a row.

Joseph stands on the back row, second from the left. This is his Section Gang in Ogden.

Joseph and Lillian had a scare in 1931 when their son, Joseph, disappeared for a couple of weeks.  He had been kidnapped by a Mr. J J Nelson and taken to Pocatello, Bannock, Idaho.  He was finally recovered on 20 June 1931.  The man was arrested after he beat young Joseph in public and the police determined Joseph was the missing boy from Ogden.

LeReta Mary Jonas was born 1 August 1932 in Ogden.

On Tuesday, 6 September 1932, a month after LeReta was born and on his 16th wedding anniversary, Joseph went to work as usual.  Joseph knew the dangers of working on the railroad.  It was near lunch time and his son, Norwood, was taking Joseph his lunch. Joseph saw Norwood and got down off a trolley near Lincoln and 20th Street, near the American Can Company plant.  After getting off the trolley, he turned and walked toward Norwood and hit his head on a wire Mr. Child had strung down to do some welding.  (Mr. Child was haunted by this episode the rest of his life because Joseph had warned him about the way he had hung the wire.)  The shock knocked Joseph on his back unconscious and not breathing.  Joseph died immediately but doctors worked on Joseph for over an hour.  Lillian said Norwood was forever affected by the event.  Joseph died at roughly 1:00 PM.

Joseph Jonas Death Cert

Here is a copy of the newspaper notice.

Here is the burial notice.

As a historical side note, here is the front of the train schedule Joseph had in his wallet at the time of his death.

Utah Idaho Central Railroad Company Time Table from 1932-1933

The loss of Joseph dealt the family a hard blow not only with losing a family member, but it also lost them the company housing in which they were living.  Lillian, at the mercy of family, moved immediately back to Richmond to be near her family.  Lillian’s father, Herbert Coley, was appointed administrator for Joseph’s estate.  The railroad paid out roughly $1,200 to Joseph’s estate.  The funeral, transport, and burial of the family cost Lillian $150.  The estate did not begin making regular payments to Lillian until 1934.  Until then, Lillian wrote to the railroad for assistance and help.  The railroad was happy to provide passes for the family to travel.  Unfortunately, the company quit handling company coal so they could not fulfill her requests but allowed the boys to have all the used railroad ties they wanted for firewood.

Lillian’s signature from the back of one of the estate checks written to her.

Fortunately, the money from the estate was enough to purchase a home for Lillian in Richmond from a Melvin & Bernetta Smith for $500.  This gave Lillian a home to raise her children and less worry about providing for her family.  The home was located on the north side of the road at roughly 65 E 400 S in Richmond, Utah.  Herbert and Martha, Lillian’s parents, lived across the street, but their home was a good couple hundred feet from the road.

Lillian made good effort to raise six unruly, now fatherless, boys and two girls.  At Joseph’s death, the children were ages 15, 13, 11, 8, 6, 4, 2, and 1 month.  The Jonas brood were known for being a bit coarse and boisterous as the years went on.  Only a few years would pass before the children would start marrying.

Joseph married Hilma Grace Erickson 17 June 1936 in Logan.

Spencer married Viola “Jimmie” Amelia Cole 5 August 1938 in Farmington, Davis, Utah.

Irwin joined the army 6 July 1939 and immediately left for training.  He eventually married Mary Elizabeth Popwitz 17 June 1943 in Rochester, Olmsted, Minnesota.

Lillian’s portrait after the death of son Irwin in World War II

Evan married Lona Rae Jensen 15 March 1946 in Elko, Elko, Nevada.

Norwood married Colleen Mary Andra 27 September 1946 in Elko.

Ellis married Geraldine Pitcher 17 August 1947 in Elko.

Lillian Driver’s License photo

LeReta married Lowell Hansen Andersen 19 March 1948 in Logan.

Lillian married Ray Laurence Talbot 16 August 1948 in Ogden.

Jimmie, Lillian, and Lona Jonas with Norene and little Spence about 1948 (Lillian has a beet knife in hand, must have been fall)

Lillian spent the new few years in an empty home.  She knew Lorenzo “Ren” Bowcutt over the years.  She accepted his offer of marriage and they were married 12 June 1953 in Preston, Franklin, Idaho.

1953 Marriage License

Lillian and Ren Bowcutt

At the time of her marriage to Ren, she had 22 grandchildren, 21 living.

Lillian Bowcutt in 1959

5 generations about 1959, Lillian Coley Bowcutt, Martha Christiansen Coley, Joseph Hebert Jonas, Robert Lee Jonas, Joseph Leland Jonas

Ren passed away 5 April 1966 in Logan (born 12 May 1883 in Honeyville, Box Elder, Utah).  Ren was buried in Riverside, Box Elder, Utah.

Lorenzo Bowcutt

Lorenzo Bowcutt obituary

Lona and Evan Jonas visiting Lillian in the late 1960’s

Lillian in 1978

She lived in the same home until the early 1980’s when she moved in with her daughter Lillian in Layton.

Front (l-r): Spence, Joe, Ellis, Evan, Paul Ross, Jackie Jonas, Andra Ross. Standing: Jimmie, Hilma, Lillian, Lillian, LeReta, Lona, Colleen. Back: Dan Jonas, Larry Talbot, Unknown hidden, Unknown hidden in 1982

4 generations, Sherlean Talbot Collier, Rebecca Collier, Lillian Jonas Talbot, Lillian Coley Jonas about 1984

Lillian portrait about 1986

Spence, Lillian, Joe, Lillian, Ellis, LeReta, Evan

Lillian died 11 February 1987 in Davis Medical Center, Layton, Utah.  She was almost 88.5 years old.  She was buried beside her husband (55 years later) in Richmond 16 February 1987.

Nels August Nelson

Back (l-r): Virgil, Lawrence, Fidelia, Moses.  Front: Paul, Nels, Fidelia, August.

This is the autobiography of Nels August Nelson.  He completed this autobiography in about 1930.  For the most part, it is as it was typed.  I corrected some obvious errors.  I hope you enjoy because this took me over 4 months to get completely typed.  It is 57 pages long and I would usually type a page or two at a time.  Nels is the brother to my Annetta Josephine Nelson (Annie) who married Joseph Jonas.

~

Nels August Nelson, third child of John and Agnetta Benson Nelson, was born in Oringe, Hallands, Sweden, on May 18, 1857.  My memory of the beautiful country around our home is still vivid even though I was not quite seven when we left.  In 1861 we moved to Tulap, near Marebeck, a Swedish mile from Halmstadt.  We had two wagons loaded with household goods.  Mother and the four children were on the second wagon which father drove.  I can still see the hayrack.  It had four poles, two in the standard of the wagon, with holes bored and sticks driven in them to keep them apart the width of the wagon.  Then there were holes in each pole on the upper side slanting outward so as to extend over the wheels gradually to about four or five feet high.  Finally, a pole crossed the top of both sides and ends to keep it from spreading.  This is the picture of it as I remember the morning we moved.

Our new home consisted of two long buildings, I should judge considerably neglected because father was continually repairing them between the hours on the farm.  There was a peat bed some distance to the south of the house, a steep slope to the west, a small stream to the east, and cultivated land on the other side.  Father planted trees from the northeast corner of the dwelling due East some distance, thence north and West to the northwest corner of the barn, forming a beautiful square.  My recollection is that the trees were birch.

A road ran due east to the nearest neighbors.  On the west a path ran to Marebeck.  A public highway went through our place and led to Halmstadt.  The village nearby had beautiful homes and churches.  A large bell rang out at twelve and six, possibly other times.  It seemed to say, “Vin Vellin, sure sell, some balhung, slink in” translated, “Water gruel, sour fish, come gulpdog, tumble in.”

At the north end of the farm the stream turned east where the bridge was.  Just south of the bridge the slope was steep and below on the river bottom was pure meadow land.  Along this river we children herded the cattle and sheep.  In the three years we lived there father broke up all the land except the meadow.  This was all done by man power.  A man would have a “shere chick” which he pushed with his body.  It cut a sod about two inches thick and eight or ten inches wide.  When the sods dried they were piled up and burned.  The woman did most of the piling and burning.  We had such a heavy crop of potatoes on this new land that the land burst open along the rows and the potatoes could be seen on top of the ground from the road.

Now a few incidents of child life in Sweden.  The school teacher boarded round at the different homes of the pupils.  I marvel now at the progress they made.  My sister, only ten, knew most of the New Testament, and my brother attended only one winger when he learned to read and write.

One of our cows swam the river while we were herding one spring.  When we drove her back she missed the ford and got her horns caught in the roots of the trees and drowned.

Baking day was a big affair because mother baked enough bread to last a month.  It seemed to improve with age.  It took a lot of wood to heat the oven.  On these days sister and brother had to tend baby and I had to herd the cows alone.  One day I rebelled but it did no good.  I was about five years old.  James helped to drive the cows down to the pasture and about all I had to do was to watch the path to prevent their return.  I had not been there long when I conceived the idea of driving one of the cows across to river to see her swim.  I chased a black one till about noon before I succeeded in getting her across.  Then I went home and told mother that I couldn’t herd the cows.

They questioned me but I made good my story and Matilda and James went around by the bridge and brought the cow home that way.  After that they herded the cows and I tended the baby.  Now that I think of it, this was a stupendous evil conception for a little apparently innocent child.  After I got to Utah I had a similar experience.  One fall, a fox bit one of the lambs.  Father must have seen him catch it because he picked it up and brought it home before it died.  Oh, how bad we felt!  All the animals on the farm were pets.

One winter there was no snow on the ground but there was ice on the river.  Three of us went down to slide on the ice.  We were forbidden to slide with our shoes on because it wore them out.  At first we slid with our stockings on, then we took them off and slid barefoot.  The ice was so clear and smooth that we had a good time.  Then Uncle Lars Benson came and helped us put on our shoes and stockings.  I was the smallest so he carried me all the way home.

In the spring of 1862 mother went to the old home to bid her mother, Johanna Bengtsson, her sister Ingar, and brother Nels and John, good-bye  before they started to America and Utah to live with the Mormons.  She brought us all of Uncle John’s toys.  One I remember especially, was a little cuckoo.

It must not have been long after when the first Mormon Elders came to see us.  Andrew Peterson of Lehi was one.  Later Uncle Lars came and visited us.  It is beyond human pen or tongue to describe the feeling of love and peace that entered our home.  We children would run up the road to look for the Elders.  I was five years old, (if mother got baptized the same winter that we left in the spring, then I was six).  When the Elders instructed father to get his father around the table and have family prayers, I got up from that prayer with the light of the Gospel in my soul.  Everything had changed!  A new light and a new hope had entered my being.  Everything seemed joyous and more beautiful and even the birds sang sweeter.

After we joined the Church there were numbers of people, young and old, who came to visit us.  I remember Andrew Peterson and the mother of the Lindquists who were undertakers in Ogden and Logan.  When we were getting ready to come to America the sisters would come to help mother sew and get ready.  The songs of Zion that they sang will ring in my ears and soul to the last moments of my life if I continue faithful to the end.  “Heavenly Canaan, Oh Wondrous Canaan, Our Canaan that is Joseph’s Land.  Come go with us to Canaan.” are some of the words one of the sisters sang.  “Ye Elders of Israel,” and “Oh Ye Mountains High,” were some of my favorites.  The Swedish language seems to give these songs more feeling than the English.  I had a bird’s eye view of Zion and longed to go there.

I well remember the morning mother had promised to go to Halmstadt to be baptized.  We all arose early and mother was undecided until father told her to go.  In the evening as father was walking back and forth carrying the baby, he stopped and said, “Now mother is being baptized.”  We looked at the clock and when mother returned she said father was right.  The baptisms had to be done at night and a hole cut in the ice but mother felt no ill effects of the cold.

We had a public auction and sold everything in the line of furniture and clothing that we could not take with us.  I remember two large oak chests and a couple of broadcloth suits and over coats.  One they brought with them and it made over for me.

Father was a steady and prosperous young man, he worked seven years in a distillery and seven as a miller.  We had a small keg of whiskey every Christmas and the children could have what they wanted of it.  We often sopped our bread in it as a substitute for milk.  I never saw father drunk.

Now came the time to sell the home and farm.  The ground was all in crops and a rain made everything look good.  Father said it was God who made it look so prosperous and we got a good price for it.

James, Matilda, and I with a big part of the baggage were left with friends in Halmstadt while father went back for mother and the younger children.  The morning we were to sail was a busy one.  We all did what we seldom did before, we messed the bed.  Mother said, “The Devil cannot stop us,” and we were on deck in time.

It was a beautiful Friday morning, 10 April 1864, when the Johannes Nelson family hustled along the rock-paved streets of Halmstadt to the docks.  The noise of the horses feet and the rumble of the vehicles drowned all the voices of the little ones who complained of the unceremonious departure.  Then all were safely on board, the gang planks drawn, and before we knew it we were out at sea and the men on the shore became mere specks.  (Sailed 10 April 1864 at 5:00 PM on L. J. Bager to Copenhagen.  Then the Nelson’s traveled by ship directly to Liverpool (some of the others traveled by rail and steamer through Germany and England.)

Later, we were all startled by the sound of a shot ringing out and we were ordered below deck.  When we could return to the deck we were told that a pirate crew had shot a hole in our ship just above the water line.  In return, our ship shot off their main mast.

As we neared Denmark, we saw all the ships in the harbour and could hear cannonading as Denmark and Germany were at war.  We walked around in Copenhagen and saw the fine homes, lawns, and statues, in the beautiful city.  This was the first time I had heard the Danish language.  We stopped at so many places that I cannot remember all of them.  Cattle and sheep were loaded on at one place.  We were seasick too, with so many people crowded together.

Before we left Liverpool we enjoyed watching the ships being loaded, fishing snacks came in and unloaded their cargo, and big English shire horses acted as switch engines.  There was a large ship about finished in the dry dock.  It must be stupendous job to build a huge ship.  There seemed to be some leak at the gates because we saw a man with a diving outfit on go down and men were pumping air to him.  He was down for some time.  The beautiful green foliage and sward through England has always remained with me.  It passes into the sublime of my soul.

The ship which we boarded to come to America was a huge one.  Before it was loaded it stood so high above the water, and we had to wait some time while the sailors loaded heavy freight into the hold.  (The family rode on the Monarch of the Seas.  The ship departed from Liverpool, England on 28 April 1864 and arrived in New York City on 3 June 1864.)

Monarch of the Sea, 1020 LDS passengers on this voyage.

I have always tried to forget the journey across the Atlantic.  Our rations were raw beef, large hard soda biscuits, water, mustard, and salt.  Sometimes we would have to wait most of the day for our turn to cook our meat.  Brother James knew no sickness on the whole journey, and was a favorite with the sailors.  On one occasion he was riding the loose timbers that slid back and forth with the motion of the ship.  At another time he went so dangerously near the railing that they sent him below.  The winds and waves were so high sometimes that the flat on the main mast touched the waves as it rolled.  Trunks and boxes had to be tied down.  The vessel had three decks and there were bunks all around on the two lower decks.  I had seen several bodies go down the gangway into the deep.

Then came the day that baby Amanda’s little body with a rock tied to her feet was lowered into the water.  A little later it seemed as if it were my turn, I could not eat crackers.  Mother tried everything, but I got worse.  Then she fed me the raw beef and I began to improve.

Many sailors say there is no such thing as mermaids.  I distinctly remember father pointing one out to me.  We did see many varieties of fish.  Sometimes the passengers, men and women, helped bail out water when it seemed the ship might sink.

Nilsson family on the Monarch of the Sea passenger list

Finally we reached New York, and the main body of the saints took a steamer for Albany, New York.  We crossed New Jersey by train to the Delaware River.  We had to wait a number of hours for the ferry, and when we got aboard it was so suffocating that sister Matilda (Bothilda formally) succumbed.  Mother laid her out under some tree on a beautiful lawn.  The setting sun, and approaching dusk cast a hallowed gloom over the scene.  We sat silently watching by the side of mother, while father was off looking for a place to bury her.  It was a beautiful, and sad sight to see father and another man carrying Matilda’s body away from her loved ones to be laid in an unknown grave.  The setting of the clear blue sky, and the twinkling of the stars overhead, shining down through the trees made a variegated carpet where we sat.  It would be impossible to describe mother’s feelings as her oldest was laid among strangers in a strange land.  But she was the guiding star of the family, and she knew we would meet Matilda again beyond the grave.

We went by train from here, and the first incident of note was the crossing of a very high, and long bridge, large vessels with high masts could pass under it.  The train stopped on the bridge while another train passed us.  A few days later we were informed that the bridge had collapsed.  We saw much of the country that had been desolated by the Civil War.  Then we were joined by the group that went by way of Albany.  They were riding on boards in cattle cars.

The car we rode in had no cushions on the seats.  Sister Josephine’s cheek began swelling, we thought from the jolting of the car.  Some people recommended a certain poultice which ate the flesh off her cheek.

Next we went aboard a steamer on a river.  It was restful for a few days.  All of us made our beds on the floor, starting in the center by the main mast or flag pole.  Then another circle started at the feet of the first.  Brother James and I slept on a board which formed a shelf on the side of the shelf.  The space between each shelf was large enough for a full grown colored gentlemen so there was plenty of room for us boys who were small for our ages.  There seemed to be two streams in the river, one quite clear, the other very muddy.  By this time we were getting tired with never any rest or change and the vermin were getting unbearable.

Josephine steadily got worse and mother realized that it was only a matter of time until she would go to join her sisters.  When we reached Omaha Josephine was a corpse.  With the dead child and the luggage to carry, father and mother could not help me.  I remember that I crawled and walked alternately with my parents waiting and encouraging me.  We finally got to the top of a hill where mother laid me on the grass among some shrubs while she and father went for more luggage.  When I became able to walk I went down by the river and watched the people do their washing, and trying to get rid of the cooties before we started the trip over the plains.  Several graves were dug in this place.

In due time boys and wagons from Utah arrived and everything was loaded for the trip.  There was a stove and tent in each wagon.  Then the luggage and two families were piled in and we were off for Zion.

At first there was an abundance of grass.  I liked to watch the donkeys in the train.  Day after day we traveled and the only living thing of any size was an occasional stage coach and the stations built along the way.  One day I got out of the wagon and ran ahead until noon.  After that I had to walk most of the way.  One day two young women sat down to rest.  All at once they screamed and jumped up.  Then a man killed a large rattler where they had been.  I have seen families take a corpse out of a wagon, dig a shallow grave and then hurriedly catch up to the train which did not stop.  Then we got a glimpse of the mountains in the distance.  We also saw large herds of buffalo.  While camping one noon a herd was coming directly towards us.  Some men rode out and turned them.  To avoid a stampede of our oxen, we started out and the teamsters were able to keep them under control.

The first Indians I saw was at the stage station.  There must have been several hundred of them and we could see their wigwams in the distance.  We were now getting into great sagebrush flats and everybody was warned against starting fires.  One day at noon we yoked up in a hurry because someone had let their fire get the best of them.

Now we began to meet companies of soldiers.  They generally led horses with empty saddles.  Next we saw where a fire had burned some wagons in the company which grandmother crossed in 1862.  The whole country round was black and the grass had not started.  When we crossed rivers, if they were not too deep, the men and women waded.  Two government wagons were caught in the quick sand near where we forded.  As we got into the hills there was a lot of elk, deer, and antelopes.  One man on a gray horse did the hunting for the group.

Several times the oxen tried to stampede.  On parts of the trail men had to hold the wagons up to keep them from tipping over.  The most interesting of all to me was at Echo Canyon where we were told how the Mormon scouts had marched round the cliff and made Johnston’s army believe there were a whole lot of them when in fact there were very few.  We found choke cherries along the road but they were too green.  The last hill seemed the longest and steepest and we did not reach the top until late in the evening.  The next morning everyone was happy.  Cherries were riper and so good to eat they failed to choke.  Happy beyond express, we hastened to get a view of Canaan and Joseph’s land, where the Elders of Israel reside, and Prophets and Apostles to guide the Latter-day Saints.

Having seen some of the big cities of the world you may imagine our disappointment when we looked down from Emigration Canyon upon Salt Lake City by the Great Salt Lake.  We saw Fort Douglas where some of the soldiers were stationed.  One aged man exclaimed, “Why the children cry here as they did at home!”

We entered the dear old tithing square and rested for noon.  Now it was for us to decide where we wanted to settle.  We decided to go to Logan and it happened that John, our teamster was going there too.  While in the yard Sister Lindquist who had visited us in Sweden brought us a large watermelon the first I had seen in my life.  She was a beautiful young woman and I thought was very nice.

We soon headed north with John driving the wagon and mother, father, James, and I walking behind the wagon.  As we were nearing the outskirts of the city a good lady sent a little girl out to us with two delicious applies.  How good people were to us!  It would certainly be a pleasure to know these fine people.  It was about sundown when we passed the Hot Springs and we kept going until quite late.  When we got to the canyon above Brigham City we over took a number of wagons of Scandinavian saints.

When we reached what was called Little Denmark, now Mantua, we were feted by these good saints, and given a new send-off.  It seemed such a long trip through the canyons, but interesting as the teamsters had a number of bear stories to tell.  Later we learned that some people had been attacked by a bear at this place.  We camped just below Wellsville near the bridge above Cub creek.  The people here gave us some potatoes.  They were boiled and their jackets all cracked open.  This was a treat I shall never forget.

We arrived at the Logan public square about noon.  There was a liberty pole in the center.  On one corner was a lumber shack where all our worldly goods were put and the teams drove away.  Father located a short, robust Swede who hauled our wealth into his cow yard and we made ourselves comfortable.  We cooked over the fireplace in the log cabin.  For a few days father did not have work so all four of us went out gleaning wheat.  When threshing began with the flail, father was in his glory and never lacked a job.

The most important thing ahead was to prepare a shelter for the winter which was fast approaching.  Logan was planning to take care of the emigrants and her future by digging a canal north along the East Bench.  All newcomers were given a city lot to be paid for by work on this canal.  At the same time the number of acres of farm land was apportioned with the number of cubic yards of dirt to be removed to pay for the land.

The first homes were mostly dugouts in the side of the hill.  That first winter, father carried willows from the Logan River bottom which was our fuel.  He cut some small green sticks short and buried a few of these in the ashes each night to start the fire in the morning.

We were just moved into our home when Annetta Josephine was born on 18 November 1864.  She was the first child born in Logan Fifth Ward.  (The boundaries of the Logan Fifth Ward were Boulevard on the South, 300 East on the West, to the mountains, north to Hyde Park.)  Mother was alone except for James and me.  James was sent to fetch father who was threshing wheat for John Anderson.  When he arrived with a sister, mother had already taken care of herself and the baby.

All went well until January when it began to thaw.  Soon our dugout was filling with water.  It was knee-deep when father made a path so we could get over to the neighbor’s cabin.  We carried water out all day, and the rest of the water soon soaked up so that by laying a few boards on the floor we were able to go back in the evening.

It was a most severe winter.  The snow was deep and it drifted so high that only the tops of houses could be seen.  Thatcher’s mill, the only one in town, was frozen up, and we had to get along on bran bread.  Father moved the cow to the side of the house that afforded the most protection from the wind.

As soon as spring started, all hands set to work on the canal.  The men and boys had to pass our place on the way to work.  The boys seemed to delight in calling us “Danish men”.  James and I carried the water from the old Fourth Ward canal down on the river bottom.  We always took a slide down the hill.  This was all right as long as the snow was on the ground, but as soon as it began to thaw, we got soaking wet, and we usually ended up sick with bad colds.  Poor mother had no time to be sick.

The first Sunday School we attended was in the cabin of John Archibald.  Soon there were so many that we could not all get in.  The Superintendent was Sandy Isaac, a find young man.

The summer was a happy one.  Father bought two ewes, and they each had a lamb.  This, with the cow, made a herd for me to care for.  Most of the town drove their sheep past our place upon the college hill to feed.  While we herded we also picked service berries.  The boys showed us where the best berries were over on Providence flat.  One day mother and two other women went with us.  We crossed the river on the flume at the head of the canyon.  Down among the bushes we sighted a beautiful black and white striped cat.  With glee we pounded on him and threw him into the apron of one of the women.  She yelled, “A skunk! Throw it away”.  None of the boys got tainted, but the woman was in a bad plight.

This fall we were much better prepared for winter than we were a year ago.  We had two cows, four sheep, and a yoke of steers.  There was a barn for the animals, and we had a log house.  We raised 120 bushels of wheat on the six acres, and mother had done considerable gleaning.

When mother went gleaning, I had to stay with the baby.  One day I left her on the bed while I went out to play.  She rolled off the bed and got a big lump on her head.  She was still crying when mother came home.  Some days she took both of us with her.  When baby slept then I could help glean.  Mother would carry a two-bushel sack, full of heads, on her shoulder and set the baby on top.  It surely looked like a load to carry.  James was with father.  He would rake the hay while father cut it with the scythe and snare.  Father did not like to have to go gleaning, but the money she got from the wheat was her own, and she liked good clothes and to be dressed well.

In the fall the ward was organized with a Swede and ex-solider as bishop.  His name was Woolvensteen (Bengt P. Woolfenstein).  The log meeting house had a fire place in the east end, and the door in the west.  We held school in the same building.  The teacher was a Scotchman named McGill (Adam McGill).  He played the violin for the dances, and could keep on playing when he was apparently asleep.  The dances generally kept up until morning.  They are never-to-be-forgotten events in my life.  They began around seven o’clock in the evening.  About nine there would be some singing.

These songs filled my soul to over flowing, and I memorized them.  Even now, there is an echo of them in my soul after fifty-nine years.  The Crookston boys, and the Isaacs were such fine singers.  After singing, we had games of strength, wrestling, and boxing.  In the wee small hours we were ready to go home.  These dances were opened and closed with prayer.  We were a little rude, but the love and equality of spirit made up a real pioneer life.

December, January, and February were months I attended school.  My first three months in 1865-1866 left me able to read in the second reading, which had the words grasshopper and perpendicular in it.  I could also write a little.

I almost forgot one incident that happened in 1866.  Father turned his steers on the range in the spring.  One of these was to be given to the Indians to keep them friendly.  The other one, Bill, could not be found.  Father located the first one in the Indian’s herd.  We went down and told them that this steer was his.  “How can you prove it is your steer?”  Father went up to him, took hold of his horn and led him to the Indians.  They laughed and told him to take it.  He led the steer home, a mile away, by holding to the horn.  James hunted every where for Bill.  He searched in almost every herd in the valley.  In the anguish of his soul he knelt down and prayed.  As he arose a feeling of satisfaction entered his bosom.  He was soon rewarded by fining the long-lost steer.  He succeeded in driving him home, and all were joyful and recognized the hand of Providence in answering James’ prayer.

More and more people moved into the ward.  A great many of them were Scotch.  There was a sixteen year old girl who used to visit with mother.  One day she told mother she thought Mr. Nelson was a lovable man, and that she would like to be his second wife.  Mother was delighted and did everything to get father to accept her, but in vain.  From this time father’s carelessness became more evident.  The girl married a non-Mormon and was lost to the Church.  We all felt bad, and I suppose that had father expressed himself, there was a feeling of regret in his heart.

The year 1866-1867 surpassed the other because I found so many friends.  There were the three, adorable Henderson girls, the Adams boys, Milley Mitchell, Bob Roberts, John and James Burt, and George and Bill Hibbert and his sisters and the Clarkston sisters.  There were three families of McCullough’s, Archie McNeal.  Of these I loved George Hibbert beyond tongue to express.  One day the boys took me and laid me across a bench.  I cried some and was discredited as a poor sport.  That evening I still suffered, and did not sleep all night.  A swelling developed just opposite my heart, and I did not go to school any more that winter.

Father made a fish trap out of willows like the one mother’s family had in Sweden.  We had fish all of the time.

Every other week we herded cattle down in the fork of the Logan and Bear Rivers.  It was seven miles from Logan.  The banks of the river were covered with willows, where lived bears, wolves, snakes, skunks, and other pests.  James herded alone most of the time.  The Indians called him a hero.  I stayed with him one week.  The dog went home and I was ready to leave.  The wolves looked defiantly at us and at night the snakes crawled over our faces.  I was glad to stay home and herd the small herd near home.  I had my prayers answered in finding the sheep when they were lost.  I have never forgotten this incident which has pointed the way in my life.

The boys at school were telling us how we could see our future sweetheart.  We all tried it with no results.  One evening after supper, I tried it again.  I walked backward out of the room, then backward into my bedroom at the back of the house.  The room had no windows, so it was totally dark.  I repeated the magic words, “Tonight, tonight is Friday night, and here I lie in all a fright, and my desire is to see , who my true love is to be, as she appears every day.  To my amazement, the room lit up as light as day, and there on the board at the foot of my bed, sat a little girl.  She was neat and clean, sweet as an angel.  She remained there until I got a little fearful and I was left in darkness, the whole thing was the result of my unfailing faith.  Later, I tried to pick her out among the Logan girls, but none answered the description.

After the sheep were gone, besides hoeing in the lot, I watched the fish trap.  My broken rib right over my heart had become a running sore, and the rough times we boys had would not let it heal.  A friend of mine and I got to fighting down by the fish trip.  He was larger than I, but I got him down.  I told him I would have to quit because of my rib.  When we looked at it the hole went through in to my breast.  Mother doctored it to the best of her knowledge and what the neighbors told her.  It started to heal from this time and by fall was healed over.  Today there is a large scar where this sore was.

One day while I was whittling away time at Thatcher’s mill, I noticed that a man had gone off and forgotten his pocket knife.  It was a beautiful knife such as I had always dreamed of owning.  When the miller went into another room, I took it and ran as if running for my life.  By the time I got home I did not want it, so I gave it to mother.  I told her I had found it on the Public Square.  She seemed to doubt my word and questioned me severely.  She put it up on the window sill and one day an Indian or someone else took it.  Mother remarked, “Easy got, easy gone.  Thank God for it”.  Quite a rebuke for a guilty soul.

Another instance which mars my conscience happened as I drove the cows past a widow’s home.  She had two sweet little girls just about my size.  They called out to me to say “Good morning,” to them.  I made a flippant retort which was unbecoming any respectful person.  I told mother about it when I got home and she made me feel I had done wrong.  I made a vow early in life that I would treat all women with respect, and never quarrel with any.  I have lived with several including my mother-in-law and two step-mothers, and have kept the faith except with my wife.  I could have done better with her.

I am grateful to the Sunday School Superintendent, his brother and sisters for creating in me a taste for reading.  They had books of adventure which they loaned to me and were so kind and thoughtful.  The Crookston boy’s signing has always echoed in my soul.  The celebrations on the 4th and 24th of July were always gala occasions.  The brass and marching bands were especially thrilling to me.  To watch them drill, charge, advance, and retreat, and fight sham battles, was as good as a circus.  On these occasions all five wards in Logan turned out in mass.  The athletic events were highlights in my young life, especially when brother James was chosen Valley Champion of his age group.

On June 14, 1867, mother had a baby boy whom she named Joseph Hyrum.  That fall we moved into the Fourth Ward.  I soon learned to love the Bishop, Thomas X Smith.  The people seemed to be a little more sober, and during the nine years I lived there, I do not remember a report of a sex crime being committed.  There were Swiss, Hollanders, Germans, Yankees, and Scandinavians living in the ward.  Daniel Johnson, a mason, was our neighbor.  He had four sons, Joseph, Jacob, Daniel, and Erastus.  He had a farm, herds of cattle, and an orchard which produced some of the best fruit I have ever tasted.  He surely enjoyed sports and athletics.  His home and yard was the gathering place for all the young people and he would sit and watch us play.  He said he had never had a more enjoyable time than when chasing Uncle Sam’s soldiers in 1858.  He had a small, snappy Danish wife.

On Christmas and New Year’s even, we stayed up on Temple Hill all night so we would be ready to serenade early in the morning.

I was in school in the winter of 1867-1868., with William Reak, the teacher.  At noon we had to drive the cattle five blocks to water.  The school was five blocks from home so we really had to hustle if we at any dinner.  I think father was working at Echo Canyon.  Our grain was completely taken by grasshoppers in 1867.  The sun was darkened by them they were so thick.  We had to sell our oxen, but we got $175 for them when the usual price was only $125.  We had bought them four years before, and father always kept them butter fat.  We bought a pair of two-year old steers for seventy five dollars, and grain with the other seventy five.  Then father worked on the railroad, and James and I gleaned corn.  James traded a good pocket knife for corn.  Again we traded corn for shoes.  There wasn’t money enough for us to go to school that year, but father bought a large Bible, and the two of us read through to Chronicles the second time.  Here I gained the fundamental principles of the gospel which helped me throughout my life, and I always knew where to go for information, God and the Bible.

Before I left Sweden I began to have night dreams of visions, because they came to me before I went to sleep, just as soon as I closed my eyes.  To illustrate: An aunt (by the way the only one of grandmother’s family that did not join the Church) made a very harsh remark to my oldest sister, Matilda.  The spirit and vision informed me that she cut Matilda into firewood.  I saw the wood and knew it was Matilda.  When I was suffering with the broken rib and hole in my side, I saw so many things of this nature.  I saw the devil in the form of a large dog, mouth open and came lolling out, ready to grab me, so much of the time I did not sleep until exhausted.  From about age eight until I was almost twelve years old I did not thrive physically.  Then these night visions stopped and I was able to sleep peacefully.

I loved animals and especially sheep.  The stories of the Bible shepherds, David and his flute were dear to me.  While herding, I would divide my dinner with the lambs.  They became quite attached to me, and would come running when I opened my dinner pail, then I would lie down and they would run and jump over me.  I managed to get them running in a circle, up my feet, and jump over my head, which I raised as high as I could.

Father traded his oxen for a team of young mules, very poor, but gentle.  The first time we tried to drive them was to a funeral.  On the way home a dog rushed out at us and the mules were off.  They ran hope and stopped at the corral.  We learned they had run away they first time they had been driven.  As long as we owned them we were in danger of our lives because they could not be handled.  Mother did a better job than any of us in driving them.

The year that grasshoppers took our grain I furnished fish which I caught in the Logan River.  There some chubs and some trout.  The time when the hoppers were so thick I will never forget.  I was fishing down in the river and an electric storm was over near Clarkston.  There seemed to be an air current because the hoppers all rose from the ground and left in that direction and in a little while I could scarcely find any bait.

I think it was in 1869 that we had a glorious 4th of July celebration.  A whole band of boys dressed as Indians and tried to pick a fight.  Some of us really thought they were Indians.  Then we saw President Brigham Young with mounted men riding alongside his carriage.  Quickly we all formed in line along the main street and as he came along he would bow to us barefoot children.  We really loved these men and rarely missed a chance to go to the Tabernacle to hear them talk.  One time he asked the grown-ups to leave while the boys and girls gathered around the stand to hear Martin Harris bear his testimony about seeing the plates from which the Book of Mormon was taken.  We were told never to forget these things and to always tell the boys and girls during our lives this story.  I have sometimes forgotten to do this.  Martin Harris was a school teacher when a young man, and came to the assistance of the Prophet by giving the money necessary to get the Book of Mormon printed.  A short time before he died in Clarkston, he related the whole story of the part he played in the coming forth of the Book of Mormon.  This incident belongs to 1868.

This year we planted two acres of sugar cane on some new land up by college hill.  We hoed and petted that cane until it surpassed anything around.  We barely took time out to each our lunch.  Men working near said we were foolish to spend so much time on it.  James was a very good working and a good leader for me.  In the fall he worked at the molasses mill downtown receiving a half gallon of molasses for twelve hours work.  Father hired a boy to help me hoe the cane at the same price.  He never came to work on time so I sent him home and did the work myself.  From one acre we got 175 gallons, and the other 225 gallons, a small fortune.

The last spring that I herded, father had about 75 sheep and 50 cows.  There was no snow late int he fall and water was scarce.  When I started home at night the cows would almost run to get to Springs where Greenville now is.  Then before I could get to them they were in somebody’s field.  I usually had a lamb or two to carry and had to run till I was exhausted.  At last a small Swiss boy with only one cow to herd helped me out.  He soon got tired of mixing with me but I did not let him quit.  I have herded in the spring when it snowed so hard I could hardly see the animals.  All others had gone home, but I had to stay because we did not have feed at home.  My clothes would be soaking wet, and when a sharp wind blow, I got mighty cold.  One time one of the ewes got lost.  They had been shorn late so could not stand the cold and I found their carcasses later.

Mother sheared the sheep, washed, carded, spun, and wove the cloth to make our clothes.  It was about 1870 when mother had the twins, Jacob and Jacobina.  They were very tiny and lived only four hours.

Father was a hard worker.  He cut hay with a scythe and snaith.  One time a neighbor was vexed because his five acres had not been cut.  Father when down on Sunday and did not come home until he had cut all of it on Monday.  The man could hardly believe that it could be done.

About the time I got hold of a couple of song boos there were over a hundred songs in each book, mostly songs about the Civil War.  I memorized all in one book and part of the other, put tunes to them and sung as I herded.  It made me a very ardent American, and of course all loyal Americans were Republicans.  My soul always craved new information.

Mother led the social set in this part of the ward.  I would listen intently as she related different incidents that were told to her at these parties.  One pertained to our friend, Daniel Johnson.  He had married a young woman after his first wife had no children.  But after consenting to the new wife, she gave birth to a son and then very soon after two sweet girls.  Almost the same thing happened to a fine young Danishman who moved into the community.  He wore a stove pipe hat and was nicknamed Stovepipe.  I cannot recall his real name.  His wife’s name was Karen.  When she consented to give him a second wife she had a son herself.

In the fall of 1871 father bought ten acres of land planted to hay and right along side the other five.  I was sent out to drive a team making the road bed for the Utah Northern Railroad.  I was fourteen, weighed 75 pounds, and had never driven horses.  I was given a broken handled chain scraper and a balky team.  With these handicaps, and jeers from some of the men it was a hard month or two for me.  We had good food, so I gained in weight, strength, and experience.  With the money earned father was able to bind the bargain on the land, though the fellow was sorry he had agreed to sell.

About this time we had a new baby sister come to our home.  She was named Charlotte Abigail.  I thought it should have been Abigail Charlotte, because Abigail was the name of the woman King David took while fleeing from King Saul.  To my mind the baby was a jewel.

I gave the money I earned herding cows to mother who bought all of her clothing and always had a dollar or two on hand when it was needed most.  She always looked nice in her clothes, being very tall and slender, with beautiful golden hair.  At one time she weighed only 90 pounds.  She loved her children dearly, but required obedience, that we be neat and clean, and attend our church duties.  One morning before Sunday School she asked me to do some chore before I left.  I said “No,” though I really wanted to do it.  Mother grabbed a strap lying on the floor and hit me with a smart rap across the shoulders.  A buckle on the strap cut my back and I yelled with pain and so did mother.  She washed my back quickly and put a plaster on it so it would not be seen through the thin shirt., which was all I had on my back.  Many times later in my life I have thanked God for that blow.  It was just what I needed to get over being coaxed to do anything.  I also learned to love mother more if that were possible.

Mother furnished the house and bought father his tobacco with the butter and egg money.  Father was surely miserable at the end of the week when his weekly supply was gone.  When I was allowed to go to the store to buy tobacco, I would put it in my hands and hold it over my nose so I could get a good smell of it.  Father had quit the habit on the way to Utah, but some foolish men persuaded him to take a bite and he never could quit again.  He tried one time and was so sick he had to go to bed and get a doctor to bleed him.

Brother James was quick to learn and was especially good at entertaining on the stage.  A Mr. Crowther from the Salt Lake Theater gave him a part of a colored boy, and with only two rehearsals and no book., he made good and people were wondering who the darky was.  Mother was proud of her boy.  It was a lesson to me that there was room at the top for the seeming incompetent, who never had a chance, better saw who never knw what they could do.

All the boys in town received military training down on the Tabernacle square.  L. R. Martineau always seemed to do things just right and I tried to do it the same and just as fast and good, which made it all fun.

About this time we had our last episode with the mules.  They tried to run from the state.  WE boys got out of the wagon to fix the chin strap on one of them.  They leaped in the air and as they came down they broke a line and away they ran.  One by one parts of the wagon were left behind.  Father was thrown out with the bed.  When we finally caught up with them, the tongue, one wheel, and a hub of the front axle was all there was attached to them.  We were grateful that no one was hurt.  We traded them off for a team of horses.  The man who bought them drove along the railroad through sloughs and no roads and beat the train.

Mother made dances for us boys and served refreshments to all who were present.  We had attended to terms at a dancing school the year we had so much molasses, and mother went with us the one term.  This made us the best dancers in Logan.  I had my first girl at this time.  I had to leave town for a while so as we were playing in the street after dark I told her she had to kiss me goodbye.  Girls usually say, “Don’t quit” and I kept trying until I got my kiss.  When I returned she was my girl.

On my sixteenth birthday I weighed 105 pounds.  That summer I left for Uncle Nels Jorgenson’s.  He lived south of Hampton’s bridge, later named Collinston.  We attended a dance in Deweyville and then went to work on a canal west of Bear River City which was being taken out of the Malad River.  I enjoyed this job, was quite competent and efficient in whatever they set me to do.  I could scrape and handle a yoke of cattle all alone, which others of the camp did not attempt.  I also drove a team of young horses which grew steady under my care, but fractious when others drove them.

There seemed to be a thousand head of wild Texas cattle on the range.  Most of the people along the canal did not dare to go among them on foot and were fearful even on horseback.  They would stare and run around you in a circle.  One day I was surrounded by a herd and it was with difficulty that I got back to camp.  Uncle Nels would not let me go out on foot after that.

A number of people were very kind to me.  Among them was Peter Rasmussen and the Mortenson family.  Sister Mortenson was the essence of Danish kindness.  She made the fires and did the cooking.  Her daughter waited on us warming our hands and shoes before we went out to feed the oxen.

I crossed the ferry at Bear River City one beautiful morning bound for home when I arrived before sundown.  I visited with Aunt Christine who used to care for us in Sweden.

I found James working on a gravel train and began working with him.  Two would load a car, each one his half.  George Watson, the boss, told me I could not shovel the gravel fast enough.  I told him I could do anything my brother did.  I almost failed the first few days.  We would load as fast as we could, then jump on the car and ride to Mendon, unload and back again.  When the job was completed James got work on the section at Hampton, and father and I on a railroad spur between Dry Lake, near Brigham City to Corinne.  When we reached Corinne we were treated to all the beer we wanted.  On the way back to Brigham City, the crew and the workers were feeling the effects of the beer.  Father said, “You act as though you were drunk.”  I retorted, “I have never been drunk in my life.”  A man thirty five years old said, “That isn’t saying much for a boy.  If you can say that as a man of thirty five you will be saying something.”  Right then I made a resolution that I never would get drunk.  Now at sixty nine I can say that I have kept this resolution.

This was a very prosperous year for our family.  We bought a fine team of horses to do our farm work and we had work in the railroad.  In October, mother gave birth to a little boy, Moses Nelson.  She was very sick and we had a nurse to care for her.  I always felt inferior to James, but one day mother called me to her and said, “August, if I die I want you to care for the children.”  That had always been my job around the house.  Later one evening, mother kissed me and said, “You have been a good boy, God bless you.”  With a smile she turned her head and breathed her last.  God along knows what little children lose when mother is gone.  While sick I had heard her say, “I do not want to leave my little children.”  Little did I know or realize what home would be without her.  She was more than ordinarily ardent and spiritually minded, with high ideals, had a comprehensive knowledge of the gospel.

After mother was laid away, I was sent up to Richmond to work on the railroad.  The weeks passed in a whirl.  Soon baby Moses died, and father came up to work with me.  James was with the children and took care of things at home.  We soon returned and James started to school.  I did all the house work except the starching and ironing.  I was 16, Annette 9, Joseph 5, and Charlotte 2.  The washing was a stupendous job.  The water was hard.  I tried putting the clothes in a sack when I boiled them to keep the hard water from forming on them.  If only some friend had called and told me how to break the water and to put a little soda in the bread when it soured, it would have been a God send.  It would have meant better bread and cleaner clothes for the next three years.  I also had to shear the sheep.  This had been mother’s job.  I managed four the first day, and in time finished in some fashion.

I studied the old third part arithmetic that winter, also read the many striking lessons in the Natural Fourth Reader.  Sometime in January Uncles Lars and Nels Bengston came and took James with them to Spring City in Sanpete County.  I always loved that brother, the only one left who had come with me from Sweden.  We sometimes quarreled but we were always together.  Now we had no word from him for over a year.

I attended Sunday School regularly, and taught a class at age fourteen.  I also liked to go to Sacrament meetings and Priesthood classes.  I had been a deacon and was now advanced to a teacher.

This winter I attended school in the fourth ward.  Orson Smith was the teacher and there were 120 children of all grades in the room.  Daniel Johnson Jr was in the class ahead of me and I in a class by myself.  We helped the teacher teach the younger children.  In three months I passed through the third part arithmetic and to page 100 in the analytical grammar.  The review was at the back of the book.  I could ask most of the questions and tell the answers without looking in the book.  English was a sealed science until it came to me as a vision.  I had a problem on the velocity of sound.  I worked on it from early afternoon until midnight, got up at 4 AM and worked till 10 AM and got it.  After that I had confidence that I could solve any of them.

The baby, little Abigail, generally asked for milk during the night, but she would not accept it from me.  One night I told father to lie still and I would give it to her.  She refused to take it from me.  I went outside and cut a switch from a current bush.  When she called for milk again I held it out to her.  She refused.  I said to father, “Cover up,” and I struck the covers over him with considerable force.  I sat down and began reading.  Pretty soon she called for milk.  I said, “Here it is Lottie.”  She drank it and never said “No” to me again in my life.  She grew to be tall and slender, had light golden hair, and had a sensitive disposition with high ideals.  I have seen her sing on our gate most of a Sunday all alone because she felt her clothes were not good enough to mingle with other children.  Before I left home in 1876, I could pick her up from the floor and dance with her.  She had perfect rhythm and enjoyed going to the dances to watch.  And oh how her little soul leaped with joy when she could get on the floor and dance.

My soul cried out for a mother’s love and care.  I am very fearful that when mother sees me, she will say, “You have done tolerably well, but you failed to care for the children.”  In my weak way I am still trying to care for children, everybody’s children, God’s children.

I remember when father married again.  The woman had several children of her own.  It was a sad day for mother’s three little ones when step-mother and her children moved into our home.

I cannot describe the feelings of regret I had when I left school that spring as I had to go to work in March.  Seemed that most thought of school only to learn how to read and write.  I always enjoyed Sunday School and coined the remark, “That if there was nothing more to learn or see than the pretty girls, it was worth while for me because their association threw a ray of sunshine along my paths the whole week long.”

I was in that age when young people were looking for something to do out of the ordinary.  Most of the boys did a lot of mischief, but Daniel Johnson and I did not care to do that.  At a bazaar we did buy some books such as Robber Tales of England, Dick Turpin, Cap Hanks, Duval, and a half dozen others.  Also, the newest sensation which told about Coney Island and the New York Masquerades and Night Clubs.  There were a few places other boys did not dare to go.  My reading prepared me for greater ventures, or more correctly, more strategic assault.  We made a few successful campaigns.  Father saw us eating things he took for granted we had not come by honesty.  He said, “Boys you cannot afford to do those things, you had better stop now.”

On the first of December, 1875, I started to attend school at the B.Y.C. (Brigham Young College) held in Lindquist Hall at the corner of 2nd North and 1st East.  Miss Ida Cook assisted by another young lady were the teachers.  Over a hundred young people were attending.  I took some of the second grade class, that is, next to the highest.  I soon discovered I could do the work in the highest in most everything.  I had a method of explaining mathematical problems that seemed more comprehensive than the teacher which was a source of trouble to her, as it seemed on many occasions that my answers must be wrong, but I always demonstrated them to be right.  On examination days she did not pay attention to a book being on my table as she knew I would not use it to copy the answers.

The Church was building a woolen factory south of the A.C. (Agricultural College, now Utah State University).  I took Commercial Law and told father that some day I would be secretary of the institution.  The building was never finished but I have always been glad I took the course.  Miss Cook gave us a course in manners.  We were taught to raise our hats to Apostles, Bishops, and officers of the various organizations and always to women.  Those who adopted her instructions are among the leaders in the communities where they reside.  As a rule I did we all the BY and was able to live nearer my ideal.  I recognized my aged countrymen, both sexes, and could converse with them in their own tongue.  On the whole, I was well thought of by all.

Just at the close of school I receive my first letter from James.  I read it with pleasure, so much so that I did not notice the signature.  My friend, Joseph Johnson, read it and then pointed to the signature.  It was signed, James Benson.  My feelings were indescribable.  The brother I so adored had sent this insult.  The reading I had done in the National Reader gave me good language to express myself and the letter I wrote must have made him feel ashamed.  The influence of my novel reading was shown in the close of my letter.  I told him as he had disgraced and disowned his brothers and sisters I would meet him half way and there fight it out and demonstrate who was superior.  Had we met we would have done as did a year later, embrace each other.  The incident really made me sick.  I was in bed for three days and missed my examination.

I well remember Hans Munk who came across the plains in the same company we did.  At that time he had one wife and was engaged to a young woman.  As a lad of seven I would walk beside his wagon because of the sweet influence there.  My soul was lighter in his company than any where else.  Now he just lived a block from us in a big adobe house.  His first wife had died, but he had two others, and the marshals were after him.  He left home for a year, and when he returned his faith had cooled off and he did things unbecoming a good man.  I felt sorry for him because I really loved him.  He was part owner in a threshing machine.  One day he slipped into the feeding part and one leg was chewed off up to his body.  The first fast meeting he attended after he was unable to get around, he recognized God’s hand to save him from Hell.  The Lord prospered him financially so he was able to raise three fine families and lived to be over eighty years old.

One time a group of young people went on a trip up Logan canyon.  We had a bottle of homemade wine with us.  I learned the danger of such rides, but was glad that the patters sent by Joseph and David were deep in my soul.

I had always been timid in water until Daniel Johnson came to the deep spring on our place and taught me to swim across it, around it, and how to float and rest.  To this day swimming is a pleasure to me.  I had just finished cutting 2 1/2 acres of wheat when brother Eliason, our nearest neighbor asked that we tie it.  It was done in record time and went 20 bushel to the acre.  Another time we started late in the day and cut, bound, and shocked five acres.  I have chased a machine with five and six men all day to do as much.  I built one of the largest and most artistic wheat stacks I have ever seen.  Hyrum Bunce had just bought a new thresher and said it took a very strong person to feed it.  I laughed at him and said that I would feed it or pitch with any man in town.  I was 19 and weighed 140 pounds.  The first demonstration came with two loads and a small stack.  The crew did not have to stop for me.

I could not see in mind’s eye how any person could throw me down and keep me there.  That represents my spirit and it was my gospel spirit too.  When we played at school none could catch me.  They formed a line by holding hands.  I must not break the line so I ran up the side of the wall and over their heads.  Such was my will power and spirit.

I believe it was the summer of 1876 that I made a large swing.  Some of the Scotch boys were rather rough.  They tried to take the swing away from me.  Try as they would they could not loosen my grip on the rope.  Later I was passing through the west end of the Fourth Ward where it was the custom to ding-bump any visitor.  One grabbed my arms and two more my legs and one got on my stomach, but they did not succeed.  One spring I had rheumatism in one of my legs and could scarcely get around.  I had been helping father on his land three miles north of Logan.  I limped most of the day but when some of the boys started to play ball, I defied the pain and really played ball.  In a few days the rheumatism had left.

I worked for Brother Nathaniel Haws up in Logan Canyon, hauling lime rock to the kiln.  The first week I could not lift some of the rock to begin with but by the end of the week it was easy.

I had my first Quinsy this summer due to wading in the mountain water while irrigating.  My mouth closed so tightly I could scarcely get a table knife between my teeth and I was weak, but kept up with my work.  At last I went to Dr. Ormsby who lanced it.  While hauling the lime rock I got poison ivy all over my body.  Daniel Johnson’s mother told me to make a strong solution of blue vitriol and put it on the sores.  First I rubbed off all the scabs then quickly doused myself in the liquid.  I never wanted to suffer again as I did then.  The sores gradually went away, but I have poison in my blood to this day.

I had my try at tobacco too.  An ex-bartender from Salt Lake City was smoking a pipe and I asked him to let me try it and I began puffing away.  Father called me to one side and said in an undertone with so much soul that it penetrated my very being, “Don’t be a slave, be a free man.  You have seen me try to quit the habit, even suffer because I couldn’t.”  His advice, I felt, was too good to discard and I never took up the habit.

The 4th of July, 1876, was a big celebration, when all five wards combined and held it in Bishop Preston’s pasture.  I was a member of the Central Committee.  A bowery was built which had a stage and the decorations added to the festive occasion.  A large swing was put up and I was given the job of swinging the girls in the afternoon.  This was just to my liking, but by evening I had lost some of my enthusiasm.  By doing this I became acquainted with most of the girls in all five wards of Logan, some of them the sweetest flowers that bloomed.  A home cannot be made without one, a nation is not a home without them in it.  A yearning lingers in one’s soul for a loving welcome and a tender touch of the hand whose heart beats all for you.  The eye that beams on you alone, whose heart throbs strike true for you in every beat whether husband or son, I would not exchange it for all the world.  They who prove true to God are most likely to make a go of their marriage.

It was 16 Oct 1876 when I and three other fellows started for the smelters in Sandy.  The next morning the ground was covered with snow.  We slept that night in a barn owned by a brother-in-law of two of the Johanson boys who were in our company.  We were treated with plenty of beer.  When we arrived in Sandy, we found the Flagstaff Smelter running a little, and the Mingo cold.  The West Jordan was on strike.  As we passed the Cooper Hotel, a mob ran out and told us what they would do if we tried to go to work.  We slept on the floor in a back room of a place owned by Poulson.

One evening a number of women came and started to sing.  Mrs. Rosengreen was one of them.  When they finished singing, I started to clap.  The women started screeching as one of them had been attacked by a man a short time before.  We got out of there in a hurry.

I discovered that I longed to try some of the tricks of Charley Duval and other masked men of the time.  I believed I could do them so easy and get away with it.  I took a glass of beer twice a day with the others.

We decided to try to get work out at Vernon where I had two aunts and James was there too.  It was about 75 miles southwest of Salt Lake City.  I had no coat, only a dollar cash, and 19 dollars of Utah Northern mileage tickets, and a few buns, when I set out.  I crossed the Jordan river and headed for the point near Black Rock.  A boy picked me up and took me as far as Erda, where a family made me welcome to stay for the night.  They gave me supper, and I spent the evening joking and whiling away time with a couple of young ladies in the home.

I left early next morning and soon came to Tooele.  I had eaten the buns, and was pretty tired and weak when the stage came along.  I asked for a ride but it kept going.  The water along the way was so poor, nothing like the good Logan water.  Feeling this way, I was in the mood to use a gun on the stage if I had had one.  I drank water from the first rut I came to.  This cooled me off a bit.  I had been carrying my overalls in my arms but now put them on and walked with some comfort and determination.  I decided that it is not the miles that we travel, but the pace we go, that kills.

I ate supper at Ajacks that night and slept with father Bennion.  He took me on to Vernon and let me off at Aunt Ingra’s.  I introduced myself to my aunt and began to make acquaintances with five little cousins.  Auntie said that the baby, Etta, would not go to strangers, and sometimes not even to her father.  I determined I would get her to come to me before evening.  It was only a short time before she was sitting on my lap.  I missed my own little sister and this was a near substitute.

I did not find James as he and John Benson were out near Point Lookout, about 20 miles away.  When I got there James did not know me.  We had not seen each other for three years.  Aunt Christine told me how James had mourned for me and told of the happy times we had together.  It was a dear reunion but the Benson folly was in him.  Although tired from my trip, I had to demonstrate my physical strength which surpassed both of them, though they were twenty one and I but nineteen.

They took me in as a partner with them and I began cutting pinion pine trees.  James had cut his foot so used crutches.  He gave me a thick, heavy axe, too heavy for that work.  I had never fallen trees so I did not know such axes were the kind they used.  James came over to show me how.  He had a new axe.  He cut on one side of the tree and I on the other.  I felt his spirit at once.  I threw that thick, heavy axe into the heart of the tree and it fell without my breathing heavy.  We cut trees until about the first of December.  Charley Dahl hauled us in to Sandy where we bought new suits, hats, and boots.  We looked quite genteel.  Folks seemed to think I had an air of city life and dear brother James was proud of his brother.

John Benson took his team and wagon and took James and me to Sanpete County.  We went to Ephraim to see Grandma Johanson who left Sweden several years before we did.  She was delighted with her grandsons.  She had told her neighbors what nice people were hers in Sweden.  Of course they thought she was boasting but now they could see that it was the truth.  How nice it would be if we always lived to be a credit to our ancestors.

One evening the boys took me down to a place where they often told fortunes.  They started to tell me something but I resented it so we began playing cards.  An older man suggested a new game.  I said it would be OK if everyone was fair.  After the cards were dealt, I noticed that the cards had been stuffed.  I got up hastily and said “Anyone who could not play an honest game of cards would steal black sheep and damn him, I could lick him!”  I got my hat and went home to grandmothers.

Sunday evening on the way to church some boys threw snowballs at me.  I walked back and told them I was a stranger in town and would not stand for it.  Some of my sternness came from trying to be a gentleman and possibly influenced some highwaymen stories.  I aimed to give due respect and expected the same in return.

Uncle Nels had two little girls, one could not walk as a result of the fever.  I began to take part in the talk and general pleasure and stood well with all.  Uncle Nels lectured evening evening on doctrinal subjects.  John and James would go to bed but I remained up to listen.  I really learned very much.  We went to dances and James and I were more than ordinary dancers.  I also sang songs and had a good time generally.

A Patriarch came to the home and everyone had a blessing.  Uncle Nels, his wife Philinda, and her sister Fidelia, had their blessings.  I listened to Fidelia’s blessing through the key hole when she was told she would have a good, kind husband and a family.  John was promised a family, James a stupendous power over the elements, but no family.  That was his downfall as he loved children but never married.  My blessing has come true as far as I have lived for it.  The Patriarch asked James and John if they held the Priesthood, but did not ask me if I had been trying to do my duty, he knew without asking.

Miss Fidelia was surprised that we did not mind if she listened to our blessings and somehow it seemed that hers and mine were somewhat similar.  She had said that August don’t talk much, but when he does, it counts.  What I had read in stories on the subject, I was now putting into practice.  I also remembered some of the Bible sayings, A wise head keepeth a still tongue.”  I took Miss Fidelia to several dances that winter.

While at Uncle Nel’s place I had a severe attack of the quinsy.  I tried many things and the men of the house tried lancing it, but nothing seemed to do any good.  Miss Fidelia told me that he mother had said< If August were my son, I would soon cure him.”  I answered, Tell your mother I will be her son (I answered under my breath, in-law).”

Sister Fannie Kofford came up that evening and really fixed me up.  After the herbs were steeped, the rocks hot, and plenty of hot water was ready, I was asked to undress my feet.  I put them in a tub of very warm water, put a basin of hot water in my lap with herbs in it, and was covered over from head to floor with a quilt.  The temperature of the water was kept constant by putting more hot stones in it.  This continued until my whole body was wet with perspiration.  A large, hot, linseed poultice was put on my neck and I was rolled into a warm bed and forbidden to move.

That sweet mother’s efforts and care would forbid anyone, with a spark of gratitude to a daughter of God, which I had, from disregarding her instructions.  It was difficult to lie so still and continue sweating, but I did and by morning the swelling had all shriveled up.  And I kept my word too, I became her son.  In all our associations we never had a jarring word.

In Feb 1877, we started for Sandy, loaded with grain.  Sanpete had no snow all winter but when we got to Utah County the snow was hub deep.  Salt Lake Valley had none but was foggy and muddy.  We camped in the foothills west of Lehi where the ground was frozen at night and pretty choppy and rough.  We had hired an Indian, David Monson, to help us, so there were four of us.  The wagon bed being too narrow, we made our bed under the wagon.  That night will long be remembered as we had a difficult time keeping warm.  Our shoes were frozen stiff and it was hard to get them on in the morning.  We were at Camp Floyd that night and back in Vernon the following day.

James had an outlaw mare on the range whose mother even the Indians could not break her mother, and this colt seemed to be like her.  We hitched her up with Dagon, a small brown horse, and drove up Vernon Creek where we made camp.  I drove back to Vernon alone a few days later and made it safely.  I never had a bit of trouble with her after that.  I took a large load of coal to Stockton with a yoke of oxen.  To save money I bought hay at Ajack’s and drove out on the prairie to camp.  This was sometime in March.  A thin blanket and quilted bedspread was all the bedding I had and a cold wind blew all night.  I rolled up in the quilts and lay behind the ox yoke and waited for morning which seemed eternities away.

I hauled coal with my wild mare and she never gave me a moment’s trouble.  Some thought I used some unknown art with her.  Possibly it was because I whistled or hummed a tune when she seemed nervous.  One load I got out in halves and the wagon would mire to hubs.  I was always fearful the horses would not be able to pull out.  I shouted for joy whenever I got out of a bad place.  While I neglected praying as a rule, I thanked God for all my successes and recognized his hand in all things.

That year I had dug and hauled hundreds of cords of coal from the hills with the help of Dagon and the little mare.  I turned her loose to graze and could catch her anywhere.  She liked my petting and had never received a cross word or look from me nor a single lash of the whip.  We both loved with seeming human reciprocity.  My life had been made a success by her loyalty to me.  One day James told me to make her stand still while I curried her.  The hair was thin and her flesh tender so the comb hurt if I was not careful.  He took the comb and went after her.  At the first stroke she knocked him down with her body and the next time she jerked up the bush to which she was tied and ran down the canyon jumping and kicking at the brush between her legs.  James jumped on Dagon and started after her.  She must have ten miles before he caught her.  When he got back both horses did not look like my two pets.  They were so scratched and footsore.

David Munson, the Indian, and I were chopping trees.  He was a good worker and I suggested that both of us chop on the same tree at the same time.  We started on one about two feet thick and when it fell my side was past the heart.  There was a faith in myself that approached my faith in the restored gospel.  I for it, and it for me.

On the evening of May 17, it snowed and blew so cold that James and I could scarcely unharness the horses.  When we awoke there was a foot of snow on the ground.  The thousands of lambs on the hills were bleating for their mothers but few of them perished.  As house room was scarce I took my bath in the creek, snow or no snow, and never felt any bad effects.

While we were visited at Uncle Jorgensen’s, Uncle Nels Benson came with a load of flour and suggested that we take it down to Milford and Frisco as the price would be high down there.  I thought it was a stupendous waste of labor and loss of several hundred cords of wood I could get while away.  Of course I was only twenty and new in the business world.  I had given Braughton & Co my word of honor to pay for everything they had let me have on the time payment.  This consisted of a new harness, chains, a good tent, provisions, and grain for the horses.  I had paid some of the bill but still owed most of it.  Like the prodigal son I left a good thing to find a better.  We followed Nels Benson to Spring City.  He had been very kind to us during the winter and helped us now.

I loved my team and the new harness, I never laid it down, or hung it on the brake, but what I covered it with a blanket.  I cared for my horses first, last, and all the time.  Folks were surprised at the way I took care of my things.  When we got to the Sevier bridge near Gunnison, James traded me a five-year-old bay, nice to look at, for faithful Dagon.  This horse seemed to to have spirit, but it turned out to be a nervousness which ended up with balkiness.

Next morning all the horses were gone.  I struck out for Fillmore, ten miles away, then over the hills and back to Fillmore.  I saw the other boys but they had not found the horses.  I went north ten miles to Holden.  The men here were rounding up all stray animals not on the range.  Mine were not among them.  I headed east through the cedars and then south back to Fillmore where I arrived at sundown.

I had been going all day without food and was determined to have food if I had to take it.  The lady at the first door refused but the second was very kind.  After eating I lay down in a lot and napped for a while, and then dog-trotted back to camp.  I had traveled over sixty miles that day.  The boys had tracked the horses and found them.  The next day we reached Milford and Uncle Nels sold out and started back home.  We went on to Frisco, or tried to.  Many times I wished we were back at Vernon Creek.  The bay would not pull, neither would the mule, and a large yellow horses was so lame she could not travel.  How I wished I had my faithful Dagon!  On top of this Uncle John lost his horses.  Later in the summer I found them and I took them back to Spring City with me.

While working in the Frisco hills that summer, James told me that an infidel could beat any Christian in a debate.  With all the earnestness and defiance in my soul I said, “He can’t beat me!”  I immediately left him and went out to the cedars where I pulled off my hat and asked the Lord to help in my efforts.  I told Him I would dedicate my life to the defense of Christianity and Mormonism in particular.  My whole soul went out in the declaration.  From that time on I began to lead out.

One day James took the name of the Lord in vain when speaking to me and I replied in the same language for the first time in my life.  I left and went off among the cedars and wept.  I now began to show my individuality.  We agreed to a rule that he who profaned should apologize to the other.  Also a system of economy was set up which prohibited cards, checkers, and other games that led to idleness and disputes.

One day James said, “August, can you lift that front wheel?”  There was a large load of coal on it and the wagon was lower than the others.  I tried and failed.  He remarked, “I did.”  The remark hit me like a dagger.  Of course I could lift it!  I had John get up on the tongue while he lifted.  He failed.  Then I told him to stand on the corner overhead and I lifted the wagon.  Then he told me to stand on the tongue and I lifted it.  He remarked, “If you can, I can,” and he scarcely did it.  Then I said, “That was an insult, now you two apologize,” which eh did.  Our backs were raw from lifting.

When I got back to Spring City, Miss Fidelia asked me to go to a Relief Society Conference with her.  I heard two sisters speak in tongues and another sister interpreted.  My spirit seemed to follow every sentence and when the interpreter spoke, I recognized the thought as those of the speakers.  Uncle Nels always explained the gospel to us in the evenings and also while we were journeying along.

We got out and chopped cord wood for over a month and Uncle Nels hauled it and made quite a financial trip, even if we did all get “crummy” and after cleaning up we began for a heavy drive the next summer.

We had $500 which James took back with him to Vernon, where we went to make the men pay for our wood, which they had stolen.  He was to be back at a certain time and I was set to set the pits afire so as to have them ready when he came back.  I started the fires and discovered the two horses had gone back home.  I could not follow them on account of the coal pits.  When James and John returned they had a team of wild mares.  The pits were very much destroyed as I was new at the job and the team was young.

We started gain to recuperate and get ready to go home for conference.  I drove to Spring City to get a load of grain and to bring back one of the horses we had found on the river.  On my returned I stopped below Salina and took a bath in the river.The wind was blowing and the clouds covered the sun.  That night I was very sick.  My throat was swollen and I could scarcely eat anything.  The road up through the canyon was all up hill.  I fed the mares nine quarts of oats at noon and then went on.  After going some distance the horses began trembling in their shoulders so I fed the same amount of oats again and made the summit with ease.

In the afternoon I passed Cove Fort.  It is a rock wall about sixteen feet high built for protection from the Indians.  The wall made one wall for each house built around the square.  Antelope Springs was the next place and every one got a supply of fresh water here.  I reached Beaver River bottoms by night.  I could scarcely make myself understood as my throat was so swollen and I was so weak.  There was still fifteen miles to camp all up hill and the last five miles was sandy road.  Just as I reached the sand I met Axel Toolgreen who told me to take a dose of Humbug oil.  We found enough muddy water to make up a dose.  I began the last lap to camp and had to rest the team every little while.  I had not gone far when the quinsy broke and all of the stinking corruption and poison came pouring out.  I had no water to rinse my throat  until I reached camp.  John and James did not recognize me I was so pale and wan.

That summer we bought French calf skin boots with high heels and our names sewed on the tops.  They cost us a hundred and twenty dollars.  We paid for them with cedar posts.  I got father a pair of sixes though he usually wore nines, but they fit him.  In September we left camp in time to go by way of Spring City and visit with Uncle Nels who went with us to Salt Lake City.  Here we bought suits, overcoats, trunks, and had our pictures taken in groups and singly.

I attended a Scandinavian meeting held in the Council House where the Deseret News building now is.  Here I met a young man from Logan.  A girl was tickling his knees.  He said he had a date with three girls at nine o’clock that night and asked me to joint them.  I told them I would be there.  When I got away from them, the question was up to me.  “Shall I follow them down the road of sin or break my word?”  I concluded the latter and have made good the rest of my life.

On the sixteenth of October, just two years to the day when I left home I was back again.  James and I aimed to be gentlemen.  We had the best and most up-to-date clothes and attracted attention at the dances.  I enjoyed the reels in particular.  We also sent to school at the BYC (Brigham Young College).  I felt the effects of two years of rude life keenly and was very timid.  In course of time I got so I dared express my objections to questions wherein I differed.  I found I differed most in the demonstration of mathematics.  One examination asked us to name four leading vegetables.  I said potatoes, beets, carrots, and parsnips.  The others gave hay and lumber as two of them.  They tried to show me that trees were vegetation, also hay, I knew that I was right and would not yield even though they thought I was foolish.  I have lived to show my friends that I was right.

At one time Daniel Johnson and I were standing on a cordner near the big Co-op and I made the remark that I could tell a bad woman as fas as I could see her walk.  “You can’t,” he countered.  “What about that woman crossing the street a block north?  She’s as doubtful Hell.”  We waited until he recognized her and she said, “She is the most doubtful woman in Logan.”  Then he wanted to know how I knew.  “There is a loose hip swing of the legs in their walk.  Of course all walks are modified by the dress.”

One night at a party at the BYC someone asserted that a certain lady was the most beautiful one there and asked my opinion.  I thought she was if the beauty were measured by the amount of paint she had one.  We all had our favorites among the fair sex.  Mine was Emma Smith, though I did not like her seeming weakness and instability.

I formed a partnership with Jacob Johnson and three others and took a contract to work on the Idaho Utah Northern Railroad.  I had a good big team, a new harness, and wagon.  I helped father get in his crops before I left.  James chose to go south with Uncles John and Nels and landed in Bristol, Nevada.

I suggested that our camp be called Johnson Camp, as I was opposed to being connected with a company.  I soon found myself being manager, or foreman, as Johnson was away most of the time.  On the way out the others all failed in cook,ing, so I took over that job.  The first job consisted of filling a ravine with rock.  Johnson went back to Logan and hired two miners, William Mitchell, and David Nelson.  Mitchell was just married and brought his bride and her girl friend to do the cooking.  There were fifteen teams and as many men in the camp.  The road bed had to be made through lava beds which was hard to handle.

I returned to Eagle Rock (which is now Idaho Falls) and saw the men put in the steel bridge alongside the toll bridge.  I had to go there to get a loan of grain for the teams.  I usually spent my evenings at the dance hall.  Here for the first time I saw a group of girls managed by a man termed a herder, they being under contract fr a period of time.  Some of the girls asked me to dance or take a drink with them.  I refused.  Finally a young girl reputed to be of good character insisted that I dance with her.  I told her I did not dance with her kind.  A young man whom I knew from Logan and who had always been a careless fellow danced with her.  He did not return to camp for about a week and when he did he came on foot and weeping because he had lost his whole outfit.

Early training and realization of the effects of sin upon our whole future here and through all the eternities gave one the strength to say “No.”  I can still hear Frank Crookston sing, “Have strength to say “No.”  Reading the life of Joseph was sold into Egypt and of the sweet flutist who gave King Saul peace of mind so he could sleep, also of King David, who later fell and pleaded with the Lord not to leave his soul in hell.  Oh, how these pictures of the mind give strength of character which social customs and civil law fail to do in standing for the right, even to the giving of your life for the fight.

I discovered that unless we increased our pace the track layers would catch up with us and that would cost us $500.00 per day for failing to complete our work on time.  I did my best to rush the men and teams but was failing.  The men were rebellious and especially so when I announced we would work a Sunday shift.  Saturday, at noon, feeling my incompetence, I walked out beyond a hill and in the sage brush knelt and prayed to the Father for help.  I said, “Father, I cannot control these men unless you come to my assistance.”  I do not remember the closing words, perhaps there were non, but I went back to camp a changed man.

That evening the men brought a trick to camp.  A man would lie down, have his legs tied together with a space for a man to lock his lands and then try to pull the other into the fire.  I asked Charles Larson, my step-mother’s son, if it was possible to do.  He said he thought I could do it.  I had been kind to him by reading stories to him.  I did not realize then that he was jealous because his wife thought so much of me.  I had taken her out and as was the rule I had always kissed her at the gate.  The trick did not work for me.  Instead of head first into the earth, which is the general rule, I kept my feet, and twisted around with the rolling man and received no great harm, only strained arms.

Sunday morning I stood up on the wagon tongue and said, “If Johnson has any friends in camp, we expect to see them out on the grade today.”  I spoke in an earnest undertone.  They call came out except Larson and Taylor, a prize fighter.  An noon Larson picked a small man to show me that he could do what I had failed to do.  He broke his collar bone and we sent him home with the women cooks.  Taylor was now the cook.  I never again felt unequal to my responsibility as a leader of men.  By the close of the season I was recognized as the most successful or competent man on the road, both in handling men and making grade.  I could leave the men all day and they would do even better in my absence.  The track layers came just as we were through.

I thank God for the change of voice and the personality I possessed for his care over me in winning the trick and the rebuke that came to Larson.  I have learned whom to ask for help.  Two older men wanted me to stay and go in with them.  I was twenty-two years old.  The following was just one event that happened.  Two of the men were rolling rock into the grade.  One large rock was in the way and they were rolling theirs around it or lifting them over.  I asked them why they did not roll the big one out of the way.  They said it was too big to roll.  I told them to try it again.  When I returned a short time later it was still in the ground.  They said they could not roll it.  “All right.”  I said very kindly, “if you can’t I can.”  I gave such a stupendous heave, I almost broke my arm, but got it out of the way as the rock rolled.  A foreman will not have to do that the second time.

I surprised all the men one day when I sparred with two men at the same time as they tried to get me down.  One was my size and the other was a little smaller.  The larger one stood behind me and grabbed me around the waist.  As I was to all appearances going to the ground the other man came in to help.  I pushed the first man to the ground with my right arm and grabbed the other with my left hand, jerked him on top of the first man and swatted his bottom as I jumped clear of both.  Many incidents of interest occur in camp life.  William Mitchell was an able minder, also fair in handling men.  I was loading holes for blasting and he gave me the philosophy of it, and much good council generally.  David Nelson never ceased to love that youngster of a boss.

One day I carried a fifteen-foot steel bar weighing 75 lbs up a mountain path that was lined with trees and also very steep.  When I got to the top I was not breathing much harder than the men who followed with nothing to carry.

It seems that I should have remained in the north but some influence directed me south.  All four teams came to Logan via Fort Hall, Soda Springs, and Bear Lake Valley.  This was beautiful grazing country but too cold to raise grain.  The Bear Lake was a heavenly blue and calm as a morn in June.  This was in September and there was frost every night.  There were only eight nights in August that there was not frost in Beaver Canyon near the Montana line.  We came down Logan Canyon past the Temple saw mill.  The scenery was beautiful with groves of pine and autumn colored Aspens and the luxuriant grass plants between.  From the summit we could see for about twenty miles north and south.  Some forest fires were burning.  It seemed good to see again the place where I had bathed and fished.  The water was never very warm.

Just after arriving home as I was going down town I met my favorite girl.  She had her fortune told, and it said that a man in the north would fight for her when he returned.  That was, of course, myself.  As we passed (no street light) we recognized each other.  By the time I got to the corner she had overtaken me and I stopped and chatted, nonsense I suppose.  Others gathered and I remarked, “Well Miss Emma, as we are going in different directions, I bid you good evening.”  I bowed and left.

I brought a large load of logs home with me and before going in to supper, I put my shoulder under the wheel and lifted the wagon tire off the ground.  While I ate my supper two young fellows tried at the same time to lift and failed.

I had three hundred dollars which I gave to father to pay on his land.  I was really to blame for not having the land deeded to James and me.  Instead, I sold or gave him one of my horses to refund his share.  He also gave father a new harness.  When Johnson and Co settled up, he paid me $20.00.  However the Company owed me $400.00 more but they had nothing to pay with.  I was offered a job at clerking at $40.00 per month but refused to work for wages.

I decided to go out to Bristol and burn charcoal.  Emil Drysdale, one of the partners was going with me, and James went as far as Spring City.  I tool the $20.00 and stopped in Salt Lake City to get my citizenship papers.  Of all things I was an American and a Mormon.  I happened to find two Logan boys who acted as witnesses.

We started, practically without money, to travel four hundred miles, on the 5th of November, 1879, and it was snowing when we left.  It is just possible that I shirked my duty and promise to mother to care for the children.  Father offered me my lot, some of the land, and would help build a house if I would take the children.  But I wanted to go and make money.  When I think of mother’s charge to me, and the sad life of the children, my whole soul weeps over my dereliction, but fate drew me south.  We went through snow, slush, and frost on the way to Sanpete.  Uncle Nels and Aunt Philinda went with us far as St. George where they worked in the temple.  We hauled grain which we sold in Bristol, except enough for our horses.  Before starting I had traded my old horse for a young one.  On the road to Ephraim the young horse caved in although he was guaranteed.  I buckled on my pistol and rode to Mt. Pleasant, a distance of about 17 miles.  When I arrived and told what the horse had done and that I could not start across the desert with such a horse, they agreed to give my old horse.

Uncle Nels, perfect in all things, did the cooking, but he failed with his yeast powder bread.  I told him that no one could make good yeast powder bread by getting into it with their feet, or even using their rough hands.  I baked the bread, stirred it with a knife, soft and spongy, and had good bread all the time.  I did not even scorch it, although the wind blew many times.  The first time I tried to make bread for my prospective paretns-in-law, I burned it back.  It demonstrates care and effort.

The hardest part of this trip was over fifty miles of desert in deep snow.  The remarkable thing about the journey was that the old pioneers of 1853 never had a word of complaint for the whole distance.

While we were unloading in Bristol, a business man stepped up to me and said, “You from Utah?”  “Yes sir.”  “Mormon?”  “Yes sir.”  “Are you going to stay here?”  “Yes sir.”  “What can you do?”  “I don’t know.  I have done about everything but herd hogs, but I believe I can do that too.”  “You will do, you will do.”  I was nicknamed the “Honest Mormon”.

Our camp was about 25 miles from Bristol.  When I drove in for supplies I passed the evening in a saloon, as was the rule.  One night many seemed to gather and I learned they were to serenade Nick Davis, one of the leading citizens.  They were all signing and dancing jigs.  I volunteered a job.  Then they wanted me to drink, but I informed them I did not drink.  I did sing a song.  An Irishman, well raised, approached me thus: “I had just a good mother as you.  She used to sing to me and I learned to pray at her knees.  I am no ruffian.  I want you to drink with me.”  I took just a little sip, but had to keep sipping till after twelve.  I could never go back to that saloon to while away the evenings when in town.

I slept in the wagon box that winter of 1880, which was so very cold.  Thousands of animals died that winter.  A man said, as he passed by one morning as I was getting up, “G– my boy, you have had a cold berth.”  It was many degrees below zero.

I regret to relate it, but it is true.  A neighboring camp in Frisco had two dishonest boys, one much older than we.  They killed a cutter cow on the range and told us to come and get a quarter.  There were six or eight of us and I thought it would be a good thing.  While in the Bristol hills I saw a poor cow with a small calf.  I reasoned that if we took the calf I would save the cow from death.  That might be true but how frightened I was.  I never received any satisfaction from the two acts.

I burned charcoal that winter and slept in a little hole with my feet right out in the weather.  I had to get up many times each night to chop wood and put boughs over the top to keep the pits burning.  Early in the spring Emil Drysdale began driving the team but he soon got the team too poor, so I took over again.  This was hauling ore.  It took a day to drive to the mine and a day back.  The team was so weak that I got stuck many times.  I would walk to lighten the load.  One day I reached for the brake and fell into the rut of the wagon.  The first wheel ran over my arm just below the elbow, the second struck my right knee.  I straightened out in time so the second wagon grazed my head and body.  I just cried for mother a little and drove down to the smelter and the foreman sneered at me and my seeming incompetence.

In time I went back to camp and the horses were in much better condition.  We had coal of our own.  Emil hauled and I chopped.  I was able to stand on my feet until noon, then I knelt and chopped, and made a record cordage each day.  We began to forge ahead, hired men, and were doing a good business.  I hired a large, athletic fell, who bragged of his will power.  He claimed that he could stop a stage and make all the people get off with his will power.  He did have hypnotic influence with men but could not do anything with me.  He acknowledged that I had some superior power.  I knew it was the Priesthood.  In speaking of President Young, he would say Brigham Young and then apologize, and said President Young.

After Emil had been hauling coal for some time, I went to buy a four horse outfit.  There was a new road part of the way, full of rocks.  I walked behind the wagons and picked up and threw out all of the rocks for ten miles.  Emil admitted that it eliminated half of the seeming distance and more than half of the wear and tear on the team and wagons.  I collected six hundred dollars the company owed James and my Uncles and also bought a double team and wagon with the amount they owed me.  We used Drysdale’s team to drag in the wood and three span on two wagons hauling coal.  We had ten men in camp where I did the cooking.  The company sent out whiskey and two men to electioneer and prepare for the coming election.  The superintendent, Howe, was running for the legislature on the Republican ticket.  I had become a Democrat by studying the policies of both parties.

I was preparing to close down the camp so the men could go and vote the Democratic ticket.  I had them all coming my way.  My teamster, Joseph, was a fine, large German and had brought Democratic literature to camp.  A friend of mind who had been working for me a long time was working with a rebel, Willie Peace, whom I had known in Frisco.  Peace made a statement which I branded as a lie.  I also used other strong words.

A few mornings after that while I was gathering the dishes he started talking as I approached him in my duties.  I said, “That’s right, Willie.  Stick up for yourself.”  With that he struck me.  My hands struck the bench and then I fell on him.  His cousin pulled my head into Willie’s lap and held me there while Willie hammered my head with a rock.  My teamster came in and threw the cousin off and we both stepped out reeling from the hammering with the rock.  My head and face were all bloody.  His lips and both eyes were swollen.  Joseph said, “Come out here in the clear and finish.”  I went and said, “Come, Willie, and I will give you what you want.”  At that he threw the rock which struck me on the cheek, cutting a big gash.  I picked up the rock and showed it to the men.  I made and lunge at him and he cried out that he was through and I let him off.  You will perceive that I struck only with my hands and that he gave no chance to defend myself.  This was my only fight as I always tried to avoid such stuff.

I worked night and day.  All the boys helped me to load every other night.  After supper all hands helped to fill the sacks, sew them, and load them in the wagons.

Howe lost the election.  Everything seemed to go wrong.  On election day, Howe told me that if my men would vote for him he would win.  I told him I understood that he had said that he could buy the Mormon vote for $3.00.  I want you to know that you can’t buy my vote for the $2,000.00 which he owed me, nor for $3 million dollars, the price of Bristol.  At that moment I put the price on my vote and character which has been a strength through my whole life.  I could have traded my credit for a ranch with a large barn, sheep corral, the wall was eight feet high and cost over $800.00.  There was a good two-story dwelling, hotbeds, and a stream of water with sole rights.  My inexperience could see me living there by myself and losing my faith and I would not lose that for the world.  I could have rented it.  I was also offered cattle to stock it on time.  A fine village could have been built there.  Now it seems child foolishness to reject such an offer.

I moved to Bullionville and Panaca, a Mormon village.  We reached Pioche by noon through snow over one foot deep.  It took about two hours to dig through the drifts in one place.  The Godby Hampton Co was doing business at Bullion.  I had delivered coal to them at Frisco.  We made our camp about fifteen miles south of town in the timber.  It was done so quickly they named me, Nelson the Rustler.

I brought most of my men with me from Bristol.  James joined us with an extra team.  We had paid $50.00 per ton for hay and $70.00 for grain in Bristol, we now paid $30.00 for hay and $50.00 for grain.  Even so, five teams and a large number of men ran up the store bill.  The teams were idle as the smelter was not ready to receive coal.  For a week I could not sleep because of the responsibility.  The store began to try limiting my credit.  I went down myself and talked to George T Odell, one of the clerks.  I informed him that we would not stand by any trimming of our orders.  I paid in stock in our Company $1,000.00 for an interest in the Benson mine, of which James was the boss, so he became an equal partner with me.  Emil Drysdale became a hired hand when we left Bristol.  When we began hauling in the Spring we were $2,200.00 in debt.  I was only 23 and that amount seemed enormous.

Th first load we pulled out from under the trees had four span of horses and all the men came out to see us get started.  My left leader, a faithful animal, looked back at his old mate on the right wheel and gave him some of his talk and the wheel horse answered by his action.  We had unmatched them.  I asked the boss to put Sailor with Billie on lead.  When he was being led up Billie kept talking and rubbed his nose on his old mate.  When I straightened up the lines, I gave them a little swing pull and the leaders stayed in their collars.  The others felt the wagon move and away they went.  I dared not stop for fear of miring until we got out on the road.  The boys were surprised at the way I dodged the trees with the four span and heavy wagon.  I always drove when the driver said it could not be done.

We moved to the East hills and in June all debts had been paid.  I attempted to show how much wood I could chop and put in the pit in one day.  James and I were doing the night shift.  There was only enough timber here for a small pit.  I did not take time to eat dinner but ran in and swallowed a few cold potatoes.  I finished the pit but the potatoes went through without digesting and my stomach was never the same again.

I drove one team to Bristol to put through what I left in November.  I hired a Catholic sailor, well read, to haul for me.  I put up a 1,000 bushel pit in two days.  The record by the Italians was three days.  This pit held thirty cords of wood dug in with the limbs on, but chopped to fit smoothly in the pit and lapped with short pieces no longer than stove wood all over the outside.  This Catholic sailor, aged 70, told me how mean and low Mormons were.  He lived in Utah before I did.  When he returned for another load I admitted what had said about them, but I told him they were as good as other people today.  He agreed.  If they were below and now are equal, what has made them advance faster than the rest of the world.  I claimed it was the superior principles they had and lived by.  He learned to love me and when we parted he said, “You are an influential young man, when you go back home start a library, and put in it these books,” and he named a number among which was Ancient Roman history.

The German hotel keeper at Bristol agreed to take the Company when I ran the bill with him.  I left a Mr. Scot to send me the money for the coal to Bullion, after paying the orders which I had issued.  I asked his opinion of our difference.  He answered, “You are both good men.  I cannot say that there is a difference.”  When pay day came, I put Scot’s letter in the German’s envelope, and he took his pay.

When I left Bristol we concluded it would take a certain number of teams and men to keep the hauling up.  James was left in charge.  When I returned I could see by the work done and hear by the talk that there were three groups each endeavoring to run the camp.  By noon I had cleared up considerable.  After dinner a man about 35, who had come to the camp a wounded man made some remark about the Mormons and the whole camp roared.  I sat to the right of him and retorted in no mistaken tone, “Any man who tells that to be true is a G– D—– liar.”  You could have heard a pin drop and he apologized to me.  He did not want to hurt my feelings.  Another example was necessary.

It was understood that all were to help load the coal that evening.  James had promised them melons.  A six footer from Mt Pleasant stood up laughing and said, “Yes, we will go, yes we will go, and so will Mormonism.”  At the proper time I caught him by the shoulder, looked him in the face and said, “Charles, business is business and must be tended to.  We pay for what we want done.  If you are going to do it, do so; if not, sit down.”  They all went to work and when the teams came back the melons were there.

Again we aimed to be at Conference so quit early in September.  The Company gave us extra for our coal.  James and I were both expert at burning.  We left with $1,500.00 cash and three teams.  We put $1,100.00 in the Fourth Ward Store in Logan and kept $400 for expenses.  We left our teams and wagons at Milford and took the train to Logan.  We had decided to build a store east of Hans Munk’s during the coming winter.

We went back on the train to get our teams.  James drove his and I had two Drydales.  The first day at noon I fed all the horses without unhitching them.  I took the bridles out of their mouths and left them hanging on their ears.  Three of the horses were run-aways and one a colt.  As I put the bridle on the gentlest, he snorted a little and I held my breath until I got the bridles on the leaders, then the colt.  After that I began to breathe more freely.  It haunted me all afternoon and I never did it again.  By the time I got to Sandy the snow was almost knee deep.  At Ogden it was slushy, but when I entered Cache Valley the ground was dry but rain was falling.

I put up at Daniel Johnson’s.  His son was to run the store.  I bought a lot on which to build, got in my winter’s hay from the Church Farm, and started to school at the B.Y.C.  Miss Ida Cook was still there with J. Z. Stewart helping.  Daniel Johnson Jr had been and still was a student.  He had Darwin, Tom Paine, and Ingersoll among his books.  He could outwit anyone in town for or against Mormonism.  He ridiculed me for my positive stand.  I read his books and listened to his philosophy which were generally illustrations.  In school I picked up facts on theology to defend myself.  By this time the Lord had given me an almost perfect comprehension of English.  My faith had increased and when Sister Johnson was upset when the Edmund Tucker law was passed, she exclaimed almost weeping, “Polygamy never was true or the Lord would never have let them pass that law.”  I knew [polygamy] was true.  She had testified and I knew that what she had said was true, that after she had ceased to be as women are, she gave her husband a second wife, and the Lord blessed her with a son and two daughters.  Another neighbor whose wife never had children, when she consented to her husband taking another wife, gave birth to a son.

I held my Doctrine and Covenants in both hands as if to open it and breathed a prayer, “Father, is there nothing in this book to ocnvince this good woman of the truth of this principle?”  I opened the book and read to her, “When the Government passes any law which prohibits my people from living up to all the principles of the Gospel, then the sin rest on the Government, and we are not judged.”  She was convinced.  I knew from that time that the principle would be prohibited and told the people so.

God had prepared me to talk to Daniel Jr.  One evening I cornered him so badly that his mother wept and his father was angry with him.  I gave him the choice between infidelity and Mormonism.  There was no room for him to evade the question.  From that time on I felt confident that I could defend Mormonism.  In his discussions he used such ideas as a man could not work with the same interest in a company as for himself.  He was also accustomed to cheat in card games so I decided not to build the store.  This brilliant man committed suicide a few months later.

When I first started to school I was so sensitive to criticism that I would turn black in the face and almost choke.  One day Miss Cook stood by me and said kindly, “Now, Mr. Nelson, you can do better than that, try again.”  In a few days I was all right.  I did remarkably well that winter and was at the head of the class.  I asked many questions that others failed to observe.  Miss Cook had made my time longer than I had paid for and asked me to remain.  I suppose if I had done so I would have had a call to Sweden on a mission.  That has been my impression.  I did not realize the privilege then.  Some in the class had been there continually since 1876.

Some of the young men had broken the rules of the school.  J. Z. Stewart spoke to them about it.  The kind manner and the impression he made carried to the close of school and with me to the close of life.  Miss Cook, Professor Stewart, and Orson Smith, as my teachers will never be forgotten.

When I left Johnson’s, the mother and three children hated to see me go.  I had been the most cheerful and kind associate they had ever had.  They asked me to forgive them for any thoughtless words or acts.  Logan had been a dear home to me and little did I realize then that leaving it as a home forever.  I long to go up there and stay for a month or so and visit with all my old friends.  I am sure I left not a single enemy and I am sure the same is true of Crescent.

It was the first of March when I left Logan.  I took Joseph Hyrum, then 14, with me.  We had a difficult time through the canyon and the drifts.  At Sandy we always stopped to rest up at Uncle Lars Benson’s.  I attended a dance at Sharp’s, west of the State Road.  A very smart young lady asked me, “What do you think when you think of nothing?”  I replied, “I suppose I think of girls.”  I had a real good time.  I attended a M.I.A. in Sandy.  Brother Lewis was President.  He sang “Thou Wilt Come No More, Gentle Annie”.  Brother Hewlett, an aged shoemaker, and some elder Doctor gave some intelligent and comprehensive talks on the ancient prophets with respect to the present day.  We also called on Uncle Nels in Spring City and listened to a very good talk by a school teacher from Mt. Pleasant.

James came from Bullion and informed us we could have the tailing contract hauling.  James handed over $700 in cash to Bynum Lane for a mine.  He knew as soon as it was done that he had given his hard earnings for a hole in the ground which he never even went to see.

The morning we were to leave Milford our horses were lost.  We had sent to Logan for $400 and bought two new wagons from B. F. Grant.  Then we traded one of the wagons for a horse which proved to be not worth his feed.  Arriving at Bullion I took a little outlaw horse I brought from Milford and with worthless Sam drove to Bristol where I traded Sam for another outlaw horse and $20 to boot.  It was dangerous to hitch the two outlaw horses together.

I scrapped with them and soon had them gentle.  I traded them for a team of mares, both died within a year.  We sent for the last $700 and bought a scrap outfit, double team wagons.  We traded my two outlaws, the best team on the job, and gave $100 to boot, and the new team was balky.  James and my teams averaged $8.50 per day, and the other teams made some gain.  When we quit that fall we had poorer teams and only $400 and yet we started out with $1,100.  Once I worked for 36 hours without stopping.  We were under contract to keep the smelter going.  Then I got leaded so we decided to quit.  It was then that I located Dry Creek in the fall of 1882.

On the way home through Spring City I proposed to Fidelia Ellen Kofford and was accepted.  I was now aiming for a home.  Uncle Lars had advised me to file on some land in Sandy in 1876.  I told him I would not have the whole country as a gift.  Six years later I was pleased to buy seven acres from William G Taylor, nephew of President Taylor.  In closing the deal he treated us in Samuel Kemp’s saloon.  We made another deal and he invited me in again.  I told him I did not drink and that I had taken the first with him because I did not intend to be rude.  He responded saying, “A young man just home from camp life and don’t drink!” and looked at me with astonishment.

We lived in a little house above the canal belonging to Fred Olsen.  We associated much and confided in each other and I told him what an unworthy father and husband drink made of him.

I studied Gospel principles putting down the quotations; read about George Q Cannon in Congress, read Judge Black and Ingersoll’s arguments, and a book, “Elocution, Expression, English, and Manners.”  I also studied the dictionary so I understood words, their derivatives, roots, and synonyms.  I could bow myself out of a home with all the grace of a Frenchman.  I am not saying anything about my love affair.  We kept most of our love letters and they can speak for themselves.

I scrubbed my coat collar and put it on wet, then drove to Sandy and I came down with the quinzy which lasted a long time.  I thought my palate would strange me at times.  The anxious letters from my sweetheart were an inspiration to try and live for her sake.  She sent me a Christmas present and a very nice letter.

Amelia Rollins, a young cousin, was our cook.  James and Joseph were off to Sandy or elsewhere most of the time and she went with them some of the time.

Spring came and we worked on the railroad west of Ogden.  I made it a point not to take part in all the light talk.  One called out, “You don’t talk.  What are you thinking about?”  I answered, “I am thinking that if a tax were levied on all common sense, you fellows would be tax free.”  An able intellectual fellow asked me why I did not talk.  “I have but limited common sense and I do not wish to waste it on nonsense,” I replied.  This blue-eyed six foot, 200 pound, English Mormon, left the Church as I knew he would.  Just before he died, he call in Bishop Bills of South Jordan and plead with him to do what he could for him.  He knew the Gospel was true and that he had strayed until he was practically lost.  He passed away with regrets and a penitent soul.

I usually walked several miles to Ogden after supper for my mail.  One dark night I met several girls merrily chatting as they tapped along the road.  I always like to hear that kind because I knew they had good character.

My team needed rest so I worked single handed for a time.  I first leveled the grade and then I filled scrapers to complete a sixteen foot high station as a guide to the rest.  Some teams would go with a jerk, others slow, but I never stuck a team all day.  I could take a tongue scraper with one hand and sling up one the side of the bank in filling.  The other fellows stopped the team, used both hands, and a teamster one hand.  All the bosses were fearful to attempt a complete station so they asked me to do it.  I completed it and they marveled at the correctness of it.

When I returned to Dry Creek, Brother Taylor came to me saying, “I am a free man, I am a free man, I haven’t drunk for two months.”  I was hauling mining timber for Bishop Holman.  As we drove through Sandy, James Kemp came to his wagon and asked Billie to have a drink.  “No sir, I have quit,” said Billie.  “I wish I could say that,” James replied.

We took a contract to haul bridge material for the East Jordan canal.  We went up Bell Canyon on a road that had been abandoned for years and seemed impassable.  I drove from the white house on the hill; left the cart at the mouth of the canyon; took the front cart close to the roll-off; took horses and chains up to where James had cut and gathered them and snaked them down to the front cart, drug them down to the hind cart, loaded them up and hauled them to Draper past Henry Pearson’s.  He was kind, gave me apples and cider, and chatted as an old friend.  Sometimes I would go to Sandy and back for supplies.  James decided my job was too difficult and he would cut and snake to the roll-off.  While I had breakdowns and accidents we never failed to get a load a day, Sundays included, for over six weeks.  We earned fifty two shares of water stock in the East Jordan Canal Co.  We had bought almost forty acres of land.

I concluded to ride down to see the sweetheart up on the Sanpete where evergreens and pine grew on the level.  I spent several days there.  We had a love trysting place where I could stake my horse in the tall grass and Fidelia’s pet fawn would gambol at our feet.  She would sit on my knee and read interesting stories to me.  It was a most attractive scene, the horse in the open glen, the fawn, beautiful birds flitting from bush to bramble, and mourning doves echoing in their plaintive call.

All in all it called forth the sweetest and sublimest ecstasies of two souls whose hearts beat for each other.  Blissful thoughts of the past are one’s life, what the ever returning spring time with its balmy air, fragrant flowers, variegated colors, undulating movements, as though beckoning one to come and enjoy, as they are to this beautiful earth of ours.  When we have passed to the realms above, may the sweet memories of this scene, hallowed and sanctified by our pure love and devotion for each other and for God, linger in the hearts of our posterity as the most worthy heritage bequeathed to them.  With all the ardor of my soul for God and His prophets, has been the yearning of my heart for righteous living.  Yet the worst wretch who goes shivering by has my pity and regret.  Condemnations belong to all merciful Father.

As I started home, leading my faithful horse with my left hand and my future companion for life and all eternity in my right arm, we walked slowly and talked of the future when there would be no parting.  Suddenly we stopped, an ardent kiss and caress, and I was off, leaving her to meander back alone.

James and I took a contract to haul cordwood to the Eclipse Mind in the tops of the Big Cottonwood Mountains.  We were to get $2.00 per cord but only one $1.00 per cord if it was not up in time.  There were about five hundred cords.  We started to haul but discovered that we needed help someone to haul hay and grain.  I prayed the Father to send us help every morning as I got the horses, and promised Him of all we had made I would give one tenth to Him.  He, God, sent a large company from Provo but Brother James objected.  I knew that we were left now.  The snow fell from every cloud that passed.  James was down looking for teams, hay, and grain.  I read Pinkerton detective stories, and boxed with a bag of salt to rest from reading.  I disliked leaving our contract unfinished but that is what we did.  We hauled poles to Timothy Marriot for hay, corn, and potatoes.  We had a hog and feed for him and felt prepared for winter.

The reading I had done gave me the first view of the weakness of American Education.  Isaac M Stewart Jr was a geologist and an educated man but did not agree with Mormonism on all points.  At first we were chums.  The Superintendence of the Sunday School in Draper was opposed to getting into hot water in the discussions.  I remarked, “I never found water too deep to swim in, and errors, like straws, float on the surface, but he who would seek for pearls must dive beneath the surface.”  We continued the discussions for about two months when the class all saw and agreed with my views.  D. O. Rideout said he had learned more in six weeks than in the previous six years.  In the summer Stewart debated with Supt Peter Garff on the subject, “Who is Most Loyal?”  The subject was brought about through the celebrating of the 4th and 24th of July.  I rose to my feet and was recognized by the chair.  I said, “Every naturalized citizen must be as loyal as a natural born citizen, or indeed be a hypocrite.”

Later there was a school meeting held with William M Stewart as chairman.  Dr Park was also there.  He taught in Draper schools.  Thy boasted of their education, I objected to their position, and held that their very fields showed the lack of education.  Dr Stewart, later of the University of Utah, was so impressed by my remarks that he took the question to the Utah Educational Association and in the third year it was adopted as school policy.  Forty years after that time, Thomas Spencer told me I was given the credit.

We had agreed to get married this winter and I would not be put off.  With what I had and credit at Holman’s store I determined to start.  I bought Fidelia a very nice coat, at least she looked well in it.  When I got to Spring City I found she was in debt and a payment was expected.  Charley Kofford, bless him, let me have the money.  I was wearing James’ overcoat as someone took mine just before I left.  I stood up in Priesthood meeting and raise my right hand and covenanted that I would attend my quorum meetings, keep the Word of Wisdom, and do my duty generally, and I meant it.  I was ordained an Elder in the home of Pres James Jensen, with Nephi Hayward as mouth.

While in Spring City I felt very much humiliated because of the lack of money.  A farewell party was held at the Kofford home, all of the speakers praised her, but scarce had a hope that I was OK.  Father Kofford was asked to speak.  He said in part, “I believe Fidelia got the man she loves, I know she did.  I know she will be taken care of.”  He then gave me some complimentary remarks.

We left alone in a wagon and were over two days on the road.  On the 24th of January 1884 we were married in the Endowment House by Daniel H Wells.  Uncle Lars Benson asked us to sup with them after which we drove to our home.  Fidelia made pictures and ornaments and we were quite comfortable.

I went up South Dry Creek Canyon for timber to take out.  There was a snow slide in the creek bed.  I climbed so high up yet could not get over the ridge.  I feared to go back.  With caution I regained my footing and began the upward climb.  All footholds had to be made with the axe and I knew that one slip and all would be over for me.  I finally made it home before dark.  The occasion gave us both quite a fright.

In the spring James and I were plowing for people in Sandy.  A friction seemed to arise and Fidelia did not want to live there any longer so we moved to Draper.  I had two lots and fixed up the house and we had a fair garden.

I took the contract getting out logs for James Jansen and Joseph Smith for $9.00 per 1,000 feet.  I should have had at least $16.00 per 1,000 feet.  I was new at saw timber.  Miller Andrus worked with me a while, chopping and we slept at the mill.  I told him we were not making a dollar a day.  He left to cut his hay and I was alone.  Brother Smith was working on a road below me and called to see if I was all right before he left.  He had been gone only a short time when the handspike, which I was using to roll a large log, broke.  I was thrown over the log on my back.  The next thing I realized I was standing behind a tree as the log rolled by me.  I was quivering like a leaf.  The top of one of my boots was torn off.  How I got out from under that log I shall never know.  It did not roll me at all.  Had it done so I would have been crushed to death.  Providence has been very kind to me many times.  The horses and myself were in constant danger most of the time I was getting out 50,000 feet of lumber from that canyon.  No one before or since has worked there.

Fidelia and I attended Sunday School where she became a teacher of the young ladies department.  We took part in all organizations for advancement.  One such was a literary class under Prof William Stewart.

Mary Neff, daughter of Benjamin Neff, was living with us and attending school.  I had promised to keep the Word of Wisdom, but in visiting the different homes, I was offered tea and coffee.  When I refused they assumed I thought myself better than they.  In a discussion with my wife and Miss Neff, they rather got the better of me.  Smiling I walked to the door while they were firing at me and I said, “I will take the question to the Elder’s quorum meeting.”  As I closed the door, I heard a voice in my mind ask and answer these questions, “Did you ever drink tea or coffee?”  “Only sometimes.”  “Did you ever commit adultery?”  “Only sometimes.”  The influence of the spirit, its penetration and joy is indescribable, though the words are simply indeed.  Yet the illustration is unmistakably clear, I returned to the woman at once, and raising my hand toward heaven, I declared I had drunk my last cup of tea of coffee.

About this time I also discovered that at some future day we were to become parents.  The two revelations made life quite happy, notwithstanding the task we both had.  While she, Fidelia, was in constant fear as to my safety, she gathered fruit and prepared it for winter.  From the time of the first berries at the foothills till the last thimble berries up among the pines, she was there to pick and put them up.  Fidelia would take me up to the mill with a team.  I would take the horse Johnny to carry my luggage to the camp, then turn him lose expecting that he would go back to her.  I was amazed to see him coming to eat breakfast with me the next morning.  I hurried home to see how Fidelia had reached home.  At dusk she had started home with Jim’s horse and was all right.  She took me back to the mill and I started up the mountain while she turned around and drove home.  One night my camp fire did not appear until nearly 10 PM and Fidelia was running to get someone to look for me.  At last the beacon light appeared indicating I was still alive though I might be injured.

We at length decided to move back to Dry Creek.  Father Ennis gave me four early New York potatoes, so I now had a half bushel for seed.  I had all of my logs turned over the roll-off and could work at them any spare time I had.  It was father to go but we were more favorably located.  My first load of lumber I took in for tithing.  I walked the team the whole distance though the near horse, Johnny, jogged a bit.  I made the trip in two and a half hours.  People stared at the team and the load of 1,000 feet of green lumber.  I worked at the logs all winter and a few days of the spring.

Brother Taylor and I attended our quorum meetings in Draper, also ward teacher’s meetings, though it was a very cold winter, and the roads were often unbroken.  I planted about thirty acres of grain and plowed that much sage brush land.  No one knew when I started in the morning for I was out pulling and piling sage brush and the fires were burning when the rest went to bed.

My mother-in-law, Fannie Kofford, came from Spring City, Sanpete County, to help us with our prospective new baby.  She had not seen the city since 1853-54, so I borrowed my brother’s cart and took her through the City and up to Camp Douglas.  We had a grand outing.

On April 27th, 1885, A L or August Levi came to our home after many hours of severe pain.  Brother W G Taylor and I administered to her and Sister Harrison, the mid-wife from Sandy, was full of faith.  When the baby cried out tears of joy rolled down my cheeks.  I had always looked forward to the time when I would be a papa, as one of the happy events of my life, for it would be the beginning of a home of my own.  A dwelling without children is not a home.  Mother and child did well and Grandma went home.  We had him blessed June 4th by Absolom Smith.

I began working at the head of the canal in 1884 and there met William Fairborne of Dry Creek.  WE cooked, ate, prayed, and slept together and built a life-long friendship without a jar.  I attended a stock holder’s meeting at South Cottonwood.  It appears that I had views of my own and made some remarks.  The company lost $50,000 by the drop at Union, which, at least a few years back, the City had carried on in the natural grade.  While the water was short or scarce, we were blessed with a good crop.  I felt that a permanent home had been started.

I applied to Bishop Isaac M Stewart for a Sunday School and he was pleased to make a date with us.  We met in John N Eddins new brick house and the people turned out en mass.  Brother William H Smith acted as janitor.  There were the Eddins, Smiths, Fairbornes, Taylors, Bullocks, Cunliffes, Morrisons, and Browns.  I was made Superintendent with W G Taylor as my first assistant and Hanna M Fairborne as my second assistant.  Morris directed the music.  I was always on time.  Many times I stood in the doorway and offered up a silent prayer that the people would come out so we could accomplish the good we desired.  If Morris and his sons, Arthur and William, did not come we could always depend on Vina Taylor, or Ada Cunliffe, girls not yet in their teens.

How I learned the love the members!  Brother Taylor was often away and Sister Fairborne was not strong and had to walk two miles.  It was a struggle but God blessed me with will power and Fidelia instructed me at home how to conduct the school.  She was one of the first secretaries.  Rosa Lunen, a good sister about twenty years of age was present at the organization.  In 1886 we took the school out under Eddin’s Trees and sometimes in his kitchen.  Brother Burgon and his children came regularly.

With Brother Burgon’s help we had a great 4th and 24th of July celebrations.  He taught me the bass to the song, “Listen to the mournful wailing, as it floats through yonder cottage door, Oh! Give me back my happy childhood, take me to my home once more.”

In the winter of 1884-85, Fidelia taught the first school in Dry Creek.  Bro George Burgon, a life-long teacher, expressed great satisfaction over her success with his children.  We also had many parties for the children.  It was an enjoyable time, especially the Christmas dance.  There was candy and prizes for the best school attendance.  The first dance was held in Sister Eddin’s kitchen.  I led the boys across the floor and showed them how to bow and properly ask the girls for a dance, but soon discovered they were not ready for the ceremony.  The dance for 1886-87 was held in James P Nelson’s house where the school was being held, now the home of O E Vombaur.

As ward teachers we were all instructed to report any activities of the US Marshall in our vicinity.  I lived near the State Road and could hear them pass from our bedroom window.  I rushed over to Draper a number of times on horseback and reported fast driving on the road.  One night my wife called, “August, August, a buggy just went by at a tremendous pace.”  I rode over nd called Bishop Stewart, then went to Bro Stewart’s home and waited for the buggy to arrive.  We were surprised that it was Nancy Day and her sweetheart Bro Ballard.  I felt a little sold but Bishop Stewart said it was better to make a mistake that way than to slip up the other way.

Once when a number of non-Mormons were talking with my brother, James, a load of Marshalls passed swiftly past us.  I asked James to let me take his cart and a trotting stallion and away I went after them.  I did not overtake them and lost the sound of their outfit.  I drove to Draper and back and learned that they had gone to Riverton where they found a number of brethren who had not been warned.

We were planning on a building that would do for both school and church.  We needed a place for the choir to hold practice.  The site for it was the big question.  Some wanted it on the south end near Joseph Bullock’s place.  I insisted we must build it on the State Road.  Feeling that my proposition would lose unless I made a further move, I suggested we go one block further south, next to Atwoods.  This was almost on the south limit.  The north end wanted it where the school house now is but failed to come out and vote.  I told them if they had the courage to vote for this corner I would help them build it and we would have one in the north end in time.  The building was to be 26 X 30 feet with a half-pitch roof and to be built by contract, the contractor to use our labor and material.  Brother Erickson from Sandy got the contract and the building was ready to move into before winter.  I was a member of the building committee.  We canvassed Draper for some of the money.  It cost $1,200 and when it was finished there was a balance due of $400.

Roswell Kofford, Fidelia’s youngest brother, worked for me this summer.  He was eleven, a cripple, but a stupendous good worker.  We had light snow so I was able to plow from the 8th of February on without a stop.  That little boy would pull sage all day alone.  I had just bought the Forshay land and we broke 15 acres of it besides plowing all the rest.  He was sent up to me to train.  I would reason with him all day when we worked together and neither of us tired.  He came to me with a little rebel and went home a good Christian.  I enjoyed that boy’s company.  He took a personal interest in my welfare and his courage was superb.

Water was very scarce that summer and many helped themselves.  I had a weir to myself and should have had the same amount of water as the Eddin’s weir.  My weir was high and when the water lowed it had to be widened.  Bishop Rawlins told me to take what belonged to me.  Most of my corn, cane, and potatoes failed but the rest I kept alive by constant cultivation.  Then the Company issued a black list and my name was on it.  I demanded a trial or that the accusers rescind their statement.  I was given a trial but they would not accept the result of their own figures.  The Bishopric of Draper were aged men and did not comprehend the figures.

My friends wept with me when I was disfellowshipped.  They asked me to yield, but I could not dishonor the family name, my wife and children who would have to meet the stigma through their lives.  A second trial went the same way.

At home I slept by myself and my wife said I looked like a ghost.  I did not sleep.  The adversary showed me all the wonderful homes and fields and argued with me to come with him and be free.  All of the arguments of Ingersol, Paine, and others that I had read and reasoned with went through my mind and I saw the supposed beauties of hell, if I would leave the protection of the Gospel plan.  This continued until morning when I seemed to be raised up and then fell about a foot to the bed.  I fell asleep and upon awaking I was as calm and determined to stay with the Gospel the only source of true liberty.

In a month I came before the High Council in Salt Lake City with President Angus M Cannon, Joseph E Taylor, and Charles W Penrose presiding.  My wife and Charles Hanson went with me.  That day the Lord took all my planning and reasoning away from me and I was left helpless to defend myself, but meek and humble as a little child.  The clerk read the minutes of the last trial.  I told them if those minutes stood they could pass judgment without further hearing.  I also said that all of Lovendahl’s testimony should be stricken.

President thought that I should have a rehearing.  I told him that I was tired of it all.  I was no better than — Smith.  My wife whispered, “George E Smith.”  I passed a slip of paper to my side of the Council signed by Albert G Brown showing how the measurements were made by his Company.  When the Eddin’s weir was 2 5/8 open, the Nelson weir was less than eight inches.  The Eddins had been set at four inches all summer which made the Nelson weir less than 12 inches and impossible for me to get my share of water.  I told them I had not had enough.  My wife said, “Due amount.”  Supt. J S Rawlins said that I had forced the trial.  I also told them that until my name was cleared I have to resign all of my Church duties.

The brethren for the defense seemed to shun me while the opposition showed interest.  It seemed to go against me when Joseph E Taylor remarked, “I don’t like the principle of making a man an example for the others.”  President Cannon said, “You can’t make an example of this man.  It is not possible you are mistaken and that you did give this man authority to measure the Nelson weir?”  Bishop Rawlins answered, “Yes.”  Then it was moved and carried unanimously that the decision of Bishop Stewart be reversed and I was a free man.

I shook hands with all who had testified against me as ardently as the rest and tears were rolling down my cheeks.  I will not attempt to describe my gratitude to Father in Heaven.  He took away all my brilliancy and showed the superiority of humility before his servants.

Home friends were overjoyed while that good aged Bishop Stewart felt a little humiliated for not stating the question fairly.  I was satisfied although L H Smith, first president of the Seventies, said I was not given justice and promised he would see that I did get justice.  I told him that I was satisfied.  D O Rideout told me the same.  I felt as though I had grown in experience and judgment and many years more tolerant.

We had our new meeting house which also served as the school house.  We were to have one trustee on the night I was elected unanimously.  William Fairborne, James Jensen, and Samuel Stewart objected and said the motion was illegal as there was two in one, hence null and void.  One the next vote I refused to vote or work for my self.  Brother Fairborne won by one vote.  John Fitzgerald said to me, “I do not think much of a man who will not vote for himself and friends.”  He was more than an ordinary man and has always felt that I wronged him very much.  Had I voted for myself I would have been one majority, Brother Fitzgerald’s candidate would have won.

Brown, Fairborne, and myself were a committee of three for renting the house for dances and managing the dances.  As I was the Sunday School Superintendent, I held the balance of power.  Many thought me too strict on manners and general behavior.  I held strictly to two or three rounds dances for the evening.  A meeting in the community was held.  I invited Bishop Stewart and Supt. Peter Garff to be present.  Bro Morris moved that Bro Fairborne be made assistant Supt.  That was all right with me but when Fairborne asked me to be his first assistant I objected on the ground that as I was the older and the greater talker, I would be likely to lead him astray.  Supt Garff said it was up to us brethren to work together.

When I was about seventeen or eighteen most of the church membership was being rebaptized but I refused to do so.  I heard a number of Apostles preach that those who were not rebaptized would drink damnation to our souls when we partook of the sacrament.  I did not believe this as I felt as strong as ever.  But in 1883 I wanted to get married and married right and wanted nothing to be between me and my Father in Heaven.  Supt Peter Garff said I didn’t need it.  I told him I wanted it so he baptized me in Joseph M Smith’s pond.  I felt that I was no better than the rest of the members of the church and did not ask for any special privileges.

Considerable dissatisfaction was felt as to our treatment in the school district so at the next election Dry Creek demanded by election.  As soon as I was in I saw to it that we got two outhouses.  The old one had a bad record and more than fifty boys and girls had to use the same one.  We also started a school in John Neff’s house.

I must go back and relate some of my financial affairs.  I bought my brother James out.  There was two houses and over twenty acres of land for $2,000.  I already owed $300 for which I gave a team.  I borrowed the $2,000 from Zion’s Savings Bank with 10% interest.  I had paid 18% on the $300.  In the spring of 1889 I had to do something to get money for interest.  I had 4 1/2 acres of alfalfa of my own planting.  That year I got 19 tons off the first crop, 17 off the second, and 13 off the third crop, a total of 49 tons.  I hauled one load to town and was disgusted with the method of selling.  It meant that I would be on the road every day.  I asked the Lord to help me find a better way.

I had my brother, Joseph Hyrum, and Frank Thomas do most of my farming.  A L did the riding and tramping from four years and up.  L E pulled slack all summer before he was three.  Paul insisted on helping to pick tails at two years of age and a fork was provided.  The boys never retired from their jobs.  It was optional at first and they never complained.  I have had much help and joy with my boys in their youth.  They were no care, only a joy.  I took them with me to Sunday school from ages 1 1/2 and up.  A L and L E took care of themselves.

I had a thorough system in my work.  I got a number of customers for my hay, some of it on time payments, usually at $5 or $6 per ton.  Although I hauled hay for several years I was never away over night.  I did most of my irrigating at night.  The men would turn it during the day.  One day as I was loading a high load, I had a young Danishman helping.  He was a hustler and a joy to work with.  I was taking hold of a thin pinion pole as Chris began binding on the load.  I cautioned him to go easy and just then the pole snapped and I landed on my shoulders on the ground.  L E was on the load and he prayed for me and I was able to get up on the load.  My wife plead with me not to go today.  I told her to pray for me becaus I was going if I died on the way.  When I got as far as Murray I was a well man.  I had fallen before this and had a tender spot on my breast, now all was gone and I have never felt any ill effects from these two falls.

Another time I was loading hay from a seventy ton stack when I was stricken with the lagrippe.  I asked Fidelia what she could do for me.  She said I would have to go to bed.  I could not do that until the hay was delivered.  On the way home I drove through rain and wind.  I asked mother to take the team and I went in and lay down near the stove.  Mamma came and covered me and made me comfortable.  In the morning I was well.

Another time I was taking a load to a dairy near the Jordan in North Salt Lake.  I missed the road and got into a slough.  I had to pitch the load off, get the wagon loose, and load up again.  Even then I was home by noon.  I aimed to haul six loads a week.  That year I grew about 400 tons.

A L was soon able to haul for me.  When he was nine he took a load to B Street and 4th Ave.  I was behind him as far as 4th east and 8th south, when I went with a man to try to locate some lost cattle.  When I got to A L he was crying as the tire had come off the wagon.  The man that I had helped was a blacksmith so he soon fixed the wagon and we were soon unloaded.  How dear that dependable boy seemed to me and father to him as we rode home together!  That boy did all of the hay cutting on the farm after he was seven.

The boys did all the stacking of grain after age seven and one year my wife pitched on to the stack.  I remember a number of teams were hauling for John Neff and my two baby boys kept two pitchers busy.  The two eldest were ordained deacons when they were eight and were active in priesthood work from then on.  When the two eldest were eight and tend, Paul six, Virgil three, we ran two teams hauling.  I pitched on and loaded, Paul tromped, Virgil rode the horse, Lawrence handled the fork and August stacked.  Some of the present-age intellectuals would cry out cruelty to children but none have had happier children they were on the whole, nor more efficient in school or church.

So far this is all from memory.  I did keep a diary for a time but many of my books have been lost in moving.  I studied and did some systematic thinking.  This was mostly from 9 PM to 12 PM.  I never allowed my late hours to interfere with my rule of etting up at six in the winter and five in the summer.  Of course, many nights were occupied with irrigating.

The first question for me to solve was regarding my future inheritance.  I heard preached varied thoughts but they did not give logical connection.  My wife and I had read the scriptures together but still I was not satisfied.  One morning about three or four, a vision of the pre-existance and the future was shown to me.

It was all so clear.  My parents were my brother and sister.  They were simply a medium in helping God (which is Adam) in bringing his children from the spirit to the mortal stage.  This necessary that we might have the opportunity of being celestial beings like the Father.  If I could so conduct myself in this stage of action to be worthy of the celestial kingdom and eternal increase, then and only then, would I gain an inheritance of my own to be as Father Adam, and my wife, a mother Eve.  Failing this, I would forever inherit in connection with others of my brethren and sisters, one of the three glories eternally without increase, hence no need of an individual of an individual inheritance.

Perfection and Celestial Glory of God are definite terms, the end of all human attainment.  While we become fathers and grandparents a hundred times in this world, the highest possible attainment is celestial glory with eternal increase.  I know the Redeemer to be in the senior of Adam, where or from whence the Prototype provides Redeemers for each planet, is not material to us in this sphere of action.  All intelligence comes from the Prototype.  There is no intelligence where or beyond the first (first is inconceivable) intelligence.  God is not eternally progressing in the sense that we understand it.  He is the same today and forever, unchangeable.  He is forever increasing in heirs and worlds numerically, but one eternal circle intelligently.  With this information I asked the Lord to send my way all the experiences necessary for me to attain an individual inheritance, which in itself, includes eternal increase and Godhood.

On Christmas eve of 1890 we were invited to Sister Eddins and while there baby James was playing ont he floor with a lapdog, which had a cold.  The gave one cough.  My wife was alarmed and picked him up until we returned home.  She did everything she thought would help and seemed to be better until New Years Eve when he took worse.  He passed away about 2 PM 1 Jan 1891.  I seemed to be dead in my administrations to him.  I have always felt that it took his passing to touch and refine my soul.

Sister Thurza Hanson called me a few months before to administer to her child which seemed to be dying.  I told the mother the child would not die.  As I took it in my arms I walked and prayed and when I gave the child back to the mother it was breathing normally.  She is still alive.

The people were so kind and sympathetic at James’ funeral.  It seemed to prepare me for future usefulness in time of sorrow.

When the Crescent Ward was organized, I was sitting in the choir.  As each name was presented I felt it was the right man.  James Jensen, Bishop; William Fairborne, first counselor; and Albert G Brown second counselor.  From my youth I had aimed at some time in my life to be Bishop.  Now I said, “Nelson, you have overdone yourself.”  I heard the divine voice say, “Nelson, is there nothing left for you to do?”  Oh, the sweet comforting assurance that my labors had been accepted and that there was other work for me to do.  I was made Ward clerk.  My first statistical report was credited with being the first correct one sent in by a new ward.  Later I held the offices of Sunday School Supt and MIA President.  Then I was appointed to start building the LDS U.  I contributed $5 myself and collected $20.

Draper assisted us in building our first church and they held the deed.  Draper demanded of us a definite amount for their church or they threatened to sell ours.  I told them they could not sell it but we could.  We had a heated discussion and it I was told to sit down by Heber A Smith, which I did not do.  They then threatened to throw me out so I sat down.  When I got outside I told the men that God would surely humiliate them some day.  Later they were all asked to resign by the community.  President Angus M Cannon told Soren Jensen, our presiding Elder, to call a meeting to determine how much we would contribute to the Draper building fund.  I moved that we assist Draper according to the honest conviction of our conscience.  It was seconded by James B Cunliffe and carried unanimously.  When the report was read in Draper, Smith remarked, “Just like that damn Nelson!”

While attending conference I was very sick.  It was typhoid fever.  Brother Joseph had just had it.  I sent for the Elders and Soren Jensen, James B Cunliffe, and George Lunnen came.  I told them it would be just as they said and I was well in the morning.  However, I had no desire for food.  I hunted up a sow that had farrowed and walked around most of the day and it appeared that all the sickness had left me.  In the evening Frank Thomas came in with the last load of hay so I went out to help him unload.  It was snowing and blowing and Fidelia begged me not to go.  When I came in I said, “I have it now.  No need to send for the Elders again because the Father would not hear.”  Fidelia cared for me alone.  Dr Robertson did all he could for me but I got worse and worse.

It happened that Brother Patterson stopped at Bishop Jensen’s place on night.  When asked what his business was he said, “Healing the sick.”  Sister Jensen remarked that there was a mighty sick man up the road.  They came up in the morning and administered to me, also gave a blessing to Virgil who was ailing and did not walk.  He soon began walking.  When the Dr came that morning he was surprised that I had no fever.  He advised that no one talk to me as it was a relapse and would soon die.  I continued to improve from then on and was around in six weeks.  The truth was that the blessing of Brother Patterson did the trick.

As soon as I was able to get around a little, I drop to Draper to find Willard Ennis and Joseph M Smith, the other trustees.  I found both and arranged for a meeting in the new school house.  At the meeting Draper insisted on improving their three schools and I was equally insistent the next tax levy should go to Dry Creek.  I threatened to petition for a separate district.  The next morning I had Frank Thomas out with the petition and every one in Crescent signed.  As soon as the petition was in the hands of the County Commissioners, Draper was informed, the Board acted in our favor, and asked me to name three Board members.

I named Hyrum Lancaster, James B Cunliffe, and James Mickleson.  They insisted that I must be a member so I replaced Hyrum Lancaster.  When the next meeting was held at Draper the whole town was out with only Mickleson from Dry Creek and myself for the opposition.  They had lawyers and all their old experienced men and I was called many names except a gentleman.  I was told after that I had answered all the arguments.  One person was heard to remark, “I wonder what Nelson will ask for next?”

They soon found out because we demanded our share of the school property.  Willard Ennis was appointed from Draper to work with meon the County tax lists from the time taxes were first levied for schools until the present time.  We found we had $1,350 due us.  In six months we had a building on the flat and a big one in north Crescent on the state road for which I gave the land.  The Superintendent bucked us quite a bit but we won out all the way.  As a result we built up a prosperous and fairly intellectual community.

In politics I was an ardent Democrat.  At my first election I was a real novice.  James Mickleson was road supervisor and had most of the people in his book because he could give them a job as they needed it.  I talked the different offices up in Sunday School and meetings showing the people how important it was to have good men in office.  I was up for Justice of the Peace.  I nominated James Kemp for constable.  He was so pleased with my description of his qualifications that he then and there decided to stop drinking.  He made the best Constable we ever had and in time quit using tea and coffee.

Just before the election I hitched two span of horses to a wagon, drove to the north end of the district, unfurled my flag, and hurrahed for a Democratic rally to be held in the East school house.  I drove faster and made a big noise with plenty of hurrahs.  I went to Draper and got a band and drove around the flat.  That evening I acted as Chairman of the rally.  At one time we were three to one Democratic in Dry Creek.  I also helped about a dozen people to get their citizenship papers.  They were to vote for us the first year but did not always do it.  I learned to be patient under all circumstances however aggravating.  I used it in my religious work after that.  At the election we ran one vote behind the Republicans.

I forgot to relate an incident of healing that happened several years ago.  I was called to administer to John Eddins, age six, who the Dr had little hopes John could get well.  All of the family was there.  I asked them to send for George Lunnen to assist me.  While they were gone the boy died.  The mother was weeping and all gathered around.  I asked for the oil and was ready to administer to him when the grandfather said, “August, he is dead, you damn fool can’t you see he is dead?”  As I anointed him in the name of the Lord and by the authority and power of the Priesthood which I held, he came to life again.  I was surprised to hear the same grandfather say, “Just the way that medicine works, though I have never seen it work that way before, and I did not expect it to work that way.  Also, if the Dr had given us any hope we would not have sent for Bro Nelson.”

I know the Lord raised that boy!  The whole houseful knew that he had died and only the Lord through his agents could bring him back.  When I last heard from him he was doing well out in Uinta and had a large family.

James Kemp has a boy, Freddie, who the parents call my boy.  He was very sick and even Dr Robertson (no second-rate Dr) gave him up.  The parents thought they would try Brother Nelson, it costs nothing and can do no harm.  Freddie revived from the time I administered to him and still lives.

Brother Joseph Booth had a boy with boll poison in his foot and he was in a serious condition.  After his father and I administered to him the obnoxious poultice fell off and a clean white skin covered the whole sore and his son was soon was about again.

I am happy that our home was the stopping place for many people as they journeyed to and from Salt Lake.  Our evenings were full of interesting stories as they told of their experiences in accepting the Gospel.  Thomas Allred related that as a young man he was called to go back to Omaha to assist the emigrants to Utah.  As he left, his aged Grandmother blessed him and promised that he would safely return.  On the return trip they lost their animals.  He and two others overtook ten Indians and a white man driving their animals off.  He told the thieves he wanted the cattle and was asked how he intended to get them.

While Allred faced the eleven men, his two companions went around and drove the cattle toward their camp.  The Indians roared and waved their arms but he, like a statute, dared them with his attitude to make a false move.  Allred had no fear until he turned to overtake his companions.  Then he realized his extreme danger.  There can be no question but that Providence was with them.  The psychology of the case was the directing of his companions without answering the outlaws.

I would not be fair to my lads whom I loved and had their future outlined to not relate some of their accomplishments as babes.  August rode the horse all summer on the derrick and Lawrence pulled the sack.  The rope was too heavy for him.  One day a number of children were there playing as we unloaded.  Then Lawrence cried out and I found him with the rope around his leg which was very badly broken.  Dr. Robertson set it and his mother was devoted nurse and mother to him.  The two boys would start off to Sunday School ahead of me.  Then I would come along with Paul in my arms, pick up Lawrence, and walk the rest of the way.  I never regretted any effort in this direction.

Another time we were going in the wagon and Mama was along with a new baby.  Lawrence was bothered with his water and as he began wetting his pants he started jumping up and down int he wagon and fell off into the brake.  As I picked him up I could see his bare skull for quite a distance.  Dr Robertson sewed it up and it healed rapidly.

I remember in the summer of 1892, myself and two husky young men were bunching hay which was very heavy and on new land.  Paul was four and the others five and seven.  We men turned one swath on top of the other and the lads had to clean up as we went.  I started off at a good pace making it as easy for the lads as possible.  It soon became a race and we did not stop until the whole six-to-seven acres was piled.  It had taken us a little over an hour and I know that some grown men would not have done what the boys did and it was fun.

At one time the Republicans were having a big rally in the meeting house which was filled.  I was late so I took a seat in the rear.  A big Scandinavian from Sanpete was relating the fun he had with Democrats in his county.  When he sat down I arose and challenged the gentleman to a public debate on human liberty and the silver question.  He hesitated and then said he was not a debated nor was he prepared.  I returned that I was only a clodhopper but would talk extemporaneously.  I then made the same challenge to any member of his party but no one saw fit to accept.  I made a rule to study all the Republicans’ issues and was well informed on the tariff question.  The party never succeeded very well in Dry Creek.

I tried to be diplomatic when A G Brown was running for road supervisor.  I would not run against him but suggested David Lunnen and did my best to have accepted.  Still I got the credit of saying one word for him and two for myself.  I was elected.

I used all poll tax money to open up new roads, four west of State Street to the river, also the road south of Kings east to the foot of the mountain.  When I proposed to bridge the East Jordan Canal, the Commission asked me to wait, and they said they would tell me what to do.  I waited longer than they asked and then having no go ahead from them, I went ahead and built it.  When I put in the bill, the board member said I should pay for it myself.  I replied that if they couldn’t I could.

Under Joseph S Rawlins I did all heavy jobs by contract.  I graveled the Hyde road for 35 cents per load and allowed the teams 30 cents.  I received $15.50 per day myself unloading one end of the plant on each wagon besides doing all leveling.  The job was completed in 1 1/2 days.  I felt quite overdone in my muscles.  Another day I hauled the planks up to Ed Atwood’s, dug out the hard road the two lengths of boxing, sawed and nailed together the new boxing, put in place, and covered in one day.  A long day for which I received $3.00.  At the present time $25 would not get it done.  It is worthwhile to know that you can trust yourself.  No one ever dared to offer me a price for my honesty.

I was again stricken with typhoid fever.  Dr Robertson ordered me to bed.  I had an appointment to see Willard Ennis, J W W Fitzgerald, and J R Allen to arbitrate damages done to my ranch by cutting the quaking asps and other trees.  They finally awarded me $30 in damages.  I told the doctor I would only take a short rest this time.  I had a light run of fever for three weeks and I was around again.  I noticed it left my memory poor.  Seemed I could not carry a thought.

Now I began to acquire property.  I bought 20 acres from my brother Joseph by refunding what he had paid and taking over.  Another 20 acres I got by paying a Brother Noice $100 for his $300 equity and a balance of $400.  Next I got 40 acres from Legrade Young.  I bought 160 acres east of Bombaur place for $900.  Then came 280 acres more.  Some I traded for land up on the flat where I bought several pieces along with ten shares of Bell Canyon water.  It is evident that I was kept busy paying for interest and principle.

It is difficult to note details by memory, but I have this to record for 1893.  My sister Charlotte Abigail lived with us that summer.  When she went to Logan that fall she had the fever.  Later she went to Washington to visit with our sister Annie, wife of Joseph Jonas.  Annie had been sick for a long time, but none of us knew the nature of her illness until Charlotte brought the whole family to Utah with her.  It turned out to be mental illness.  She kept running away so we finally had to put her in the institution in Provo where she died a short time after.

I owe it to the lads to mention some of the experiences they had while herding cattle on the flat.  August was talking to J H Smith one evening when they heard an unearthly howl by some wild animal.  Smith hustled for home leaving the boy to go to his camp in an old house having no windows and in the direction from which the howl had come.

Another time Lawrence was herding the cows when one of them was trying to have a calf.  She was far from water and could not get up.  In the morning he went to see how she was.  She mooed so pitifully to him that he decided on a drastic action.  He literally tore the calf to pieces until it was all removed, then carried water to the cow in his hat and pulled grass and leaves for her.  When she was able to get up she followed him as though he were her calf.

The milking was done on the flat.  One of the younger boys would haul it down and I sold it to a man, Scott for 6 cents per gallon.  Several cattle were killed by wild animals.  I am just touching only the high spots of a very few of the boys’ experiences.

In 1900 the Jordan Stake was organized and I became an alternate member of the high council.  The Presidency consisted of Bishop Orin P Miller, B P Hyrum Goff, and Bishop James Jensen.

We had our house improved and added to so we were very comfortable.  This was the time when Charlotte brought the Jonas family to us.  There were five children.  It was sad to see sister in her condition.  I had not seen her since 1878.  The last letter I had written her was from Bristol, Nev.  I suggested to her that she should marry a Mormon boy.  Her reply was that Mormon boys were not as genteel as Gentile boys.  Her daughter told me that before she lost her mind she would hold her head in her hands and moan, “Will not my father or brother come and get me?”  The Jonas family were German Catholics and worked in the field like men.  Annie had never done hard work and had the five children in so short a time that her health broke and she was also forced to become a Catholic.  Her husband destroyed her letters to us so we never knew what she was going through.

We had by this time increased our cattle to over a hundred head.  We bought from thirty to fifty head of calves in a year and sold all steers and unlikely heifers for beef.  This is how I got the money to buy all the land and at the same time to keep the boys on missions and at the L D S U in Salt Lake.

I have forgotten the year but one year I or we hunted for a dozen beefs that were lost for about a month and they turned up with the other cattle.  I usually tried to have my beef ready for market early so I always got the highest market price.

Usually the youngest boy did the herding.  This time it was Moses.  We had a wagon to sleep in.  We gave him a dog to help.  One day as he was sitting by the creek the dog began to make a fuss and looked frightened so they both got up in the wagon.  Then they saw an animal which must have been a mountain lion.  Their mother had taught them if they said their prayers God would take care of them and He did.

Once, while Moses was herding a black cow had a calf.  He reported it as a black bull calf with white face and legs.  We went up and got the cow and the black heifer calf.  I almost got vexed when he kept insisting that the calf was a bull.  In a few days he ran onto the bull calf which was almost starved to death.  The cow had given birth to twins and both had survived.

Later Virgil was turning the cattle in from the north just below Flatiron when a mountain lion trotted past him and through the herd of cattle.  Still, all the boys from the oldest to the youngest loved to roam the hills among the cattle.  They learned to pray and meant it for they needed His care.  Adolph Mickelson relates that one time he was rushing to catch Virgil for letting the cattle come down Beck’s place.  When he got close to him Virgil was almost black in the face and almost out of breath trying to head them back.  Mickelson turned in and helped the boy who was doing his best.  With all the storms and difficult tasks that the boys had endured on that ranch, it pains me now that it is sold.  They all so dearly loved it.

While Lawrence was attending school in Salt Lake he got a job on a sightseeing bus.  He very eloquently described scenes of interest and on the way to Camp Douglas he pointed out Mount Majestic.  He would say to the tour group, “At the base of that mountain my father owns 1,000 acres on which roam hundreds of heads of cattle.”  The joy and pride of this ranch made the young man’s eyes glow with intelligence.

I mentioned earlier that sister Annie and her family came to live with us.  I had never met her husband but soon found him to be a beer-bloated man, a rude Catholic who had compelled his whole family to be Catholic.  Also sister Lottie was a physical wreck at this time.  It weighed heavily on me to think that my mother had put these sweet girls under my care and I had not been faithful to the trust.  Before we finally got rid of Jonas he  had tried to poison a man in Sandy by the name of Larsen.  He ran off to Washington to keep away from the law.

I was on the committee of three with Henry Becksted and Thomas Page to file on surplus water of the Weber River so it could be turned across the Kamas flats and drop into the Provo River and eventually into Utah Lake.  We camped at the mouth of the Weber, viewed the situation, and located the original stakes, and estimated approximately where the mouth of the canal would be.  While Brother Becksted drove to Coalville and recorded his filings for 500-600 second-feet, we drove home down the Provo River.

We reported at a mass meeting in West Jordan, Angus M Cannon acting as chairman.  The question arose, Who are we representing, the Canal Companies, or the people?  I voted with the companies and found that only one man, James Hibberd, had been with me.  It was understood that each Canal Company should contribute $200 for our expenses.  We returned using my teams as before.  We took along Engineer George Hardy, also a boy, Gwyn Page.  We camped at Beck’s hotel.  Gwyn and I slept in the wagon while the others slept in the hotel.

We ran two lines, one above and one below Kamas.  One was too high and the other too low for our use.  Being only a junior member of the group, I knew that if I found a better line it would take a lot of convincing.  Every evening I asked Father in Heaven to show me the best line with evidence that it was best.  Early one morning I walked to the side hill northeast of town and set a line through the center of town without a building to obstruct.  After breakfast we all went and looked the new line and all were convinced it was the best line.

We drove up to the head of the Provo River, climbed upon the summit of Weber, Provo, and Duchesne.  I made an estimate of a one hundred thousand dollar tunnel which would bring the headwaters of the river into the Provo into the Provo.  We could see the Bear River heading north from where we were, as where we stood we were at an elevation of 14,000 feet.  There were some beautiful lakes in this section fed by rivulets from all directions.  I took the Committee as far as Heber where they boarded a train.

Because I had spoken in many wards and gained the good will of the people, the Company asked me to get all of the particulars of each owner of water in the Kamas stream, which I very much disliked.  Had it come to court much of the information would have had the appearance of confidential facts and had I not been considered an honest man, I might have failed.  I was at last called home to find that very little or would be done because the meeting had no authority.  I received 80 cents a day for myself and team during the three months I spent on the project.

While I was gone, August, age 15, had taken charge and he and the other boys had hauled and stacked 800 bushels of wheat, fattened a large bunch of hogs, killed as many as sixteen in a half day, and looked after the cattle on the ranch and the cows at home.  I was real proud of them.  I had a very happy meeting with the children.  My only daughter, not quite three, whom I generally called my little angel was a treat to meet again after about three months absence.

That year our crops were unusually small because of a shortage of water.  I borrowed $100 from Zion’s Savings Bank and paid my tithing.  I felt better over that than any tithing I ever paid.  My tithing increased from then on.

Before leaving Kamas, I wrote to the Deseret News stating the possibilities of increasing the water I described a canal from the Provo River to Salt Lake City and another one on the west side into Tooele County.  I saw in my mind’s eye a little of what President Brigham Young saw in the early days.

I had worked for many year to get the office of the East Jordan Canal Co moved to Sandy and to have W D Kuhre secretary as Henry W Brown was so far away from the water users.  He also rented all stock at a minimum price and rerented it at a maximum.  After a long battle we won.  The officers were J W W Fitzgerald, President N A Nelson, Vice President and Superintendent.  It proved to be a very difficult job with so little water in the canal.  Joseph S Mousley assisted me.  We got along very well as we were both good at figures.

We had a positive system of measuring the weirs after the water was in the laterals.  The mouths of all the weirs had been raised the year before under President James Jensen by making the first level six inches above grade and lowering each succeeding weir in proportion to the total of 8,000 shares.  (8,000 shares equals 6 inches, or 5/15 above the bottom of the canal).  This system continued until J R Allen got a Board that did not comprehend large schemes and the Superintendent was given to Draper when it should be located near the north end.  He also put out James Rawlins who dared to oppose him.  The Company expended over $2,000 to deepen the canal.  They got as far as Atwood’s and stopped for lack of time.  J R Allen said he would make the canal at the original level if it took half of his life and he succeeded by building cement checks in four different places.  It is only reasonable to believe that if those checks had not been there that the canal would not have broken out as it did in 1923.

I had recommended that work on the canal be done before the irrigating season begins.  Nothing was done until the water was turned in and then I was asked to keep ahead of it.  I asked to measure the weirs but no move was made.  I took Fred Olsen and we went over it hurriedly.  When we got next to President Fitzgerald’s place he came along and ordered us to stop, but we kept right on.  We found his weir had seven second feet instead of the 2 plus he should have had.  As we advanced north we found that this made a big difference in the stream.  Joseph S Mousley was ordered to help me divide them accurately.  We discovered when we got to Sandy that we had not allowed enough water for seepage or Mousley had misinformed me.  At the Board meeting which followed, I was ordered to the head of the canal to cut the railroad fence and it was inferred that I had not divided the water correctly.

The day before the meeting, I had turned or closed all the upper weirs proportionately to make up for any previous deficiency.  The wind also blew from the south increasing the flow from the Jordan River.  It was decided at the meeting to have Ennis go with me and start measuring from the north end of the canal.  Mousley could not be with us as his child had swallowed a staple.  When we got to the south end of the canal near Draper they decided that everything was OK and stopped further measuring.  I fixed things up the best I could and tendered my resignation.  Then Ennis and Fitzgerald got to quarreling and at the next election J R Allen became President.

An interesting historical fact that occurred in the winter of 1902-1903.  The Government proposed to make Utah Lake the first big project and to expend $2,000,000 in dredging the lake and the Jordan River to the Narrows where the pumps would be installed.  Lawyers F S Richards and Colonel Holmes who had been meeting for months, had written a constitution to govern all the companies.  We met with our board to consider the constitution and to make amendments.  I suggested four amendments to our board and Joseph Mousley was appointed to make the motions.  I put over three of my own motions before all five companies.  We met in M and M Store in Draper.

I was planned to let the other companies kill the whole proposition and if they did not, we would.  I gave notice that I was not with them.  We met in Salt Lake shortly after that and the other companies voted against and our company followed.  I rose to my feet and stated that I had always been in favor of Government assistance in the conversation of water of the Utah Lake and I was going to vote in favor of the Government furnishing $2,000,000 for the project.  Time is truth’s greatest friend.

It is only what I remember that I am able to write.  The Jonas children became ours.  My sister Lottie worked in Logan until she became so sick and weak she came to our home where she died 23 Nov 1902.  Father died 26 Nov 1902 and Annie was sent home (died) from Provo a few years later.  From father’s estate I received about $700 and the same amount as guardian of my sister’s children.  My mother’s last instructions keep running through my mind.  “August, you have been a good boy, God bless you.”  Oh Father in Heaven have I at least, with all my weaknesses, striven with a desire to do my duty to them and to my father?

As Sunday School Superintendent I was told by Prof Jensen of the General Board that I had the best all around Sunday School in the Church.  The Elders Quorum in the Jordan Stake needed improvement in their Quorum capacity.  I and Solomon E Smith were chosen to help them.  I chose W R Wellington as Secretary.  There was soon a visible improvement in the whole set up.

I bought half interest in the Victor Hegsted reservoir and land project in the Teton Basin.  He failed to completed his deal with the Government so the $2,500 I had paid down was lost.  At this time three of the boys were attending the LDSY and August received his call for a mission to the Central Stakes.  The professors had so spoiled Lawrence Egbert.  He was very bright.  To illustrate: One evening we were having a meeting at our house and I was talking to Bishop Jensen.  Lawrence stepped up and remarked, “I know as much as you two.”  I asked, “How is that?”  He replied, “I know what I have learned in school and you have told me all you know.”  I sometimes objected to some of the teacher’s theology.  They told the boys, “Never mind your parents, they are all old fogies.”  With tears in my eyes I asked the Bishop to send Lawrence on a mission.

When Paul graduated from the district school he was a chump of a fellow.  He had made up his mind not to go to school any more.  He was driving a team for me scraping at the smelter.  Elisha Brown went to my wife and told her that Paul could graduate if he would take the examination.  I was going to send one of the smaller boys for him but Delia said, “He will not come unless you go.”  Mother said, “You want a bicycle and I want you to graduate.  Now we will both do our best and ask God to help.  I will see that you get what you want and you see that I get what I want.”  He did not have an easy time because his own chum said he knew one from Crescent that would fail.

I came home at noon and told mother that we must pray more and harder for the boy.  Our big boy was about the only one from Crescent that succeeded in the examination.  It is beyond my limited power to describe the change in the 15 year, 160 pound.  He was a forward looking man forever after.  When August had been out one year and L E about six months, Paul yearned to go on a mission and I told the Bishop to call him.  He went to Mississippi first.  L E was in Florida and A L in Texas.  A L came home with the body of an Elder who died in the field but had been out for two years.  L E traveled from Key West to Georgia and talked often in Jacksonville, Florida and was out some thirty months.

Paul became President of the Atlanta Conference and then of the Ohio Conference.  He visited the Sacred Grove and the HIll Cumorah and Niagara Falls.  He was out almost three years.  While they were gone I had three of my sister’s boys and two of my own to help.  We put up as high as 400 tons of hay and had at the ranch nearly two hundred head of cattle, and often over 200 head of hogs, besides the milk cows.  We had 160 acres on the State Road and rented 80 acres from Men Hill for many years.  There were two homes on the farm and at the time two on the ranch.  Forty acres on the ranch were cultivated and irrigated and 2,000 acres were divided into different sized pastures open at the top.

The work my lads did seemed to be beyond their power.  I had some hired help most of the time.  The boys were generally out of school two months of the school year, but never lost a grade.  Virgil started to school late in the year and parents of Crescent objected, said he was not qualified.  Heber Smith suggested that he take an examination.  I objected to that and said if he failed in the spring, then their cause was just, if not I am right.  Of course he did not fail, even in our baseball games we did not fail.  The professors say there is a psychology in life that put things over, coupled with jobs or work.  There is a spirit in man the Spirit of God giveth it understanding.  That positiveness of my soul of the truth of Mormonism which I received at my father’s first prayer when I was five years of age has been verified all along life’s journey.  I have never regretted my step.

About 1915 I was attending Stake Conference at the Jordan High School.  When I got out I was informed that I was wanted in Court to show why I should not be tried for mental instability.  I had now warning of it.  If your imagination can approach in part my feelings, you will need a lively one.  My son Lawrence informed the time I was to be at the Court.  I took the first car in and started up town to seek an attorney.  I met a lawyer, Brown, and as we walked we talked.

When I entered Judge Louis Brown’s Court, my wife and son Lawrence were there with an attorney and mental experts present.  I answered all questions so coolly, I learned it was one sign of my weakness.  I asked my wife, “Is it not true that while you have sometimes been aggressive to me that I have not even raised my hands in self-defense?”  She answered in the affirmative and added that I had always been a kind husband to her.  That was the first and only time I was called in.  Zion’s Savings Bnk offered to loan me the money to defend myself, but it was not necessary.  I took over all the business again and my friends had no fear of me.

I had been paying large hospital and school bills in Logan so Paul and Moses contracted to buy the farm.  This was when I was sick.  They could not work in harmony.  Paul suggested to sell the flat and divide the $18,000 evenly between A L, L E, and Fidelia, and I was to have a $6,000 home in Sandy and $12,000 in cash.  Paul would get to good farms besides but both had big mortgages on them.  Carlquist, real estate man would handle both OK.

This deal ended up with L E taking the Murray farm for the mortgage and what Ella had loaned Paul on it.  Paul borrowed Delia’s six thousand to try to keep the Perry Place, but he lost that too.  In lieu of the money she let Paul have I have promised this home to Delia when I die.  We gave Virgil the sixty acres and two houses on the flat have a mortgage of $1,800.  He ran that up to $3,300  which I paid off.  Paul was indebted for the Warren place for $5,500 which I paid off.

Paul suggested that Delia go on a mission.  We talked to Bishop A M Nelson who called her.  She went to the Eastern States.  We had spent several hundred dollars to repair the house and furniture.  Her mission cost two hundred dollars which took all the money I had.  I am thankful she went on a mission.  Besides the experiences she had she also got a good worthy husband.

Now the interest we get from Paul is all our income.  The $1,800 at the Sandy Bank that was Virgil’s property was drawn at different times when the family needed.  The last $200 was used when Lawrence came home from the war.  He returned to Chicago and needed the cash.  I asked Gardner to throw me $200 which he did and added it to the previous amount.  That bank has treated me as a gentleman.  In short, this was true of all the banks that I have ever dealt with.

~

This about ends Grandpa’s life history.  What he did after 1930 pertained mostly to doctrines of the church.  He did a lot of reading and studying and wrote his thoughts on certain principles to various persons in the Stake and Church.  He was very much opposed to the doctrine of eternal progression and was always trying to find of ways to disprove it.  In 1933-34 he had an operation which removed his penis because it was infected with cancer.  This made it impossible for him to control the passing of urine.  He was dropsical and had to sit up the remaining months of his life.  However, he passed away without a struggle on September 7, 1935.  He would have been 79 years old the following May 18.  Those 79 years were full of struggle, unbounded energy, and courage to stand along when he knew he was right.

Buxton has said, “The longer I live, the more deeply I am convinced that that which makes the only difference between one man and other – between the weak and the powerful, the great and the insignificant – is energy; invincible determination; a purpose once formed and then death or victory.”

“To be healthy and sane and well and happy, you must do real work with your hands as well s your head.”  Elbert Hubbard.

These quotations are apropos of the life of Nels A Nelson.  He was a man of action and when convinced of the rightness of a thing was as unshakable as the granite mountain peaks overlooking the valleys of his western homeland.  His boundless energy was expressed through the use of his hands as well as with his head.  To him all things were honorable if they tended toward the building up of the Kingdom of God.  He was always upheld in this work by his loyal and devoted wife, Fidelia.  Their descendants are blessed to bear their name and will do well to emulate the example they set.

~

Comments by Milton Grant Nelson, grandson of Nels.

I copied this history from my Aunt Eunice Ensign Nelson’s typewritten version whom, I presume, copied it from Grandpa’s original written history.  I am not certain if Grandpa wrote the original in his own handwriting or if he dictated his history to someone acting as scribe.  The type of expressions and grammar used suggest to me that he may have written a good portion of it himself.

The interesting thing to me is Grandpa Nelson’s detailed recall of people’s names and places as well as events that occurred during his life.  This is remarkable because he indicates that he began writing his history 59 years after leaving the land of his birth, Sweden, without the benefit of any previously written journals.  Since he was seven years old when he left with father’s family, that means Grandpa was in his 66th year.  I don’t know many people 20 years younger that could remember anywhere near as well.

Most important to me is Grandpa’s strong testimony of the Gospel and successful effort to keep and strengthen that testimony.  By typing this history I have partaken of his spirit and have felt his presence near me as I did this task.  I wanted to make certain that his story would be available to his posterity so that they too could enjoy the story of his adventurous life.