tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46388761896129966572024-03-06T19:34:06.410-08:00Gene's Family TreeGenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.comBlogger377125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-52138344318442262712022-12-19T10:29:00.003-08:002022-12-19T10:36:37.075-08:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/zc5N5cxcfFo" target="_blank">Bingham Canyon Historical Video</a> </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-87617336741375758442022-09-03T14:04:00.000-07:002022-09-03T14:04:00.885-07:00Christmas from Heaven: The Candy Bomber Story (Narrated by Tom Brokaw)<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/Hjz8yu5MWC0" width="480"></iframe>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-28073408288786202542022-07-22T10:12:00.000-07:002022-07-22T10:12:18.830-07:00Lars Lilholt - Jens Langkniv (live 1988)<iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://youtube.com/embed/No-L721pOTI" width="480"></iframe>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-4121782883296881582022-01-02T19:45:00.010-08:002022-02-10T19:07:02.092-08:00I REMEMBER KOREA I WAS THERE<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Korea
<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">I
was there this is what I seen<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">I
have Newspapers and documents<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Eugene Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVGQnQMxAr63EAAll3fxDJFsi-KebO67Un80JaCp90v28GkXZ_b5CrI1H1koNUblNRrV0N8EpU-7qXf2vdrLQ1kRgIaWqL9yVrTi3rwQPsWzgTm8ot9Z6i05O88b2coTreyWB5P8VKx7GnbMDXIT-zUHncmapNnLPqJLZkVnbH5BPhBOThNVdRnwGWIA=s1346" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1346" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVGQnQMxAr63EAAll3fxDJFsi-KebO67Un80JaCp90v28GkXZ_b5CrI1H1koNUblNRrV0N8EpU-7qXf2vdrLQ1kRgIaWqL9yVrTi3rwQPsWzgTm8ot9Z6i05O88b2coTreyWB5P8VKx7GnbMDXIT-zUHncmapNnLPqJLZkVnbH5BPhBOThNVdRnwGWIA=w400-h310" width="400" /></a></span></b></div><br /><br /><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Korea
<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">I
was there this is what I seen and found<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">I
have Newspapers and documents<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Eugene Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
World War was over and the Japanese were defeated and sent home and so were the
Land Lords. The Koreans were finally
free and happy. But the Yalta Treaty gave
America one half of Korea and Russia the other half. No one bothered to ask the Koreans what they
wanted. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Well
they did not want to have their county divided up and occupied by foreign
powers. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">All
they wanted was to free and left alone. They did not want the Father Land divided</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> They were among thousands of leftist farmers who
believed communist North Korean promises of “liberation” from landlords and kept
fighting long after North Korean troops retreated and even after the Korean War
ended in 1953 with an uneasy truce. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was South Koreans who shot at me when I was welding at night on the runway. Once twenty of them were caught pounding
napalm bombs with hammers and bars trying to blow them and me up. One night I was on guard duty and it was
very dark. They were scampering here and
there, stealing barrels of gas and oil.
It was really noisy. It was kind
of funny and they were on their side of the fence so I left them alone. </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzXScgRLyMa3P5w4m7ij6OGug787D7duIpjjP-W6dCJy8fjVd-6ij5pz0ftLZHuctRp5JQlfh-SrBeQkt7Lgd-5qvhFkuukS74DaA3OxD8MSoevDerCEGbG6YzwUctKGUGEYzhuwX6uLIo0iljKAXf_wiVnOu73BJXR4yQyfH1dd74EoFA0g6rvLATCQ=s681" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="681" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzXScgRLyMa3P5w4m7ij6OGug787D7duIpjjP-W6dCJy8fjVd-6ij5pz0ftLZHuctRp5JQlfh-SrBeQkt7Lgd-5qvhFkuukS74DaA3OxD8MSoevDerCEGbG6YzwUctKGUGEYzhuwX6uLIo0iljKAXf_wiVnOu73BJXR4yQyfH1dd74EoFA0g6rvLATCQ=w400-h308" width="400" /></a></b></div><b><br /> <o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
was no promise of “Liberation” from America, we were determined to occupy Korea
and make it part of our empire. America found
Sigmund Rhee and made him President. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Well
with a fist full of money and his own army he began killing his own people for America. The killings began two years before the
war. Just before the war began he arrested
several thousand farmers. He did not
know what to do with them so he asked a US General if he could kill them. The ocean had bodies floating all the way to
Japan and Okinawa. After this he no
longer kept prisoners he just shot and dumped their bodies in trenches where
they fell. He murdered 500,000 South
Koreans, men, women and children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
war begins in July 1950 and by the end of August the KPA occupied most of
Korea. One little corner was all we
had. They were a long way from home and
hampered by supply shortages and massive losses, continually staged attacks on
UN forces in an attempt to penetrate the Pusan Perimeter and drive us into the
sea. Five KPA divisions massed around
Tague preparing to cross the Naktong River and assault it from the north and
west. If they crossed the Naktong we
would lose the war and would be swimming in the ocean. Soon however, we able to use the port to
amass an overwhelming advantage in troops and equipment, the Navy with their
big guns and the Air Force were strafing and bombing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> After six weeks, the KPA force collapsed and
retreated in defeat. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
UN force launched a counterattack at Inchon on September 15. That forced them to leave before they were
surrounded. The UN forces in the
perimeter broke out from the perimeter the following day. Eventually the ground the war was reduced into
a stalemate.</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgw3S52Jz81pXA3Gosnt_iRWzFt1AvzxIcGbn0NiCFmXv7jzoZfRqFih2nBwp2NGTfCS7V1TRL99Vp_dwtgIFYBkRAeKyt0aB_V1kSij7syGpcqVjQUHEDO6LP0Mi1QKNNAQsQT_AstYI3VJ34hvOs9bKvhCjUgCwJrFZpFoYDWX5LQWmvye7izAKAYcA=s662" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="662" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgw3S52Jz81pXA3Gosnt_iRWzFt1AvzxIcGbn0NiCFmXv7jzoZfRqFih2nBwp2NGTfCS7V1TRL99Vp_dwtgIFYBkRAeKyt0aB_V1kSij7syGpcqVjQUHEDO6LP0Mi1QKNNAQsQT_AstYI3VJ34hvOs9bKvhCjUgCwJrFZpFoYDWX5LQWmvye7izAKAYcA=w640-h436" width="640" /></a></b></div><b><br /><o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thousands
of refugees were scatted around Tague and they still hated us. Rhee took care of that problem by killing
them. They were mostly unarmed farmers
but we dropped bombs on them, ships killed them with their cannons when they
came to the beach for safety. We machine
gunned lines of refugee’s escaping the battle field and our planes strafed them
too. There were dead bodies lying
everywhere, starving children eating grass and garbage. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
was at the airfield at Tague, when I was there when Rhee Goons came into my
tent and took Kim my 12 year old house boy.
They also went through the village I lived in and took many more women
and men killed them. Our officers had to be in on the scheme too. We always had a rifle and ammunition just in
case. We were told to turn in our rifles
in a short time before this. We would have
went after them and brought Kim back. I took
pictures of a few murdered villagers but could not take pictures of the
children. After the soldiers took their
parents the small orphaned children came to us to eat our garbage. They eventually died of starvation. We could do nothing but watch them wither
away and die. Some of us saved food to
feed them. It was a very nasty war. When I walked through the village I seldom
found anyone they were all hiding. A
fine how-do-you-do.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
killed 2,000,000 North Koreans and 2,000,000 South Koreans. Rhee killed 500,000 of his own people with
our help. North and South were our names,
they were all Koreans, all brothers.
They hid anyone who came to their door.</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFbh1wL-97ShdarJyznVagVYyttcs5jhgoVascG6IpjQqfzkBpq4dXjwjafcyTdmslKuSuRkp2iNnodg9lZdJXFWOP6iMiIVyOeL0-8aWPQ326XkdEbuYoKeXMkkUsK4lKf7u-1Dv7kZCM9o2tqZP65Z98PEo4WZw6uk4kSkFqGFW5p-QUV1nQbUhGLw=s1024" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFbh1wL-97ShdarJyznVagVYyttcs5jhgoVascG6IpjQqfzkBpq4dXjwjafcyTdmslKuSuRkp2iNnodg9lZdJXFWOP6iMiIVyOeL0-8aWPQ326XkdEbuYoKeXMkkUsK4lKf7u-1Dv7kZCM9o2tqZP65Z98PEo4WZw6uk4kSkFqGFW5p-QUV1nQbUhGLw=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></b></div><b><br /><o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Rhee
lost the only fair election they had but he was still killing. He went to Masan and caused a riot. The people went to the streets when Rhee after
rounded up a bunch of College kids and Professors. A General had Rhee arrested and run him off
to Japan. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
asked a Translator why in the world did you elect him as President. He shook his head and said “America elected
him”, </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“We would have
done a better job”.</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“It
will take fifty years</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> but
we will be free”. I thought he was just
wishing but it really happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">With
Rhee gone South Korea was finally free and it began blossoming like a
rose. The mud and straw houses are gone now
and we see many modern cities. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
new generation seems unaware of past hatreds and now we are thanked for freeing
them, “but mostly they freed themselves”.
I wish I could forget.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
loved the people and I am glad they survived and are “<i>free</i>”. And I am happy to not
have had to kill anyone.</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Korean Truth Commission <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The BoDo secretly fought all invaders,
China, Russia, Japan, and United States.
They wanted freedom from invaders and to be Liberated from the
Landlords. Syngman Rhee ordered the
execution of people related to either the Bodo League or the South Korean
Workers Party. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The Bodo Massacre was a War Crime<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A war against civilians who had no
connection with communism or communists that occurred in the summer of 1950
during the Korean War. Experts estimate
that the full total ranges from 200,000 to 500,000. </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZcCnD3A4lMQvdPIoahMO2uwIh5SlOiAOWyCAf2BXj62sMHk5q965GzFvfeSYvDAOmE-WY8UmEIcmUyRCWFVVDfYPTWUYg91g9Kj3bVN23AtYPUAA0bEXqAG7G-FrdPP4LMjWAfzvSh9xcre-OIwmck9wVVteIW-pCKcJXrfBLYLu4xiXnT1aL3J7D7Q=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="400" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZcCnD3A4lMQvdPIoahMO2uwIh5SlOiAOWyCAf2BXj62sMHk5q965GzFvfeSYvDAOmE-WY8UmEIcmUyRCWFVVDfYPTWUYg91g9Kj3bVN23AtYPUAA0bEXqAG7G-FrdPP4LMjWAfzvSh9xcre-OIwmck9wVVteIW-pCKcJXrfBLYLu4xiXnT1aL3J7D7Q=w640-h456" width="640" /></a></b></div><b><br /> <o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The South Korean government tried to
conceal the massacre for four decades. Survivors were forbidden by the
government from revealing it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">General
Douglas MacArthur made no attempts to curb the mass killings. He said, it is an "internal matter". He let it be known that all Koreans are our enemy,
and shoot them if needed. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“Shoot
to Kill”.</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> I was very happy when Truman fired him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He
was hated by everyone here so he lived in Japan and his statue is guarded 24
hours a day to stop it from being toppled. </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz2zbpxM7svJH-pDlk117_gXFawcNrb1z1VnAyHiF2R0SNhAh-FIzch8fRlJYjaLU8gn5Jzy42uBSkHZoSUpzT4JlK5D3nanHkvs3BZuS-yJsuqcEmHrOOLBbIVHRMdhefwxkDxT13OO-gaPsdxf2_89gEgWJBgIVsIoGUyh-4UQGYaAh2XyjtOrLbdA=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="1280" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz2zbpxM7svJH-pDlk117_gXFawcNrb1z1VnAyHiF2R0SNhAh-FIzch8fRlJYjaLU8gn5Jzy42uBSkHZoSUpzT4JlK5D3nanHkvs3BZuS-yJsuqcEmHrOOLBbIVHRMdhefwxkDxT13OO-gaPsdxf2_89gEgWJBgIVsIoGUyh-4UQGYaAh2XyjtOrLbdA=w640-h512" width="640" /></a></b></div><b><br />
<o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
massacres started one day later in Hoengseong, Gangwon-do 30,000 South Koreans
were summarily and shot by ROK forces. One
US lieutenant colonel is known to have approved the executions, when he told a
South Korean colonel that he could kill a large number of prisoners in Pusan. A mass execution of 3,400 South Koreans did
indeed take place near Pusan that summer <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">United
States official documents show that American officers witnessed and
photographed the massacre. American witnesses also reported the scene of the
execution of a girl who appeared to be 12 or 13 years old. And 40 victims had their backs broken with
rifle butts and were shot later. Victims in seaside villages were tied together
and thrown into the sea to drown</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRkwCLZppj5xty--4XQMXcOgtk9NtHYQYXq9NCKk8SDxAvkN1VQKPjjA7TWIiBCMMCGaqgy-JXq_WJpqnZ_NLCiF2Ehsup0znlaqBDwVa3riETzn-dhMqAEInqThmw7a2gkx5B-h2nkh9TbIBOG7zKec0reuNxieszabM4e4_AQ12vdyEzNDpthl6h6Q=s607" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="498" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRkwCLZppj5xty--4XQMXcOgtk9NtHYQYXq9NCKk8SDxAvkN1VQKPjjA7TWIiBCMMCGaqgy-JXq_WJpqnZ_NLCiF2Ehsup0znlaqBDwVa3riETzn-dhMqAEInqThmw7a2gkx5B-h2nkh9TbIBOG7zKec0reuNxieszabM4e4_AQ12vdyEzNDpthl6h6Q=w329-h400" width="329" /></a></b></div><b><br />. <o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
were also British and Australian witnesses. Great Britain raised this issue with the U.S.
at a diplomatic level. In December,
British troops saved civilians lined up to be shot by South Korean officers and
seized one execution site outside Seoul to prevent further massacres. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was a right wing dictatorship and worse than the North. There are thousands of American military
reports of the massacres and all are “stamped secret” and filed away, other
accounts are dismissed as lies.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Associated
Press<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Seoul,
Korea is seeking damages for indiscriminate killings. They are digging grave by mass grave finding skeletons
and buried truths of a cold blooded slaughter of unknown thousands of leftists
and hapless peasants. Many mass graves
reveal many were killed long before the war.
Many small children were killed with their parents, 23 children in one
grave alone. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Eye
witnesses said, that the North did not kill many of us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Chung
Soon-Duk story<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The last communist guerrilla is still
defiant and hates America. She fought
until her capture 40 years ago. She
laments her “pathetic mess”. Wounded a
few times, lost her leg and husband.
“All my life, I have been a </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">“unification warrior</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">” to free the Fatherland from the
Americans. I am the only guerrilla
left. She demanded to be killed but died
of old age. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5K_gmwPBpoTAX4f3pbq1YETauQQ4jaN6D9Gvsy-G6-9lvmrSa81h6du32_G8t-ROmNMBxmJWmcb6_1KEvVQh3cUWjiaQo7oxkqfanbcIyx24fUemhC0qiO_oDakxtpCGfwVGbpgQazEHv5sgrf_xkc6ZXYmfOcKcuzVaCUS0wNXkp8p2nqhSMsdnohQ=s1333" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1333" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5K_gmwPBpoTAX4f3pbq1YETauQQ4jaN6D9Gvsy-G6-9lvmrSa81h6du32_G8t-ROmNMBxmJWmcb6_1KEvVQh3cUWjiaQo7oxkqfanbcIyx24fUemhC0qiO_oDakxtpCGfwVGbpgQazEHv5sgrf_xkc6ZXYmfOcKcuzVaCUS0wNXkp8p2nqhSMsdnohQ=w400-h319" width="400" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The UN force launched a counterattack at Inchon
on September 15. That forced them to
leave before they were surrounded. The
UN forces in the perimeter broke out from the perimeter the following day. Eventually the ground the war was reduced </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">into a stalemate.</span></b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></b></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thousands
of refugees were scatted around Tague and they still hated us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took care of that problem by killing
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were mostly unarmed farmers
but we dropped bombs on them, ships killed them with their cannons when they
came to the beach for safety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We machine
gunned lines of refugee’s escaping the battle field and our planes strafed them
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were dead bodies lying
everywhere, starving children eating grass and garbage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When
I was working Rhee Boy's came into my tent and took Kim my 12 year old house boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They went through the village I lived in and took
many more women and men killed them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
had us turn in our rifles or we could have went after them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our officers had to be in on the scheme too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a few pictures of a dead person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saved food to feed the little orphans
eating our garbage. The soldiers took their parents. Most of them eventually
died of starvation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a very sad
war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I walked through the village I
seldom found anyone they were all hiding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A fine how-do-you-do.</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZXfyuny3QLDhlwKx-79xQ0nJpq8E1-l7YZ1QPmRxy5XkcXun2Mln72XwMiMFdSZPbpGSTGQWRGTyqsJBcTCecgO3fSyEYGa0DDher8q9vqansElbNZOe8kXSwrEmOoLvl60KsrVTV4hR_ryjgMa6LlZWQNUkVaAmCk4SW4WTcMt2dQrZKGDfzf_Tvzw=s557" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="557" height="605" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZXfyuny3QLDhlwKx-79xQ0nJpq8E1-l7YZ1QPmRxy5XkcXun2Mln72XwMiMFdSZPbpGSTGQWRGTyqsJBcTCecgO3fSyEYGa0DDher8q9vqansElbNZOe8kXSwrEmOoLvl60KsrVTV4hR_ryjgMa6LlZWQNUkVaAmCk4SW4WTcMt2dQrZKGDfzf_Tvzw=w640-h605" width="640" /></a></span></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
killed 2,000,000 North Koreans and 2,000,000 South Koreans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rhee killed 500,000 of his own people with
our help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Rhee
lost the only fair election they had but he was still killing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rounded up a bunch of College kids and
Professors in Masan and there was a riot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The South Korean Army came in and arrested Rhee and run him off to
Japan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
asked a Translator why in the world did you elect him as President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook his head and said “America elected
him”, “We would have done a better job”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“It will take fifty years but we will be free”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought he was just wishing but it really happened.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">With
Rhee gone South Korea was finally free and it began blossoming like a
rose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mud and straw houses are gone
and we see many modern cities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
new generation seems unaware of past hatreds and now we are thanked for freeing
them, “but mostly they freed themselves”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
loved the people and I am glad they survived and are “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">free</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtOQwlQzBbZRfjBW6dp8II2p_eZ78_FL-Bu9JTLzhd5XHZTED8g8i1q59eMQsU5zFCaGrZbSUcBLOXFDpPwH-uizGM-gKdMBiBdY1EMrtweKFisKqvypG3ua5pRpwb44-7RjB3VfY8j4ZsueqRbjLGTxvv2Gfuvh0hkL1J65cVW0c5aIUJwI30agTWXA=s1000" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1000" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtOQwlQzBbZRfjBW6dp8II2p_eZ78_FL-Bu9JTLzhd5XHZTED8g8i1q59eMQsU5zFCaGrZbSUcBLOXFDpPwH-uizGM-gKdMBiBdY1EMrtweKFisKqvypG3ua5pRpwb44-7RjB3VfY8j4ZsueqRbjLGTxvv2Gfuvh0hkL1J65cVW0c5aIUJwI30agTWXA=w400-h290" width="400" /></a></span></i></b></div><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />Korean
Truth Commission <o:p></o:p></span></i></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The BoDo secretly fought all invaders,
China, Russia, Japan, and United States.
They wanted freedom from invaders and to be Liberated from the
Landlords. Syngman Rhee ordered the
execution of people related to either the Bodo League or the South Korean
Workers Party. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTpZIi7wgtHuhtZY_IgPPKrtrHBIlRL4TeYm1URic7OoC_dVh90GVUBULkUdyV9SI44H7NMjelUFUwj9IRI5jDMVgwLSIhWKsOeAE5NhUvqFjeV5NpNiI8pcPCeSyPO3afwZOg1HFlrbI-xOxamDQgzXEHX2nOXGhiliufMYHui9uHrlZkk8oc4yUtFQ=s578" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="578" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTpZIi7wgtHuhtZY_IgPPKrtrHBIlRL4TeYm1URic7OoC_dVh90GVUBULkUdyV9SI44H7NMjelUFUwj9IRI5jDMVgwLSIhWKsOeAE5NhUvqFjeV5NpNiI8pcPCeSyPO3afwZOg1HFlrbI-xOxamDQgzXEHX2nOXGhiliufMYHui9uHrlZkk8oc4yUtFQ=w640-h440" width="640" /></a></i></b></div><b><i><br /> </i></b><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Bodo Massacre a War Crime</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A war against civilians who had no
connection with communism or communists that occurred in the summer of 1950
during the Korean War. Experts estimate
that the full total ranges from 200,000 to 500,000. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The South Korean government tried to
conceal the massacre for four decades. Survivors were forbidden by the
government from revealing it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">General
Douglas MacArthur made no attempts to curb the mass killings. He said, it is an "internal matter". He let it be known that all Koreans are our enemy,
and shoot them if needed. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“Shoot
to Kill”.</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> I was very happy when Truman fired him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He
was hated by everyone here so he lived in Japan and his statue is guarded 24
hours a day to stop it from being toppled. </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEtlbedWShYv1hnZFEOVpzEh3q5haO9t5BXnKso-NMB_dQQAXUPXwX6Rg2d_yW857gbU4GierOJHSTqJ8PPCFUyIMUuYK-RYMIEzm-yMHDOoc5L87C1gejCBhJa_0Pvkip5CZhOexppIRZZ2WCXvYnzKLI2sawlnJt722mx8M3p3Ta6X5QVu63ejvELQ=s446" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="305" data-original-width="446" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEtlbedWShYv1hnZFEOVpzEh3q5haO9t5BXnKso-NMB_dQQAXUPXwX6Rg2d_yW857gbU4GierOJHSTqJ8PPCFUyIMUuYK-RYMIEzm-yMHDOoc5L87C1gejCBhJa_0Pvkip5CZhOexppIRZZ2WCXvYnzKLI2sawlnJt722mx8M3p3Ta6X5QVu63ejvELQ=w400-h274" width="400" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
massacres started one day later in Hoengseong, Gangwon-do 30,000 South Koreans
were summarily and shot by ROK forces. One
US lieutenant colonel is known to have approved the executions, when he told a
South Korean colonel that he could kill a large number of prisoners in Pusan. A mass execution of 3,400 South Koreans did
indeed take place near Pusan that summer <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">United
States official documents show that American officers witnessed and
photographed the massacre. American witnesses also reported the scene of the
execution of a girl who appeared to be 12 or 13 years old. And 40 victims had their backs broken with rifle
butts and were shot later. Victims in seaside villages were tied together and
thrown into the sea to drown. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
were also British and Australian witnesses. Great Britain raised this issue with the U.S.
at a diplomatic level. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
October 1950, the Goyang Geumjeong Cave massacre occurred. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
December, British troops saved civilians lined up to be shot by South Korean
officers and seized one execution site outside Seoul to prevent further
massacres</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipPuEjW0IKQTdyL9g_xkjQzpBF4RyLO10cQvmaZqnpNwOFfdAD4sN-TTG4wx1T7fOzCUkAZbvK8shatSEgAgb4Uy6AunUqjvYlm0WGg3RL_AW80-ARJ_TfUUUUzeF-HJJroWiehXWkAJEkfx_ejwxBTQIzjs3iLFojcexnSePW1Y9l1djzzrzyjqiZnQ=s1229" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="1229" height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipPuEjW0IKQTdyL9g_xkjQzpBF4RyLO10cQvmaZqnpNwOFfdAD4sN-TTG4wx1T7fOzCUkAZbvK8shatSEgAgb4Uy6AunUqjvYlm0WGg3RL_AW80-ARJ_TfUUUUzeF-HJJroWiehXWkAJEkfx_ejwxBTQIzjs3iLFojcexnSePW1Y9l1djzzrzyjqiZnQ=w640-h630" width="640" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was a right wing dictatorship and worse than the North. There are thousands of American military
reports of the massacres and all are “stamped secret” and filed away, other
accounts are dismissed as lies.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Associated
Press<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Seoul,
Korea is seeking damages for indiscriminate killings. They are digging grave by mass grave finding skeletons
and buried truths of a cold blooded slaughter of unknown thousands of leftists
and hapless peasants. Many mass graves
reveal many were killed long before the war.
Many small children were killed with their parents, 23 children in one
grave alone. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Eye
witnesses said that the North did not kill many of us.</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2v-B7GfDfeN2_voI9ezYTgHh6wX29CEf8zQE5pJVVgFM8AbbntvHooUSs75AuUPpV3QxDAfdQDMbILhgqDzVoqRRuLPQc1Nf2unWt0VbscDmYG0axsKsK1eY4w-rvKsATy6LD643wnxSn3YqvNCoyW5AP2kadU5PKSX_AC_EHm52MYEg5ztjevN4GTQ=s1016" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="1016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2v-B7GfDfeN2_voI9ezYTgHh6wX29CEf8zQE5pJVVgFM8AbbntvHooUSs75AuUPpV3QxDAfdQDMbILhgqDzVoqRRuLPQc1Nf2unWt0VbscDmYG0axsKsK1eY4w-rvKsATy6LD643wnxSn3YqvNCoyW5AP2kadU5PKSX_AC_EHm52MYEg5ztjevN4GTQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Chung
Soon-Duk story</span></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoT0nR4yvYKQ0uQ2pgBTsEAUsFFMV8vDNlR5RdZyuw6TvAUkh7pqwxiY8yWMQ1DXVls45H1cNGQT0T5uNSxckKx29HJxSX7EE0Q13fcg3qe5sRrPij29CPr-1HSbV6NO6BGfOHZUuP50le7VVOqBYcgAbLvikwW7Itf6cRmamn_mazv9-VhDM-3pUTyg=s612" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="482" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoT0nR4yvYKQ0uQ2pgBTsEAUsFFMV8vDNlR5RdZyuw6TvAUkh7pqwxiY8yWMQ1DXVls45H1cNGQT0T5uNSxckKx29HJxSX7EE0Q13fcg3qe5sRrPij29CPr-1HSbV6NO6BGfOHZUuP50le7VVOqBYcgAbLvikwW7Itf6cRmamn_mazv9-VhDM-3pUTyg=w315-h400" width="315" /></a></span></i></b></div><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The last communist guerrilla is still
defiant and hates America. She fought
until her capture 40 years ago. She
laments her “pathetic mess”. Wounded a
few times, lost her leg and husband.
“All my life, I have been a unification warrior to free the Fatherland
from the Americans. I am the only
guerrilla left. She demanded to be
killed but died of old age. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
American Empire fizzled out, leaving millions dead, money wasted and nothing
solved. We killed too many, and we should apologize to both Koreas. They really do not like Kim Jong-un but they
need him to protect them from both America and China. Maybe I’m dreaming but some day they will be free
in one nation and no dictators. They have done this before.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-10304901377785720292019-01-01T09:51:00.001-08:002019-01-01T09:51:58.202-08:00Utah Copper Company-Bingham Canyon<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2r7_JWwHOAU" width="459"></iframe>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-70915707851569793052018-08-25T14:04:00.002-07:002018-08-25T15:25:15.707-07:00 Love Story Behind the Iron Curtain in Budapest, 1969<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>memories of Marty Bagley Halverson</i></b></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kyWspNpTLbWzA0SX3RgpAA4oX4XbbUQXEB65slXGzGNMzFv-5K4io8fZJmrgiyOlDo3h0dUgSm5hKHXR4GyNXHp18OD-2lS35RArzNuAZTGdaj3JLaiIEVh7crUA-B75OZiSMM_0IR7r/s1600/Marty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="275" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kyWspNpTLbWzA0SX3RgpAA4oX4XbbUQXEB65slXGzGNMzFv-5K4io8fZJmrgiyOlDo3h0dUgSm5hKHXR4GyNXHp18OD-2lS35RArzNuAZTGdaj3JLaiIEVh7crUA-B75OZiSMM_0IR7r/s400/Marty.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Dee took this picture</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">On a
glorious Saturday in April Dee and I hiked up to the Cafe Winkler overlooking
all of Salzburg, and Dee asked me to marry him. “</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">I said yes.”</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We knew we would
arrive home to $00.00 so the timing was yet to be decided, and I knew that
until he gave me a ring, he wouldn't consider us engaged. I had considered us
engaged since </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">his first "I love you,"</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> but thought it wiser not to announce it, even to him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We went on a
chaste group honeymoon to Budapest on April 30 to celebrate. Hungary was behind
the Iron Curtain, and we had to have visas and official guides to go. We were
told that the border was strictly guarded and we were </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">not permitted under any circumstances to take photos</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> as we crossed. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The guard towers
were all around us, and soldiers with machine guns were watching every vehicle
carefully. As we passed one of them, </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Dee took a picture</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> out the window of the bus. I was shocked at his
blatant indifference to the rules; I've since discovered that Dee never thinks
rules apply to him. A few minutes later some soldiers on motorcycles pulled up
next to us and waved us over. We stopped and the officers boarded our bus.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The driver was
Czech and the communication was awkward between our German and English, and
these new foreign tongues. Of course it didn't take a linguist to figure out
what they wanted. They had seen someone on our bus take a picture and they
wanted to confiscate all our cameras. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee, realizing it
was time to step up, volunteered that he was the criminal and they didn't need
to take everyone's camera; they could have his. After a little negotiation, the
soldiers said he could just give up his film. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhSrgKkkG6d7jT5uVjf-mAyeC4oPm53RynowJ-xXcDtGadjF3kg4kUIwY557qcO9wKXRVIki4agMrqbVNWo9wOjS6jR1dfqKAF787E54N_cNqoyzCcDo5tcuiuy2r3sMfUQtO9IN37pNy/s1600/Marty1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhSrgKkkG6d7jT5uVjf-mAyeC4oPm53RynowJ-xXcDtGadjF3kg4kUIwY557qcO9wKXRVIki4agMrqbVNWo9wOjS6jR1dfqKAF787E54N_cNqoyzCcDo5tcuiuy2r3sMfUQtO9IN37pNy/s400/Marty1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">MAY Day Parade</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">This was back in
the day when it was impossible to tell what was on film until it was developed.
Our friend Bryant slyly passed Dee his own film, allowing Dee to keep the fatal
shot of the border towers. He handed over the phony film. To our relief, we
were allowed to go on. Nobody saw the humor in the event, or even the
adventure; everyone was just mad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">May Day had
special significance because there was </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">a giant Communist Parade.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> I was clueless, and pictured floats and costumes. It
turned out to be thousands of factory workers carrying Communist flags,
marching past the government officials. Dee said he wanted to take a picture
and left me in the stands. He didn't come back. After the events of the day
before, I was worried that he'd been arrested and sent to a concentration camp.
The atmosphere at the parade was not comfortable for us Americans, and I could
feel the oppression of the people.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeJ5fzkeWhDJOaJ42YhbikgINuv_XWY3_HXseYqtYqchvtEehKvGpvUnFyz2KlHn2lajZ4Wya3gVnzcis2ku6jTMjTpPUTxgMDm7OypTdTedPTIVGmDpJK_chDLq_0DZ8cmmmpFE7xgUt/s1600/marty2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="320" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeJ5fzkeWhDJOaJ42YhbikgINuv_XWY3_HXseYqtYqchvtEehKvGpvUnFyz2KlHn2lajZ4Wya3gVnzcis2ku6jTMjTpPUTxgMDm7OypTdTedPTIVGmDpJK_chDLq_0DZ8cmmmpFE7xgUt/s400/marty2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Dee with FLAG and friends</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our guides started
rounding us up to load into the buses and Dee still hadn't returned. I looked
down at the workers in the parade </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">and there he was, marching between 2 men,
carrying a huge Hungarian flag.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">
Somehow he made it back to the bus with photos of President Kadar and others
who could put him in prison . . . </span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I could hardly wait to get out of this
country! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">That night we went
to a quaint restaurant, decorated with brightly colored embroidered linens and
hand painted pottery. There were gypsy musicians wearing tall, black hats,
puffy shirts and baggy pants tucked into boots. Playing their violins, they
wandered from table to table while we ate Chicken Paprikas and Palatshinken. As
we were eating, some girls at the next table began </span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGlI4X_SQKW-HtoiogNLwfxIdBrt2MnUwfau9gGjKfElmF1omk4o_7_5S43mxfXD7UUakBVggTRHaW6nBz7A8QVMU91tlXyjC4SjFReR5pGq6IE-bUHLVzoywZjcTPieO_u0QS1BUMMaZ/s1600/marty+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="273" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGlI4X_SQKW-HtoiogNLwfxIdBrt2MnUwfau9gGjKfElmF1omk4o_7_5S43mxfXD7UUakBVggTRHaW6nBz7A8QVMU91tlXyjC4SjFReR5pGq6IE-bUHLVzoywZjcTPieO_u0QS1BUMMaZ/s200/marty+4.jpg" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">talking </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">about candle
passings</span></span></b></i></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>.</i></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Back in the dorms
there would frequently be a sign on the door announcing a special ceremony that
night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Everyone would
gather in anticipation, wondering who. Standing in a circle, with crossed arms,
holding hands, we sang love songs while a candle decorated with flowers and
ribbons was passed from girl to girl.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting on the candle was a diamond engagement
ring. There were sighs, and whispers and a few warbles.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">♫
They say there's a tree in the meadow,<br />
a tree that will give you a sign . . .<br />
♫ Come along with me, to the Sweetheart Tree,<br />
♫ Come and carve your name next to mine . . . ♫<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">After the candle
had gone around the circle once, (or twice to add to the suspense,) the lucky
girl blew out the candle and put her ring on. Squeals, hugs and tears would
follow.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">That night in
Budapest someone started passing a candle. It went around one table and then
another before it came to our table. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I was sitting next
to my true love, the gypsies were playing, everyone was watching, and when it
came to me, I blew out the candle. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Our
engagement was official.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>It
must have been a trick candle,<br />
because after forty-eight years, the light is still bright.</i></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Marty’s Love Story</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Chapter
3: February 14, 1969<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was barely
light when I peeked outside that morning. The aroma of fresh bread and hot
chocolate warmed my chilly room and I followed it downstairs for Früstuck.
Salzburg breakfasts are worth getting up for. Baskets of crusty Semmeln (rolls)
chewy and soft, frosted with unsalted butter and raspberry jam; white teapots
filled with cocoa—sleepy students perked up, and the dining room awakened to
quiet chatter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Valentine's Day,
1969, started as usual. After breakfast I skipped upstairs to get ready for
class, and there on my table was a little bouquet of daffodils. A blue piece of
airmail stationery was folded and propped up with a note that said <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Zu die Marty
für Valentine's." I remembered my solicitation for flowers and knew Dee
was the delivery boy.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZ4BlJF1wcVuBCnmbvZ29OGiFDCNt6BraNZEOuBUhZ6jOoz3JSZe7XLRKZKao-zqCYzVrN5xu8_A47y2WSh5hfF_flRJG8J0nPi0yk0CpJnr0jMUEDk1V6pNas9rG3ijy1iq2nmwAzGmI/s1600/marty3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="320" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZ4BlJF1wcVuBCnmbvZ29OGiFDCNt6BraNZEOuBUhZ6jOoz3JSZe7XLRKZKao-zqCYzVrN5xu8_A47y2WSh5hfF_flRJG8J0nPi0yk0CpJnr0jMUEDk1V6pNas9rG3ijy1iq2nmwAzGmI/s400/marty3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Valentine's Day</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My roommates came
in and the news traveled quickly around the hotel. I was a celebrity . . . a
very minor celebrity, but we didn't have any others that day, so it was
exciting.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee met me on the
stairs, and I asked quietly, "Was it you?" He nodded, I gushed and
blushed and we walked to class. At lunchtime there was an incident. A guy in
our group, (who wore bright turquoise Levis, by the way) was offended that
someone had singled me out. He said we should be careful not to pair off; we
should just be a big, happy family during our semester abroad. He didn't want
anyone to feel left out, so he had a big bouquet of flowers with a card that
said, "To all the girls, from all the boys." There may have been a
few who were touched by this gesture, but I privately thought it was lame.
Besides, I liked being singled out.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">That night at
dinner I looked around anxiously, having planned all day how I would casually
sit down by Dee and flirt a little. He didn't come. Maybe he was embarrassed by
all the notoriety. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The next day was
Saturday and I went with my friends to tour Salzburg. We walked up
Getreidegässe and bought gloves, scarves and hats, took pictures of the horse
baths, and looked inside a few churches. I was distracted—shivery, weary and
queasy. I hadn't received any mail from home yet, and suddenly six months
seemed like forever. The novelty was past, washing my clothes in the basin was
a pain, my bed was lumpy and I wanted my mom. Homesickness was new to me and it
was awful. My heart started racing, I felt dizzy and like I was going to throw
up.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Looking back, I
think I had a panic attack. Realizing that I couldn't call, or get in touch
with anyone I loved, thinking that someone could die while I was gone . . . all
the emotions of being far from home for the first time overwhelmed me. Plus, I
figured I'd blown the whole daffodil surprise completely out of proportion.
Obviously Dee wasn't even going to talk to me again. It was a pretty miserable
day.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee was having his
own miserable day. Anxious to go skiing in the Austrian alps (but unable to
afford it) he'd put together a ski trip for 25 of our students, arranged for
ski rentals, buses, and lift passes, all so he could get a discount on his own.
He acted as the translator while all the girls got their boots fitted (the
clerk couldn't get over how big the American girls' feet were!) and finally
they left for Kleinarl.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mrfh_cGIRozZVh6akNQpuBVIH-GLs1pu90gtRvfkbeyWynT_o-0OokLExilSY85U40g-EjgPxn32OU8pB5vxKn9wM_lAipTdU6BfE8SaH6EO39PmEFMQHwMxlmRXrq8Jex0Gt-VMqMN6/s1600/marty14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="960" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mrfh_cGIRozZVh6akNQpuBVIH-GLs1pu90gtRvfkbeyWynT_o-0OokLExilSY85U40g-EjgPxn32OU8pB5vxKn9wM_lAipTdU6BfE8SaH6EO39PmEFMQHwMxlmRXrq8Jex0Gt-VMqMN6/s400/marty14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Austrian Alps</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">After they got to
the ski area, Dee made sure everyone could get along OK, and then took his
first ride up the lift. At the top he saw our buddy (the turquoise Levi boy)
laying in the snow, bleeding profusely. Getting off the ski lift, he'd stabbed
himself in the leg with his ski pole.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee got the ski
patrol and then stayed to translate, skiing down with the stretcher. He ended
up riding in the ambulance back to Salzburg. It was his only experience on
mountain curves at high speeds—his ski day was over.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The next
afternoon, I was studying when Dee knocked on my door. He suggested walking
down the hall to a little office. When we got there, he said he'd been anxious
to apologize to me. He was afraid the daffodils had offended me! I quickly assured
him that I was thrilled to get them, and we started talking. I told him about
being homesick, and how I missed my family, and all about them. I thought later
what a great conversationalist he was . . . he just listened and let me talk
about myself for two hours! How cool can a guy be?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">There was a poem
on a calendar on the wall, and I asked Dee to translate it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">"You
are mine, I am thine.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> This must you
always remember. You are locked inside my heart, and the tiny key is lost. You
must stay inside forever."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our hearts were
opening to each other. We were getting ready to invite each other in, and we
were completely unaware of what that would mean . . . forever.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Marty’s
Love Story Chapter 10:</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Bis
aufs Wiedersehn." Salzburg, 1969</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was time to
wake up: the Salzburg Dream was over. Our semester abroad ended, the 14 final
days touring Europe rolled into each other, and we flew home June 12th. Towards
the end of our long flight, all 65 girls changed into our new dirndls, so we
could greet our parents looking like </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">a giant von Trapp Family.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> (The boys kept their dignity, with normal attire.)
When the wheels of the plane touched down, the whole group cheered and some of
us cried. We arrived very late, after midnight, and our families had been
waiting for several hours. Dee's parents had already gone home to Provo.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyidPqYiaqt9ZeW4bYVAo1ssssH2xnzgGdSSUKmSE-WKhGPydp2nvXaECX6siKR7svi1qiBr0N9ie-p2JRvc9gII2IJhFXvgdhqsan8a-W-rWW-hmCI3s1sgOjRp50C7UFm9biljQIIcE7/s1600/marty15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="745" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyidPqYiaqt9ZeW4bYVAo1ssssH2xnzgGdSSUKmSE-WKhGPydp2nvXaECX6siKR7svi1qiBr0N9ie-p2JRvc9gII2IJhFXvgdhqsan8a-W-rWW-hmCI3s1sgOjRp50C7UFm9biljQIIcE7/s400/marty15.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Marty & Dee--von Trapp family</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">His mother had
received a diagnosis of MS earlier that day, which must have been extremely
upsetting. I can't remember who gave us that information, but we'd heard it by
the time we found my parents. I assured Dee he could stay with us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I had feared the
big meeting with Dee and my parents, since our airmail correspondence had been
so negative. I was excited to be home, and anxious for everyone to like each
other. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I flew into my
dad's arms, and hugged my mom, and then introduced them to Dee. It was cordial,
but stiff. Then I informed them that I had invited Dee to stay at our house
since his folks had left. Their polite faces started slipping, and I suddenly
felt defensive. In later years my mother would become very hospitable in this
kind of situation, but it was the first time a stranger (to her) had ever
stayed overnight. It was also the first time I had announced such an intention
without asking first. We hadn't interacted like this before. Since I was the
oldest child, it was new for our family, and a little awkward. I felt like I
was walking into a stiff wind, but it worked out OK. It was great to see my
family and sleep in my own bed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee slept on the
family room floor.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Did you see Father
of the Bride? It was so reminiscent of our experience. My dad was very
suspicious of the new man in my life, and my mom was restrained. Emotionally, I
had become a woman and they still saw me as a little girl. (It had only been 6
months ... ) I'm sure they assumed I would come home and everything would be
the same, that I would be the same. I wasn't. I had allowed an intruder to
become the biggest part of my life, leaving my family on the sidelines. None of
us knew how to interact.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdx70Sk_aRDILTsRzl53WTW1UMgHasQ8UxrNRdJ-HcOKSHI9SfnSIgu39Gc_QQrYzCYUws1SQ5KdNuZ4cwXjADlknFf9q5YynMyjJdwcpzvN8Z3y_K-aICmzNAC0z-1r2HJimTws3aD5Y_/s1600/marty12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="320" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdx70Sk_aRDILTsRzl53WTW1UMgHasQ8UxrNRdJ-HcOKSHI9SfnSIgu39Gc_QQrYzCYUws1SQ5KdNuZ4cwXjADlknFf9q5YynMyjJdwcpzvN8Z3y_K-aICmzNAC0z-1r2HJimTws3aD5Y_/s400/marty12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My mom had planned
a special welcome home dinner for me with my grandparents, and I, of course,
invited Dee. He was aware of the irony of his status (not at all welcome), and
became reserved and distant.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">This was a side of
him I hadn't seen before and it made me nervous. My parents were not showing
off very well, either, and I felt extremely tense and uncomfortable. Halfway
through dinner something happened that I have never forgotten.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My Grama leaned
over the table and whispered (in a Grama whisper that everyone could hear) </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">"Marty, he's
real quality."</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> I appreciated her
so much at that moment! I needed approval and encouragement from someone I
loved, and she had given the thumbs up.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So now reality set
in. Although Dee lived only an hour away, it was as if we were on different
planets. We were back in our parent's homes, without a car between us.
Telephoning long distance was expensive and reserved for emergency 3-minute
calls, so we had to write letters. After spending all day, every day, together,
this was a shock and we were miserable. We had no income, work, or savings, and
according to my dad, no future. My folks figured if they ignored the situation,
it would go away. I had no one to talk to, or dream with. It felt like our
whole romance had been imagined. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee immediately
got 2 jobs, and I went back to work in my dad's Optometrist's office. Two weeks
later, Dee surprised me at work, arriving in his<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New (used '67) light blue VW bug. He asked if
I wanted to go for a walk. I got very grudging permission from my boss, and we
strolled around downtown SLC to the Assembly Hall. It was the middle of the
afternoon, we were all alone in a beautiful room, and Dee told me he hated for
us to be apart. He thought he had a solution to our difficult situation. He
pulled a box from his pocket and there was a beautiful, antiqued diamond
engagement ring. He figured we could get married in 2 months. "By then
we'll be rich." (We've been using this line now for 48 years ... it's a
good line.) I was overjoyed! It was for real.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We went back to my
dad's office, but he'd left for the golf course. Dee drove me home and we just
happened to pass my Grampa driving on the freeway! We pulled up close to him,
honked and waved and I pointed to my new ring. He honked back, making cheering
signs, grinning from ear to ear. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98FQzVNpOX7gYTB8UAdACsOw0edDCyPiqQkYsiU50XhAPD1hZxKW4d57cpiCbS9vxZJxc_e7y-UB-11J3IQGav4T4VVAL4RVpCJkvryu843QoHaAF4b0t01BnkXL4z3fqmibKFtSkHKLJ/s1600/marty4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98FQzVNpOX7gYTB8UAdACsOw0edDCyPiqQkYsiU50XhAPD1hZxKW4d57cpiCbS9vxZJxc_e7y-UB-11J3IQGav4T4VVAL4RVpCJkvryu843QoHaAF4b0t01BnkXL4z3fqmibKFtSkHKLJ/s1600/marty4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My
grandparents were awesome!</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We got to my
house, anxious to announce our news. Nobody was home. We talked and planned and
waited. Finally, I heard my dad getting out of the neighbor's car. I ran out,
flashing my diamond, squealing with delight. Dad took a look, opened the trunk
to get out his clubs and went into the garage without a word. Mr. Glazier
hugged me, shook Dee's hand, and congratulated us with exuberance. Dad walked
into the house and got in the shower.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">When Mom came
home, she reacted with surprise and reluctant acceptance. Over the next few
days she got excited about planning a wedding with all the trimmings. That was
ironic, because I didn't want a wedding. I wanted a small dinner. I had always
thought it would be silly to spend the biggest night of my life shaking hands
with my mom's friends, and my dad's business associates. But, </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">whatever ... I was
getting married!!</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> Let mom plan her
wedding and invite her friends. I was getting married!!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dad wouldn't talk
about it for 3 days, and then he started suggesting that we wait a year, or at
least until December. He said he couldn't afford a wedding so soon. (Why wasn't
anyone listening to me??) By then, mom was talking dresses and florists,
photographers and invitations, and eventually Dad realized it was happening
with or without his approval. It actually took another year and the birth of
our first baby for Dad to accept my marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first several months when we visited
my folks, Dee sat downstairs and read National Geographic because </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">nobody would talk
to him!</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbSNdUPBNiGZhTgSu5Cl74S3gHBSxid3aon991Vq-Xl9Mugg7pNla7m1wa1iW8BBj56stNvCH8z1eJRkX-_Byq0uUCWPOPZtKHDRpdwARq9fAif4yy9lC3w7HuopV3DakkA2KztUFbgMLN/s1600/marty9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="960" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbSNdUPBNiGZhTgSu5Cl74S3gHBSxid3aon991Vq-Xl9Mugg7pNla7m1wa1iW8BBj56stNvCH8z1eJRkX-_Byq0uUCWPOPZtKHDRpdwARq9fAif4yy9lC3w7HuopV3DakkA2KztUFbgMLN/s320/marty9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Although our
engagement was short it seemed endless. Dee worked at a golf course and didn't
get off until an hour after dark, so by the time he could get to my house it
was 11:00 pm. We'd talk until 3:00 am, when he'd leave because his other job
started at 8:00 am. This schedule allowed us to see each other only a few hours
a week. In Salzburg we had studied, walked and talked, and now we wrote
letters. The only real date we ever had was the day we went to get our marriage
license. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We went to a movie
afterwards, and as cheesy as it sounds, </span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">the movie was Sound of Music!</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our obsession and
loyalty to all things Austrian can be traced to our beginnings. Our semester
abroad in Salzburg was more than either of us had expected. While living in
central Germany for 2 years, Dee had planned to return to Bavaria to study. As
a sophomore in high school, I had a student teacher who introduced the idea of
going to school in Salzburg. In our separate worlds we had both worked and
saved until the perfect time and opportunity presented itself. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It started as a
dream and it became a dream come true.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Marty
Celebrating Dee-Day!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee is a War Baby,
born 9 months (plus a few hours) after his WWII soldier dad returned to his
waiting wife, 71 years ago today. A true Boomer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">You could not meet
a more interesting guy. That's a direct result of the fact that he's interested
. . . in EVERYTHING. By the time I met Dee when he was 22 he was already an
expert in European History, World Geography, the British Military, photography,
German philosophy, politics and US current events. He collected coins and
stamps, knew diverse things about music, Rommel, Hubert Humphrey and art. I was
fascinated.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">He'd worked in a
pizza place, hoed sugar beets, stocked fabric bolts, and managed a pro-shop at
a golf course, saving for college from the time he was 13. He'd lived in
Germany, met Bobby Kennedy, been a boy scout, worked at Grand Canyon,
skinny-dipped in the river, hunted pheasants, and made fires to roast
grasshoppers for a picnic. He'd tracked trains, then put nails and coins on the
tracks to watch them get flattened. He had a Tom Sawyer type childhood, a
hard-working, studious youth, and was smarter than anyone I'd ever met.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">After receiving a
triple degree in German, European Studies and History from BYU, Dee had planned
to go into Foreign Service, the CIA or the Intelligence field. But with the
reality of a wife and two kids already, he found a job in real estate as a
developer and builder. He built about 50 homes, a subdivision, some condos, office
buildings and a business park and was involved in the politics of water rights,
irrigation feuds, and building permits. He arbitrated, negotiated, and
stagnated. It was time to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2VmaJRJDYGrvJj2PSiuSuaO8sM1CRmiKf6aOLrN5ugWAbg5alWxLhqDffyQ2G4OGJBPgfJMUw1gEbcUV9NNAdLs6hXN1pUmSALrH0HPI3DHYTJfH9WmpEfl-u2yrglEwaILqPmw_JF_e/s1600/marty13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="884" data-original-width="1142" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2VmaJRJDYGrvJj2PSiuSuaO8sM1CRmiKf6aOLrN5ugWAbg5alWxLhqDffyQ2G4OGJBPgfJMUw1gEbcUV9NNAdLs6hXN1pUmSALrH0HPI3DHYTJfH9WmpEfl-u2yrglEwaILqPmw_JF_e/s400/marty13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">After reinventing
himself with a year at The King's Manor in York, England he received another
degree in Architectural History and Preservation. Dee's first business venture
after returning home was to sponsor a three-day, world-wide conference on
retro-fitting historic buildings with hydraulic springs to prevent damage
during an earthquake. The SL City and County Building was the first building to
benefit from the new technology. The conference was well-attended by architects
from all over the world who wanted to observe and learn firsthand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">He began writing
books on historic buildings, and architectural styles and features, which led
to books about towns, individuals, businesses and families. He's now written
over 75 books. He becomes an expert on each new topic, spending months, even
years, studying the various subjects.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It's fun to watch
Dee immerse himself in a new interest. When he wrote a book about a Jewish
Rabbi in Seattle, it led him to 1860's silver mines in Colorado and the
beginnings of a rabbinical school in Cincinnati. The story of a San Francisco
bridge building company took us to an ancestral winery in Germany, as well as a
study of the construction of the Chunnel.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Early logging in
Ontario's rivers, and the establishment of Quaker Meetings in Pennsylvania,
pirates settling Newfoundland and ghost towns in Southern Utah have become a
few areas of expertise for Dee. </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueAtDoY3vtxHSQgxGtgIOmPz1FwT0Pxl7icBZ_Y8wt-HliJ9-uy3ZXJKGCuqekUqiJVO93KfK35fgyZ3QzEQmVQO7FwpgCkfH_004d_ZL37heWvc1uJNiE6k1wmO851obLY35OpKq6P3n/s1600/14608729_10209645249519372_7284333644625201388_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueAtDoY3vtxHSQgxGtgIOmPz1FwT0Pxl7icBZ_Y8wt-HliJ9-uy3ZXJKGCuqekUqiJVO93KfK35fgyZ3QzEQmVQO7FwpgCkfH_004d_ZL37heWvc1uJNiE6k1wmO851obLY35OpKq6P3n/s400/14608729_10209645249519372_7284333644625201388_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">He loves to dig out the stories behind the
stories and he becomes well acquainted with people long gone. He knows people's
businesses and ancestors better than they do themselves, and he appreciates the
hard work and sacrifice of unknown heroes. His research skills are superb. He
can find everything that's been written about anything, consolidate and unify
the information, add to it, and then condense it to a form that's factual and
entertaining. He would find the history of dirt intriguing, and you would, too,
when he wrote it down!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee has an
incredible memory for dates and places involving anyone else, and when he gets
going on a little historic recitation he's thorough to the point of, well . . .
thoroughness. Right now he's writing his own history, which is a great thing.
Looking back on life is a wonderful way to count your blessings!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Some memories get
lost in the giant library of his mind.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We got married 48
years ago, in September, and a few weeks later on his birthday I baked him a
cake. He came home from school, saw it on the table and was overcome. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">"I've never
had a birthday cake before,"</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> he
told me emotionally. He hadn't??? Where was his mother??? What kind of deprived
childhood had he come from??? I vowed to make it all up to him. I'd give him
memorable celebrations that would overwhelm his past disappointments.</span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The next year,
true to my promise, I baked him a triple decker. When he walked in, his eyes
misted over and he whispered tremulously, <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Oh, my gosh,
Dear. I've never had a birthday cake before."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Like I said, he's
an interesting guy. The best part is that he's interested in me!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Happy Birthday,
Dear!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Ich hab dich immer
noch ganz Lieb! (I still love you!)</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnYFLy6OPkY2fJ-VH95R4AA41OUC5KzJBIoArHxiIZ9h948Md1V07m8RvDxwEOPy0pgZ8Lqm5zk2YYVDQg5x0n40_cP-OZ6acry57WrrtE4B1KitC8C1bAL6-H8pWXJmDAffdK0J6qYrr/s1600/marty8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnYFLy6OPkY2fJ-VH95R4AA41OUC5KzJBIoArHxiIZ9h948Md1V07m8RvDxwEOPy0pgZ8Lqm5zk2YYVDQg5x0n40_cP-OZ6acry57WrrtE4B1KitC8C1bAL6-H8pWXJmDAffdK0J6qYrr/s400/marty8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Just send us
to Switzerland and perch us on an alp with a drop-dead view. You don't have to
visit us or worry about us. We'll be supremely happy and when it's time we'll
just keel over into eternal bliss."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nobody has taken
us seriously. By that I mean nobody has bought us tickets yet. But we didn't
count on God overhearing our request. When God overhears a request, He always
grants it, but with His own little twist. "You want to spend your last
years on a mountain top?? Great idea! I'll help you get there!!"<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The past two weeks
we've been on a rocky road. Dee had a hip replacement, which turned into a
fractured femur, which turned into a short miserable stint in rehab before he
was sent back for a long miserable stint in the hospital. It has seemed like we
wouldn't have the option of a mountain view. But good nurses, doctors, aides,
physical therapists, friends, family, and the good Lord blessed Dee in a
variety of ways and yesterday a big strong man took hold of Dee, placed him in
a wheelchair and took him off to Rocky Mountain rehab. I watched Dee turn the
corner. It was awesome!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Then we saw what
was around the corner. The mountain! Heavenly Father must have smiled when He
thought, "I'll give them their drop-dead view. But they have to want it
enough to make the climb!"<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So now we're at
the trailhead, lots of experienced climbers all around with good advice, ropes,
pulleys, and encouragement. Plenty of time to get to the top, and assurances
that the climb itself will be a great adventure with fabulous views and lots of
good company. Except its very scary for me, knowing either of us could fall or
get discouraged and just sit down and wait to keel over. But why would Heavenly
Father promise such a glorious view if He isn't going to help us get there? I
know we can get there. I've learned some things since that first discussion
about our demise, and one of them is there's not much to discuss. </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6smnVZJFAlS5f4pELzZzyL5DpSwojfN4U_nNnE_RxII9Ayp4SSsPaS87QxLjxicguFPkv0NgipcxJ2tdmBEQ4TQwrH5n_mnPaxtlgaPcnml9QRDCFVgi7YIYlUTLvozb-z0AF1FSdG3c/s1600/marty19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="935" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6smnVZJFAlS5f4pELzZzyL5DpSwojfN4U_nNnE_RxII9Ayp4SSsPaS87QxLjxicguFPkv0NgipcxJ2tdmBEQ4TQwrH5n_mnPaxtlgaPcnml9QRDCFVgi7YIYlUTLvozb-z0AF1FSdG3c/s400/marty19.jpg" width="388" /></a></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
We're not in charge. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Deciding how our life will be at 70</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">, when we're 40, is
like deciding how our life will be at 40 when we're 10. We just don't know!
Life will surprise us. Assuming we'll know how and when we'll want "to
go" is a folly of youthful thinking. Our definitions of "a full
life" and "quality of life" and "reason for life"
change and surprise us. We grieve, then adjust to changes in our physical
abilities, and rejoice in the changes in our spiritual abilities. We have
gained more precious ground than we've lost in these so-called declining years.
Getting old is full of unexpected blessings!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee used to say,
"When it's hopeless, just pull my plug." Well, there is no plug.
Which is lucky because there are a lot of times when it seems hopeless, but
hope is just around the corner. With mountains to climb.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Feeling scared,
with all their eyes upon me, reminds me why I have to be brave! Twenty-four
sets of eyes unknowingly watch an example of how we react in tough times. They
are my incentive to dig deep until I strike courage. The example the grandkids
give me is "Live with Joy." I can do that!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Sixty-eight years
ago today my mom and dad got married. At the wedding breakfast my grampa gave a
tribute to his new daughter-in-law. He said he had a special wedding present
for her, something that had been in the family for years</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>a diamond clip.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RsH7zSlp_AQ9Djm5fxxHTqA1y1XlafoS0mu-W2zTCXQtcCdt5qZjFfFeFMIjanrk4MAm1F4H0tpLsUhCySwnYWQwsWUT0DZCty-C0W9MTuo8JHuikhoaI9c8SCgw3i6QVSc-mWdP2_Df/s1600/mrty10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RsH7zSlp_AQ9Djm5fxxHTqA1y1XlafoS0mu-W2zTCXQtcCdt5qZjFfFeFMIjanrk4MAm1F4H0tpLsUhCySwnYWQwsWUT0DZCty-C0W9MTuo8JHuikhoaI9c8SCgw3i6QVSc-mWdP2_Df/s1600/mrty10.jpg" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Then he gave her a
black velvet box and when she opened it she found ...<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> a dime and clip. </i></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Funny things
happen on April Fool's Day!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Marty
Bagley Halverson’s MOM story</i></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My biggest fear as
a little girl was that I'd die before I had kids—I could hardly wait to be a
mom. My dream came true July 11, 1970.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Gabi was whisked
away to an incubator right after she was born (breach) and I didn't get to see
her until she was four hours old. When the nurse’s wheeled six infants into the
hospital ward (babies stayed in the nursery in those days) mine was the only
one crying. The other five mothers were skilled at cuddling and nursing, and I
imagined their criticism as I tried to quiet my newborn's wails. It was
stressful, feeding did not go well, and I was exhausted and relieved when they
took her away.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nowadays new moms
jump out of bed and go home hours after delivery, but forty-seven years ago we
were wimps. We stayed in the hospital three or four days, and a nurse had to
walk us to the bathroom or the sitzbath down the hall. Every four hours they
brought my hysterical child; I began to dread it. Motherhood was much harder
than I'd imagined. Then we had to go home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">On my own, I
panicked. I wondered why anyone thought I could be left alone with a baby—I
didn't know what to do! Wasn't inexperience a form of child abuse? Gabi cried
all the time and so did I. When she was a week old I realized I'd never even
said a prayer to be thankful for her, and (I'll admit it now) I wasn't sure I
was. The whole thing was so overwhelming, so demanding and so constant.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">When I told this story
to a friend years later, she asked, "How old were you?"
"Twenty," I said. "No wonder," she said. "I felt the
same way and I was almost thirty." She went on, "I should have waited
a few more years. I just wasn't ready."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I'm so glad I
didn't wait until I was ready! How would I get ready anyway? It would be like
taking swimming lessons without any water: treading water was just a concept
until the day I was in the pool and couldn't touch the bottom. Panic was my
first reaction, and I floundered and went under. But then I came back up and
discovered I could stay afloat. I learned to relax, and little by little the
constant movement of my arms and legs felt natural and routine. That's how
motherhood happened for me, too. I needed to be in the experience.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Even as it was
happening, I could see that Gabi was teaching me how to be a mother. Now, in
retrospect, I am convinced that's the way it was meant to happen. If I'd waited
until I was ready, I'd still be waiting. Happily, it didn't occur to me to wait
for anybody, in fact I could hardly wait for them to arrive. They were already
my life's work.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I chose motherhood
as my career. It was never something I fit in around the edges of my life—it
was my life. Like with any career, my early days on the job were daunting, and
I wondered if I could really do it. Like with any career, there were times when
I felt overworked and undervalued. I got tired of the uniform, the cafeteria
and the people I worked with. Who doesn't? But thirty years later I retired
with competence, experience and full benefits.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My life now is
full of benefits—I have fun times with 38 kids and grandkids, and appreciate
their love and encouragement more than ever before. Dee supported my career
choice, worked hard to make it possible and buoyed me up in sinking moments.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">This is what I
believe: I believe I knew this group in heaven before I was born and had to
leave them behind when I came to earth. The yearning I felt to be a mom was
because I missed being with them, so I was compelled to get them all here as
fast as I could. In that respect, I was totally ready.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I'm offering a
prayer of thanksgiving now. I'm so thankful to be a mother!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Marty’s </span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Happiness</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"> Project</span></i></b><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Forty-eight years
ago we started an experiment in happiness. A family is the perfect laboratory
for testing philosophies on religion, education, health, relationships,
finances . . . actually every philosophy is tested in a family. Living right in
the Mother 'hood, I could observe, analyze and evaluate what creates joy. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My first
discovery: being married is much more than getting married. There were lots of
crazy ideas about love floating around in 1969. "Love means never having
to say you're sorry" turned out to be a bad one. I thought love meant
being patient with Dee until he realized I was right. That wasn't any good
either. My experiment in happiness has taught me about marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I think sex keeps
a newly married couple in a state of frenzy long enough for them to start
developing some relationship skills (communication, empathy, understanding, and
patience) to add to the romance of it all. It takes some humility to realize
you need those qualities, and some effort to gain them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">With practice,
good relationship skills can mature into dependability, responsibility, trust
and commitment; eventually the goal is charity, or pure love. The miracle is
not falling in love, it's staying in love. Like Neil Diamond sings, "Love
is not about you, it's not about me. Love is all about we."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Psychiatrists,
therapists, ministers, teachers—think of all the experts who are trying to
figure out marriage. A blessing of my happiness project is that I have studied
it in depth and I'm beginning to get it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Kids were the
natural result of the frenzied years. We wanted them, but we weren't sure why.
They turned out to be a combination of adorable, frustrating, entertaining,
challenging and always there. That was the hardest part of living in the 'hood:
the constancy. Love took on a whole new dimension, with no place to hide from
anxiety, worry and stress. Crisis management and split-second decisions became
daily events. There was no escaping it, so I learned to cope.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Again, think of
all the seminars, discussion groups and drills designed to prepare folks to
deal with emergencies. I gained those skills on the job. I can think fast,
multi-task, create calm from chaos, and take charge. It's a blessing to know I
would be a leader in difficult circumstances.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwD-2xs7NJZVyzAEvRoNACjjyQYDq-3GYddyM4Kwj2FA5VQZsiAyg2Kac1CdeyeljbLt-obwl9oBDjokuc3IT9qAdpQ4oeEzga7vCT5V24QfFVhx_UqC3_t2yl1UWaRsTrFc5i7_IAYgL/s1600/marty18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwD-2xs7NJZVyzAEvRoNACjjyQYDq-3GYddyM4Kwj2FA5VQZsiAyg2Kac1CdeyeljbLt-obwl9oBDjokuc3IT9qAdpQ4oeEzga7vCT5V24QfFVhx_UqC3_t2yl1UWaRsTrFc5i7_IAYgL/s400/marty18.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The blessing I
cherish most is the relationship with our kids. </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">Besides loving them, I like
them. They're funny, smart, kind, caring, helpful, creative . . . they're my
best friends. </span></i></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">People ask what we did to raise such a great group. I always
answer that they came good. But there was some work involved: I read a zillion
books on kids and tried all the trendy theories.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">In the end,
though, we subscribed to the best child-raising philosophy around. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The scriptures say:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">"And it came
to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nephi 5:27 (Book
of Mormon)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So we looked into
it. King Benjamin's advice became our standard:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">"And ye will
not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer
that they fight and quarrel one with another . . . But ye will teach them to
walk in the ways of truth and soberness; ye will teach them to love one
another, and to serve one another."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">—Mosiah 4:14-15<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our other motto
was:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><i>"And they
shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the
Lord."<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><i>—Doctrine and
Covenants 68:28<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><i>I've had a
lifelong Happiness Project.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><i>And, I have to
say, it's worked.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Marty’s Career Training:<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Got
the job ... got the dress ... got the shoes ... got the boss.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">He was my dad. I'm
sure I was hired mainly to give my mother a break. I was 13, and I was dang
good at it: I argued, I burst into tears, I swore, I slammed my bedroom door.
It was time for Dad to take over and teach me what life was all about.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">On the first day
of summer, at 8:15 am, we were out the door. Dad had fixed me his standard breakfast—
an eggnog. He poured milk and orange juice into the blender, added a little
sugar, vanilla, a couple of raw eggs and some ice, and whipped it into a froth
that was delicious. (Years later Orange Julius became famous for the same
concoction.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My hair was still
wet; I put it up in curlers and hung my head out the window as we drove
downtown so it would be dry and poufy. Using the rear-view mirror, I lined my
eyes with a black pencil, fluffed on some turquoise eyeshadow and perfected my
pout with white, frosty lipstick. I had to look professional.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dad was an
optometrist. He had an office and appointments, with real patients paying good
money for glasses and contact lenses. It took several weeks for that to sink
in. Although my job was to dust the frame display cases, change the toilet
paper roll and straighten the magazines in the waiting room, I was usually on
line 3, chatting with Sherrie.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Apparently my boss
found that inappropriate. We had a few discussions about it in the back room.
There was no Human Resource Department where either of us could lodge our
complaints, so in the end he gave me a written job description that hung on the
bathroom door. Soon I got into the morning routine of emptying the waste
baskets, and cleaning the toilet. Dad taught me how to vacuum (the wheel
follows the inside path of the last vacuum track so there aren't small areas
that never get cleaned. And did you know it's supposed to take two hours to
thoroughly vacuum an office?)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Running errands
was the duty I enjoyed most. My white-soled nurse's shoes skipped along the
sparkly, granite sidewalk as I ran to the bank, the post-office, the pharmacy
and the laundry. Twice a day I went up the street to the Stock Exchange where
there was a soft-drink machine that sold little green bottles of icy-cold Coca
Cola. I would love to visit a summer afternoon when we took a break, chugged
our cokes and chatted like friends, while Dad laughed and teased, and taught
me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Gradually I got
promotions. I learned to file, answer the phone, make appointments, write
checks and balance the check book. Oh, there were still days when the boss
caught me reading Ingenue or painting my nails. (Why hasn't someone invented
odorless fingernail polish?) When he left early, the vacuum tracks were very
far apart and the task took me less than five minutes. But I kept my job for
several years. I even got regular raises.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Isn't that just
like a dad? He paid me to learn what only he could teach. I thought I'd learned
it all, so I grew up. Over the years, as I spouted all my wisdom and
inspiration to my own kids, I vaguely recognized my expressions. They were the
same ones I'd heard my boss use all those summers ago.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Vacuuming,
organizing, balancing a check book and chugging a coke were important life
skills to acquire. I also learned to laugh, hope, love and work from my first
boss. He's been gone for eighteen years, but those lessons and memories are
forever in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My father had a
great deal of trouble with me. But I think he enjoyed it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">---paraphrased
from Mark Twain<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Marty’s
September child</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Back in the day
when babies chose their own birthday, the doctor told my mom to expect me
August 9th. I waited for September. For 68 years now I’ve been waiting for
September. It’s the quintessential month. Even more than January for me, it’s a
time to begin again. Maybe it’s because that’s when I first began. I love
September!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">September has a
personality; still colorful, it’s muted. No longer lime, aquamarine,
firecracker red, the world looks loden, navy and crimson. Autumn moves us from
glaring to glowing, a bit of subtlety that’s calming. The air is even
different, like a luxurious perfume after the vibrant top notes have worn off,
and there’s a deeper, richer fragrance to revel in.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Being a September
child has influenced me. There are only 30 days in September and I always need
31. I plan and organize my schedule to the nth degree; I use every second right
up until the last second, and then realize I’ve overdone it, so I’m almost
always late. Not too late: just enough that I tumble in a minute or two after
things are under way, embarrassed to look slapdash when I was so structured an
hour before. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">School starts for
me every September. After high school I went to BYU for a couple of years
before I decided on a full-time career as an Intentional Mother. (That’s my own
name for myself, rather than Just a Mother. It was 1970, and I often had to
defend my choice to stay home and have babies.) Before my first baby was born I
read a book called How to Give Your Child a Superior Mind. (I just looked and
it’s on Amazon for $299.99!) I created a curriculum and when Gabi was two
months old I was deep into home-schooling. I tied helium balloons to her feet
so she’d watch them as she kicked, I blew colored bubbles on the floor to guide
where she crawled, we finger painted with pudding and I talked to her in rhyme.
She was born with a superior mind, but these exercises taught me a ton about
how babies develop. Without realizing it, I’d started a self-education program,
studying parenting, child psychology, early childhood education ... I listed
topics I wanted to explore in my journal, and consistently acquired
information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the years I studied a
lot of history and geography; I’ve got five bookshelves dedicated to books on
writing! I retired from full-time motherhood after thirty-one years in 2001,
and for the first time my year didn’t start in September and end in May. But I
followed the habits of a lifetime, and every August I still list subjects I
want to study, and outline assignments for myself. Right now I’m focused on
ukulele, photo editing, teaching skills and religion. In September I love to
jump-start learning.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>My climate, like
September, is mostly mild.</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> I can get heated and very occasionally frosty, but
my temperature is usually warm, sunny and comfortable. My temperament is fairly
consistent and tranquil. Because September and remember sit together in my
vocabulary list, I’m scrupulously sentimental. Saving memories for my old age
has been a lifelong hobby and I love rummaging through the drawers of my mind
and reframing pictures of people and places. Sifting through things I learned
back then and inserting them into the outline of things I’m learning now is my
ideal study guide.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Yes, I love to
remember Septembers. I got married in September, had two of my babies in
September, three precious grandkids were born in September. It’s a month of
joy, and happily here we are again! All year I wait for September!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Marty
and Dee Halverson’s homework assignment today. </i></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
loved his reply.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Dear
Opa,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Can you describe
what it means to be living in America? This story can be a past or present
story but one that represents the different stories/perspectives of people
living in America.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">If you can't do an
Audio recording my teacher will probably be alright.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Thanks,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Jake<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Dear
Jake,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Thanks for the
opportunity to help with your school project. When I read the topic of what it
means to live in America, four distinct thoughts came to mind.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">1) I pictured my
ancestors leaving their Danish and British homelands to come to America to
enjoy more freedom. I know that they must have been inspired by the poetic
words of Emma Lazarus written on the base of the Statue of Liberty:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Give me your
tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched
refuse of your teeming short. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I
lift my lamp beside the golden door.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I admire the
courage and determination of these forefathers who sacrificed much to make
freedom more available to their posterity.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">2) When I was 19
years old, I traveled to Germany where I lived for two years. It had only been
twenty years since the end of World War II, and the German people were still
struggling to recover from the massive devastation that war had brought upon
them. As I talked to the people, I was amazed at the terrible cost they
suffered under the totalitarian Nazi dictatorship. I soon realized what it was
like for them to live without any personal freedom. It made me appreciate the
freedoms that I had taken for granted as an American.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Freedom to vote in
free elections, choose from among many education options, and choose my own
career-path took on a whole new meaning to me.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">3) As a college
student living in Europe, I had an opportunity to visit the Communist country
of Hungary. During my stay I experienced the propaganda and pageantry of their
May Day parade. This was their most attended celebration, since the government
dictated that everyone in the city of Budapest would attend to show the world
how happy and prosperous they were under the Communist dictatorship.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">After the parade
was over we met with a group of Hungarian students, who explained to us in
perfect English the merits of Marx and Lenin. As we got to know them a little
more, they were dying to know about the freedoms of expression, music, and
clothing style they had heard about in the West.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I was impressed
that these students were just like me in so many ways in terms of their hopes
and dreams for the future. Sadly, they lived in a totalitarian state where
their choices were extremely limited, and where their own personal freedoms
were non-existent.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">4) Years later,
when living with my wife and seven children in England, I experienced at first-hand
another culture with limited freedoms. I was surprised at the British system of
education which dictates that all students must pass certain exams at the age
of 14 in order to move on to higher education. These test scores determined
whether a student would go on to college, attend trade school, or take an
apprenticeship in the labor force.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I then realized
how fortunate I was, despite my mental readiness at age 14, to have
opportunities to get as much education as I wanted. The freedom to choose my
own career path was a great lesson that I do not take for granted.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Jake, is it any
wonder that even today waves of immigrants want to come to America to enjoy
these freedoms? We are a nation of immigrants and are strengthened by their own
courage and determination.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Love,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">OPA<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Watching the stars come out on my porch
tonight<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I found myself in a favorite memory</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Marty Bagley Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Sing The
Teddy Bear Song!" </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">we coaxed Dad and Uncle Mel. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was a warm
summer night, and the moon was out. I was about nine, lazing on one of grama's
quilts with all my little cousins around me, looking up at the stars, while
Aunt Ree strummed her ukulele, and the moths buzzed around the porch light.
Family picnics always ended this way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Grampa's fresh
peaches had been cranked into ice-cream. In the cellar under the back porch,
the freezer with the rock salt and ice were covered with newspapers and left to
finish the process. Corn-on-the-cob dripped with butter, cucumbers brined in
vinegar, and sweet onions scented the air. Raspberries were eaten right off the
bushes, and very sour, green apples begged for salt.<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">There was a big
brick stove at the back of the yard where hamburgers sizzled, waiting to be
dressed with homegrown tomatoes. Watermelon rind pickles, and chili sauce were
on the table along with an empty dish of olives. We kids scampered around the
yard, with a black olive stuck on every finger. We almost fell into the
goldfish pond, hid behind the hollyhock bushes, and rolled down the sloping
lawn, while our moms hustled the food outside and in, and our dads re-hashed
the ballgame. Almost heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The best part was
after it started to get dark. Grama and Grampa harmonized as they sang Shine on
Harvest Moon, and we all joined in on Are You From Dixie (for some reason I
thought I was from Dixie when we sang that song!) Our sing-a-long was a crazy
variety, including Little Grass Shack, Edelweiss, When the Saints Go Marching
In, and Bill Groggan's Goat. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The favorites,
however, were totally ours. My dad and his brother used to combine lines from
lots of songs and create medleys. The Teddy-Bear Song started out with
"Honey won't you look into your baby's eyes..." rolled into
"Sweet Adeline was singing down in Dixieland..."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and somewhere in the middle ran into this
ditty:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">"Well, I had a little teddy bear that
had no tail,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Just a little patch of hair.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">The sun came out and burnt the hair away,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">And left the little teddy bear."<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">"Mister Mo-on, bright and shiny moon,
<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Please shine down on,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk
about your shinin', <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Please shine down on me."<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Babies and
toddlers fell asleep as we crooned to that moon. As the oldest grandchild I
prided myself on staying awake 'til the very last song. I even knew all the
words.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nothing calms my
soul like counting blessings under the stars on a summer night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Marty Bagley Halverson <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">And sorry I could not travel both<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">And be one traveler, long I stood<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">And looked down one as far as I could<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">To where it bent in the undergrowth ...<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">... I shall be telling this with a sigh<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Somewhere ages and ages hence:<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I took the one less traveled by,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">And that has made all the difference.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">—Robert Frost<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Marty Bagley Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">There
are different kinds of Road Trips.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Sometimes a person
is the road we take: a bundled baby, a challenged child, a sick spouse, a
depressed boss, a lonely grandma. We reach the end of that road as a different
traveler, with more refined character traits. We've discovered varying caches
of patience, tolerance, and kindness hidden along the roadside, inhaled huge
breaths of dependability and consistency. That road leads to new roads, with
opportunities to use our new skills.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Other times we
trek along unfamiliar roads with strangers who become beloved friends as we
discover the way together. We trip over stones, sweat up steep hills, ache 'til
we cry, laugh 'til we ache. We share stories 'til we can tell each other’s
stories with creative new twists! Generous expressions of trust, love and
encouragement make a difference in our capacities. The journey is more valuable
than the destination.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Once in a while we
get the chance to travel a road with the noble intention of actually making a
difference to the people we meet. Usually this starts as a solo journey, with a
promise that God will chart the course, and place people in the path to
influence you, or be influenced by you, in positive, uplifting and lasting
ways.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I watched Jake
today as we pulled into his Road to Make a Difference. His smile spread from
his forehead to the dimple by his eye, across his cheeks, adding sparkle to his
baby blues, a newly perfected smile seemed to stretch ear to ear. He leaped
from the car, heaved his giant suitcases to the ground. He took no time to
ponder his direction: that had been decided long ago. He was ready to get ready
to make a difference. A quick hug for the Opi's and he was already in the
yellow wood, stepping onto his road.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Traffic patterns
around here are changing, I can get lost on a round-about, and disoriented by
lane lines. Roads are diverging and directions seem confusing. It's time to
decide where I want to end up, look down a road as far as I can, and see if it
will take me to where I want to go. Then I'll try to make the best choice. That
will make all the difference.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Marty
Bagley Halverson </span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">is with Dee Halverson.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Not the photo I
want to post! I wish it was a picture of us on a train to Brienz or
Getreidegasse in Salzburg. Those are memories I'm so grateful we have tucked
away in our hearts. I'll always remember hearing a Prophet of God counsel us to
make good memories because there would come a time we would live on those
memories. The time has come for us.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee is in the
Neurology Critical Care Unit of U of U Hospital right now, while wonderful
doctors study his body to see why a crippling paralysis is robbing him of
strength. His legs have been weakening, his balance is compromised, and now his
arms and neck have been effected. The past few weeks he has had intense
physical therapy, but in spite of that, he has gone from a cane, to a walker,
to a wheelchair, to a hospital bed this summer.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We're experiencing
many emotions: increased love for each other; appreciation and gratitude for
our seven devoted kids and their families; love and dependence on extended
family and dear, dear friends. Grief reminds us that many wonderful times will
never happen again, but there's anticipation for unexpected new <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Challenges. In the
Bible, Caleb, age 85, was given the challenge to fight in a land inhabited by
giants. His response was "Give me this mountain!" (Joshua 14:12) I
like that attitude. I want to exhibit that courage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Early in our
courtship 49 years ago, we found that if we allowed God to be part of our
friendship and then our marriage, there was a power we could not achieve as
just a couple. We are so blessed to know that we are not going through this
alone, that the Savior will literally save us from ultimate despair, that He
will remind us of our temple covenants and the promises of an eternal family,
that He will temper the forces that otherwise would knock us down.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I may not be able
to respond quickly and graciously to your expressions of kindness, but they are
so precious to us. I feel like we are nestled in a cocoon of love. But now, I
have a mountain ahead of me!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Wells
Dee Halverson</span></i></b><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewVCdkFPCFMPHxAsI7iWOMvoYO00LtkQKaxq9FInlc59SijX7kM2cctpDVbFyJHVbcNDxOjI-l01exwQ6koBD5-90L5N5y7iiw7JdOc0-GVC_SDmiCgwhColNas9GmCRA-yr_wrDQqOjY/s1600/12072804_10206973818215259_7027760611725816478_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="510" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewVCdkFPCFMPHxAsI7iWOMvoYO00LtkQKaxq9FInlc59SijX7kM2cctpDVbFyJHVbcNDxOjI-l01exwQ6koBD5-90L5N5y7iiw7JdOc0-GVC_SDmiCgwhColNas9GmCRA-yr_wrDQqOjY/s400/12072804_10206973818215259_7027760611725816478_n.jpg" width="262" /></a></span></i></b></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">1946-2018<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Wells Dee
Halverson, a true baby boomer, was born in Provo, Utah on October 5, 1946. </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">He died in Salt
Lake City at the age of 71</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> on August 2,
2018.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee lived a Tom
Sawyer-like childhood filled with adventures. With hard work, Dee became a
renaissance man. Dee was an LDS missionary in post-war Germany. It was there
that he fell in love with the European culture. He received degrees in German
and History, graduating from BYU. Dee met the love of his life, Martha Ann
(Bagley) "Marty", on a semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria. Dee and
Marty were instantly inseparable and together they changed the definition of
"happily married". In short order, they raised seven children,
traveled the world, and read a library of books.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">After a brief
career in real estate, Dee moved his wife and seven children to York, England
to study Historic Preservation at York University. Dee then began his life's
work in history. He authored 78 books and biographies. He had encyclopedic
knowledge of world events. He would become engrossed in the details of his
subject matter and would routinely retell these stories as if he was a
participant.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee was an active
member of the LDS Church. His favorite calling was as a Sunday school teacher
where he brought the scriptures to life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee was one of a
kind. He collected books, coins, stamps, guns and his children's baby teeth!
Each year, he awarded a friend with the "George Bailey Award" which
was inspired by his favorite film, "It's a Wonderful Life." Winners
demonstrated unique friendship during the past year. Dee loved this film and
lived a truly wonderful life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">He battled health
issues bravely his whole life. He knew he was living on borrowed time and lived
his life accordingly.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dee is survived by
his wife Marty, his children Gabriele (Brad Larson), Joshua (Christie), Micah
(Candice), Amy (Scott Robinson), Heidi (Jacque Ballou), Peter (Anna) and Marta
(Dan Dansie), 24 grandchildren, his sister Sharon (Lehmburg) and his brother
Michael.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">love Dee
Halverson. He was imperfect enough to make him lovable and perfect enough to
make him livable. We had the normal ups and downs, but we laughed a lot and we
had fun. "How sweet it is to love someone ... and all the memories we
share." I am so grateful he is mine.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-84983502836709245762017-01-14T11:38:00.004-08:002021-08-13T19:56:23.685-07:00The TELEGRAPH That I Remember<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">The
TELEGRAPH<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">That I Remember<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">“When
the city grew, it boomed, <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">but
when it closed down it just sort of dried up.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I
wish I knew who wrote that??</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Eugene Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">1935---I
woke up after the crash and I was strung up like a rabbit. Cables were tied to me and stretched tight
and sandbags covering me preventing any move.
I was in the hospital and wondered what happened. I remember trying to use crutches in Frog
Town. I had a leg that useless and
hurt. Lee said he didn’t even want to be
around me when I was mean and angry. Lee
said I was sent to Grandma’s but I can’t remember crutches down there. I do know I missed whole year of school and
did the first grade twice.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU9tLcigE80kKGgSZH74NwO8LU-VmSiczFJxYriNbuiSqX9eAP-nrGfdVewVX5nQU_3LD2XuKpjJauxMzT1sy5mkcmk4l4JDfaRxQFrhn4XtxXHY39s1zPHttCAwh9Ujt5kvNVGbif7X1/s2048/panos.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU9tLcigE80kKGgSZH74NwO8LU-VmSiczFJxYriNbuiSqX9eAP-nrGfdVewVX5nQU_3LD2XuKpjJauxMzT1sy5mkcmk4l4JDfaRxQFrhn4XtxXHY39s1zPHttCAwh9Ujt5kvNVGbif7X1/s320/panos.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PANOS Apartment<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lee
was hurt too. His sinuses were crushed
and some bones in his face broken that never really healed. He missed school and had to redo first grade
too. They told mother that Lee was dead
and two doctors want to save my life by cutting my leg off at the hip. Doctor Paul Richards said I can fix it and he
did. Poor mother had two kids and a
husband to tend. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lee
remembers the day when Dad took Lee and I in his old Model A Ford up to
Telegraph to see his new house and neither one of us even heard of Telegraph. It was quite an adventure for us. We had never been above the stores I in
Bingham let alone riding through the middle of the Copper mine and we were all
eyes and ears. Then we were in
Copperfield with all kinds of stores and restaurants. Then back of a big hotel was a building where
Dad was going to work. Dad was driving slowly
all through Copperfield. It must have
been slow enough for Jerry Burke to hop on the back of our car. Lee said, Dad there’s someone on the back. Dad laughed and continued up to
Telegraph. Jerry was ten years old when
was killed a year or two later hanging on a truck. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Dad
drove on up to Telegraph and there it was.
All I know was that both Lee and I liked what we were seeing and we were
happy. Everything was green I was
looking at all kinds of bushes and trees.
Pine trees on the left, Quaken Aspen on the right and even trees behind
the house. I looked everywhere except at
the house. This was Heaven compared to
Frog Town. It took time to, get the job, to move, and to heal. I think everyone was happy except
mother. There sat and old outhouse but got
used to it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIavZr5yn1TkZQv5cQ-jT8AjaIKHF1puQ-ttuGbopzshnSfXbqDNJ52LH14Gl0fWuzA5ah4z5BrZGdrq95ywIbAQ1EK85pimGxOb2Mqx4ZOgtp2tDt9RySM4Ru5qQTNS77_7-aB_r85aJ/s1469/MORMON+CHURCH--MIDWAY+SERVICE.bmp.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="1469" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIavZr5yn1TkZQv5cQ-jT8AjaIKHF1puQ-ttuGbopzshnSfXbqDNJ52LH14Gl0fWuzA5ah4z5BrZGdrq95ywIbAQ1EK85pimGxOb2Mqx4ZOgtp2tDt9RySM4Ru5qQTNS77_7-aB_r85aJ/w400-h286/MORMON+CHURCH--MIDWAY+SERVICE.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MORON CHURCH top</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
wasn’t much to look at, </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">just
a grey old house sitting on a yellow mine dump.
</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Dirt
was covering a little of the house on the road side and kitchen wall was
covered with dirt clear up under the window.
Originally it was once a two room house.
With a porch and a kitchen on the side.
A stove and few narrow cupboards was all mother had. We had 12 foot high stove pipe to keep it
free of snow. Sometimes we had clear the
snow off the roof before it fell in. I
remember the cold snowy walks to our outhouse and the Sears Roebuck catalog. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
had an old wood and coal burning kitchen stove that made the best bread
ever. It also heated the water. The water tank fed the water to the stove and
the stove sent hot water back. A few hot water kettles helped. A metal clothes iron was always sitting hot
and ready to use. Of course the coffee
pot always there. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
had a large coal stove in the living room.
Each lump of coal had to be carried from a box by the road down the
hill, across a bridge, up the hill and into the house. And every piece of wood or kindling had to be
sawed, split and stored. Lee and I spent
most the summer bringing boards and logs home to be sawed on an old saw
horse. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mEqVTEtBssY/TlqamUe2IGI/AAAAAAAAWX8/Jlp-SIVIv1kkF5iaVTfVNEoEw0wxMV7KACPcB/s1600/06-133.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mEqVTEtBssY/TlqamUe2IGI/AAAAAAAAWX8/Jlp-SIVIv1kkF5iaVTfVNEoEw0wxMV7KACPcB/s400/06-133.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Dad and Marsel Chea<br />Rock Cliff above road</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
had an electric light hanging from the ceiling no wall switches. But in the kitchen we had two. Neither Lee nor I was tall enough to reach
the lights on but we always had a contest.
Lee had to find a chair while I jumped on the stove. One day I lost the race when I reached for
the light and stuck my finger in an empty socket.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Dad
built a terraced flower garden on the ditch side of the house. In the spring the water seemed clean as it ran
down over a boulder creek. Sometimes a
rain or a flash flood made it a muddy mess. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
road was widened made by blasting away the mountain and dumping the fill on the
other side. The mountain now had a high
rock cliff from Bodmer’s to the corner. The
cliff was high, steep and scary. Lee and
I tried to climbing it in many places but had to give up. One day a girl, Carmela Chea showed us how to
climb it. Climbing was scary but it was fun. Now we had a pine forests on that side. Paul had a black cat a pretty thing that
became a little wild. I saw him sitting
on a telephone pole up above the rocks.
Dad said he’ll come down when he’s ready and he did. Eldon said Garland shot a cat on another
telephone pole, I think it was your cat.
It was.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
remember my mother and the Democrat Party.
George Panos with the party’s compliments gave us a phone. One of only six in the town. Each house had its own ring but we listened
to each other’s conversations, everyone did.
None of us kept our nose clean. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
day Lee and I were left alone while mother and dad went to visit my mother’s
niece, Edith who lived near the Canyon Garage.
Lee cut himself and was bleeding quite a bit. So I called the operator and told her the
problem. There was nothing automatic
back then. They had to physically plug a
phone line into a certain hole. The lady
called to the other girls to see if they knew an Eddie or an Edith. That shut the office down “no more calls” until
they found my mother and sent her home. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqy-Ac8mtsE/TlqaxERW5vI/AAAAAAAAWY0/wC8mnOh3q5Q_f1noZxEMqW5IB91YXMXtwCPcB/s1600/P1000851.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqy-Ac8mtsE/TlqaxERW5vI/AAAAAAAAWY0/wC8mnOh3q5Q_f1noZxEMqW5IB91YXMXtwCPcB/s320/P1000851.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Gene Gerald Cole Lee</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
lived at the top end of a </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">box-canyon a road to the left</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> went up a steep Dugway underneath
the Giant Chief Mine and out of the box into a wide flat valley with a cement
dam at the bottom. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">This
road went up </span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">BEAR GULCH</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Across
the creek was a </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">forest of ancient Maple Trees</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.
They grew very high and so wide the outer </span>branches<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> touched the
ground. It was like entering a tunnel
and it was dark. It was my home close to
home. I spent many days and slept many
night here and nobody except my mother even knew it was here. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Gold
was found all the way from the dam to the “Big Tree”. The Heineke brothers, Alvin Cole and even I
worked it over every spring. We worked
the top. No one dug down to
bedrock. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">The Big Tree was an
ancient massive old cottonwood tree.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> I found all kinds of chippings and arrow
heads all over the place. A trail to the
right was our only real good Quaken Aspen canyon and it was beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E8lIU1yWncQ/TihkEJXBsQI/AAAAAAAAQYs/TGHSchLrgQE9-Edqc5Zh8ECC612o3MUFQCPcB/s1600/image-5.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E8lIU1yWncQ/TihkEJXBsQI/AAAAAAAAQYs/TGHSchLrgQE9-Edqc5Zh8ECC612o3MUFQCPcB/s320/image-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Mrs. Bodmer</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Bear
Gulch continued on to the right into a large working mine but the main road
went over the ridge to the Queen Mine. This ridge ran all the way to the Saddle at
Dinkeyville and looking east was a view of the Salt Lake valley. One day Lee and I skied down toward Lark and
even Lee had fun but when he ditched his skis he sunk so deep in the snow only
his head stuck out. Well it was hard but
I got him out and on top of the mountain again.
He was tired and wanted to lay down and sleep. I knew he would freeze to death and I got him
home. Instead of praise he told me he
was tired of all my stupid ideas. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Back
to my house and the BOX.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Staying on the main road and keeping right</span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">was</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">a dirt road that went to the US. It was a climb up a Dugway till it crossed the
US Mine’s air-pipes where it flattened out on the top. A steep climb up to the ridge put you right
on the top of the mountain that separates the Bear and Galena canyons. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
top of the mountain was beautiful you were in two different forests. It was beautiful and it was another of my
favorite places. There were Oak, Maple,
chokecherry, and Pine trees. There was
many kinds of bushes and grasses there. The
two forests meant you had twice as many animals and birds here. I even I ate some of them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VgetrC5fsLE/TouUnSU532I/AAAAAAAAbUA/CIlf7kFoypML5-fCaOYegwNdnHFuHQ3wwCPcB/s1600/image-23.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="357" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VgetrC5fsLE/TouUnSU532I/AAAAAAAAbUA/CIlf7kFoypML5-fCaOYegwNdnHFuHQ3wwCPcB/s400/image-23.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">we had a hundred trees like this</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">in the Red Grove</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
walk along this ridge was a great path to the highest peaks. This ridge was the top of many canyons and
you could see for miles in all directions.
There was one on the left called Jack Ass Gulch with a million
Quakies. I could see all the canyons
alongside of it. On my right was mostly
a pine forest and some oak brush. A
head and to the right was the remaining stumps of an </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">ancient
forest we called the “Red Grove”</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
the lumber that built most of Salt Lake City. A walk up and around the mountain from here
took you to the Middle Canyon Pass.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Telegraph
had the best sleigh riding in all the canyons.
They came from all over even from the valley. You could see the whole road all the way down
to Copperfield and go if it was safe. The
first part of the ride was the steepest.
This was from the top down to my house.
It was where all the bob-sleds who couldn’t make the turn rolled over or
crashed. Many tried but not many made
it. The run from my house was fast safe run
to the Telegraph Apartments or on to the Dinkyville road, or a scary unsafe ride
through a tunnel to the Terrace Height’s road or even father if you dared. The welders at the US Mine were kept busy
repairing our sleighs. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tzlqP0iCozM/Tihj9PMrAwI/AAAAAAAAiP0/8aGvcqiZ4fI7hN7HyAjPGQQC3enirp35QCPcB/s1600/CIMG0871.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tzlqP0iCozM/Tihj9PMrAwI/AAAAAAAAiP0/8aGvcqiZ4fI7hN7HyAjPGQQC3enirp35QCPcB/s400/CIMG0871.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Tippy in Dad's garden</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When
you already have walked over a mile up a twelve percent grade it was only
natural to </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">have a drink of water</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.
Right behind the Bodmer home was a water tunnel with a one inch
tap. It had so much pressure that if you
turned it on to far it would blow your cup or bucket away. It was fed by a spring that was so cold you
only sipped at it. It was also the best
tasting water in the whole canyon. When
the water to our shed froze, I carried all our water two buckets at a time up the
hill to our house. The tunnel was cold
and by spring time had ice two feet deep but the tap never froze. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Bodmer’s seemed to be guarding our water supply. All summer long this little old lady could be
seen sitting on her porch. The Bodmer’s
came from Eureka where my mother lived.
I have pictures of them with our family.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Our
house was in Old Telegraph and Bodmer’s house was the dividing line. The houses and water tanks above here are
found on </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">all
the old pictures.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Everything below Bodmer’s was built when the
US Mine bought all the claims and tore down the old town and built three apartments. One side of the mountain had some pine trees
while the other was covered with oak brush.
The dump was wide and long and where we had the games and people
gathered. </span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-BuatW-vTwgfGPraRugrO6SgmN6mBE-XTPsziknNS4LwlfYd_odjz8NLkLFRa-EOxFTbpkNUxrF3-1K9NuCsdaXzvNKojApN4gYVxCNgRF3sxX3XTNsav8-OZ1O-mLp7Fv8D6ZmXTwnj/s1600/image-11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-BuatW-vTwgfGPraRugrO6SgmN6mBE-XTPsziknNS4LwlfYd_odjz8NLkLFRa-EOxFTbpkNUxrF3-1K9NuCsdaXzvNKojApN4gYVxCNgRF3sxX3XTNsav8-OZ1O-mLp7Fv8D6ZmXTwnj/s400/image-11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Old Telegraph Mine</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>in front of box canyon</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Below town across the road
from the Cocoa dirt was a flat spot big enough to play our football and
baseball games. But only the lower half
was sand the other half had a lot of rocks.
Teams from Copperfield, Dinkyville and Telegraph came to compete and sometimes
became a bloody free for all. It wasn’t
hard to find players but we were too poor to own a football or a </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">baseball. Sometimes we made our own by wrapping and sewing
our own. Buck Leyba was the big
organizer and the referee.</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Our
house became a resting place before climbing the last steep grade up out of the
box. I remember an old man who was too
old to work anymore stopped to rest and talk and I enjoyed him. He had an accent but different than Grandpa’s. Sometimes I was greeted with some kind foreign
hello. He took quite a shine to Tippy
and asked if he could take my dog with him and off they would go. </span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3uyVQr6squM/Tihjut-TylI/AAAAAAAAiLM/MBh3VyE6oVY5BOqmGGyXQ7WdRnOquSMEwCPcB/s1600/CIMG0800.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3uyVQr6squM/Tihjut-TylI/AAAAAAAAiLM/MBh3VyE6oVY5BOqmGGyXQ7WdRnOquSMEwCPcB/s320/CIMG0800.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Paul, Lee, Gene</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>with Lee's dog the one I lost</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
were all kinds of little birds in our little world. Mother had some little red-headed birds that
she fed. We had sparrows of all kinds
and chickadees and little ones of all kinds.
Even saw a pheasant walking down the road. I heard hooting in a tree I thought it was an
owl but it turned out to be a Morning Dove.
There were two kinds of squirrels.
We had bats coming and going out of the tunnels. I found horny toads at 1000 feet and skinks
on top of the mountain too. And lots of
blue-belly lizards. Porcupines spent
their time in the winter living on top of an oak tree. They spent the winter moaning and groaning.</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
were no nuts or berries to stop and eat.
The acorns were nasty and all the red and white berries were poisonous
and the blue ones were not much better.
The chokecherry lived up to its name.
The elderberries were blue and like the chokecherry could make a tasty jelly. There were no strawberries or raspberries or
Indian potatoes. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Butterfield
had was the only place to find Indian potatoes they showed up as the snow
melted in the spring. We dug it with a
stick while the ground was still wet.
There were several bulbs under most plants and they were good. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lee
tells about miner from the Queen Mine who collapsed from the cold and was about
dead. Mother took him in, warmed him up,
and dried his clothes. Fed him and sent
him on his way. Queen was about three
miles over the mountain. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6gq9ndlnPEc/Tihj5NZo9CI/AAAAAAAAQW4/sOtSv57wxOEZgWJbT2FQSZSsNyVaheeTwCPcB/s1600/CIMG0855.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6gq9ndlnPEc/Tihj5NZo9CI/AAAAAAAAQW4/sOtSv57wxOEZgWJbT2FQSZSsNyVaheeTwCPcB/s400/CIMG0855.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Mother at home in the trees</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Tippy
was a Rat Terrier that Grandpa gave us.
He was quite a dog. He would find
and flush a pheasant. Tippy also hunted
ducks. He would chase a squirrel down a
hole and bring him back dead of course.
On a hike I would carry a potato and if Tippy caught a squirrel we cook
and eat it . The potato stayed in the
fire until it was black as coal but done just right on the inside. One day he came home dragging a snow-shoe
rabbit as big as him. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
came home sometimes with arrow heads or maybe a flint knife. Other times with an old carbide lamp and even
a brass candle holder if I found a really old mine. One time I even drug a 75 pound anvil
home. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was a wonderful place to grow up. I got
to know every part of the mountain.
Mother said she was happy if I went up on the mountain just do not go
down to Copperfield. If some mother lost
her child they would call my mother and she would tell them that I would bring
them home when I was ready and quit worrying. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PPoasB5Et8U/TihkJmiJ1hI/AAAAAAAAQZo/VkayyEu863MD1xLiJdV0LV12cl976GHVwCPcB/s1600/UU%2Bor%2BTele20Aerial%252520Tram%252520ca%2525201908%252520IMG_1637.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PPoasB5Et8U/TihkJmiJ1hI/AAAAAAAAQZo/VkayyEu863MD1xLiJdV0LV12cl976GHVwCPcB/s400/UU%2Bor%2BTele20Aerial%252520Tram%252520ca%2525201908%252520IMG_1637.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Old Telegraph with Aerial Tram building</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Ivies had a few Shetland ponies along with a few larger horses and some
donkeys. They fed them all summer long
up in Bear Gulch. If they lost track of
them they could be usually be found grazing in Jack Ass Gulch. Sometimes they wanted to stay in the Box by
our house. We learned how to make a
bridle with a rope and rode bare back.
Old Strawberry was the Ivies pride and joy. And he let me know that I was not to put a bridle
on him or ride him. Well the donkeys
were ridable and the ponies were tame. But
one ride on the ponies was enough for me.
Their little old short stiff legs hit the ground hard but not as hard as
their boney back hit my butt. The Ivies
were good to us and let us ride their horses but at times they rode us down and
took our ponies when we helped ourselves.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">History</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, in the old days the poor mountain was
a place graze animals. Then a place to
gather wood. At last it became gold
mining town but it failed to die at the end of the gold rush. Instead it has continued to produce precious
minerals at such a tremendous rate that today it could probably claim
undisputed title to the richest strike ever made in mining annals of the far
west. It has produced millions of dollars’
worth of gold, copper, lead, and other precious metals. </span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iqLanhUkPPw/Tihj6qKJwbI/AAAAAAAAQXI/uSd5hZnKTyI85MpQxR-gO6TFn41cqRtRwCPcB/s1600/CIMG0857.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iqLanhUkPPw/Tihj6qKJwbI/AAAAAAAAQXI/uSd5hZnKTyI85MpQxR-gO6TFn41cqRtRwCPcB/s400/CIMG0857.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Gene and Lee and a goat</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
may have a good place for the miners or a mine owner but I hated what they were
doing to the mountain. Gone were springs,
beautiful flowers and trees. It seemed
like the mines were just sucking the life out of everything. At first they would sink a shaft and mine
until they hit water. Then they would
tunnel under to mountain to drain the water.
That drain tunnel killed or dried up the whole mountain. The Butterfield Tunnel dried up all the
springs and the creek. The Mascotte
Tunnel dried up its share and the Telegraph Tunnel killed our side. They were
bad but nothing as bad as the open pit mine I worked for. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Every
spring we had was contaminated before we moved and many were running arsenic or
copper before we came. The Salt Lake Valleys
aquipher has been contaminated with all the minerals and acids from Bingham and
getting worse. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everywhere
you look there were </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">hundreds and hundreds of mine dumps and
holes</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">. The Ivies’ lost a horse, I lost a dog and two
boys were dead when they found them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WnBKLc4BPi8/TlqatepCL2I/AAAAAAAAWYk/iDfneaHI4ikFn6CrLjaOEE2PheyYwpX2ACPcB/s1600/06-151.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WnBKLc4BPi8/TlqatepCL2I/AAAAAAAAWYk/iDfneaHI4ikFn6CrLjaOEE2PheyYwpX2ACPcB/s400/06-151.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Alvin Cole and Scotty Robinson</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Old Telegraph Mine was a lead mine. The
tunnel went in just below my house. It
was driven twelve hundred feet below the discovery point, and mined its riches from
below. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
my time there was </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">no sign of the mine, its aerial tram
or hotel, just Karl John’s house</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
and a huge dump. There was a trail from Telegraph though Dinkeyville right on
down to Frog Town. Some called it the
Holden Tramway. It was just the “mule
train” trail where the ore rode down by gravity and the train was pulled it back
up by mules. Even then it was a neat
scary walk over a cliff to Dinkeyville.
What was it like when men rode these cars??<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Everyone played in the “Coca Dirt” and every
mother knew where they had been when their kids’ home. The dirt was the fine
iron tailings of a stamp mill at the bottom of Telegraph. And just below that was the strongest greenest
copper water found anywhere. You could
watch a nail would be turned to copper in a short time.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Giant Chief mined at the discovery point choosing to go down after it. A large dump meant they mined for a long
time. The head frame was gone but they
left the hoisting machine and its steam driven engine was there for us to play with.
And a great big hole to throw rocks in. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o4khIvyq89E/TlqavxBATWI/AAAAAAAAiTU/zwRn2UvBVs4iyHMAOO_9X3Y_ErV-LsTvQCPcB/s1600/06-159.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o4khIvyq89E/TlqavxBATWI/AAAAAAAAiTU/zwRn2UvBVs4iyHMAOO_9X3Y_ErV-LsTvQCPcB/s400/06-159.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Winter time in Telegraph</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">All
the mines were dug long before my time but high above the Giant Chief was a
rocky point with a tunnel and a small dump.
It had candle holders stuck in a wooden log. They were made of brass. It
must have been dug before carbide lamps were used. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> When I was recuperating from the accident and
could not run and play mother started buying model airplanes. I got quite good at it and learned a
lot. Most of my talents went into making
gliders that always flew quite well. Well
I needed some wood for a giant wing. One thing led to another and here I was
back of the US Mine’s carpentry shop.
“God helps them who helps themselves” so I grabbed an arm full fir
strips and ran home. I built the “big
wing of my dream”. There it lay all put
together with wood strips held together with bailing wire and covered with
cloth. Fourteen feet long five feet wide
tapering to three feet at the tips and a bow-like beam poking out the center to
balance it. It laid out by the fence for
a while and I just looked at it and planned.
I told my brother it was time and he told his friends. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F4xEheyyi-Q/TlqadJzuJJI/AAAAAAAAWXU/FNKjS8kc2_Qybgc3Gq5hHD5iuRjCMGEDQCPcB/s1600/06-137.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F4xEheyyi-Q/TlqadJzuJJI/AAAAAAAAWXU/FNKjS8kc2_Qybgc3Gq5hHD5iuRjCMGEDQCPcB/s400/06-137.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Telegraph ladies mother 2nd from right</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Next
morning six kids were fighting to carry it and off we went. I wired a bearing cap from the shaft hoist
and tried to find the balance point. Now
we were looking off the Giant Chief Mine dump to the world below and it was a
long long way down. I held the wing high
above me trying to get the feel but the updraft wind was so strong it took me
up and away. Eldon wrote a story about
it, “Accidental Hang Glider”. I never
intended to fly and here I was flying off the mountain. As I was flying over some trees I let go and
dropped with a crash into them. The wing
without me climbed even higher than where it was launched. It floated back and forth like a feather but
when it crashed even I heard that. We
picked what we could out of the hole it but the iron bearing cap stayed
inside. It made a big hole near the top
of Marsell Chea’s garage. We disappeared
for a while kind of just lay low. When
Marsell came home and he never even seemed to notice it before going in to his
house. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SaBgs2fgotM/Tlqal58qIQI/AAAAAAAAWX4/TK4-rPLm5Uod0rvo06m5GFdKNcWPGP1PgCPcB/s1600/06-132.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SaBgs2fgotM/Tlqal58qIQI/AAAAAAAAWX4/TK4-rPLm5Uod0rvo06m5GFdKNcWPGP1PgCPcB/s400/06-132.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Karl John in Old Telegraph</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
loved my town, I loved its people. There
were never more than a dozen families and we did have quite a gathering when
the sun went down. The parents talked
while we played. Things started changing
when Karl John finally saved enough money to retire on. He had been nursing rich vein of galena mixed
with silver and maybe gold. I wrote his story
earlier. One day he loaded everything he
owned in a taxi and we never seen him again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
Bear Gulch above my house was a little valley where many of us panned
gold. I never kept any of it but it was
fun. The Heineke Brothers set up a
motorized slues box and run in the runoff water. They put the gold in a quart on a shelf in
our garage and it was heavy. As one
would fill, it was taken away. The
Madsen’s were gone</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">so</span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">it was safe. A county cop had habit of hitting a drunk on
the head with a blackjack. They killed Lee
Madsen and with the father dead the family was removed from Telegraph. I never had much use for a county
sheriff. I never seen my friend, Ron
again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everything
was quite for a while until the Heinekes ran their dozer through Karl’s
vein. They made one shipment before the
US Mine people took over the claim and followed it into the mountain. They named it the Mayberry Mine and it wasn’t
long before ore cars began working the mine, building sheds. Soon stacks of lumber and rail began to cover
the ground. We were told to move down to
one of the apartments and we lived there for a time.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At
night when the Mayberry miners went home I slipped in to see what was going
on. I found they were setting out some
pretty impressing ore samples and I looked them over. The rock that contained the most gold was
kind of a porous volcanic rock. A kind
of a rock I had never seen before. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbOVM5RI284/TlqaiXE2CBI/AAAAAAAAiTQ/BdS7Gk8f1mcbCzlpuq39PYTysZjdmAZ-wCPcB/s1600/06-96b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbOVM5RI284/TlqaiXE2CBI/AAAAAAAAiTQ/BdS7Gk8f1mcbCzlpuq39PYTysZjdmAZ-wCPcB/s400/06-96b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Telegraph kids</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">They
mined the Mayberry and got what they could.
Then the US Mine sold everything they owned to the </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Utah Copper and moved to Lark. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Then
they told us we had to go to. Well we
did move and we lost all our friends and neighbors. They took everything they could from us
except memories. We had suffered good
times and times and hard times. Neighbors
who came to feed and care for the sick and those who had lost a loved one.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
brought tears to my eyes watching them destroy everything we loved. It hurt again when they </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">buried the whole town</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Where
have all my friends gone, long time passing?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Where
have all my friends gone, long time ago?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Where
have all the people gone?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Gone
to graveyards, everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh,
when will they ever learn?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh, when will they ever
learn?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Chinky
Aguayo said <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> “Yes, I envy all of you that can go back to
your home town and sharpen memories of day gone by, because I have only my
memories to reflect on. The town I spent
my youth in is gone. There is no remnant
of the town to sharpen my mind---nothing to focus on and bring in to sharper
remembrance those long-gone days.”</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sGKVrf2NKw8/TlqaZX9PDrI/AAAAAAAAiTM/Pe-1KNl9EToPl2nA9TKXK4yW4GoR88oegCPcB/s1600/06-160.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sGKVrf2NKw8/TlqaZX9PDrI/AAAAAAAAiTM/Pe-1KNl9EToPl2nA9TKXK4yW4GoR88oegCPcB/s400/06-160.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Telegraph in winter</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Last
of Bingham</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">by
John Creedon <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">What
a wonderful town we had and what fine people lived here. Some of the finest
people on earth were once part and parcel of Bingham. We went through good
times and depressions, strikes and shutdowns, floods, fires, snow slides,
accidents and sickness standing united. Now our friends and loved ones were
scattered over the county. Gone was the feeling of fellowship and love and
confidence in your neighbor. We were no longer united—we were divided by the</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"> $</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
sign.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My daughter, Colleen, who lives in
Boston, put the </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">old feeling of a Binghamite</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> in a recent letter. It reads in
part: “Much as I want to come home and see you, I am rather glad I won’t for a
while. To me I will always be able to see it as it was, and it will always be a
big part of me, because I think that everyone who ever lived there and loved it
as much as I did will always have a part of Bingham with them. Don’t be
discouraged, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Pop</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> you are the old Bingham, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">not
the Bingham now, forlorn and wrecked</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">,
but the Bingham of love and life, of excitement, of Fourth of July parades, of
Galena Days, of Christmas mornings with mom’s good cooking, and so many friends
packed in that you had to move slowly to get through, of gay parties, of
endless friends young and old, famous and infamous.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
Colleen so aptly stated, that is the Bingham I shall remember for as long as I
live.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2u8uUGSLeKs/UlHZVEfMwzI/AAAAAAAAoYY/zDv9QD6Rp-U76A9wwb7EY3TWHsO6AOHAQCPcB/s1600/DR.%2BRICHARDS.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2u8uUGSLeKs/UlHZVEfMwzI/AAAAAAAAoYY/zDv9QD6Rp-U76A9wwb7EY3TWHsO6AOHAQCPcB/s640/DR.%2BRICHARDS.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Doctor Richards back center had many parties</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-85824164121178921732017-01-06T13:17:00.001-08:002018-11-17T14:09:15.801-08:00DARIES, CATS, CHICKENS, FRUIT,VEGETABLES<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Memories
of Bingham Canyon</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">DAIRIES,
CATS, CHICKENS, FRUIT & VEGETABLES IN BINGHAM</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By
R. Eldon Bray </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">–October
2011<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtwaXH6s5bGiI3vxUK17dGdbjVhca1QYhoGScw5D-409h2bHX_9cPmDc3E3vQc1vzdjL9kGWISvnkA5pJq8xmqQ2CV_JkHOmyjGtgc6WmhVYl346Iw-YaPI1AoAuKH89yBIcfFEDcs0AF/s1600/panos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1600" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtwaXH6s5bGiI3vxUK17dGdbjVhca1QYhoGScw5D-409h2bHX_9cPmDc3E3vQc1vzdjL9kGWISvnkA5pJq8xmqQ2CV_JkHOmyjGtgc6WmhVYl346Iw-YaPI1AoAuKH89yBIcfFEDcs0AF/s320/panos.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Panos Apartments</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
English, Hogan, and R-Dairies all delivered milk in Bingham during the 1920’s,
30’s and 40’s before insulated milk boxes and homogenization came into vogue.
The milk was delivered early in the morning and the bottles were generally left
on the customers’ porches before many of them were out of bed. The Turners and
Halversons were two of the families who lived in the Panos Apartments in
Frogtown. The Hogan Dairy would leave their bottles of milk by the front entry
just inside the vestibule which had no outside door. During the winter, unless
the milk was brought in quite soon, it would freeze in the bottles and expand
so that the cream would be forced up and out of the top to form a white column
a couple of inches high with the bottle cap </span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">sitting on top. This created an
opportunity for the stray or feral house cats that lived nearby; they loved the
cream and also the milk – and here it was just waiting for them. The cats would
lick all the cream that was above the top of the bottle and then lick the cream
and milk as far down into the bottle as they could reach with their tongues.
The emergence from her apartment of an early-rising, angry, housewife would
cause the cats to scatter in all directions. The cats were a nuisance but no
harm, other than a loss of the cream, was known to result from drinking the
milk from which the cats had licked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2d5qAynpWjAPMTBwvR35Y0ofWfAeu8rsmVYMh7Jal4Lk5wJBgdSjW5Y9HQmW35ZJ4fBoa0ZUDFJdQtcJR76tm5HS3diHCFBLZAshlt5zF4Qnz_g5d1w1kLlMRCbk2ZOmoDckbP_ADyDwC/s1600/15823182_939483852848232_1717026982598050310_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2d5qAynpWjAPMTBwvR35Y0ofWfAeu8rsmVYMh7Jal4Lk5wJBgdSjW5Y9HQmW35ZJ4fBoa0ZUDFJdQtcJR76tm5HS3diHCFBLZAshlt5zF4Qnz_g5d1w1kLlMRCbk2ZOmoDckbP_ADyDwC/s320/15823182_939483852848232_1717026982598050310_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>waiting for the cats</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Hogans, besides the dairy, also had a farm on which they raised the cows and
other animals including chickens. They raised all their chickens in a large
coop. In the spring they separated the young roosters from the hens and turned
the roosters loose in the yard. They immediately were renamed “spring fryers”
and were sold for a good price – five for a dollar (twenty cents each). There
was, however, a slight difficulty associated with the purchase of these
bargain-price chickens. You had to catch them yourself and then you had to chop
off their heads and </span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
take them home to be plucked and cleaned. The Turner boys
and their Dad gladly took part in this activity. They would chase the chickens
around the yard with a 6-foot, stiff wire that had the end bent into a hook.
The chickens would run like h---. The boys and their Dad would try to sneak up
on or corner the chickens but inevitably ended up chasing some of them as fast as
they could, with one arm outstretched before them with the wire in hand. Upon
catching a chicken’s leg in the hook the chicken would still struggle to escape
but they would pull it to them and grab the chicken with both hands. Then they
would carry it over to the chopping block where there was also an axe at hand.
They would, with one hand, hold the chicken with its neck on the block and,
with the axe in the other hand – chop! –. After catching and beheading all the
chickens they wanted, which was usually about five, they would pay for them,
put them into a box or gunny sack and take them home.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back
at the apartment, they would dip the chickens into a bucket of boiling water,
pluck the feathers, gut them and put them into the icebox. A day or so later
the family would often go up Butterfield Canyon for a picnic that featured
fried chicken, fresh peas, and new potatoes. They tasted great – the best
chicken ever!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwiO1JZK_17rOj54zoIMsOtkPFWihR7_YdCKrD8UvBWJUY3rBj_hzeOiidv9IWM4zJpp5aML5I4J_VEaOqTnuSluwf1gg65KoqfGB6QXJC0xe1J5mrqrB2uJ563Ibr_M1hnxhChK_c_zDF/s1600/CIMG0050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1206" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwiO1JZK_17rOj54zoIMsOtkPFWihR7_YdCKrD8UvBWJUY3rBj_hzeOiidv9IWM4zJpp5aML5I4J_VEaOqTnuSluwf1gg65KoqfGB6QXJC0xe1J5mrqrB2uJ563Ibr_M1hnxhChK_c_zDF/s400/CIMG0050.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>rabbits behind apartments</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There
was also another source of chickens – the local fruit and vegetable peddler.
Judson Tolman, beginning in about 1924, came to Bingham twice a week with a
canvas-covered wagon pulled by two horses. The wagon was loaded mostly with
fruits and vegetables but on the back he had a cage that contained live
chickens. If a housewife wanted a chicken she was handed a live one to take
home. In later years the horse-drawn wagon was replaced with a 1929 truck with
wooden spokes and still later by a one-ton ’48 Ford. The live chickens were
replaced with fresh ones that had been processed the night before and put on
ice. Eventually chickens were no longer part of the goods sold in Bingham by
the Tolmans. Judson’s son, Orin, started helping with the route by going to the
upper parts of the canyon (including Copperfield and Highland Boy) while Judson
took care of the lower part of the canyon and Copperton. When Judson retired
Orin took over all of the Bingham business.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-30628928763102032212016-12-11T19:37:00.002-08:002020-11-11T11:52:23.987-08:00BINGHAM MEMORIES 1928-1948 <div class="MsoTitle">
<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>EUGENE'S MEMORIES from </i></span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>1928 to 1948 </i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoTitle">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><b><i>Frog Town</i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was born in Telegraph but my memories begin in Frog
Town. I was about five years old when we
moved. I do remember Frog Town and life
after that. We lived in company town, in
a company house, and required to buy from a company store with high prices and
poor quality. Dad worked seven days a
week, ten hours a day. When he became
too sick to do this anymore he was fired.
Then one day a company truck came and loaded up our possessions and
simply moved us away. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcoOckRR1xZA3pTSlAK-3KMKYvFSuDCtqOI9pqTPtGbJMbwIK2U8SypzxXQjaErb1VnxUg1dwwCS8MfIMfL40pNAefq2osRWZ1qZeOtFv-iIwlb-Nrl-vJJSmrg7ez0wQqlV2OABiDUy7K/s2048/panos.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="2048" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcoOckRR1xZA3pTSlAK-3KMKYvFSuDCtqOI9pqTPtGbJMbwIK2U8SypzxXQjaErb1VnxUg1dwwCS8MfIMfL40pNAefq2osRWZ1qZeOtFv-iIwlb-Nrl-vJJSmrg7ez0wQqlV2OABiDUy7K/w400-h271/panos.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PANOS APARTMENT<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Remember the song, </span></b><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><i>“I owe my soul to the company store</i></span></b><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>”</i> well that
was us. This was also during the “Great
Depression” when everybody was suffering.
Somehow or other we able to live in the Panos Apartments is still
unknown and being able to buy food from the Apostle store without a dime to our
name. Hogan Dairy provided us with
milk. Seems like we owed everybody. It took years to pay back our many bills but
we did.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dad suffered with Silicosis and was fired because of
his illness. Dad was either in the
hospital or in bed. His lungs was coated
with silicon dust from the underground mines.
Dad was sick and didn’t do much work for about two years but at times he
poured gas for Adderley Nichols Garage just up the street. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aEOGztUNVpPLv04kFGvxhFjxuwEwIZmRlPSavAXJEsB0KtNd_bkeGeBMFslNJsP2zHM73bdcKvaSz45iKTfZZjetKHR58w2hHR40FmPmXIKBvNkyKVMibRvHgitzxSUF6wlc-qw0D7oY/s1626/Top-8.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1013" data-original-width="1626" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aEOGztUNVpPLv04kFGvxhFjxuwEwIZmRlPSavAXJEsB0KtNd_bkeGeBMFslNJsP2zHM73bdcKvaSz45iKTfZZjetKHR58w2hHR40FmPmXIKBvNkyKVMibRvHgitzxSUF6wlc-qw0D7oY/w400-h249/Top-8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DAD, GENE, LEE Frog town<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mother tried not to charge any more food at the store
than she had to, just the staples like flour and things. With this she made delicious crusty bread and
we had bread and milk till it came out of our ears, but we loved it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k-pCKKf8CU4/Tpm8qxALugI/AAAAAAAAbaA/pouLroN8OUY53YxQfJ9MWJTj1VfYWWGPACPcB/s1600/Top-13.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k-pCKKf8CU4/Tpm8qxALugI/AAAAAAAAbaA/pouLroN8OUY53YxQfJ9MWJTj1VfYWWGPACPcB/s400/Top-13.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">PANOS and TURNER KIDS</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There was no money for coal so we gathered wood. I still remember dragging parts of old
buildings, railroad ties, trees off the mountain and other wood to the back
yard, putting them on a sawhorse and sawing them up for firewood. I was six and Lee was four when we were doing
this. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When we weren’t working we seemed to be in
trouble. One day Lee and I were playing
like we were Indians. So, we were
roasting and eating grasshoppers in the backyard, everything was fine until our
fire caught the mountain on fire. It was
lucky for us that it did burn its self and no one was the wiser. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> We lived in the
top apartment the front entrance was a climb up a narrow stairs to the living
room. The back was built against the
mountain so our kitchen was a level walk to the mountain. A trail down the canyon took us to the Yampa
Smelter. I remember its giant smoke
stack and all kinds of walls and holes to climb up and around<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lee and I had made lots of friends and learned many
more </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">mischievous ways</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> to entertain ourselves. Back then an inter-tube was made of real
rubber made from a rubber tree. It was
red and it stretched and to us was quite valuable to us for making flippers and
rubber guns. The Grove boys loved to
shoot at me with their rubber guns so I gave them a merry run. They had the rubber bands tied in knots and
it did hurt. After the chase I would
return and began looking for the bullets they lost and now I had a rubber gun
too and the means to make a flipper crutch.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikociWeYa3WQmB5c7w60McYhdl-T2N18TmrkkV3YInvBi7SomQbXa_SQEqgUW-mH4zh73S2jYknYSQrCUOrwnBepKgZoG9CmVMXL_JBViDF1vGmMyS6ewmh-72OiGKiPQu_f57PX00d5Wb/s1469/MORMON+CHURCH--MIDWAY+SERVICE.bmp.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="1469" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikociWeYa3WQmB5c7w60McYhdl-T2N18TmrkkV3YInvBi7SomQbXa_SQEqgUW-mH4zh73S2jYknYSQrCUOrwnBepKgZoG9CmVMXL_JBViDF1vGmMyS6ewmh-72OiGKiPQu_f57PX00d5Wb/w400-h286/MORMON+CHURCH--MIDWAY+SERVICE.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mormon Church top</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m not sure what I was looking for when I began
making my rounds and peeking in </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">every church in town</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.
Then one day I looked through the door of the Mormon Church. I could see a little old lady watching me so
I ran away. She caught me the next time I came. She was quite a lady and I liked her so I went
with her. a couple of years later I was
baptized here. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Frog Town had three beautiful canyons, Freeman,
Markham and Dry Fork but hardly anyone even knew they were there because they
were above and hidden by the B&G Railroad.
All had clear water streams running through a Pine and Quaken Aspen forest. But it was a hard climb over a very steep
trail to get there. All except Dry Fork
had a pond where the stream ran into the dump.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVzNKVdIk8Q/WEnF72dn4mI/AAAAAAAAt5U/_BVwWvXmNoMvA52VEfrePIfEL6CCo9_rACPcB/s1600/14196021_10207381992768166_3611345559575170753_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVzNKVdIk8Q/WEnF72dn4mI/AAAAAAAAt5U/_BVwWvXmNoMvA52VEfrePIfEL6CCo9_rACPcB/s400/14196021_10207381992768166_3611345559575170753_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">our mountain</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As a six year old I remember walking a trail that led
down Dry Fork about three miles away. The
trail was made by a buried pipe that brought water from a spring in Dry Fork to
Frog Town. Dry Fork was a lovely canyon
with nice shady trees and a lot of things to see and do and the water was
good. But we always had a lot of
rattlesnakes to contend with. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On the way home we had a garbage dump to look through. It seems like we always found something to
drag home. Below the dump was the English
Dairy with lots of cows and pigs. They
sold milk and pigs to the miners in Bingham.
It seemed like the pigs ere always feeding on the garbage.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Coming home we had to cross the road to the creek and
walk its banks all the way. We called it
a creek but it was really </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">the town’s sewer</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.
It also was full of copper, arsenic and other metals. Anyway this was the trail home. The sand was white and looked clean. I guess the arsenic and copper in the water
bleached the sand a pure white. It was
still a sewer but copper-water made it a place to play. When we dunked iron nail in the water and in
a minute or two and you had a copper nail.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOwSTvx1zr_IkSJIkVFt4U1alETEj-u67PktTN0rOmnlnEcSCDYYK6YIZxbwbk_WzDb3vJN3S3BNRGuo-jjsiF5-OSD00ddLBrOAjxG4ugpwCh06ECn0ImEEj0WNODEtRX1Qx-B8lRQKht/s1051/1262871_666767536680207_1139563184_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1051" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOwSTvx1zr_IkSJIkVFt4U1alETEj-u67PktTN0rOmnlnEcSCDYYK6YIZxbwbk_WzDb3vJN3S3BNRGuo-jjsiF5-OSD00ddLBrOAjxG4ugpwCh06ECn0ImEEj0WNODEtRX1Qx-B8lRQKht/w400-h319/1262871_666767536680207_1139563184_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frog Town old</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Never the less a lot of the toilets were built over
the creek. In the winter Bingham who had
a seven mile canyon pushed snow into the sewer to float it away. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Turner boys wrote a story about how his father,
Lance and George Panos got quite wealthy by diverting the sewer into a garage
full of tin cans and selling the copper.
George was the garbage man and saved all the cans. Max said, while everybody was starving during
the “Great Depression” we were buying a fancy car.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The mountain on the other side of the road was easy to
get to. We crossed the road and railroad
tracks and up we went. The mountain was
covered with oak brush with all kinds of flowers growing under them. Mother loved flowers and it made her happy
when we brought her some “Pinkies”. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There were two large rocks to explore. Under one rock was an entrance to a mine and
it was dark and spooky. I was scared of
the cave and I had nightmares of a lion just waiting to eat me. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcBQk8SJ2gtu7ucWHiWWpEpvTpeMjwMoHDrk-df6Jv7s-AFmkJA-jf4nKv-OW9P-ZNI6ZKy6nnGTX0mvckjDCY8eFstWMZ6t9aMkB_8d7w7obC6QxguEClY5eF07bvg-Fg6yt1KYxFU-C/s943/15826715_10210081687551974_6956035319683149795_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="565" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcBQk8SJ2gtu7ucWHiWWpEpvTpeMjwMoHDrk-df6Jv7s-AFmkJA-jf4nKv-OW9P-ZNI6ZKy6nnGTX0mvckjDCY8eFstWMZ6t9aMkB_8d7w7obC6QxguEClY5eF07bvg-Fg6yt1KYxFU-C/w240-h400/15826715_10210081687551974_6956035319683149795_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frog Town ith depot and Yampa</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I remember the old Ice House across the road, and the
tennis courts and the coal yards above.
We didn't have refrigerators in those days. So trains bought in tons of ice and stored in
the ice house to use in the summer months.
The ice was covered with saw dust and it lasted all summer. There were very few refrigerators back then
and the iceman delivered ice to your door.
We got our first refrigerator and it was quite a blessing. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PLpNQ7nviNE/TiDOfrw7cGI/AAAAAAAAims/pG87Hd4_NG4YlJoLY1XhJIl-YqdIz8epACPcB/s1600/DSCF0137-3.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PLpNQ7nviNE/TiDOfrw7cGI/AAAAAAAAims/pG87Hd4_NG4YlJoLY1XhJIl-YqdIz8epACPcB/s320/DSCF0137-3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">HOLMS MANOR HOUSE</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mother liked it here and had many friends. She smiled a lot and visited, and shared
coffee, and played cards. A refrigerator
and hot water made life easier. She loved
to talk about her family and </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Finland and Russia</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.
She told of this large house her sister and mother lived in. About the pine covered hills with a windmill
on top. The white Birch trees and lakes
everywhere. And what would happen to her
father if he came back to Finland. The
Russians would have him or kill him. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Well the “Manor House” and everything else is still
there. Three wars later even the
Russians are gone. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mother always had time for us then. I can still see her with her cup of coffee
and a smile. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Saint Olaf hated the Finns. He said they shot arrows all day long at him
but at night their “Wizards” would sink his ships. There was a Finish wizard hiding under every
bush. Well </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">grandpa could
predict the future</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> from the shapes the melted solder made when it hit
the water. She believed in magic and I
do too. She had some “Tarot” cards that
predicted a death, he died. It scared
her so her she burned them. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f4qf1iEWJHE/TiDRcgnRASI/AAAAAAAAGzI/_YqwbIvQg7UbmhbJTG5sijI7K2IDcJ18ACPcB/s1600/image.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f4qf1iEWJHE/TiDRcgnRASI/AAAAAAAAGzI/_YqwbIvQg7UbmhbJTG5sijI7K2IDcJ18ACPcB/s400/image.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>HOLMS FARM in FINLAND</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was too young to realize what mother and dad had to
do during these hard times he did find work at the Adderley Nichols Garage
pouring gas. He suffered from bouts of
pneumonia, his resistance was low he left home when Lee and I got the chicken
pox or measles. Everything had gone
wrong for Dad, no work, no money and now another new baby, Paul. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We lived just below the depot and we were always there
to watch the trains come to town. They
were all “steam engines” back then and they made quite a racket. They huffed and puffed and whistled. We always had a nail or something to put on
the tracks for them to flatten. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We were extremely </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">poor but I didn’t know it</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. For a few years we did not have the money to
buy it. Someone from Provo would send
carp and suckers to the mining camps to feed the poor. Hunters would bring home jack rabbits. And I would go looking for them. They didn’t look very appetizing but we ate
anything we found. The suckers were
better than the carp but after mother cooked them they never fishy and she did
wonders with the rabbits. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With people
living so close together there were many diseases when the flu, chicken pox,
measles, mumps or any disease came along, a “quarantine sign” was placed on
your house and no one was allowed to leave or enter. I remember Dad coming to the back window to
talk to mother. I don’t know where he
lived. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewPzCr9g7p7XANoJkeCUYzfKTTo3pfz_CHQKyegeXVVt6cVtAFlMN3eH75kCCnpKA6Xatp6m6RJf_7nML4rJA-2fqKPNZkud98uHtA4edhsjKfeoIDsqDpnNVYEwbFdD_8EL5jrUvfXng/s2048/118-Freeman+Gulch+Abt+1925_+USH15058p31_+6-18-08_+Sorenson_+.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1219" data-original-width="2048" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewPzCr9g7p7XANoJkeCUYzfKTTo3pfz_CHQKyegeXVVt6cVtAFlMN3eH75kCCnpKA6Xatp6m6RJf_7nML4rJA-2fqKPNZkud98uHtA4edhsjKfeoIDsqDpnNVYEwbFdD_8EL5jrUvfXng/w400-h238/118-Freeman+Gulch+Abt+1925_+USH15058p31_+6-18-08_+Sorenson_+.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freeman Gulch Frog Town<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I can’t
remember of having toys to play with here but we played games, mostly with
older kids. My favorite game was Can the
Can which was just a poor boys cricket game.
Its funny no one plays it today.
Then there was our rubber guns.
Before World War II tire tubes were made from pure rubber not like the
junk today something like our live rubber today. We would cut the tubes in strips to shoot in
our rubber guns. Knots were tied in
them, the bigger the knot and the tighter they were stretched the more they
would hurt. You would just squeeze
clothespin and shoot friend or foe.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Buck Rodger was flying to other worlds. He was on the radio, in the papers and comic
books. If had a nickel I would run to
Chris’s Grocery store and buy me a space rocket. It was a kit to build Buck’s space ship and
it had a motor in it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkM-xOqs_rvuNyJwh3sfB1KAX5cnLZ1ZCTa0d9snMFOtgLTroWOQD_bkW3G4P93xe3YtNhDNx2krF-qr4Z8a5p238qG_tlyxV0YFgEEMF6vbvAbmlw73IgREP489nDND90Oldof8EHTIGR/s1183/16113310_10212188782945177_4589451704481801631_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="1183" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkM-xOqs_rvuNyJwh3sfB1KAX5cnLZ1ZCTa0d9snMFOtgLTroWOQD_bkW3G4P93xe3YtNhDNx2krF-qr4Z8a5p238qG_tlyxV0YFgEEMF6vbvAbmlw73IgREP489nDND90Oldof8EHTIGR/w400-h269/16113310_10212188782945177_4589451704481801631_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Markham<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lee and I had made lots of friends and learned many
more mischievous ways to entertain ourselves.
Back then an inter-tube was made of real rubber made from a<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Rubber tree. It
was red and it stretched and to us was quite valuable to us for making flippers
and rubber guns. The Grove boys loved to
shoot at me with their rubber guns so</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> I gave them a merry run.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> They had the rubber bands tied in knots and
it did hurt. They had a never ending
supply of bands and never looked for the ones they shot so I would return and
began looking for them and now I had bullets for my gun and even made a rock
flipper. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was New Year’s Day 1936</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and we were
out of school. Now we were sledding down
an alley near us down into Main Street.
We were told the coast was clear so down Lee and I went and that is all
I remember.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-osMldirluzA/UlHZWtMbBKI/AAAAAAAAoYc/9Rcm82rQaO8p5kUJM5j4wFsxhfZSxD7gwCPcB/s1600/DR.%2BRICHARDS.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-osMldirluzA/UlHZWtMbBKI/AAAAAAAAoYc/9Rcm82rQaO8p5kUJM5j4wFsxhfZSxD7gwCPcB/s400/DR.%2BRICHARDS.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Dr. Richards on Galena Days</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Days later </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I woke up in the Bingham Hospital</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. I was covered with sandbags so I could not
move at all. There was wires stretching
my leg and another pulling me another way.
There I lay for a week or a month, I don’t know. My leg was broken and dislocated at the hip
and my pelvis was damaged. I was a
mess. Mother refused to let them
amputate and I did recover. Because of
nerve damage I had no feeling in the leg.
Four or five months later I began using crutches my right leg dangling
uselessly below me. I tried to use it
many times but when I touched it to the floor it felt like I had plugged it
into a light socket. Every day for a
whole a year I would try touching the floor with my foot to see if I could do
it. One day the pain went away and now </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I had to
learn how to walk again.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I learned to
use two crutches and later one, I could run almost as fast as Lee on one crutch
but I did crash and burn. I would get
angry at times and throw the crutch away and then crawl after it. I later learned to walk again by myself, but
it was slow. I was held back in the
first grade and almost again because I didn't go to school much the following
year either. It's hard watching your
friends go on without you. I missed an
awfully lot of school, I know I struggled for a few years but in time things
got better.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2u8uUGSLeKs/UlHZVEfMwzI/AAAAAAAAoYY/zDv9QD6Rp-U76A9wwb7EY3TWHsO6AOHAQCPcB/s1600/DR.%2BRICHARDS.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2u8uUGSLeKs/UlHZVEfMwzI/AAAAAAAAoYY/zDv9QD6Rp-U76A9wwb7EY3TWHsO6AOHAQCPcB/s400/DR.%2BRICHARDS.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Dr. Richards Party</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My mother
thought Dr. Richards was a God. He was my
hero too. He was famous and he was the
best in the country. Because of the many
back injuries he was treating doctors from all over the world came to learn his
techniques. He proved that what was
thought were permanent disabling injuries could be cured. He gained fame for his radium treatment for
cancer. His hospital was the best
anywhere. He was active in the Boy
Scouts. He would bring a truckload of
water melons and hamburgers to camp each year to Tracy Wigwam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">TELEGRAPH<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2A5JHDF0X9w/TihipMO8ylI/AAAAAAAAQKI/v0isydnizJQqTaq5A0cAEe10WkMt-zM0QCPcB/s1600/image0-31.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2A5JHDF0X9w/TihipMO8ylI/AAAAAAAAQKI/v0isydnizJQqTaq5A0cAEe10WkMt-zM0QCPcB/s400/image0-31.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">highest house in TELEGRAPH</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Well, the accident was terrible but it got dad a
chance to work again. The father of Fred Hoyne was also the superintendent of
the US Mine and he was afraid of a lawsuit over the accident so Dad was given
the job of running this huge giant air compressor in Copperfield. Dad got Wride’s his job and his house. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<h3>
<o:p> T</o:p>he house sat in
the intersection of Bear and Galena Gulch.
The very top house in Telegraph and it was built on a small yellow mine
dump. The house was ugly and mostly grey
and it needed a paint job badly that it never got. But it was surrounded by pine trees, a Quaken
Aspen or two, oak brush and choke cherry trees.
Beautiful in the summer but we had a lot of snow at 7500 feet elevation. Sometimes we went out a window when the only
door was covered and even part of the roof. </h3>
<h3>
<o:p></o:p></h3>
<h3>
<o:p> </o:p> Dad was actually too sick to work but he had
too. He had a hard time walking home
from work. It took him a long time and
he was completely exhausted when he got home.
This probably what cured Dads Silicosis?
I remember him as being mean and angry to me. I was also recovering from a broken hip and
pelvis and was on crutches. Lee said I
was meaner than the devil too. Lee had
health problems too and I remember he was angry too. Poor Mother.</h3>
<h3>
<o:p></o:p></h3>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-BuatW-vTwgfGPraRugrO6SgmN6mBE-XTPsziknNS4LwlfYd_odjz8NLkLFRa-EOxFTbpkNUxrF3-1K9NuCsdaXzvNKojApN4gYVxCNgRF3sxX3XTNsav8-OZ1O-mLp7Fv8D6ZmXTwnj/s1600/image-11.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-BuatW-vTwgfGPraRugrO6SgmN6mBE-XTPsziknNS4LwlfYd_odjz8NLkLFRa-EOxFTbpkNUxrF3-1K9NuCsdaXzvNKojApN4gYVxCNgRF3sxX3XTNsav8-OZ1O-mLp7Fv8D6ZmXTwnj/s400/image-11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">OLD TELEGRAPH MINE below our house</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It didn’t take long before most of us got to love this
little old house in Telegraph. We had no
water in the house. So, there was no
bathroom or kitchen sink. Two bedrooms,
a kitchen and a front room a light with a pull-chain hung from the center of
each room, no plug-in outlets. There was
no refrigerator so cold stuff was kept in a mine. The entrance was door in the kitchen pantry. </span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our house set higher than our water-tank so we had no
water in the house. In the summer it
gravity fed water to a shed just below our house. But in the winter I had to carry it a long
way. Two buckets at a time on a
yoke. The water came from a spring and
it was best and coldest water in the whole canyon. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We had floods that came from snow melt and rains. They were scary and fascinating. At times wild animals would come wandering
through. Spring brought the flowers and
birds. Mother always had something for
the little redheaded that came birds came to the kitchen window to be fed. Winter came early with cold and snow. Lots of snow with no place to throw it. When the tap in the shed froze I had to carry
the water home. A yoke over my shoulders
allowed me to carry two buckets at a time.
Our water came from a spring, to a tank that was piped to a tunnel. It was so good that people came from miles
around, it was famous. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RAMuaAcx6Ko/Tihjk0LIqQI/AAAAAAAAiLI/K26JiH9_ngk6gC3nqFvB_UGcXAn5OZtswCPcB/s1600/CIMG0772.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RAMuaAcx6Ko/Tihjk0LIqQI/AAAAAAAAiLI/K26JiH9_ngk6gC3nqFvB_UGcXAn5OZtswCPcB/s400/CIMG0772.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>dad's flower garden in TELEGRAPH</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Springtime usually meant floods. One such flood left mud 4 inches under the
window the whole length of the house.
We left it that way and grass eventually grew there. Mother sat with her hand full of bread
waiting for her red-headed birds and maybe a squirrel or chipmunk. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Back then mother cooked all these wonderful Swedish
dinners. I have tried many times to cook
the fish and sweet-soups that she made, but nothing turns out the way it
should. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Codfish came in wooden boxes salted and dried and hard
as a rock. Lutefisk fish had to be
soaked in lye water, fresh water, and lye water and back to fresh again, how
many times I don’t know. She cooked the
fish many different ways. She loved to
cook wild game and it was good. I
remember watching her cook some cod fish in a frying pan. I can still see the milk and the fish. it was my favorite. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> If Lee or I
killed a porcupine, rock chuck, squirrel or a bird we would cook it out on the
mountain. Butterfield Canyon creek had
fish so we picked up a rocks or a club and ate them with the potato we always carried
in our pocket.</span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iqLanhUkPPw/Tihj6qKJwbI/AAAAAAAAQXI/uSd5hZnKTyI85MpQxR-gO6TFn41cqRtRwCPcB/s1600/CIMG0857.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iqLanhUkPPw/Tihj6qKJwbI/AAAAAAAAQXI/uSd5hZnKTyI85MpQxR-gO6TFn41cqRtRwCPcB/s400/CIMG0857.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>GENE LEE</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h1>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mother
loved the mountains and in order to keep us from waking up dad when we came
home from school we would go for a walk.
So, almost every day we would walk up towards the Queen Mine. These were the fondest memories of my childhood. I was truly blessed to have a mother like
that. The walk was steep for about one
half mile and then it would level off at an old cement damn used for mining of
gold. The canyon was all a part of Bear
Gulch, and it was beautiful. We would
then cross the damn and enter the most beautiful grove of maple trees in the
whole world. The trees were large from
an old forest, a little undergrowth maybe but the ground was covered with
mostly grass and wild flowers, columbines, pinkies and daisies. I can still see Mother sitting there, happy
and not a care in the world. It was good
to see her that way because she did have a hard life. I get a tear in my eye even today thinking of
her. She was the sweetest and the most
caring mother a person could have. <o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XSBVhmzcSW4/Us4lUlGiEoI/AAAAAAAAnBw/CQs1fGBWjZIhrSU7XmXp7sKvWBqLWWq8gCPcB/s1600/jj.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XSBVhmzcSW4/Us4lUlGiEoI/AAAAAAAAnBw/CQs1fGBWjZIhrSU7XmXp7sKvWBqLWWq8gCPcB/s400/jj.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Grandma's farm</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I wanted to stay and explore this new home but I was
sent away to Mapleton to live with grandma on her farm. I was lonely but it was fun feeding and
caring for the animals. There was all
kinds of things to do on a farm and everything was new and fascinating. Like it or not I healed and grew strong. Uncle Joe had cut this field of wheat with a
hand scythe with cradle, a day's work on the scythe was real hard work. I could barely lift this huge contraption but
I did cut a little. I then bound and tied
the stock with a few strand of wheat, and later stacked grain side up to
dry. These standing stocks would be
loaded on a horse drawn wagon and taken to the thrasher. I could hardly wait for the thrasher and
neighbors to come. The thrasher would
soon begin to growl and grown and dust would fly. In time a large straw stack would form on one
side and grains of golden wheat was being loaded in the bed of another wagon to
be taken to the granary. I loved to run
my hands through the grain and chew on these grains. Hay for the cow was planted and cut at least
twice while I was there. I remember the
hen and chicks scrambling to get away from the cutter. After drying it would be raked and loaded on
a wagon. Huge forks would pick it up and
carry it into the barn. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rm8UqV-IiqE/Us4lXLqP0-I/AAAAAAAAnCA/pzyC9uoz_6IegRmSI7e12ZU06Y5CHXelACPcB/s1600/Top-7.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rm8UqV-IiqE/Us4lXLqP0-I/AAAAAAAAnCA/pzyC9uoz_6IegRmSI7e12ZU06Y5CHXelACPcB/s400/Top-7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Haying time at Grandmas</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I loved to watch Uncle Joe milk. He was good with a flick of his wrist would
give each cat a squirt of milk right in the mouth. I tried but never hit close to the cat. I fed the pigs and chickens, turned the crank
to separate the cream from the milk, and then make butter out of cream. Grandma made money selling her butter. One lady drove all the way from Salt Lake
City to buy some. Oh, how I loved the
buttermilk. We had meat, vegetables and
fruit with every meal. But no one to
play with or talk with. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">West of the farm was a ravine with a pond and a creek
with, ducks, birds and snakes. We called
it the “Hollow”. I loved it there. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One day we all went for a </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">picnic up
Hobble Creek</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> where I met our double cousins. We had two Halversons that married two
Petersons. I was bored and restless and
went off by myself looking in the creek.
She said don’t look at him, catch him.
It was my Aunt Mary Halvorsen Peterson and she showed me how to
fish. I found a pole, she found a hook
and string and off we went. What a
wonderful day with a wonderful lady. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I had no idea why I was sent down to grandmas. I thought no one loved me. And where did these babies come from? First there was Paul, then Vivian. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They came and brought me home just before school was
about to start. I had missed so much
school last year they decided to put in the first grade again. School was a about a mile down the canyon and
the way was steep.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrS4ZXJTK8tz-y7IC8eWHbGCO3TSvqXEjItXH3eT8HKaeiwbm8Q081nLFnhqh18uSebV-_Z5d1ZaZJTvFcDoXHb3TD4vEMD5_PcMqT32j5BAjr7hr2esGYSzfHrdecRF0SS5tGwxeOpHO/s1043/195.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="1043" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrS4ZXJTK8tz-y7IC8eWHbGCO3TSvqXEjItXH3eT8HKaeiwbm8Q081nLFnhqh18uSebV-_Z5d1ZaZJTvFcDoXHb3TD4vEMD5_PcMqT32j5BAjr7hr2esGYSzfHrdecRF0SS5tGwxeOpHO/w640-h390/195.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">COPPERFIELD<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h1><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In
the old days our town was called Upper Bingham but we called it
Copperfield. It was the only business
district above the Mine. Several stores,
saloons, eating places and a school. I
believe the name Copperfield School was named before the town. The mine in 1939 cut us off from the rest of
Bingham. Each ethnic group or
nationality had its own part of town that they lived in. Copperfield consisted of many little
parts. We had our Jap Camp, Greek Camp,
Dinkyville, Upper and Lower Copperfield, Terrace Heights, Telegraph and US
(Galena). <o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg54jawmcfeZISNzqU8jIPP9GQ2KpOJRbj7HvwnNNmECDmVgamPS8q1reLK-tJCcl4XYDxWIjMAKOPwQxQIeU_0iQ7ud0HT_N6jiFDfv5_gA7kpzfihw_n9-3PiAk9uj0fxzGD48hrlAOaN/s2048/37.+Miner%25E2%2580%2599s+Merc.%252C+Lower+Main+St.+Abt+1934+Scroggin.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1638" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg54jawmcfeZISNzqU8jIPP9GQ2KpOJRbj7HvwnNNmECDmVgamPS8q1reLK-tJCcl4XYDxWIjMAKOPwQxQIeU_0iQ7ud0HT_N6jiFDfv5_gA7kpzfihw_n9-3PiAk9uj0fxzGD48hrlAOaN/w400-h320/37.+Miner%25E2%2580%2599s+Merc.%252C+Lower+Main+St.+Abt+1934+Scroggin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copperfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Copperfield School was something else. You had to learn to fight to survive. My first day at school I had a fight. I had many fights at least one a week maybe
more, mostly after school but I did get in trouble a few times for fighting
during school time. I still remember the scolding I and a few others got one
day from “Old man Wooten” when the principal called him up to stop the
fighting. I did try to avoid these
fights because I didn't know how. </span></b><br /><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I
learned the hard way, school of hard knocks.
I usually fought Max Salazar, he was the one to beat, and he was the
leader of the Jap Camp and Copperfield gang.
Later it was Carl Espinoza, he was no problem until to our surprise he
was being trained by a professional to be a boxer, I got lumps all over my head
the last time we fought, and he was a good one to avoid after that. Carl was the leader of the Dinkyville
Gang. Marion Carter was the leader of
the Terrace Height’s and Dinkyville gang.
Telegraph and Carl’s part of the Dinkyville gang would always join
together to fight the Copperfield gang.
Each part of town had its own gang.
We formed gangs for protection but our fights were fair. The boys had to
be the same size or there was no fight.
Mostly we just walked around acting tough and if there was a fight it
was the leaders who fought. We didn’t
use clubs and guns in those days. I
never had a fight in High School but I did get knocked out in the Library
once. I didn’t know what happened until
I woke up. Someone was always putting a
chip on his shoulder and daring someone to knock it off. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXAxpSM78Baeet7B0iMQzA_A5be3-EAL0MfaGLzrLUHD29xwMtjextrfZPy4A09SwWNfeBJhk_IqizDASy7xZsHfo1IWeznvJrnit2KOLvoBDRcKCJoY3BVSbL7rCazxnaH77frxsMumg/s1558/36.+Copperfield+Looking+Up+Main+St.%252C+Greek+Camp%252C+Jap+Camp.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="1558" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXAxpSM78Baeet7B0iMQzA_A5be3-EAL0MfaGLzrLUHD29xwMtjextrfZPy4A09SwWNfeBJhk_IqizDASy7xZsHfo1IWeznvJrnit2KOLvoBDRcKCJoY3BVSbL7rCazxnaH77frxsMumg/w400-h243/36.+Copperfield+Looking+Up+Main+St.%252C+Greek+Camp%252C+Jap+Camp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copperfield to Telegraph</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was always one of the smaller boys in my classes at
school and to make matters even worse I had to live with a bad limp because of
an injured hip. I was required to carry
all the water and saw all the wood that mother needed for the house. In time this hard work made me a great deal
stronger than anyone in my class. I had
to win my fights by endurance. They
seemed to dance around me and punch me at will.
I took my lumps but eventually they would tire and I would get my
turn. In time </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I learned to box and even enjoyed it.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I never cried, my mother said, "Don't
let them see you cry that's what they want you to do. Be strong and things will always get better,
just wait". </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This was Sisu that she taught me</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in her own
way. I could endure pain, fatigue and go
long periods without food or water. What
has to be endured can be endured.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIUUQrlqJMeYn0FkMy7MaX41DuX69_taGLR_usErfOF4pSYuB1KDvBcpyqd6GSB0NOjdMpEqT2lKp1VL3EHukQxkn0IdYB87DSVhfLwMpWVMzU2dng914J_I-fGtexKXBVsSjtj4rE9eC/s1043/195.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="1043" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIUUQrlqJMeYn0FkMy7MaX41DuX69_taGLR_usErfOF4pSYuB1KDvBcpyqd6GSB0NOjdMpEqT2lKp1VL3EHukQxkn0IdYB87DSVhfLwMpWVMzU2dng914J_I-fGtexKXBVsSjtj4rE9eC/w400-h244/195.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4th JULY Copperfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Walking from Bingham to Upper Bingham was quite an
experience and dangerous. You were
walking through the main part of the mine right next to the trains, trucks,
giant shovels. If you heard a whistle
you had to run to a shelter. They were
springing and blasting </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">and rocks
were falling everywhere</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Rocks were
also falling from the bridges you had to walk under. A few years later they built a mile and a
quarter tunnel to walk through. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It seems like the new boy in town gets tested. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
had many fights.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It seems
like I always had a bloody nose or a lump on my head until I got the hang of
it. I even got to like fighting. Max was taller and had a longer reach so I
learned to take my lumps until I wore him out.
Then I took him down and got even.
Then he would take me home and his mother would feed us. He was a lifelong friend. He would go on to be quite famous. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the fourth grade I got real good in arithmetic and
multiplication. The fifth grade was with
Miss Holbrook and school began to be interesting and my report card showed
it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Beverly Barrett was “Taffy Ann” and I really do not
know who or what I was. I was happily
singing away when the teacher said, “Stop” and everyone looked at me, Halverson
just move your lips, “do not sing”. I
cannot carry a tune to this day.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXSvDC9m5Rjxyav6fdB4El3f4OXRZDPOIR6dAWvBEb_u1sXoM5mArIXLMn1M1e8OgqTK7qrTFut6WLGM-FaKG8uyApxxveyVnoQVNHX71nUmpCfNkjK1XvAz574Mp3w2gZDm_ThWT07YJ/s1200/22-Fig.-67B-2-of-4-Left-Pan-o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1200" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXSvDC9m5Rjxyav6fdB4El3f4OXRZDPOIR6dAWvBEb_u1sXoM5mArIXLMn1M1e8OgqTK7qrTFut6WLGM-FaKG8uyApxxveyVnoQVNHX71nUmpCfNkjK1XvAz574Mp3w2gZDm_ThWT07YJ/w400-h380/22-Fig.-67B-2-of-4-Left-Pan-o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jap Camp US Mine</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then we did <i>“</i></span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Copperfield Wood-Burned Mural</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and it was
one of the most ambitious projects in all the 350 school-works by Utah school
children in the all-Utah school arts exhibit at the Utah Arts Center in the<i> Utah State Arts Center in Salt Lake
City. </i>It is a ten foot by four and a
half foot wood-burned mural done as a community project by the children of the
fifth grade of Upper Bingham School.
Committees of the fifth grade were chosen to visit various buildings in
Upper Bingham, Included in the mural was the First Utah Copper Mine Office
behind it was the Mine itself with its levels and operations. The center piece was the large figure of a
miner, the mural accurately shows stores, boarding houses, schools, mine
buildings and other familiar scene to Bingham residents. The children of the Upper Bingham School have
developed the mural until it is representative of life of life in this
community. We had a tall Japanese was
our main artist. He was very talented
and he drew the center piece, a miner with a pick and a shovel. Our mural look so real. Isabell Rose drew and burnt the Copperfield
side of the tunnel. Our school was in the lower right-hand corner. I remember sitting on the floor burning and
shading it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdnjOqY7t3kpw3LFxskrDAxWTNA3v65aKZ9BrUYXiYvudA8F6JCTM5Lav2S5OyCGPA30WZJZ5Bz1H4YR6FXNs8YfGptB-xiMQ9pPFYKQ0iBy5q_hME_BNSMYjT-0gkw638o6b9tCqFiV9/s1911/35.+Upper+Copperfield+Before+Company+Houses+on+Main+Street+o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1911" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdnjOqY7t3kpw3LFxskrDAxWTNA3v65aKZ9BrUYXiYvudA8F6JCTM5Lav2S5OyCGPA30WZJZ5Bz1H4YR6FXNs8YfGptB-xiMQ9pPFYKQ0iBy5q_hME_BNSMYjT-0gkw638o6b9tCqFiV9/w400-h266/35.+Upper+Copperfield+Before+Company+Houses+on+Main+Street+o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foxes switch and copperfield school</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The companies divided Copperfield by </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">national and racial housing</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Whites lived on Main Street in brick houses,
Mexicans in Dinkeyville, Greek Camp for single men and Jap Camp. I loved to go with Jackie Myaki to bathe in
their large hot tubs. And before the war
they had a school to teach the kids how to draw and write the Japanese
language. This extra help made them very
good students in our school. It was a
shame to see them close these schools after the war. But even before if any child spoke any
language other than English they were punished.
The many nationalities, cultures, customs, dances, and food made Bingham
what it was. I loved everything about
what we had. I am afraid it is lost and
gone forever. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SaBgs2fgotM/Tlqal58qIQI/AAAAAAAAWX4/TK4-rPLm5Uod0rvo06m5GFdKNcWPGP1PgCPcB/s1600/06-132.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SaBgs2fgotM/Tlqal58qIQI/AAAAAAAAWX4/TK4-rPLm5Uod0rvo06m5GFdKNcWPGP1PgCPcB/s400/06-132.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Karl John</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I could not go to school for a whole year. So, day after day, summer and winter, here I
sat like a bird, with a bird’s eye view from our house sat unable to hardly
walk even with crutches</span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. I began watching Karl John</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> coming and
going. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He was doing some strange things. I could tell he was not fond of being watched
even by an eight year old kid. I told
him I knew he was hiding something and now I knew what. Who knows anything besides you, who have you
told, what about your parents? Then the
two of us sat down to talk. He didn’t
tell me how he found this body of ore (silver and lead, whatever) but I believe
he went down to bedrock for gold and found it by accident. He asked me to keep quite or he would be sent
away. So, I promised. He worked with a pick, shovel and
wheelbarrow. He mixed waste dirt with
his ore to fool the US Mine who he was leasing from. If they even had an idea how rich a claim he
had they would have shut him down. One
day he retired and went to Salt Lake to live.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the bottom of a wash below the apartments was a
flat sandy place for games. Buck Leyba
would bring up a bunch of kids from Dinkeyville and we would play either
football or baseball depending on what kind of ball we had. Below this was the cocoa dirt we played
in. The dirt was the remains left from
an old stamp mill and concentrator. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One day a dump truck stopped on the road and dumped
about seven powder boxes of glass negatives that had been stored in a warehouse
somewhere. They would have been worth thousands of dollars today. I saved about a dozen years until dad put
them in the garbage dump along with my collection of carbide lamps and brass
candle holders.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbOVM5RI284/TlqaiXE2CBI/AAAAAAAAiTQ/BdS7Gk8f1mcbCzlpuq39PYTysZjdmAZ-wCPcB/s1600/06-96b.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbOVM5RI284/TlqaiXE2CBI/AAAAAAAAiTQ/BdS7Gk8f1mcbCzlpuq39PYTysZjdmAZ-wCPcB/s400/06-96b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Telegraph Kids</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We lived in a dangerous world. There were working mines and abandoned mines
right amongst the houses. Two men went
in a </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">tunnel in Dinkeyville</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and died of
poison air. It was a quick way through
the mountain to Yosemite. I went through
it but never with a flashlight. There
were mine shafts, holes where the surface caved into a mine. I lost a dog and the Ivies lost a horse. Two boys were found dead in a ventilation
shaft. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then dynamite and carbide could be found in many
tunnels. I knew a few boys who lost a
finger or two playing with dynamite caps.
Primer cord explodes just like the caps.
Bombs were made from carbide.
Some even set off dynamite. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o4khIvyq89E/TlqavxBATWI/AAAAAAAAiTU/zwRn2UvBVs4iyHMAOO_9X3Y_ErV-LsTvQCPcB/s1600/06-159.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o4khIvyq89E/TlqavxBATWI/AAAAAAAAiTU/zwRn2UvBVs4iyHMAOO_9X3Y_ErV-LsTvQCPcB/s400/06-159.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>winter in Telegraph</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There wasn’t much for a crippled boy to do and I was
bored. Mother noticed this and gave me a
balsa wood airplane kit. The more I made
the better I got. The first were proper
driven, then I went into gliders. Then
in wings. Now I needed to make a big
one. I soon found myself in a place I should
not be and took an armful of ¼” by 1 ½’ by 14 foot fir strips from US Carpenter
shop. It took a while to build and a
while before I tried to fly it. Kids
came in from Dinkeyville and Copperfield to watch me fly it. A half hour later we were up on the </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Giant Chief Dump</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and tying a 25 pound bearing cap to the
nose. Everything was perfect, a good
rising wind coming up the dump and all I had to do is find the right balance
and send it away. On the third attempt I
was lifted off the ground and flying away.
They told me I was still running even when my feet was ten feet off the
ground. I was in trouble and knew it. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">If
I dropped off now I would be dead</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">,</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but when I got to the end of the dump I
was twenty feet in the air and going faster every second. Well I dropped off before the hundred foot
death drop. I ended up with all kinds of
cuts and bruises and bleeding in many places.
All the time trying to see my giant wing. I was looking down the canyon when it went
straight up higher than the dump and then see-sawed its way down into Marsell
Chea’s garage. The bearing cap busted
its way into the top of the garage leaving the poor wing for us to take
away. He never asked anyone about the
hole we knocked in his garage or the bearing cap inside so we came out of
hiding. He must have known but took it
with a smile. We never even told mother
what we were up too. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVzNKVdIk8Q/WEnF72dn4mI/AAAAAAAAt5U/_BVwWvXmNoMvA52VEfrePIfEL6CCo9_rACPcB/s1600/14196021_10207381992768166_3611345559575170753_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVzNKVdIk8Q/WEnF72dn4mI/AAAAAAAAt5U/_BVwWvXmNoMvA52VEfrePIfEL6CCo9_rACPcB/s400/14196021_10207381992768166_3611345559575170753_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Mountain<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I got a brand new 22 rifle for Christmas, a pocket
knife, a potato and a few matches and Tippy a Rat Terrier grandpa gave me. He was quite a hunter and furnished me with
many meals. I ate squirrels, porcupines
and birds with my potato. A time or two
I didn’t even come home at night. When
some mother was looking for a child they’d call and told them if they were with
Lee they’d be alright. These were the
best years of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We even cooked grasshoppers. If an Indian ate it we could too. You ever tried stinging nettle? Boil it a couple of times and it was
tasty. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Snow was melting and the water was running and I was
there panning for gold. I followed Alvin
Cole to a flat above my house. I was not
the best but I did find gold. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Iys7e3Y1ROs/WEnGCHJ0JAI/AAAAAAAAt5g/E0LalcTZ7DYGpr0W2jldikMf01uWVJqhQCPcB/s1600/dsc00948%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Iys7e3Y1ROs/WEnGCHJ0JAI/AAAAAAAAt5g/E0LalcTZ7DYGpr0W2jldikMf01uWVJqhQCPcB/s400/dsc00948%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">High mountain tops</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our house at the head of Bear and Galena Gulch was the
starting place for most all trails into the mountains. From these mountains I could see Salt Lake,
Tooele and Lehi. What a place and time
to live. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
Black Rock Trail<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We had the coldest, sweetest water in the water tunnel
next to Bodmer’s house? The Black Rock
Trail started right there. There were
“Skinks” there they were half snake and half lizard. Long and skinny as a pencil. Dark brown with tan corners and bright blue
tail. These were not the common blue
belly lizards. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">From there we walked over the mountain to “</span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Hawk Rock”.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In late summer we would find these
crazy star shaped “Puff balls” that exploded when you stomped on them, this
would send these brownish/purplish powder spores all over your ankles. They are actually a very poisonous mushroom
the 6/8 stars are the hard outer cover of the ball that flattens leaving a
tannish ball holding the spores. I now
know them as the Earth Star Puff Ball or the Devil’s snuff Box. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6rIOLpnLcIs/TlBzVffoxAI/AAAAAAAAVb8/QBCL0SxCSrckCEYHn38nw8Da-g4cjZiUgCPcB/s1600/06-133.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6rIOLpnLcIs/TlBzVffoxAI/AAAAAAAAVb8/QBCL0SxCSrckCEYHn38nw8Da-g4cjZiUgCPcB/s400/06-133.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Harvey Halverson, Marcel Chea</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The last stop on this trail was down to </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Eagle Rock”</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> sitting above the old Bishop Mine in
Yosemite Gulch, we could see Lark and all of Salt Lake Valley from here. The mine head frame and building were still
in use, it pulled cars up from the shaft going deep down in the mountain. We had a choice of walking back over the
mountain or a tunnel Dinkeyville? The
tunnel was about a mile long with shaft that was very dangerous to tip toe
past. It ended near Carter’s old house
near an old trail to Telegraph, this used to be the “Old Holden mule railroad”.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--5W9zPwc4AI/WEnF7IxP_pI/AAAAAAAAt5g/mhnOakCMAjIJf1-3AVxkNVZIigJFU0hLgCPcB/s1600/Boy%2BScout%2Bbuilding%2Bin%2BButterfield.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--5W9zPwc4AI/WEnF7IxP_pI/AAAAAAAAt5g/mhnOakCMAjIJf1-3AVxkNVZIigJFU0hLgCPcB/s400/Boy%2BScout%2Bbuilding%2Bin%2BButterfield.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Scout Camp in Butterfield</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Bear Gulch/Queen/Butterfield Trail was</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> left just
behind my house on the road to Queen at the top of Telegraph, after a steep
climb the road levels out where a cement dam was used to save the creek water
for “gold mining”. Every time I panned
out a nice piece of gold, Alvin Cole would say, “That’s a good boy, here put it
in my bottle”. Across creek was the most
beautiful grove of ancient old Maple trees and the only lawn I ever knew? It was a camping and picnicking that I used
many times. A half mile latter you past
the “Big Tree”. I remember the spring
there before the arsenic got in it? This
was an old Indian Camp where I found </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">many
arrowheads and flint knives</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> here. Can
anyone remember Jack Ass Gulch with all the old Quaken Aspen trees, this was
the right fork? The center road went to
a couple of mines still being worked, I remember it as Bear Gulch. By staying on the main road about a mile or
two farther took you over the mountain to the town of Queen. I remember when
Queen housed at least several families and a boarding house for the single
men. Travelling below the big Queen Mine
Dump to the first turn you would leave the road and make short climb to the
mines water line that went from Butterfield to Queen. Then traversed the tops of Butterfield Canyon
until we got to the Boy Scout Camp. I
remember the building with its big fireplace where Lee and I spent a snowy
night with one blanket. There were four
of us to start with but the others left sometime in the dark.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmfaStFjVci_Q02zGQOyw5c8D8NKvxOLyIwc5HYqtsRihKvG3o_VB8FwTIqPelP7Xq1ZMEvEbiJ1ewvKgH8BpsjNbaajc_jom-oKggNwRyCoJdkAFkMhLyZmnb9fcDRHolQ8TTLY1Yuri/s1600/Western+Skink.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmfaStFjVci_Q02zGQOyw5c8D8NKvxOLyIwc5HYqtsRihKvG3o_VB8FwTIqPelP7Xq1ZMEvEbiJ1ewvKgH8BpsjNbaajc_jom-oKggNwRyCoJdkAFkMhLyZmnb9fcDRHolQ8TTLY1Yuri/s400/Western+Skink.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>a Skink at Black Rock</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This was a wide area at the junction of three
canyons. Each canyon had a creek and
many springs. It was also the site of </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">an </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">old Indian Camp</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
I found quite of an assortment of arrow heads. When I was young the creek was planted with
fish, when we were hungry we would catch them with rocks or clubs and roast
them on a stick. In the spring we would
look for Indian Potatoes, a small eatable bulbs. They were first green plants to show up as the
snow melted. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Bear Gulch Middle Canyon Trail<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Starting at the back of my house in Telegraph you
would walk to the Queen Ridge leaving the road for a trail that headed up
toward Sun Shine Peak, to the left you could look at Queen far below. At the right was Doctor Frazier’s ski run and
ski jump. I skied it and remember it well. Going up put you high above the “Silver
Shield Mine and the US Road. A little
higher and above Silver Shield was the stumps trees of an </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">ancient forest called “The Big Grove</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. It was clear cut to build the Mormon
Tabernacle. Did anyone besides me ever
go over and lay on the huge 5/6 foot diameter stumps. A half a mile father up the trail leveled off
a mile or so above Butterfield, passing through two large groves of Quaking
Aspen. I remember this part of the trail
because of the many Horny Toads found there.
You see the Butterfield-Middle Canyon Pass a half mile below where you
would go over the pass to another to a spring above the Highland Boy water
tunnel and on down to the tunnel. At
times there would be kids my age who had arrived here from Highland Boy. These were my first friend I knew from
Highland Boy. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P54Qg7IZTYE/Vja-oYOZ76I/AAAAAAAAqrg/dNZgg77edd8t9ELtLtPp_0MbdpJFbtwZQCPcB/s1600/PA213195.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P54Qg7IZTYE/Vja-oYOZ76I/AAAAAAAAqrg/dNZgg77edd8t9ELtLtPp_0MbdpJFbtwZQCPcB/s320/PA213195.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The US/Galena/Bingham Gulch Road </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The first half mile above my house was
quite steep until you reached and crossed this huge air pipe 10 inches in
diameter, coming from Copperfield to the US Mine. Did any of you try to slide down it too? Once was enough for me too. The road was
mostly level for the next two miles to the US Town and Mine. The Utah Copper Dump on the right went
straight to the US. The Silver Shield
Mine had a dry-house for their workers too shower but the water was full of
arsenic and tasted bitter but it was hot and Lee loved it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I remembers when US was full of houses and people, I
had many friends there? Lorraine,
Blackie Clinton’s daughter said, “In the winter time when the roads were
closed, they went down a mine shaft through a tunnel to the Copperfield
school. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Above the US Mine there was a railroad car that was
built to kill the strikers. It was a
self-propelled round metal gun turret with six holes manned by six men. As it rolled along on this circular railroad
it rotated giving each man a shot. When
the people moved away we tore the roof off the town’s water tank and swam in it. It was so icy cold and deep but it was clean.
I remember when our 5th grade class hiked above the US and then over the
mountain and looked into Highland Boy.
There we went into a dark old mine until it was too dark to see. It was spooky enough before we heard the
bear. But it was just our principal
growling and playing games with our minds,.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The “Water Falls Trail Freeman Gulch </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> As a kid I hiked all over the hills in
Bingham. My buddies at that time
included Art Bentley, Teddy Allen and Floyd Timothy. We had a favorite place we called
“waterfalls”; it was a real pretty spot with a nice stream and a pond. We made rafts and poled around the pond. The water was so cold we didn’t swim unless
we fell off the raft. The water falls
and pond was in Freeman Canyon just over the B&G railroad. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Markham’s Trail </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Markham Gulch was a very long canyon
heading straight toward Markham Peak. It
produced a lot of springs that gathered together to make a very large stream
even in the late summer. It was a wonderful
canyon. It was full of Maple trees.
Quaken Aspen. Pine trees, Oak and Mahogany trees. The higher you went the more primitive it
became. This creek here in this canyon
was as large as the Butterfield Canyon creek that had fish in it. It was another clear water pond made by the
waste dump damn. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaz3Ebfn8qu4BEek67Em6PHP0bN5939uH6TO5mdy6IjsF2_-Fa5FGKVFFBCBA9Uydah5XgGeQkJen3lr364c0DLJNQKNaqfavZmjiTN3HbvZKIZdnMk8JwzTsXjnVlYnODJyoVzQGqQR9p/s1200/40-Fig.-97-Rebuilt-Grade-Schoo.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="1200" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaz3Ebfn8qu4BEek67Em6PHP0bN5939uH6TO5mdy6IjsF2_-Fa5FGKVFFBCBA9Uydah5XgGeQkJen3lr364c0DLJNQKNaqfavZmjiTN3HbvZKIZdnMk8JwzTsXjnVlYnODJyoVzQGqQR9p/w400-h239/40-Fig.-97-Rebuilt-Grade-Schoo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copperfield School</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Winter Time </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We played in the snow did a lot of
sledding. We could ride over a mile or
so with no problems. We were at the end
of the road and the cars were mostly parked and snowed in. But one day I noticed ski tracks and we were
too poor to buy me some. So I went
behind a Copperfield store broke up a big barrel and made a pair of skis. I followed the ski tracks to the top of Bear
Gulch and found a much used ski run and jump.
I didn’t have much trouble with the run but I fell down on every
jump. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was skiing on Doctor Frazer’s run and jump. He was getting ready to go to the Anarchic
with Admiral Byrd.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The snow was melting here and the Lark side of the
mountain had lots of snow. Now I had to
get my brother to come with me. After a
short walk over a saddle off we went. We
skied a mile or so almost to the bottom when Lee stopped and kicked off his
skis. Down he went almost </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">out of sight
and he couldn’t move.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The snow was
too soft and he needed help. Well I got
him out and found a ridge to go home on.
It was cold and Lee was tired and almost frozen. I was breaking trail and never noticed Lee
was no longer there. He wanted to go to
sleep and it was a battle to get him moving.
I got him home but I lost a skiing partner.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Changing Schools </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our principal Mr. Atwood left us to manage
a California school. I still have his
post card with a one cent stamp on it.
Mr. Nelson was now our teacher and principal and we did many things. We had a long “May Day” from school, through
Telegraph, on up over the top of US to look over the mountain. We were well over 10,000 feet and could see
both sides of the mountain. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One field trip we went to the University of Utah to
see experiments with electricity, vacuums and other interesting things. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuUbtgDMLMfqIvQoiIkpXfFXCEfKVeiHCHG8JQo8AKNlIGoR_Zjudnc7pJHpInUkin8EFNTs1qjYnDkKhLdmMdN4nTVTNDwiPon3HHF9AzXq-4jTRMEXzrJLMqSMW1Iv60i37J-_zRs9D/s673/041.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="513" data-original-width="673" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuUbtgDMLMfqIvQoiIkpXfFXCEfKVeiHCHG8JQo8AKNlIGoR_Zjudnc7pJHpInUkin8EFNTs1qjYnDkKhLdmMdN4nTVTNDwiPon3HHF9AzXq-4jTRMEXzrJLMqSMW1Iv60i37J-_zRs9D/w400-h305/041.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Copperfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Another field trip was to the Magna Mills to learn how
they made ore in to copper. Well we did
learn a lot but managed to get in trouble.
As we were passing by some machines in the shop there was a box full of
silver bars, I asked the man are those silver?
Yep, put a couple in your pocket, and we each took one. They were too big and shiny to hide and all
the men were laughing. When we went to
get on the bus, the teachers spotted us and we had to give them back. The foreman even laughed at us. He told us that they were Babbitt bars not
silver. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We got our first radio and at first we would sit down
and listen to some funny stories; I Love a Mystery, Tarzan, Fiber Magee and
Moly, Kingfish etc. Then the Second
World War began. War in Europe, war in
China and then Finland was fighting Russia.
We still had family in Finland and we were quite concerned. Now we were tuned into the wars. China was in a losing war. Germany had taken most of Europe and was
losing in Russia. Finland had stopped Russia at its border. But it was on the other side of the
world. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The war got closer when Bob Burke was killed when his
ship was sunk by a German submarine.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then in 1941 war came to us and we were angry. Bingham boys began enlisting, even in my
class Max Salazar was 13 when he enlisted, 14 when his ship was sunk and
wounded, then he received a presidential citation for rescuing his commanding
officer, who was trapped in burning oil.
Honorably discharged at 15, rejoined and was sunk again, lost for weeks
on an island, and discharged again. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLUcmm3w54G3cxyQVXWp0qrGeDGj9QT2nxJsZdTMIWfd7iNhamcJICzk8ThxXj2ASoT8IAZhXctlfqmB05BUBDOxAELxmhSNUiko4uIRWM5816IyqDML-aDkPZuIjMvw7bgF3lY1W32q5/s1200/32-Fig.-85-Jap-Camp-Before-Bat.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="1200" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLUcmm3w54G3cxyQVXWp0qrGeDGj9QT2nxJsZdTMIWfd7iNhamcJICzk8ThxXj2ASoT8IAZhXctlfqmB05BUBDOxAELxmhSNUiko4uIRWM5816IyqDML-aDkPZuIjMvw7bgF3lY1W32q5/w400-h243/32-Fig.-85-Jap-Camp-Before-Bat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jap Camp<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Graduation classes for the next few years several
years had very few boys left. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">War took so many men into the service boys and girls
were hired. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I hired out in 1944.
Worked on the track-gang. At
times the gangs were all young boys. I
first worked on Bicycle Gus’s gang. He
was a little old man with short legs. He
peddled down the ties so fast he was hard to keep up with. He was Greek from the old country and I liked
him very much. He had quite an accent
and we all tried to mimic his speech. We
learned how to cut rails with chisel and hammer. Drill holes in rails. We were the only gang at the mine who could
do this. I learned a lot from him. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then I was a Dump man.
Telling the brakeman where to dump his train. When this berm when it became long enough it
was flattened and the track moved out for another berm. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jack Whitely noticed me and I was given a train to
work with. I was now a brake man who
hanging on the lead car going to the dump.
I learned all the tricks to keep them running, and putting them back on
track. A couple of friends were killed
so I moved on. I remember some funny
times with “Wild Bill” and we were helping him so he could eventually retire. He was a good man in his day but today he was
“blind as a bat”. Signals were never
seen. The brakeman stopped the train by
kicking the tail-hose. Gordon Hickman
was riding the end and signaling like crazy.
He jumped and watched his train run to the end of the track and over the
hill. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I tried the Shovel Department for the higher pay and
but had my fill of the danger and nasty treatment. Well the nasty old Runner was killed a year
or two later.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCyIViDc73KWDxGr9SjhWNPlbjxDlLrek4XCpVGaFI5_WFEsjx6cmhNPbt_ALPuHLHin2vSacbzhSQXyGClPmhmPREFHCHbdtcKzji6OAeDVz1EMfpnUCAZPmrFCbtGpLBOs-v8FMo5Zt/s2048/37.+Miner%25E2%2580%2599s+Merc.%252C+Lower+Main+St.+Abt+1934+Scroggin.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1638" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCyIViDc73KWDxGr9SjhWNPlbjxDlLrek4XCpVGaFI5_WFEsjx6cmhNPbt_ALPuHLHin2vSacbzhSQXyGClPmhmPREFHCHbdtcKzji6OAeDVz1EMfpnUCAZPmrFCbtGpLBOs-v8FMo5Zt/w400-h320/37.+Miner%25E2%2580%2599s+Merc.%252C+Lower+Main+St.+Abt+1934+Scroggin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Copperfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I bid on the machine shops to work there. I helped Lewy Ballamis and it was fun. He was the only real boilermaker left at the
mine and every day was a surprise when one of those old steamers would come
in. More than once we would rake the
fire from the boiler and the grate was still red. We covered the grate and I would cover Lew
with wet rags then he would climb in and tighten a stay-bolt or something. I loved that old man. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then in </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1948
the US Mine took our house and tore it down.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
We moved to West Jordan and <i>my
story ends. <o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tomorrow I’ll go the cemetery to bury my old fighting
buddy, Juan Vigil. We started working
together as laborers on the track gang and later in the machine shops. We loved to fight. As soon as the whistle would blow and work
for the day was over we would attack each other like detective Couso and Kato
did in the Pink Panther. We would end up
bruised and our clothes torn off our backs.
Many years later he was my helper in the Boiler shop for several
years. We hunted deer together for many
years usually the three of us, Juan (Johnny), James Ballamis and myself. I am going to miss him. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was asked one day by my Grandson and
the story goes on<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1w5UdpMpA7bvjuzPSXGwsdCUQKx6HKiH9Ar4zSEuz6CVhrW83b9im27QXjanMGtCjX5UYB6G5v-b6fmMAFyzkamN1X5G2ED7CeLL61tRB53taJhj7Dy-QpOfvQgtZTy9I7svFryTui0Y/s1200/3-About-Front-Cover-4x3.4in80.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="932" data-original-width="1200" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1w5UdpMpA7bvjuzPSXGwsdCUQKx6HKiH9Ar4zSEuz6CVhrW83b9im27QXjanMGtCjX5UYB6G5v-b6fmMAFyzkamN1X5G2ED7CeLL61tRB53taJhj7Dy-QpOfvQgtZTy9I7svFryTui0Y/w400-h311/3-About-Front-Cover-4x3.4in80.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Telegraph road</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">"What kind of toys did you have when you were a
boy"? It was the same question that
Billy McIvor asked when he came to play with me when I was little. He said, "What can I play
with"? Other than my airplanes, I
had no store-bought toys, if I played trucks it wasn't with a truck it was a
block of wood or a can. I guess I had a
good imagination and made many things and was proud of what I had made. Billy's father was rich and he had room’s
full toys, he was also two or three years older than I was. One day he had his father bring all these
toys to my house and gave them to me, they didn't work because Billy couldn't
fix anything. I soon had them all running
again. One was the largest Lionel Trains
I had ever seen, with all the automatic switches, dumping stations, tunnels and
lots of track, A large erector set and steam driven engine. They had been abused but in time I had them
all working. Billy said his father had
given him new ones. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was always quite competitive, and loved to test my
skill against all comers. We had special
tops in those days that are not sold any more, probably because of safety
reasons. They were wooden tops made of
hardwood with a hard metal end to spin on, the spinners had a rounded point and
the spikers had sharp points. A spiker
was made to destroy an opponent’s top, each person would take his turn until
some ones top was broken. A string was
wrapped around the top from the bottom up, the other end was held in your hand,
the top was thrown with force to it spin faster. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71N7Jm0svujydAMqIbPPk_xZOf1CCeuYbmgG_sw8v9JCKsAEMsf4tJwFwPL0_ivF3dbBhKmpAG5qCCJ3qD3NTtZT_PG93xNYM8oUx4VArKCvk9fuIihR_ghuC_cNiXR1REX3yrLYue_8u/s1060/2.+Halverson+House+Upper+Telegraph%253B+Max+Ivie-1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="866" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71N7Jm0svujydAMqIbPPk_xZOf1CCeuYbmgG_sw8v9JCKsAEMsf4tJwFwPL0_ivF3dbBhKmpAG5qCCJ3qD3NTtZT_PG93xNYM8oUx4VArKCvk9fuIihR_ghuC_cNiXR1REX3yrLYue_8u/w326-h400/2.+Halverson+House+Upper+Telegraph%253B+Max+Ivie-1.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halverson house Telegraph</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Marbles was played with the winner taking the
opponents marble. Some kids could shoot
a marble so hard they could break the marbles.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We played a game called "Can the Can", a
game copied from "Cricket". It
was a four man ball-game, two against two, a tennis ball and a two bats. Two men were up to bat at a time, other two
tried to strike them out. The plate was
a hole in the ground with two condensed milk cans back and straddling the, hole
the holes were about 60 feet apart, a run was counted if the batters hit the
ball and was able trade places or if the ball got away from the pitchers. The batters were up until the pitchers
knocked three cans over. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our skis were barrel stays with straps nailed to the
sides. We were always on them but one
day I got the bright idea of skiing down to the Horse-Shoe Bend near Lark to
hunt cotton-tail rabbits on the barrel staves.
Why we did this on such a cold winter day I’ll never know. Skiing seven miles was fine but the walk back
home up over the high mountain was to much for Lee. Our pants had long ago frozen in to something
like a stove-pipes, Lee was cold and tired and wanted to lay down and sleep, I
knew he would have died if he did so I pushed and pulled him all the way
home. We still laugh about all the dumb
things we did back then. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We had “Coca Dirt” in Telegraph and everybody came to
play in it. We would make roads and
tunnels in it. We would also grab a
handful like you would make a snowball and throw it at each other. We looked like someone had dumped a can of
coca on your head. What it was, was the
tailings from an old mill and it was full of arsenic, lead, iron and
sulfur. The lower part of our football
field was mostly coca dirt and the upper part gravel. Buck (Nelson) Leyba would gather all the
gangs together for our football and baseball games. The field was level but it was sure
dirty. We had great times but I swear
that we all left some blood and guts there.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gNRrmNFJ06U/WEnF8d8Qh9I/AAAAAAAAt5U/B3JR83wcHcM3jWsRdlNQzqRzff2moUCawCPcB/s1600/CIMG0851-1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gNRrmNFJ06U/WEnF8d8Qh9I/AAAAAAAAt5U/B3JR83wcHcM3jWsRdlNQzqRzff2moUCawCPcB/s400/CIMG0851-1.jpg" width="387" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Queen is gone</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The “Big Tree” was just above Telegraph and everybody
who ever lived in the Copperfield area, remembers it. It was on the way to the Queen Mine. It was the most magnificent old cottonwood
tree you would ever want to see. It must
have been hundreds of years old, and three or four feet in diameter. It was the only cottonwood tree in the
canyon. I have just found a picture of
it, Isabel Rose Scroggan gave I to me.
It was near a spring with cool clear water but mining activity eventually
polluted it. It was on an old Indian
trail from the Salt Lake valley over the Oquirrh Mountains to the Tooele
valley. The tree was the site of their
summer home, burial grounds and a hunting area.
I was able to find a large collection of arrowheads, spearheads and
knives. I found other arrowheads here
near the tree and all over the mountain.
Some at the old Scout Camp in Butterfield but mostly at the Big Tree was
they must have been their burial grounds as well as being on the trail to the
desert . <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the head of a canyon above the Silver Shield Mine
there were giant stumps of an ancient old forest of giant trees that had been
clear cut back in pioneer days. The
stumps were all about </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">four to six
feet in diameter.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> No one would
believe me when I told them how big they were.
Only a few of us during my lifetime had ever seen them. I was grown up and moved away before I found
out who had cut them. In a geology book
I found out that they called my trees the </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"Big
Grove".</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Brigham Young
had sent his people to build a saw mill and cut these trees. The tabernacle and most all the valleys
buildings were built from these trees.
The trouble was the clear cutting caused this particular species of Red
Pine to become extinct. Mining and
logging has now destroyed this mountain.
It was a beautiful mountain and it is hard access to what is left of
it. The Indians called it Oquirrh
Mountain, meaning the Shining Mountain.
I didn’t realize the many of the trails that I walked on were logging
roads not ore haulage roads. Every
canyon had a spring for drinking if you knew where to look. Mining eventually destroyed the aquifer which
caused the many springs and creeks to dry up.
The water now drains from the mouths of the many mines but it is
polluted with arsenic and other metals. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Amsp6wlEHVxLuUPvDKFIw1FO3bxJkzqzKHJXlBE2PUvF1ThblQdtfAz_R_MAQQfmQL1InrAI8abRE4RCFTYuUPak4WPX4-UgE3d-vZ15u39vs9wM1NjpNWUy1N5FX9yOwwJjvxgzxwk-/s1600/image0-9.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="1224" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Amsp6wlEHVxLuUPvDKFIw1FO3bxJkzqzKHJXlBE2PUvF1ThblQdtfAz_R_MAQQfmQL1InrAI8abRE4RCFTYuUPak4WPX4-UgE3d-vZ15u39vs9wM1NjpNWUy1N5FX9yOwwJjvxgzxwk-/s400/image0-9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">US Town, Galena & Jordan Mines</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There was still a war going on. I had a 22 rifle with no ammunition and there
was no way to find bullets for it. So I
put out the word that I would pay an outrageous amount for a box. Billy Nevers came up with a box and I paid
him. They were so old most of them would
not fire. Then I would turn them and
shoot them again.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My dog was dead and my gun wouldn’t shoot so I began
setting snares. There were rabbits
everywhere. With so many tracks and
trails I thought it would be easy. Three
mornings in a row I got a rabbit but all I found was fur and blood. So that ended my snaring adventure. These were all cottontail rabbits. We had the big Snowshoe rabbits too. I got one when I had bullets and Tippy caught
one. He drug it home from the top of the
mountain and the rabbit was as big as the dog.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We had a few bats flying around at night in the summer
but it was winter now and here was stupid bat hanging upside down under a pine
tree. They live in mine tunnels and are
supposed to hibernate. Something
disturbed it and here it was freezing to death. So I took it home. After it warmed up it flew away. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdttoLsBZzeNyniSa4KxXo6ikUMMhIeNdMC58ZbEWp31y-w49UYVLJbfK0hVDlPE9gNYLwHJXkoxMsuH4gRl_7eeYfHwCTQ1HeVz3B2mUnbwurYEgj5wRfMaR0lXmY9mO4SEeSzCpBbJ_/s1600/image0-014.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="760" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdttoLsBZzeNyniSa4KxXo6ikUMMhIeNdMC58ZbEWp31y-w49UYVLJbfK0hVDlPE9gNYLwHJXkoxMsuH4gRl_7eeYfHwCTQ1HeVz3B2mUnbwurYEgj5wRfMaR0lXmY9mO4SEeSzCpBbJ_/s400/image0-014.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">US Town</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I bought some pigeons from Keith Cowdel and I built
this big coup for them to come back to.
They were Tumbler pigeons white and pretty. I loved to watch them tumble almost to the
ground. One night a Bobcat came and took
them all away.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">From the time we moved back to Telegraph, my Mothers
Swedish-Finn friends started visiting us, they all spoke Swedish and they were
fun. They came when Dad was working, two
or three at a time, friends she worked with when she too worked in the boarding
houses. I now believe many of these
girls were actually relatives. Mother
always made lasting friends. In time I
began to understand what was said, sometimes Mother would send me outside when
my ears got too big. When the boarding
houses closed the girls left. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2SMsgEo-gg/V3rWHhTDoWI/AAAAAAAAtNM/D5vW9Ixw4vsEU2eyClHLi9YnXpz0orh6gCPcB/s1600/zzz.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2SMsgEo-gg/V3rWHhTDoWI/AAAAAAAAtNM/D5vW9Ixw4vsEU2eyClHLi9YnXpz0orh6gCPcB/s640/zzz.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Salt Lake City Weekly's Bingham story</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I remember when spring came and the snow began to melt
and the streams began to run. This was the time to pan gold. Miners like Alvin Cole would come past our
house on their way up to the gold beds between our house and the Big Tree. I would follow them with my gold pan. The gold we found showed signs of denting or
flattening and was always dark in color.
When I asked Alvin if this was gold he would say "Yes" and put
it in his bottle. They taught me many
things about ore and some of them took me into the mines. They showed me how to tell if a mine was safe
and how to take care of myself. I was
fascinated with their stories and their experiences in the mines in earlier
days. I had a collection of brass candle
holders, the ones the miners used before carbide lamps. I also had a collection of carbide lamps that
were used before flash lights. I had
many other tools that were collectibles.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W3h6p1nkWvU/V3rcX2dRyVI/AAAAAAAAtN0/esjTojp356E5VOOE32QSNf5kkc9g_2UkQCPcB/s1600/12301667_10208004699305701_7669557710906684701_n.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W3h6p1nkWvU/V3rcX2dRyVI/AAAAAAAAtN0/esjTojp356E5VOOE32QSNf5kkc9g_2UkQCPcB/s400/12301667_10208004699305701_7669557710906684701_n.jpg" width="381" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Brakeman signaling to Hoger</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There was an old man who lived in one of the original
old Telegraph mine buildings his name was Karl John, we never did know his last
name. He was German who immigrated here
after World War I, he had boxes and boxes of money in his house. He would give us handfuls of it when we got
courage enough to just ask for it. The
only problem was that it was old German marks and was worthless. With a pick, shovel and wheelbarrow he dug a
long trench on the surface between our house and the old Telegraph Mine. He was secretly following a vein of ore that
only he and I knew about. He was upset
and made me promise not to tell anyone because if the company knew what he was
doing he couldn’t mine there anymore. He
always kept the ore covered or hidden and shipped just old plain dirt mixed
with the good stuff so that the U.S. Mine would never suspect how rich the
claim was. He had a poor-man’s
blacksmith shop, bellows, anvil, etc., where I would watch him heat his
worn-out picks and tools to an almost white hot color and hammer them sharp and
temper them again. One day he retired
and left he said he had enough money to last him till he died, this was before
Social Security. A couple of years later
the Hieneki brothers while bulldozing a road accidentally uncovered Carl’s vein of lead, silver and gold. After just one shipment to the smelter the
U.S. Mine came to see what was there and shut them down. The US Mine followed
this vein and called this new mine the Mayberry they made many millions of
dollars. This new mining activity was to
close to our house so they forced us to move from our little house in the
trees. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o7NdJAd7_ts/V3sOjQNGliI/AAAAAAAAtQU/ULwAJsRdKX8N3wvhBeZLm61H_zXPiZ3jQCPcB/s1600/13612211_10209653250592749_4697005847635561242_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o7NdJAd7_ts/V3sOjQNGliI/AAAAAAAAtQU/ULwAJsRdKX8N3wvhBeZLm61H_zXPiZ3jQCPcB/s400/13612211_10209653250592749_4697005847635561242_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">celebrating the placing of the Bingham High Schools monument</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There were dangers of all kinds, the mountains were
full of abandoned mine shafts and tunnels that were caving in leaving holes
that were several hundreds of feet deep.
We knew what to look for and how to stay out of danger. I lost two dogs in them and the Ivies lost a
horse. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dynamite, caps and carbide was laying everywhere, we
all knew how to use dynamite, insert the caps and how to tell the difference
between primer cord and the regular timed cord, we played with the cord a lot, and
each had its own danger. The carbide
mixed with water made acetylene gas which was very explosive, it was supposed
to be used in our carbide lamps but that's not the only way we used it. Lots of kids and adults lost fingers and thumbs,
especially with the caps. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I learned to ski early by watching Doctor Frazier<i>, (the Town Doctor and Antarctica Explorer),
</i>here I learned that there was more to getting on a pair of skis and
crashing at the bottom of the hill. He
must have been preparing for Antarctica when he built a ski-jump up towards
Queen about a mile or so above our old house.
I saw his ski-tracks in the snow but couldn't figure out the round holes
in the snow, made by the ski-poles, I had never seen ski-poles before. I tried his ski-jump but very seldom ever
made it and I never learned to turn either, if I did it was because I was in
his tracks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Times were hard while dad was still paying Chris
Apostle and Hogan Dairy, I never had any money, until I got a paper route, the
Tribune. Lee helped me and I gave him a
share of the money. He was always
helping and doing things with me. He was
always a good brother. We were able to
buy things that we were never able to have.
A lot of my money went into model airplanes. They were made of balsa wood, covered with
paper and had a elastic to power the propeller.
They were scale models of the real thing, I learned what kinds to buy. It was the ones with the two wings flew
best. In time I learned how to make all
of them to fly better. Eventually they
would all crash and burn, most likely the bodies would go first, then I would
build gliders from the wings and they would fly better than the plane. I found that I could build a better plane or
glider than I could buy. I built them bigger
and bigger and they flew well. In a
couple of years they grew from 18 inches to fourteen feet. No more glue and balsa wood they were now
made of wood- strips and cloth. I made a
few secret visits to the U.S. Mine’s carpenter shop. Where I would gather all the long thin strips
of fir I could carry and then sneak past the watchmen and the bosses before I
was caught. The frame of the fourteen
footer was finally built and then I had to go talk some of the mothers out of
their petticoats to cover it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jFmOdB8jdr8/VwrLnuTfOsI/AAAAAAAArhY/AF_Dq5EA9W083J9YxJudltu_LsOqbpboQCPcB/s1600/195.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jFmOdB8jdr8/VwrLnuTfOsI/AAAAAAAArhY/AF_Dq5EA9W083J9YxJudltu_LsOqbpboQCPcB/s400/195.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">4th of July Copperfield</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When the big day finally came to fly it. Kids from all over came to see it. We carried it to the top of the highest and
largest mine dump in Telegraph. It was
the head of the canyon and had good up-drafts of wind. I had to balance all my gliders with a weight
just in front of the wing. I knew by
feel how much weight was needed. This
one took about 15 pounds of steel that we took from an old air compressor. I had made several attempts to launch it but
either the wind or the balance of the weight didn't feel right. As I tried to perfect the glider the wind
took over and I was yanked off the ground and up in the air. Down the dump I went afraid to let go. I flew for about 100 yards before I could let
go. I had to wait until I reached the
bottom of the dump where I could fall into some large maple trees. It wasn't an easy landing, I was scratched
and my clothes were torn. What was worse
I never even got to see it but everyone said it sailed high in the air and down
the canyon, it was beautiful. It swooped
and soared like a big bird right into Marsell Chea's garage. The weight made a big hole right through the
top. We were lucky he and his car was
gone. We gathered up the glider and laid
low for a few days, I don't think he ever figured out what happened to his
garage. I was in the fifth grade at the time. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4fTHK71yaTc/VwrL5GeIHJI/AAAAAAAAric/phkpk5Nu0O87jthPRHq7mfFiyB82KTeAACPcB/s1600/image-6.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4fTHK71yaTc/VwrL5GeIHJI/AAAAAAAAric/phkpk5Nu0O87jthPRHq7mfFiyB82KTeAACPcB/s400/image-6.JPG" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Adella in Copperfield</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I always believed that I would have been a good
Indian. They were my heroes. I had been collecting arrow heads from all
over the mountains and had read a lot of books, I wanted to be an Indian, live
off the land. I gave up on BB guns, they
never seemed to kill much. I always
carried a flipper crutch in my back pocket and was quite good with it. I also had a sling-shot like David in the
Bible had, but it wasn't as accurate or as fast, it did hit hard though. When I was 12 on Christmas I was given a
single shot twenty-two, what a wonderful day that was. It's a wonder I never caught the bubonic
plague or something as bad. For years I
had been eating all kinds of animals and birds, chickadees, Jays, squirrels,
porcupines and rock chucks. I always
carried matches, I wonder why I never carried salt. I never carried food, water or bedding. At times it was too far to return the same
day. I had a Rat Terrier named Tippy
who was a better hunter and killed more animals than I did. He sounded like a bear when he went down a
hole. In time out he would come dragging
a squirrel or rock chuck. Some of the
animals were larger than he was. We ate
what he killed too. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lee still tells the story of one Spring day when five
of us went to Butterfield Canyon and decided to spend the night there with only
one blanket to sleep under, it snowed four inches and got real cold, one by one
the other three left for home, Lee and I were alone come morning. This is when we asked some old mining friends
of mine for food. They lived in the
mountains alone working an old mine claim.
Their house had a dirt floor with a rabbit hole in most every corner, we
watched the rabbits as they came and went.
They feed us strawberry jam and homemade bread. Our trail to Butterfield followed an old
water line to Queen where they were. I
can remember when Queen was quite a large community. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WelYOZIIUcg/VwrNQvXkF2I/AAAAAAAArkg/eQebUrTFNAkF2zUuLBQWHZb3EzUjXDB-QCPcB/s1600/image-44.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WelYOZIIUcg/VwrNQvXkF2I/AAAAAAAArkg/eQebUrTFNAkF2zUuLBQWHZb3EzUjXDB-QCPcB/s400/image-44.JPG" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Copperfield Kids</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h1>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As this pipe passed through
Telegraph it traveled up at a 45 degree grade for a half mile before leveling
out.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What a wild slippery slide it
made.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Some called the town, Jordan,
others called it Galena but we called it the US.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was the site of the first Silver and lead
mine in Utah.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A surface vein of lead and
silver found and developed by the US Army and some Mormons against the wishes
of Brigham Young.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was told that when
the Army massacred the 350 Indians at Bear River they were shot with
silver/lead bullets from the Jordan Mine.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">US/Galena </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There a large circular tank on wheels,
that rode on a circular track. As it was
hand pumped the tank would slowly spin as it rolled around the track. It would move quite fast if you pumped real
hard. In the old days it was used by the
companies’ </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">gunmen to shoot at the strikers from the safety of the
tank.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In an all-out war one day 5 or
6 scabs (strike-breakers) were killed here by the strikers. Company gunmen were also shooting at anyone
and anything up on the mountain and the strikers were shooting back from the
hills. Nothing was despised or hated
worse than a "Scab". We had no
use for a person who would steal another man’s job during hard times. There were many different nationalities in
Bingham. They were brought in, in many
cases by the companies to replace those who went out on strike for better pay
and working conditions. The only people
who would honor a strike and not get fired was the Japanese, They were the
powder monkey's, they were called this because they would hang from a rope all
day long barring rocks down that might damage the steam shovels many were
killed doing this. No one else would do
this type of work and the company knew it.
Farmers it seems came up from the valleys during the winter time to be
scabs, earning a bad reputation for themselves. </span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQpMPkNqzntdWFg5qmZ_1IblgC0t1q1PSgNlPwkJ20VYN1MAk_-5aNMy1lsY2woYWU3uimTbgPXHGP19MsPXFdhU-ZWQnBu34BAfW9HtRWS5QVCLlNx-5jCVF8h4LfjhAxDdYmNI8LA8R/s1600/image0-96.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="1020" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQpMPkNqzntdWFg5qmZ_1IblgC0t1q1PSgNlPwkJ20VYN1MAk_-5aNMy1lsY2woYWU3uimTbgPXHGP19MsPXFdhU-ZWQnBu34BAfW9HtRWS5QVCLlNx-5jCVF8h4LfjhAxDdYmNI8LA8R/s400/image0-96.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Copperfield</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
<o:p> </o:p></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was 11years old in 1939 when </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Russia declared war on Finland</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> with
thousands of tanks, planes and guns, Russia was supposed to be Americas ally
because they were fighting Germany but they were never an ally of mine. Mother and I cheered for Finland all the
way. Russia for all her size and might
couldn't seem to conquer Finland but sadly in the end they did prevail. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two years later on </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">7
December 1941</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> an announcement came on the radio that said we were
at War. The </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Japs had caught our fleet anchored and</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> defenseless
in Pearl Harbor. All of our ships were
sinking and burning, they were bombing at will any installation on the
Island. Hawaii was bombed and strafed
mercilessly all day long, losses in lives, ships and aircraft were beyond
belief. In a little while we heard the
declaration of war by our president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, World War II
had begun. We had declared war on Japan,
Germany and Italy. Russia was now
supposed to be our ally now that we were in it but I never trusted or liked
them, still don't like or trust any European country. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6I3SqkdZ7fDPT7VeAbEh-DpFSK2MGxqxB-mDukNFTkkA49wr_fPua6R4aYB84kDyGnmuP9N1RNi214L6LWzumazgJNqSxqRRxk2XAX2w5nQZewclYwFQCnK0ek-OaqvzyRiYbLoqtpx7P/s1600/clip_image002+3rd+grade-1.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="628" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6I3SqkdZ7fDPT7VeAbEh-DpFSK2MGxqxB-mDukNFTkkA49wr_fPua6R4aYB84kDyGnmuP9N1RNi214L6LWzumazgJNqSxqRRxk2XAX2w5nQZewclYwFQCnK0ek-OaqvzyRiYbLoqtpx7P/s400/clip_image002+3rd+grade-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Copperfield Grade School</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">War wasn't new to us it was all around us but it was a
sobering thought, In a few years I could be going to the war, for three years
now Germany had been marching her armies throughout Europe and controlled
everything. We had been supplying
England and the rest of Europe from the armies of Germany and Italy. Many of our ships had been sunk by the German
U-boats. My cousin Virginia lost her
husband, Bob Burke at sea. </span></b></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I remember my Mother during these years would
volunteer to serve on various Civil Defense committees where she learned first
aid and what to do if we were bombed, I remember the pump tank she kept in the
house to put out phosphorescent bombs.
Food, tires, gas and many other items were rationed, you could only buy
these item if you had a ration book with the right colored stamp in it. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TTBi4CCRkUs/TihkDnmeHMI/AAAAAAAAQYo/43xxZHrFP3wQuazIi9D_PthbCmGFKwwWgCPcB/s1600/image-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TTBi4CCRkUs/TihkDnmeHMI/AAAAAAAAQYo/43xxZHrFP3wQuazIi9D_PthbCmGFKwwWgCPcB/s400/image-2.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">me walking to back door</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Within days some of my Japanese friends and their
families began to disappear. They were
called enemy aliens, so they were systematically rounded up and put in
concentration camps out in our Western Desert.
I knew some of these families quite well and knew they were all right
but government official’s feared sabotage and business people coveted their
property and possessions. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was ashamed</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but when the government waved the flag,
it was unpatriotic to say otherwise. I
have watched many groups of people have had their constitutional rights taken
away from them by </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">some flag
waving congressman or some right-wing Republican group.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> We have more than our share of them in
Utah. As a child I remember following
Jacky Myaki and Max Salizar into their public houses and sitting in the hot
tubs. More than we jumped out and ran
with our clothes in our hands as the ladies came in. The Myia’s owned the camp were good
people. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Eventually we moved away from our little house in the
trees. We then lived top row of one of
the apartments, Neall’s old house. The
house was larger and it was modern but I still liked the old house. In the old house we were isolated and now we
around other people began to play with other kids and families that lived
there. When apartments were full, 17 or
18 families were there, at sundown there would be a baseball game, men, women
and children would come out, some played, others watched. All seemed to enjoy the night and each
other’s company. Wintertime there was
sleigh riding and bob-sleighing. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ll always cherish my memories of the mountains and especially
the people of Bingham. We were all poor
and didn’t know it. We never locked our
doors at night and always felt safe.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E8lIU1yWncQ/TihkEJXBsQI/AAAAAAAAQYs/TGHSchLrgQE9-Edqc5Zh8ECC612o3MUFQCPcB/s1600/image-5.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E8lIU1yWncQ/TihkEJXBsQI/AAAAAAAAQYs/TGHSchLrgQE9-Edqc5Zh8ECC612o3MUFQCPcB/s400/image-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Mrs. Bodmer lived below us</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Bingham at one time was one of the largest cities in
Utah. In my time they had about 15,000
living here. There was every kind of
stores, many saloons, theaters, even houses of ill repute. Then in 1948 the expanding mining operations
finally forced everyone to leave Bingham altogether and move to West
Jordan. Bingham is now a ghost town and
if you could see my many different homes they would be either </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">setting out in the sky or buried under rock and dirt</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. My neighbors and friends are scattered like
chaff in the wind. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the old days when Utah Copper owned the mine the
mine kind of grew around us and we could roam any place we wanted. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now the whole mountain is owned by a bunch foreigners
that buried the whole town and posted a thousand </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“No Trespassing Signs” to keep us out. Well, I don’t like them either.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-55922488337564909122016-07-04T13:57:00.003-07:002020-11-11T11:31:31.418-08:00MINING MEMORIES--SALT LAKE WEEKLY<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuCtWKcHxbNixjiCrr7AxFg6cmZjttrkjGfj0spI3m-b0bsC82hy-_kdW3z6_KQO6x69RWa-bWmKsN9RHdAPznNLYrpq3nbmFdte_WtY6F1J4oSX0HrStWLvUvkakt1syv-4nyDMZO0vj/s1600/head.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuCtWKcHxbNixjiCrr7AxFg6cmZjttrkjGfj0spI3m-b0bsC82hy-_kdW3z6_KQO6x69RWa-bWmKsN9RHdAPznNLYrpq3nbmFdte_WtY6F1J4oSX0HrStWLvUvkakt1syv-4nyDMZO0vj/s640/head.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">Salt
Lake City Weekl</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">y by </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">John Saltas</span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Mining Memories<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The dwindling few who recall living
in Bingham Canyon fight to keep alive memories of a community that was stolen
from them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">by
Stephen Dark</span> June 29, 2016<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W3h6p1nkWvU/V3rcX2dRyVI/AAAAAAAAtN0/enGWVqEfWLgqNsNkw3MKTdpr2k3NbO5EgCKgB/s1600/12301667_10208004699305701_7669557710906684701_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W3h6p1nkWvU/V3rcX2dRyVI/AAAAAAAAtN0/enGWVqEfWLgqNsNkw3MKTdpr2k3NbO5EgCKgB/s400/12301667_10208004699305701_7669557710906684701_n.jpg" width="381" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Waste-Dump car with Brakeman</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the southwest corner of the Salt
Lake Valley, the New Bingham Highway climbs into the mountains. It runs past
the offices of Rio Tinto Kennecott, then through the leafy, quiet rural idyll
of Copperton, past barren, overgrown land on the right, before cresting a
hill—only to be closed off by several 2-foot-high concrete blocks. On foot, the
hill drops down toward the former town of Lead Mine, telephone poles on the
left, to reveal a far greater obstacle in the form of a manmade mountain. In
the summer, the mountain is green with Kennecott-planted vegetation, but this
early spring day it's a dirty gray, reflecting its nature—namely millions of
tons of waste rock ripped from the bowels of what Native Americans called the
Oquirrhs, the shining mountains.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This man-made mountain is far more
than a dumping ground for the byproduct of a 113-year-old open pit mine that is
one of the largest in the world. It's an unmarked tombstone, a resting place
for the hopes and dreams, the lives and loves of a community once known as
Bingham Canyon.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TcFZSJNU4Bw/V3rWH_KMUBI/AAAAAAAAtNM/Mh1QnIjRmZE_YAumGnhhzEiyspJguR2sgCKgB/s1600/2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TcFZSJNU4Bw/V3rWH_KMUBI/AAAAAAAAtNM/Mh1QnIjRmZE_YAumGnhhzEiyspJguR2sgCKgB/s640/2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">At its peak, Bingham Canyon was
home to more than 15,000 miners and their families who had come from all over
the world to work the mine. The community's main artery was a 5-mile,
20-foot-wide Main Street that snaked up the canyon. At the Bingham Mercantile
store at Carrfork, the street split. To the left was a one-way tunnel that led
to the hamlets of Copperfield and Dinkeyville and to the right led to Highland
Boy. "That canyon was so narrow, a dog had to wag its tail up and down,"
old-timers quip. Throughout the canyon were small communities bearing such
now-politically incorrect names as Frog Town, Jap Camp and Greek Camp, each
reflecting, to some degree, its residents' ethnic make-up.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMctt-tImfV7rrbUuqtvg4GrhOtoed0BNdAoePRAbt4agfNZD8YtWQJax5R2zbPe2VucS9yRW_lXNPOPc3BlHaF1_fP8aifV6uW-1Orjq8MuPzJ6m1CDz17ONHuL0MLhk_gthYrI8HDMr6/s1558/36.+Copperfield+Looking+Up+Main+St.%252C+Greek+Camp%252C+Jap+Camp.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="1558" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMctt-tImfV7rrbUuqtvg4GrhOtoed0BNdAoePRAbt4agfNZD8YtWQJax5R2zbPe2VucS9yRW_lXNPOPc3BlHaF1_fP8aifV6uW-1Orjq8MuPzJ6m1CDz17ONHuL0MLhk_gthYrI8HDMr6/w400-h243/36.+Copperfield+Looking+Up+Main+St.%252C+Greek+Camp%252C+Jap+Camp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copperfield to Telegraph<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">1.jpg Main Street, looking up to
Highland Boy, looking down Carr Fork<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Our confinement between these
towering mountains seems to produce a closer bond of fellowship among the
people," wrote Mayor Ed W. Johnson in the 1939 souvenir program for Galena
Days, the first of a series of frequently held celebrations of mining and
canyon life that continued until 1957.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">With Salt Lake City 30 miles away,
Bingham had every amenity you could want, be it neighborhood grocery stores,
cafés and bars like Pasttime and Copper King, and even its own movie theater.
Local, retired advertising executive Bill Nicholls lived in Frog Town as a
child, and remembers paying 45 cents at the Princess Theater to watch Flash
Gordon serials, eat popcorn and drink malted milk.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Compared to the long-dominant Utah
migration narrative of persecuted white Mormon pioneers pulling handcarts to
what would become Salt Lake City, Bingham's all-but-</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JLsuVVp4Hcc/V3rWIITqLqI/AAAAAAAAtNM/n7bqyYxMqKA-UeeYoUURYo_EcufE3VQeQCKgB/s1600/1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JLsuVVp4Hcc/V3rWIITqLqI/AAAAAAAAtNM/n7bqyYxMqKA-UeeYoUURYo_EcufE3VQeQCKgB/s640/1.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">marginalized story was of a
wealth of international migrants from the late 1800s onward, who ultimately
would be driven out by the very mining companies that paid for them to come
here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">For all Bingham's picturesque
small-town pleasures, life was hard for both miners and their families.
"Women who married three times, still outlived their husbands,"
Kennecott retiree Eugene Halverson recalls. He estimates between 300 and 400
miners died each year from lung diseases related to inhaling mine dust. Dust
wasn't the only killer—accidents, cave-ins, along with avalanches and fires
jumping shacks so close you could hear your neighbor snore—made life in Bingham
hazardous. But the people who lived in the canyon, and in Lark, a smaller
mining community directly to the east of the mine, loved their communities with
a fierce pride.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bS6S1cdxMJk/VwrN1uZvzEI/AAAAAAAArmI/IG8lEfTVsSACSIdykJhp1EMkIK7nRi6bgCKgB/s1600/Top-001.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bS6S1cdxMJk/VwrN1uZvzEI/AAAAAAAArmI/IG8lEfTVsSACSIdykJhp1EMkIK7nRi6bgCKgB/s400/Top-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Bingham Days</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the largest human displacement
by a mining corporation in Utah history, former mine owner Kennecott Copper
squeezed out the communities, buying up homes and businesses for cents on the
dollar so the mine could expand.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Since the late 1990s, the
foundations of Bingham City have been buried beneath a mound of waste rock so
high it all but eclipses the snow-capped mountains behind it. Lark, meanwhile,
is a wasteland.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Halverson
has for years written about his memories of Bingham life on a blog called
"Gene's Family Tree."</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> In a post titled,
"</span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Bingham,
a time to cry</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">," he quotes a deceased former
mine worker. "Yes, I envy all of you that can go back to your home town
and sharpen memories of day gone by, because I have only my memories to reflect
on. The town I spent my youth in is gone. There is no remnant of the town to
sharpen my mind—nothing to focus on and bring in to sharper remembrance those
long-gone days."<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o4khIvyq89E/TlqavxBATWI/AAAAAAAAiTU/AECyES-lBd87jq8nLQjhSiwMTg7ACO_tACKgB/s1600/06-159.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o4khIvyq89E/TlqavxBATWI/AAAAAAAAiTU/AECyES-lBd87jq8nLQjhSiwMTg7ACO_tACKgB/s400/06-159.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Telegraph in winter</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the last few years, Bingham and
Lark's former residents have brought their long-buried yet still mourned homes
back to life, freeze-framing and sharing their memories through virtual communities.
Bingham native and now St George resident Eldon Bray administers a Facebook
page called "Bingham Canyon History." Some of its 1,946 members post
photographs of Bingham, its streets, businesses, people and craggy landscape. A
community that had vanished from Utah is viscerally evoked in black and white
images as those who lived in Bingham and their relatives post joyful comments,
having identified faces and places in the pictures </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">previously consigned only to
fading memories. On a Facebook page entitled "Lark, Utah," along with
historical images of the town and its people, amateur historian and former </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lark
resident Steven Richardson</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> has provided a wealth of
documents, news clippings and reminiscences about the town's history. As one
woman writes on the Lark page, beneath a 1947 school class picture, "I
love to see pictures like that. It makes my heart happy."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">KEEPING
STORIES ALIVE<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mining is a brutal industry that
devastates landscapes. The obliterated Oquirrh Mountains speak to that. The
company gets its ore, workers get their salaries and one day the community has
to pick up the social and environmental pieces left behind.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The corporate-driven demise of
these two communities, protracted over years as far as Bingham Canyon was
concerned, a few tension-filled months in Lark's case, left only those who had
lived there to mourn their passing.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_8ECVUrGWEChL6i6H4wKB-8AMjxpFluMSXse3YfRmFEdc7IkMiTTcdhay04yQFNm-0Sgw6e024gHPfZzp3-xyQfMiOkl4ivcQEXzE9zH1pYcRr0A_j8HIDpmq0Zm2QQfVtqhlzUL5POX/s2048/21.+Closeup+Tunnel+Const.+Structure+1937+from+copperton098.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1991" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_8ECVUrGWEChL6i6H4wKB-8AMjxpFluMSXse3YfRmFEdc7IkMiTTcdhay04yQFNm-0Sgw6e024gHPfZzp3-xyQfMiOkl4ivcQEXzE9zH1pYcRr0A_j8HIDpmq0Zm2QQfVtqhlzUL5POX/w389-h400/21.+Closeup+Tunnel+Const.+Structure+1937+from+copperton098.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"They
took my memories," Halverson says</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. "They buried
Bingham. I used to be able to go to the top of the mine and see where things
were." With no trespassing signs keeping people away, "Now, I can't
even go up there. Just seems like they took everything away from me."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"You
miss out on so much companionship and love and feelings," says Stella
Saltas</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, the 88-year-old mother of City
Weekly publisher, John Saltas. She was born in Bingham and had to join the
forced exodus from the canyon in the early 1990s. Since then, she has lived in
a rambler in West Jordan. The long-gone city, she says, "will always be
home. I live here, but it's not home."</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W2SMsgEo-gg/V3rWHhTDoWI/AAAAAAAAtMs/PGLPiM5Mf6gtQyhIEb_lwzvpmUEoWRshgCKgB/s1600/zzz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W2SMsgEo-gg/V3rWHhTDoWI/AAAAAAAAtMs/PGLPiM5Mf6gtQyhIEb_lwzvpmUEoWRshgCKgB/s640/zzz.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Many of Bingham's displaced
citizens say they left a part of themselves in the canyon that they never
regained. Some, such as </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">authors Eldon Bray and Scott Crump,
have self-published books celebrating and preserving their memories of the
canyons.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Other former residents meet monthly
at cafés and restaurants to share memories and keep alive old friendships
forged in Bingham. Then there's </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">the Fourth of July chuck-wagon
breakfast</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> at Copperton Park, a tradition
started in Bingham Canyon and continued in Copperton by the local Lions Club
chapter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmbYpmR-ksSwaNynnGbAzjeMU7clxI3AYagTJwvVLyfrlAONGoeOxdAmCFLCGKKkSbSx8inkj0A7MoNbisi1nbKcT1KmJDp_UkY48GuLxQtpE9ImnQ_XJVzXYH2i2EtTHjOVx97WEZ4cG_/s1600/Miss+Duhigg-Mother+Duhigg-+Miss+Brown.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="1600" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmbYpmR-ksSwaNynnGbAzjeMU7clxI3AYagTJwvVLyfrlAONGoeOxdAmCFLCGKKkSbSx8inkj0A7MoNbisi1nbKcT1KmJDp_UkY48GuLxQtpE9ImnQ_XJVzXYH2i2EtTHjOVx97WEZ4cG_/s400/Miss+Duhigg-Mother+Duhigg-+Miss+Brown.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Ada Duhigg </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">These gatherings underscore the
fragility of such communities; each year fewer Bingham Canyon survivors show up
for the eggs and pancakes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">London-based mining conglomerate
Rio Tinto purchased the mine in 1989. On its website, it employs similar tools,
but instead of an adhoc tour of personal histories and recollections, the
corporation favors a 360-degree panoramic tour of the mine, which measures
three-quarters of a mile deep by two-and-three-quarters miles across. "You
can see it from the moon!" the tour guide in the video says.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Currently, we are planning on
operating until at least 2029, and the long-term outlook for copper is
strong," spokesman Kyle Bennett writes in a response to emailed questions.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Meanwhile, far from its shadows, in
kitchens and basement studies, the children of Bingham Canyon build through
photographs and words a virtual re-creation of a beloved world long since lost.
</span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Halverson
says they have no choice. "If you don't write these stories, and don't
pass them on, they will die."</span></i></b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">
<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">MAKING
YOUR MARK WITH YOUR FISTS<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QOSbK19dat3Nj9SXrBlO1NDMb3BgqC4Hcy0C9en1icI6Db7ZAPKJV8Bp3LP5PSEatc6HF_Kfh2fgThoEJ9g2nSqy3SdH9wW4qovdIZzDb7xwFkX7xbLNGH7o-jOu7l70y9m4RLtncOBm/s1600/COMBINED+PICTURES+OF+MY+MOM-GIGITA+LOUISE-H.BOY.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="773" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QOSbK19dat3Nj9SXrBlO1NDMb3BgqC4Hcy0C9en1icI6Db7ZAPKJV8Bp3LP5PSEatc6HF_Kfh2fgThoEJ9g2nSqy3SdH9wW4qovdIZzDb7xwFkX7xbLNGH7o-jOu7l70y9m4RLtncOBm/s400/COMBINED+PICTURES+OF+MY+MOM-GIGITA+LOUISE-H.BOY.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Erma's mother Highland Boy</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The canyon got its name, according
to local historian Marion Dunn's book Bingham Canyon, when Thomas and Sanford
Bingham herded their cows there in August 1848. Back then, the canyon was
covered with pine trees, many measuring 3-5 feet or more in diameter. Along
with scrub oak and wildflowers, the Oquirrh Mountains were sources of timber to
first build homes, the Mormon Tabernacle and to shore up the walls of
underground mines.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Individual mining claims gave way
to acquisitive businesses. By the early 1950s, U.S. Smelting, Refining &
Mining Co. owned the underground mines that let out near Lark, and Kennecott
Copper owned the above-ground mine directly to the south of Bingham Canyon.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Johnny
Susaeta is a spry, twinkling-eyed 93-year-old</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
who still displays the rugged good looks captured in photographs of the heroic
local football star 70-plus years ago enshrined in a room dedicated to alumni
at Bingham High in South Jordan. The World War II veteran and retired Kennecott
worker's parents were Basques who met in San Francisco after emmigrating from
Spain. Susaeta grew up in Highland Boy, where he knew Slavs, Italians, Serbs
and Croatians. "I spoke most of their languages when I was young," he
says.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It was a tough town to grow up in,
one where fighting was a way of life. "I got in a fair amount of
fisticuffs," Nicholls recalls. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"Fighting was your
way into making your mark</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> and being accepted."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m1msVm_8l0c/V3rWIneAbAI/AAAAAAAAtNM/5QfuxILhxfsVrlPyDvhZdWUub_0dsTyRwCKgB/s1600/4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m1msVm_8l0c/V3rWIneAbAI/AAAAAAAAtNM/5QfuxILhxfsVrlPyDvhZdWUub_0dsTyRwCKgB/s640/4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">While Bingham taught its residents that
diversity and acceptance went hand-in-hand, when they went to Salt Lake City,
they'd often experience rejection. "When I went to the valley with my
Mexican friends, they wouldn't let us go dancing unless I ditched them," </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Halverson
says. "Well, hell, who would want to ditch their friends?"</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">When hostilities broke out in
Europe at the beginning of World War II, Bingham ethnicities of every stripe
went to war, leaving women to take over mining work. "Everybody in town
was signing up," Halverson recalls. Johnny Susaeta signed up with four
friends. "We ran around together, so we decided we'd go win the war." Three made it back uninjured.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Nicholls' father was a blacksmith.
At war's end, he bought the Coppergate bar in Bingham. Wide-eyed, 8-year-old
Nicholls arrived in Bingham just days before the end of the conflict. Each
night, he went to sleep to music from a jukebox in the bar below playing
country music. The day the war ended, he marveled at the parties in the street,
people hanging out windows banging pots and pans, firecrackers going off as
residents sang and danced in the streets.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">MINER'S LUNG<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdoA1e1tFY1K3qpVLffxo_P17YNAYhGwDJfg4nirIO4QoPKiD-PuEwfjSSprxvJVYAuSjOXF_N5CkA4hoj1S7W322R8GcmwevbFyYI_ojrIQcFGnVx8istfFeYuUFwsSNe6BfIaKVw9qY/s1020/image0-96.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="1020" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdoA1e1tFY1K3qpVLffxo_P17YNAYhGwDJfg4nirIO4QoPKiD-PuEwfjSSprxvJVYAuSjOXF_N5CkA4hoj1S7W322R8GcmwevbFyYI_ojrIQcFGnVx8istfFeYuUFwsSNe6BfIaKVw9qY/w400-h241/image0-96.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4th July Copperfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Meanwhile, next to the mountains, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lark
had a store, a gas station and a hotel, a bar and two churches—Catholic and
Mormon. </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The land itself was owned by the
U.S. Smelting, Refining & Mining Co.—some residents owned their homes,
while many took advantage of cheap rents, the mining company-cum-landlord
preferring to subsidize rents to have its employees close by.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Lark sat on a hillside with
spectacular views of Salt Lake Valley. "It was right on the corner of the
valley," says Lark historian and former Kennecott geologist Richardson.
"You could look out and see the Wasatch Mountains." He and his wife
would go for walks after dinner on the sand dunes, the smells of the copper
minerals in the tailings that formed the dunes rising up to greet them.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What it shared with Bingham was the
same miners' work ethic, and for some the same net result, men dying young of
silicosis and their widows struggling to support their children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Unless you owned your home, renting
from the company made you vulnerable to eviction, if, as in the case of Crump's
grandfather, you </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">fell sick with "miner's
lung." He and his family were evicted because he couldn't work anymore</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.
A friend found him rooms elsewhere in Lark, where his wife cared for him until
he died. She raised her children on a tiny pension until she found work at the
Lark Mercantile and as custodian of the local Mormon ward house.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">FROM
COMMUNITY TO GHOST TOWN<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkiY20rVulFKFFgZJAjPsQBu02VUOlLaTkR0y40wS9eVHvhFcJy2BboF-aRLdw-ZFwnRoOPeBcvwOhOdh_fF-6aoWgvBtrGkbTFZ4HkxRHFqrmEPg4BZt6q-lOCWIxOpR8ml6A1RyOuNxh/s2048/1047908_10205628509220007_2053533667715513151_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="2048" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkiY20rVulFKFFgZJAjPsQBu02VUOlLaTkR0y40wS9eVHvhFcJy2BboF-aRLdw-ZFwnRoOPeBcvwOhOdh_fF-6aoWgvBtrGkbTFZ4HkxRHFqrmEPg4BZt6q-lOCWIxOpR8ml6A1RyOuNxh/w400-h259/1047908_10205628509220007_2053533667715513151_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LARK</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">With the world's insatiable appetite
for copper ore, the various canyon communities the mining corporations had
relied on for labor found themselves in the way of the mine's expansion.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The process of families being
displaced that first began with open-pit mining operations, picked up pace in
the 1950s. By 1959, Kennecott Copper began aggressively buying up canyon
private properties and homes. At a meeting, Dunn quotes one resident saying, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"Why
should we sell our homes for a song, move to the valley and go into debt 20
years?"<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Swzoq_C26vE/V3rWI1oOYjI/AAAAAAAAtNM/uH7BLhaujP0GtZpTfllWHZJ1Gtmw2ewDwCKgB/s1600/5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Swzoq_C26vE/V3rWI1oOYjI/AAAAAAAAtNM/uH7BLhaujP0GtZpTfllWHZJ1Gtmw2ewDwCKgB/s640/5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"It was all ending,"
Nicholls says. "Almost all of them were gone, there were a few holdouts
who didn't want to take their pennies on the dollar offer."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Nicholls' father sold his
Coppergate bar in 1961. The work had taken its toll on him, his son
says."It just about destroyed him physically. He was an alcoholic, it was
hard, hard work. He went through years of real struggle financially to keep
things going."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Kennecott offered to pay the
appraised property market value. Nicholls' father paid $39,000 in 1945 when he
bought the bar. Kennecott offered him the same amount to sell in 1961. While
his father wasn't pleased with the offer, "he was just happy to get out
and get out with something," Nicholls says. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"They
really had the city over a barrel."</span></i></b><br />
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</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d9grsFrBvY8/U4JKTlvViCI/AAAAAAAAn4M/1iOPHCmtslka_MfFHR3H1SCZBCfL9luWQCKgB/s1600/Top-004.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d9grsFrBvY8/U4JKTlvViCI/AAAAAAAAn4M/1iOPHCmtslka_MfFHR3H1SCZBCfL9luWQCKgB/s400/Top-004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Bingham Days </span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">THE
BATTLE FOR LARK<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Compared to the campaign of
economic and social attrition Kennecott waged successfully against Bingham
Canyon, the mine's owners faced a public-relations nightmare when it sought to
raze the much smaller town of Lark.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">On Dec. 14, 1977, a Kennecott
official summoned Lark's 591 residents to a meeting at the LDS ward house. It
had just agreed with UV Industries, which had previously bought out the U.S.
Smelting, Mining & Refinery Co., to pay $2 million for 640 acres, which
included Lark. The people of Lark had to vacate their homes by Aug. 31, 1978.
Those who owned homes had to move them; those that rented faced eviction.
Kennecott would neither buy the homes nor pay moving expenses, the official
said. The company, he added, "is not in the housing business."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The acquisition, Rio Tinto's
Bennett says, was for several reasons, including "owning buffer property
adjacent to (the mine) and as a site for infrastructure that captures and moves
storm water."<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPwmXYLcCLmU7KPcx9eDgp_0jzBOPcrJwYSo4LSRc328NnmYURv7Uq1X47KGM9mBJbvvvzZRiEl8_pSIrmUHA8co9dAiv6Lvk6q8L2jFnON6fKeTIlBZOc0RwLVZmBaM4L5QpPh4epa5Y/s2048/10317567_10205626971701570_8981008467808903011_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1521" data-original-width="2048" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPwmXYLcCLmU7KPcx9eDgp_0jzBOPcrJwYSo4LSRc328NnmYURv7Uq1X47KGM9mBJbvvvzZRiEl8_pSIrmUHA8co9dAiv6Lvk6q8L2jFnON6fKeTIlBZOc0RwLVZmBaM4L5QpPh4epa5Y/w400-h297/10317567_10205626971701570_8981008467808903011_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LARK</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Hilda
Grabner was a descendent of Cornish miners</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, who were among the
first immigrants to start mining the canyon. The retired teacher had lived in
Lark on her own since her husband died in 1939, cultivating an immaculate
English garden.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Then 81-year-old Grabner was one of
six Lark residents who, strangers all to air travel, nevertheless flew to New
York to attend a stockholders' meeting of the financially struggling Kennecott.
Grabner and another resident were given five minutes. One irate shareholder
shrilly interrupted them multiple times with the question, "Are they
stockholders?" Grabner silenced her by replying, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"We're
stockholders in human lives."</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Faced by a swarm of reporters
reveling in the David-and-Goliath fight, Kennecott extended an olive branch. In
early May 1978, it offered 120 percent of the appraised value of the homes,
$1,000 toward the cost of relocating, and moving owned homes to Copperton free
of charge.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Most of Lark's residents voted to
take the deal. Perhaps the final insult to Lark's memory was that the nine
white-board houses that were moved free of charge by Kennecott to Copperton,
were then clad in red brick as part of Copperton Circle.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Richardson
expresses frustration that he can no longer visit the land where his former
home stood and where he and his wife raised four children</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.
The last time they could walk there, they found pieces of a jigsaw puzzle his
wife had made in the dirt. There was the tree where his kids had played on a
swing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"You can't leave the
highway," he says, as any straying on to where Lark stood is barred by
no-trespassing signs. "There's no sign there was ever a town there."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">FRIDAY
NIGHT LIGHTS<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Rio Tinto began dumping waste over
the former city and Main Street in 1997. Retired Kennecott employee Gary Curtis
recalls driving one of the first haul trucks to start the down-canyon dumping
on his mother's birthday. "I don't know I really realized the ramifications
of it," he says now. "You can't take away people's memories, but you
dump that rock in there, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">you've buried history</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">,
I guess."<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmNKREwWw-ac6K0pwsiXFKzDUhcvsasylN3elnppkWH6sJ5go2abAkDr7gVGVzI14K8vle840LLoxj8OEZugG75R9THwQFr78dGoNADaTPyknLfj_UaPTJ70Os2sHHN-EfAM0MXDFSVXs/s720/14502956_1218264558240301_5992696390476692962_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmNKREwWw-ac6K0pwsiXFKzDUhcvsasylN3elnppkWH6sJ5go2abAkDr7gVGVzI14K8vle840LLoxj8OEZugG75R9THwQFr78dGoNADaTPyknLfj_UaPTJ70Os2sHHN-EfAM0MXDFSVXs/w400-h400/14502956_1218264558240301_5992696390476692962_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MILLS</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">By then, the last holdouts in </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lead
Mine, which stood at the bottom of the canyon, had gone. Stella Saltas lived
there in her final Bingham years</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, the location of her
home and her father's precious garden still partially visible from the road
through a chain-link fence. "Little by little, they did it, till you're
about the only one left," she recalls.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">5.jpg Lark<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"I wanted to stay there, that
was home, I loved it," she says. Her feelings for Bingham, wrapped up in
memories of daily coffee with her own mother on the latter's porch as hawks and
eagles wheeled in the sky, are "something you can't explain."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hmxyFAxEA5I/VylkLESzHzI/AAAAAAAAsMw/XsGl0G0eXn0jlA1Pu3332whIPBmfQ5Q7ACKgB/s1600/13131684_1603325136651226_1331550699766192281_o-001.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hmxyFAxEA5I/VylkLESzHzI/AAAAAAAAsMw/XsGl0G0eXn0jlA1Pu3332whIPBmfQ5Q7ACKgB/s400/13131684_1603325136651226_1331550699766192281_o-001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Bingham High School</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">An important remnant of Bingham's
existence was </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Bingham High on the northern edge of
Copperton.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> While the elegant, art-deco
designed school, by then a junior high, had been closed in 1996 by Jordan
School District, it remained an </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">emotional touchstone</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
for generations of Bingham and Lark graduates who saw it as all that was left
to testify to their past.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Bingham people came from all
over the world, really, to be miners</span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">," Crump says.
"They came from so many places speaking different languages and the school
was the gathering place</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, where they would all come
together, to first get ahead in America by getting an education. This was their
gateway to a better life, to learn English."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Rio Tinto ordered it razed in 2002.
Bennett says the building post-closure by the school district, "fell into
disrepair due to vandalism and became a safety hazard," so they had it
torn down.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fourteen years on, feelings still
run high. "It's just a sin it was leveled," says Nicholls.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">While other residents grabbed small
mementos from the site, Johnny Susaeta and his three sons carried away a
2-by-4-foot, 200-pound capstone from one of the Art Deco school's towers.
"Everybody else took bricks," Susaeta says, standing by the capstone,
which they dug a hole for in his driveway. "We took that."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now it's simply a weed patch. The
only sign there was ever a school there is some steps rising to where the
ballpark once stood that rang to the cheers of Bingham fans.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-La_LeZLf3rg/VwrO2qbObnI/AAAAAAAArn0/sbW86gmR3kcVbiV4YliX5THE8jGc9zasQCKgB/s1600/P1000030.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-La_LeZLf3rg/VwrO2qbObnI/AAAAAAAArn0/sbW86gmR3kcVbiV4YliX5THE8jGc9zasQCKgB/s400/P1000030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">1947 Class in Golden Coral</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"I
LIVED IN LARK"<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The Bingham Canyon History Facebook
page's membership, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Eldon Bray</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
says, is largely made up of, "the children, grandchildren and
great-grandchildren of people who grew up in Bingham or worked the mine. The
town and the mine were all locked together in so many ways."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sit with retired mine worker </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Gary
Curtis</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> as he reviews old mining photos
online and the pleasure they provide are clear. He points to a picture of
Marvin "Rosie" Ray, father of Russell Ray, Copperton's former
postmaster, and recalls the time Rosie "chewed my butt," after he was
caught up in a fight. "</span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">There's Dr. Richards,"</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
he says, pointing to a 1930s photo of a barbecue. "He birthed me."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Thanks to Lark historian
Richardson's diligent efforts, including interviewing former residents and
posting their stories on Facebook, the Lark Facebook page paints a picture of
both the community and its demise.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_I0soaeVFc/VwrN5V_SUHI/AAAAAAAArmI/GrZ03jeFpYsRjKgo2b3oURgQ1QFVGt60QCKgB/s1600/Top-007.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_I0soaeVFc/VwrN5V_SUHI/AAAAAAAArmI/GrZ03jeFpYsRjKgo2b3oURgQ1QFVGt60QCKgB/s400/Top-007.JPG" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Bingham Kids</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">While
Richardson had long been interested in history, his passion to explore Lark's
past was fueled by Utah state archeologist Chris Merritt</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.
In 2014, Merritt presented at a history conference a
computer-software-generated 3-D flyover of Lark, circa 1978, using a town
survey completed by Kennecott to calculate how much to pay residents for their
homes, and black-and-white photographs of all the properties. The drone-like
view begins from the Mascotte tunnel entrance, sweeping out over the streets
and principal buildings that once made up the town. After the presentation, an
emotional Richardson told Merritt, "I lived in Lark, I lived in that
house," Merritt recalls, Richardson having recognized his former home
among the pictures Merritt had used to bring Lark back to life.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Merritt coordinates the antiquities
section for the Utah Division of State History and as a deputy state historical
preservation officer, reviews "state and federal undertakings for their
effects on archeological resources." He first heard of Lark after a state
agency sent him a water-mitigation project Rio Tinto Kennecott was proposing on
the old Lark site. Merritt learned that while most of the buildings were long
gone, "the street system was still intact" in the surface dirt, and
there were several 1950s brick structures, along with the old water tower.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k-pCKKf8CU4/Tpm8qxALugI/AAAAAAAAbaA/eFMy_qlfuG8ggIfNltFDefn5YqC8q-IyACKgB/s1600/Top-13.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k-pCKKf8CU4/Tpm8qxALugI/AAAAAAAAbaA/eFMy_qlfuG8ggIfNltFDefn5YqC8q-IyACKgB/s400/Top-13.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Frog Town Kids</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Through a report on the site
compiled by the state, Merritt learned that in contrast to the LDS ward
house-centric neighboring city of West Jordan, Lark, with its majority Hispanic
population, had a Catholic church at its center, with the union hall next door.
The LDS ward house was "off on the bench land further away." he says.
</span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">"This
is a classic mining town."<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Since the site is not publicly
accessible, working on documents he found in the state archives such as the
town survey, "led us to a digital preservation of the community. That
underscored you don't need to have that physical place to retain a community.
You can still have it through this digital expression."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Merritt plans to invite Lark
old-timers to the Sept. 30 Utah State History Conference in West Valley to
record their recollections of "what they remember about Lark, what sticks
out about it."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">BARBARIANS
AT THE CANYON GATE<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The sleepy town of Copperton all
but stands guard on Bingham's mountain-tombstone, dump trucks visible on the
waste-rock pile's upper echelons in the distance above houses on the west side
of Copperton park.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Once it had a café, a gas station,
a grocery store, an elementary and a high school, but "that's all gone
now," says Copperton resident Ron Patrick. "Basically it's like we've
moved away from some of the conveniences of the world."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Walk the quiet, drowsy streets and
you encounter few cars or people. Copperton has three churches, a Mormon ward
house, a Catholic and a Methodist church. Crump says being LDS and a
Republican, "I'm in a minority. Republicans met in a telephone booth,
while </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Democrats
were a force to be reckoned with.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> They met in the
Lions Club."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Walk with Patrick the block from his
house to his father's, and he talks about people he knows and the houses they
live in. He doesn't know the number of their house, just where it is. "People change," Patrick says.
"The town don't."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">While residents talk about the
possibility of Rio Tinto one day buying out Copperton and leveling that, too,
Bennett writes that, "The Company has no plans to buy land within
Copperton in the future, and it is unlikely that land in Copperton would be
needed to accommodate growth."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-95A_CVtV0MQ/V3rWJERlT7I/AAAAAAAAtNM/2jAVSYiOa-A5heAhkDaG3ngRTwK6dg3_ACKgB/s1600/6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-95A_CVtV0MQ/V3rWJERlT7I/AAAAAAAAtNM/2jAVSYiOa-A5heAhkDaG3ngRTwK6dg3_ACKgB/s640/6.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That isn't true for Lark, though.
Tearing out the guts of a mountain, in order to process the less-than-1-percent
of copper ore it contains, generates 50 million tons of waste rock every year.
Rio Tinto is placing some of that waste rock close to where Lark stood, 40
years after it tore the town down.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The only threat, resident and
Copperton council member Kathleen Bailey sees, is encroachment from the valley
itself. "Every year, they build further up Bingham Highway. I think one
day they will be at our door."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-771OJmJgsVM/U_oXrFzO19I/AAAAAAAAoOI/KV4a-4dB7HYBqmRGIes0WDHwUHwpBs3IgCKgB/s1600/P1010394.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-771OJmJgsVM/U_oXrFzO19I/AAAAAAAAoOI/KV4a-4dB7HYBqmRGIes0WDHwUHwpBs3IgCKgB/s400/P1010394.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Bingham Days</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">AN
EMPTY GRAVE<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every Fourth of July morning,
Copperton Park rings to the preparation of </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">a chuck-wagon breakfast </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">and
the shouted encouragement of the young and the old as they take part in
three-legged races and other short sprints. "A lot of people from Bingham
come back for that day," Patrick says. "They'll sit here all day in
the park and just visit."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Where once the breakfast used to be
for 2,000 people, Patrick's father Bud says, "now you do good if you have
500 or 600. You don't get many people who lived in the canyon and remember
it."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This year's celebration will also
see the unveiling of a memorial to the demolished Bingham High by Salt Lake
County Mayor Ben McAdams.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Ask Rio Tinto what should be done
to memorialize Bingham Canyon, given the role it played in the mine's
development—including so many deaths from miner's lung—and Bennett responds by
highlighting his company's focus on achieving a "zero-harm
workplace." He writes, "We recognize the ultimate sacrifice many
miners made before modern health and safety standards were in place."<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o7NdJAd7_ts/V3sOjQNGliI/AAAAAAAAtQQ/Wu_vdOvqbUoWCVfDfPBcloUNpQnpL4jHQCKgB/s1600/13612211_10209653250592749_4697005847635561242_n.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o7NdJAd7_ts/V3sOjQNGliI/AAAAAAAAtQQ/Wu_vdOvqbUoWCVfDfPBcloUNpQnpL4jHQCKgB/s320/13612211_10209653250592749_4697005847635561242_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Bingham High School Memorial</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Bill
Nicholls and Maynard John Berg,</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> both graduates of
Bingham High, are the driving force behind a permanent memorial for the school,
if not the city. They had searched fruitlessly for one of the capstones that
crowned the school's towers to use for the memorial. In mid May, having given
up the hunt, a Copperton council member told them about Susaeta's capstone in
his driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the late afternoon May sun,
Nicholls and Berg, Susaeta, a volunteer and a City Weekly reporter gathered
around the capstone. "This is the
key to our monument," Nicholls says. "We thought none of these
existed. When I saw it, I just about fainted." Berg squatted down by the capstone and dug a
little of the dark, loamy soil that had been its home for so long. "I call
it providence," he says.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The four men removed the capstone
and took it to a shed at Copperton Park, to join several hundred bricks and
smaller pieces of the old school's masonry that had been rescued by onlookers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7p170_fAng/VG6iryIxwDI/AAAAAAAAon0/obiMKM7-4VAWE9zWisCcA8H_NonlFSlawCKgB/s1600/1053301_10205626993382112_2910881400759766140_o%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7p170_fAng/VG6iryIxwDI/AAAAAAAAon0/obiMKM7-4VAWE9zWisCcA8H_NonlFSlawCKgB/s400/1053301_10205626993382112_2910881400759766140_o%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Lark Days</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">Shortly after the men drove away, one of
Susaeta's relatives realized that they had not filled in the hole that removing
the stone had created. In the late afternoon sunlight, the black soil leant it
the quality of a grave. The man picked up a shovel and dragged the edge of the
blade over the surrounding concrete, filling in the sides of the hole with
dirt, before finding some blocks to fill in the rest of the yawning space. The
metal scraping against stone echoed around the silent neighborhood, providing a
soundtrack of sorts to the dumper trucks lined up on the upper ridges of the
waste-rock mountain that looms above the town.</span></b>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-57302045787933657132016-04-10T11:30:00.002-07:002020-11-11T11:55:53.409-08:00COMPANY GUNMEN and the 1912 STRIKE and living in VIOLENCE<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">COMPANY
GUNMEN and the 1912 STRIKE<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">A
Terrible time to Live in Bingham <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jFmOdB8jdr8/VwrLnuTfOsI/AAAAAAAArhY/8O8LzV0LClshUQ-qT20NN_OXeL7LLUABA/s1600/195.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jFmOdB8jdr8/VwrLnuTfOsI/AAAAAAAArhY/8O8LzV0LClshUQ-qT20NN_OXeL7LLUABA/s400/195.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Copperfield 4th of July</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">John
J. Creedon </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">said
the </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">1912
strike</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
almost caused our family to leave Bingham.
My mother was asked how many extra boarders she could handle, but when
my father found out they were strike breakers and gunmen, he notified Mr.
Haymond that they could eat in the section house, but not as long as he lived
there. Mr. Haymond agreed with him and
these “skunks” were taken care of at the “Big Ship” in Upper Bingham.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mother
kept me out of school for part of that year because of the tension. The gunmen were everywhere on company
property and you never knew when you would have a gun stuck in your back and
challenged. We even had one in a packing
box below our house. I remember that one
of these men shot another and that seemed to be the only good they did while
they were here. I don’t remember of too
much violence, but they say there was a lot of shooting in Upper Bingham during
the strike, but evidently no casualties.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kal6_Y0mQJU/VwrLouVryHI/AAAAAAAArh8/ccXJEpyeS4QSgjbwn9IlwbEZ2T7k3DRNQ/s1600/435.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kal6_Y0mQJU/VwrLouVryHI/AAAAAAAArh8/ccXJEpyeS4QSgjbwn9IlwbEZ2T7k3DRNQ/s400/435.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Copperfield 4th of July</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
life must go on and school and new friends put all else in the background. Those first days at school I met friends that
I was to go through school with and form friendships with their families that
have endured to the present time. My
first pal was Coleman Quinn. We started
the first grade together and graduated together without a break in the twelve
years. My first auto ride was with the
Quinns, and I took many trips with them.
I met the Stillmans, Grants, Bakers, Nerdins and so many of the
Swede-Finns that first year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The
year 1912 came and with it tragedy to Bingham</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.
It was the year of the Big Strike.
I don’t remember the issues at stake or the winner of this strike, if
there was any winner. There seems to be
a difference of opinion of the outcome from some of the old timers I have
consulted.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
brought to Bingham an element that left a blight on the community for years to
come - Strike breakers or “scabs” were brought in to work the jobs, the men had
left and the gunmen were there to protect them.
The hate and resentment shown these unwelcome visitors impressed me as
young as I was, and to this date, I loathe such persons.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">UTAH
COMPANY FORCING VIOLENCE IN 1912 STRIKE, <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-vPoNBN9M/UbDgF3Hty_I/AAAAAAAAk_Q/hvnuAQYyCmgTpvmtv5cPMYUoKsp3KqYLA/s1600/940926_599833576706937_536299260_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-vPoNBN9M/UbDgF3Hty_I/AAAAAAAAk_Q/hvnuAQYyCmgTpvmtv5cPMYUoKsp3KqYLA/s400/940926_599833576706937_536299260_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Greek Camp Copperfield 1912 ?</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Chicago
Day Book said, a d</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">eadly
war may break out at the village of Bingham, where 5,000 miners are on strike,
at any minute. If it does the Utah
Copper Company will be directly responsible.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Governor
Spry refused to give the mine owners the militia on their demand, and now the
owners are organizing a militia of their own.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Late
last night 50 sharpshooters, each man a dead shot, were ordered posted on the
hills around the Utah Copper Companies mines.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When
the miners struck they entrenched themselves near the mines. They did so because they had experiences with
Utah Copper special deputy sheriffs in the past. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Two
days after the strike was declared there were 100 heavily armed Company
deputies in Bingham. The company spread
reports of the finding of dynamite and of the likelihood of killings. Governor Spry hurried to Bingham.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Spry
asked the miners to meet with him and talk things over. They readily consented and left their
entrenchments, satisfied they were safe so long as the governor was in
Bingham. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Spry
asked the men their grievances. They
told him they wanted an increase in wages and recognition of the union. Spry advised arbitration. The men immediately offered to
arbitrate. The company refused. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Spry
advised the men not to use violence.
They said they had no intention of doing so. Spry asked them why they were armed and
entrenched. They told him of the deputy
sheriffs.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Spry
then said there was no need for the soldiers the company demanded and left
Bingham. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6MnMQJmS3lg/U4JJ-HY48QI/AAAAAAAAn3E/KT-zNZrQvyM5aGvLzaEWLPPM4X8n6xSXg/s1600/Top-121.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6MnMQJmS3lg/U4JJ-HY48QI/AAAAAAAAn3E/KT-zNZrQvyM5aGvLzaEWLPPM4X8n6xSXg/s400/Top-121.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Bingham</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
next day the force of deputies increased to 300 and more deputies have been
pouring into the village every day. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Meantime
the Utah Copper Company had </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">enlisted the county commissioners in their service.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">They
had the commissioners go to Bingham on a junket trip and inspect the miner’s
entrenchments, which Spry had not thought serious. The County Commissioners ordered the sheriff
to destroy the entrenchments and disarm everyone in Bingham except deputies. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">This
is certain to cause trouble. The miners
are afraid of the deputies. They will
not submit to be disarmed, while the deputies are left armed, without
resistance. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And
if the miners do attempt resistance the sharpshooters on the hills above the
mines will be able to kill them at will.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Governor
Spry is still trying to get the company to agree to arbitration. The men have made another request for a
conference with company officials. The
company officials have returned no answer to the request. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lENk7LfUQNY/Tiha_e0vPzI/AAAAAAAAOac/tD6EmXbrp-8nht6_8Y6s3hKoMBwQ8m09w/s1600/432.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lENk7LfUQNY/Tiha_e0vPzI/AAAAAAAAOac/tD6EmXbrp-8nht6_8Y6s3hKoMBwQ8m09w/s400/432.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Copperfield</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Bingham
is not a town. It is just a collection
of shacks of Utah Copper Company’s miners.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Quotes
from “Bingham” </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">a
1945 school book-7<sup>th</sup> and 8th Grades.
</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Mine owners and scabs were successful in breaking the 1912 Strike<i>. <o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Utah Copper had “fired and
Black-Balled” many of the strikers. They
were angry and unemployed. Scabs were
replaced with experienced men and both were causing trouble. Bingham was no longer a safe and happy place
to live. Some of my Swedish-Finn
relatives moved to Eureka or went back to Finland. Greeks and Italians found other work or
became self-employed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">John Leventis </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">owned a coffee shop in<i> </i>Copperfield, said, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“Let
the owners get the ore themselves”. T</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">he Greeks created a fraternal lodge
to help their members become independent.
With money and help partnerships opened most of the grocery stores, drug
stores and apartments. The more pressure
and discrimination they endured the closer they became. They united into one great family and they
survived.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">The
Ku Klux Klan and the Company Deputies</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> made life as miserable as they could. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Ellen
Vidalakis (Furgis)</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
told about the Ku Klux Klan when they were burning crosses in Dinkeyville. “You could see them everywhere and people
were just terrified.” A Mormon Bishop
was caught “burning crosses” above Magna.
Salt Lake and Price had crosses burning there, yet there were no arrests
by police anywhere.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NKMvp9OzA6pxL_ZxAofKkR3hlCKnGVbh8k-Q63PedvOe9GOpULRSgyTbmm6OlKwefQhg74dYHPeA6xp1EmL4EebUV3ub60m3hrT51NPhdZUL6W2bBEFGDvo0nRq-p0xPiluF9gPl4Cwa/s253/mm.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="199" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NKMvp9OzA6pxL_ZxAofKkR3hlCKnGVbh8k-Q63PedvOe9GOpULRSgyTbmm6OlKwefQhg74dYHPeA6xp1EmL4EebUV3ub60m3hrT51NPhdZUL6W2bBEFGDvo0nRq-p0xPiluF9gPl4Cwa/w315-h400/mm.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">“Lopex Saga”</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> happened when Deputy Sheriff Julius Sorensen
pushed Raphael Lopez too far. The
sheriff was a</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">company
gunman and bought in with the other 400 gunmen.
Raphael Lopez came to Bingham to work.
The mines were hiring and he was an experienced miner and worked as a “leaser”.
He made lots of money and spent it freely on his friends. He was noticed and watched by the
police. He was not a “Scab” yet he was
treated like some kind of animal. He was
an educated, honest and honorable person, from an aristocratic Spanish family
from Mexico Lopez was a half-blood Englishman and Mexican. He won the respect of the people who knew
him. He was quiet and good natured and
temperate with liquor. He was definitely
not a drunkard or a trouble maker. The
turning point in his life was most unfortunate. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Two young ladies came running to the Highland Boy Mine to tell
about two Greek muckers who had bothered them and a Mexican had made them stop. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Failing
to believe the young ladies Sorenson</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"> pistol-whipped Lopez</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> and hauled Lopez to
jail. Lopez had a terrible temper and
wanted revenge. LOPEZ knew he had no life
in Bingham so when he was released he found his old enemy and killed him. There are many other versions of why he
killed Valdez. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He
left Bingham and headed over the mountain on foot, but there was snow on the
ground and he left a trail. The “Posse” followed
him on horses and soon caught him west of Lehi where he killed three of those
who found him. Of course Sorensen got
away. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">LOPEZ
left tracks in the snow and the chase was on.
Several Posses from as many cities and counties began chasing like he
was some kind of animal. LOPEZ began
circling until no one knew who was following who. There were reports of gun battles at Mosida, a
town south of Utah Lake. Some thought
they had him near Eureka. Others had him
at Cedar fort. Fifty men plus 25 Indian Trackers had him at Skull Valley. Others had him in Little Valley, south-west
of Vernon living on McIntire Summer Ranch more than a hundred miles away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVH3Ei38qE6vKVsfqm65cZI1MoIgeLuVrpm7Sd-Mn5PyyOAKALS5EoB8yy-XRpP0b5pHtF8xqkFow0oLh0mZbGD4KIu4HQ1JnnGEPDdYGUeETvFDa1_rX3FUBf-l5ujUZ-Y45HVYcHJ3Uh/s445/Capturefosdick4.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVH3Ei38qE6vKVsfqm65cZI1MoIgeLuVrpm7Sd-Mn5PyyOAKALS5EoB8yy-XRpP0b5pHtF8xqkFow0oLh0mZbGD4KIu4HQ1JnnGEPDdYGUeETvFDa1_rX3FUBf-l5ujUZ-Y45HVYcHJ3Uh/s320/Capturefosdick4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">A
man in Bingham stated the Police deserved what they got for treating people the
way they did<i>. </i></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
police beat him up, put him in jail and the judge fined him $50.00 to get
out. The town was sharply divided on </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">who
was the good guy and who was the bad guy</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.
John Creedon wasn’t the only one who loathed the Company Gunmen. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-La_LeZLf3rg/VwrO2qbObnI/AAAAAAAArn0/M23E3AswuuMUbIZS-CZLs6NZ8kIadcPBA/s1600/P1000030.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-La_LeZLf3rg/VwrO2qbObnI/AAAAAAAArn0/M23E3AswuuMUbIZS-CZLs6NZ8kIadcPBA/s400/P1000030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Class 1947 Bingham High</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">All
of Lopez’s friends were rounded up; searched for any kind of weapons and jailed
(this is what they did to minorities during the strike). Hundreds of Mexicans in every Mormon town
were arrested while the “Newspapers” called for all Mexicans to be deported
(just like the Mormons think in Utah today).
They were even rounding up Mexicans as far away as California. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
worked with a blacksmith named</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"> Joe Tome</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.
In his oral history Joe said he came to Bingham the same year as
Lopez. Joe said he liked Lopez and
thought he got</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> a bum-rap. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone I knew liked Lopez, just wish I would have just asked what life was like for each one of
them “living in a Company Town” with Company Gunmen and Company Law.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
posse learned Lopez had come back to Bingham and trapped in the Highland Boy mine. So, it was shut down and searched and had poisonous gasses pumped into the mine.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The searchers were paid with a five-dollar
gold coin. When the police thought he
was dead or gone, the searchers suddenly found a new track or sign of Lopez to
keep the gold coins coming. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">Bingham
had lived under the guns of gunmen over a year or two and it did not surprise
anyone when someone gave Lopez a helping hand and away he went. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Unions
were never recognized until 1944. Wages
were low and workers were still being killed or injured. So we went on strike. We went on strike time after time. When I retired they deducted 1 ½ years strike
time from my pension. Salt Lake County
sent </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">60 to 80 deputies up there at a time to </span><span style="line-height: 17.12px;">intimidate</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> us. </span></span></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6iypXYgo0ze18HqNRKc6dmF0zF6ba7oDZnXu0C7REwSeh23pukUEB5Sb0d5huIv7bg6Y_7wErK7_yc1LOtIIH023CMf0_ajCUtqo5aJaMPyD4FTJVMS1emuydpP1IBMETOtPegS1EWmn/s1402/Top-002.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1030" data-original-width="1402" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6iypXYgo0ze18HqNRKc6dmF0zF6ba7oDZnXu0C7REwSeh23pukUEB5Sb0d5huIv7bg6Y_7wErK7_yc1LOtIIH023CMf0_ajCUtqo5aJaMPyD4FTJVMS1emuydpP1IBMETOtPegS1EWmn/w640-h470/Top-002.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Machine gun Militia </td></tr></tbody></table><br />Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-24247224771894367282016-02-04T16:29:00.001-08:002020-11-11T12:02:09.116-08:00MAREN HANSEN'S CHILDREN<div class="MsoTitle">
<span style="font-size: 18pt;">A Story of Maren Hansen’s Daughter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoTitle">
<span style="font-size: 18pt;">History of Ellen Pederson
Sorenson; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Written
by Lois Jane Sorenson (daughter-in-law)</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i-mWjh2xw9I/TitEHUycs6I/AAAAAAAAL1A/5brVAEx94pE/s1600/P1000142.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="459" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i-mWjh2xw9I/TitEHUycs6I/AAAAAAAAL1A/5brVAEx94pE/s640/P1000142.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7th Handcart Co. </td></tr></tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In
the far off land of Snesere, Denmark, was born a little girl, with blue eyes
and dark hair to Peder Pedersen and Marren Hansen. This little girl was born 29 June 1856 and
was given the name of Ellen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Marren,
the mother, had been married before to a man by the name of Nielsen (it is not
known if he died or not). She had two
children by this marriage, a boy named Hans Peter and a little red-headed girl
which they called Stina.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In
the year 1858 a child was born to Ellen’s mother and Father, they gave the name
of Kiraten. This family was contacted by
the Mormon Elders and converted to the church.
They were baptized about the year 1856 in Denmark. After joining the church their friends and
relatives mistreated them very severely and they decided to set sail to
American to be with the Saints in Utah.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UA0HXegjFog/VrP1qLknvII/AAAAAAAArF4/M2fuDJKy6PM/s1600/13543u.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="330" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UA0HXegjFog/VrP1qLknvII/AAAAAAAArF4/M2fuDJKy6PM/s400/13543u.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Oxen and Wagon</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In
the year 1862 they started for the Promised Land. They were ten weeks on the water which was a
long time for them especially the children.
Their little daughter Kiraten was ill all the way. Her parents felt she would improve when they
reached land but this was not so and after two weeks travel she died. This was in the state of Nebraska. With only a sheet to wrap her in they laid
her in the cold earth. This was a great
trial to her parents. Ellen remembers
that after they had traveled a few days the captain felt their wagon was
overloaded and ordered them to unload and throw away part of their boxes. This was heartbreaking for them to throw away
a good box which only a few days ago could have served as a casket for their
dear little daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Ellen’s
father and mother bought three yoke of oxen and a cow and started across the
plains to Utah. Hans Peter driving the
cow, the mother riding whenever she could.
Ellen remembers walking most of the way.
She and her little sister gathered buffalow chips in their aprons so that
they could have a fire at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The
cow gave enough milk that the family had all the milk they needed, also Marren
made butter, which was enjoyed by many of the Saints, what was left shared with
the other Saints.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONNq6Pfj6H0/Us4XLYoMKMI/AAAAAAAAm78/w5NHJEFZdAk/s1600/Top-4.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONNq6Pfj6H0/Us4XLYoMKMI/AAAAAAAAm78/w5NHJEFZdAk/s400/Top-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter Boel, Herman and Gideon Tweede, John HafenAdd caption<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Indians
were bad, but they never bothered them while traveling, however they had many
experiences with them after arriving in Utah.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Ellen,
a little girl of seven, loved to pick Indian beads out of the ant beds and
string them for necklaces. She says that
the ants never bothered her. She also
remembers her father being left by the company and having to walk all night to
catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Arriving
in Utah in 1862 or ’63 they settled in Ephraim for two years. Later they moved to Richfield. The family lived in a little two-roomed house
with a dirt floor.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The
town of Richfield grew very fast from log cabins to adobe houses. Ellen’s father was a carpenter and he made
them beds, tables, chairs, and many other items of furniture. The children sat on three-legged stools and
Ellen remembers cooking many meals in the bake skillet over the coals in an
open fireplace. At this time they burned
grass wood using the ashes for soap to wash their clothes. What was left over was saved and later made
into candles which was their only way of lighting at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Ellen
had very little schooling but was very talented in cording and sewing. She spun many yards of cloth, sewed many mens
suits, shirts and other clothing. She
has spun as high as seven scans in one day.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uygLJNqPyFQ/Us4XQsPOKmI/AAAAAAAAm8o/AzpU1RKU6z4/s1600/silk%2Bworm.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uygLJNqPyFQ/Us4XQsPOKmI/AAAAAAAAm8o/AzpU1RKU6z4/s400/silk%2Bworm.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Silk making</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Twenty-first
March 1867 was a day she remembered well.
Many a time she has related the story of Jens Peterson and his wife, and
14-year-old Mary Smith and of how they were killed by the Indians while on
their way from Richfield to Glenwood.
Ellen’s sister Stina was a friend of Mary Smith and had planned to come
with her but at the last minute she changed her mind and didn’t, or she would
have been killed also.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> After
this terrible experience President Young told the people of Richfield to move
away, to go north to more populated areas.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> This
was hard for the Saints as they were finally being settled down after so much
traveling. However, the Pedersons like
all the rest left their homes and returned back to Ephriam about the first of
April 1867.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> It
was here that Maren, their mother who had been through so many hardships,
became ill and passed away on 28 December 1867, leaving her husband and three
children alone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TO7HyKZlZWU/Vja_Xi7ZmtI/AAAAAAAAqrw/MFLILCrJEKc/s1600/1291939_1423310894586984_2892601676333762914_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TO7HyKZlZWU/Vja_Xi7ZmtI/AAAAAAAAqrw/MFLILCrJEKc/s400/1291939_1423310894586984_2892601676333762914_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Stage Coach </span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen was eleven years old and was the
youngest of the children since her little sister Kiraten had died.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This family went through many hardships
without their mother, however Marren had taught Ellen the routine of household
duties and so Ellen had to do these tasks.
At times they barely had enough to go around but they were thankful for
what they had, and regardless of how tough times got their father always seemed
to pay his obligations and tithing to the church.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After the Indian trouble had settled
down again they returned to Richfield.
This was in 1872. She was a very
good housekeeper and kept their little house very clean. She even moped the dirt floor each day to
keep the dust away until her father was able to put boards down, this she would
scrub each day.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen used to take her brothers Hans
Peter dinner to him each day as he worked in a first mill on the west part of
Richfield. She was so frightened of
Indians creeping out at her that she ran most of the way. She was now 16 years old but still had this
deep fear of Indians.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At this time Jens Sorensen had come to
Utah from Denmark, he had the privilege of riding the first train that came
into Ogden with the Saints. He later
traveled on to Glenwood with P.C. Petersen about 1872, by visiting around with
different people he met the Peder Pedersen family. He enjoyed going to their home for some good
meals and visiting with the young people.
He thought Ellen was a very good housekeeper and cook and this was where
his love began to grow. Ellen also
became interested in Jens and fell in love with him. They both enjoyed talking Danish. On 9 November 1874 this young couple were
married in the <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5ifD39WAGkNQwcbfX4HyKgfhEcw1njdUinw_TmXSG8QrEvCYtyNb2mqoS7OTz7t898oEoVxEhFEo5vQSomRG8xHj6kgHz2BsEbYjlD_50hp2wazrf1WoUiB9OzygnYRW1YYqufWGmiiH/s1600/Top-17.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="1600" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5ifD39WAGkNQwcbfX4HyKgfhEcw1njdUinw_TmXSG8QrEvCYtyNb2mqoS7OTz7t898oEoVxEhFEo5vQSomRG8xHj6kgHz2BsEbYjlD_50hp2wazrf1WoUiB9OzygnYRW1YYqufWGmiiH/s320/Top-17.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Glenwood house</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Endowment House in Salt Lake City, they made their trip by ox
team. Jens had a little one room log
cabin with a few pieces of furniture.
Some was made during United Order.
So it was to this little home they abided. Ellen with her good housekeeping soon had it
a very nice little place and a real home for them. She continued making candles, washing and
cording wool, spinning it and helping to clear many acres of land. She would clean the grain, then would take
cloth for furniture which was then made at Ephriam. (At the age of 70 she still had a wardrobe of
this homemade nature and her spinning wheel is a present in the Daughters of
Pioneer Relic Hall in Glenwood in memory of her.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> They lived in the United Order as long as it
was in force. So they knew how to
share. It lasted for about five years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In July 1878 their first child was born
to them. Ellen made some beautiful
clothes for her then named her Mary Ellen Sorensen. April 4, 1881 their second child was born. This child was called Annie Kirsteen. She was a little dark headed girl.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As they were rather crowded in this
little log house by now they built a new house west of their log house, this
new place was made of adobe and had three big rooms down stairs and three up
stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dora Dort a little girl was born in this
new home, 4 December 1883 just in time for Christmas which made the family very
happy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-tmSsXdYGNhe8_OKKR8goY5VILF9kPpIffFWIdQOEG6p4feTjZdswaoMDCPYTQSXmydflNlFA27S23Ypwktlt6Z8DBaqGKWPQmJTFVPRYXee_kmgLo5jGc-vt1uakbLcH0RgkR68HMjoM/s1600/Top.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1564" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-tmSsXdYGNhe8_OKKR8goY5VILF9kPpIffFWIdQOEG6p4feTjZdswaoMDCPYTQSXmydflNlFA27S23Ypwktlt6Z8DBaqGKWPQmJTFVPRYXee_kmgLo5jGc-vt1uakbLcH0RgkR68HMjoM/s400/Top.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Glenwood Mill</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At this time plural marriage was being
practiced and through the acquaintance of Larsena Hansen (who had helped Ellen
when she needed help, being a close friend of Ellen’s stepmother). It was at this time that Jens thought he
should take another wife and so he chose Laresena Hansen, a pretty young women
from Denmark. They were married 16
January 1884 in St. George Temple, this was rather hard for all concerned but they
did so thinking and knowing it was the Lord’s will.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Twelfth March 1886 another girl baby was
born. They named her Millie, this made
quite a family for Ellen to cloth and feed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen not only shared her husband but
also her home. Larsena lived in the
South room for four years where she had two children, Inger Christene and
Alice. The family all ate together. This was hard for both wives. After their third child (Larsena) Jemina
Dorthea was born she moved to a little adobe house a block East of Ellen’s
home, here is where her twins were born.
So Ellen again had the home for herself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In August 5, 1888 Huldah Adamma a pretty
little red haired girl came to earth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was at this time that the manifesto was signed that
plural marriage was to cease. The men
had to go in hiding from the officers as they came around. The officers of the law came and took their
husband Jens, this was a sad occasion but a common one at this time.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhYq_nu9CQBzmsGJpmqfRiIxfu-a-b1YPXcePtuCSY8ihrN2YtN8LlaTTDPN6uoYeVEpw2buDncobu0PejwTUkj-M49p-Q2qdU1-A8zEEi7f8Ljufbv1BF0Vi3RDN-1oFq3w2sIhsUCvI/s1600/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="800" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhYq_nu9CQBzmsGJpmqfRiIxfu-a-b1YPXcePtuCSY8ihrN2YtN8LlaTTDPN6uoYeVEpw2buDncobu0PejwTUkj-M49p-Q2qdU1-A8zEEi7f8Ljufbv1BF0Vi3RDN-1oFq3w2sIhsUCvI/s400/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On November 8, 1891 their first son,
James Elmer was born a little red headed guy, how proud and happy they were to
finally have a son. On January 6, 1895
another little boy came along and was given the named of Peter Erlen but his
stay here on earth wasn’t long as he died on February 8, 1895. This was hard for them, but Ellen and Jens
had been blessed as this was the tenth child for Jens and the seventh for Ellen
and the first line broken in the two families.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">August 12, 1896 a little blond boy was
born to Jens and Ellen, and given the name of Vern Ernest, two years later
twins were born to Larsena and Jens (Lyman and Alima).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This made 13 children in all completed
to two families.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen taught her children to work along
with her. She was a good wife and mother
but very stern in her ways, she was very good to give of her substance to
anyone in need. For years she churned butter
and sold it. She would go with her horse
and buggy to Richfield with her pounds and pounds of butter each week, summer
or winter. As each of her children grew
up and made homes of their own she made a good grandmother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They all loved to go to her home, they
knew she always had good homemade buns for them to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijpmaQJKT5EcwgG0lP1mEJMU5Z6B_gIVO8wEcvTSL9WWx-dw_rIXfmpWDRKjt1s-SMWffldIIi860dvsh_1DO8h_-hQH4Ru85iwdTl7QAoYZXvPHxzRrWewxFT5X0JWu5XylGV_MkjbDTB/s1600/Top-47.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="1520" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijpmaQJKT5EcwgG0lP1mEJMU5Z6B_gIVO8wEcvTSL9WWx-dw_rIXfmpWDRKjt1s-SMWffldIIi860dvsh_1DO8h_-hQH4Ru85iwdTl7QAoYZXvPHxzRrWewxFT5X0JWu5XylGV_MkjbDTB/s320/Top-47.jpg" width="320" /></a><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was a Relief Society block Teacher
for many years. She worked in all of the
Organizations but on the account of her having very little schooling she was
unable to write. However, she was a very
good reader and thus was well read and versed.
Her husband kept their family records.
She was active in the church as long as her health would permit it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jens died January 20, 1927, at the age
of 82, one of Annies boys stayed with her.
Five of her children lived in Glenwood so she was real close to her
loved ones. On May 4, 1939 her daughter
Annie Died. This was hard on her and she
did all she could to help with her children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was in Richfield to a Stake
conference when she took her first stroke and from that time on her health
failed her. Huldah took care of her
until she needed some one with her all the time. At this point her oldest daughter Mary took
her into her home and cared for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was there when she had her third
stroke, and she passed away in Mary’s home on Tuesday evening May 16, 1939, at
the age of 82.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QcG-TLbIsgA/Uu160OttYkI/AAAAAAAAoZ0/mkUcDCstq-I/s1600/1514160_1399745260276881_663211227_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QcG-TLbIsgA/Uu160OttYkI/AAAAAAAAoZ0/mkUcDCstq-I/s400/1514160_1399745260276881_663211227_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Her funeral services were May 19, 1939,
presided over by her son Bishop Elmer Sorensen, conducted by Counselor Albert
Oldroyd. She lived through a choice time
and saw many changes in the world. From
people crossing the plains and living in dugouts to our moderns homes of
today. And from the ox teams to the high
powered automobiles of today also from candles to electric lights.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She had many friends where ever she
went. At the time of her death she had
six living children, 26 grandchildren, 12 great-grandchildren and a half sister
Caroline Nielsen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A Story
of Maren Hansen’s Son<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hans
Peter Nielsen </span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1845-1909</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">---</span></i></b> <b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ellen
Pederson </span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1856-1939</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Both buried at Richfield Cemetery<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><i><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Hans Peter</span></u></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> was born 31
March 1845, at Praesto, Denmark, to </span></b><b><i><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Maren
Hansen</span></u></i></b><b><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></u></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and Niels Isaacsen (Isaaksen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ellen Pedersen</span></u></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> was born 29
June 1856</span></b> <b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at, Praesto, Denmark, to</span></b> <b><i><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Maren Hansen</span></u></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and Peder Pedersen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> We
did not know our Grandfather, Hans Peter Nielsen. He passed away (1909) before our mother was
married. We know he was a grist miller,
and excellent carpenter, and a skilled builder.
We have seen and enjoyed visiting some of the buildings he built. The home we spent most of our lives in,
Grandfather built for our Grandparents, William and Sarah G. Meeks. He worked well with his family, especially
his sons and son-in-law, Nels Hanson, an excellent and much sought after
skilled carpenter. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Grandfather
and Grandma had an aesthetic appreciation for nature. Because of this they
built the grist mill, their home and other essential buildings in a most
beautiful, serene spot near Bicknell on the Fremont River, with large gorgeous
red cliffs in the background. We do not
have a picture of Grandpa Nielsen, but from our mother’s description he was not
a large man, sandy complexioned, with kind blue eyes and looked like the “Good
Miller Man”.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The Story of the Grist Mill and Planing
Mill<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">By Matilda Nielsen Meeks<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGkvyPvb98uUHBiq9N4Vr7pe95fad76RmZDhf-KMHaTta54yA5odGKcJbBbJTk6ZaH5BjKliZR9Xz4v-NMfDJ64NwWK42BdarpSY3-9wssPjaUXoyu-aBqRRWbmD28134PwqF4lZMuw1-/s1600/JPEG_20181118_0001.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGkvyPvb98uUHBiq9N4Vr7pe95fad76RmZDhf-KMHaTta54yA5odGKcJbBbJTk6ZaH5BjKliZR9Xz4v-NMfDJ64NwWK42BdarpSY3-9wssPjaUXoyu-aBqRRWbmD28134PwqF4lZMuw1-/s400/JPEG_20181118_0001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Mill with grandfather </span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Hans
Peter Nielsen came to Utah, the year of 1863.
He came across the ocean in a sailboat owned by John J. Boyd, called the
Packet boat. Father landed in New York,
worked a year there and came on to Utah to Ephraim, Sanpete County. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">His occupation was milling. He ran the mill at
Richfield. They were driven back and
forth three different times by the</span><i><span style="font-size: large;"> Indians to Richfield, Ephraim and Elsinor</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">,
and would or had to pile sacks of grain up to the windows and bar the doors to
keep the Indians out and from shooting at them.
He carried and old musket gun with him.
He kept it hung on the wall where he could get it easily. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He
built and owned a mill at Richfield up by the Spring Ditch in the year of 1882.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He came to Thurber, Wayne County the year of 1890, for
the purpose of milling. He built and ran
the mill now standing down by the Dirty Devil River (Fremont River) by the
bridge. He ran it by water power. He ran and kept the mill up to his death,
1909. It was sold to the King Brothers
in the year 1910. Father brought with
him the old musket gun and had it hung on the wall. An old Indian called Grey Head recognized the
gun from the mills at Richfield and Ephraim.
He said, “I that many times and could have killed you.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Father was a </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i>great friend of the Indians</i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. They would come and store their pine nuts up
in the loft of the mill at Thurber, by the sack full every fall and when they
came for them they would give a pan full to Father. We children looked forward to this, for the
pine nuts. They called him “The Good
Miller Man”. </span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6D__BPRHB9ApVoIcw6bg_0Hqs4f0vzrY-J7zdGFKM5p_mXMo6Wzm-UgLZenFZYbOhv6JKfQ04noOb9jxJ4TyEDHz0YjeB8subAA4TEj8JlHQ00f9DTeg6Jq3EE2RXoSJpxM0eQ-Lbc6L/s1600/Top-26.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1396" data-original-width="1174" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6D__BPRHB9ApVoIcw6bg_0Hqs4f0vzrY-J7zdGFKM5p_mXMo6Wzm-UgLZenFZYbOhv6JKfQ04noOb9jxJ4TyEDHz0YjeB8subAA4TEj8JlHQ00f9DTeg6Jq3EE2RXoSJpxM0eQ-Lbc6L/s400/Top-26.jpg" width="336" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father Nielson , Ed Nielson</td></tr></tbody></table><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They also built or had the first planing mill. Hans Nielsen and Niels Hansen planed all the
lumber and made all the door and window frames the went into the first houses
built in this new town (Bicknell), the Grant Rock House and Mansfield brick and
frame building, and the Relief Society Hall.
The first house was an old granary that was moved up on wagons from the
old town by James Grant. They lived in
it while their house was built. The door
and window frames were hauled up to town o big hayracks with wagon and
team. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sarah Nielsen. Weight said, About the year 1891 Father and his family
were </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">sent to Wayne County, known as Wayne Wonderland,</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> to build another Mill,
the first Mill to be built in that county.
it was a four-story building. The
third floor was used as a carpentry shop where Father with our brother-in-law,
Nels Hansen, also did carpentry work.
They made coffins when they were needed.
It took a day to bury the dead at that time as all the travelling was
done by horses, buggies and wagons—mostly by wagon. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tribes of Indians made their visits often. They always came peeking in at the windows
when they came begging for something to eat.
In the fall they would glean the wheat and gather pinenuts and trade for
flour and meat, as Father had a lot of pigs and would cure the meat and smoke
it. We had good smoked cured hams and
bacon to sell. There was an old Indian
who always had a story to tell about the early days of Richfield when Indians
were so dangerous. They said they could
have killed Father if they wanted, but Father was so</span><i><span style="font-size: large;"> good to them and they like
the “Miller Man’</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> as they always called him.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Father worked real hard. He lived to be sixty four years old. He died 18 September 1909 and was buried in
Wayne County and afterward moved him from the Bicknell Cemetery to the
Richfield Cemetery. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Grandma used to go to Richfield to shop. One day as she was walking down the side-walk
she heard someone calling behind her, trying to catch up to her, “</span><i><span style="font-size: large;">Good Miller
Man’s Squaw, stop!</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Stop! It was an
Indian squaw, Tewank’s sister, and she had been to Grandpa’s Mill in Bicknell
many times and pick up pinenuts. The
Indians tied their sacks with a special knot so that they could tell if someone
had opened it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-59924483095563493682016-02-02T20:17:00.002-08:002020-11-11T12:14:36.068-08:00HISTORY of ELLEN PEDERSEN SORENSEN<div class="MsoTitle">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>History of Ellen Pederson
Sorenson</i></b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Written
by Lois Jane Sorenson (daughter-in-law)<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c5-Mx8zR2A4/UvFlWMKZYmI/AAAAAAAAnIE/uKPGLXUbBOU/s1600/Top.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c5-Mx8zR2A4/UvFlWMKZYmI/AAAAAAAAnIE/uKPGLXUbBOU/s640/Top.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">farming in Denmark</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In
the far off land of Snesere, Denmark, was born a little girl, with blue eyes
and dark hair to Peder Pedersen and Marren Hansen. This little girl was born 29 June 1856 and
was given the name of Ellen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Marren,
the mother, had been married before to a man by the name of Nielsen (it is not
known if he died or not). She had two
children by this marriage, a boy named Hans Peter and a little red-headed girl
which they called Stina.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uqhz-Z14OcI/UDFHYmY62FI/AAAAAAAAfrI/msCxG0Y9SJA/s1600/SALT.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uqhz-Z14OcI/UDFHYmY62FI/AAAAAAAAfrI/msCxG0Y9SJA/s400/SALT.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>on the Mormon Trail</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In
the year 1858 a child was born to Ellen’s mother and Father, they gave the name
of Kiraten. This family was contacted by
the Mormon Elders and converted to the church.
They were baptized about the year 1856 in Denmark. After joining the church their friends and
relatives mistreated them very severely and they decided to set sail to
American to be with the Saints in Utah.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In
the year 1862 they started for the Promised Land. They were ten weeks on the water which was a
long time for them especially the children.
Their little daughter Kiraten was ill all the way. Her parents felt she would improve when they
reached land but this was not so and after two weeks travel she died. This was in the state of Nebraska. With only a sheet to wrap her in they laid
her in the cold earth. This was a great
trial to her parents. Ellen remembers
that after they had traveled a few days the captain felt their wagon was
overloaded and ordered them to unload and throw away part of their boxes. This was heartbreaking for them to throw away
a good box which only a few days ago could have served as a casket for their
dear little daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Ellen’s
father and mother bought three yoke of oxen and a cow and started across the
plains to Utah. Hans Peter driving the
cow, the mother riding whenever she could.
Ellen remembers walking most of the way.
She and her little sister gathered buffalow chips in their aprons so that
they could have a fire at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The
cow gave enough milk that the family had all the milk they needed, also Marren
made butter, which was enjoyed by many of the Saints, what was left shared with
the other Saints.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Indians
were bad, but they never bothered them while traveling, however they had many
experiences with them after arriving in Utah.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Ellen,
a little girl of seven, loved to pick Indian beads out of the ant beds and
string them for necklaces. She says that
the ants never bothered her. She also
remembers her father being left by the company and having to walk all night to
catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Arriving
in Utah in 1862 or ’63 they settled in Ephraim for two years. Later they moved to Richfield. The family lived in a little two-roomed house
with a dirt floor.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NAXRBpzS3p8/Tjr-3yB-LoI/AAAAAAAAdiM/xZ3iVZC9aVU/s1600/Top-3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NAXRBpzS3p8/Tjr-3yB-LoI/AAAAAAAAdiM/xZ3iVZC9aVU/s400/Top-3.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>Shena-Vegan, chief of tribe</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i> that killed Mary Smith</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The
town of Richfield grew very fast from log cabins to adobe houses. Ellen’s father was a carpenter and he made
them beds, tables, chairs, and many other items of furniture. The children sat on three-legged stools and
Ellen remembers cooking many meals in the bake skillet over the coals in an
open fireplace. At this time they burned
grass wood using the ashes for soap to wash their clothes. What was left over was saved and later made
into candles which was their only way of lighting at night.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Ellen
had very little schooling but was very talented in cording and sewing. She spun many yards of cloth, sewed many </span>men's<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> suits, shirts and other clothing. She
has spun as high as seven scans in one day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Twenty-first
March 1867 was a day she remembered well.
Many a time she has related the story of Jens Peterson and his wife, and
14-year-old Mary Smith and of how they were killed by the Indians while on
their way from Richfield to Glenwood.
Ellen’s sister Stina was a friend of Mary Smith and had planned to come
with her but at the last minute she changed her mind and didn’t, or she would
have been killed also.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> After
this terrible experience President Young told the people of Richfield to move
away, to go north to more populated areas.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> This
was hard for the Saints as they were finally being settled down after so much
traveling. However, the Pedersons like
all the rest left their homes and returned back to Ephriam about the first of
April 1867.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> It
was here that Maren, their mother who had been through so many hardships,
became ill and passed away on 28 December 1867, leaving her husband and three children
alone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen was eleven years old and was the
youngest of the children since her little sister Kiraten had died.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This family went through many hardships
without their mother, however Marren had taught Ellen the routine of household
duties and so Ellen had to do these tasks.
At times they barely had enough to go around but they were thankful for
what they had, and regardless of how tough times got their father always seemed
to pay his obligations and tithing to the church.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After the Indian trouble had settled
down again they returned to Richfield.
This was in 1872. She was a very
good housekeeper and kept their little house very clean. She even moped the dirt floor each day to
keep the dust away until her father was able to put boards down, this she would
scrub each day.</span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen used to take her brothers Hans
Peter dinner to him each day as he worked in a first mill on the west part of
Richfield. She was so frightened of
Indians creeping out at her that she ran most of the way. She was now 16 years old but still had this
deep fear of Indians.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nSWTQWehk3Q/Tjr-0GCwJxI/AAAAAAAAQko/G2f5CMOWZVs/s1600/Top.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nSWTQWehk3Q/Tjr-0GCwJxI/AAAAAAAAQko/G2f5CMOWZVs/s400/Top.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Smith Family at Black-Hawk Reunion</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At this time Jens Sorensen had come to
Utah from Denmark, he had the privilege of riding the first train that came
into Ogden with the Saints. He later
traveled on to Glenwood with P.C. Petersen about 1872, by visiting around with
different people he met the Peder Pedersen family. He enjoyed going to their home for some good
meals and visiting with the young people.
He thought Ellen was a very good housekeeper and cook and this was where
his love began to grow. Ellen also
became interested in Jens and fell in love with him. They both enjoyed talking Danish. On 9 November 1874 this young couple were
married in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City, they made their trip by ox
team. Jens had a little one room log
cabin with a few pieces of furniture.
Some was made during United Order.
So it was to this little home they abided. Ellen with her good housekeeping soon had it
a very nice little place and a real home for them. She continued making candles, washing and
cording wool, spinning it and helping to clear many acres of land. She would clean the grain, then would take
cloth for furniture which was then made at Ephriam. (At the age of 70 she still had a wardrobe of
this homemade nature and her spinning wheel is a present in the Daughters of
Pioneer Relic Hall in Glenwood in memory of her.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71Xyt-8q4k8/Tjr-20PcuvI/AAAAAAAAdbM/JFEp1uuKQ9w/s1600/Top-5.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71Xyt-8q4k8/Tjr-20PcuvI/AAAAAAAAdbM/JFEp1uuKQ9w/s400/Top-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> They lived in the United Order as long as it
was in force. So they knew how to
share. It lasted for about five years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In July 1878 their first child was born
to them. Ellen made some beautiful
clothes for her then named her Mary Ellen Sorensen. April 4, 1881 their second child was
born. This child was called Annie
Kirsteen. She was a little dark headed
girl.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As they were rather crowded in this
little log house by now they built a new house west of their log house, this
new place was made of adobe and had three big rooms down stairs and three up
stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dora Dort a little girl was born in this
new home, 4 December 1883 just in time for Christmas which made the family very
happy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At this time plural marriage was being
practiced and through the acquaintance of Larsena Hansen (who had helped Ellen
when she needed help, being a close friend of Ellen’s stepmother). It was at this time that Jens thought he
should take another wife and so he chose Laresena Hansen, a pretty young women
from Denmark. They were married 16
January 1884 in St. George Temple, this was rather hard for all concerned but
they did so thinking and knowing it was the Lord’s will.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UIn1SHRy9Iw/Tjr_Db2gsiI/AAAAAAAAdi4/zufPMekxCow/s1600/Top-14.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UIn1SHRy9Iw/Tjr_Db2gsiI/AAAAAAAAdi4/zufPMekxCow/s400/Top-14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Pioneer fence</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Twelfth March 1886 another girl baby was
born. They named her Millie, this made
quite a family for Ellen to cloth and feed.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen not only shared her husband but
also her home. Larsena lived in the
South room for four years where she had two children, Inger Christene and Alice. The family all ate together. This was hard for both wives. After their third child (Larsena) Jemina
Dorthea was born she moved to a little adobe house a block East of Ellen’s
home, here is where her twins were born.
So Ellen again had the home for herself.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In August 5, 1888 Huldah Adamma a pretty
little red haired girl came to earth.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kssf0_yoCVg/TyR4iHy1rgI/AAAAAAAAdvk/N7JdpWkaFU0/s1600/Top-31.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kssf0_yoCVg/TyR4iHy1rgI/AAAAAAAAdvk/N7JdpWkaFU0/s400/Top-31.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was at this time that the manifesto was signed that
plural marriage was to cease. The men
had to go in hiding from the officers as they came around. The officers of the law came and took their
husband Jens, this was a sad occasion but a common one at this time.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On November 8, 1891 their first son,
James Elmer was born a little red headed guy, how proud and happy they were to
finally have a son. On January 6, 1895
another little boy came along and was given the named of Peter Erlen but his
stay here on earth wasn’t long as he died on February 8, 1895. This was hard for them, but Ellen and Jens
had been blessed as this was the tenth child for Jens and the seventh for Ellen
and the first line broken in the two families.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">August 12, 1896 a little blond boy was
born to Jens and Ellen, and given the name of Vern Ernest, two years later
twins were born to Larsena and Jens (Lyman and Alima).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This made 13 children in all completed
to two families.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ellen taught her children to work along
with her. She was a good wife and mother
but very stern in her ways, she was very good to give of her substance to
anyone in need. For years she churned
butter and sold it. She would go with
her horse and buggy to Richfield with her pounds and pounds of butter each
week, summer or winter. As each of her
children grew up and made homes of their own she made a good grandmother.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They all loved to go to her home, they
knew she always had good homemade buns for them to eat.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltTYLeATsTv5TSSv7TapLh2ykrwxXVUOPnnd4RZy8WobbcQpJ3QCvN4VolB31cFRMfeOQgyQMMMBLq2v5ZNwcxbf_b4JMoyFuVlC7laD5i79Zk4A4mo-DLGfjpk2YUR5s-pgR22r78G_C/s1564/Top.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1564" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltTYLeATsTv5TSSv7TapLh2ykrwxXVUOPnnd4RZy8WobbcQpJ3QCvN4VolB31cFRMfeOQgyQMMMBLq2v5ZNwcxbf_b4JMoyFuVlC7laD5i79Zk4A4mo-DLGfjpk2YUR5s-pgR22r78G_C/w400-h255/Top.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glenwood Grist Mill</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was a Relief Society block Teacher
for many years. She worked in all of the
Organizations but on the account of her having very little schooling she was
unable to write. However, she was a very
good reader and thus was well read and versed.
Her husband kept their family records.
She was active in the church as long as her health would permit it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jens died January 20, 1927, at the age
of 82, one of Annies boys stayed with her.
Five of her children lived in Glenwood so she was real close to her
loved ones. On May 4, 1939 her daughter
Annie Died. This was hard on her and she
did all she could to help with her children.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was in Richfield to a Stake
conference when she took her first stroke and from that time on her health
failed her. Huldah took care of her
until she needed some one with her all the time. At this point her oldest daughter Mary took
her into her home and cared for her.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was there when she had her third
stroke, and she passed away in Mary’s home on Tuesday evening May 16, 1939, at
the age of 82.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />Her funeral services were May 19, 1939,
presided over by her son Bishop Elmer Sorensen, conducted by Counselor Albert
Oldroyd. She lived through a choice time
and saw many changes in the world. From
people crossing the plains and living in dugouts to our moderns homes of
today. And from the ox teams to the high
powered automobiles of today also from candles to electric lights.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She had many friends where ever she
went. At the time of her death she had
six living children, 26 grandchildren, 12 great-grandchildren and a half sister
Caroline Nielsen.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-22967388902924723812016-01-26T11:18:00.000-08:002018-01-15T18:21:14.197-08:00JOHN SIMONE ORENO and LUCIA BOZZA born in TURINO, ITALY<div class="WordSection1">
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 15.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">JOHN PETER ORENO<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">written by HIMSELF<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">compiled by Norma Jones Oreno<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">approved by John Peter Oreno<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Norma and John Oreno</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b>Why
was I born? This is a very important
question to me. For believing in
pre-destination or foreordination whichever it might be called, I believe that
I was called or brought into this life to be the instrument to bring this
family of mine into eternal and everlasting life together.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>It
all started many years ago in the town of Turino, Italy with two illegitimate
babies being born in the same maternity home for unwed mothers and being thrown
together and raised practically as brother and sister, being separated at short
intervals as they were taken into different homes from time to time. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Lucy
(Lucia) Bozza born May 16, 1879 and John Simone Oreno born July 16, 1879. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">John (Simone) followed the trade of his foster father
of repairing and making chandeliers and traveling to France to sell and install
them in the homes of wealthy people. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b>At
the age of sixteen, he was taken gravely ill with Typhoid Fever and was left
for dead by the doctors. Lucy (Lucia)
would not give up and, with her fingers, cleared his throat of the mucus which
was shutting of his breathing and was the means of saving his life. This led to an everlasting love. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>They
were married in 1896. They moved to Bosco, a small town near Turino. Born to them there was a son, Michael, on
January 22, 1897. Four years later,
another son, John Peter <i>(myself) </i>in
December 5, 1901. At this time, my
father was called into the Italian army to serve his time in the ski patrol <i>(Alpine Division, English Corps.) </i> My mother and we two boys lived with his
foster parents, until his time was served.
I remember very little or nothing of my life in Italy, but snatches of
the old stone home with steps going up the side and someone playing the
accordion on those steps is the only real thing I can remember. Later my mother told me this was my
grandfather's brother, Mike.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Norma Jones Oreno</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b>On
getting out of the army, my father decided to come to the United States. He left Italy in 1905 and sailed for the U.S.
alone, leaving my mother and we boys behind with his parents until he could
establish himself and send for us. This
took two years at which time, he travelled all the way across the U.S., establishing
himself in Clelm, Washington. This is
where we finally were reunited with him in 1905. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>My
journey on the boat was vaguely remembered.
The boat was named _______. The
first recollection I have in Washington was an event where my father and his
father's brother were out hunting and shot a woodpecker. Later we found a nest of baby birds and I
cried all the way home because I wanted the birds.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>From
Washington, we moved to Mercur, Utah where a baby boy was born to my parents <i>(stillborn)</i>. My mother fell. This we think was the cause of her losing her
baby. This was a sad event in our lives
as it was a lively full term baby and my mother said he looked just like
me. He was buried in the old Mercur
cemetery, but on later visiting this place, I could not find the grave.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>A
daughter, Mary, was born in Mercur on June 17, 1911.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>My
father on coming to the U.S. Engaged in
ore mining. Each mining town he lived in
would have a slump in work and he would move the family to another town where
work was more plentiful.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Friend with Norma Jones</i></b></td></tr>
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<b>The
events in Mercur I remember. I loved the
mountains and would roam the hills over, seeking adventure in every crag and
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<b>The
Italians in this town formed a club which they called the <i>Ball-del-Fil-fer </i>which was the dance of the wire corn or instrument
as we would call it. I remember on
night, when they were dancing at one of the neighbors, my father and a friend
were discussing guns. My father owned a
shotgun just like it from a Sears catalog.
He wished to see the gun. I being
hungry followed them home. I was sitting
by a cupboard. My father thought the gun
was unloaded. He loaded and unloaded it
to show the man how it worked. It
discharged, hitting the cupboard right next to my head. My father was so upset, he was very careful
with his gun thereafter.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>They
moved from Mercur and work was scarce there and the mines were going down, to
Bruster, Colorado. We didn't stay there
very long. We moved to Bear Gulch,
Colorado for a short time. And from
there to Gunn, Wyoming. It was in Gunn,
Wyoming that another sister, Nellie was born 22 February, 1914.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>We
then moved to Bingham, Utah, where my youngest sister, Eva, was born 24 Sept,
1915. Was here when World War I started
and Mike joined the army and went to France.
It was in 1918 while in Ophir, we had the worst epidemic of influenza
ever known. Whole families died of
it. I worked in the Ophir mines.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>In
1919, we moved to Silver City, Utah. We
lived there only a few months. We bought
a house in Eureka, Utah right on Main Street, in front of the Tintic High School. Here we lived the longest time. Dad started leasing on his own and struck
some rich ore. He was a hard worker and
got silicosis of the lungs. He was
determined I was going to get out of the mines, so he sent me to Kansas City,
Kansas to the Sweeney Automotive and Electrical School. He built a garage and when I returned, I ran
the garage and he sold gas.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Dad's
health failed fast after that and on 12 September, 1927, he died from a lung
hemorrhage, he being only 48 years old.
He had often said how he would like to be buried in the Mount Olivet
Cemetery in Salt Lake City. This is
where we laid him to rest.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Norma Merrel</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b>Mother
was in such shock that she was put in the Holy Cross Hospital. She had a large goiter in her neck which was
removed at that time. It was discovered
also that she had sugar diabetes. We
moved into Salt Lake City the next year, 1928.
Mike moved into our house and we rented the garage.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>In
the spring of 1929, I came to Eureka to repair the roof of the garage and there
I met a girl, Norma Jones, who became my wife on 19 June, 1929. I took her to Salt Lake City to live. My sister Mary married Jack Ackerman 4 May,
1929.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Mother
met and married Frank Ratto on 1 October, 1929 and moved to Hunter, Utah. Here Nellie and Eva met and married cousins,
Myron Powell and Mell Davis.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Mother's
health failed fast and on 2 February, 1936, she died in a diabetic coma and was
laid to rest at the side of my father.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-74199521073243831402015-11-01T17:20:00.002-08:002021-07-02T11:09:14.517-07:00BUTTERFIELD CANYON HISTORY<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><br />BUTTERFIELD CANYON
HISTORY</b></span></i><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <u>Albert “Bert” Crane<o:p></o:p></u></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Henry
Crane,</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
my father and several others were employed in 1880 to haul ore by team, <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKTdNkxpCPvic1exQwni-h09l5Pye5xkM10nLdokZrIrAKI4lTGNCBKov7N91E4-ff9egS1T3RVO6yV9AX4WDGz8NlT6r9WTbvHFUKtA3i12QeSwjXn16JSKZgW0yIC8XlAko2WcE6sgbe/s2048/14444960_1107214099334062_1526398714879567960_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKTdNkxpCPvic1exQwni-h09l5Pye5xkM10nLdokZrIrAKI4lTGNCBKov7N91E4-ff9egS1T3RVO6yV9AX4WDGz8NlT6r9WTbvHFUKtA3i12QeSwjXn16JSKZgW0yIC8XlAko2WcE6sgbe/w640-h426/14444960_1107214099334062_1526398714879567960_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><i>mostly four horses to a team </i>and wagon
from Butterfield Canyon to Sandy, Utah to the smelter. He would leave home on Monday morning and
drive to the mine in the canyon to load the wagon with ore---then back to his
home that night with the ore. This took
approximately 14 hours. Tuesday morning
he left Herriman with his load of ore to Sandy to the smelter and back home
that night. This made it possible to
make three trips a week. Sometimes in
the winter Father rode on one of the horses to help keep warm or he stood on
the wagon tongue between horses to break the cold wind. Mother used to stand out at night and listen
for the ring of the steel tires of the empty wagon on the road or snow to know
if father was getting home safely. In
later years teams and wagons hauled ore to Lark where it dumped into railroad
cars and taken to Midvale.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MPr2YDcUpk4/Vja9D1NdE1I/AAAAAAAAqrM/1Tfv6VU7LlY/s1600/cccc.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MPr2YDcUpk4/Vja9D1NdE1I/AAAAAAAAqrM/1Tfv6VU7LlY/s400/cccc.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>CC loves the mountains</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">My
first memory of Butterfield Canyon</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
is when I went with my father to deliver groceries to a boarding house in the
canyon about 1890/92. There never were
large trees in the bottom part of the canyon.
There were oak, boxelders, chokecherry and willow trees but the hills
were covered mainly with oak brush. A
fairly large stream of water wound its way down the canyon. There was a good road most all its way but
mostly just a single lane. Farther up
the maple and oak trees grew large enough that they almost framed a tunnel
above the road, then half-way up the canyon, pine trees grew on the mountain
side. The canyon runs mostly east to
west. As one goes west up the canyon,
the first hollow off to the right is now called St, Joe. At one time this had been called Jigger
Hollow. As I remember, there was a large
building called the Jigger where ore was washed and screened. Part of the rock wall of that building is
still standing. I remember a small house
just south of the large building and a family by the name Shannon (Jack
Shannon), his wife and two children lived there. Several prospect and mining claims were
located in this area, and the St, Joe mine was the main one. Later, on the same property, Joe Mascaro and
his family had a home and kept a goat herd.
About here the canyon turns to the south and about one-half mile on the
west side is another hollow. It also had
a mining claim and prospect hole. I
remember a man, Mr. C.B. Durst living in this hollow. My brother, Henry and I hauled a load of
loose hay to him and we had to unload half of it so we could get up to his
corral. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jSw1ma3QlOM/VjbAB5IfwSI/AAAAAAAAqr4/3BCsCxQaoYA/s1600/P1010290.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jSw1ma3QlOM/VjbAB5IfwSI/AAAAAAAAqr4/3BCsCxQaoYA/s400/P1010290.JPG" width="400" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Just
a little south of that hollow is the line of the Butterfield Mining Co.’s land
and it extend three miles to the west up the canyon. Their workings were located about one-half
mile from their line of ownership. As
near as I can tell this started in 1931 or 1932. The Butterfield Mining Co. drove a tunnel
into the mountain. The buildings were about
1000 feet east of the tunnel on the east side of the creek. There were three houses in a row which were
living quarters for men who worked in the mine.
The first house was a kitchen, then a dining room and the last a
bunk-house. Each was about 40 feet long. There were also a few shacks to the west of
these buildings. It was all swampy and
the ditch was between the road and the house.
There was bridge made of lumber with a railing on either side over the
ditch. My father delivered groceries to
the boarding house. I remember walking
over the bridge carrying things to the house.
They had a Chinese man for a cook and two Chinese boys to help him. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At
the mouth end of the tunnel was a large building. In it was a blacksmith shop and a power with
a water wheel. The water wheel was
fourteen to sixteen feet in diameter, and turned by water piped from the big flats,
approximately two miles farther up the canyon.
The pipe was a sixteen inch pipe and reduced to four inch pipe to create
pressure enough to turn the wheel.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
next hollow was on the north side and was called Black Jack. It got its name from a man called John
Black. He had a mining claim in there at
one time. His hair was black as coal and
he wore a heavy black mustache. There
was water coming from this hollow but the tunnel driven underneath drained all
the water from it. Not far from here is
a road to the north to the Queen Mine.
It is mostly Dugway on the ridge of the mountain. Some of the richest gold ore of any mine in
his location has come from the Queen Mine.
The ore from the Queen Mine was hauled out of there on wagons. A man by the name of Mangus Olson from West
Jordan was killed while hauling ore from this mine. He was driving four horses and had a trail
wagon. The brake gave way. The wagon went over the Dugway. Mr. Olson’s neck was broken, one horse was
killed and one other horse’s leg was broken so it had to be killed. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Butterfield Boy Scout Camp</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold; line-height: 107%;">On
the south side of the canyon is Stocking Fork, named after one of the early
settlers of Herriman. From this point on
up the canyon, pine trees are frequently found among the maple trees and large
oaks. A nice stream flows from Stocking
Fork into the main stream in the canyon.
Notices of mining claims were posted in this fork. Many of the notices were in a can nailed to
a post. The can had an open end and the
papers telling of the claim were inside the cans. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4vzOrDlXCCo/VG_h8BtahbI/AAAAAAAAooI/TZJROmf09owyOu8K7Pgo51TReAvUEKCSw/s1600/Boy%2BScout%2Bbuilding%2Bin%2BButterfield.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4vzOrDlXCCo/VG_h8BtahbI/AAAAAAAAooI/TZJROmf09owyOu8K7Pgo51TReAvUEKCSw/s400/Boy%2BScout%2Bbuilding%2Bin%2BButterfield.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Butterfield Boy Scout Camp</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Two
log cabins were built in this fork by homesteaders. The next fork of the canyon is on the south
side and is called Swamp Fork. This also
had a good sized stream of water and has mining claims developed in it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About
one-half mile farther west is the Big Flat of the canyon. This is the head of Butterfield Canyon and is
the main camping area of the canyon. At
one time a big <u>Scout House was erected there by Bingham people</u>. It was destroyed by vandalism and fire. From the Flat the canyon divides into three
parts. Before and, and at the time the
Butterfield Tu</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">nnel was driven there was a stream of w</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">ater coming from all three
hollows into the Big Flat. Then the
Butterfield Mining Co. put in a big box and diverted the three streams into it
to supply a pipeline down to the water driven mill at the mouth of the tunnel.</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBPH5KCsgKcphz2VCwNYfAiAibhdAN74qNVncEj_jUR_7zETXmqemhOz0Eh4eEYKCSjAUIDyakL-R2__kTN5kouDO-Hs6mL5b_IXiQhqUD7NNpPJY0xlclBuiWmrCywUhhsLKNA27Tjqd/s1600/BOY+SCOUT+LODGE+BUTTERFIELD.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBPH5KCsgKcphz2VCwNYfAiAibhdAN74qNVncEj_jUR_7zETXmqemhOz0Eh4eEYKCSjAUIDyakL-R2__kTN5kouDO-Hs6mL5b_IXiQhqUD7NNpPJY0xlclBuiWmrCywUhhsLKNA27Tjqd/s320/BOY+SCOUT+LODGE+BUTTERFIELD.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Butterfield Scout Camp</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
fork that goes south from the Big Flat is known as the <u>Left Hand Fork</u>. There was a saw mill in this fork and
evidence of a lot of timber cut at the time it was used. There were hundreds of large stumps on the
side ill. I have seen stumps up to two
feet in diameter and four and five feet high showing that the trees had been
cut when the snow was there. I was there
in the summer of 1905. There was once a
road from there around the mountain to the head of Bingham Canyon. It was called the Parley Hanon’s road. We hauled timber from this fork to Bingham
for timbering in the mines. About one
mile up Left Hand Fork, going west is Bear Fork. This is the prettiest fork of the entire
canyon, for here the pine trees grow straight and tall in abundance. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Center Fork from the Big Flat is known as the <u>Tooele Fork</u>. It runs almost straight west. At one time there was a road up this fork
directly over the mountain into Tooele County.
This is the flattest of the three but becomes very steep at the west
end. At a flat in Tooele Fork where
Bishop’s Fork begins, a site has been selected for a camping ground for the
Riverton Stake. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
fork that goes north and west from Big Flat is called </span></b><b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Spring Gulch</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">.
This fork does not have many pine trees but is full of maple trees and
had a lovely steam of water flowing from it.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Salt Lake County has made a road up this fork and have connected it with the
road from Tooele County so now it is possible to drive over the Oquirrah
Mountain.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Page
9 of <u>Alice Crane’s Journal</u><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It is 1903 the Butterflied Mining
& Milling Co. and a syndicate for a French Company with their tunnels
drained the springs and claimed the water.
Herriman farmer’s crops died for the lack of water. Now everyone fought for the water that was
after the canyon was drained by all the tunnels. Then they fought for the land. Soon Combined Metals who owned both sides of
the road closed it. This put an end to
illegal wood cutting that was stripping the mountains bare. But they illegally closed a public road that
I did not like.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Christie who was superintendent
now had a personal kingdom that was eventually taken from him when the Salt
Lake County Sheriff removed the lock and gate.
<i>I remember Christie patrolled
above the gate mounted on a big brown horse.
We</i> <i>would run to the oak brush
and hide until he left. <o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r54hMwPD658/TihfZaJfIUI/AAAAAAAAP_M/457wbXWPpGQ/s1600/441.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r54hMwPD658/TihfZaJfIUI/AAAAAAAAP_M/457wbXWPpGQ/s400/441.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Silver shield on right<br />count the mines??</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ward and Family outings in
Butterfield Canyon were pleasant and happy.
Once a year a Ward Party under the direction of the Sunday School was
held up the canyon. Everyone was
invited. Some families went early in the
morning and cooked breakfast and then stayed for the Ward dinner. Others came for the dinner and program and
games. Long tables were setup and every
one shared each other’s food. This was a
day truly enjoyed and remembered. <i> </i> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Another day was at Choke Cherry time
when many of the families made a trip to the canyon to pick and gather the
choke cherries to make jelly and wine.
This time work and play and a good meal together was enjoyed by everyone
who went. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Many families planned on the 4<sup>th</sup>
of July or Labor Day to go there and stay two or three days for an outing. In my day tents were put up, a fire pit was
dug and water was bucketed from the spring.
Later families took their campers and trailers to sleep and eat in, but
the fun of hiking and enjoying the great outdoors was still the same. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">A
Mountain in my Backyard<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">Eugene Halverson <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VgetrC5fsLE/TouUnSU532I/AAAAAAAAbUA/Hft9Cp3TTCw/s1600/image-23.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="357" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VgetrC5fsLE/TouUnSU532I/AAAAAAAAbUA/Hft9Cp3TTCw/s400/image-23.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>6 1/2 foot Timpanogos tree now extinct <br />Five foot Red Grove trees were clear cut and hauled to SLC</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
lived in a company house at the very top of Telegraph. Water had to be carried in, no bathroom and
no kitchen sink. I carried two buckets
at a time from a tank under a spring. It
was so cold and tasty. Primitive as it
was I loved living on the border of the pines and Quakies just above the oak
brush. We got the birds and animals from
both forests. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
had two choices to hike the high mountains above Telegraph, to the right was
Galena Gulch the left was Bear Gulch this was the way to Butterfield and Middle
Canyon (Tooele Fork). The Bear Gulch trail
went under the Giant Chief mine dump up a steep road to a cement dam where the
road flattened out for a mile or so.
Prospectors panned gold all the way to the Big Tree. I used to pan gold with Alvin Cole and there
were diggings all over the place. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> The
Right Hand Gulch was a lush green Aspen forest, the Middle Gulch was full of
old mines and even one active mine. The left was a road up and over the ridge to
the Queen Mine.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-akvf9VjfwOU/S3yEbweAINI/AAAAAAAAO-4/nBA8DS5vib4/s1600/image-25.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-akvf9VjfwOU/S3yEbweAINI/AAAAAAAAO-4/nBA8DS5vib4/s400/image-25.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>"Big Tree" a Cottonwood tree and old Indian village<br /> gone forever, my memories covered with dirt</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
“Big Tree” was an ancient Cottonwood tree and an old Indian Camp site and
trails over the mountain to Tooele. The
Right Hand Gulch was a lush green Aspen forest, the Middle Gulch was full of
old mines and even one active mine. The left was a road up and over the ridge to
the Queen Mine. Going to the right up
the Ridge you will find a thick forest of pine trees overlooking Silver
Shield. In this forest I found many
stumps four to six feet in diameter the remnants of an ancient forest called
the Red Pine Grove. After a steep climb
off to the left you will find a trail through the Quakies that would take you
to the Middle Canyon Pass. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
zig-zag road down a steep side-hill took you to the town and mine of
Queen. I remember some houses for
families and a large boarding house for the single men setting on the Old Queen
Mine dump. Then up the road were a few
primitive shacks and a new US Mine Tunnel.
When US Mine closed all family houses and boarding were torn down. Leaving two friendly old men who leased the mine. I remember their shack. It had a dirt floor where cotton-tail rabbits
watch you from their hole in one corner.
These two feed us fresh home-made bread with strawberry jam. Queen had no water. It piped its water from Spring Gulch in
Butterfield Canyon. We walked this 10 or
12 inch pipeline to Butterfield ending a little above the old Scout Camp at the
Big Flat where three main forks began. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
remember the scout building and the stupid vandalism then later someone set it
on fire and it burnt to the ground leaving only the large fireplace and the
cement foundation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K1KQ8Kp2OO8/Tl7jQDHYNTI/AAAAAAAAaas/A_xQbo_epj818Vbi_g2DQGfDTl1iI_ehQ/s1600/Top-5.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K1KQ8Kp2OO8/Tl7jQDHYNTI/AAAAAAAAaas/A_xQbo_epj818Vbi_g2DQGfDTl1iI_ehQ/s400/Top-5.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
was an Indian trail from Utah County, past Camp Williams, through Herriman, to
the Big Flat in Butterfield where they camped and then over the mountain to
Tooele County of course none of these places were there then. Many Indian signs and artifacts have been
found at the Flat. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Hundreds
of miles tunnels have sucked the springs and streams from my beautiful
mountain. The lovely stream of water from
Spring Gulch has been sucked away it no longer flows and the pipe is gone. There is no stream coming from the Left and
Tooele Fork either. Even the spring at
the Big Flat is gone. I fished the Butterfield
Creek back before it was ruined. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was the 4<sup>th</sup> of July 2016 and the games, breakfast was over so I decided
to see what kind of a mess Rio Tinto made of Butterfield Canyon. The first thing I noticed was the fences and
signs where Lark used to be and then as I dropped down into Butterfield Canyon
there was nothing to see except signs, fences, cement blocks, gates and trash. Now! I was angry. Where did all these foreign companies come
from? They should be sent back home like
we did on this day in 1776. They have
worn out their welcome here. The
Butterfield I remember was a grand and glorious place. I was angry then and I am still angry. </span></b><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">On
the south side of the canyon is Stocking Fork, named after one of the early
settlers of Herriman. From this point on
up the canyon, pine trees are frequently found among the maple trees and large
oaks. A nice stream flows from Stocking
Fork into the main stream in the canyon.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When
I finally<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUV3yS38CFlsE4kKoguk7mEtXvzk4W90-G5YcBC7QHCaHL35G5E1yekyRWY5CZLedcbv8b1xfnlSEEYMtPR5Jq1HMoWyy5h77VPPDkVJtEq5MVjvE4WF3dedXBooo9Bi_LcHZaITDHyF3c/s1138/Boy+Scout+building+in+Butterfield.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1138" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUV3yS38CFlsE4kKoguk7mEtXvzk4W90-G5YcBC7QHCaHL35G5E1yekyRWY5CZLedcbv8b1xfnlSEEYMtPR5Jq1HMoWyy5h77VPPDkVJtEq5MVjvE4WF3dedXBooo9Bi_LcHZaITDHyF3c/w400-h286/Boy+Scout+building+in+Butterfield.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> got past Rio Tinto’s mess, Salt Lake County had just as many signs
and barriers. Beyond them I could see a
creek and these grand old maples and pines, some must have been over one
hundred years old. Lots of oak brush and
elderberry it could still be wonderful canyon.
What we had was supposed to be a “Scenic Byway” but it was ugly” and not
people friendly. Only one family was
picnicking. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Well
the Byway took me over the top down into Tooele County. It was like coming out of the dark and seeing
the sun. It was beautiful. They had the same giant trees, brush and
flowers with running water but they were using it. There must have been eighty people and they were
happy people. They were camping,
picnicking, hiking and playing. They had
tables, toilets and water just like the Salt Lake County provides for the
people on the East side of the valley. </span></b><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">Queen Mine and Town</span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Eugene
Halvorsen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Iys7e3Y1ROs/WEnGCHJ0JAI/AAAAAAAAt5U/txSSUTEoh64ts4NHn5nhdt8Fq3ZMM2AGACPcB/s1600/dsc00948%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Iys7e3Y1ROs/WEnGCHJ0JAI/AAAAAAAAt5U/txSSUTEoh64ts4NHn5nhdt8Fq3ZMM2AGACPcB/s400/dsc00948%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>Quaking Aspen</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></span></b><br /><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It
was over 80 years ago but I still remember looking down into Queen. It wasn’t like my side of the mountain. My side had a whole canyon full of </span>Quaking <span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Aspen and all kinds of flowers and bushes the higher elevated mountains
have. Black Jack Gulch was a dry canyon
and all I could see was miles of oak brush with some pine trees growing here
and there. The road from the ridge
through town and all the way down to the Butterfield Creek was very steep
zigzagging kind of a road. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">10th
of August 1881 </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">by Salt Lake Herald</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
from Don Strack<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Queen mine is situated in Black Jack Gulch about 500 feet above the Lucky Boy,
remarkable for the very large amount of high grade ore it has produced. There is a 300 foot shaft and levels of huge
veins of ore.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
mine is equipped with pumping and hoisting machinery. There was a boarding house, blacksmith shop,
and ore cars and track. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
my time about 40 or 50 years later all these buildings were still
standing. Looking old and need of
paint. They all sat next the hill side
and on the big yellow dump. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G358iXBI9qU/WEnGCRNzppI/AAAAAAAAt5U/RfOo9uKVRuUG12VoIHjVjFOMBobLtBHZACPcB/s1600/butterfield_canyon_road_toole_herriman__utah__by_cjclements1221-d9qowsm%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G358iXBI9qU/WEnGCRNzppI/AAAAAAAAt5U/RfOo9uKVRuUG12VoIHjVjFOMBobLtBHZACPcB/s400/butterfield_canyon_road_toole_herriman__utah__by_cjclements1221-d9qowsm%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>Oak brush Mahogany, brush</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">1937 to about 1948<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
roamed everywhere in the 1930’s and 40’s.
Queen was the mid-point of my trail to Butterfield. I would stop and talk or play if I
could. Then on the first bend of the
road below town I would climb up to the water pipe and walk it almost to Spring
Canyon. Some places I could see a wooden
water pipe with steel bands to hold it together. I never bothered to go as far as the spring
even though it wasn’t much farther. The
trail dropped down to the scout camp. I
remember the building and the remains of it after it burned down. We used the big fireplace as a shelter from
rain and snow. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
day Queen is there and the people are working and the community is alive. Then everything is gone. All accept two old miners. They were lonely and we were always hungry. They fed us homemade bread with strawberry
jam. They knew everything and always
were fun to talk to. Their house was old
with maybe a window or two. They had a
table with a few chairs and a couple of beds.
All sitting on a hard dirt floor, an interesting floor with rabbit holes
in every corner. There was always a
rabbit looking at us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
is unknown what prospector found or named it Queen but the Norther Chief Mining
Co. owns and is developing the mine. It
was dangerous to bring the ore down the Dugway.
First by horse and wagon and later by trucks. They ran into water and maybe had to
quit. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Kiaxd1QQgQ/WEnF_n-MPVI/AAAAAAAAt5U/MeE7w71DGfYCjpNrGL2zsHigjc5fSUziACPcB/s1600/54108985%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Kiaxd1QQgQ/WEnF_n-MPVI/AAAAAAAAt5U/MeE7w71DGfYCjpNrGL2zsHigjc5fSUziACPcB/s400/54108985%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">6
February 1896 </span></b><b style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">by Salt Lake Herald</span></i></b><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Don Strack</span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Butterflied Mining Company has nearly completed a tunnel to drain the
mountain. In the process many new veins
of ore has been found and are happily mining again. Well the rich got rich but I would rather
have a drink in the springs and fish the creek once more. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
<o:p></o:p></span></b>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-21353110775255075382015-10-12T18:28:00.000-07:002015-10-13T14:18:58.998-07:00REVISTING COPPERFIELD---WITH AN EXPERT<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Revisiting
Copperfield—With an Expert<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Appeared in the </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 19.9733px;">Murray</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> Green Sheet 28 may 1993<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">By
Willimay McDonald Tervert<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7fynvCJX8mQ/Tiha9OdLRhI/AAAAAAAAOaE/zt4JQVhcklg/s1600/416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7fynvCJX8mQ/Tiha9OdLRhI/AAAAAAAAOaE/zt4JQVhcklg/s400/416.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">walking to Bingham through Pit</span></i></b><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>road by copper water sewer</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Many
nationalities came from the old mining town of Copperfield and as I sit here
today there’s a song that goes through my mind, “There’s a little street where
old friends meet, and I’d like to wander back someday. If only I could.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
town was located where the Kennecott Mine is today---though to pinpoint it now
is not exactly easy. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">At
one time there was an old dirt road at the upper end of Bingham Canyon that led
to Copperfield. After about 1939 a
tunnel was built to our town. I’ll never
forget how we walked up the old road and the whistles would blow off from the
hill. This was a warning! Run for the shelters that were built every so
far apart across the road because flying rocks came from all directions when
they set off the dynamite. We managed to
make it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We
had the wonder of the mountains close by where we could climb and pick up an
array of wildflowers, see deer, and birds, animals of different kinds, old
abandoned mines all over. There were
“cross bones” waning us to stay out. We
did.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--QmBXLcfszI/TkalsvKVAUI/AAAAAAAAlnQ/XiRCeugufpc/s1600/305-Miners%2BMercantile%2B-%2BEst%2B1900%252C%2BClosed%2BMarch%2B1941_%2BSL%2BCo%2BR-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--QmBXLcfszI/TkalsvKVAUI/AAAAAAAAlnQ/XiRCeugufpc/s400/305-Miners%2BMercantile%2B-%2BEst%2B1900%252C%2BClosed%2BMarch%2B1941_%2BSL%2BCo%2BR-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Businesses </span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Groceries
used to be delivered by the Miner’s Merc, Pan Hellenic, and independently. Vegetables were brought up from valley farms
and milk was delivered by Hogan’s Dairy.
Sometime during the winter if you didn’t bring in the milk soon enough
it would rise to the top of the glass containers which were used and returned
to the milkman. I remember grapes that
were delivered at night and then some families made wine and what a sight to
see them stomping the grapes in their basements. A good time was had rejoicing the harvest. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Copper
Water flowed out of a pipe in the upper end of town and the children enjoyed
placing spoons, forks, nails or whatever was available in the water and leaving
it overnight. By morning it turned them
into a shiny copper color. Although told
to stay out of it, we found it to be too much of a temptation. </span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IpLWDIjjBZE/TzA_BS8tEWI/AAAAAAAAd4Q/KJx7FIlkKzc/s1600/32-Fig.-85-Jap-Camp-Before-Bat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IpLWDIjjBZE/TzA_BS8tEWI/AAAAAAAAd4Q/KJx7FIlkKzc/s400/32-Fig.-85-Jap-Camp-Before-Bat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Jap Camp</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
town of Copperfield was a fascinating place.
A main street with homes made of brick and wood. A circle of homes all two stories nestled
around a well-cared circle of lawn. This
is where I grew up. Many children
playing and associating with their neighbors.
The homes were so close that it was a common sound to hear some
snoring. Especially during the summer
when the windows were open. In the
evenings Dad would have an orchestra practice on our front porch and the town’s
people danced to “Red Peppers” around the circle. “Happy times”.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There
was Terrace Heights, Jap Camp, Greek Camp, Dinkeyville, Telegraph and US that
surrounded the town. Copperfield
appeared to be built like tri-levels layered out as if painted by an
artist. From Tommy’s Rock high above
town one had a panoramic view of our town.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You
could see the old track, our separated little camps, the old school house and
the single road winding its way up the canyon and the lower end of town, the
business district. </span></b><br />
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</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mining
accidents were common and the sound of the old mine whistle in succession was a
warning of a cave in or a fire. The men
were carried out of the US mine on stretchers.
Hope for his life was when their faces were not covered up. I could see this horrible sight along with
others and it was a very unpleasant sight to remember. The ambulance would usually take them to the
Bingham Hospital or the mortuary.
Accidents on Utah Copper, as referred to, were very common, not to
mention those who lost limbs. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9PvAuifhxI0/TihaE9LtS0I/AAAAAAAAOR4/LETfgwWWaYg/s1600/60.%2BCircle%2Bon%2BMain%2BStreet%2BCopperfield%2BBefore%2BFence%2BAbt%2B1922%2B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9PvAuifhxI0/TihaE9LtS0I/AAAAAAAAOR4/LETfgwWWaYg/s400/60.%2BCircle%2Bon%2BMain%2BStreet%2BCopperfield%2BBefore%2BFence%2BAbt%2B1922%2B.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Circle where Willimay lived</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When
it came time for the winter supply of coal to be delivered it was unloaded at
the entrance or steps of the home. Some
had coal chutes that it could be poured onto, others had wooden containers they
used to carry it where it needed to be.
Tired miners dreaded it after a hard day’s work but neighbors helped one
another unload. I can see the men in my
mind carrying “Hercules Powder” boxes on their backs that would later be used
for kindling. The business district was
quite a sight. Taverns, hotels, grocery stores,
a meat market, barber shop, and a theater called the Diana. One of the most frequented places was a
“prostitution house”. This may seem
strange to some readers, but in our town we were safe. Not one case of rape can be recalled by the old
timers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Our
town was run by a very strict law enforcement.
Anyone who got out of hand knew once was enough. The second time they thought twice. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-78bwrGVBmPo/TihaAW-5s0I/AAAAAAAAjFc/J3AhckFg8_I/s1600/msoC14B6-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-78bwrGVBmPo/TihaAW-5s0I/AAAAAAAAjFc/J3AhckFg8_I/s400/msoC14B6-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>ooking up to school from US Hotel</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Entertainment
for the <u>children at Christmas</u> was held at the old schoolhouse. The different organizations cut a big tree
and decorated it with lights and decorations.
Santa gave each child a bright red or green mesh Santa’s boot filled
with a big orange, hard tac and peanuts.
The Fourth of July brought a parade and prizes were given for the best
costume. There were activities all
day. The day began with the sound of
dynamite blasts that really shook the town.
Picts on the wall were always crooked from blasting. On Easter we had egg hunts and Church was
attended at the denomination of one’s choice.
It seemed each family supported the other churches, making aprons,
baking or whatever was needed for the fund raising. It really didn’t matter to us, we were a
“family”. Children sold poppies for the
veterans and quilt chances for the churches.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4AxOOiWMW1M/TihaUlZdNFI/AAAAAAAAOUU/Mlf1hWYQMe0/s1600/59.%2BMain%2BStreet%252C%2BSchool%2BHouse%2B%2526%2BOverpass%2BG%2BBodily%2B1-726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4AxOOiWMW1M/TihaUlZdNFI/AAAAAAAAOUU/Mlf1hWYQMe0/s400/59.%2BMain%2BStreet%252C%2BSchool%2BHouse%2B%2526%2BOverpass%2BG%2BBodily%2B1-726.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">from school to Telegraph</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">During
World War ll many went into the service.
Packages and letters were sent to them.
We waited a long time for their return.
The loss of any of them really hurt us all. We dreaded seeing the military car drive up
the canyon and waited breathlessly to see which home they stopped at. The sad news meant someone would never return
to his beloved Copperfield. Women worked
at Kennecott and ran the mine as capably as possible, proving a woman could
carry on the duties of a laborer with efficiency and skill. Puerto Ricans were also buss loaded into the
canyon to carry on the responsibility of the war effort. Somehow, we managed to keep things together
so those who survived the war would have a job and home to return to. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There
is really no way to cover all there is to know about Copperfield. If you asked those who lived there, they’d go
back if they could. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-19InrH29pUQ/TihaMVCeqYI/AAAAAAAAOS8/qywVY7lAU70/s1600/75.%2BMine%2BObservation%2BPoint%2BAbout%2B1945%2BWith%2BGreyline%2BTour%2BBus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-19InrH29pUQ/TihaMVCeqYI/AAAAAAAAOS8/qywVY7lAU70/s400/75.%2BMine%2BObservation%2BPoint%2BAbout%2B1945%2BWith%2BGreyline%2BTour%2BBus.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">mine under businesses </span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This
year we will hold our 12<sup>th</sup> reunion.
It will be held at Copperton Park on Sunday, June 28<sup>th</sup>, noon
to 6 p.m.; chow time is 1 p.m. Bring
your favorite potluck dish and join in the fun.
Prizes, games and associating is planned. Mike Gonzales and his wife Linda is in
charge. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It
is no longer the </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Copperfield Reunion. We call it the Bingham Reunion</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">.
Never the less next August will be our 34<sup>th</sup> Reunion. Same time same place. Afton Bray Babecki and her husband, Bob works
so hard to make it a success. We send
out 180 flyers to remind everyone to come.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
am getting old but I enjoy every minute of it.
Bingham will only die if we let it.
We had something back then and I would return today if only I could.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Eugene
Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-69746140754892296292015-10-05T15:31:00.004-07:002020-11-11T12:39:02.360-08:00MISSIONARY EXPERIENCES OF CHRIS JENSEN<div class="WordSection1">
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 18pt;">MISSIONARY EXPERIENCES OF CHRIS JENSEN</span></i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<b><i>by
Lionel Christian Jensen</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EaXXVLj12J0/VhGTQvKqvBI/AAAAAAAAqKw/8Xd_SnA4wvs/s1600/Cris%2BJensen.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EaXXVLj12J0/VhGTQvKqvBI/AAAAAAAAqKw/8Xd_SnA4wvs/s400/Cris%2BJensen.jpg" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chris Jensen Mission Picture</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>My father, Peter Christian Jensen, was born
in Goshen, Utah, November 11, 1876, the fourth son of Hans Jensen and Maren
Larsen Jensen. His education 4th grade
elementary. He learned to read by
reading the Deseret News (semi-weekly) to his father who could not read
English, being a convert to the Latter-day Saints church from Denmark.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>The responsibility of the family rested
largely on my father's shoulders, being the eldest, as the three children
before him died in infancy. My
grandfather suffered a broken leg when a youth and the leg never mended
correctly, making him a cripple. His one
leg was much shorter than the other and so he had about three or four inches of
cork fastened to the bottom of his shoes.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>My father was a good marksman with the
rifle or shotgun. His mother schemed
some way or another to buy him all the powder and shot he needed so that he
could keep the family supplied with wild game, such as ducks, geese, rabbits,
etc. One time up in Star Valley, Wyoming
he killed a cow elk with the old muzzle stuffer. His father helped him load the old gun with
pieces of bolts and small chunks of iron tamped down on an extra load of
powder. Then he got an old work horse
and hurried across the valley and met the elk by the log school house. He was not sure which one would suffer most,
he or the elk, but he killed the elk and with some help, hung it upon on one of
the logs projecting from the roof of the school house. This furnished the family with plenty of meat
for some time. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>This happened about 1890 while his father
and mother were in hiding on account of polygamy. These were very exciting times in the history
of the Church. Grandfather made his escape
from the officers many times but finally gave himself up and served two years
in the state penitentiary.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>When my father was a young man he heard
about a very beautiful young lady from Springville, Utah, who was visiting with
some folks up the Job Creek in Goshen fields, so he planned a hunting trip up
that way. He killed a few wild ducks,
but he also got to meet the young lady,
Martena Halvorsen, who later became his wife. They were married in the Manti Temple 14
April 1897. To this union four children
were born, 3 girls and 1 son, in their early married life. In 1918 another son was born.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NDVt7-9tMh0/VhGTLKRhQmI/AAAAAAAAqJ4/o23OwzOhZS4/s1600/044.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NDVt7-9tMh0/VhGTLKRhQmI/AAAAAAAAqJ4/o23OwzOhZS4/s400/044.jpg" width="327" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Martena (Tina) Halvorsen Jensen</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>My father worked in the mines at Eureka,
Utah and Silver City, Utah, until about 1909 when he accepted a call to go on a
mission to Denmark for two years. . <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>He received the called the spring of 1908
but his finances were very poor. Early
in 1908 my father, Christian Jensen received a call to go on a mission for the
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He and mother had a family of four children, Hilda 8, myself 7, Mazella
5, and Viola 2.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>They had been living at the Iron King
Mining Camp in the mountains west of Goshen, Utah but the mine closed down and
out of necessity they returned to their small home in Goshen.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Receiving a call to spend two years on a
foreign mission was a serious and challenging experience. My father had been reared by parents who were
very faithful and devoted members of the Church, and no call was ever to be
ignored or rejected. What could he
do? He was in very financial
circumstances. He owed a small account
in the local store, William and Isaac Allen’s Mercantile. He was unemployed and work was almost
impossible to find. He counselled with
his father but was told that he could not expect financial assistance from that
source. There was no avenue open for him
that he could find where he could help himself to finance a mission and support
his wife and family also. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>My father did not have any mode of
transportation so he walked the twelve miles to Payson and answered the Mission
call. He tried to explain his
circumstances to the Seventies Quorum Presidency of the Stake but they advised
him to accept the call. He had a blessing given to him stating that if he would
promise to go on this mission the Lord would bless him financially. The Lord did bless him so that he was able to
fill an honorable mission, traveling the last six months with Andrew Jensen,
Church Historian, on a lecture tour for the church. He visited Germany, Holland, Belgium, Sweden,
Norway and England. He mentioned many
times how he could read a paper at midnight in the land of the midnight sun
(Norway). He also had the privilege of
paying about 50 cents to sit on a wet plank and watch the parade when King
George V and Queen Mary of England were crowned. The gold trimmed carriage, white horses and
gold-inlaid harness, liveried footmen and a lot of English tradition was a
great sight to him, but he said he wouldn't pay 50 cents to see it again. He didn't like the English.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>He again walked the twelve long, weary
miles to his home in Goshen. He and
mother prayerfully sought counsel from the Lord.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0NhNc5BTV0/VhGTPJ_Q-AI/AAAAAAAAqKg/81GzdoPt_CE/s1600/Top-001.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0NhNc5BTV0/VhGTPJ_Q-AI/AAAAAAAAqKg/81GzdoPt_CE/s400/Top-001.jpg" width="335" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Chris Jensen</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>As was customary in Goshen in those days, a
great many of the male adults of Goshen assembled on the porch steps of Allen's
store to "bum" and discuss the events of the day, my father being one
of them. One evening William Allen asked
my father if he would like to have a job delivering a small amount of supplies
to a new mining prospect in the mountains a few miles east of Eureka, Utah. He immediately accepted the opportunity. He borrowed a horse that was partly broken
and one that was not broken from his father and hitched them to a
buckboard. I went along with him. On the way from grandpas to the store we
surely had one wild ride. We were all
day delivering that little load of supplies, but as a result of this trip my
father secured a contract to deliver all the needed supplies which eventually
amounted to many hundreds of tons.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>He purchased a team of unbroken horses, Pat
and Barney, and a three-year-old mare.
He broke the team to work, purchased a new freight wagon and a new
harness, also eight milk cows. They sold
milk, butter and buttermilk to the commissary at the new mine which had now
developed into a big venture called the
"Tintic Standard".
Before his year's work had expired, he also had five of his neighbors
and friends working for him.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>In May of 1909 my father informed the
Superintendent of the mine that he would like to be released from his contract
that he was going on a mission for the Mormon Church. The Superintendent could not understand why,
so father tried to explain that this was a call from the Lord. He was released from his contract, but the
Superintendent was very reluctant about it.
He appreciated the dependability of my father. Father's neighbors called him a fool say,
"Chris, this is the first time in your life that you ever
prospered." This was true but he
answered the call, leaving for Denmark June 2, 1909.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>I remember that morning very vividly. I can still see in my mind the D. &. R.
G. passenger train as it came down the slope from Eureka through Elberta. It was to take my father away to
Denmark. I remember the yellow roses
were in bloom. Dragon flies were on the
clothes line and I was hanging to the clothes line crying and wishing that the
train would fly the track before it got to the depot.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Two years is a very long time. Mother had the responsibility of caring for
and supporting four children and sending about $30.00 per month to Denmark to
her missionary husband. She did laundry
work for the men at the mines. She was a
very good seamstress which also brought in a few dollars. Along with these duties, she gave freely of
her service to nurse and help many of her friends and neighbors who were
ill. She did not fear especially
contagious diseases. She trusted in the
Lord and he inspired and helped her in all of her many needs and
responsibilities.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uF0BaXgC3Lw/VhGTJi6nl7I/AAAAAAAAqJo/Ouuz-bLFo0s/s1600/Top-38.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uF0BaXgC3Lw/VhGTJi6nl7I/AAAAAAAAqJo/Ouuz-bLFo0s/s400/Top-38.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Martena H. Jensen</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Just prior to my father's return in June
1911 I went with my Grandfather, Hans Jensen, to the store to buy me my first
suit of clothes. He selected a gray coat
with gray knee pants, also a new pair of orange button shoes, a new hat, and my
Grandmother Maren knitted me a new pair of stockings out She trusted in the of wool. The cockle burrs must have been left in the
wool because they surely did itch.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>I was all decked out in a new outfit to
meet my father as he came home that evening on the D. & R. G. train. I remember that he picked me up in his arms
and kissed me. Boy, was he really
something! All dressed up in a new blue
serge suit, his shoes shined, a Duffy hat and a big black mustache with the
ends all curled up fancy-like.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Times were better after this, but I would
like to bear witness that the blessings given him in 1908 held true all the
remainder of his life. The Lord
continued to bless him financially all of his days.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>In closing, I should like to quote from the
Book of Mormon, 1st Nephi, Chapter3, Verse 7:
"And it came to pass that I Nephi said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord
hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the
children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish
the thing which he commandeth them."<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Chris Jensen’s Missionary Journal </span>One year of
missing journal<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>2 June 1909<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I answered the call, <span style="font-size: large;"><i>leaving for Denmark. </i></span><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>27 May 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I visited my cousin at Glampsbjerg Mill all
day, visited my cousin, Katrine at night.
Talked the Gospel all day and until 2 0’clock at night.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>28 May 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I came home to Odense and delivered Stars
in the afternoon and visited the Jorgensen’s at night. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>29 May 1910, Sunday<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I held Sunday School. Had the best attended Sunday School we ever
had since we organized las October. It
rained in the afternoon. We were going
out in the Skov (forest) but were wise and stayed home. In the evening we held meeting.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>30, May 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I studied and tracted. 31, did the same. 1 June, I made out monthly reports and
tracted. Held meeting at night, had a
good turnout. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Thursday was a holiday called “Help for the
Children who are Poor”. I saw more
people on the streets than I ever saw before.
One could hardly get along. Then
ever other step we met someone with a can shaking and begging for help for the
poor. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>3 June 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Just one year today since I left my dear
ones in Goshen, Utah. I wrote a letter
to them and one to the Relief Society thanking them for the five dollars they
sent me. In the afternoon I visited
friends and “Star” subscribers, also Jorgensens to encourage them to come
Saturday night. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>4 June 1910<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Brother N.J. Larsen, our Conference
President and I went to the bath house.
From there to Lichenstines, then home.
After dinner we went out to Jorgensens and talked baptism. We got him to come with us. I baptized 4 at night, my cousins, Lars
Larsen and his wife, Jorgensen and wife, confirmed my cousins wife. We had chocolate and cake after. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>5 July 1910, Sunday <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We held Sunday School. I presided.
We got 2 new ones enrolled. In
the afternoon we held fast meeting. I
also preside; we blessed 4 children. Had
a good meeting. Brother Torvil Jensen,
and Hansen and myself took a walk out in the Skov by the Forde.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>19 August 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Visited with my two cousins, Peter and Lars
Larsen. First to Bagenrup, from there to
the light house on the very futherest south end of Langland. It is a very fruitful land. Very much Lucerne being raised there and the
best grain I have seen in Denmark. In
the town called Bagenrup is a settlement of fishermen and saloons, the main
fish caught is Rod Spetter and Seal, also some cod fish.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>31 October 1910 <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Odense, started trip to rent halls in the
southern part of Fyen, landed in Svendborg at 8 o’clock, couldn’t rent a
hall. I bought an amber bracelet and
sent it home with Franklin Jensen from Provo.
E sailed at 2:15 p.m. for Rudkopeler, landed at 5o’clock, had good luck
in renting a hall but hunted all over the town for a place to stay
overnight. Finally got one at double the
price.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>1 November 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We sailed at 10:10 for Oro, landed at
Marstof at 2 o’clock p.m., rented a hall in Hotel Oro, stayed overnight in same
hotel. They held us up for 6 kroner each
for board and lodging. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>2 November 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We got up at 4 o’clock to meet the stage
for Aroskobing. Still storming a
blizzard. The boat was the same as
yesterday, two hours late on account of rough sea. We had a rough ride yesterday from Rudkjobing
to Oro or Marstal. Rain with heavy
wind. We parted with Jensen at the boat. He left for Sisland on his way home to Provo. We waited at the hotel for the boat for one
hour. We landed at Aroskobing at 9
o’clock, rented a hotel or hall, then we went to a printing office and
advertised our lecture. Then we took in
the town and walked through nearly every street, bought some cake for dinner. We couldn’t stand any more holdups. We sailed at 12:10 for Svendborg, road one
deck lower than the pigs. There were
about 100 live pigs on deck. We had to
take the cabin below as there was no room on deck and even if there was, a man couldn’t
stand the smell. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>25 November 1910<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Brother Sudvigsen and myself left Odense
for Assens at 12:53, arrived at Assens at 4p.m. Rented a fine hall, then we took in the
town, also went through this sugar factory from one end to the other, from top
to bottom and vice versa.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>21 February 1911<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I visited with Marten Petersen to Veilby
with an old lady by the name of Anna Sorensen.
She has a daughter in in Logan, Utah.
She was glad to receive us. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>7 April 1911<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I left Aarhus to visit friends and
relatives. I landed in Randers same
day. Went to Skovbaken, also all
important part of town. Left Randers 8
April at10:34 for Aalborg. Landed in
Aalborg 2:15, went to headquarters in Voldmragade, was heartily welcomed. Eleven of us missionaries went out to see the
town. We went to Beisbaken and
Skovbaken, had our pictures taken, ran foot races, jumped, played ball, went
home and attended meeting. After the meeting Brother Hyrum Petersen and
myself went out and took in the town, came home and went to bed. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Got up Sunday morning at 8, shaved and went
to Sunday School. I was called to give a
report of Aarhus Sunday School. After
School I got together with brother Chipman, went to Kiggaars for dinner, had
sweet soup and ableskiver. Went the same
place for supper, went to meeting at night and spoke to a congregation of about
200.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Monday morning we held Priesthood
Meeting. After dinner we had our
pictures taken, also the 9 Jensens had our pictures taken, went home and went
to meeting, also a farewell party at night.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tuesday morning Brother N.P. Jensen, Peter
Petersen and myself went to see the city of Aalborg, went across the Bridge of
Boots. From there to Norresonby and up
on Skansebaken and viewed the county.
Also went through the old slot and tunnels under the Fouard. Left Aalborg at 8 p.m. for Copenhagen by
steamer. Arrived Wendsday morning at 8
o’clock, visited my aunt and uncle, also a young girl from Aarhus. Went to meeting at night and spoke to the
congregation. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Thursday I visit it again. At night we had a social in honor of the
Choir, played games and ate chocolate. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Friday I left Odense, landed in Odense at
12:53 p.m. Visited my relatives.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Saturday cousin Lars, his wife and myself
went to Steinlose and visited the Masons.
Had a long Gospel conversation, came home at 10 p.m.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>16 April 1911 Sunday<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Went to Sunday School. After Sunday School I went to Larsen’s to
dinner, visitedVego Christensen, Hensine Jensen and Maren Hansen. Went to meeting at night.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>17 April 1911<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I left at 8 o’clock for Knnareberg to visit
my Aunt, was well treated. Sold my
bicycle to cousin Niels for 50 kroner, left Tuesday morning for
Glampsbjerg. Was good and tired when I
got there, visited Lars Madsen, cousin Christian and Sophia, walked one mile to
Glampsbjerg Station, left for Odense.
Arrived at 10 o’clock, rested all night, got up at 7 o’clock and cleaned
my clothes and shoes. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>23 April 1911<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbamZowUPxyp00n_eCRv01THOlmrnGTaaCS-V3LMDHvhODdOLScYamt1vsCaB36ufZkuzWqiFcLTm5xGzXBt35cbTrec4X_CVyRBWDZYHUB6gD3kARdvmPiyEKb9Gx6-lDKflIBwQI3Fkk/s500/helsinki-luxushotel.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbamZowUPxyp00n_eCRv01THOlmrnGTaaCS-V3LMDHvhODdOLScYamt1vsCaB36ufZkuzWqiFcLTm5xGzXBt35cbTrec4X_CVyRBWDZYHUB6gD3kARdvmPiyEKb9Gx6-lDKflIBwQI3Fkk/w300-h400/helsinki-luxushotel.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>I
toured Europe with Church Historian, Andrew Jensen. This is part of the tour of Germany</i>. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I together with Brother Hyrum Petersen.
Visited Hamberg. Had a hard time to find
headquarters but finally succeeded. Went
from there to Sunday School and visited the different classes. In class no. 1 there were 43, 2<sup>nd</sup>
class 42, and Theological about 80. All
hands were up when questions were asked.
All questions were well answered.
After School we held Priesthood meeting, then went to the family of
Saints by name of H. Brenneke, Hamberg Badisty 105 T.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>After dinner we, Brother Petersen,
Brenneke, and myself went to the cemetery.
From there to supper with his parents then to a meeting. I had a chance to speak to about 400
people. President Douglas from Ogden
then spoke, also Hyrum Petersen.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Monday morning I wrote a card to my wife,
then went to the court house and saw the nicest engraving both in wood and
stone I have ever seen, and in fact the nicest building inside. Went to exchange market in the afternoon,
also Hagenbeck Park, a very nice park, lots of artificial work in cement, large
mountains made of cement. Visited a
family of Saints where we left our suitcases.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tuesday got up at 7a.m. , left at 8:55 for
Berlin. Saw on our way some very good
land, also some very poor, the water being right next to the top. We passed through lots of woods, saw antelope
in flocks out in the grain fields feeding.
Stopped in Wittenborg for a short stay, saw the Singer Sewing machine
factory. Something got wrong with our
just before we got into Berlin at 12:30 noon.
Had a hard time finding the Elders but found them at last. I wrote this in the Kiser Palace. We went to the Royal Opera same night where
to program where the program consisted of music and singing.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>26 April 1911<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXyCoMc-JSeY7eY2T7eB2TYaoMdQteFEaJJA3meI28KFVH9OGKaVDnK2QK9sHxZSzNTxMI4iROVY-WXGmKchNkzRjlpp-t_Q2SRAspgLnUK2zYEsVwEXdDxCmHkasue3JIsjycYLCYQZ5/s500/dhuspladsen+D.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXyCoMc-JSeY7eY2T7eB2TYaoMdQteFEaJJA3meI28KFVH9OGKaVDnK2QK9sHxZSzNTxMI4iROVY-WXGmKchNkzRjlpp-t_Q2SRAspgLnUK2zYEsVwEXdDxCmHkasue3JIsjycYLCYQZ5/w400-h300/dhuspladsen+D.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We visited the Bank, from there to the
Kings Palace which cost us 50 fennnings.
From there to the Kings Stables where we saw his horses and carriages. He has 160 horses, most black and bays. He also has about 200 carriages, some from
1600. We the visited the Royal Museum
where all old relics are kept of the different wars. From there to the Art Gallery and the Dorn
Church, also to the Catholic Church and saw a wedding. Then went through another museum, from there
to a family of Saints where we spent a lovely evening where they were
celebrating an anniversary of their Baptism.
<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Thursday morning at 10’ Brother Petersen,
joseph Jensen and myself went to see another museum where there were lots of
collections from 1200 to date, old glass and earthen ware. From there Brother Petersen went to the
present Kaiser’s Old Palace, noted the fine structure present and the echo in
the large hall. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>28 April 1911<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We visited two other museums, the Zoological
Garden, the large park and statues of Bismarck.
We left Berlin at 9:44 p.m. for Rotterdam, Holland, landed Friday
morning at 10 o’clock. Went to Hotel
Holland for dinner. After dinner we
visited the Elders. From there to the
Old Pilgrims Church, where they held their last service before migrating to the
New England States. We registered in the
same old book kept for that purpose, then we visited the docks, harbor and
park. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfbzoymWcVTrpNyaFYLNdpERA6s8lsZDJhOoe4opdqxpSYioru0bSNQahmrV3cTDUo-FDk2j9hXorBCGDz190wyuAj3_P-CqRzIHgY6BOmBRfbsxZXuwC-3NQKnX5-zW7YCkc8KXDnMO3/s1370/086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1370" data-original-width="1259" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfbzoymWcVTrpNyaFYLNdpERA6s8lsZDJhOoe4opdqxpSYioru0bSNQahmrV3cTDUo-FDk2j9hXorBCGDz190wyuAj3_P-CqRzIHgY6BOmBRfbsxZXuwC-3NQKnX5-zW7YCkc8KXDnMO3/s320/086.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Mariah and Niels Jensen<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>29 April 1911 Saturday we went to sever
different churches, old palace and market.
Then to the boat to arrange our tickets.
I bought a pocket knife for $1.50, came to the Hotel Holland, found my
umbrella was stolen, had dinner and got ready to sail for London.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Got on boat; all was well for about 3
hours, then we got into the North Sea from River Maas. It was a short time before nearly all were
sick. I offered several times and was
sick all night. In the morning we found
smooth sea and all was well. We landed
in London at 11 o’clock. All okay but
very hungry. Came the headquarters
Deseret, found Sunday School in session.
After dinner we listened to an anti-Mormon meeting held out in the road
just in front of the Hall. At evening we
held a very interesting meeting.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>1 May 1911 </b><b>I got up but my eyes are very sore and
swollen, read an article in the newspaper where in the article was printed
against us. Brother Birchall spoke at
our meeting Sunday night. Brother
Birchall who sent to Utah 20 years ago to convert the Mormons, but instead got
converted to Mormonism. He was a
Methodist Minister, has now filled a 12 year mission in England</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Monday we started at 9:30 to see
London. First visited St. Paul’s Church,
from there to Westminster, the home of Parliament. From there to the National Art Gallery, then
to dinner. From there to the wax works,
thence to Piccadilly Circus, thence to the Gaiety Theater, “Peggy” the name of
the play. Came home at 12 o’clock.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tuesday, got up, wrote one letter to my
wife and one to my cousin, Lars in Denmark.
After dinner we went to a museum.
Rained so we went to Deseret High Road.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiWWqJrQ0Z_kP3fdgnjA2jJzE0JLSVx2Zdnsao3_SJl43ECF5FFmdnvlm79ypfiP289z9aI11d9ZRprHsA0HsU7cyWCCcSyJcfsuWwnFX6QRTnhWHiL5pOI1Y8py0EAP2fpVwBDow0wl0/s1414/Top-8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="1414" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiWWqJrQ0Z_kP3fdgnjA2jJzE0JLSVx2Zdnsao3_SJl43ECF5FFmdnvlm79ypfiP289z9aI11d9ZRprHsA0HsU7cyWCCcSyJcfsuWwnFX6QRTnhWHiL5pOI1Y8py0EAP2fpVwBDow0wl0/w400-h280/Top-8.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Niels</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Wednesday, we first went to London Castle,
saw through the castle, all the gold presents to the different Kings, the Kings
Crown, gold cups. W then visited the
house of Armors, saw different armors used 1300 to the present time. Went to the execution place where the king
had so many executed, even 3 of his own wives.
From there to the jail, also to the traitor’s jail. We net had dinner and went to the Zoological
Gardens and home.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>4 May 1911<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We got up feeling well, got ready to leave
for Liverpool at 3 p.m. we landed in
Liverpool at 8:15 p.m. Stopped at Hotel
Lord Nelson’s, found several of of our company waiting for us. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Friday: got up at 6 o’clock, walked up to
295 Edge lane and got my mail, back to the hotel for breakfast, then I wrote
some letters and visited the docks. We
also went to 295 again, went to a picture show at night. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNe2OoR5V2d5oou5pxAFW-cmewU8dyv92RjyJWT-MSieauCoWkC3QkvqGSnJ56iVzVXjhLFgddOdc050fwuMENkn_gDA42vuf0KILw4cARvFF0IjvZDjex7sU3qhvUuT38ZKweszGpqJT/s1588/087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1588" data-original-width="1270" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNe2OoR5V2d5oou5pxAFW-cmewU8dyv92RjyJWT-MSieauCoWkC3QkvqGSnJ56iVzVXjhLFgddOdc050fwuMENkn_gDA42vuf0KILw4cARvFF0IjvZDjex7sU3qhvUuT38ZKweszGpqJT/s320/087.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neils Jensen</td></tr></tbody></table></b><b>6 May 1911 Saturday, all is well. We went to 295 for instructions and meeting,
then home to the Hotel for dinner, then a 3 p.m. we went to the Boat Launtric,
went on board at 4 p.m. Started to sail
at 9:10 for good old U.S.A. Had a lovely
trip all the way over, landed at Quebec at 7 o’clock Saturday. 14 May to pass
inspection officers. There were five of
our girls detained the Standard Church works to be correct, then the officers
asked them what about the 132<sup>nd</sup> of the Doctrine of Covenants. They didn’t answer satisfactory and were
held. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hcK6Jb_-my8/TsWeq6t95eI/AAAAAAAAb9Y/oGFoXM89uUY/s1600/Top-6.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hcK6Jb_-my8/TsWeq6t95eI/AAAAAAAAb9Y/oGFoXM89uUY/s400/Top-6.jpg" width="0" /></a><b>We sailed again Sunday morning, landed in
Montréal at 7 o’clock same day. Left
Montreal at 11:30 p.m., landed in Chicago Tuesday morning a 8:30, stayed in
Chicago until 11 p.m., ten started for Salt Lake City Friday 19 may at 10:30
a.m. Reported at the office, got my
ticket for Goshen, called up my famil</b><b>y on the telephone and talked to them,
left Salt Lake City at 5:05 p.m.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Our family were all present when the 7 o’clock passenger train stopped at Goshen</b></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16m3zkfPwSMxITZWMMuxS0YCARYOCVoHFk9OSGV9ByGb3DexbBRk44AuO0ZTxdb-wReruJbrJtrnmRl9_OPiJla-8dfeCnepWSRhwAB6cOYFE88u1BUia-x0FMbUnitygI_i_LR2KhuQ6/s1690/Top.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1274" data-original-width="1690" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16m3zkfPwSMxITZWMMuxS0YCARYOCVoHFk9OSGV9ByGb3DexbBRk44AuO0ZTxdb-wReruJbrJtrnmRl9_OPiJla-8dfeCnepWSRhwAB6cOYFE88u1BUia-x0FMbUnitygI_i_LR2KhuQ6/w400-h301/Top.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt MINA BRIGGS</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><b>My sister, Viola, now about 4 years old, would not accept my father as head of the house. She said, Momma was the “Boss” she<i> was part of the time</i></b><b><i><br /><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic;">l C. Jensen</b></div><b><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-853055338891583062015-09-20T14:28:00.003-07:002021-08-13T20:01:00.016-07:00DESERET NEWS “CHRISTMAS I REMEMBER BEST”<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">DESERET NEWS “</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">CHRISTMAS
I REMEMBER BEST”</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">BOY SHARES JOY OF GIVING
WITH TEACHER<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">20 DECEMBER, 1990</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">by<span style="font-size: large;"> DIANE HALVERSON CAHOON</span></span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPHKs3q_847b3VwrkF_0s1bPOjYQl4j3w9zrfAE1Bipy0t2s-qY8Sx8k7wgj5WW00s4qfeQ3vMQ3X4LlyR4D0wScdOaJyRgXxO19H2qMjz5lQbr72TTC929f8_3uocfo2qjwo36kPIK7r/s1600/image0-142.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1451" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPHKs3q_847b3VwrkF_0s1bPOjYQl4j3w9zrfAE1Bipy0t2s-qY8Sx8k7wgj5WW00s4qfeQ3vMQ3X4LlyR4D0wScdOaJyRgXxO19H2qMjz5lQbr72TTC929f8_3uocfo2qjwo36kPIK7r/s400/image0-142.jpg" width="293" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Christmas
was nearly four months away when I met my new fourth-grade class for the 1980
school year. I was delighted to with the
prospect of sharing the coming year with this exceptional group of 31 eager and
enthusiastic students. I did not know,
however that one of these students would help to give me the Christmas I
remember best.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Amid the sea of scrubbed faces, shiny shoes
and fashionable school outfits, one boy stood out in stark contrast to the
rest. Bret was a colorful sight in his
bright orange plaid shirt and dingy green plaid slacks. His
shoes were scuffed and worn and at least two sizes to large. The laces were frayed, held together by
several large knots, strategical placed to make the ends long enough to hold
the oversized shoes in place. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Though
Bret’s fashion ensemble seem bizarre, his facial expression was anything but
comic. His dark serious eyes peered
beneath long brush-like lashes. His gaze
was slightly melancholy yet there was a warmth in those eyes, an undeniable
spark of hope. He returned my smile, and
I knew instantly I had found a friend.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
the weeks passed, I learned that one of the unique things about Bret was his
lifestyle. He and his family lived,
basically a pioneer existence in isolation from neighbors and friends. They made their home in a remote canyon where
they had established a homestead. Their
home consisted of mobile homes, tents and shacks. They managed to to do without most the modern
conveniences. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-crHHyGn3KQY/U7Lr8iDcRZI/AAAAAAAAn9M/dLKAnCcZrnw/s1600/P1010344.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-crHHyGn3KQY/U7Lr8iDcRZI/AAAAAAAAn9M/dLKAnCcZrnw/s400/P1010344.JPG" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>DIANE WITH MASTER'S DEGREE</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Water
was obtained by a well. It was heated on
a wood burning stove. There was no
electricity or telephone service. Money
was a scarce commodity. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Bret
seemed to be an island in so many ways; I feared he would be an outcast. I was surprised to learn that he was warmly
accepted by the other boys and girls.
Bret had a humble quality about him which seemed to endure him to
others. Although he lacked the material
possessions the other children enjoyed, he never seemed to feel sorry for
himself, and never complained. Still, he
spent much of his time alone and would often sit and gaze wistfully at the
other children as they worked and played together.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Christmas
time approached with the usual high level of excitement. The children’s wish lists grew daily as they
shared their holiday dreams. Bret
remained quiet, but the enthusiasm of others was contagious. Sometimes the flicker of hope in his
mysterious eyes would grow into a cozy flame, warming my heart. I would wonder what kind of a Christmas Bret
would have. Would there be presents for
him? And how would he feel if those
presents didn’t come? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
pure and innocent hearts of children are always willing to share. The miniature Christmas tree on my desk was
soon hidden by the generous gifts of thoughtful students. Finally, on the last day of school before the
holiday break, it was time to open the gifts!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
by one, I opened gifts gave hugs and expressed my thanks. I was moved by this outpouring of affection
from those students I loved. The gifts
were as unique as their givers and it was an enjoyable time for all of us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Open
mine next, Teacher!” was the expression repeated by student after student that
day. We enjoyed the festive atmosphere which pervaded the schoolroom. Conspicuously silent, however was Bret. I began to wonder if perhaps, he did not bring
a gift and was feeling left out. I
wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. He
caught my gaze and his smile reassured me.
I winked at him and continued. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
last package under the tiny tree was a small square box with a slightly soiled
paper. A neatly printed gift tag
attached to the box announced proudly: “Merry Christmas, From Bret.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
gift from Santa himself could not have been more exciting to me at that
moment. As I opened the little box,
nestled in crumpled tissue paper, was a lovely Rhinestone ring. The pale green stone sparkled brightly as I
slipped in on my finger for all to see.
Bret grinned shyly as he came forward to accept my gratitude.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf3K-7-7ObT6jFS_9edX0eXvSOU_imd5t-_MWEMppDGtQqjDjAgmPaRwfHx4a4f-TJN7I1dzdKmn3TjYJNtOCPygm0VWaN6R3Tvllb_UXFi8wvQdYZg9BDVbFxb7-xQ20raC1TdmP_5nX/s612/531724_10200265418374836_1740262495_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="612" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf3K-7-7ObT6jFS_9edX0eXvSOU_imd5t-_MWEMppDGtQqjDjAgmPaRwfHx4a4f-TJN7I1dzdKmn3TjYJNtOCPygm0VWaN6R3Tvllb_UXFi8wvQdYZg9BDVbFxb7-xQ20raC1TdmP_5nX/w400-h344/531724_10200265418374836_1740262495_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma with grandbabies</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
the children left the school that day, nearly flying on wings of
anticipation. I couldn’t help but wonder
what the holiday held for Bret. I thought
about buying some small gifts and leaving them anonymously, but I had no idea
how to find the homestead. All I could
do was hope and pray that he would have a happy Christmas. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
came engaged that Christmas Day and was soon preoccupied with my own good news
and plans for my forth coming marriage.
It wasn’t until I returned to after the holiday break that I turned my
attention back to the children. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
day after we returned to school, the children were permitted to bring one of
their Christmas gifts to share with the other students. I walked around the room admiring the
children’s treasures. As I approached
Bret, I noticed the oversized bag beneath his desk and asked him to show me his
gift. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
look of pride filled his eyes as he removed from the bag a well-worn Parcheesi game. “I got two shirts, too” he said, ‘and some
oranges and two candy canes. I had such
a nice Christmas.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jcbU9mRNdWw/T4DmD1RIWzI/AAAAAAAAnxA/r4wFDghXDMI/s1600/image0-16.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="343" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jcbU9mRNdWw/T4DmD1RIWzI/AAAAAAAAnxA/r4wFDghXDMI/s400/image0-16.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>HOME FROM SOUTHERN UTAH STATE COLLEGE</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
I looked into his shining eye, I finally learned something that Bret discovered
long ago. The joy of Christmas is not
what one receives, but how one receive it.
Bret knew his gifts were not expensive, or even new, but they were given
with humility and love, pure and sweet, and that made all the difference. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Each
time I open my little jewel box and see the sparking rhinestone ring, I think
of Bret. He will always be a part of me
and a reminder of the Christmas I remember best.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">ABOUT
THE AUTHOR</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Diane
Cahoon, 33, lives in West Jordan and attended Bingham High School. She graduated I 1979 from Southern Utah State
College in Cedar City with a B.A. in elementary education, after which she
taught fourth grade in the Jordan School District for 2 ½ years until the birth
of her first child. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She
is a homemaker and a freelance artist. She
writes and illustrates stories for a Clinton shop<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Cahoon
began writing about two years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
enjoy the challenge of trying to express myself and feelings. I especially enjoy writing for and about
children because they have so much to teach us,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Desert News “Christmas I Remember Best” contest is the first she has entered
and todays article her first story ever selected for publication. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-57746831197990825042015-09-19T12:36:00.004-07:002021-08-13T20:14:03.533-07:00HORSE AND WAGON TO UCON 1904<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Harvey Halverson</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">By Harvey<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CAJZyh0v5jo/TjBh6EA_3GI/AAAAAAAAiQM/rgx0ccPRu8o/s1600/Top.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CAJZyh0v5jo/TjBh6EA_3GI/AAAAAAAAiQM/rgx0ccPRu8o/s400/Top.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Harvey</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
first thing I remember was my Dad and Uncle Thomas making adobes for the Church
house in Mapleton. Then a visit to my
grandfather’s house in the Spanish Fork area.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
was about four-years old when we moved to Idaho. We could look out the train windows and see
the Bear River far below while going through the Bear River George near
Logan. I don’t remember arriving in
Idaho. My mother took myself, sister,
Eliza, and Brother Joe on the train. Dad
took my brothers, Jim, Chris, and Raymond and sisters, Myrtle in the wagon with
what belongings they had room for. I
don’t remember them leaving or arriving.
They were about two or three weeks on the road. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
lived in Ucon in a two- room log house for some months. We moved quite a few places including, Rudy,
LaBelle and Sugar City, and then back to LaBelle before coming back to Lake
Shore for two or three years. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
started school in in Rudy in a two-room school house, four grades in each
room. Our teacher, Mr. Steele, sat in
the hall near the door so he could see in both rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
later moved to Sugar City where Dad worked at the sugar factory. I did not go to school there as it was too
far to walk. I don’t remember if the
older ones went to school or not. Later
we moved to LaBelle where I went to school two years. We then came back to Utah and lived in Lake
Shore where we went to school; we had to walk nearly two miles. When the road wasn’t too muddy and a horse
would pull the buggy, we rode to school.
Otherwise we had to walk. In 1912
we moved to Mapleton where I went through the eighth grade. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5XLvfq2dPP8/TkWsLciUKbI/AAAAAAAATVk/CR-ZM6FvxQE/s1600/Lars%2BAndrew%2BHalvorsen%2B%2528brother%2Bof%2BAne%2BMary%2BHalvorsen%2529%2Band%2BAna%2BMarie%2BPeterson%2B%2528sister%2Bof%2BJames%2BChristian%2BPeterson%2529%2Bfamily%2B.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5XLvfq2dPP8/TkWsLciUKbI/AAAAAAAATVk/CR-ZM6FvxQE/s400/Lars%2BAndrew%2BHalvorsen%2B%2528brother%2Bof%2BAne%2BMary%2BHalvorsen%2529%2Band%2BAna%2BMarie%2BPeterson%2B%2528sister%2Bof%2BJames%2BChristian%2BPeterson%2529%2Bfamily%2B.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>1912 Mapleton--Ray, Grandma with Mary, Andrew<br />Eliza, Joe, Harvey</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 107%;"><b>Andrew’s
sister, Aunt Mariah had married Nels Jensen and were doing quite well farming
in Ucon, Idaho and promised to help them if they came up there. But Andrew never liked what he saw and kept
moving and planting. Finally he found
the farm he searched for and was about to harvest a good crop of sugar beets
when an early winter froze them in the ground.
Discouraged he decided to go back to Mapleton, Utah.<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Dad
was a farmer all his life except for short periods so farming was all we did
until we grew up and moved away. None of
us boys followed farming. I chose
mining, working in the Mammoth and Silver City mines for two years, then to
Bingham where I worked for the U.S. Mining Company for 43 years, 15 of them
underground. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
met Beth in Bingham. We were married in
1927. We first lived at Telegraph in a
company apartment. It was called
Telegraph because the apartments were built near the old Telegraph Mine. We lived there about four years and Lee and
Gene were born there. Lee was troubled
with pneumonia so we moved to Lower Bingham (<i>Frog Town) </i>in the Panos Apartments out of the high altitude. Paul was born in in Lower Bingham. I had a lot of illnesses from 1936 to 1937,
pneumonia and silicosis, so I was off work most of the time. I was transferred out of the mine then worked
in the compressor room. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iW43-lp_2H8/Us4XocwIUWI/AAAAAAAAm-U/ErEb_wDr3vU/s1600/Top-20.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iW43-lp_2H8/Us4XocwIUWI/AAAAAAAAm-U/ErEb_wDr3vU/s400/Top-20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Jensen and Ray Halverson--Mary Hanna H with Grandma Halverson</b><br /><b>house was given too her in 1912 by Peter Boel after Idaho</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
moved back to Telegraph when I was transferred outside in 1937. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Vivian was born in Telegraph. The U.S. shops were transferred to Lark in
1953; I ran compressors there until I retired in 1968. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Bingham
was gradually deteriorating so we moved to West Jordan in 1948 where we had
since lived.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
remember my grandparents very well. They
were divorced and grandmother lived with us until she died in the early
1920’s. She had a room by herself where
she cooked and cared for herself. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Dad
<i>(Andrew)</i> was a farmer most of his
life. He was stern and strict, but
fair. When we were told to do something,
there was no argument. My mother was
always gentle and very understanding.
She died in March 1956.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
was always fond of hunting and fishing. I
always took my boys with me when they were old enough to go—5 or 6 years old.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Gene
is a mechanic for Kennecott. Lee runs electric
shovels for Kennecott. Paul lives in Missouri
where he teaches aeronautics at Maple Woods Community College. Vivian is
a school teacher, having a Ph.D. in Child Development. She is living in Honolulu. I spent two winters in Florida with her and
have spent three winters in Hawaii. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
February 1977 I went to New Zealand to visit some of my relatives who I had
never seen but corresponded with for 50 years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbnE02ngFwU4WEmu2LctlgKmJL4n2yJE3kT26bdOm4wcB1gsiWEj2mkYqaabTtF8_4YKLaTPBkL7TxGby1lyp665DsG9S6zJGZWZuKX33w_k0mws3MuJyg2oGXTLnSGlUeHxPWP1fqCv7N/s768/image0-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="523" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbnE02ngFwU4WEmu2LctlgKmJL4n2yJE3kT26bdOm4wcB1gsiWEj2mkYqaabTtF8_4YKLaTPBkL7TxGby1lyp665DsG9S6zJGZWZuKX33w_k0mws3MuJyg2oGXTLnSGlUeHxPWP1fqCv7N/w273-h400/image0-12.jpg" width="273" /></a></div></blockquote><br />Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-71975848597758089562015-06-30T18:04:00.002-07:002021-08-13T20:18:59.705-07:00AUNT HANNA--ANE JOHANNE JENSEN<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">AUNT HANNA<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Eugene
Halverson<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5RE6hq0CaT4/Us4Wvkm715I/AAAAAAAAm6A/tt96vfJV5rA/s1600/Top-6.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5RE6hq0CaT4/Us4Wvkm715I/AAAAAAAAm6A/tt96vfJV5rA/s400/Top-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Peter Boel Aunt Hanna</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
is some good in the worst of us and a little bad in the best of us. I do look for these in my stories I
write. I had a lot of nasty things to
say about Aunt Hanna, and it did feel as if she was watching my every move. Was she there?? My computer crashed. So, I bought another one and it crashed. I
did hang a picture of her mother-in-law Aunt Hanner over my computer before she
left me alone. Aunt Hanna was a
polygamist wife of </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Peter Boel</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> who</span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">was my Great Grandfather, whose sur
name was Christensen but preferred Boel, Anni Dankjaer said, “Boel is simply
the name of a middle size farm. Sometimes it was also spelled Bol”. His mother, Ane Marie Poulsdatter 78 years
old. Said it was time to go to America
to find her daughter, Christiana who lived in Utah. Those that were able left Denmark on the
Nevada in the summer of 1878 and arrived in Pleasant Grove hat fall. </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Christian Peter
Christensen</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">,
age 35, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Ane
Johanne Jensen 26 a maid</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
and Andreas Anderson a servant, and five children Kirstine 13, Christen 10, Soren
Peter 9, Jens 7, Elsine 6. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Niels
and Pierre where to young and sickly to go so Little Grandma, Mary, my
grandmother had to stay in Denmark a couple of years longer. Even so Niels died a week or so after
arriving. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BdtQQ--KILE/Us4Wx2uRa5I/AAAAAAAAm6M/bLTo6SF_3_8/s1600/Top-1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BdtQQ--KILE/Us4Wx2uRa5I/AAAAAAAAm6M/bLTo6SF_3_8/s400/Top-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Little Grandma Peter Boel</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
seems the Bishop noticed this very attractive single young lady in the house.
He told Peter they had to marry and I’m sure this suited them just fine. Back then during polygamy days a man could
have as many wives as he could take care of.
Aunt Hanna had lost one child and was pregnant with another when Little
Grandma showed up on the door-step. She
was completely unaware that her husband had married her maid, Hanna. Little Grandma could plainly see that Hanna
was about to have a baby. Hanna said,
"You are the second wife now, you gave up your place in
Denmark." Little Grandma hurt and
disgusted told her, </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">"You can have him and good
riddance."</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
picture in the Springville Book Little Grandma is listed as the second wife.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Well
Aunt Hanna did have her man but still everything began to fall apart. She lived with a family that did not like
her. Her first baby died at birth. Then she had a little girl named Ane Melvina. <i>(I have
a large picture of her in my house)</i>.
She a pretty little thing with blond hair and frilly white dress. She looks at me with such a sad expression. A story is told of a group of children who
started to talk about what they were going to be when they grew up. After each child told what they were going to
be they asked Ane Melvina, what she was going to be? She stated, “I am going to
die tomorrow." and that’s what she did.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosKoEDj-KZSuFO8b3vNoWWatmijMDlC-264hQwRWSakX2UtXfQiUwFMxoFPFnECKsvfDRBARThJRvBqkwV8QLUdfCrj2s6eXhUdQhU1oYk5ZM11yzfEhEayga08nbDXgxALLQgq1sFZE7/s1600/image-7+%25282%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosKoEDj-KZSuFO8b3vNoWWatmijMDlC-264hQwRWSakX2UtXfQiUwFMxoFPFnECKsvfDRBARThJRvBqkwV8QLUdfCrj2s6eXhUdQhU1oYk5ZM11yzfEhEayga08nbDXgxALLQgq1sFZE7/s400/image-7+%25282%2529.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Ane Melvina Boel</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Life
was hard and she was resented, she was never called mother or grandmother just
"Aunt Hanner". Time never
seemed to heal the hurt. Resentment and
hatred ran deep. Aunt Hanna was despised
by all of Christian and Maren's children and their spouses. Aunt Hanna never backed down from a fight and
held her own. <i>Hanna is English, in Danish the J has no sound and “r” is the rolling
of r’s.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Aunt
Hanna was a very good cook and housekeeper and managed to "rule the
roost" as well as cater to Christian's every whim. Christian and Hanna did get along quite well
and they did love each other. Hanna
spoke English very well, something that Grandpa and Little Grandma never could
accomplish. They did learn the language
but had a strong accent and some words were very hard for them to
pronounce. Aunt Mary said, “What a
rascal he was, between the English and the Danish mixed, he was a
scream." Aunt Mary also said, “Grandpa
Boel would shear sheep in the spring. He
said Hanner could shear as many sheep as he could." <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Aunt
Hanna resented the way she was shunned and humiliated. They were also afraid of her they had seen
some of the spells that Aunt Hanna cast.
In America Andrea’s was no longer a servant. He had to be paid wages so he bought a fancy
brass bed with a real mattress. Well, he
bragged once too often about how wonderful it was. Hanna took her book out and cast a spell on
it, he could never sleep on it again. If
he tried he always fell out of it, so he slept on the floor next to it. Even the neighbors were afraid of her. A spell on the neighbor’s cow made it go dry
and it never gave milk again. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My
Aunt Mary Halverson Bowen didn't like her at all. Aunt Hanna died in 1915. Shortly after that, the “four Mary’s searched
the house to find and burn her witchcraft book, "Cyprianus", her
Devils book. Mary said, "In those
days many believed in the supernatural and we were all afraid of her. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XcL2puWosDI/Us4XLw33wWI/AAAAAAAAm8A/wVxY4Enn8S0/s1600/Top-9.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XcL2puWosDI/Us4XLw33wWI/AAAAAAAAm8A/wVxY4Enn8S0/s400/Top-9.jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>back Peter Boel<br />Aunt Hanna Little Grandma at Church</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When
Raymond died a few years later he said, "Don't bury me in the Ever Green
Cemetery with Aunt Hanna or I will come back and haunt you", he was buried
as he wished in Spanish Fork. Aunt Mary
said, "Mother regretted this because she could walk down to Ever Green but
not to Spanish Fork. She also said,
"Pa made sure that all Halverson's were buried in Spanish Fork". <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My
Father, Harvey said, "I liked Aunt Hannea and got along with
her". Peter Boel bought a fancy
horseless carriage and my dad was their chauffeur. He took them where ever they went. Christian's sister, Christiana Twede, her
children and grandchildren said she was a nice person, active in church and
community affairs. Aunt Doris Halverson
said, "One day I was talking to Irene Freeman, she said that when she was
just a little girl, she loved to visit Aunt Hanna. Hanna was just the sweetest little old
lady". <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Aunt
Mary said, “Grandpa was a rascal, mean and stingy." While living in Denmark he learned to live
with poverty. His miserly ways made him
rich while many of his neighbors were poor. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
my father said, "He worked and played hard, I couldn't keep up with him
during the prime-time of my life and he was old". He was always making and selling things. He repaired clocks, I have the vice he held the
little gears and teeth. There were
clocks hanging on every wall. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
dark cold night my Grandmother Halverson woke up by a knock on the door. It was
Grandpa Boel he may have been two sheets to the wind. On 800 west he was close to his friends and booze. He had a grand old time but when he got home
Hanna took one look at him and locked the door.
By the time he walked 10 big city blocks in the black night he had
sobered up and he was angry. Oh
Why! Oh Why! Did I ever marry that woman
when I had a better one right here? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92IjsgRI4UeiLDFXP74GVWUKmoyIKK6dBuhxi7gXeNXjMCZe5VgRyjqKJMqhD5hsx0cFKiyUPJvKDzX63KvHgcfU4USAXjIDzm5txCvBVvVYicnbNjvK7mHxiulqPxqEzFnLZMOFcecP4/s1036/Top-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="1036" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92IjsgRI4UeiLDFXP74GVWUKmoyIKK6dBuhxi7gXeNXjMCZe5VgRyjqKJMqhD5hsx0cFKiyUPJvKDzX63KvHgcfU4USAXjIDzm5txCvBVvVYicnbNjvK7mHxiulqPxqEzFnLZMOFcecP4/w400-h305/Top-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Grandpa
Boil’s first home was at 980 W 1600 S in Mapleton on 20 acres of ground. Over the years it became better and more
productive. Grandpa Boel was getting in
his 60’s and was semi-retired. Pierre ran
the farm and was doing the blacksmithing.
Grandpa had had more free-time to visit and play and life was good. Pierre had worked for his father for 34 years
without pay and was promised the house and farm for this service. Pierre had been sick a lot and had lost all his
toes on one foot, caused by tuberculosis.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJxVJSiOES2GR1AR3kBslt2ux705gluYPUjmDEX5oMnd7O7VRB7Vd3O46Y3TM7WSLkrGd4MSbh1GwsTRXS3fdszytagNaiuxb2fpU1YHgaTtoptQ9p7RU6trRgCIqy_Kv1L-IiutPcM4r/s1600/springville-barn-001.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="500" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJxVJSiOES2GR1AR3kBslt2ux705gluYPUjmDEX5oMnd7O7VRB7Vd3O46Y3TM7WSLkrGd4MSbh1GwsTRXS3fdszytagNaiuxb2fpU1YHgaTtoptQ9p7RU6trRgCIqy_Kv1L-IiutPcM4r/s320/springville-barn-001.jpg" width="320" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
day Pierre fell in love with a pretty little girl from Georgia who came to Utah
to marry a nice Mormon boy. But when
Pierre brought Molly McClain home to live things fell apart. The Irish in Molly would not allow her to be
bossed by an “Old Country Dane”. She
just packed up and went back to the family who brought her to Utah. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">To
get Molly back Pierre had to get ownership of the farm and eventually he
did. Well Grandpa Boel drug his feet in
transferring ownership. He hadn’t been
working and had to sell a few acres of the farm to build him a new house. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pierre
did sell the prized farm and moved to Sutherland. Grandpa knew that Pierre could never clear
the farm of weeds, dig all the ditches and wells, build fences, a house, a barn
and a hundred other things.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Houses<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">1<sup>st</sup>
20 acre farm given to Pierre.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrhxdWhdzc0LF6Doc41N2XWCVvbKLgAXzji9GAMhwEyakFmfPpuyY4JJS_eA46La6yjkc5VJpG6TV9ngxKYc_QNb0DgxujqmnH3EggKjq8Ziyjw5DQUigeA4in977PFMFGrHZHw1xiMBh/s1600/image0-006.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="1537" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrhxdWhdzc0LF6Doc41N2XWCVvbKLgAXzji9GAMhwEyakFmfPpuyY4JJS_eA46La6yjkc5VJpG6TV9ngxKYc_QNb0DgxujqmnH3EggKjq8Ziyjw5DQUigeA4in977PFMFGrHZHw1xiMBh/s400/image0-006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">house for grandma</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">2<sup>nd</sup>
Grandpa bought a house and three acres of ground just south of his and gave it
to his son, Jens. He had given this
house to help his son, Jens (James) who had lost his leg soon after his
marriage<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">3<sup>rd</sup>
Then there was the Arron Johnson home that he bought and deeded to his Daughter
Mary Halverson in 1911 to care for his first wife, Little Grandma. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He
built this new house next to his son, Jens and Mary Halvorsen Peterson on the
300 block on 8<sup>th</sup> west in Mapleton.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-2347957582378120642015-03-27T12:12:00.000-07:002018-11-18T18:44:18.218-08:00"Alley Oop"---"Upano"<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">"Alley
Oop"<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Nick
Vidalakis Invents the basketball play<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">By Wayne
"Admiral" Ray<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie4RYUWHCQCcYad0e2qDxx3eNw4cCOX32nFVqgLdzFouPgZ8Rf95-Whrrs2KHphxqKCi1joTPRwaI4K2faA29D9S7wbDWXv3mnWenzvI_urv0J7bLAGL9n4HYku_wgefRv7zIld5xXP9TO/s1600/1380755_684171851606442_403708493_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="590" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie4RYUWHCQCcYad0e2qDxx3eNw4cCOX32nFVqgLdzFouPgZ8Rf95-Whrrs2KHphxqKCi1joTPRwaI4K2faA29D9S7wbDWXv3mnWenzvI_urv0J7bLAGL9n4HYku_wgefRv7zIld5xXP9TO/s400/1380755_684171851606442_403708493_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Nick
Vidalakis is a tall guy. At least he was
the last time I saw him. Gravity takes
its toll as we age. I have shrunk 2 3/4 inches from my "fighting
height". Maybe he has also. Nick was taller than most of us in junior and
senior high school. I believe only Reed
Schultz was taller in our class. None of
Nick's height and weight was fat because he was a hard worker and besides he
walked daily from Lead Mine to school and back from grade school to 12th grade.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There
is a famous story concerning Nick and Joel P. Jensen when we were in the 8th or
9th grade that amazed us all because of the way Mr. Jensen handled Nick's
size. A nickname was involved in
provocation. If you remember your teachers
at BHS you know the nickname, (Punjab). The
action took place from the classroom to the hallway. It was Unbelievable!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TwB3begejiM/VRbLBnXiijI/AAAAAAAApAU/dKRIxpOxj9s/s1600/TEACHER%2BJOEL%2BJENSEN--1940.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TwB3begejiM/VRbLBnXiijI/AAAAAAAApAU/dKRIxpOxj9s/s1600/TEACHER%2BJOEL%2BJENSEN--1940.bmp" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joel Jensen</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
previous paragraphs are to establish that Nick was tall. He was a varsity basketball player our senior
year. He wasn't a starter but I think he
did get to play quite a bit. If I
remember right he was 6th or 7th on the starting rotation. In contrast I was 10th on the rotation. We only had 10 players. The starters were Captain Kent Stillman,
Chris Apostal, Bill Thomas, Ken Hall and Jack Knudson. Other teammates were: Bill Boren, Steve Hauskenecht, and George
Dimas. We made it to the State Class
"B" Tournament held in the Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City in
1946. The last time the Bingham High
School basketball team played in the State Tournament is when the dad's of Kent
Stillman, Ken Hall and Bill Thomas played.
How about that for a coincidence?
Three starter son's of three starter dads in the two bracketed
tournament appearances. My uncle
"Lolly" also played in that era but it didn't help me getting any
playing time. (I got to play the last
minute or two sometimes when the game was a cinch for our victory or hopelessly
lost)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qOrmmK_sDKA/VRbGwcprSRI/AAAAAAAApAA/3BaxX38G-nM/s1600/Top-010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qOrmmK_sDKA/VRbGwcprSRI/AAAAAAAApAA/3BaxX38G-nM/s1600/Top-010.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Nick #11 </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It
happened in practice. I can't remember
the exact details but Nick instructed us that when he shouted </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">"Upano"</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> whoever had the ball could lob it to
him over the heads of the guarding players.
With his height advantage he could grab the ball and score. (I always thought that "upano"
meant up in Greek but my English-Greek Dictionary didn't recognize the
word.) Coach "Sunny" Alsop
liked the idea and encouraged the play whenever Nick was in the game. Wasn't
any name to the play, but in future years with many teams they called it the
"Alley Oop". Other teams may
have used this play before us but I credit Nick for inventing it as an
offensive strategy. It worked especially
in our last game of the season. </span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ztv88mh4Zh0/VRbGxAV6twI/AAAAAAAApAI/5nceFnAIqGU/s1600/Top-011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ztv88mh4Zh0/VRbGxAV6twI/AAAAAAAApAI/5nceFnAIqGU/s1600/Top-011.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Nick Vitalakis, Wayne Ray</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> We beat
Duchesne and Park City before we lost to American Fork in the semi-finals. Our final game for third place was against
Spanish Fork. Coach Alsop sat the
starters down and let the reserves play the game. We won 31-25.
Nick and </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>"Upano"</i></b></span></span><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> prevailed. I even scored a few. UPANO, with Nick.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-87659898466250263162014-11-28T12:39:00.003-08:002020-11-11T12:50:56.830-08:00JIM REKOUTIS as FONZIE<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jim Rekoutis was
Bingham's "Fonzie"</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">By "Admiral" Wayne Ray<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ClraUNZigqw/VHjUzzgLU6I/AAAAAAAAopQ/g_p9oHTDM7U/s1600/unnamed-001.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ClraUNZigqw/VHjUzzgLU6I/AAAAAAAAopQ/g_p9oHTDM7U/s1600/unnamed-001.jpg" width="95" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Jim Rekoutis was the </span></b><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 22.8267px;">"coolest cat"</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">“Happy
Days”</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
is an American television sitcom that aired first-run from January 15, 1974, to
September 24, 1984, on ABC. Created by Garry Marshall, the series presents an
idealized vision of life in the mid-1950s to mid-1960s United States. Wikipedia. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jim
Rekoutis was the </span></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">"coolest cat"</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> during our "Happy Days"
in the 1940's. Looking back, I likened him to the TV program Happy Days
"Fonzie" character.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hC_xZA9lFWw/Tkc-sfh1r9I/AAAAAAAATjY/WNSZss9b3jY/s1600/21.%2BCloseup%2BTunnel%2BConst.%2BStructure%2B1937%2Bfrom%2Bcopperton098.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hC_xZA9lFWw/Tkc-sfh1r9I/AAAAAAAATjY/WNSZss9b3jY/s1600/21.%2BCloseup%2BTunnel%2BConst.%2BStructure%2B1937%2Bfrom%2Bcopperton098.JPG" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>home was far right and center<br />above US Hotel</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Here
is why: Jim grew up in Copperfield. That act of nature was imbedded in his soul
for life. Someone gave him the nickname of "Mackuty" which we
eventually found "tagged" on the entrance walls of the Copperfield
side of the Bingham to Copperfield tunnel, as well as elsewhere. I don't know
if he wrote it or not, but I'll bet he got a visit from the Utah Copper
"copper". We first met in the 7th grade. I knew then at first glance
that this guy was something special. As we became more acquainted he told me
about growing up in Copperfield. He did all the Copperfield kid stuff that got
most boys in trouble. He sold ore samples to tourists that came to the visitor’s
center of the mine, sometimes "putting one over" on them. He was as a
Crossing Guard in grade School when he did something out of turn and was
"squealed on" by a classmate.
He never forgave him for that even when we were seniors in High School.
Anyway, ask him where he is from and he'll tell you Copperfield even though it
doesn't exist anymore. The reason that I
think he resembles the Fonzie character was his "presence". By that I
mean that wherever he was, he attracted respect. From students, teachers, other
adults------everyone. Even "Boss" Hausknecht, who those of us who
knew him, respect was hard to come by, treated Jim almost as a peer. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-19InrH29pUQ/TihaMVCeqYI/AAAAAAAAOS8/qywVY7lAU70/s1600/75.%2BMine%2BObservation%2BPoint%2BAbout%2B1945%2BWith%2BGreyline%2BTour%2BBus.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-19InrH29pUQ/TihaMVCeqYI/AAAAAAAAOS8/qywVY7lAU70/s1600/75.%2BMine%2BObservation%2BPoint%2BAbout%2B1945%2BWith%2BGreyline%2BTour%2BBus.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Copperfield Business District</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">about to be mined away</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jim was
more than often the center of attention. First if all, he had a mustache in
Junior High. His attire was always white
'''cords", dirtied to the proper degree, and a leather sleeved jacket. You
knew when he was around. He could have
called my mother Mrs. "R" and my dad Mr. "R". He was
generous to a fault and was very protective of me. </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I was as naive as
"Richie" Cunningham of the Happy Days TV program and needed Jim to
help guide me. I </span></b><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_s1028" style="height: 183.35pt; margin-left: 186.6pt; margin-top: 10.8pt; mso-height-percent: 0; mso-height-relative: page; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-width-percent: 0; mso-width-relative: page; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 267.6pt; z-index: -251657216;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata cropleft="2947f" o:title="" src="file:///C:\Users\Eugene\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.jpg">
<w:wrap type="tight">
</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">felt safe when we were
together. I don't remember him ever getting in a fight. We all thought he was
"tough" but he never had to prove it. However, he never took any
"crap" from anyone all his life. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Tragedy struck his family twice in his young life when his father and
his uncle who married his mother after his father’s death both were killed in
accidents on the job at Utah Copper Company. Jim is the oldest of 5 children,
three brothers and two sisters. He was in Junior High and a </span></b><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_4" o:spid="_x0000_s1027" style="height: 229.7pt; margin-left: 11.4pt; margin-top: 238.2pt; mso-height-percent: 0; mso-height-relative: page; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-width-percent: 0; mso-width-relative: page; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 153.8pt; z-index: -251655168;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="" src="file:///C:\Users\Eugene\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg">
<w:wrap type="tight">
</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">sophomore when those
tragedies happened so he had to mature fast. He really became the man of the
house. Then and for all of his life he has looked after the welfare of his
family. As a result of his maturity he was one of, if not the first, in our
high school class to have a car. His mother needed him to drive. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PDTY9HSfXWI/TiIGEXXuCMI/AAAAAAAAHZI/Jbmfa7fxQFM/s1600/017.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PDTY9HSfXWI/TiIGEXXuCMI/AAAAAAAAHZI/Jbmfa7fxQFM/s1600/017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>seven miles of snow</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When he
started going with Mary Manos, who became his wife, having enough gasoline to
take care of family duties and court her was a problem. Remember in WWII gasoline was rationed and if
you had an "A" card, your supply was limited. I was always asking my
dad and my </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Employer at
"R" Dairy for stamps for Jim's gas. He did, after all, drive me
around some times.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> My wife and I lived in California near Jim and Mary Rekoutis
and their family twice. I have remained close to them since High School. We
assisted the startup and even worked for one of Jim's companies. For a while
after our retirement, we were very active in his business. I found the</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>
"Fonzie" attitude </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">still intact as we enjoyed watching him grow and
succeed.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 17.12px;"><b>And he was s</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">till always looking out for my welfare. We are privileged
to have as friends two of the most generous and gracious people we have ever
known.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja17WSikXppejn9bWdvfwWGOG_UaeSrx_pBuzmMdOf0Rn1qU1sC6mq_j-MD9Gwi8MCURi77Used69bkabV1sjf5HMOhiDQCX18f8NS2_Vs5cSZ_NNAiRtbAHIWtG73_HJsIush-gXGvuSS/s1020/image0-96.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="1020" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja17WSikXppejn9bWdvfwWGOG_UaeSrx_pBuzmMdOf0Rn1qU1sC6mq_j-MD9Gwi8MCURi77Used69bkabV1sjf5HMOhiDQCX18f8NS2_Vs5cSZ_NNAiRtbAHIWtG73_HJsIush-gXGvuSS/w640-h386/image0-96.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4th July Copperfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-10136465112074652862014-11-20T17:38:00.004-08:002021-08-13T20:21:46.054-07:00REMEMBERING LARK, UTAH<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">REMEMBERING LARK<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Bob and Donna Bardsley
Family<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">By
Susan Bardsley Hopes<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Thank you, Susan, this is priceless. </span></i></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This is a story of people and things that are precious and must be saved. </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">Lark
is a pretty little town<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dd8fRKOh0yA/VG6Y8bXbevI/AAAAAAAAomg/VzYQGe0Z1ks/s1600/DSC_0016.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dd8fRKOh0yA/VG6Y8bXbevI/AAAAAAAAomg/VzYQGe0Z1ks/w143-h200/DSC_0016.JPG" width="143" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">"Lark,is a pretty little Town"</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: small;">"Lark is a pretty little Town"</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes,
our clearest memories are not of significant events in our lives, but of very
insignificant moments, one such time for me, was a crisp, spring morning, my
father and I were walking the ridge of Easter egg hill. The Sego Lilly's were
just beginning to peak out of the small clumps of snow that had not yet melted
from the grip of winter. Dad was a great whistler, and each time he heard the
trill of a Meadow Lark he answered back with the same smooth singsong whistle.
I had tried and tried to form my lips, curl my tongue, and push air out of the
space between my teeth, but failed at each attempt. You know what they’re
singing don't you? Lark is a pretty little town! Lark is a pretty little town!
Like a permanent tattoo this memory has stayed with me all these years. I am
now a grandmother, but still when I hear the trill of the Meadow Lark I hear
"Lark is a pretty little town. Lark is a pretty little town''.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">So
how did Lark get its name? In Lillis Sandstorm's history she wrote "There
is no record as to how Lark got its name, but two stories told by the old
settlers are: Two old prospectors by the names of Dalton and Lark discovered
two of the mines, so the town was named after them. The other story, most of
the early miners to come here to work were Cornishmen, who had mined in their
native land of England. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9u55u8a2k_9fpTQ4fwia284U0ImqTBurei2jNkAkljcZOogiwBjrdesewUFPe3XMtM1Y8H-H76Na5Iqq1YE8g2fUz0QxuA9DAbdo0RLvZZUeaYx3FoTmt7aoQY9E1PcYcugm3tqyT-HYK/s2048/larkr-001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2048" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9u55u8a2k_9fpTQ4fwia284U0ImqTBurei2jNkAkljcZOogiwBjrdesewUFPe3XMtM1Y8H-H76Na5Iqq1YE8g2fUz0QxuA9DAbdo0RLvZZUeaYx3FoTmt7aoQY9E1PcYcugm3tqyT-HYK/w640-h478/larkr-001.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LARK REUNION</td></tr></tbody></table><br />They came first to Michigan, then pushed west to Utah.
These people made good miners and soon built up the towns and named them Dalton
and Lark, after towns in England. Dalton was built up on the side of the
mountain, and Lark built up where it is today. Later, when the Mascotte Tunnel
was started, all the people and houses were moved down from Dalton to
Lark."<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Change
is the one thing in life you can always count on in this life!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"> Nothing comes easy and nothing stays the same!</span></b><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Susan
Hope<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y1YzobbYIfs/VG6iqFHIvmI/AAAAAAAAong/BGwinO6ON98/s1600/10679516_10203132415055781_2168066320225431800_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y1YzobbYIfs/VG6iqFHIvmI/AAAAAAAAong/BGwinO6ON98/s1600/10679516_10203132415055781_2168066320225431800_o.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Susan Bardsley Hope on bottom</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Shortly
before Christmas 1977, Kennecott Copper Corporation announced it had purchased
the town of Lark and the residents would have to leave. We left with no place to go, said goodbye to
friends we may never see again. One by
one we left. Bob and Donna Bardsley did own
their home. Susan said we moved to Lark
when my brother Terry was 7, Marilyn 5, Caren, Jean and I, Susan were born here.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">If
you go looking for Lark, you might find the location where it once was, but
driving past there will be no resemblance of how it once looked. Even much of
the topography of the land is altered.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> Lark by Lillis Sandstrom, she describes Lark
as a" little mining town nestled snuggle against the side of the Oquirrh
range of mountains, Lark is only 25 miles distant from Salt Lake City, and can
be reached by paved roads extending on easy grades through a prosperous
cultivated valley. It is one of the finest situated mining camps in the
county".<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lark
was a company owned town. The United
Sates Smelting and Refining Company owned the homes and the ground. There were
a few people that owed their homes. For $500 dollars Bob and Donna bought their
first home. Did they pay rent on the
Lot? The house had a lean-to kitchen and
an outhouse. When the wallpaper was removed you could see outside.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Many
of the first houses in Lark were tent houses. Some of the early homes were
built with 2x4 boards forming a square frame to the top and bottom. To complete
the house, 1x4 inch boards were nailed lengthwise to these to make the walls,
with 1 by 4 inch boards nailed over the cracks and the sloping roof. They were
then lined with a heavy paper. Most houses were not divided into rooms but had
one large room.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuP9jlPry5SVunQXFooaPbVZurGJbFUSYa2j-j-r2bwf69PpIMJkj7M-C7lFIspYIOpmefIlgMmO8kYtEak3pBpghwDfBF5vB7AltfYQwTDzwymx9sib6dH0Q_6RpKnlbBkiHTmbQVZqt/s2048/1682.+U245.+8-1-009.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuP9jlPry5SVunQXFooaPbVZurGJbFUSYa2j-j-r2bwf69PpIMJkj7M-C7lFIspYIOpmefIlgMmO8kYtEak3pBpghwDfBF5vB7AltfYQwTDzwymx9sib6dH0Q_6RpKnlbBkiHTmbQVZqt/w400-h266/1682.+U245.+8-1-009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DALTON with LARK <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I
think that our home might have started out as one of those early homes. By far
one of Dads biggest undertaking was to dig a basement. He dug it out by hand,
with a pick and shovel, one wheelbarrow and truck load at a time. Usually after
working a full day at KCC. This home was demolished when Lark shut down. Dad
had bought ground behind the Drift in that he raised pigs on he had a new house
built on the truck haulage road. I think
all the homes on that street owned their property. This house had a walk out basement but this
time it was dug out with a back hoe. It wasn't long before KCC bought them out
again, this time they didn't want them back and they bought in Rose Canyon and
had their home moved over there. This home will all so be gone soon.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />Debbie
Peterson said, I don't think she meant literally right behind the Drift Inn but
it was on the on the Kennecott Road between Gallegos and Martinez. The only
house actually behind the Drift Inn would have been way up the hill by the
water tower. </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Debbie
Peterson said after they tore the Cafe down, Bob would be there on a daily
bases cleaning and gathering the cinder blocks. He called me little red riding
hood because I would be walking to my grandma and grandpas house at least y times a day.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CtV-cJG_buFZr0IDmi04y0y26GQul9WKl1PlKuXnw37ZDnlt0I6gMysiRwfE_8-OzRXfuweCqEUqpcCelGVlpwF_tnFjZtY-f_j4bqcb7yl-9Im5yLnEhNuaIbSmvrY0u40suM4gAKog/s2048/1047908_10205628509220007_2053533667715513151_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="2048" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CtV-cJG_buFZr0IDmi04y0y26GQul9WKl1PlKuXnw37ZDnlt0I6gMysiRwfE_8-OzRXfuweCqEUqpcCelGVlpwF_tnFjZtY-f_j4bqcb7yl-9Im5yLnEhNuaIbSmvrY0u40suM4gAKog/w400-h259/1047908_10205628509220007_2053533667715513151_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LARK DAY</td></tr></tbody></table></span></b><b style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 107%;">As
my husband walked out the door this morning he reminded me not to for get to
vote. For my father’s politics and religion were always heated topics in our
home. When our son won commissioner on the republican ticket we teased that
Grandpa would roll over in his grave. Dad was a die-hard democrat believing
that democrats were for the working man.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I
had no idea Lark ever had a sheriff. I
was born in 1957 and moved in 1974. As a self-absorbed teenager I never paid
attention to the politics of Lark. Did
we have a Mayor or town council? Did we
have polling booths set up at the school when we voted? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7p170_fAng/VG6iryIxwDI/AAAAAAAAon0/tXPsraXrk38/s1600/1053301_10205626993382112_2910881400759766140_o%2B(1).jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7p170_fAng/VG6iryIxwDI/AAAAAAAAon0/tXPsraXrk38/s1600/1053301_10205626993382112_2910881400759766140_o%2B(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>LARK DAYS back in the 1970's</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Sally
Starnes said, we had no elected officials. The town was owned by the mine and
houses were rented to the miners except for a few, but those few were still on
property owned by the mine. Thus, no mayor or town council, only appointed
positions of Coroner and Sheriff! We all
seemed to get along!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Steven
Richardson said, your mom, Donna painted the large painting of Jesus knocking
at a door. It hung high on the wall in
the foyer of the LDS chapel. Another an
outdoor scene was given to the Copperton Seminary.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Change
the one thing in life you can always count on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Where
we love is home-home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Oliver
Wendell Homes</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gzjm9HQj8mU/VG6iIWeBLyI/AAAAAAAAonU/mfsiDI8qlkI/s1600/CIMG1368-001.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gzjm9HQj8mU/VG6iIWeBLyI/AAAAAAAAonU/mfsiDI8qlkI/s1600/CIMG1368-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>"Old mill" tested every boy and girl</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lark
Cemetery or the Absents of<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Susan
Hope<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I
once wandered with my father through his home town cemetery. Naturally my
grandparents and many of our relatives were laid to rest there. As my father
would read the names of on the grave markers he would tell me a little history
about the people he had known. I learned of two spinster aunts. I learned about
the man that bought the first motorized tractor. I learned that Dad lived as a
hired hand at the age of twelve with this man and his family. I learned about
those went to war and returned in a casket. There is a lot of history in a
cemetery.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Cemeteries,
single grave markers, and memorials can be found in the loneliest forsaken
places. But you know by its marker that at some point in history someone
crossed this path, that there had been a community, or a war was fought.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oYzTSGSo2sE/VG6eHfjosoI/AAAAAAAAom4/Ggn5v7p__FY/s1600/1009468_392683367545121_461839780_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oYzTSGSo2sE/VG6eHfjosoI/AAAAAAAAom4/Ggn5v7p__FY/s1600/1009468_392683367545121_461839780_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">First row- Joyce Gressmen, Donna Reed,
Janeen Yeats, Cal Crump, Norman Steel, Zane Dumont, Boyd Crump, Cal Nelson.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Second row- Vera Pierce, Beverly Seal,
Jayne Bigler, Norval Draper, ------ Fullmer, Dean Coombs, Richard Sorensen,
Keith Webb.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Third row- Teacher Harold Nielson, -----------------,
Darlene Hunt, Lois Webb, Veril Carlson, ------------------, Howard Eastman and
Blaine Peterson</span></b></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Where
are the remains? Some of Larks inhabitants were born, Married and died in Lark.
Lark was established in 1866. Lark died in 1979 at the young age of one hundred
and thirteen years. Not one grave marker or memorial. Was Lark and its
inhabitants so inconsequential that they didn't even merit a common burial-place?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">At
one time men brought their families from all over the world to work in one of
the largest producing lead and zinc mines in the State of Utah. It was all so
one of the best ventilated and safest in the entire country. At its peak
population Lark exceeded 800. As impressive as the mine might have been for its
time, it’s the people who made it impressive. Those men and their families who
lived, worked, worshiped, played, loved, learned, fought, cried, helped one
another, and forgave one another that impresses me the most!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">For
those who loved this little town nestled in the cedars and oak brush it was all
ways understood that our stay was always temporary. For some the only plot of
dirt they ever paid for was the one they were buried in. If you died your rent was up.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Bonnie Parker<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> 1910 to 1934<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">As
the flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">and the dew, so this old world was
made brighter by the lives of </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;">folks like you.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i></i></span></b>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tu6OVHfvOFA/VG6eJIHCzDI/AAAAAAAAonA/0Vkd5JUXGgM/s1600/1502617_392681884211936_1760410098_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tu6OVHfvOFA/VG6eJIHCzDI/AAAAAAAAonA/0Vkd5JUXGgM/s1600/1502617_392681884211936_1760410098_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">First row</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"> left to right: Howard Eastman, Norman Steel, Cal Crump, Blaine Petersen, Darrell Tea.</span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Second row</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"> Merleen Christensen, ------------------, Don Gressmen, Janeen Yeats, Gloria Franks.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Third row</span></u></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"> Teacher Miss Garfield, Clynell Richardson, Shirley Reed, Marian Nelson, Merlene Wilcox, Lois Webb, Beverly Gressmen.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /></span></b></div>
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO GIVE THANKS! </i></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Susan
Hope<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4vzOrDlXCCo/VG_h8BtahbI/AAAAAAAAooI/TZJROmf09ow/s1600/Boy%2BScout%2Bbuilding%2Bin%2BButterfield.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4vzOrDlXCCo/VG_h8BtahbI/AAAAAAAAooI/TZJROmf09ow/s1600/Boy%2BScout%2Bbuilding%2Bin%2BButterfield.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />Boy Scout Camp in Butterfield<br />very popular in the"Old Days"</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">Before I leave for work, I can
sort, wash, dry, fold and put away at least a load of laundry.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">However my mother remembers a time
when laundry was not all that quick and easy. Washing for a family of seven
could take most of the day. If you was lucky enough to have a Wringer washer,
the laundry would then be hung to dry on the clothes line. How long it took to
dry depended on the season and the weather. Practically everything needed to be
ironed including those lovely embroidered pillow cases. This in its self was
tricky business. The clothing was misted, rolled and placed in a basket. If you
didn't get to it soon enough the clothes would sour.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">About the time that I started
Kindergarten Mother went to work outside the home. Needing a little help she
turned to her neighbor Mrs. Romero.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TdGo_BBs_6Q/VJuM1HC2WLI/AAAAAAAAoqo/bVLlBr2DLY0/s1600/1497820_10205742579351689_3301236698310862066_o.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TdGo_BBs_6Q/VJuM1HC2WLI/AAAAAAAAoqo/bVLlBr2DLY0/s1600/1497820_10205742579351689_3301236698310862066_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">With four daughters, one son my
Father and Mother we had a lot of ironing. Mrs. Romero took on the task of
ironing our clothing at 10 cents an item. I'm sure she had plenty of her own
task to do! Mrs. Romero not only pressed our clothing, but she mended it, sewed
on missing buttons and usually returned the pressed clothing with a big stack
of homemade flour tortillas.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">THANKS </span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mrs. Romero</span> for taking such
good care of our clothing, sharing your food, and being such a good neighbor.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">P.S. Thanks for inviting me to play
with the little girl that came to visit during the summers. I think her name
was Yalonda? I'm sure we ran through your house and eat more of your good food!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7p170_fAng/VG6iryIxwDI/AAAAAAAAon0/tXPsraXrk38/s1600/1053301_10205626993382112_2910881400759766140_o%2B(1).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7p170_fAng/VG6iryIxwDI/AAAAAAAAon0/tXPsraXrk38/s1600/1053301_10205626993382112_2910881400759766140_o%2B(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">Christmas
Eves Eve</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">we had our family Christmas Party/
Birthday party down at the church. Twenty people with just my children, and
that's not counting our oldest Son and his family who was not there. He lives
in Montana. It's amazing how a family that began with six grows. We planted
good seeds and reaped a good harvest, OR WATCH OUT THE WEEDS ARE OUT OF
CONTROL!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">Mother
shared one of my favorite </span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">stories</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> last night about her life. When
Donna (my mother) was in 3rd grade someone had given her mother, a lovely
purple silk night gown, her mother made panties out of the night gown for
Donna. Donna was at school one day in the middle of a spelling bee. As she sat
there waiting for her turn to go to the front of the class room and spell her
word she felt the elastic break on her new purple panties. Mrs. Lida Hansen
called out Donna's name to come to the front of the class room and spell her
word. Donna was mortified! She knew what would happen in front of the whole
class. ''No, I don't want to" she told Mrs. Lida Hansen. Mrs. Lida Hansen marched Donna to
the front of the room and forced her to put her hands down to her side. That's
when it happened. What terrified her happened! Right there in front of the
whole class. Her pretty pink panties dropped to the floor and so did Donna. She
fainted. There was nothing anyone would do to get her to go back to that class.
Fortunately there was two third grade classes. The other class room was thought
to have had the smarter children.</span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5QMbD4tX2Lb3tH2M9Yu4v8bEqIxWQWcN8HvUY6DoMFnYwV9fPJh7toai8Hv3w2DKeFOMshE6EI5JiQhyJNgFggXVieGkKd-RBQm26m6xGG5k1gcogd85Lx9AVqbGSqXlubYo66f5x1c3/s1600/P1010394.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5QMbD4tX2Lb3tH2M9Yu4v8bEqIxWQWcN8HvUY6DoMFnYwV9fPJh7toai8Hv3w2DKeFOMshE6EI5JiQhyJNgFggXVieGkKd-RBQm26m6xGG5k1gcogd85Lx9AVqbGSqXlubYo66f5x1c3/s1600/P1010394.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">Alex's grand Daugherty at Bingham Reunion </span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Donna was moved in to Mrs. Littlefield’s
class room. Shortly after Donna attended Mrs. Littlefield’s class she asked
Donna if she would mind retaking a test. "No, I don't mind" said
Donna and she redid the test just as well as she had the first time. Mrs.
Littlefield recognized Donna's potential, and her artistic ability. Donna was
given the job of decorating the monthly bulletin board and choosing a student
each month to help her. For years after any time Mrs. Littlefield saw Donna's
mother she would ask how Donna was doing. Sometimes the things in life that
make as faint turn out to be our greatest blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Games<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Myra Heaton asks, does anyone
remember the Thursday night volleyball games held in the gym at the Mormon Church
where everyone in the community was invited, cupcakes, corndogs and everything
was sold to pay for the next week’s goodies. This went on for years. I was a
family programmer at Kearns Oquirrh Park Fitness Center where I planned
Volleyball family nights using this memory as a template. Families loved it but
I loved it more.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI_Z651LzdPJSCtqKWbjoeqXl0V8YGyf8Pi_ZiF0e8sBtPU_hAWGdocl6G8ll6dHS6Me0co0eSHpGiQsIICx4U7_Uoul6CnvIn5Ymf49eRS-96844oV8aVsslXmpZQBqrjrp4D9z2En7S/s1600/Top-004.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI_Z651LzdPJSCtqKWbjoeqXl0V8YGyf8Pi_ZiF0e8sBtPU_hAWGdocl6G8ll6dHS6Me0co0eSHpGiQsIICx4U7_Uoul6CnvIn5Ymf49eRS-96844oV8aVsslXmpZQBqrjrp4D9z2En7S/s400/Top-004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Alex Montoya many years earier</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Susan Remembers that </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mayra Heaton posted the Thursday
night volley ball games at the church. I remember the year that I was finally
old enough to be on a team. There was only a few things that would get my Dad
out to church, a funeral or activities that were held in the cultural hall. Dad
was a captain of one of the teams. This
tournament was held during the winter months, packing the hall between the
kitchen and cultural hall with people buying corn dogs or whatever else the
ladies in the kitchen had to offer. However the real excitement was the
tournament! It gave us something to look forward to each week to break up those
long, cold, dark winter evenings in the winter. I played on my Dads team. I
don't know if he wanted me, or no one else would pick me? In all fairness, all
of our family including my mother was fairly athletic. Spiking the ball was not
my talent, but I was pretty consistent about getting that ball over the net. I
often walked to the game after dark, taking the short cut across the dump
behind our house. </span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The dump was not where
garbage was dumped, but at one time the tailing from the mine had been dumped
there. The town had cleaned it off and put a ball diamond and tennis court.
Along the side of the tennis court a dirt road lead to the church. Between the
tennis court and the church was a gentle slope with a thick wire cable strung
in holes in a post to keep cars from getting to close during ball games. At one
place in the wire cable it sagged and people often used it as a short cut to
the church instead of going around the tennis court. This particular winter the
snow drifted heavily along the wire cable. Were it sagged there was a huge pile
of snow to the point that you didn't even half to jump the cable. There was a
well packed path to the church. Well you might ask yourself "so what"
well the first year that I played volley ball two things happened in Lark that
sticks in my mind. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFZupPMdfDhtxT2KCGBqqPQd7WMg-v54E0s0aGvQrlES83cQwQiynGa0Y8wkqfAaHHzA-DzbweriyGeY-fqjxM9gsiWmc4Uhn-OeKmF2ocVafkpwbU3dX18o7JBnvrl_5wo7tA1jkbqB4/s2048/1683.+U246.+8-2-47+W+Smith+In+Engine+W+Visitors%252C+Mascotte+Tunnel%252C+Lark+ca+1957+IMG_1835.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1341" data-original-width="2048" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFZupPMdfDhtxT2KCGBqqPQd7WMg-v54E0s0aGvQrlES83cQwQiynGa0Y8wkqfAaHHzA-DzbweriyGeY-fqjxM9gsiWmc4Uhn-OeKmF2ocVafkpwbU3dX18o7JBnvrl_5wo7tA1jkbqB4/w400-h263/1683.+U246.+8-2-47+W+Smith+In+Engine+W+Visitors%252C+Mascotte+Tunnel%252C+Lark+ca+1957+IMG_1835.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miners waiting ride in tunnel </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">First our neighbor went missing. He lived with his brother
and his brother had been asking around town if anyone had seen him. It was well
know that his brother was a drinker and often dispersed for weeks at a time.
Sometimes he would hitch hike down the valley and work odd jobs, sometimes he
worked at Nicolette's Goat Ranch. When he got a pay check he got liquored up.
The second thing that took place that winter, revolved around a mature couple
in town that had never had children. She was playing volley ball that year. One
day she became ill. Her husband had horses that he feed across town. He left
long enough to feed the horses, when he got back much too both their surprise
she had given birth to a healthy baby boy. This was exciting news for our
little town of Lark. The mystery of our neighbor was not discovered until
spring. Dad rode in a car pool, he often had the guys drop him of at the
church. He would then take the short cut across the dump. The snow had begun to
melt the path that we had traveled all winter. Dad discovered the mystery of
our missing neighbor. He was the reason why the snow was so high at the sag in
the cable. Dad notified the police. I never stepped over the sag in the cable
after that, without thinking of who we had been traipsing over all winter, of
the year that I was old enough to play volley ball.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>Winter<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMb_zTWvYsrnP_xMGkLiJZN2MlT5ilsw2ataZgVHAHum_kB2WFirbhwoyA-j7lKGu2ElH40bIMuY1chDvnrsMJQqKDFM4cJOui7zQGWI4APKAULJBvuayd-2Uh0YhBJK71f6tyiC8z1KjA/s1024/Top-112.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1024" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMb_zTWvYsrnP_xMGkLiJZN2MlT5ilsw2ataZgVHAHum_kB2WFirbhwoyA-j7lKGu2ElH40bIMuY1chDvnrsMJQqKDFM4cJOui7zQGWI4APKAULJBvuayd-2Uh0YhBJK71f6tyiC8z1KjA/w400-h276/Top-112.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scout Camp helpers in Butterfield</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></i></b><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Just loaded the fire place with wood.
It’s a whopping 16 degrees out there. At least we haven't hit the negatives
yet. Bob and I have had a war over the thermostat in the house and car sense
1974. He likes it cold, I like it hot. I
think, I might be gaining some ground on the home front? I can't prove it
scientifically but in my observation, some people's internal thermostat runs
either hot or cold. I love the heat from an oven door, or a car in the summer.
You think I'm crazy! I tell you what’s crazy! Being in the high Unitas in a
sleeping bag, in a tent, in the middle of the night, shivering because it feels
like your sleeping on a block of ice and the day light will never come, or
flying across a frozen Scofield reservoir on a snowmobile with slush soaking
your clothes. I blame this aversion to being cold from my childhood. You see
there was this ritual in the winter that we followed anytime we could. It began
with a pair of thermal underwear, then you put on two of the best socks you
could find.(no holes in the toes) next was the bread sack to cover the socks,
followed by another pair of socks to keep the bread sack from falling down.
Next came the layering of clothing, but this was tricky. You had to put on just
enough to keep warm, but not so many that you couldn't move freely. Lastly, was
coat, hat and gloves. Lark was all hills.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> There was a hill behind my house, a
hill to get to the school, a hill to the store, there was housing at the top of
town called the Heights. But when it came to sledding or tubing Turpin Hill was
the best! Lark, as I remember never lacked for good snow fall. I often remember
the snow on the sides of the road being over my head. (But then how tall was I
as a little girl.) The hardest part was packing our tubes and sled, all uphill
just to get to Turpin Hill. If you were lucky, some other kids from town had
already packed Turpin Hill making a path to sled down and banked the <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZii6dNczo_DbQvFkWk9YwEO1VOwEjsSjtMPbqCCSByv-VGE4Ofi6UAEhStiE6aIzS-jLqrsg0Q37ZWhMUec9Gv4q6aBFcqwJ_xjD6JeMhyphenhyphenezqiKHJAItFb-FyozOu2HRlC5ZBG637Pn9j/s587/10308080_10203498336391407_2902501860181056583_n.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="450" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZii6dNczo_DbQvFkWk9YwEO1VOwEjsSjtMPbqCCSByv-VGE4Ofi6UAEhStiE6aIzS-jLqrsg0Q37ZWhMUec9Gv4q6aBFcqwJ_xjD6JeMhyphenhyphenezqiKHJAItFb-FyozOu2HRlC5ZBG637Pn9j/w306-h400/10308080_10203498336391407_2902501860181056583_n.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LARK</td></tr></tbody></table><br />bottom so
if you went too far you wouldn't' fly out in to the road. I can't even imagine
how many times we must have gone up and down that hill in the several hours
that we spent there. I don't ever remember an adult being there to make sure we
didn't do anything to crazy. As far as I know, I don't think any one was hurt too
BAD, because we did do some crazy things. Shortly after the sun went down it
got really cold, really fast, and we couldn't take it any longer. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">REMEMERING
PEOPLE AND TIMES</span></i></b></div></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">By
</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">People who lived in
Lark<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99YuV6cbsD7Vqy6NgAFJHFeJMsZNy5aIQZ-WyLn73J6h7Ak0TnU_JvmqPTkU2odKQmoA-UBzAePUpkptRQiKOSPlDLG5Ca2qVPK1Sikzvg6FfNTw627asUvlZXxHFe6BW0IkH7VJ64pXh/s1024/10630569_861096180568361_6448187789246361707_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99YuV6cbsD7Vqy6NgAFJHFeJMsZNy5aIQZ-WyLn73J6h7Ak0TnU_JvmqPTkU2odKQmoA-UBzAePUpkptRQiKOSPlDLG5Ca2qVPK1Sikzvg6FfNTw627asUvlZXxHFe6BW0IkH7VJ64pXh/w400-h225/10630569_861096180568361_6448187789246361707_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LARK REUNION</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">This is a picture of
Lavon and Clyde Crump. My grandfather Clyde was born and raised in Herriman and
my grandmother Lavon was born and raised in Coalville. They were married in
1924 and moved to Lark in 1927 when Clyde was appointed as a part time deputy
sheriff for the Bingham District. He also worked as an electrician at the Lark
Mine. He was the first bishop of the LDS Ward in Lark serving from 1945-1952.
He followed Dorus Thomas who was the Branch President of Lark from 1923 to
1945. Lavon worked as a clerk at the Lark Mercantile for many years. Lavon was
killed in a tragic car accident in 1976 and Clyde died in 1985 after he was
moved from Lark to Copperton<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">This is a picture of my Grandfather
Clyde Crump taken in July 1978 by Ren Willie just before Clyde moved to
Copperton. The second picture shows his house with his elm tree trimmed. The
third picture shows Lark's Main Street looking east in July of 1978.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPDwGc6WHBKK7nzx8WSNIf6bAS1ldqDVrFRTgWrufBcciN1bVq0aM408IwMbequjQdZmenoi1IkX8MnaG6-tiIKrefvkP9VwwOqWjVVZmjAfKxUZQl5LRkuQqlhWMbyHcfR5jqXkGi1tK/s1600/1799018_1495504087398968_1885600222289979479_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1360" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPDwGc6WHBKK7nzx8WSNIf6bAS1ldqDVrFRTgWrufBcciN1bVq0aM408IwMbequjQdZmenoi1IkX8MnaG6-tiIKrefvkP9VwwOqWjVVZmjAfKxUZQl5LRkuQqlhWMbyHcfR5jqXkGi1tK/s320/1799018_1495504087398968_1885600222289979479_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Mr. & Mrs. CRUMP</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Don Gressmen said Clyde was a very
important man in my life. I respected and admired him as a great man. He took
me under his wing when I first moved to Lark and made sure I stayed active in
the church and took good care of my grandmother. I truly loved that man.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Sally Starnes said, our first house
backed up to Clyde Crumps so we had back to back...back yards! We also had
Clyde Gillam. The Crumps were so nice to us! Cal! Remember the Gillam kids
....your back yard neighbors?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Leigh Ann Turnbow Reber said I remember
these guys. Oh! My Gosh! I loved them. Thank you for sharing that picture.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw14WPWtnWDPMsMzfqxKVPxWrBa_3ypOHw25K1LVkqalOHQRLfFULhHqaGuiSsPsfB_N7Wz3TUtfQtYAUTWcMS0WWxuznHP817xwn2nLjI13_KVEJGAI-f01TJlX6cJpRHeW3bxH5Nt8pf/s1600/keith+family-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw14WPWtnWDPMsMzfqxKVPxWrBa_3ypOHw25K1LVkqalOHQRLfFULhHqaGuiSsPsfB_N7Wz3TUtfQtYAUTWcMS0WWxuznHP817xwn2nLjI13_KVEJGAI-f01TJlX6cJpRHeW3bxH5Nt8pf/s320/keith+family-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Pam, Kieth and Janet WEBB</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Susan Hopes said, Thanks for sharing
this picture. I remember Clyde fervently bearing his testimony on fast and
testimony Sunday's. Larry Martinez said,
Mrs. Crump worked at the Lark Store.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<v:shape alt="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/s720x720/10418393_1536749083274468_245350063774881052_n.jpg?oh=4f767bebdf5dd3b7dca8b3ee6ac2432c&oe=5558E33B&__gda__=1432658699_b320eb4f2f3608a213cadda8154e2d7c" id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_s1026" style="height: 190.95pt; margin-left: 217pt; margin-top: 7.95pt; mso-height-percent: 0; mso-height-relative: page; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-width-percent: 0; mso-width-relative: page; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 243pt; z-index: -251656192;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="10418393_1536749083274468_245350063774881052_n" src="file:///C:\Users\Eugene\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.jpg">
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Here are three Lark
legends. Clyde Crump, Dorus Thomas and Jim Reed. Clyde Crump was the first
bishop of the Lark LDS Ward from 1945 to 1951, Dorus Thomas was the Branch
President of the Lark Branch from 1923 to 1945 and Jim Reed was bishop from
1951 to 1958. The new Lark Ward Building was dedicated in 1956 when Jim Reed
was bishop. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Carol Steel Michaelsen What a
beautiful photo of three wonderful citizens of my favorite town of Lark. All
three contributed unselfishly to the welfare of everyone who lived there. It
brings tears to my eyes remembering times of my childhood in that town. What a
wonderful era and wonderful people to associate with. I am so grateful for
being a part of that time.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-78570227425146834362014-10-23T09:14:00.002-07:002021-08-13T20:22:55.088-07:00Nu falmer skoven ved DRs pigekor<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">Now
fades the woods throughout the land</span></i></b><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">Nu
falmer skoven trindt om land<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">By
Nikoli Frederik Severin Grundtvig, 1844<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Song: German, approximately 1640</span></b><br />
<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3w0GcMn6AerakFTzH9LORafl7OcArTq0P1P88ejl6qP8CTB4M0hxG4XJWlDusgMsavyRe7A00Z-A_k8R9HwU6Mnxqtydw_xXd8V7vKq7FSdAvdfZASbPUKlaDFsIBRnJom0sLL6MKw6k/s1600/unnamed+%252826%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="300" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3w0GcMn6AerakFTzH9LORafl7OcArTq0P1P88ejl6qP8CTB4M0hxG4XJWlDusgMsavyRe7A00Z-A_k8R9HwU6Mnxqtydw_xXd8V7vKq7FSdAvdfZASbPUKlaDFsIBRnJom0sLL6MKw6k/s200/unnamed+%252826%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MUEXPUT7BPXZElqEUpvg_RvejBBBmGS8khRhWMNwepnN2qwWd7ZRYo6mon4cNe3SxcD3melXDZbMjAYBRXGAWMfoO5XjOxNc3gSsSAlee2YsKR-cZtfA0_fbFtJ8M88tr3pP5XaoX44K/s1600/328431.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="940" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MUEXPUT7BPXZElqEUpvg_RvejBBBmGS8khRhWMNwepnN2qwWd7ZRYo6mon4cNe3SxcD3melXDZbMjAYBRXGAWMfoO5XjOxNc3gSsSAlee2YsKR-cZtfA0_fbFtJ8M88tr3pP5XaoX44K/s400/328431.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Grundtvig Church</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><b>from Anni Damkjaer</b></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Melodi: Tysk, ca. 1640</span></b></div>
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</div>
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nu falmer skoven trindt om land,<br />
og fuglestemmen daler,<br />
nu storken flyver over strand,<br />
ham følge viltre svaler.<br />
<br />
Hvor marken bølged nys som guld<br />
med aks og vipper bolde,<br />
der ser man nu kun sorten muld<br />
og stubbene de golde.<br />
<br />
Men i vor lade, på vor lo,<br />
dér har vi nu Guds gaver,<br />
der virksomhed og velstand gro<br />
i tøndemål af traver.<br />
<br />
Og han, som vokse lod på jord<br />
de gyldne aks og vipper,<br />
han bliver hos os med sit ord,<br />
det ord, som aldrig glipper.<br />
<br />
Ham takke alle vi med sang<br />
for alt, hvad han har givet,<br />
for hvad han vokse lod i vang,<br />
for ordet og for livet!<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--></span></b><br /><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
<!--[endif]--></span></b><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3iEsIKMInOo" width="459"></iframe>Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638876189612996657.post-78740701361850037152014-10-22T13:30:00.002-07:002021-10-17T11:38:04.767-07:00"Det Kimer Nu Til Julefest" with Aarhus Girls Choir<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>DANISH CHRISTMAS SONG</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i> from </i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>GRUNDVIG CATHEDRAL</i></b><br />
<b style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJFCZZm_e5c78jcNKgqQ-IhqRAkxVz6-npx_WeE1mtGjAoEw2v6i3d3SYu8NNoj40eQ-QA8O3o84clJI_tK9VmWkaf9gRYpI4A155x3thjPDMETerzP7B3Jzr92CXWe4GV7LZ2X_JVSxT/s1600/328431+%25281%2529.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="940" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJFCZZm_e5c78jcNKgqQ-IhqRAkxVz6-npx_WeE1mtGjAoEw2v6i3d3SYu8NNoj40eQ-QA8O3o84clJI_tK9VmWkaf9gRYpI4A155x3thjPDMETerzP7B3Jzr92CXWe4GV7LZ2X_JVSxT/s400/328431+%25281%2529.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Grundtvig Catheral</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>from my friend Anne Damkaer living in Herning Denmark</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i></i></b></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Carole Nielson married Gardell Grundvig and in </i></b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;">Copenhagen, Denmark there is a Cathedral named the Grundtvig Cathedral.
The church was named after </span><span style="font-size: large;">Gardell's Great Uncle. </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The story behind the church is they used it to
copy the</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Oz </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">Castle in the Wizard of Oz. </b><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pe3oo62BaYA/TiDXrIGeN_I/AAAAAAAAG-I/vCnp3Ou9Oyc/s1600/IMG_0170.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pe3oo62BaYA/TiDXrIGeN_I/AAAAAAAAG-I/vCnp3Ou9Oyc/s1600/IMG_0170.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i></i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">By the way, there is a church in Esbjerg named after
him, too. </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">Nikolai Frederick Severin Grundtvig</span></i><span style="font-size: large;"> was one of our most famous psalm writers and is
known by all people in Denmark. One of our most famous </span><span style="font-size: large;">Christmas songs is
written by him. "Det kimer nu til julefest".</span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>"The ringing now for a Christmas party."</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="268" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3dLlbZAq7OA" width="323" youtube-src-id="3dLlbZAq7OA"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div></div><br /><br />
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Genehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906677853956093427noreply@blogger.com0