Duella Eyre Hamblin

History of Henry Marcene Hamblin and Duella Eyre, written byy their Daughter, Geraldine Hamblin Bangerter: My folks had just moved from Cumberland, Wyoming, where my father was a coal miner, to Erickson Lane just a few days before Mama went to the L.D.S Hospital to have me. The setting was Spring 1924. Mama was 30 yrs. old, Daddy-28 and Ivan-3 yrs. old.. Erickson Lane was graveled with slag from the Murray smelter and when a small child fell down, especially a girl, it was curtains for the tender-fleshed knees on the sharp edged rocks. A girl always wore dresses no matter what the age or activity. The white picket fence contained a two-room frame home with a lean-to quarters added on the back. A door entering into each of the 3 quarters was prefaced with a simple, rough-board porch. The quarters changed purposes at intervals. For example, the big bedroom became the family living room, the kitchen lean-to became a bedroom, and the middle big room shifted at times from kitchen to family room. With the plumbing all being outside, it didn't matter which room was the kitchen. We could carry water into one room as well as another. Gracing the dirt yard was a rather large building we called the wash house. There the laborious task of washing unfolded every Monday. A good long day of 8 or 10 hours to get it done. At times, Mama did it all by hand. I remember seeing her blistered knuckles from the scrubbing on the washboard and the cloroxing. She hung a proud line of white dishtowels. A coal stove in the washroom allowed her to boil the whites to get them whiter. I can remember seeing her cut the laundry-bar soap into chips before putting it into the water, when we eventually had an antique washer with board sides. Sometimes it was my job to cut the chips into the water.. Mama started the wash with the whitest of whites, i.e. the garments, then the sheets and pillowcases were the next batch. As each was wrung through the wringer, a little more soap was added and a little more hot water. Then the dishtowels and towels, then the colored and then the overalls (not Levis) and work socks, then the floor rugs and rags. The water was saved and carried out by the bucket full to scrub the 3 porches and finish off the wash house floor. Water was plentiful but the good soapy water was an asset. The job then was not complete until all the clothes had been brought in from off the clothes line, folded and put away. The ironing was dampened for the next day. One cannot say much for the "good old days" when it comes to the task of keeping the family cleanly clothed and pressed. It was solid hard work. Even the ironing was a big job. Material was. all cotton, often muslin sheets and clothes took starching to look their best, which made ironing an art. I can remember when Mama did the ironing with "flatirons" as they were called, heated on the stove. On a hot summer day, to keep the irons hot made the kitchen as hot as Hades.

The wash house was a porched-in affair with screens all around about half way up the wall. It made a delightful summer bedroom for us kids. There as we lay awake looking out at the stars, listening to the rustling leaves, we could hear the musical sound of the water running incessantly from the life giving artesian well. It was here in the wash house we were sleeping--I suppose that night of all nights for a purpose-when Grandma Eyre came out of the house to tell us we had a new baby sister. I was 9 1/3 years old--Val Sundwall had just delivered his first baby after starting his practice. Mama never told us she was expecting. The closed-mouth approach bordered on modesty--maybe embarrassment. The story of the stork never rang true when asked how she got here. It was a mysterious and exciting event that had dropped out of heaven--an answer to prayer as I had prayed all my life for a baby sister. We all helped in the naming. It wasn't until after the blessing that I discovered she would be Darlene and not LouJean or Lujean as was discussed.

No one could have felt wealthier as owners of a gold mine than we did as owners of our artesian well. This was an extension of our home facilities. The cold water was carried in buckets to the kitchen "wash stand'. A tin cup or a dipper was part of the convenience in either getting a drink of water or carrying it to where it was needed. The other part of the system of watering was a tea kettle, which came conveniently hot on the coal stove and a copper boiler. Keeping the boiler filled on the end of the stove was a daily chore for some of us--mostly it was Ivan's responsibility. But my father probably thought he had never had it so good in conveniences as compared to his childhood where his parents had to have water hauled from the river and up a long steep bank to the log cabin home on the Black's Fork River. The few feet to the well from the house was a pleasure by comparison. The water from the well furnished the water to wash our faces and hands in the "wash dish" on the "washstand" where the bucket was kept. Once a week we had the Saturday bath. The galvanized round wash tub was placed in the middle of the floor. The smaller children got in first, and then a little more hot water poured in from the "boiler" or tea kettle was added for the. next one, and this until the last and oldest was bathed. Then the Mother and then the Father had their turn--all in the same water. When their turns came we were tucked off in a bedroom until all was safe to come out. We loved bath time. The cozy room by the warm stove, the clean feeling, and a big job out of the way.

The chores of keeping house and people clean required a certain amount of art and organization. Spring cleaning was a real thing. After a winter of being closed in and the wood and coal burners had allowed some soot and smoke to escape, the white curtains showed the evidence. The walls had taken on an even, but darker shade of grey and at the first signs of a warm day in spring, everything came out of the house. The springs and mattresses were moved out in the sun. Then we beat them good for dust. Mama washed and starched the curtains and pinned them on frames to dry. The rugs produced the wire rug beaters, and we all took turns giving the carpets a beating over the lines on which they were extended. Washing the walls and woodwork produced black water. There existed a material called wallpaper cleaner, having the consistency of and looking much like our modern day play-dough. We would start at the to p of the wall making a straight stroke downward and off would come the smoke from the wall. A cleaning with wallpaper cleaner would do for two or maybe three years...done once in the spring each year and then it would need new wallpaper. Mama and Daddy were expert wallpaper hangers. Daddy did the heavy work, Mama did the exactness of matching and staying on the parallel. A scaffold was built so she could work the ceiling moldings and upper areas. The big "dishpan", the pan we washed dishes in, held the paste. Mama made the paste from flour and water. As soon as she finished making the paste, we had refreshments. We would each take our bowls, put some of the paste in it, sugar and cream in and sit down to a delicious taste. I always hated to see them spoil the good food by putting the paste brush in it and going to work.

Mama and Daddy were artists as they measured and cut the roll of wallpaper for a whole wall at once--putting one panel upon another-in the order they would come. As the paste lapped over the edge of one, it fell on the upcoming panel in perfect order.

Springtime was paint-up time too for the baseboards and cupboards. Then the windows were cleaned and the curtains hung. The appliances for cleaning the floors were a broom and a dust mop. A "mop stick" with a well-selected rag in it for washing the floors was always handy for spills. But to do a weekly floor scrubbing with the "mop stick" as we called it was a slovenly way to do it. A good job was consistently on the hands and knees. This way one could wipe carefully the mop boards along the wall, get in the corners and scrape up carefully the spills that were hardened. After a good scrubbing came the waxing. We thought the last of the great inventions had been made Johnson's produced the "liquid" wax that shined without any polishing. We first approached it with skepticism, but soon adopted the easy way. The kitchen floor was covered with linoleum which had a wearing time of only a few years. Worn-through spots around the sink were soon covered with a throw-rug ... often one made from rags on a homemade loom. These were the best rugs which lay down well. How great the invention of linoleum-type floor covering that never wore down to the bare, black, tar-paper-type backing to show the ugly evidence of being old and used. The outdoor toilet was the only thing we knew until about 1940. It had its annual moving day, too, and was a project for Daddy to dig a deep hole six feet deep or more. He did the cover-up without fanfare or worry but as a part of his fatherly chore. It was usually pushed over along with all the other toilets in the neighborhood at Halloween time. It contained the Sears Roebuck catalog so popular in those days both to read and use as toilet tissue. Mama took care of the job of emptying the pot under the bed for night use. Before bed time, we all took a trip to the outside.

When one speaks of three rooms and a PATH, I understand completely. I can remember tripping along on a moonlit night over the crusty snow in my bare feet. Fear of the darkness was MY weakness, and I'd coax someone to come with me. Mama would never refuse if asked and as I would ask her, "Are you afraid of the dark?", she would reply, "Naw, what's there to be afraid of?"...I grew up knowing that Mama was the bravest woman in the world. I truly knew she never knew fear. (This conversation was repeated years later when we lived in the timbers and Daddy .was away, and while we were alone up there, we'd hear the eerie, forlorn howl of the coyotes, sending chills up my spine. To this she answered, "Naw, coyotes won't hurt anybody. They're fun to listen to. I love the sound of coyotes"...Mama was brave). Back to the story of the outdoor privy. I was in senior high school when we purchased a toilet made by the government workers. It had a cement floor, one good seat only (instead of the two-holer) and a lid. We put chemicals in it for the first time, and it was respectable and painted with a door on a hinge that helped it to shut automatically. We were on high. But it was still mortifying to have my friends from Murray come and see this high-class facility. Their homes had never known an outdoor toilet. I felt it a stigma against me although my friends were many and they loved to come to our place which seemed more out in the country to them. So you can see what a great transition it was when in 1940, Daddy put in an indoor bathroom. Ivan had just left for the Navy and dug the cesspool before he left. We had at last gone mod.

The Hamblin place on Erickson Lane had 3 large Poplar trees with the trunks at least a yard or more in diameter. This furnished ample shade and summer air-conditioning. But on the rest of the .7 acres were 7 or 8 large fruit- bearing trees of different varieties. Also 3 or 4 pear trees and two plum trees. A piece of land about .3 or .4 of an acre was reserved for a garden. When I spoke of life giving well, it is true. Daddy worked hard and so did Mama to produce enough vegetables to last us the year around. Celery, cabbage, potatoes, corn (always dried as we had no way to store it otherwise--corn drying was a big task) ... carrots, beets, cucumbers for pickles that were so vital, green peppers, Swiss chard and tomatoes, egg plants, turnips, parsnips, and onions. Daddy had an irrigation system all his own, turning the well on full force to get it watered. When the garden wasn't being watered, the water hose was running somewhere on the grass and flowers. In the winter, the well continued running partly to prevent it from freezing up--consequently, grotesque ice formations formed around it. The water was diverted down a small ditch which wended itself a block away along neighbors' fence lines to the creek. In the spring, we picked watercress from its edges.

Mama used the garden produce beginning with the early peas, lettuce, rhubarb, and radishes, and every night we found some delicious vegetable dish and salad on the table. They were cooked perfectly and presented piping hot to watering mouths. Mama made every meal a banquet and took pride serving it and not just dishing it out. She was an artist as a cook. We must look beyond the apparent ease with which it was served. First, there was the picking it, cleaning or shelling it, which took time and effort. Mama couldn't just pick the vegetable, but weeded it as she went. The cleaning of the vegetable took place at the well, with a scrub brush, paring knives, and dishpans for handling them. The refreshing atmosphere by the singing well and a cool drink from its inviting font reminded us of the luxury we enjoyed as owners of this well. Daddy built a box around the well with a shelf inside the door. The 4-inch pipe went up through the box and served much as a coil on a deep-freeze. The beads of water on the pipe's exterior inside the box reflected its cooling capacity. This helped us do away with the old icebox to which we paid the ice man for ice when he came around with his truck.

Daddy was often heard to say that their well had the best and coldest water anywhere in the world. I have since traveled half the world and can verify that he told the truth.

We always had a cow until I was about 16 years old. I shall never forget some of the cow-milking experiences. I looked forward as a small child to go with Daddy up the lane to the neighbor's pasture to milk--delightful fun, carefree times! Our dog Prince looked forward to it too and would rustle up 5 minutes ahead of Daddy and have the cow there waiting for him. Daddy got a kick out of that.*??? I shall never forget how tragic it seemed when we learned our last cow had Bangs Disease or undulant fever. This meant she had to be sold to the fox farm. It would cost $40 to get another one and that was an impossibility.

They always raised a wenling pig or two from spring to fall and then butchered it about Thanksgiving time for our winter meat. Mama and Daddy took the hams and either cured them themselves or had it done. We had two wooden barrels filled with brine and the hams were put in there to cure. We always had a ham hanging in our outer shed during the winter and when Mama needed meat, she just went out and cut off a few slices.

We always purchased baby chicks in the spring from the hatchery and fried meat was had all summer and fall long. We always had enough chickens to furnish our own eggs. Mama's job was to feed the animals. Pulling weeds for the pigs and throwing wheat to the chickens. We kids gathered up the fallen apples and any other old produce. Mama didn't just feed the animals, she enjoyed watching them go down on what she gave them. I remember saying to her many times, "Come on, Mama, don't watch them any more!" The swill or slop bucket was our disposal and took care of the whey, the old milk and peels.

I can remember helping Mama make cheese. She put the curd in gallon cans with the ends cut out and then put heavy weights on top and left it to cure. I enjoyed the curd but her cheese was delicious.

Churning the butter was my job with the butter churn in a glass bottle. It was a monotonous job as it had to be turned slowly and it took a long time. Watching Mama pat the water out and season it with salt was intriguing. The place kept Mama and Daddy busy. At 5:00 in the morning you could hear Daddy outside hoeing the garden and working at cultivating. He kept at it until he came into the house to get ready for work. Breakfast was hardy--a large bowl of well-cooked Germade mush, fruit, and two eggs, meat, toast, and milk..

When Daddy left Cumberland his first job in SLC was at the Bennion (Murray) flour and feed mill. He was the truck driver and lifted hundreds of sacks of grain and flour off and on those trucks for years. He loaded and delivered. His travels took him to Bingham, Tooele, Granger, South Jordan and all over the Salt Lake Valley. When he went to Bingham or a place far away, he would often come and get one of us children to go with him. That was a great delight to me and Ivan and Dale.

The hard work at the mill took its toll on Daddy. The heavy sacks of grain made him round shouldered. He was affectionately nicknamed "Ham" but some called him "Slim". When one of the fellows at work called him "Crook"-- brought on by his round shoulders, he let him know he didn't like it. When the guy called him that again, Daddy let him have it. The result was a fight in which Daddy lost his front tooth. For many years, he had that wide space there-- too poor to do anything about it.

As little children after our naps, Mama would get us ready and we would walk up toward Murray to meet Daddy coming home from work in the old Model "T" Ford. How fun it was as we encountered each other.

I remember Mama and Daddy saying how glad they were that he didn't have to work in the coal mines. But I also remember that the money he earned at the mill was never given him in one paycheck but just $5.00 at a time as he would go ask for it. I remember the house payment was $13.00 a month, and it took effort to save up enough from month to month. The only other utility bill to pay was the light bill. We had very few appliances so it only served to pay for the 3 bulbs hanging from each of the three rooms on an electrical wire--no shade-or fixture around it, just a bulb. Mama and Daddy thought it great after having had gas lanterns only, out in Wyoming. They never thought of much more. They had no need for electrical outlets ... no iron, no toaster, no radio, no clocks, no vacuum or mixer, etc.

Disaster struck in the form of a depression when I was 6 years old. If we thought we were poor before, we were now devastated. To keep the home was the prime objective. One winter we packed up to go to Panaca, Nevada, where Daddy thought he could sell washing machines with my Uncle Levi Blad married to Daddy's sister. We stayed like what seemed a long time-maybe two months. Daddy wasn't successful at selling anyway, but we got word that my Grandpa Eyre had died in California, so they loaded us all up on a cold February day and in the old Model "T" went back home. The one thing I remember about this was that Mama had made me a little fur coat out of my Aunt's fur coat. I just loved it, was attached to it. She suggested that I was growing out of it and I should give it to my younger cousin. I rejected the idea in horror, but when we arrived back in Murray, my coat was gone. I cried uncontrollably, not only from the loss of the coat but from the trickery of my mother. I got over it after Mama explained the situation.

Daddy always went to work but it is not clear to me just what he did in the next 2 to 3 years. Darlene was born in the middle of the depression and for 6 months of the year, he worked in the timbers--and this until Darlene was 6 years old and went to school. Mama and Daddy still planted the garden and this furnished some of the supplies while we lived in the timbers.

The years living in the mountains became our legacy, they were choice times of family association but hard work and little pay for the folks. We had chickens in the yard in the mountains. One time, Daddy traded 2 of them to the sheepherders for a whole sheep. Mama did great things with food in the mountains... baking in an old sheepherder's stove our bread. We had cakes and goodies baked also. Mama turned out delicious meals out of nothing. Daddy, Ivan, Dale, and I would leave to walk a mile up the trail to cut trees--Dale and I peeled the logs. We worked hard and about. lunch time, Mama could be heard coming up the trail singing us a greeting. Sometimes it was the song "Little Sir Echo". Darlene was trailing along with her. The fare would be bread and butter and a gallon thermos jug filled with home-made soup with the usual garden vegetables but with corned beef as the meat base. Nothing ever tasted more delicious. I was about 15, Dale about 12 yrs. old, and Ivan about 17. When we passed through town for supplies, the newspapers were talking of war. We were glad to be far from these threatening worries.

When Daddy left the work in the mountains, he hired as a laborer for our neighbor who was a home builder. This began his career as a carpenter. He picked it up fast. Times got better. We began to improve our place. Somewhere along the line, the Veterans of World War I were given some back pay compensation. With that Daddy and Mama bought living room furniture. Earlier than that they purchased one of the first radios in town ... the old "Atwater Kent". Many evenings we spent listening to our favorite shows while we worked or did the dishes: "Lux Radio Theater" with Don Ameche – Busters – One Man's Family – Myrt and Marg – and Amos and Andy... were some of the favorites . The George Burns and Gracie Allen show ... The Jack Benny show – Fibber McGee and Molly... We were great at playing ???? gummy. We never considered cards bad and this is where I became quick with numbers. Tiddley Winks and Jack Straws were other good games we played and Parcheesi. Music with Mama playing the piano kept our home filled with happiness. When Ivan and I were just 6 or 8 years old, she had us singing in church programs. Ivan had a good voice but he hated to sing in front of people and this ended my career early as a singer. But for several years we sang all over. Mama persevered in teaching us a new songs. One time she had us perform over the radio on the "Children's Hour". I sang "Little White Daisies".

As children, we knew no want or hunger. We knew no fear. We felt a complete freedom from earth's cares. The Erickson Lane home was a child's paradise. We worked first and played second. We each had our own apple tree to climb. Ivan fell out of his one day onto a 50 gallon drum, hitting his lip on the edge cut- it wide open, the scar of which he carries today. We ran through the pastures and after a big rain storms went with Mama there with our gunny sacks in hand to gather the mushrooms as they popped up--the fare for the evening meal would be mushroom gravy over bread. We swam in the big cottonwood creek a block away and floated down it on homemade rafts. We built swings in the trees and swung for hours. We played Cops and Robbers, Hide ‘n Seek, and Kick the Can endlessly.

When I was about 12, 1 grew to my full height rapidly. I was gangly, awkward and all arms and legs. Outside the house was still where I found the most fun. One day Daddy must have noticed in me some inkling of a young woman. Now you have to remember that Daddy, having been raised on a Wyoming homestead with only a fifth grade education, was not given to white-collar speeches but he had a message to give me. He said in his loud natural voice, "Dotter, I gotta shot-gun handy fer the first feller that comes a callin' that ain't a Mormon!" How well I remember my quiet blushing response, "Oh, Daddy!" It wasn't a long speech but he got his message over. I have since learned that Daddy was "speaking with the tongue of Angels"...

We made up many of our toys and play things ... stilts to walk on, rubber guns made with clothes pins, milk cans made to fit the shoes. We took turns riding down the hill on 45th South in the little red wagon--we wore one out every year.

Mama made all my clothes up to the end of junior high school and then some of the time we bought them. I, as well as my brothers, had our best and only shoes .... ??? shined up for Sunday. Most of my clothes were made from cast off old dresses of my aunts. Mama was a good seamstress and could make a dress copied from one she had seen in the store.

As a little girl, Mama would often put my hair up in rags. I didn't mind the funny look the rags gave but I did mind her trying to comb out the kinky hair. She was my barber and after the style of curlers in rags, I wore it "shingled", they called it, and then it went in waves. She put it up with "wave-set" made from flax-seed at home. I enjoyed this style as there were no rough tangles and it was easy to comb. My hair, being naturally curly, took to this and all my friends in grade school wanted hair like mine. One day, Aleen Robinson came home with me with permission from her mother to have my mother cut her hair. Mama did and fixed it cute the first -time, but Aleen's hair was straight as a string so it never looked as well.

Mama tried to teach me manners. If company was there it was impolite to interrupt and if I did she would say in a kindly way, "Little children should be seen and not heard".

I was with her to run errands shopping down town in Murray one afternoon. She was dressed nicely and wearing a hat which she always did in those days. As we were walking along, I was skipping ahead and jumping up to touch the fringe of the awnings over the store windows. I said, "Look Mama. I can touch the fringe!" "Yes" she said rather quietly, "but it's not very lady-like". I never jumped up again in my life to hit the fringes.

Mama wanted her girls in dresses and frills. I envied my brothers who hid no worries in hopping fences or climbing trees. Mama did not relent. I remember one day deliberately going to the rag box where I had seen her throw my brothers worn out overalls. At last I could have a pair of my own. I didn't care if they were ragged. I put them on and went about my playing. Never had I felt so at ease. It was some time later when Mama saw me and then she said with apparent surprise, "Well! Whose little boy are you?" I shied and hung my head. It was many years later before I ever wore boys clothing again.

Our good times were very much centered around family and old friends. Every week we visited someone it seemed. This was the outlet from work and worries – it didn't cost anything – visiting and laughing and playing together. Not many weeks would pass that we didn't go to Grandma Eyre's and take something from our garden for her to eat. Often the visits were more important than going to our church meetings it seemed. Church was most generally held at 7 p.m. at night and no one seemed to worry if we missed. Sunday school was the most frequently attended meeting. Mama always had a calling in one organization or another to play the piano or organ or lead the music. For years, it was Relief Society, but would change from one organization to the other, even to the MIA and Primary. In later years, she was the ward organist.

The pre-World War II years saw us coming out of the backwoods so it seems. Daddy added another large room and at that time he put in the bathroom. They owned all the appliances a person could want and even a good second-hand car. They were at last able to have some of the finer things.

It wasn't until after I had graduated from nursing in 1946 that they were able to get a refrigerator. It was the only one they ever owned. I had been the Private Duty nurse for Andrew Easton's wife and took care of her the night she died. He came to me afterward and said he would like to do something for me. He owned a store that sold appliances and asked it there was something we would like to buy. I mentioned the refrigerator. He said, "I have one in my store window, if you want that, I will sell it to you." And so he did. That was just after the war when appliances weren't available yet.

Henry Biography Part II.

Daddy was an athlete. We had seen pictures of him with the Lyman Basketball team in his teenage years. We had seen the medals he had won while broad jumping and high jumping and racing while in the army in France. We had seen his catcher's mask from the war days. We sat at the round oak kitchen table he won from foot-racing. He often said he'd furnished their first home in this way - all but the piano - their prized and first big purchase. We have seen him jumping in the picture to what he said was 6'6" - just like a grasshopper - his head higher than his feet as he pulled his legs up under his chin.

Now he played on the Murray Eagles softball team. The CCC boys or those in the Civilian Conservation Corp ... a government-formed corp to give young men something to do during the depression years had built an impressive amphitheater around the ball diamond at Murray Park. This is where we hurried to about three nights a week as soon as supper was over to watch Daddy play ball. For us kids, it was the swing and slippery-slides most of the time.

If Daddy was the athlete, Mama was his counter part in the. music world. For over 20 years she sang with her special friends from Millcreek Ward--Lou Metcalf, Lucille Gehring, Cloe Park, Enid Park, and Ella Croxford and Jessie Rowsell the pianist. Mama was in her early 30's when they began singing together. Mama had a rich, low, contralto voice and her pitch was true. One by one, her little group passed away, but she and her friends, Cloe and Lou, sung together when they were in their 70's at special parties, churches, and funerals. Their old voices were astonishing to hear and one could not help but feel a tinge of nostalgia.

Mama organized another such group of younger women in the Murray 8th Ward and she was their accompanist. They now have sung together for 20 years.

Mama was in demand as an accompanist. She had a special talent to lift a person to do their best as they performed. She was a buoyancy to their performance.

Once again, we must look beyond the performance to the hours of practice in session after session in order to be prepared and then to the unseen, unsung, accompanist, who was hardly noticed. If we wanted to spend time with Mama, it was best to call and make an appointment as she may be at a practice or a performance. Daddy and Mama enjoyed being where the people were. I doubt they ever missed the State Fair or County Fair in Murray. I remember that for several consecutive years, Mama won the milkmaids contest at the county fair.. Daddy wouldn't miss the horse pulling contest for anything.. Their own preparations for the fair were to add their produce, plants and flower arrangements to be judged with all the rest--the result being piles of first and second place ribbons. They were enthusiastic participants. Even today, something quickens within me when I think of the Salt Lake County Fair in Murray. The footraces, the pie-eating contests and the enjoyable family program in the evening, the ferris wheel, the Merry-go-round and the cotton candy, the band concerts that I played the trumpet in for six years, and last but not least, the rodeo. Why, wouldn't I emit a special exuberance - the real me - on our first date when Grant took me to the County Fair Rodeo? What better romantic setting than Love-at-first- sight at the Fair?

Mama and Daddy had box seats and were earnest fans of the Salt Lake Bees, a baseball team. The folks were pushovers for a parade. They enjoyed people. They often went with their crowd of friends from the Millcreek Ward days to the "Rainbow Rendezvous" and later to "Coconut Grove" which later became the "Terrace Ballroom".... I disliked the nights they went dancing as I didn't like babysitters.

They never missed a picnic or an outing and because they went, everyone had a good time. They never missed a wedding or a funeral.

I have often said that while they moved from Wyoming, they really never left there. As they attended as many activities of importance as possible through the years. The Fourth of July Celebration in Lyman was the outstanding event of the year. Daddy still continued winning all his relatives in the track races as long as I can remember. It was a thrill as we could hear the crowd shout for their favorite runner. "C'mon Marcene!" could be heard from many. Daddy often told the story that it was the urging shouts from Grandpa Eyre who surged him to win over his younger brother Robert (Uncle Bob) after which his mother, Grandma Hamblin, chastised him for doing so.

It was the great occasion of the year as Mama prepared us to leave for a visit to Wyoming. I remember the trips in the Model "T" Ford. The road after you left Parley's Canyon was dirt road all the way. You couldn't find places to stop for food. Consequently, the car was packed with blankets, clothing, and then plenty of food. We ate delicious handouts from Mama all the way. It was a good 10 or 12 hour trip (now 2 and a half hours). Going up the mountains was a slow task as the radiator would heat up and we would have to stop to let it cool off. We could ride all day and never see another car coming or going. Daddy was prepared for any event with shovels', tools, jack and extra gas and water and not least, a tire pump and patching. I was near 18 before we had a car that could make it over the Parley's Summit without stopping. I recall the day we all gave a laughing shout when to our own surprise, we did it. The War years were busy. Mama worked at the Arms plant making bullets. Daddy worked as a carpenter in the arms program building buildings, etc. at the Toole Ordinace Depot and at Clearfield. I graduated as a nurse near the end of the war. Ivan and Dale were both in the Navy. The war effort required gas rationing and rationing of some food items like sugar. .Everyone had a Victory Garden. While Mama and Daddy were saving money, many things were not to be purchased as factories that manufactured refrigerators were manufacturing things for the army. There were no new cars to buy, etc.

The years were more affluent than the depression days. While I belabored our poor circumstances, we were not alone. Most everyone we knew was poor but we came out of it unscathed except the hard times were never forgotten by we who went through it.

I was now out of nursing and had not found a companion. Our boy friends, who went to war, many times never came back. Some married girls in areas where the army took them. So it was slim pickin's. Daddy could see this and as I was approaching 26 to 27 years old, he gave me one of his adroit lessons. "Now don't be like some women I know who flew around all the daisies and lit in the garbage." This lesson struck home and as I dated I wondered, was he a daisy or wasn't he?

As I mentioned earlier that steady attendance at Sacrament meeting seemed lacking. Yet, we understood that we were fully active Mormons. In my growing up period, 20 percent attendance at Sacrament meeting was normal. Sunday School was well attended by all the family, but this too could be missed without too much being said. However, my parents helped me to gain a testimony early, and I can never remember wanting to stay home from church on Sunday.

For nearly 60 years, Mama held a calling in music. Daddy was not a leader but was a home teacher for years. When I was a senior in high school, he was called on a 2-year stake mission and did a great job with his companion, going out two nights a week to teach the gospel and they found success in baptizing. The last ten years of his life he was active in the High Priests quorum ... most of the time being the secretary and he was a good one.

Mama and Daddy loved to go to General Conference to the last day especially--on Sunday. Here, they would run into friends and family from all over. This was traditional before the church got so big and television took over. Daddy had a testimony of tithing and from my childhood on up can remember him asking Mama if the tithing was paid. He always wanted to make sure of that.

Daddy had a great appreciation for his pioneer heritage and would enjoy telling stories by the hours. He revered the life of Jacob Hamblin and read his history many times. One time, Grant's parents and my parents took three days off together and drove through the areas in southern Utah which Jacob spoke of in his history. We had a tremendous time as each related their favorite story. Daddy embellished it with some of his own. We should write these stories.

Daddy never found fault with the leaders. On the contrary, he was one who could enjoy each one for his differences. Daddy was the one who could be depended upon when it came to skills and muscle work, whether it was putting up the tables and chairs for a banquet or putting in a day at the welfare farm, or a night at the cannery or a special building or repair job at the church. I don't believe Daddy every said, "No" to anything. He was a man's man and when he went the men enjoyed him. If a chapel was being built, he was there working on it, sharing his tools, showing others how to work as well as accomplishing his own labors. His place during the meetings was by Mama who sat by the organ. He supported her 100% in all her callings.

It was September 1969.

Mama was ill in St,. Marks Hospital suffering from cancer. Daddy was visiting her twice a day. Her room contained dozens of arrangements of flowers which he would bring her every day. He would pick them himself and do his best to arrange them and then another beautiful bouquet would appear. His unstinting devotion and love for Mama found expression in flowers, candy, in his cheerful voice, in his encouragement to her and dozens of little ways his imagination could think of. It is rare to see this kind of attention to a loved one. He tried so hard to help her to live and do for her when she was sick. Mama reciprocated by trying the best she could also and showed her love and appreciation, too.

Daddy called me one morning to tell me of the pain he had in his left arm that had kept him up much of the night. My husband Grant was on his way to work and said he would stop by there. I was getting the children off to school and then I would go over.

While Grant was visiting with him, he said, "Do you want to run a few errands with me?"... and so they went. They picked up Daddy's trousers at the cleaners, went to the bishop's house to pay his tithing, drove to the president of the high priests quorum to take his monthly report and left money in an envelope to pay the paper boy. Daddy was wrapping up his business for the last time.

I came by soon afterward and drove Daddy to the Veteran's hospital. The doctor gave him and EKG and it showed nothing. He wanted to take him for a chest X-Ray and it was decided because he found nothing wrong that I would run a quick errand in down town Salt Lake. To my unhappiness, when I returned an hour later he had had a heart-attack. I have always felt sorry that I left him for that hour when he needed me most. He was put in intensive care and three days later, passed away. This was about September 12, 1969...on a Sunday.

Mama knew he was in the hospital and when we told her she said, "Darn him, why'd he have to go first?". Mama left the hospital long enough to go to the funeral and to the family meal served afterward. She was in her robe in a wheelchair.

Mama stayed in the hospital a month longer ??? and was with us for the next 3 months. This was a precious time for our family to have the privilege of having her there her last days. We remember the experiences we had as she managed Grant as he made the harnesses for the ponies. She suffered pain in a cruel manner and took it like a champion. She was patient in suffering. She enjoyed the noises of the home and the company of the children. One day she said to me, "I don't believe you realize the precious atmosphere you have in your home. You have a wonderful spirit here and the sounds I hear are wonderful." I considered that a compliment. I then tried to look into the heart of the home a little better.

One day, I was visiting with her to get her opinion on us moving to Alpine. I presented the negative features ... we were comfortable in Granger, in 10 years the children would be mostly gone so why go to the bother. I pointed out the work involved to get moved and the chore to set up a new home, etc. After I had expounded all this, I repeated that I wanted her opinion on what I should do. With all the energy her weak frame could submit, she answered with one word, "GO!" This I felt read a lot into her courageous nature.

It was New Years Day, 1970, when Claudio dos Santos and Mary came to see us in Granger. Mama hadn't wanted to get up in a chair all day. I tried to entice her by telling her I wanted her to hear Claudio sing. She, with my help, got up against her good wishes. Cory was seated at the piano and they had a song ready to sing when I walked in with Mama. Instead of sitting in the chair I had all ready for her, she walked straight to the piano bench and sat down by Cory and said, "Move over, I'll play for him." She did, and it was the last piece she would ever play. Her hands were supple, nimble, and flexible even more than anyone I have ever known. The Lord preserved her hands and her musical spirit to enjoy until her dying day.

She passed away in our home on January 11, 1970.

SOURCE: http://thefrees.com/history/taxonomy/term/40