James William Greenhalgh History

The Life Story of James William Greenhalgh (1890-1987)

Compiled by Velda Greenhalgh Hancock, a granddaughter as told to her by James William Greenhalgh – 1975

I, James William Greenhalgh, was born May 29, 1890 to James Henry Greenhalgh who was born Feb. 28, 1867 to William Greenhalgh & Hannah Booth.  My mother was Mary Ellen Kay (Chatwin) who was born Jan. 28, 1872 to William Chatwin & Irene Carter.

I was born in the southwest part of Santaquin, Utah, Utah County, in a 2-room home, which had just been built.  The two rooms were a kitchen and a bedroom.  We had an outside toilet.  It was a brick home in 1890.  The babies were born right in the home and a midwife took care of the mother.  A midwife takes the place of he doctor.  They would deliver the baby and take care of it, cut the cord and bath the baby in oil to help protect their delicate skin, and then they would powder them so they were in good condition to rest.   Mother got along pretty well, she was quite a frail, slim woman, but she was hail and hearty most of the time. Her whole life was centered on her family.  The new mothers were kept in bed at least 10 days.  They weren’t even allowed to use the bathroom; they used what was called a ‘chamber’.  When our first child was born which was LaVon, Ida had to stay in bed 10 days to 2 weeks.  By this time she was too weak to move and the recovery period was very long.   However, with all the many things there were for a wife and mother to do, they would work hard when they got up and many times they would have backsets and become ill again because they didn’t have their strength back.  Now mothers get up in a matter of hours and get along much better.

I was quite a worry to my mother.  My dad went to work in Mammoth at the Mammoth Supply for $1.00 per day, $30.00 per month.  Mother stayed home, we had a couple of cows, a pig, or two and some chickens.  She stayed home and took care of the place and the family.  We lived in Santaquin where Clint Roberts lives now.  The house is still standing and has been fixed up a lot and added to.

I was quite a problem to my mother when I was just a young chap.  It seemed like I had the croup ‘bout ever night.  If I would get outside, by gum, I would choke up and she would think I was going to choke to death.  It was a terrible worry on her and she had to be up lost of nights a takin’ care of me.  They just used old remedies such as turpentine and sweet oil and mustard plasters, can’t quite think of them now, but nothing from the store like prescriptions, cause there weren’t any.  Finally I grew out of the gal-blasted worry of my mother as I grew up more. It sure was bad stuff when they didn’t have much to fight it with.  It would choke me right up and I’d wake up out of bed gaspin’ for breath, mother said.

I was baptized in May of 1899 when I was 9 years old, by John H Wall, in a small pond about where Jim Brady’s home now stands.  I wasn’t baptized at the age of 8 cause I had the croup too bad.

I am the eldest of 8 children born to our parents.  Irene Elvira was born May 29,1891.  Alvin was born Sept. 25 1893 and died April 25, 1942.  H worked in the mines so long he got the con which eventually killed him.  Olive Iona was born Oct. 25, 1895 and died Dec. 30, 1918 of kidney trouble.  Medical knowledge was very limited and also was the money to pay for it.  Doris Ella was born Feb. 5, 1898 and died March 27, 1973.  Ronald Lamar was born Feb. 14, 1900, Valentines Day.  I was sick in bed with inflammation of the bowels, I suffered much, it finally broke and I was relieved from the pain.  Hazel Melba was born June 27, 1902 and Slyvan Boothe was born Oct. 8, 1912.  All of us were born in Santaquin, Utah.

I most always went to Sunday School and had several teachers, Bertha Nelson and Charles A Tietjen are two I remember well, but others I have forgotten.  They taught us to hold to the Iron Rod which I have remembered always.

I suppose I did get into trouble and got spanked for it, which I needed it.  Right now I can’t recollect anything particular.

Dad moved us to Mammoth when we were just small kids and we lived there three or four years, then we moved back to Santaquin.  Dad didn’t work in the mines; he drove a delivery wagon pulled by two mules.  He delivered this side of the mountain to Mammoth.  There were 3 towns in Mammoth, Middle Town, Upper Town and Lower Town they used to call them.  He also came around this side of the mountain to deliver to people there.  There was a hotel or two for the men that worked in the mines to live in and he delivered there too.  He did this six days a week for 12 years.  He was a trustworthy man.   He banked the sack of money for the day for the store and the mine, several thousand dollars.  Finally dad bought a piece of ground and came hoe.  This was about 1904.

We were a poor family, dad didn’t have the………I remember one time Johnny Wall went to Canada.  There was about half a dozen families that moved there, they just got Canada fever.  They moved early in this century 1902 or 3 or 4.  There was Otto Momburg, John Wall that lived where Rowleys live now, Peter Momburg, that lives out west of the Kays and Victor Johnson that lived where Ropers live now and they had all that ground out where the park is now.  I remember that when the families moved to Canada, Dad could have bought land for a song and sung it himself.  There were all kinds of it out there where the reservoir is now and down here where the canal is now.  I remember one man, his name was Roy York, he had 15 or 20 acres down there and he came to dad and he said, “ I’ll sell ya that piece of ground cheap,” land was cheap then.  “Na”, dad said, I’ll think about it’.  Well he came back, I believe the 3rd time and dad said, “No, I don’t believe I’ll bother with it.”  Johnny Wall owned the south end, a big chunk ‘bout 80 acres or so.  Pa didn’t take it for some reason or another.  But pa had a brother, anything he’d tell pa it was all right.  Mother used to say, “You’d step over a dollar to get a dime if Robert told you to do it.”  Mother used to get so mad at Pa because Pa would listen to Robert and not her.

As kids we played ball, hide and go seek and lots of hose things, games that were prevalent in those days.  We didn’t have radio or T. V. or show houses.  We made our own fun.  I remember the first phonograph; we thought that was wonderful.  It cranked and had a big horn that the music came out of.  My Aunt Vine Larsen, who lived down this way ‘bout a block from where Le Barons live now, they had one and they asked us to come down and listen to it.  Boy, we thought that was the tops, which in those days it was.  The old phonograph and playing those records, boy it was wonderful.

I remember when dad worked in Mammoth.  He bought an accordion and hoped we’d learn to play it, but we never did take to it much.  I have always had a love for music.  If I’d taken lessons when I was younger, I’d probably be a good singer by now.  I never had no one to push me and I never pushed myself, so it’s just as I am now.  I never learned to play an instrument of no kind, couldn’t even play the harmonica and play a tune.

I remember when dad bought a place up there, that street was lousy with brush, oak brush, cottonwood trees and kinds.  You could hardly get up through there and the same with the street that runs east & west.  So we got busy and burned a lot of it out.  Where Lynn Crook lives now and Kesters, a cow could get in and you couldn’t find her.  In the summertime they would go in there to get away from the flies; when they were real bad they would shade up.  You couldn’t find them it was so thick.  There was hardly a trail through there.  How different it has changed now.

One time when we were just young kids, dad’s brother Joseph Greenhalgh, moved to Arizona.  Dad was after mother, “Let’s move to Arizona,” “No,” she said, “they have too many earthquakes down there.”  By criminey, so we never moved, but we’d probably been a lot better off  if we’d moved down there.  There were lots of opportunities there; well, there was here at that time too.  I don’t know, dad was a religious man, he went on a mission for 2 years in the western states and he worked in the Sunday School and in the different priesthood quorums, but he wasn’t a man that had very much interest in property or real estate or such, which he could have had all kinds of ground if he’d picked it up for a little of nothing.  But he didn’t seem to want it.

I remember one lady schoolteacher, she was from Spanish Fork.  I think her name was Lewis.   She was a good teacher.  I forgot her first name, she taught me when I was small.  Then there was Joseph A Reese.  Before that there was a man by the name of Hickman, forgot his first name.  Joseph A Reese, he kinda got it in for me it seemed like.  This here stuff called diagramming, by judist, that was dutch to me.    Some of them could get up on the board and fix that stuff right up in on time.  I’d scribble and scrabble around and maybe copy a little and I couldn’t do nothing with it.  It was a headache, but I was just about tops for spelling, but arithmetic, I wasn’t very good.  Spelling, I could get all right!  Yep, we had spelling bees and I won many, I certainly did!  It seemed like I and Joseph A Reese couldn’t get along, so I quit school entirely about the sixth grade.  I never went anymore so that ‘bout ended my schooling.  I guess that’s the reason I’m a dumb bell, I guess.

I wanted to get out and work, you know, out in the field and country and hills and do things like that.  I have always loved to till the soil and I still do.  My dad said, “You ought to go to school,”  but he didn’t press it too much so I just worked with him and we got along pretty good.  Course I should have went to school, that’s a sure thing.  Dad always told me whenever I heard him profane, I could also.  I can truthfully say, I never heard him say more that S.B. and that was when he smashed his finger with a hammer.  He always told us boys to be honest with our fellow man, this I have tried to do.  We worked together in the canyon getting our timber.  Dad would send me down the trail with both horses and 6 to 8 sticks of timber to each horse.  I was quite frightened at times, thinking I might meet a bear a mile or two away from the wagon.  I remember one night we were awakened in the tent when some kind of animal was snooping around.  I was scared, but dad did not seem to be.  I think I was about 12 years old.  We pitched hay together many times.  I well remember the first dollar I made, dad said, ”you owe 10 cents tithing,’ which I paid in 1901.  He impressed me with the value of tithing for which I am thankful.  He was a great believer in prayer and observed each day.

I was bashful about the girls until I was about 17, then I started to mingle with them some.  I always liked to dance which I  will talk about later.  In 1909 I and Pete Hillis went to Evanston, Wyoming about the last of July to harvest hay.  We were there 3 weeks.  I have been a ward teacher ever since I was a deacon.

In the year 1905-1907, the year they built the power plant up here, I went up to try to get a job, so I could help support our family.  Dad was on a mission.  I finally got a job.  When men went on missions in those days, they went without purse or script.  (money or plan or lessons)  They didn’t take money like they do now.  Pa had  saved quite a bit when he worked at Mammoth and mother saved it too, believe me.  She used to about live on a few pounds of butter and a few dozen eggs and she kept the family.  What money, it was GOLD then, I remember there was several pieces of gold, 5’s, 10’s and 20’s.  Mother would keep it in a drawer and send some when he’d need it.  But they went without purse or script, depending upon the people for their lodging and food.  They used to walk for several miles between towns to see different places in Colorado where he labored.  He wrote quite often.  The mail got through okay.  The post office was where the ole brick stone is now that they don’t run it anymore. (Openshaws)

I got what work I could and mother kept the family on a few eggs and butter.  She’d out up fruit and we’d have 2 or 3 hogs to butcher in the fall and we made everything.  By gum, we just didn’t spend money like we do today.  The family never felt like dad shouldn’t be there.  We always realized the importance of the work he was doing.

Mother was a kind, gentle, loving mother always thinking of her family and not of herself.   She was self-sacrificing for others.  She did many things to make her family happy.  She worked in the Primary Presidency for quite some time, also in the Relief Society.  She endured many hardships that only she knew of.  She kept them to herself.  She taught her children to be honest and upright to all and to God.  Most of our family was born while dad worked in Mammoth so she had sole care of us.  When we were sick many was the night that she never took her clothes off because she was nursing her family back to health.  She was a wonderful mother.  Time erases many fine deeds from my mind that I wish I could recall as I write this sketch of her, blessed be her memory.  I hope I can meet her sometime and also father.  I remember dad also taught us to be honest and upright and to pay our tithes and offerings, that was his motto.  He loved the gospel and tried to live it to the best of his ability.  He never accumulated much of the world’s goods, but he did try to do to others, as he wanted to be done by.

I went up Eureka to work, Will & Tom Chatwin were in the mercantile business in Mammoth.  (My Uncles)  They had a store here and decided to start one up there.  They advertised for a carpenter and they  found one in Mapleton.  He went to Mammoth and built the dad-blasted store building.  The carpenter they got was John Henry Tew who later became my father-in-law.  One night John Henry got homesick and so he took off and walked all the way from Mammoth to Mapleton, which is about 44 miles.  He got home early in the morning.  He told Ida he thought he had met a pretty nice guy up there and that I was supporting my family while my father was on a mission.

Ida and her family lived on a farm where Dr. Steele lives now.  They farmed at the farm for a man named Patten.  They moved out there and lived there for 4 or 5 years.  They had built a house where Kirt Lofgran lives now.  That’s where I got acquainted with her.  I had to ask her dad if it was alright if we got married and he said, “Well, I don’t want her to get married yet.”  She was a slave to the family believe it of not.  When they lived out to York, they had a herd of cows and they’d turn them out up in the mouth of the canyon there in the spring.  Ida was the big shot ya might say, she had a little sway-backed horse she road, I think she called it Dap.  When one of those cows would get on Tophan’s grain, she had to get on that horse and tear up and get them off.  Then boys, there was George, Leo & Elden; Ivan was with his father building the power plant at the time.  She had to do the washing and they had one of those washers that went like this…remember…..no, I guess you wouldn’t remember.  It had a handle on and you had to make it work, either that, or it had a wheel on it to make it go.  It was a hard luggin’, tiresome son of a gun!  Then she had to milk cows.  I tell her sometimes, no wonder she’d kinda broke down.  “Well, she says, I had to work all my life.”  She’s worked hard since I married her, but I can’t slow her sown now.  She’s got more blasted quilts in there, she’s makin’ them ever day.  But that’s part of what keeps her going.  She has made probably 400 quilts over a lifetime.

I loved Ida or I wouldn’t have married her.  She was quite a nice looking gal.  She was always in with the crowd.  When we went to dances, she always had a half a dozen dances spoken for ahead.  She danced the whole time.  Why in those days, this was a dance town, 2 or 3 dances per week and they were always loaded.  They had 2 dance halls here at one time.  They had the hall where the senor citizen’s hall is now, that one belonged to Hudson’s.  They called this one down here the social hall.  It stood where the telephone building stands today.  Sometimes Hudsons got all the crowd and the next time the Social Hall would get it all.  Generally Hudsons got the crowd and finally Hudsons was the main stay.  We had an orchestra from Spanish Fork, I think their names were the Ludlow Brothers; they played real dance music.  Boy, oh boy, sometimes I’d say to mother, “I ain’t goin’ ta dance tonight.”  Then I’d go down and look around for a few minutes an I’d rush home and change clothes.  Boy, we used to have some nice times, I’ll tell ya.

A lot of times we’d dances till 12:00, then we’d pass the hat and dance till 2 or 3 in the morning.  We passed the hat to get more money to pay the orchestra to stay longer.  People came from all over, Payson, Goshen, all around.  We did the Quadrille, Waltzes and Two Steps.  We didn’t dance like they do now, they were real dances.

The Seventies used to be a strong organization here in town; there was only one ward then.  Every fall they would always have a nice dance and supper social and everyone would turn out in big crowds.  We had a wonderful time; never have any like that anymore.  Never danced to records, always to real music.  Like I say this was a dance town, by gun, not it’s obsolete.  People don’t know what dancing it.

We got married on the June 4, 1913.  When we went to the temple you could put your garments ready to wear just like now.  When we went to the temple, we went down here and caught the passenger train and went to Salt Lake.  Mother went with us, she was quite ill and she stayed with friends up there that lived here in town, who used to live at the Power Plant at one time.  We were married in the Salt Lake Temple.  David S. Smith married us.  We walked down to where mother was.  I forget if we came home that day or the next day.  They didn’t have any fine married parties like they do today. (Receptions)  We went to her dad’s home I believe they had a few people came there and we gave them a piece of cake and a glass of homemade root beer.  No presents, people didn’t have it to give and it wasn’t the style in them days like it is now.  We’ve been married 62 years.

Alvin went in the service.  Mother cried and cried and cried and wandered through the oak, she was afraid he would be killed.  He went overseas, but he never went to the front.

A bad flu went around and mother & dad got it.  Dad got a nurse for them, but it did no good.  Mother died Dec. 2, 1917 and dad died Dec. 7 1917.  After mother died, dad just gave up.  They were buried on the 10th in a double service.  There was no embalming fluids then and no mortuaries.  The dead were taken care of in the home by the Relief Society sisters. The viewing was also here there.  They were each in a white carriage drawn by two white horses, which took them to the church and to the cemetery.  The dressing, hair and viewing was done in the home the day before and their bodies stayed in the home over night also.

After we were married, we rented a little adobe house up where Thora Holliday lives now.  It belonged to a Swedish woman who lived on the corner where Caldgreens lived, who have fixed up the house so ‘foxy’.  We rented for 3 years and finally we bought a lot from John T. Openshaw up there across the fence from Everett Kester.  We built a house there and got away  from rent.  It was when the B. B. Lumber Company had a lumber company up there.  I went to George and asked if I could get some lumber and pay so much a month.  He said yes, so we built 2 rooms there.  Then by gum, I got farm crazy.  LaVon was born in this house on May 10, 1914.  Lowell was born October 29, 1916, where McKay’s building and restaurant stands.  It was an old Methodist home and we lived there for 3 years. Elden was born October 17, 1918 in our home by the weir.  There was kinda of a flu going around at that time.  We was afraid, by gum, that he was going to get it but grandma (Ida) took good care of him and he didn’t get it. I worked at the Payson sugar factory at the time and rode a horse to work every day.  I felt like I was going to get the flu too.  I went upstairs where they had their medical supplies and they gave me a dose of Epson salts that I thought was going to kill me.  It kicked the flu, so we escaped that pretty good.  Boy, oh boy, they sure gave me a whale of a dose.

In 1919 we traded that little house up by the Weir to Joe Flanders.  He lives in Spring Lake and he was supposed to be a real estate guy.  We traded it for a 10-acre piece where the Merlin Tanner home is in Payson.  I believe I had to pay him extra too.  We moved and Ida’s dad got farm fever too.  He bought the Tanner place and we moved in there with them, which was a bad thing.  I had to get a job, so I came back over here to the Quarry, that was before U.S. Steele was going.  B.E. Townsend was running it; I got a job pounding rock.  We stayed there for a while.  Another farm came up over there by Red Bridge where the tracks cross.  We bought at it.  We were there till 1923.  My boys weren’t very big so they couldn’t help. Von was just old enough to go to school.  We had an old blur horse.  I can see him now coming along the right of way; we called him Dom. (?)  Von would come up to his legs about so far, trotting along with the horse , coming from school.  Lowell was small and Elden just a baby.  We bought the farm from an old real estate guy.  He’d bought it but he didn’t want it, so he socked it over on to us.  I was supposed to pay $12,000.00 for it.  We stayed there 3 or 4 years and raised sugar beets mostly.  The prices started to go down and the bottom dropped out of everything, so they put us off and we moved back to this lousy town of a mustache and I’ve kicked myself ever since.  Mother (Ida) and the kids didn’t want to come back here.  I’ve been sorry ever since.  I should have gone further south or north, but 40 years ago, you can’t do much about it now.

Jenny Henderson had a couple of little houses that were separated and we rented one and that’s where Dorothy was born, April 7, 1922.  Tressia was born September 10, 1920, in Payson by the Red Bridge.
I messed around for a while; I was looking for a place to buy.  Myrie Allen had two lots right here, he wanted $750.00, it had 4 shares of water.  I grabbed on to that and this is where we’ve stuck ever since.  This was in 1935.  He wanted cash, so I went to George Finch, one of my brother-in-laws.  He was leasing up at the Chief Mine and making lots of money.  I went up there and asked if he would lend me $750.00 which he did.   So I paid Myrie off and got a deed for these two lots.  Later on I bought this lot down on the corner; so we just chizzled and chizzled along.

We lived in a shack we moved over here from that ten acres in Payson.  It was a shack lie a chicken coop.  We lived in that for a while.  Darlene was born here June 4 1926. We decided we had to have a bigger house, so I dug a half basement by hand. We ran the cement by hand and her dad came here to help.  I had a lot of ties I’d hauled from up Tinic way.  We got the foundation above the ground and we laid the ties up and down.  Then me and Lowell and Elden went up the canyon and got the lumber.  We cut the logs and drug them to the sawmill and put them in this house, most of which is all native lumber from Santaquin canyon.

One time I and Elden were up getting lumber.  We had 2 horses, but we had them loaded too heavy and they couldn’t pull the drag.  Elden got in front of them to try to get them going, I hit Bird with a piece of Quakenaspen tree and she rarred up and his Elden in the face with her hoof.  We unhitched Bird and let her go in the canyon.   I felt plenty bad about that.  Elden’s face swelled nearly shut so he couldn’t see.  He said it was okay to stay the night so we did.  The other horse we had would always follow and whenever she got tired she would just stop and rest, then she would go on home.  She was never any bother, very dependable and steady.  One morning I went out to feed them and I didn’t notice they all stuck their heads in the manger to be fed.  I stuck the pitchfork in her eye, the right one and blinded her.  I bawled plenty for that, but it was dark and I couldn’t see that good.

When we logged, we had to cut the trees down with an ax and a 2 man saw.  We made many trips up the canyon to get enough lumber for the house.  We cut the trees from the stump and had it cut at Sullivan’s Mill, which was up in the canyon.  We paid for the use of the sawmill, but not for the trees.  We could get a couple of thousand feet on each wagonload, then to the sawmill.  Marie must have been born out in that shack also.  She was born October 11, 1930.

Von didn’t log with us, he left home when he was 16.  We didn’t get along and he wanted more money and we couldn’t give it to him, so he left home and went to California.  We never heard from him for 9 months.  We didn’t know if he was dead or alive.  Mother liked to worry her hear off.  She’d walk up and down the road at night.  Finally we got a card from him; he was in Needles, California picking cherries.  I told him several times if he’d had a lick of sense he could have had all kinds of property by now and sitting on the moon.  He said he had a hard time even eating; he never went in the right direction.  He got in bad company and the next time we seen him, he came home with a girl.  I can’t remember it they were married or not.  He came back; he was about 18 years old.  The girl’s name was Ruth Whitcomb, originally from Iowa.  She was a nice girl, but she wasn’t the right girl for Von and they separated.  They came here and mother went back to California with them.  They both worked; Von couldn’t seem to settle down and get something around him; jumping from pillar to post.  He got Lowell down there and had quite a time getting a job.  Lowell worked for those hot plants where they made tar doe the roads.  Lowell was steady; he could hold a job for as long as it lasted.  He worked in North Island till the chin and light metal got to his eyes and he had to quit.  Then he went to work for Safeway’s and he’s been there ever since.  He’s been there for 40 years.

         In the meantime, well, I’ll tell ya, we was havin’ a hard struggle right here.  Lowell joined the C.C.Camo and went down to Cedar Creek to work.  He was dissatisfied and discontented.  He went to Idaho and worked for a farmer up there and he got acquainted with Leon.  They finally got married.

         Ivan, Ida’s dad and myself, put the roof on the house and we got it shingled and finished the north bedroom.  Colleen was born there April 1, 1936, she was an April Fool.

        We always had a few sheep to raise.  Never did sheer any but I used to tromp wool.  The wool bags would hold 3 or 4 hundred pounds and were held by a frame.  We always checked for ticks, but I was never bothered with them.

        Once we were down in Genola cutting hay for the horses.  Elden had a little dog that got in front of the mowing machine.  It’s front legs got cut off, so we had to kill it.  Elden bawled and bawled about that.  We didn’t know the dog was there and couldn’t do anything about it.  Elden was about 4 or 5.  Once Elden rode a horse up the mountain and it was okay going up, but on the way down, he came straight down the mountain and it uncoupled the horse’s legs.  The horse wasn’t any good any more.  We didn’t discipline him as good as we should have I guess, can’t remember what we did.  Elden married Wanda; they and Pat lived out in this old house till they could get their own place.

         Some of the positions I’ve held are: High Priest group leader, High Priest president from 1958 to 1961.  I was a Sunday School teacher of the Gospel Doctrine class; also I was the Genealogy chairman in 1935 to 1937 and again in 1957 to 1959.  I was the 2nd counselor in the bishopric from 1944 to 1947 to Nels Butler who was the Bishop; George Labaron was the first counslor.  They released us right out of the blue sky, didn’t know anything about being released till we heard it in sacrament meeting.  Clayson, Patton & Fred Davis was the Stake Presidency.  It was a hard blow.  I was in the Sunday School Superintendence for 3 years with Doc. Openshaw and Nick Holliday.  Ida, Elmer Tidjeon and I were on the Stake Sunday School board together.  Ida & I also served a stake Mission doe 2 years between Feb. 10, 1955 to Feb. 1957.  We enjoyed it very much and we traveled one night per week to Mammoth, George Labaron drove.   I was ordained a High Priest Nov. 2, 1932 and a Seventy on August 19, 1939, by John Taylor.  On Jan. 8, they gave me a ward supervisory job to look after 12 other teachers to make sure they were doing a good job.  On Jan. 15, 1961 we held our first sacrament meeting in our new chapel.  I gave the opening prayer; I was thankful for the opportunity.  I worked 379 hours on the church while it was under construction.  I enjoyed every minute of it.  I have worked many years on the church welfare farm.  I gave the opening prayer in the Temple Nov. 14, 1962 and on March 7, 1963.  I gave the opening prayer in sacrament meeting on April 21, 1963; a new bishopric was sustained.  In November 1946-1958 I was the president of the High Priest group with Leslie Roper and Jess Livingston and Roger Miles was the Secretary.  We had a Book of Mormon project and a social committee, a task committee and contact work with 85 members.  I am on the committee for Temple attendance.

         When Elden and Wanda were married, I guess he didn’t have all his chasin’ out and he had some bad times, but eventually he came around.  He is a wonderful guy who is loved and respected by everyone.  When I was knocked out with the flu here a month or so ago (1975) he sure was a faithful guy.  He came down twice a day and waited on me hand and foot.  I don’t know where we’d ever been without him.

          When Leila had the brain tumor, I was in that prayer circle in the church.  I know she was healed by the power of prayer.  When they examined her the next day, she was better and they didn’t operate.  The power of prayer is one of the most powerful things we have.

          Tressia worked in the bakery where she met Roe.  Later they were married in the temple and have had five children; two went on missions.  Elden & Wanda have had 6 children.  They were also married in the temple.  Dorothy and R.N. dated with Tressia and Glen Patten.  Dorothy & R N were married in the temple and they have 3 children.  Darlene met Earl on a blind date.  Before we built the church as it is now, Earl and the Wilkey fellow and one other came in the amusement hall.  I asked him their manes and by gum, I couldn’t spell Fowkes, didn’t know how F-o-k-e-s-, but he had to tell me F-o-w-k-e-s.  They were married in the Temple.  They have 6 children; 3 have gone on missions.  Marie met Pete on a blind date also.  They were married and later went to the temple.  They have 2 boys; both have gone on missions.  Colleen met Blain on a blind date too.  They were married in the temple and have four children.  They are all too young to do missions yet.  

          At one time Dorothy began to develop terrible headaches.  They decided it was a brain tumor so they operated and it was a blood vessel, which was ready to break.  It had broken and it would have paralyzed her.  The doc. later would put long needles in her head to help the headaches, which came back.  They helped some.  One night we had a party at Tressia’s home.  R.N. was working so Dorothy came alone.  She looked terrible and said she felt the same way.  I asked her if she would like to be administered to and she said she would.  There was five or six men there all holding the priesthood and we administered to her.  She drove home later and went to bed.  In the morning she called us before we were out of bed to tell us she was without a headache.  She had only had one attack since that time.  (about 1971)  She was cured instantly with the power of the priesthood of God.

          On April 21, 1966, Earl Thomas and I went to Green River, Utah to get a car rambler.  We went and looked at the river 140 miles each way.  It was my first trip in that country.  It was nice and warm and no frost out there.  I enjoyed the trip.

          The standard mine was workin’ several hundred men.  There were a bunch of Mexicans that lived up there off in the holler up that way and they kept 2 or 3 cows.  I used to haul hay.  If I’d happen up there about noon, they’d have big pancakes, by criminie, they’d always invite me in.  Pancakes isn’t what they called them, but they had them and these little hot peppers ya know.  They was hot and they’d eat a lot of ‘em.  I worked in the mine up there.  It was hot down in the mine, “Much hot!” they’d say.  No breeze or air, “Much hot down there.”  They’d strip right down to just a pair of pants.  The red sweat would run down then. (red?)  Well, red from the mud and ore.  Course we bathed after each shift.  We made about $2.00 per day.  We went on contract and ran a drift over in ol’ #1 shaft and we’d make a bonus of $ 60.00 or $75.00 extra.  We didn’t work in the main shaft much, mostly in the other shaft.  I worked there quite a while.

          On Jan. 18, 1963, I went to Mona.  I was Nancy’s partner at a primary daddy-daughter date.  I enjoyed the evening.  We had supper, games and a dance.

          Von married Hyatte Kretsinger, they divorced.  Later Von married Arlene (Peggy) Hummell, October 9, 1946.  They were later sealed in the Salt Lake Temple, July 3, 1959.  He has come a long ways also.  They only had one child which Peggy had adopted before they were married.

          I was honored as an honorary citizen of Boys Town.  They needed help like anyone else who takes in boys.  I contributed several years.  Finally they became self-supporting and they sent me this certificate.