Friday, March 7, 2008

Poem written by Rupert C. Lindsay

Poem written by Rupert C. Lindsay on 24 June 1946


At the portals of this Holy House,

I bow my head in prayer,

And utter words of thanks to God above,

For all the blessings that are mine today,

For his great mercy, and his love.

I pray that faults that I posess,

May not bar one today,

From holding full communion with Thee,

As I go on my way.

I pray that when I enter here,

All worldly strife and sin,

Shall promptly leave my countinence,

And joyous peace flow in.

I pray that every ordinance

Which I perform today,

Shall satisfy the yearning,

Of some brother, passed away

Amen

Rupert C. Lindsay


Friday, July 20, 2007

RUPERT CLYDE LINDSAY
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In reading this narrative, you will note my lack of training in the field of writing-and besides that, this darn typewriter hasn’t fully learned to spell nor to form correct sentences. Sometimes it misses a word here and there and at other times it misses or forgets to use the spacer key between words. Therefore, ignore all mistakes!
I am now in my 81st year. When I want to have something handy and where I can find it quickly, then when I want it, I forget where I hid it---somewhat like our old dog who used to bury a bone. Then when he wanted it he always forgot where it was hidden. It is possible that this fallacy may occur as I go back over my life. I have tried to exercise my memory in the hopes that I may not become senile. Therefore, I will now practice my memory by heritage recital.
I, Rupert Clyde LINDSAY, was born at Heber, Wasatch, Utah, 14 July 1896. My father, Joseph Murdock LINDSAY, was born 4 Aug 1874 at Heber, Wasatch, Utah, the 4th child of Robert LINDSAY amd Sarah Ann Murdock. Robert was born on 19 Apr 1845 at Gatehead, Ayre, Scotland. Sarah Ann was born on the church farm or church pastures at Farmington, Davis, Utah. Her father, Joseph Stacey Murdock, was born 26 June 1822 at Maddson, Mamilton, New York. Her mother was Eliza Clark, born 17 May 1830 at Bishops Frone, Hrfrd, England, and her father was Thomas Henry Clark, one of the Uniter brethern Ministers who joined the L.D.S. Church as a group. He was born 7 May 1805 at Acton, Beauchamp, Wrctr. England. I have in my possession a pedigree of the next 14 generations of this line. Joseph Stacey Murdock’s father was Joseph Murdock, son of William Murdock, son of Samuel Murdock, son of Robert Murdock who was born in 1665 at sterlingshire, Scotland and migrated to America and married Hannan Steadman, 28 apr 1692 at Roxbury, Massachusetts. This direct line has been traced back to royalty. My grandmother, Sarah Ann Murdock, was born 2 Mar 1853. My Paternal great-grandfather was William Lindsay, born 16 May 1821 at Wonlockhead, Dumfres, Scotland. He died 11 Oct 1861 at Kilmarnock, Ayr. Scotland, leaving a wife, Christina Howie and eight children-all of whom migrated to America. She married my great grandfather, Muer as his 2nd, plural wife, making both his two wives my great-grandmothers. My Maternal grandmothers mother Jane Muir Richardson, lst wife of George Muir: 2nd wife was my paternal grandfathers mother, making me rather related to his offspring. They are all good people, of which I need not be ashamed. I am the oldest son and the oldest grandson. I failed to state that George Muir’s first wife’s name was Margaret Hannah, a full cousin of his 2nd wife.
Now these are the generations who came before me. All were converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints (Mormons). Two of my great-grandfathers were L.D.S. Bishops. Joseph S. Murdock was the first Bishop of Heber, Utah and Thomas Henry Clark was, I beleive, the first Bishop of Grantsville, Utah. His wife’s name was Charlotte Gailey, born at Muckcown, England. Five of my great-grandparents were living when I was born. I can remember but three of the, Muir, Christina Howie. I will recount a few of the very first things I can remember.
Some of the very first things I can remember were meeting my father as he came home from working in the
mine and receiving the sandwich he had saved for me and walking down the long foot path that angled down the spill or waste dump at the Ontario Silver Mine in Park City,Utah. Our house was on the east side of the canyon, painted green. I was five years old.
My father, taking me into saloon and setting me on the bar and someone was going to buy me a glass of beer. The bartender got right angry and wouldn’t allow anyone to buy me a beer. The man had a big full mustache. He said if anyone wanted to buy that kid anything,, to give him money. I remember all my pockets were full of dollars, 1/2 dollars, quarters and my hat had a lot of money in it. Someone other than my father took me home. He helped me hold and carry all the money I had. He opened the door to our house and called to mother and said, I’ve brought your son home. My mother said where’s Joes? And the man said he didn’t come home. I dumped all the money I had on the bed, my mother threw her arms around me and began crying. I didn’t want her to cry. I tried to stop her from crying. I kissed her, I loved her---Still she cried and cried. I wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. I cried, and must have cried myself to sleep. I cant’ remember anymore.

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I remember the school house in Park City. I must not have been attending, but visiting. It was on a hillside with many wooden steps leading up from the street, to it.
I remember that in the spare room in the greenhouse, my folks had bought many cans of fruits and vegetables. We kids took all or most all of the labels off and the only way to know what was in the can was to open it.
By the time of about 6 years of age, my folks had moved from Park City back to Center Creek, by Heber, into the same house where my sister, Bessie was born, in July of 1900. About 1902, I remember that Otto and I got a little metal sleigh for Christmas.
On September 2, 1904, I attended my first day at school. I sat between 2 sisters-yes, 3 in a seat. Their last name was Bird and my teacher, Miss Flitner, said how lucky I was to be able to sit between 2 such lovely birds. I loved that teacher very much and got angry at a Mr. Hunley who married my teacher and had her name changed to Mrs. Hunley at Orem Utah. She was in her 70’s and still a very stately and lovely lady.
In June, 1904, my sister, Jocie Mae, was born. We lived in an old Scotchman’s house. His name was David Pride. I remember he was very cross, grumpy old man. We kids kept getting into his garden and berries, so I was sent out to the sheep camp with my father who was helping Uncle Jessup Thomas dock and brand his lambs. Jack Mesnan was doing the docking and he was chewing tobacco and spitting it out the other side of his mouth. There were three of us kids, Otto and a neighbor boy, Alfred Sessions and I were sitting on the top fence pole and watching Jack dock and spit tobacco. He asked us if we wouldn’t like to chew a chaw of tobacco. We said yes if we could spit like he did. He said, “why sure, its easy-look”, and he let out a big spurt. We all took a big chaw. It wasn’t long until all three boys were some real sick cats. We vomited and heaved. Someone had to stop work and take all 3 kids home. Jack got a real cussing from Uncle Jep, and a dock in pay. I don’t believed either of those boys ever chewed tobacco again.
About a month after school started, my sister, Jocie Mae died-the first death I remember in our family. In October, I think.
I had my 8th birthday the 14 Jult 1904, but wasn’t baptized until the 7th of August 1904. I remember that day very well. Bishop William Hugh Harvey and his counselors placed 2 poles crosswise in center creek, with a 2x12 plank place on the upstream of this cross, with several smaller poles adding to the structural strength. Then there was placed on the upstream side, a load of straw and some willows, to help hold the straw. This back up the water, forming a pond of water deep enough to be up to my mid section. Some of the other boys came and told me if I wanted to go swimming, to get on my overalls. I did and went out in Bro. Charles Jensen’s field and there behind some willows, was a swimming hole. There were several people there, even some girls and their mothers. The Bishop, William H. Harvey was standing in the pool. I watched him baptize a Barnes girl, then Wheatley Gibson and I think Alfred Sessions. He called to me and said “you’ve already had your 8th birthday, haven’t you?’ I said yes and he took me by the hand and led me into the coldest water I had ever felt. He asked me my full name. I had been blessed as Rupert Clive Lindsay, but couldn’t write Clive as well as I could Clyde, and none of my folks were there, so I changed my name to Rupert Clyde Lindsay-and it has been that ever since. While I was still shaking from the immersion in that cold water, I was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints by Charles Jensen, 1st Counselor in the Center Creek Ward Bishopric, Wasatch Stake.
In July 1905, my redheaded sister, Jennette was born. I was 9 years old. We called her Nettie. That year my father became ill, ulcers I think. Had to go to Provo hospital and Dr. Aird operated on and he was out of work for quite some time. When he could work, he got a job helping put an electric power plant in the base of Little Mountain, Pleasant Grove, Utah. A large pipeline was laid down the face of the mountain and the power house was at the mouth of the canyon. We moved from Heber to Linden, Utah, into a two room, red brick house that stood between Sam Smiths house and Cobley’s house, just 2 houses north from Culimore’s store. We were across the street and a little south from my mother’s sister, Annie Kirk. About 1 mile west through the field was Grandfather and Grandmother William Richardson’s home and on the east side of the main road running north and south between Provo on the south and Pleasant Grove on the north-that was before the days of the freeways. When the main roads ran through each and every town, there were very few trucks, and what few there were, were small farm trucks. All the freight was moved by railroad, none on the highways-so there wasn’t much traffic on the road.

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I am prompted by the spirit to stop my writing and ponder why the Lord, through his prophet, asked everyone to write their personal history? I know in my very soul that God reveals to His prophet , the things that He, God, wants His children to do for their own good and profit. Also, for his or her children’s children and their spiritual well being, for I know that God will hold me accountable for all the bad training that I have injected into the traditions of my family. Therefore, I realize that I am writing this history for this purpose, that you and I may become better acquainted-and that with all my faults, for I have many, I know that through the power of the Holy Ghost, We can each perfect our lives. We can do this by being exact and definite in our living each and every principle of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I know that the God’s , in the Creation, created an opposite in everything-an up and a down, a black and a white. They, the God’s , did this that we might have “choices”. He, (the Creator) gave us agency that we might be responsible for our own choices. He then place accountability in His program, making it mandatory that we either pay the penalty or reap the reward for the choices we make after we attain the age of accountability, which the Lord has set at 8 years of age. Satan has vowed that he would take every spirit of God and cause them to become like he, himself (miserable!) and lead them into disobedience of God’s commandments, thereby, growing into a hatred of God and His way of life. He will do it very cunningly-a little at a time. But, God will at all time, have available, at our command, the power and strength to withdraw from the forces of Satan, if we but ask and reach into sincerity, having faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. In my opinion, no repentance is fully easy. Bust must be persistent, and consistent and diligent-full of optimism that God does love us and will grant the strength and power to needed to gain victory in sin in any form.
It is a tremendous task when you think of the multiplicity of laws God has established for governing of the earth He created and all the people, His children, He has placed upon it. Now, that I am in the later years of my life, past 80 years, I am now beginning to see and understand that there is a law pertaining to every facet of life and living-happiness, health, wealth, poverty, pain and that our rewards will mandatoraly come to us as we apply each of those laws in the degree of their application. “Example”-if I wish to attain more faith, I must increase my exactness in living those laws which pertain to the receiving of faith. Then, I will most assuredly receive an increase of faith because the laws of God are exact, precise and unchangeable. Therefore, God does not lie nor will he be mocked. You may ask why I have written these many words that seem to be preaching. It is because I know, as I live, that Satan will have a great influence upon the lives of you, my offspring. Some of you will, perhaps unknowingly, be caught up in this trap and be led into paths that are not of Gods origin. This ultimate end will result in a lack of happiness, a disappointment, a sorrow-and those of you, my descendents, who will live a life pattern in a Christlike manner, following, as best you can, the council of the Prophet of the Lord Jesus Christ. You being exact and precise in keeping the commandments, will have joy and peace in your soul and
Happiness in your families.
To you who read these words, they will stand as a witness against you as you stand before the judgement bar of God.
I bear witness that I know with every fibre of my being, that Joseph Smith is the prophet that God sent to the earth to restore the Church of Jesus Christ, in its fullness, having been given every key and power necessary for man to attain exaltation in God’s kingdom. This knowledge, I have attained, through the power of the Holy Ghost by personal revelation to my mind and soul of its surety, its verity.
I felt that I was inspired by the Spirit to insert some of my thinking at this place in the narrative of my life-I did! I will now proceed.
Our family must not have lived more that 2 years in Lindon, Utah. I remember 2 teachers, Miss Clawson, a polite blonde, and Mr. Walker. I have appreciated the efforts of Miss Clawson all my life. She taught and inspired me to be a good writer, to be careful and neat in my writing. I hold Mr. Walker responsible for my not being able to spell very good. We used to have what we called spelling bee’s. The whole class would line up in a single file around the room. The object was to see who could stand up the longest, because as a student misspelled a word, they had to sit down. This would continue, sometimes until but 2 or 3 were left standing. It didn’t take me long to discover how to get out of all that work of standing and worrying about how to spell this or that. If I misspelled a word, I could sit down. There become a contest of wits between the teacher and I, and he gave me only little, few lettered words. I had to figure out some way to misspell andy word given me. I thought I had it-next round the teacher gave me the word “to”. I spelled “too”.

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The teacher said, “correct!”. The next round, he gave the girl ahead of me the word “true” and asked her to spell it very slowly, and she did! Then the teacher gave me the word “true”. I twisted, stalled, stuttered and then I said “troo”-true. The teacher glared at me, the judge said, ”sit down”, mis spelled. I thought I had gained a victory, but I have since learned how badly I defeated myself-lasting a full life through.
About this time, Aunt Elizabeth Lindsay taught school in Pleasant Grove, Utah and the family moved from Linden to Pleasant Grove. We first lived in a Mr. Smith’s house. He was the school principal. Then we moved into an old doby brick (unkyled or dried mud) house, and I remember we got quarantined in it. A red flag was nailed to our house showing we had a contagious sickness. I do not remember of having gone to church even one time either in Linden or Pleasant Grove. We may have done, but I remember none. I remember my school teacher was Mary Gleason, a lovely woman who spent her life teaching children. I was under her tutorship for 2 years.
At this time, I guess the Lindsay family, at the suggestion of Aunt Elizabeth Lindsay, decided to help their son and brother, Joseph, in a financial way. One of the family would take one of his children to live with them. Aunt Esther Lindsay Anderson and her good husband, Albert Lawrence Anderson, took me into their home at Daniel Creek, Wasatch, Utah. Before I left Pleasant Grove, on Oct 25, 1909, I went into Bishop Swen L. Swensen’s home where he ordained me to the office of a Deacon, after having conferred upon me the Aaronic Priesthood.
I do not remember of having ever passed the sacrament in a church meeting. I remember having cut firewood for an elderly widow as a Deacon. I had lived right back of the church house, one block. I never attended Primary once that I can remember and I don’t remember of my folks having gone to church very often. Mother did go occasionally, when she could. When I went to live with Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Albert Anderson, we attended church every Sunday. I soon learned to milk cows, to catch and harness and fetch horses, to mow, rake, pile and pitch hay. I was, in my opinion, one of the best hay loaders in the whole country and as a hay stacker, I thought I was the best. I was always proud of the many, many haystacks I left standing straight and high. I even got so I could make some nice looking straw stacks.
While living in Daniels Creek Ward, on the 9th of Dec 1912, I was ordained a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood and set apart as a home teacher. The summer before Uncle Albert had either rented or bought the Henline place in Charleston, Utah and I attended and graduated from the 8th grade on June 3, 1911. E.L.Cropper was my teacher and help from him left a great impression on me. On April 1, 1911, I must have been cutting up or something because at recess time, Mr. Cropper told me that I could have no recess on the playground and that I was to sit at my desk and study during that period. After all the kids were out on the grounds playing, I opened the window and jumped out and went around to the front of the building to where Mr. Cropper was standing on the front steps of the building. It being April Fools Day, I stepped up to him and said, “April Fools”-we don’t celebrate April 1st that way anymore. Later that day, I kinda wished I hadn’t celebrated in such a manner, as he took me over his knee, right in front of the whole school, as his witnesses.
One of Aunt Esther’s babies was born-I don’t know if it was Clark or Ray-while they were in Charleston. This was the first time in my life that it came to my realization the crucial intensity of labor pains during a birth. I was alone with Aunt Esther at the time. My job was to tell the Dr. and Uncle Albert. I must have got it done. After the birth, the baby could not take all the milk. They couldn’t find a breast pump and Aunt Esther was in real misery. The Dr. suggested that Uncle Albert try to nurse. He tried, but couldn’t draw any milk as he had trouble with his teeth getting in the way. Uncle Albert called me into the house and asked me to try, but I declined to even try. But Aunt Esther was crying and in such misery and pleading for me to try. The Dr. talked of how charitable this act would be-so I consented to try. No trouble, the milk was sweet. Aunt Esther slept in peace. I rendered further service as needed. Two or three weeks later, this same Dr. came and got me and took me to Midway, Utah, to render the same service. I did, but very reluctantly.
I would like to refer to other occurances that were first in my memory. This happened before we moved to Chatleston. Uncle Albert and Aunt Esther had gone out on the summer sheep range to relieve or replace the regular camp tender, so that those people could have a 2 weeks vacation. I went along. The sheep change bedding grounds every few days. As the feed grew scarce, they would move to better feed. As the bedding ground (the place where they sleep) was changed, also was the salt trough moved and filled with salt. This day, the salt trough had been moved, but no salt put in the trough. So, Uncle Albert sent me to the new campground with a bucket of salt.

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I found the trough, filled it with salt and started on my return to the old campsite, which was over the other side of the ridge in the next canyon. As I ascended the well traveled path up the bottom of the small gulley, with bushes on both sides of the path, almost touching each other, I came face to face with what I thought to be a big gray dog. We both stopped, the dog growling and showing his teeth, and I, my heart pounding like it wanted to get out of my body, my mind was racing, trying to decide if I should turn and run or stand my ground. My prayer was that the dog would turn and go back up the path. After what seemed like hours, looking at each other, no deer could have run faster than I did and reported to Uncle Albert, “a dog!” He said that no dog would be up in these hills without its master. “I better go look.” He grabbed his rifle, jumped on his horse and in a few minutes we, Aunt Esther and I heard a shot. Soon Uncle Albert came into camp, dragging behind him the big gray dog-which Uncle Albert said was a very large timber wolf-the first one I had ever seen. I believe I was about 12 years old.
Another thing I remember of those days in Daniel Creek was when Uncle Albert Anderson had a very well bred young mare. He had taken her to a very expensive Sire, and when the colt came, it was a real beautiful thing-long slender legs and a most handsome head with a right white diamond shaped spot in the center of its forehead. It was a real beauty. It was hay mowing time and all the horses were needed as we were mowing, raking, hauling, etc.
Uncle Albert rigged up two teams for mowing hay, one for him and one for me. I took old Blaze, the grandmother, on the right side and the young mare on the left side and tied the young colt, who wore a halter and had learned to be lead, to the front tug on the left side of its mother. We made several swaths around the field and all was doing fine, when all of a sudden the mower cycle hit a tin can. It made an awful racket, which scared the horses and they started to run. The little colt reared back and broke the small rope with which it was tied. It went as fast as it could run, way ahead of the team, then quickly turned and ran toward the on coming team and mower. I was having my hands full with the run away horses. I was trying to hold the team and at the same time kick the cutting cycle out of gear. That darn colt ran out in front of that cycle and stopped dead still. It cut off all four of its feet.
I could have died, I felt so bad. Uncle Albert never scolded me, he just looked at me and cried. This was a terrible shock to both of us. Uncle Albert didn’t talk to me for many days. I stayed to myself. I spent most of my thinking on plans to run away, where to go and how. I visited the grave of that colt many nights after all had gone to bed. I am now happy my run away plans didn’t work out. They, the Anderson’s, were my salvation in the church.
I sure did like my 7th grade teacher, a Brother Olsen. I am unable to recall his given name, but years later I met him in the Salt Lake Temple and he remembered me and I him.
I remember the delightful sleigh rides we as a class took that winter. Every boy warmed two good sized rocks in the oven-one for his feet and one for his girlfriends feet-and wrapped them in burlap bags, filled the sleigh half full of new, clean straw, and placed the hot rocks in the straw by your feet, or in the corners of the sleigh box. The 2 Gardner brothers always had a good team of horses. With a couple of quilts and a lovely girl, oh boy! What fun! We knew and sang many songs and most always would end up at someones home for eats, “fond memories”, and always a “chaperone” along. These lasted into our high school days. We went as a crowd into other towns, to many dances. Not many of the boys had steady girlfriends. We switched every week or two.
I lived in Daniel Creek and went to Wasatch County High School in Heber City. I milked cows morning and night for my board and room two years in a row, my Freshman and Sophomore years. I studied German both years. This learning was useful during the First World War, when I was a soldier in France and Germany.
I learned to play the trombone fairly well. Mr. Burgner was the music teacher. I loved algebra and geometry and hated English. This dislike for this subject shows up now in my writing.
During the summer months, between my Freshman and Sophomore years, I worked as a camp tender for Wm. Broadhead’s band of sheep, at the headwaters of Provo River. Mr. Williams was the herder and I cooked his meals and moved the campsite, as needed. He made lots of fun of my sour dough bread. If I got just a bit too much soda in the dough, it would give a yellowish tint to the finished product, and Williams would always say, “cake again today”. I finally got so I could make first-class bread, not “cake”. My Dutch Oven bread was tops.

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The headwaters of Provo River has hundreds of small lakes and meadows, with pine trees all around. Every lake looks similar to the rest. It is very easy to get lost. I soon learned that as soon as I felt uncertain of my directions, I would climb up to higher ground and take out my compass and establish land marks-cliffs, peaks, canyon turns. I used old Indian methods of marking my trails.
I became the expert of the outfit in finding my way around that country, so much so, that the next summer I was hired by the U.S. Government Surveyors as their guide and water carrier. The U.S.D.A. was building a dam at the head of Provo River. I thought then that they were a bunch of drugstore surveyors, who would get lost going to the toilet. But, It was a great experience for me to learn how to load a pack train. I could place a “diamond hitch”, (a certain way of tying a pack on a horses back) on a load of salt, flour, canned goods, placed in saddle bags and hung on pack saddles, covered with canvas and pack back to 15 to 20 miles, with 75 to 100 lbs., for each horse. When I would arrive at head quarters camp, my pack were just as solid and tight as when I started.
I still think of those poor horses, tied in a string, the one behind tied to the tail of the horse in front-up hill, down hill, with the lead horse tied to my riding saddle horn. Those were long, hard days.
I saw many bears that summer. Everytime we met a bear, my pack string got real excited and caused me much trouble. One old bear just wouldn’t become frightened and run away. He stood his ground, got real determined, my pack train got real excited. I was in trouble. I hollered and yelled and waved my hat and arms. I had five shells in my 30-30 Winchester. I put all five slugs in that old bear. The noise of my shooting didn’t help my pack train any. Gee! I was in a pickle. They had gotten all tangled up and that darn bear wasn’t dead yet. I had an extra clip of shells and I slipped them into the chamber of my gun. I thought I must hit that old bear right in the heart. So, I took careful aim, and with the second shot, down he went. It took me quite a time to get my outfit so they could continue on their journey to headquarters camp. The next day, the surveying crew found the old dead bear. They made fun of me and said I must have shot 100 holes in that bear-but I was real scared and almost sick with fright. But-I survived.
In the summer of 1911, my Grandfather, Robert Lindsay, was killed by a broken hay derrick, while he was stacking hay on his farm, three miles east of Heber, Utah. Uncle Jessup Thomas was there helping with the stacking of the hay crop. I was in Daniel Creek. This death caused the whole routine of the Lindsay family to change. The home base was broken up. Aunt Elizabeth Lindsay bought a home at 880 N. University Avenue, in Provo, Utah, which later became the home of Grandmother, Sarah Ann Murdock
Lindsay and the old homestead changed ownership.
Both I, and my father, before me were born on that homestead, a place of fond memories, dear to my heart.
I think, but am not real sure, either in the summer of 1914 or 1915, eight families of people from the Provo Valley (around Heber), moved to Albion, Idaho, with their families and stock. Among them we Wm. Broadhead, Brig Hansen, Joseph Harris, Albert Anderson, Charles Giles, David Sweat, James Rucker, Daniel Baird. There was another Josh Sweat, and older brother of David, and Another Rucker brother. I believe his name was John Rucker. At the time of this move, I went back to Pleasant Grove, Utah, for a few weeks, with my family, the first time for four or five years.
It wasn’t long until I found myself on the train bound for Burley, Idaho, where I disembarked and got on a stage for Albion, Idaho. The driver of the stage later became my father-in-law, John William Hymas.
Aunt Esther and Uncle Albert Anderson had bought and moved into an old log house with a dirt roof. Someone had planted flowers in the black soil on the roof. Uncle Albert was mixing cement for the foundation of his new house, which was built a little south and east of the old log house, a bit closer to the road. Everyone on the place had a hand in this building project.
Albion was an old frontier town with board sidewalks throughout the business section of the town. It was the county seat of Cassia County. The first settlers came into this pretty little valley in 1876 and filed on the water rights of Howell Creek and Marsh Creek and applied for homesteads. The Albion State College had been established may years before and was recognized as one of the best Normal Schools in the state of Idaho. Hundreds of our best teachers in our country today received their training at the Albion Normal School.

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At my last Spring at the Wasatch High School, I had joined the athletic team and had been assigned to run on the mile team. I ran every morning and every evening. The first job I got in Albion , was for Tom Price, who lived on Marsh Creek about 4 ½ or 5 miles from Uncle Albert. I do not remember of even once, of having not ran that distance when I went to visit home base, for that was what Uncle Alberts home was to me. I ran down, I ran back, I ran and ran. These were the days of Black Beauty, who trotted a mile in 60 seconds, and I would dream that I was Black Beauty , and would just tear down the mile from Butler”s corner on the north to the J.W. Hymas corner on the south-but could never make it in one minute.
There were many girls attending the Albion State Normal School from all over the state. I shyed away from the popular girls, (I wasn’t clever enough) and dodged those who were trying to make up to me. Therefore, I was a kind of loner, but there was always plenty who would gladly accept my invitation. When I needed a girl companion, we had programs which included every dance that was to be played that evening, and we would fill in the name of the person with whom we were going to dance that particular dance with. Many times, or most times, I had my program filled out very early in the evening and sometimes even before the music began to play, so there needn’t be any wall flowers or bench warmers. I made many friends in those days in Albion. Friendships that have lasted and increased in value during the last 55 years. I became active in the church, acted in MIA plays, took part in the speech festivals, sang in the choir and was assigned as a junior companion to go ward teaching with ex-bishop Thomas Harper, who was the Cassia County Probate Judge.
I desire to have my Partiarchal blessing entered here: Albion Idaho, June 20, 1919.
A Blessing given by David Harry Toyn on the head of Rupert Clyde Lindsay, son of Joseph M. and Jennette Richardson Lindsay. Born at Heber City, Utah, July 14, 1896.
Brother Rupert Clyde Lindsay, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and by the authority of the Holy Priesthood, I give unto you a sought-for blessing, and it is pleasing to the Lord that you have sought this blessing at this time, and, inasmuch as you have obeyed your country’s call and have offered your life for the cause of liberty and freedom, and in this have received a partial testimony. I bless you in your body that nature shall exert itself and remove every defect that is in your being. And I bless you in your mind that it shall illuminate, that you will understand the will of the Lord, concerning you, and if you will live a clean, pure life, even a virtuous life, there is a great future before you, and you shall be a worker in the Holy Priesthood, and you shall have a call to go forth into the world to preach the Gospel, and there will develop your marked ability and qualifications. You shall have the gifts of the gospel made manifest unto you and you shall be able to explain the Gospel in a convincing manner. Many shall believe in your words and receive the same, and those who do not believe it, it shall stand as a testimony against them in the last days. For thou art of the lineage of Joseph, and are entitled to the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
And you shall find a companion for life and you shall be greatly multiplied and some of the great ones will be born to you and if you are faithful in teaching them the Gospel, in connection with your wife, some of them will be mighty leaders in Israel.
So, dear Brother, take courage and work faithfully for those blessings and they will come to you through your faithfulness.
And I seal you up to come forth in the morning of the first resurrection and you shall receive your reward and exaltation.
And I seal them upon you, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen
Back to Albion! On one occasion, I pulled a stunt of which I am not now very proud. I went to choir practice at the church wearing a cigar as long as my arm. I can think of no reason for this stunt, but to draw attention-it sure got it!! Mission accomplished. Oh yes, I got ousted!!!!
My memory calls me back with a picture in my mind’s eye of the long tables stacked with the most delicious food, to my Grandmother Lindsay’s home and all of the chairs turned with their backs to the table, ready for prayer, and at the signal from my Grandfather, all would kneel , in Thanksgiving and pray before our Heavenly Father. Aunts, Uncles, and many, many cousins. Grandfather mostly did the praying, and these memories still furnish a joyous and soul satisfying feeling in my being. I can still sense the aroma of freshly baked bread, of the pumpkin pies and see that big, well- browned turkey, waiting for Grandfather’s big knife. Wow what memories! They are part of the joy of being old. I thank God for such staunch and true grandparents and that I was permitted to come through their families.

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In October, 1915, my name was entered on the ward record of the Albion Ward, as a Teacher of record, and my recommend came from the Pleasant Grove 2nd Ward, Alpine Stake, denoting that my recommend had been sent from the Daniels Ward to the Pleasant Grove 2nd Ward, then on to Albion. I attended the Albion State Normal School, beginning that fall term. I got a job as Night Operator on the Albion Telephone Exchange. I worked, or answered what calls came over the wires from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. the next morning. I had a cot by the switch board, and I could get enough sleep most nights to get by, with a night bell that would wake the world. Some nights, very little sleep.
One winter, Jesse Roberts washed dishes at the Café and slept in the room in which I was supposed to be sleeping. He brought the food left-over from the Café and we both got by. I did this during the winter and during the summer. I stacked hay, tended mason on the Albion New Church. In 1916, I joined the Idaho 2nd Infantry, Co K, and received as pay, first, $15.00 per month, and later, $25.00 per month, and we drilled and marched on weekends. Never had much to spend foolishly, but did not bother Uncle Albert for funds. I played some trombone in a dance orchestra, made a few dimes that way-never flush, never broke. Our dance band was short-lived, but fun while it lasted.
I would like to record one incident that occurred, about this time that shows the love and concern a Ward Bishop has for the youth of his ward: and influence that can be made upon the minds of the youth, because I haven’t forgotten-although 60 years have passed since that spring day. Three or 4 of we boys were sitting on the edge of the board sidewalks in Albion. We had purchased a package of Fatima, ready rolled cigarettes, and had seated ourselves for a friendly smoke, thinking we were big shots. Bishop Thomas Loveland came by and sat down beside me and said, “may I have one of your cigarettes?” I remember I stammered, I stuttered, I fumbled, and then handed my pack of cigarettes to him. He took one out of the pack and handed it back to me. He took his cigarette in his right hand, between his thumb and pointer finger, the end to light pointed downward. He made a fist with his left hand, his thumbnail pointed upward and he tapped the cigarette lightly on that thumbnail, as if to shake the tobacco down in the cigarette. He just kept tapping, and at the same time, looking a hole right through me, and my eyes could not meet his gaze. Then he asked, as he put his arm around my shoulder, still looking a hole in my head, “would you really like to see me smoke this cigarette?” What answer could a boy give his Bishop!! All I could do was shake my head and duck my vision to the ground. Again, he lifted my chin until our vision met. I saw large tears in his eyes and he very quietly said, “that’s the way I feel about you”. Were you ever plagued with a feeling of guilt? Well, you know how I felt, but my love for that Bishop grew by leaps and bounds. Zina and I visited him in his home in Pleasant Grove, Utah, after he was 90 years old. He was the Bishop who had recommended Zina to go on her L.D.S. Mission in 1916, the first lady missionary from Albion Ward, Raft River Stake and the Hymas family. She served in the Central States Mission with Samuel O. Bennion as President, in Independence, Mo., Topeka, Kansas and Kansas City, Kansas.
In April, 1917, I was called into active service, being already in the Idaho National Guard. I was ordered to report to K. Co. Headquarters at Buhl, Idaho. Capotain Claude V. Biggs, Company Commander, with 1st Lt. Chandler and 2nd Lt. Clark Fox, Co officers. I, and Jim Barlogie, were appointed the Co. buglers. The company was ordered to assemble at Boise. Idaho, where we were reassigned to 1: guard railroad bridges, and tunnels on the Union Pacific, in Weber Canyon, and , 2: Lucine Cut off tressel over Great Salt Lake, 3: bridges and tunnels on Great Northern Railroad, at Kellogg, Idaho. Our company was split into three platoons, one at each of these places. I got to go to each camp, but spent most of my time at Devil’s Slide Camp, in Weber Canyon. This lasted about 4 months, when we were relieved by civilian guards and we were recalled to Camp Boise, Boise, Idaho, and inducted into the U.S.Army, and became Co. K, 146th Machine Gun Battalion. This was all completed by the middle of September, 1917, when our Co. began a long series of moves, from one camp to another.
I remember Charlottesville, North Carolina, Atlanta, Georgia, Patterson, New Jersey, Camp Dix-seemed like we moved at night, every few days, we would sleep in one place and night and next night move to another. We practiced many times embarking and disembarking. We would sleep in one place one time and we would embark and think we were all settled, when orders came to get our packs on and line up and file out without a light or a sound. I believe we embarked and disembarked several times from the same ship but from a different angle. So-we never really knew just when we embarked and set sail. The motors were started and stopped several times and we were quietly tugged out of the harbour, not a light of any kind, not a sign of life-but there were ten-thousand troops aboard. I was assigned as bugler of the watch and was taken top-side.

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I saw the name “Olympic”, then I knew that we were sailing on one of the two sister ships, the largest passenger ship afloat. The other ship was the “Titanic”, the one that collided with an iceberg on the North Atlantic Ocean.
We saw from our ship a large batch of fog. Our ship Captain told us that the fog was an iceberg. Later in the day, the wind blew all the fog away from the iceberg and it looked like a thousand mirrors as the sun shown on the many angles that was reflecting the light. Just about sundown, that iceberg looked like a tiny speck of gold setting on top of the horizon.
But I am getting ahead of myself. I ought to go back to Charlotte, North Carolina. I had seen but a few colored people during my life, and they were porters on trains. But now, white soldiers were not allowed to go into the negro part of town. Negro’s had to ride in the back of the bus, weren’t allowed in a white man’s toilet, and he had to step off the sidewalk if a white man and his wife came from the opposite direction. I saw black men (county prisoners) working along the road with chains on one ankle (road gangs). I don’t think blacks and whites should be married to each other, but I sure hated to see them treated like dogs or as donkies.
I took a bath with about 200 negro’s-first naked black I had ever seen. I tell you, some of those fellows were BLACK in a big way. We went through the bath in groups of about 50 at one time. We first were ordered to disrobe and roll our clothes in a bundle with our dog tags (means of identification) tied to it so it could be seen, and place our bundle on a moving belt or conveyor, which ended in front of a large pressure tank, or cooker, where all the lice and nits (lice eggs) in our clothes were to be killed while we were going through our bath. Our bath was as follows: First, you were given a small bar of soap, then you entered a steam shed with 25 seats on each side, and an aisle down the center. The steam was turned on, in just a few seconds, you began to sweat, Then you rubbed the soap on your sweaty body and you got all lathered, ready to shave. A voice said, “rub your body vigorously all over, head, feet, privates, legs and arms,” then a door opened from the opposite end from which we had entered. This was a long shed with a board pathway down the center, and water spraying from all directions around you as you passed through it. There must have been, maybe 50 such rings of water down along this board path. The first ones were warm, then fairly hot, then warm again, then cool, then cold. We were commanded to run as fast as we could through these rings of water. When we hit the cold water, it seemed like we all put on an extra spirit of speed, and when those wet black men came out into the sunshine, their black bodies glistened and shown like they were carved out of shiny black obsidian. Some were a chocolate brown in color. Big, well built men and some darker.
Another experience I perhaps should relate that happened while I was a soldier, and in the Southern States, happened in Alabama, I think. The churches of the community had decided to invite all the soldiers that was in this camp to Sunday dinner-some to private homes, but mostly at their churches. I happened to be one of those who was invited to a private home. Everyone was to meet at the Baptist Community Church, and from there, each family who was taking soldiers home for dinner, was to meet there. As my name was called, a very nice, gentle looking man, by the name of Harwood, stepped forward and said he would like three soldiers. So, Dewey Snodgrass, Mark Nosco and myself were told to follow this family to their home. There was the father, Joseph, (I remember because my father’s name is Joseph) and a very trim, well groomed blond, the mother, and four children. The oldest, I guessed, to be 11 or 12. The baby was in a high chair. We soldiers were told to wash our hands and face, then to talk to the kids until dinner was ready, so that the children could hear our funny way of talking in the English language-we had no southern drawl. Dinner is ready! All seated and a long thanksgiving to the Lord for the dinner. There were nine of us seated at the table, father at the head of the table. I was the first one seated at his right and the father passed a platter to me, upon which was six fairly good sized sweet potatoes. I looked at the number of mouths, nine-the number of potatoes-6! So I sliced off an end of one potato and passed the platter to Dewey Snodgrass, when all of a sudden, Mr. Harwood jumped up and grabbed the platter out of Dewey’s hands and thrust it back into my hands and said the thing that has rung in my ears for 59 years, “take one, take two, take damn neigh all of them”. We had been forewarned that Southerners became angry if you did not accept their hospitality when offered.
But, these lovely people invited we soldiers to go possum hunting. We went, and experience worth waiting a lifetime to endure or enjoy-but I would have to be rather hungry before I would seek that method of easing my hunger, and besides that, possum are hunted at night, with a light. Once was enough. Those months in our Southland was hard work, but enjoyable.

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We were building housing for the soldiers that were to be drafted in September, October and November, 1917 and 1918.
Well, Well! Come with me back aboard the Olympic, at mid-ocean “Atlantic Ocean”. The toilets, or the heads, as they were called, were in the forward end of the ship and were literally filled with seasick men. The air conditioners were not working very well, and the smell from the galley (kitchen) and the awful close heat and the rolling seas caused much sea sickness. Many thought they would die-some hoped they could die and others paid no attention at all, having no affects from the sea. Only once, and that at the 1:00 a.m. change of the watch, did I feel the least bit seasick. But I quickly moved to the steerman’s cabin, on the top deck, as I was the bugler of the watch. I sucked deeply into the fresh night air, and made full use of its cool oxygen-filled refreshment and was soon fully par.
As we entered the war zone, our ship followed a very unregular zig-zag course. Seemed like we were changing course all the time, which made it much more difficult to remain un-seasick-but which also made it much more difficult for a submarine to place a sight on us as a moving target. We were also met with a fleet of 8 U.S. Destroyers-small but fast boats, and they carried with them depth bombs for destroying submarines. These hours were very tense hours. Everyone of those 10,000 men on board, were on alert. What a kill! If a German sub could have sneaked through the U.S. guard and put a torpedo through the Olympic, they were willing to try, because the U.S. destroyers sank one sub during our crossing the Atlantic. They never told us where, but that one had been sunk. Kinda sure it wasn’t our ship because after 5 or 6 dizzying, twisty days, early in the morning, we entered the mouth of the Thames River in England, and the screws of the Olympic were stilled. Four river tug boats were attached to the Olympic, two fore, and two aft. They reminded me of ants dragging a worm hundreds of times their size-but they had the power needed to move that great ship, 8 or 10 stories above the water line.
I was in the forecastle of the ship as we entered the River Thames, and during the making fast of our ship to the dock, the rolling out of the platform, for disembarking, the whistles blowing, the great cranes for unloading cargo, puffing steam, the hustle and bustle of everyone, everywhere. The thing that got my eye was a group of mail carriers all dressed in blue-gray uniforms. They had the prettiest red, rosy cheeks and smiling faces, all about the same size and-“all girls”! Our look was short lived, as a portable gang plank was hoisted up to our deck, and we were marched, very quickly, to a train, nearby and loaded 40 to a car until the 146th Machine Gun Battalion was all loaded. When 40 men were in the car, the door was closed and the next car pulled up to the dock-270 men to a company. Companies K. L. M. and N. were all on one train.
We disembarked at Windsor, England, and were bunked in a billet, a long shed-like building with about 18” of straw all over the whole floor space. Some South Africans had slept there the night before we did. We were kept holed up during the next few days-not allowed to be seen. Then each night we marched 4 to 6 hours, heading for South Hampton, England, where we landed sometime in the wee hours of the morning. We were holed up all day until it was so dark you could not find your own pockets. We marched off into the black of the night, following a guide, who had a small blue light that could be followed, if you stayed close to it.
We could tell when we left the cobblestone street and entered the plank of the dock, then into a railed gangplank, which lead into a small boat. When the boat was loaded, without a sound, it silently slipped out from the dock. A little tug boat hauled us for several minutes before the motors of our boat were turned over. They started with a leap and we were off on the roughest sea ride I ever took. Some 3 hours later, or possibly 4 hours later, we entered LaHavre Harbor in France.
We were met by a small tug boat, which pulled us, after so much dilly-dallying into port and were made fast (tied up) and the gang plank lowered, we were marched into an enclosure to wait until it was good day light. Then we were lined up in companies. Co. K. first, then L.M.N. in consecutive order. All the streets were cobblestone. We marched through several small villages. All the people came out to see the first American soldiers entering France. At one small village, we halted so our officers could get directions and new orders. Right in front of where I was stopped, there was a middle-aged man on the side of the street, without any embarrassment, this man unbuttoned his pants and urinated into the gutter of water passing by-without letting to of the arm of the lady. Did those Americans let out a war hoop? I’ll say they did and the man just casually walked away. T’was our first look at the customs of France.

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For the next few weeks and months we were marched, trucked, shipped by railroad (forty Hemmeset weight Cheauvo), (40 men and 8 horses). My bugle was taken away from me, as there was no use for a bugler in trench war, and I was given a French, Hotchkiss machine gun. I qualified, and was rated and appointed as an expert machine gunner. I was sent to Paris to attend the machine gun school and learn the operation of the new American Lewis gun, water cooled. On completion of the school, I was assigned as an instructor and was sent to tour in central France, teaching new soldiers, noninclature (the names of all the parts of the gun) and feel of all parts, so they could put the gun together blindfolded, or at black of night. I got to the place where I could feel any part of a gun and select them out of a box of parts, just by the feel.
Then I was transferred to Selles-sur, the training center, also in the center of France, where soldiers were receiving training for advancing under a shower or fan of live fire, with real ammunition-real bullets, just a few feet over your head. You can learn to crawl mighty close to the ground. We had an old used gravel pit or field, where they had piled up the top soil and taken out 4 or 5 feet of gravel and then never gone back and leveled it up again. We had dug trenches all through that field and made it look just like the real front line of battle. There were field cannons shooting, grenades being exploded-anything to make a noise, including blasting powder, and all. These were always night advances used in the last three nights of each class or batch of soldiers, as they came through our preparation school. Then the instructors took their turns taking these men into the front lines as replacements, and this was always done during the darkness of night, and this was never a pleasure trip. Right soon after you were relieved of your command, you whizzed back to replacement center to report. Sometimes we would go by truck, sidecar, on a motorbike, and once by train-but always in a hurry. On these “pleasure” trips to the front lines, I got to be in every sector of the war zone. Gradually, these soldiers who were instructors were replaced by new instructors, and were rotated into the replacement ranks. Therefore, all, or most all were given the great pleasure to have a shot at front line service.
I was, when my turn came, transferred to the 142 MG Bn, and given as my companion, a brand new Lewis Machine Gun, and Mark Nasco as my assistant. I was made Corporal at Selles-sur-Cher. Now I was given the 3rd stripe (Sergeant). I have heard it said, “War is Hell.” When the rain came, I didn’t expect as much mud, even in Hell. My wrapped leggings got well fitted to my legs, especially when the mud dried.
I shall not record very much of the things I have tried to forget, but I will record a few things showing customs of the French people. For instance, when we were seeking billets or places for the Americans to sleep in central France, we went into many small villages and we slept in any spare space that was available. There were no latrines in these villages, so we built our own. Within just a few days, all the people in the village were using our toilets. You could go to the toilet and here would come a woman and flop down beside you. Sometimes, when you would go to the toilet, there would be 3 or 4 women and children in there. This happened in many of the French villages, like ChampCol, where I was billeted. We had a very tough time keeping our toilets for ourselves. Those farmers used their manure piles for their toilets.
It was at ChampCol that I was confined to my bunk, because of a severe case of mumps, which had gone down on me, and the left testicle became inflamed-the swelling was intense and as large as a big softball. Every room at St. Lasaire Hospital was full of mumps patients. Our field Dr. didn’t know what to do with all the Mumps cases in our outfit. He was trying to find more rooms, but was having bad luck. I was in extreme misery. My bunk was in the 2nd story, up a ladder, into the loft. A young white goat was in a pen close enough to my bed that it could stick its head through the slats and lick my face and forehead, and I was too sick to care.
The old French farmer and his wife climbed up the ladder and felt my forehead, and said “plue sho” (very hot). They kept saying “malade oo vous malade” (where are you sick?). My bed pal said “show them where your sick.” So I threw back the covers and showed them my swollen testicle. The man said, “Bon Dieux” (good God). They quickly left, but returned shortly with a “shave groueg” (warm liquor) for my fever and a plaster of hot cow manure for my testicle. My pain was eased. For the next 12 hours, this plaster was changed each hour and every hour. Those dear old people would slowly and carefully climb that ladder and care for me. She had a cool, damp cloth for my forehead each time she came. The next day, the Dr. came. He threw off the covers, and his eyes popped wide open. He said, “what the hell have you got here?” I said, “cow manure.” He said “COW Manure”-well, “I’ll be damned.”

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He tested my fever-it had gone down. He felt my heart pulse-it had lessened in its speed. I told him all that had happened. He said there were 150 cases of mumps in the hospital and that I was in just as good a shape as any of those in the hospital. So-he was going to leave me where I was. He said he had to lance five of the cases in St. Lasaire Hospital and that the care I was receiving was superior to that I would receive, were I transferred to the hospital.
I will pause in my writing for a moment. Today is July 16, 1977, and my family has gathered at our home at Rupert, Idaho, 100 N. 77 W., for our family reunion. There are 53 gathered at our home today. Some specials, who have come with their love and happiness, from Bountiful, Utah, were Thomas Yates and his wife, Marion and their child. Vee K. Reynolds and Lois Yates Reynolds, my sister, Sara Lindsay Yates, two children and our granddaughter, Norene Kent Davis, and her 2 sons, from Portland, Oregon. There were 12 families who could not attend. Elro’s 4 from California and Dean’s family from Costa Mesa, California. LaMonte and Jeannie Banner and their 2 children, Slate and Brocka were here. All Don and Irma’s family, except Dennis, who had to work, and Debbie, who just didn’t care to come. We felt real sorry for that, because we love her very much. Also, with us was John L. Jones, IvaMae’s husband and his children. Marie, her husband, Ron Wilkensen and their baby, Chuck, (Charles) Jones and his wife, Susan and their 2 children, Scott and Heather, and the newly returned missionary, Bobby (Robert Jones). Gee-we had a wonderful day together!
Deanne Kent Stevenson was moving into a new house in Blackfoot, Idaho today, so she couldn’t come. Verdene Kent Fairchild visited with us the week before. She had to be back in Portland, Oregon, so she left yesterday.
I haven’t written in this narrative for several days. Today is July 29th, a busy day. Zina went to Burley to pick yellow string beans, about 7:30 a.m. I had irrigated from 1:30 a.m. to 3:30 a.m., and was still asleep-but we have 2 funerals to attend and we had some pictures taken so we are to go to K-Mart and select what ones we want. These pictures are for our children and grandchildren, for their books of remembrances. Funerals are at 1:00 p.m., Rupert, and 2:00 p.m., at Paul, Idaho. Then at 4:00 p.m., I am to help dice potatoes for the High Priests party, which is being held tonight at 7:00 p.m. The funerals are for LaVere Judd, Rupert, and LaVern Hymas, Zina’s cousin, at the Paul Stake Center, Paul, Idaho. I was asked to offer the Benediction. I considered it a great honor to be asked-a very spiritual funeral.
June 11, 1977, and my only brother, George Foster Lindsay and his wife, Kate Olsen Lindsay and their grandson, Michael Lindsay, William Lindsay’s son, came to our home on their way to Woodburn, Oregon. They had been rock hunting in Utah for 2 weeks with their 2 families, Bill and Carron Lindsay, from Ogden, Utah, and Harold and Jeannette Yount, of Salt Lake, and they have been south of Delta, Utah, and back of Mt. Nebo, by Nephi, Utah. Gee! They have a great load of gem rock to take back home. George has all the equipment and knowledge, and know how to make some very beautiful jewelry. We really did enjoy their visit. I cannot understand how they got 2 truck loads of rock into one car!
Back to ChampCol, in central France. This is the village where I was so very ill with mumps, in the Spring of 1918. I remember that one of the events that happened during my sojourn in this village. I received a letter from the only girl in the whole world whom I wanted to even look my way, and now to receive a letter from my missionary dream girl, Zina Hymas. My dream clouds all at once lowered-maybe if I could stretch my stature higher, those dream clouds could, with God’s help, come within my reach. I carried that letter with me until it was completely worn out. But I still have a mental picture in my memory storehouse of it’s contents. I still thrill with the feeling of hope, the courage and faith to accept the challenge of conquest, to place my bid to win her love and make her my wife. I realized that I had many others who had like goals-much competition. But I vowed to place my best efforts in this game.
Zina Hymas was a missionary laboring in the Central States Mission, with Samuel O. Bennion as President, and I was going to continue my pursuit for her love.
Now, after many escort trips to most all of the major front line battle replacement centers, all of them during the blackness of night-the rain and mud became a very depressing concern. Never one trip to the front that there were not wounded soldiers being carried out to the field hospitals. It is a rather sickening feeling that comes over your very being when you see all the blood splattered, and limp clothes, drenched with mud. A young friend, you did, just a few days ago, escort, in the black of night, into this hell hole-now his stretcher bearers silently and deftly place him on an army stretcher and remove him through the blackness of night, and the terrible roar and blasts of the artillery of both the Germans and the Americans.

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A tense feeling of hate and a desire for revenge fill your very soul, and then is not the time for any German or any adversary to get within the sights of the machine gun, of which I was the operator. I will not allow these memories to pass further before my mental pictures--things I haven striven, for years to blot out. I feel the tenseness of that hour and my hands are shaking, I must pass by these memories quickly and recall some much more pleasant occasions and events, because there are many.
While we were in central France, our battalion was using powdered eggs for breakfast and they were far from being delicious. So our cook said if we didn’t like powdered eggs, he would try to buy fresh eggs on the black market. If we soldiers would dig up the cash, the man from whom he was to buy the eggs said-we would have to buy the eggs from the farmers and that he would only make the deal, or arrangement with the persons who had the eggs. We would have to gather the eggs and pay for them. To gather 250 dozen eggs was no simple task.
We raised the money for the 250 dozen eggs easy. Everyone of us bought our share-but no farmer had that many eggs. I think that the most eggs we got from any one farmer, was 20 dozen down to two dozen. So you can imagine the many homes we had to contact to get our 250 dozen eggs. We really earned our egg breakfast. The last eggs I bought, I was about 6 miles away from our kitchen and it was a hot, sultry afternoon. My buddy and I decided to cut cross country and not go around the road. We had missed the truck, and were carrying 6 dozen eggs in an egg crate. I believe there were six million hedges to crawl through or climb over, as every separate piece of land is enclosed by a hedge fence, so thickly planted that a dog cannot get through them-not even a chicken-but we soldiers had chosen this route. Gosh! We did get warm and thirsty, so we went to a farm house and asked for a drink of water from their well. The old farmer said water was for washing feet, not for drinking, and he brought us some red wine, and we told him we didn’t like wine and that we wanted water, no wine, just water. He still wouldn’t get us any water, so I went over to his well, a dug well that was maybe 30 feet deep, all bricked up inside. It had a wooden bucket tied by a rope with a pulley at the top. I let the bucket down into the water in the well and pulled it up to the surface. I asked for a cup to dip the water from the bucket, and as I filled by cup with water, the old farmer grabbed the cup from my hands and poured about ¼ of the water out on the ground. He then filled it with wine and handed it back to me saying, “I have never in my life drank a cup of water, nor has my wife”. I thought, no wonder they look so old and wrinkled. Another fine experience at St. Nasier, France, I had was when I babysat a herd of brown goats while the family of Emil Gilliet went to the funeral of his father in the provience south of Loire, where we were billeted. I discovered that 30 kid goats, can be just as mischievous as can 30 kid people.
Another experience worth mentioning, was when I was granted a four-week convalescence leave into southern France, and the French Alps, to a hot springs resort town, Alex-les-Bains (The place of Baths), and Monte Carlo, the gambling center of Europe, with a few days along the coast of southern France-a place of delightful sunshine, wine and sin, mixed with flowers. My French became quite fluent. I could make my way around. On my way back to Paris, I visited most all the cities of central and southern France. I visited Paris several times on my trips to and from the front lines, which were extended all across northern France, to Belgium. I was given a government pass, good on any train, any direction, any place in France. Since I was able to speak French, I was given assignments with the French people.
As the Fall of 1918 approached, the pressure of war increased. More soldiers were arriving daily, more trucks, more guns. More places for these soldiers to sleep and eat were needed. So, those who could converse in French, were called out of their outfits and sent into most all the villages in central France and given the assignment to seek sleeping billets for U.S. soldiers while they were being prepared or schooled as to what was to be expected of them. In trench warfare, many of these soldiers never got to go into the front line trenches, for which they should be grateful.
The pressure kept increasing until November 11, 1918, when the German’s could stand no more. They were blocked out at sea, cornered and beaten on land. They signed an armistice, and on this day, not a gun could you hear. The soldiers on one side stood on the dirt piled up from the diggings of the trenches and waved to the soldiers on the other side. I believe I got kissed on both cheeks by every woman in the town I was in, and I got my ears washed with wine from the men of the town. They pressed their wine-soaked mustaches against my ear, in their two cheek-kiss victory. Twas a day of rejoicing. Some French soldiers had been away from home for 4 years. The only men left in these villages were cripples and old men. They were a gracious, noble people, badly beaten down. Now the war was over, killings had ceased, but the horrible mess of all the land and buildings, the great plots, where lie thousands of dead, the broken

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Homes and hearts, the many maimed and crippled, the widows and fatherless children. Can God be pleased with his children who will kill and do these things to each other and to the land He has created for them? I think not! I became heartsick and determined not to recall nor recite the horrors that attend the making of war, nor the brain washing that is inflicted upon the soldiers to cause him to hate his adversary.
During the cleanup period, I saw 40 acre farms stacked high with field artillery and machine guns. The massive wasted can hardly be imagined or realized-It was immense. U.S. tax money paid for it all. From November 11, 1918, until March 19, 1919, which was our day to embark for HOME, all those soldiers in France had to clean up the villages they had been billeted in. Passage way must be arranged for all soldiers to get home-a mighty task. A railroad ticket had to be arranged for every soldier to the place of his enlistment.
My 142MG.Bn Co. K. spent the entire winter in assessing damage done, and saw much graft by the French. The U.S. paid for many a house that had been a tumbled-down shack for 50 years before World War I. By March 19, 1919, we had finished our assignment, and were moved into the port city of Bordeaux. In the fore bay was 5 U.S. Battleships. Inside of three hours, our whole regiment was inside those 5 ships. They were all named after a state in the union. I have forgotten the state names. I might be wrong, but I think one was Utah. Anyway, we were five weeks at sea. We took the Southern route past the Azors, and we landed in Virginia. Straight off the boat, we boarded a train, bound for Wyoming-Fort D.A. Russell, where, after a day or two, I received my discharge papers, along with $60.00 cash, with which I was supposed to buy a change of civilian clothes.
My first suit of dress clothes cost $85.00. I was $25.00 short already, and still no shoes, socks, shirt or underclothes, let alone some work clothes. I was real grateful to Charles DeMaugh, manager and owner of the Albion Merc., who let me have my full outfit, with only the $60.00 clothing allowance, as down payment. I was offered a job as a farm helper and irrigator, by Harry Lloyd, of Albion, Idaho, and would receive no pay for one month and then only $65.00.
But I mustn’t get ahead of my story. As I left Fort D.A. Russell, my ticket was routed back to my place of enlistment, which was Albion, Idaho. My mother and father and their family lived at Pleasant Grove, Utah. Now that I was going to be in Albion for a day, at least, I thought I just as well look up, what I hoped to be, and desired to accomplish, my girlfriend, Zina Hymas. I found that she had moved to Paul, Idaho, and was keeping house for her Father, John William Hymas, who had rented a place north one mile from Paul. (The Henry Keck Place). Sidney Hymas, Zina’s brother, offered to give me a ride to Paul. He said that he was going to help his Dad, who had rented a place in Paul, and was going to help him a half day in the hay stacking, and that I could ride with him and help, if I wanted to. So I did. I got to Paul just in time for dinner and got to see and say “hello” to a very shy girl, Zina! I didn’t change my goal. I was still going to be an ardent suitor for this girl’s love.
First, I must win her respect. Long hours of self-analysis followed. I realized that I had many characteristics and habits that needed a good overhauling. I saw in church affiliation and in association, with good church going people, and aid, a tool, that I might use for my own betterment. My faults were too plentiful to attack them all at once, so I catalogued a few of the ones I thought most damning and offensive. There began a battle, which is still raging, after sixty years of effort.
Oh, I’m happy I no longer take the Lord’s name in vain. I have made many changes.
As soon as I could earn enough money for my railroad fare to Pleasant Grove to see my mother, I went and spent a week with her. I also went to see my grandmother, Sarah Ann Murdock Lindsay, who on March 2nd, that very month, had celebrated her 66th birthday. She lived at 80th North, University Ave., Provo, Utah. She was a stately and loveable lady.
My mother had a girlfriend already picked out for me. I took her out for a dinner date one evening. I must have just stared at her, because she said, “why do you look at me so intently?’ I said, “because you are so pretty.” I believed that I could win her love, but at that moment my thoughts were-“I like my Idaho girl better than this girl.” From then on, all the chasing that was done, was by that girl, with no encouragement from me. She married a neighbor boy after I had gone back to Idaho to work on Harry Lloyd’s ranch in Albion, Idaho, all summer.
In October, or the last week in Sept, 1919, “Code” Sheen, (Robert Vernal) and I went to work at the Sugar Factory. Code filled small 10 # bags with sugar, I sewed them closed. They called these “pups”, and Code and I were the pup crew. We thought we were quite handy at it. No other crew could sew more bags per hour than we could.

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While I was in Salt Lake, sometime during August, I bought a new popular song entitled, That Wonderful Mother of Mine”, and was asked to sing it at the opening meeting of the Paul Ward M.I.A. with Davis Green’s first wife as the accompanist. Davis Green later became Bishop of the Paul Ward, and still later, President of the Minidoka Stake. During this time, I got to see Zina at Sunday School, church and M.I.A. It was during the latter part of October that I had the gall to ask her to become my wife. She, perhaps very wisely, declined the invitation. My ego had been clipped. I had tried very determindly to prepare myself to be worthy of this lovely girl. I had prayed constantly. I felt that I had the assurance of the Spirit that she would become my wife. I had not used tobacco for months. I had paid a full tithing. I had been interviewed by 2 Bishops. One, Thomas Loveland of, Albion Ward, who had sent my records to Salt Lake City, and therefore, could not recommend me to be ordained an Elder, and Bishop Weymont of the Paul Ward, the ward I was attending-but could not recommend me for ordination because I had no membership in his Ward.
Therefore, I rode a horse way over to Almo and attended Stake Priesthood Meeting, and there, I presented my problem to the Stake Presidency. They made inquiry of Bishop Thomas Loveland and he said to them, “I believe him to be worthy.” So, Brother Joseph Harper, 2nd counselor to Pres. Ellison, ordained me an Elder on August 30, 1919. As near as I can remember, 2 or 3 weeks later, my membership was entered upon the records of the Paul Ward. I think this was before Minidoka Stake was organized.
In October, 1919, the coal miners in Hiawatha, Utah, went on strike and the United States Fuel Co. was fearful of sabatoge by the striking miners. So, a Mr. Diamond, who was the Marshall in the mining camptown of Hiawatha, Carbon County, Utah, telephoned his childhood friend, Gilbert Sanford, of Paul and asked him to hire some young men from Idaho at $250.00 per month. Brother Sanford was a friend of Code Sheens, and I being a friend of Code, was hired. We promptly severed our connection with the Sugar Factory and mounted the train for Hiawatha, Utah.
Upon our arrival in Hiawatha, we discovered that we were considered scabs, or men who were hired to break up the strike-but we were hired to protect the property of the company. We had nothing to do with the workers. As long as they did not attempt to destroy company property, we guards, as we were called, left them alone.
We rented a house in Greektown, and 6 of us began batching it. Each of us bought one item to furnish our domicile. I bought the kitchen range, a “Banquet” and my plate, a cereal bowl, cup, knife, fork and spoon and a vegetable bowl. This was my first equity in our bachelor’s quarters. Each one of us paid for his share. We had lots of fun. On our first Sunday in camp, we discovered there was no Sunday School in the town. The company owned all the houses, the Company Store, the Company Butcher Shop, Barber Shop, the Picture Show and a Gun Club Building, and they had a very nice amusement hall, that would seat around 100 people. At this time a Brother Medford Miner, a member of the church from Springville, Utah, moved into Hiawatha, with his family and a family named Gunderson, came also. One Sunday Brother and Sister Miner invited the Gundersons (from Fairview, Utah), Gib Sanford, Robert V. Sheen, Rupert Lindsay, and a brother Larsen to the Miner home for church services. While there that Sunday, it was suggested that someone of this group go to Price, Utah and contact the Stake President and see about trying to have a Sunday School in Hiawatha. No one was appointed, but sometime later brother Gilbert Sanford made this contact.
A Brother Seymour Oliphant from Orangeville, Utah, with his California raised wife, Violet, and their new baby boy, Kenward, moved into Hiawatha and began working in the mine. He was a Seventy in the Priesthood. Then Ira Oviatt and his new wife, Myrtle Bensen, from Cache Valley, Utah, moved in, as did Calvin Tuft and his new wife, Florence and baby boy.
I had made a firm resolution to repent from all those things which has caused Zina to decline my invitation to become my wife. I would, from now on, continue to court her, even if I had to do it by mail-because, I still wanted her for my wife and I believed that her folks had influenced her decision. I was quite sure that she liked me enough, that if I shaped up, I could earn and gain her love. I, therefore, began a most exotic letter writing campaign, with several colors of ink. Years later, Clyde Crandall, who worked in the Rupert, Idaho Post Office, told me how he had watched for those fancy decorative and colorful letters for Zina Hymas. I thought they were masterpieces of art and I didn’t think that all or very many of them go to Zina. I still believe that lots of them were burned without her seeing them. The folks had to protect their daughter from that wolf! I don’t remember receiving too many letters in the five months,

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.November to March, 1920, from Zina-but, March 4, 1920, I received a telegram from John William Hymas (Zina’s father), of Rupert. It read: Zina sick. If you want to see her alive, come now.”
I arranged for a leave of absence and left Hiawatha by train for Rupert, Idaho, on the following morning. I arrived in Rupert the next morning on the 11:00 a.m. train. Hymas’s had moved into town and lived one block east of the Depot. Zina had the smallpox and was not at home, but living with John and Jean Osbourn. I got a rather cold reception from Sister Hymas, but J.W. took me over to Osbourn’s. Brother Hymas went inside while I waited outside. He asked Zina if she would like to see the monkey-the Hymas family had a pet monkey, and Zina said yes, she would be glad to see the pet monkey. Her father said, “I’ll go get him, and he came to the door and told me it would be all right if I came in to see Zina now. As he opened the door to her room, he said, “Here is your monkey.” I thought my heart would jump out of my body, but I must not show a sign of my emotions-be calm, I kept telling myself.
I stayed in Rupert for a whole month. I saw Zina every day and sometimes 2 and 3 times a day. I received a telegram from my boss, stating that I had to be back in Hiawatha April 11th or 12th , in order to keep my job. When I showed the telegram to Zina, she said, “When you go, I’ll go with you.” So, we figured that we would have to leave Rupert April 6, 1920, get our license to marry in Salt Lake, April 8, 1920 and go through the Salt Lake Temple on April 9, 1920. Then I could be back in Hiawatha the evening of April 10, 1920. Oh boy!
We we presented our plan to the Hymas family, they never heard of such a crazy idea. After having been sick in bed for a month and a half, and then to jump out of bed and run away down south to central Utah, and get married-that only proved what a crazy idiot Zina was marrying. If she died, Rupert Lindsay would be responsible for her death.l
As we boarded the train in Rupert, Hymas’s would not let a one of their kids come and say goodbye, nor good riddance, but John and Jean Osburn were there wishing us well, as was some of Zina’s friends. As the train pulled out of Rupert, I with my future wife and a very sad, cold feeling, and a deep apprehension that perhaps we might be doing the wrong thing. We had prayed over our move and felt real comfortable and secure that all would be well with us. We were going to be married for time and all eternity, by one who had the power to seal for eternity, and besides that, we were going to live in a town where there was going to be a need for our church service and away from both of our families, and among many other newly wed couples. There we could become so busy working in the church and beginning our own home, that we would forget the cold treatment we had received from Zina’s folks. This is just as things worked out. We forgot, or just ignored those cold days.
I feel like I must butt into this narrative to record the following, It is now September 15 1977. Last evening a man came to the front door, whom Zina did not know. He asked to speak to Rupert Lindsay. Zina called me and as I entered the room, the man offered his hand in a hearty handshake, and asked if I recognized him. I said no and he said he was Frank Walker, my first cousin. We saluted each other with another firm and warm handshake. We hadn’t seen each other, only once, in about 40 years, since we were children. He is my mother’s sister Rose’s oldest son. He spent his full adulthood as a Seminary teacher in the Church’s school system. He was the Stake President of Uintah Stake, Vernal, Utah, for 13 years-then Stake Patriarch. He had just, two weeks ago, returned from an eighteen month mission, with his wife, in Chili, South America, and was now on his way to Eugene, Oregon, to visit some of his wife's sisters' people. They, (his wife and her sister) stayed overnight at our place, a very enjoyable visit-supper, bed, and when we awakened this morning, the Walker’s had fled, not a sound (just kaput!).
Well, Zina and I were married April 9, 1920. On the 10th of April, we went to my sister, Bessie Ovard’s place in American Fork, where my wife and I could stay, as I had been living in a bachelors den. Six men baching in four rooms, and each of us owned some items of our furnishings. I owned some of the pots and pans, the cookstove, and my own blankets, but nothing else. I had to find a separate house in which to live and what had to be moved for a man to bring a new wife into. All this first week, Zina was at my sister Bessie’s place in American Fork, Utah, where there was already a full house, and all full strangers to Zina. It was a very difficult experience for Zina.
She had already planned, in her mind and heart, that if she didn’t hear from her husband on the morrow, she would leave Bessie’s home and hitchhike back to Idaho. As she had no money with which to buy a ticket, and would not ask any of her husband’s family for money, so she would hitchhike. I have been grateful, a full life span, that I had finally gotten enough items together and arrived in American Fork ready

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To take my new wife back to Hiawatha, Utah, with me, into a very scantilly furnished two rooms of a four room house.
Alexander (Alex) Beveridge and his very recently married, new wife, Clatice, lived in the downhill side of the house, which was painted green, and was on the left hand side of the trip, going up, and the right side, going down. The trip was a double rail track from the entrance of the Blackhawk Coal Mine, one and a quarter miles down the bottom of the draw, or canyon, to the “triple”, the place where the coal was dumped from the mine cars (about 5 tons) into a grading chute. This was where the coal was graded as for size of coal slack, pea coal, small lumps, medium lumps, and large lumps. The five ton coal car was picked up from one track and completely turned upside down and placed right side up empty on the other track, and then coupled up into trains of 35 coal cars, each trip. At the same time, at the parting, in the entrance, of the mine (1 ¼ miles up the hill) a 35 car trip of loaded cars is being made up, both the loaded and the empty trains are fastened to a large steel cable, which is wound around a large electric powered drum, which can control the speed of the cable, as the loaded cars are slowly pushed off the mountain side. The loaded cars coming down, pull the empties up the mountainside at 35 or 40 miles per hour. The loads and empties passed each other right in front of our house and several times, people who were walking up the tramway from town, and saw the, either load or empty trip approaching, stepped over into the other track, right in front of the trip, going the opposite direction. I helped pick up the pieces a couple of times, and I’ll tell you, there wasn’t much to pick up. They could run a trip every half hour.
Well, as Zina and I began our house keeping together, it was sure a lot of fun. Our cupboards were made out of orange crates. We bought two chairs that we still have, after 57 years, a bedstead, and our first table was made of 2 x 4’s and 12’ x 1” boards. Our two small rooms was our doll house. We hiked up and down those Hiawatha hills like a couple of goats. We made window curtains and Zina tatted some very beautiful doilies. I remember that summer, we planted, carefully, California yellow poppies all over the hill above our house. We both worked in the church. I was chosen to be the first Counselor to Seymour Oliphant, in the Branch Presidency, with Calvin Tuft, as 2nd Counselor. I was the Sunday School chorister and Zina was the organist. Those were the happy days. We worked hard to get every L.D.S. member who lived in Hiawatha, active in some part of the Branch work, and we almost got it done. We attained a very high percentage.
This was the first time in my life that I knew, I had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. As a Branch Presidency, we were set up as an independent Branch. We organized the Sunday School, the Primary, the M.I.A. and the ward teachers and found enough active members to fill all the positions. To think that just last Oct. and Nov. there wasn’t even a Sunday School. In fact, no church service of any kind, and now we were a happy lot, meeting in the old Gun Club.
Seymour Oliphant and I went to Salt Lake City to the offices of the United States Steel and Fuel Co. and asked if the L.D.S. Church could build a place in Hiawatha for the members to hold meetings. We were told that at the next board meeting, the board would consider our request. About a month later, we received a letter from the head office of the U.S.Steel and Fuel Co. that the company would build a church in Hiawatha, giving the priority for Sunday forenoon and evenings to the L.D.S. and if any other denominations wanted to use it from only 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m., they were to be given that right. The L.D.S. were to be responsible for the upkeep, and the lights and fuel were to be furnished by the company. No other church has ever asked for their use of the building and it is still in use by that Ward today-52 years later.
On April 24, 1921, our first baby was stillborn at Hiawatha, and is buried there. Dr Templetin was just a new young Dr. and he cried because he could not save our baby. Zina’s pelvic bones would not come together properly after the birth of our baby. She was in the most severe pain and the Dr. bound her tightly around the hips, trying to pull her pelvis in place, bit it just intensified her pain. We prayed and prayed. My father and mother, who had moved to Hiawatha, were there. All of us knelt in prayer again, and I ran to town, where the Ward was holding an M.I.A meeting. I asked 2 of the Priesthood to come and administer to Zina. I asked henry Taylor, a Seventy (the butcher), and a grandson of John Taylor, the Prophet, and Joseph Hansen, a High Priest. Both of these men used tobacco, and they asked if I couldn’t get someone else who kept the word of wisdom. I said that Brother Oliphant was out of town and the other men were tied up here-so would you please come with me and administer to Zina who is terribly ill. They both came to my gate in front of my house. It was dark, so they both knelt in my gateway and pled with the Lord to not withhold any blessing from Sister Lindsay because of their weakness, and disobedience and to

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Please honor what ever blessing the Holy Ghost permitted their mouths to speak, during this administration. We entered the house and Brother Taylor anointed and Brother Hansen sealed the anointing. At the close of Brother Hansen’s blessing, he commanded the pelvic bones, in the name of Jesus Christ, to go into their proper place, My mother, who was sitting across the room from Zina, heard the bones pop into place. We who had our hands on Zina’s head were speechless and the Elders left very silently. Zina’s pain ceased and in minutes was asleep, fully exhausted after 2 or 3 days of very intense pain.
We had moved into a 4 room house across the canyon, on the other side of the tracks to the mine. Before we moved, while Zina was pregnant and was feeling rather rocky, Margaret Beveridge and an old Scotch lady, who came from the same coal mining place in Scotland as my Grandfather, Robert Lindsay, developed a kind of a friendship. I was a Scots Laddie, raised in America, so Margaret came to see what kind of a wife her Scots Laddie had brought to town. She came to our back door, which was our bedroom-she didn’t knock-just opened the door. Zina was lying in bed. The old lady had a very (braud) brog-Scot’s way of speaking. She was rather difficult to understand and she could swear a blue streak. She said, “you got no right to-be-a lying around on yer big fat ass. Get up and be-a-doing something.” I guess Zina turned over and cried and Margaret left. But when I came home from work, Zina told about some dirty mouthed old witch that came to our house that day. I knew immediately that it was my old Scot’s friend. I had a good laugh. She was a real gem in the rough (real rough) with a heart of gold. Her husband was a retired shift boss who had spent his full life in a coalmine.
Heber Hymas came to work in the mine in the fall of 1921, or winter. His mother said she felt real uneasy about Heber working in the mine and asked him to come back home, to Idaho. He didn’t stay very long, but Code and Clara Sheen came and worked a few months, then moved back to Idaho. We have a picture of Velola and Arpha on our bed together, in Hiawatha.
This was a very difficult time for Zina. Only those who have carried a baby for 9 months and then lost it, can sense the terrible feeling of disappointment and loss. How grateful we were that we had duties and responsibilities that required our attention. Our thoughts and our time were kept busy. We both taught a Sunday School class. Zina was in the Primary.
Our next baby was born one year and on day after the first, April 24, 1922, and Zina was a Beekeeper in the M.I.A.. the hive were all making up names for themselves from the attitude of God, so Zina invented the name of Velola, from the attributes of virtue, love, and laughter. No other person ever before had that name.
During this time, my mother’s cousin, James McPhie, came to Hiawatha as a cutterman. This is a man who knew how to operate a Sullivan Coal Cutting Machine, that undercuts coal, so that it could be blasted down into chunks for loading into coal cars. He invited me to be his partner and helper in a contract to cut coal. We took a contract to open up 20 rooms in the 9th north tunnel. The rooms were 22 feet wide, with a 20 foot pillar between and with an air vent tunnel 17 feet wide between each room each room, every 76 feet along the pillar. The company was to keep good rail trackage to within 10 feet of the face of the tunnel (end), and we were to receive (if I remember right) 12 ½ cents per ton, for all the coal loaded out of the ninth entry. We thought we became very efficient. We could enter a room, unload, dump, cut across a 22 foot face, pull out and load our tools and chains, ready to move to the next room in one hour. We were very happy together, because he was an active High Priest and along with my lovely wife, and Jim McPhie, I had great inspirations to live and practice the teachings of Christ.
At this time, I was asked, by the company to be a member of their mine safety and rescue team which included the first aid team, as well. At first we spent 3 nights a week in training, 1 hour each night, then 2 nights per week. Then, later on, one night per week of 2 hours per night. In this exercise of this duty as a , as a rescue Captain (the team elected me as Captain), we entered several mines in Carbon County, Utah, and extinguished fires, all of them filled with the deadly gas “after damp” (oxygen all burned out) and carbon monoxide. We wore self contained masks. None of these fires were pleasure trips.
At the Reins mine, in Gordon Creek Canyon, our crew was loaded onto a train of coal cars, about 10 cars, and the smoke was pouring out of the mine entrance. As our train was lowered into the mine shaft, we could feel the heat on our faces in the first half mile into the main shaft. Our crew was a 5 man crew and we were all equipped with a telephone strapped around our necks, with the sending device over our larynx, as our lips and mouths were sealed gas tight by a gasket and screws and our noses were connected to the oxygen tanks on our backs. But-we could talk and hear each other.

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We got to the end of the cable that was letting us into the shaft. We unloaded the pipes we had brought with us. We found the water line and we laid 10 lengths of 1 ½ “ pipe. We found the fire. Now, we realized as the water would hit the fire, the steam would probably scald us, so we better move as far away as we could from the fire. We bumped one of our lights and broke it, which didn’t help to have one man without a lamp. We had mislaid our extra lamps.
We came to the water valve, we were afraid that we weren’t far enough away from the fire. We had 500 feet of guide line (a small rope). I said I would stay at the valve, and for the rest of the crew to go on and to take the first tunnel in either direction off the main shaft, to take that way. They were to unroll the guideline and when they were at the end of the 500 feet guideline, to give me a signal and I would open the valve and let the water to the fire.
I opened the valve, I listened and I could hear the sound of water leaking out of our pipeline. It sounded right close by. I thought that no water would reach the fire unless I go fix some joint that had not gotten tightened firmly. I went back down the pipeline. I couldn’t take any guideline with me, so I would have to follow the pipeline. If I closed the valve, the leak would stop running, so I left the valve open.
By the time I had found the joint that was leaking, I could hear the sizzling sound of water going into the burning coal. The steam caught up with me and fogged my vision. I could not see the pipeline through the fog. I had to feel my way along the pipeline. The steam was getting extremely hot by the time I got back to where I had the guideline tied, my face was burning. I had to get on my hands and knees where the air was cooler, closer to the ground or floor of the shaft.
As I turned into the first cross cut off the main shaft, I got some cooler air. The heat and steam were unbearable in the main shaft. It was just then that a most awful sound and a rush of air that almost knocked me down. I could hear rocks falling. I followed the line and found the rest of the crew. They were coming back to find me. The heat was terrible.
We went into the main tunnel, and we ran into the cavein. The whole mine was full of rocks. Here we were-in a mine 2 or 3 miles back under a high mountain. A mine in which we were nothing and steam getting hotter by the minute. But, we knew that every mine in the State of Utah had to have an escape shaft and a map at several partings or sidetracks. We had to find it quickly or we would be 5 cooked corpses.
In not too long a time, Arson Rowley and I were the only active members of the church, although 2 others, Martin Lemaster and Alex Beveridge were members. We put our arms around each other and Brother Rowley prayed. He asked the Lord to guide us to the escape shaft. Remember, we still were dressed in our safety suits and masks and breathing straight oxygen. We only went a short way when we saw the mine map and instructions to get out of there.
Thank the Lord it was a shaft 200 feet straight up and down, but right close by. Arson climbed first, then Alex, Then Mart. Then Rex and I were last. The steam was going up the shaft. The fog was so thick you could see one rung of the ladder after the other until we were about ½ way up the ladder. We, the crew, were all fastened to each other. No one could fall down. If one fell, all would have to fall also. When we got about about ¾ of the way up the ladder, Alex passed out. Boy, were we in a mess!
Arson took the short rope he had and he and Mart tied it around Alex and then threaded it around Arson’a shoulders. Some fresh air came down the shaft and caused us to see each other. We nudged from one rung of the ladder to the next. Up, up, very slowly. Poor old Mart. That dead weight on his head and shoulders.
We had a canary in a small oxygen fed cage or compartment to test the after damp, or the carbon monoxide in the air. If it was safe to breathe, the canary would pay no attention-but if there was any corbon monoxide in the air, the bird would flap his wings and droop his head. Then we would pump pure oxygen into his compartment. Then we would revive him. We discovered that the air coming up the shaft, was poison and deadly. When we were within 20 or 30 rungs from the top, Rex flopped over on top of me. Which caused us extra trouble.
Just about that time, a man with a gas mask on his head, opened the door of the manhole house and looked down the shaft. I just braced myself with my feet on a rung of the ladder and my back against the wall of the shaft on the other side and held on. My legs ached. A rope was lowered and tied around Rex and we called for another line. It came and was tied around Alex. I believe there were 10 men on those ropes as we were pulled to safety. We were taken to the company hospital for a checkup/ Both Alex and Rex came to as we came to the surface.

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As a rescue team, we went to a train wreck on the Union Pacific Railroad at Helper, Utah, where the coal in the cars were on fire. We also helped carry many bodies from the Castle Gate Mine, after the explosion, which killed many miners-if I remember right, about 210. Many of the bodies were burned black.
Here I received a testimony that the L.D.S. garments are a protection to the body. Men who had been killed and were wearing their garments, were not burned black under their garments-all the rest were. The Bishop of the ward was killed, and he had a hole in his garments at the knee, and one in the back. As he was made ready for burial, his body was perfectly white, except for the two places where the 2 holes were. When his wife came to identify the body, she told us of the 2 holes. Many bodies could only be identified by teeth, or some other mark, as they were burned to a crisp. This was a very sad experience.
Our crew had to go into the mine and establish clear air cells. It took about 10 days to clear all the after damp out of the mine, so it was safe for anyone to enter the mine without a safety gas mask. Those days our rescue crews worked about 20 hours out of the 24 hour day. I was just plum pooped out! But, as I now look back, those days we lived in the coal mine town of Hiawatha, Utah, were very happy days.
Our thrid child was born Oct 6, 1923. He was blessed and named Elro Lindsay-Clive, because that was the name my parents had given me when I was blessed and I changed at my baptism. Now we had a boy and a girl. The Dr. told me if I got my wife pregnant again, he would take a knife and treat me before the knife.
In the summertime, on June 18th, 1924, Heber Hymas was killed at the Paul Sugar Factory, and a Brother Lewis, of Hiawatha, Utah, loaned Zina and I his Model A Ford car and we drove it to Idaho, to Heber’s funeral. We cut cross-country from Snowville, to Black Pine post office and on to Malta. I remember the dust was hub deep on that road.
Zina and I never realized what a wonderful friend we had in Brother and Sister Lewis, to loan us their new car, to go all the way from Hiawatha to Rupert, Idaho, until we became older. They asked no pay, just a pure gesture of love and respect. It’s a wonderful and marvelous feeling that attends or comes over us, as we closely work together in the Church of Christ, helping to build His Kingdom. Brother Lewis and Zina and I helped establish the Sunday School-then the branch-in Hiawatha, Utah. In the fifty years after leaving the mining camp, or town, of Hiawatha, we know nothing of the whereabouts of Brother and Sister Lewis, nor their family. By the way, there is no Black Pine today-not a sign of ever having been one.
Heber had filled a mission to New Zealand in 1920-1921, and he was a very fine man.
I must go back to the rescue team’s experience. The train wreck I mentioned, on the Union Pacific Railroad, was inside a tunnel and also on a curve in the track-in other words, the tunnel was curving around the point of the mountain. The very dangerous part of this mission was the fuel gas that was created by the heat and had not yet been ignited. There was an accumulation of raw, or unburned gas, that had gone up into the cavern, caused by the cave-in of the tunnel ceiling and walls. This had blocked the air passage through the tunnel and in order to get at the fire, which was inside the steel railroad cars, we had to cut holes with a blow torch, through the sides of the cars.
Twice, if we hadn’t been in our asbestos suits and head gear, and been breathing our own oxygen supply, we would have been burned. We had tested our air before striking a spark on our torches. We had cut one side of the hole we were making in the side of the railroad car and had started down the end cut, when WOW-a flash of fire filled the cavern. The shock knocked us to the floor. Our clothing was unburnable, and our helmets heat resistant and steel crowned. That clothing saved us, but the shock caused the rocks to loosen in the overhead cavern. The area where we had been working was completely covered with large rocks or boulders and dirt. The gas had seeped up through the rocks and had filled the empty cavern and then came down to where we were working and as we had snapped our lighter to the torch-WOW-we thanked God that no one was hurt.
But, there were many things happening in the coal mine that were disturbing to my mind. I wasn’t afraid, but I knew that most all accidents were caused by carelessness or by not living the full rules of safety. I thought the law of averages would someday catch up with me.
I had at 2 different times, got my thumbs caught in the feed chain of our cutting machine. Each thumb had peeled off to the first joint and I had to slip the flesh back on the bone. I got one on crooked and it is that way today. They both healed.

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By February pay day, I was getting more restless and was working rather hard. In the mine office, the company posted the names of the miners who loaded the greatest tonage each month of the year. Many of those months, my name was on the top and always close to the top tonage. I could get lots of coal on those cars.
John William Hymas, my father-in-law, was born 22 February, 1865. Zina was getting homesick and Feb. 22, 1925 would be his 60th birthday. I think that it was about Feb. 15th or 16thand I went to work on the 6:30 a.m. trip into the mine. At 6”30 a.m., all the miners rode the empty cars up the canyon as the first load of loaded cars came out of the mine and down the canyon to the tipal. At the mouth of the mine, the empty car train would stop and let the miners off and an electric motor would couple onto the empties and the cable that let the trip up and down was disconnected. As I entered the main tunnel and turned into 9th North tunnel, I met the night safety inspector and he told me that several of the rooms on my contract had bad ceilings in their rooms and would have to knock all loose coal down before they could have any empty cars and that he wouldn’t allow any flying switches. I went and looked at some of the loose tops. Gosh!! Some of those men had a full days work and no pay. They were paid only 79 cents a ton for what coal reached the tipal, at the bottom of the hill, or canyon. So, what did I do? What did I think? Oh Phooey! I’m going to Idaho. I walked back out of the mine into the sunshine and have never been back into the mine since.
I walked, or ran down the hill to our house and Zina asked what I was doing home at that hour of the day. I told her that as soon as I could sell my contract, we were going to Idaho. It took but a few days until we were on our way. We arrived in Rupert, Idaho, February 20, 1925, so that we could celebrate Grandpa Hymas’s 60th birthday with him. They lived in the second house west of where the Minidoka Memorial Hospital now is. It was then W. E. Hunter’s beet field. Within the next day or two, we rented, from Tom Halliday (an agent) a ten acre plot with a house on it, not modern. It had a sandpoint well, a bedroom, kitchen and a long room with a colonade or arch and bookcase dividing it, forming 2 rooms. There was also a back porch where the pump was.
To date, this move Zina and I had made, sounds like a rather humorless, but business-like affair. But we were in this affair together, swim or sink.
I remember the day we first entered that empty house. It had been built in 1916-1917, making it about 8 or 9 years old. It had been built with just two rooms at first, then the other 2 rooms and the full porch across the back, added later.
As we walked across the bare wood floors, they squeeked. We swept the floors and washed the windows with cold water from the old pump on the back porch-which would need replacing. We had no chairs, so we sat on the kitchen cabinet and ate our cold balogna sandwiches. We really had a good laugh. Here we were, starting all over again, without our orange box cupboards.
We rented that same house in 1925-26-27, and that fall, Tom Halliday sold the place to Clark Stanley, who paid $750.00 down payment on the place with the promise to pay another $500.00 in the spring, when he sold his potatoes. He tried all winter to sell his spuds, but didn’t get it done.
I had gotten a job at Lippo Dairy, milking cows, when the house we were living in was sold, and we had to move. A Mister Gyer, who ran a grocery store at the corner of 8th and E. St., owned 40 acres with a house on it. It was located 2 miles north and 2 ¼ miles west of Rupert, where James Ray Johnson (now 1977) lives. Henry Baker was our neighbor on the east and David I. Garner , our good neighbor on the west.
At the dairy, where I worked, Mr. Lippo didn’t keep any of his calves. He said if Zina and I wanted them, we could have all of them. He had 60 head of Jersey cows, so we took all his calves. Zina fed them calf starter and powdered milk. We had to sell some for money to buy more feed and we borrowed $60.00, and bought a cow from Sidney Hymas to help feed our calves.
Anyway, the spring that Clark Stanley couldn’t raise the $500.00 to meet the promissory note with Tom Halliday, Halliday served notice of foreclosure on Stanley.
I was herding our cattle along the roads, as I had no pasture, and Elro and Velola, just little kids, were out herding cows, trying to keep them our of the fields. We had accumulated 10 bred heifers and we would take them out on the roads, morning and evening. When I was out west, along by Mr. Burger’s place, Clark Stanley came along and was he mad! He had in his hands his notice of foreclosure. He said if I could raise the $500.00, now due on his note, he would give me the $750.00 that he had paid and I could assume his contract. We had no money, but we had our cattle.
A Mr. Jensen, a cattle buyer, came along the road and saw our springer heifers and offered $50.00

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Apiece for them. He said he would load them right along the road and said he would give us a check. I said-“no check, just cash”. Mr. Jensen returned with the $500.00 and we traded our calves for his dollars and thereby assumed the contract of Clark Stanley, of buying this, our home.
During the winter of 1927, while we were living on Gyers 40 acres, I sorted spuds all over the project. Sometimes during that winter, Mr. Gyer decided to sell his place and asked us to move out of his house. We couldn’t find any place to move into, so Mr. Gyer got an eviction order through the courts, and came and served it on me. My wife was pregnant and my 2 children were ill with colds. I got Brother Henry Baker to go with me to Dr Frazer, and have him phone the judge, who issued the eviction order, to stop the eviction for health reasons. So Mr. Gyer was told that he would have to find a house for us to live in, before he could evict our family.
Ivamae was born 24 April 1928, while we were still living in Gyer’s house, but he did finally find an empty house. It was an old leaky trap of a house out in the center of the field that Herman Henchied now owns at 100 N. 100 W. We lived in this old house from, between Christmas of 1928 and New Years. 1929 to March, when we moved into the house we have lived in until now, October 1977.
Much water has run under the bridge in those years from 1928 to 1978. Our first Bishop, when we came to Rupert, was Wm. T. Astell, of the 2nd Ward and Bishop Phillip Borup, 1st Ward, with Richard C. May as the Stake President and Herman Fails, 1st counselor, and Joseph Payne, 2nd counselor. The Minidoka Stake was organized 11 May 1924. For 3 years, George Poulson and Bailey Dixon were the Seventies group leaders. With the forming of the Minidoka Stake of Zion, and the organization of the 219th Quorum of Seventies, I was ordained a Seventy on the 5th of June, 1927, by J. Golden Kimball, who was born 9 June 1853, making him 74 years old, lacking four days at my ordination. He was ordained by Wm. M. Allred, who was ordained by Levi W. Hancock, who was ordained by Joseph Smith, who was ordained by Peter, James and John. We had been in Rupert only 3 months when this stake was organized.
At this time, Frank Hammond became the Bishop of the Rupert 2nd Ward, Minidoka Stake, With Charles W. Garner 1st Counselor and Ray Whiting as 2nd Counselor, as Bishop Astell had moved to Salt Lake City.
With the orgainization of the 219th Quorum of Seventies on 5 June 1927, the direction came under J. Golden Kimball, Leonard P Allen, Joseph L. Noble, Fred Tolman, Herschel Barnes, Wm. R. Telford, John B. Orton and Clyde B. Crandall, with Bailey Dixon as secretary. Later, Vao Schofield took Dixon’s place as Secretary. On 23 Sept. 1928, this presidency was all released and a new presidency was chosen and set apart as follows: Charles N. Campbell, Fred Tolman, Owen W. Garrett, Albert Harrison, Henry Rasmussen, and Robert Mortensen and John B. Orton, with Vao Schofield as secretary. At the sustaining of this presidency, when asked if there was anyone opposed to the sustaing of anyone who’s name had been read, please raise their hand. Brother Joseph L. Noble, who had just been released, raised his hand and said that he could not sustain Robert Mortensen. This is the only time in my lifetime that anyone has ever opposed any nominations that had been made.
These 2 men lived across the street from each other and had trouble over water matters. It did not change the calling. Brother Mortensen served his full term. This presidency of Seventies served until the fall Stake Conference, held on 22 Sept 1935, when they were all released and a new, seven presidents were appointed.
During this time, (November 1928) I was called on a Stake Mission for 6 months to serve in the Hazelton, Idaho, and Eden, Idaho, towns, with Albert Harrison as my senior companion. We were to serve without purse or script, with the priviledge of coming home Saturday afternoons and Sunday. We discovered much misunderstanding about the L.D.S Church. We encountered what could be called a delayed, or ripened prejudice, as many of those homesteaders in that part of Idaho, are descendants of the people who helped drive the Mormons out of Missouri in 1838. They did not have one correct opinion or concept of what the doctrine or teachings of the Church were-only that they were a vile people. It was a very good experience for Brother Harrison and I.
We had 6 months of hard study and enthusiastic practice in defending the Church and righting in the minds of our contacts, the calling and charge given to the church by Jesus Christ, through Joseph Smith,
The Prophet.
Now, to continue about the 70’s. Jesse L. Roberts Sr., President, Vao Schofield, Fred Blacker, Lorenzo P. Allen, Louis C. Jensen, Morris Baker and Loyal H. Cole. These were the new seven president’s appointed.

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My reason to continue about the 70’s was that I was a member of this Quorum for 32 years, and some of my greatest joys , in my whole life came to me as a result of the service I rendered to others, as a member
Of that group.
I served as one of the seven presidents with three different senior presidents. The first was LeRoy Blacker then Eugene Jenks, and last Oran Whittaker , Serving over a period of 15 years. Many are now dead, but all very good men. There was established a brotherhood and a love among us that lasted through the years.
I would like to record these names that I can remember: James Wilcox, Jesse Sessions, Charles Morrison, John King, Horace Hatch, Varsal Jenks, Harry Ridge, Arthur Hubsmith, Lester Tracy, Fred Tolman, Denzel Jensen, Secretary, John Orton, Chase Wilson.
Our progressive parties were something to behold. We had a very precisely-timed schedule. We held three parties at the same time in three different Seventy’s homes. Enough cars were assigned so that the driver of the car took his wife and 2 other couples to one of the 3 assigned homes, where the first party was being held. In this home, an entrée, or cocktail was served, after our introduction and prayer. Entertainment was arranged by the home in which the party was being held. Three cars with 3 couples in each car, or 9 couples-18 adults. So, we had to select the larger homes. After 25 minutes, this group broke up, each car taking a different 2 couples with them to the next pre-assigned home, where a main course food was served, and after 25 minutes, each car assigned took still another 2 different couples with them and headed to the Stake recreation hall. Dessert was served and a couple of program numbers rendered.
Our timing had to be rather ridged and prompt to arrive at the church all at the same time These parties took a lot of planning and involved a lot of people with careful timekeepers--but fun! This was one of the best fellowshipping tools I ever saw and used every Seventy in the 219th Quorum of 70’s.
Each driver of the cars had a diagram of homes and how to get there.
During these years, the 28’s to the 40’s, I sorted potatoes all over the Minidoka project and on the Burley side also. I was the head sorterman, first for the W.W. Newcomb Co., and later for C.N. Campbell and Co. Very few farms on the Minidoka Project, I haven’t sorted spuds on, at one time or another. During the summer, I worked for Ray Harbour, on his farm and stacked hay for anyone in those days. At that time, the farmer did not bale his hay, he stacked it in large stacks of 40 to 50 tons in one stack. Loose hay and the stacker stayed on top of the pile of hay, keeping the sides and ends straight up and down and placing the next loads as they were lifted, by the derrick, on top of the stack. It was hard and hot work, but I became a first rate stacker.
One time I became overheated and fainted with heat exhaustion and fell 20 feet, to the ground. Luckily, I landed on a pile of hay that had fallen off the stack. The derrick boy saw me fall and came and poured some cold water over my face and head. I came to and, in a few moments, I climbed back on the stack and finished the day.
All during the 1930’s to the 1940, I was very active in the Boy Scouts of America .I served in most every office in the local program from assistant Scout Master, Scout Master, Troop committeeman, Lone Scout Master for three different scouts who became Eagle Scouts, Merit badge Counselor for Indian Lore, Astronomy, Swimming and Lifesaving, with some leathercraft.
In one summer, I passed or surveyed and conducted 17 Boys through this Lifesaving Badge Test that they might become Eagle Scouts. They almost drown me a few times, but never got it done. I went camping with my scout troop every summer.
It was during the early 30’s that I wanted to learn how to become rather expert or proficient in casting a dry fly. I bought the best fly casting rod, A double tapered line.-a $65.00 reel. No one on the stream had
A more efficient outfit and every Friday evening I was headed for Silver Creek at Picabo, Idaho. Here, all the experts in this field of sport would congregate each Sunday, where they would test their skill against the skills of others. They used flies with no barbs, in contests for exactness in placement of their flies into a bucket, over a log, under a bush, distance of cast, the alignment of back cast, or how to deft the caster, was to feel when the line had reached it’s full length backward, and was ready for the power to be applied for the forward cast. Avery good training for the reflexes.
But as I look back into my memory of these times, I now see, many years too late, that Satan was placing, in my pathways, tools with which I could, and if I had not later seen and changed, would have wrecked my marriage, and thereby, my whole life. I thank God for the principle of repentance.

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I drank beer with the boys, smoked their cigarettes, became addicted and felt no guilt when I took the Lords name in vain. I awakened one night, after having dreamed of seeing Satan standing in my path, just grinning from ear to ear. He was real happy. That dream haunted me and as I awoke I said out loud, “I’m going to wipe that smile off your face”
For 40 years I have striven with all my weaknesses and faults, to plugging away at that smile. I yet hope, with the Lords help, to wipe that smile off, and have a clean slate before I die.
I know now, and realize that much of the damage done during those reckless years is irreparable and I will have to suffer the consequences, pay the penalty, reap the reward.
I am quite sure that Satan uses workers in the church-good people, to sometimes make mistakes, that Satanish interpretations by those whom he, Satan, has influences over to cause them to withdraw farther away from the church. An example of this in my life: One summer, for the weeklong summer scout camp, we decided to choose our own camp site, and not go to the Snake River Council Camp. We chose to go up the Little Wood River and camp below the narrows, in a nice meadow. There was a good access to wood and spring water, and 6 nice places for our tents. Six of the boys had pup tents. But, when we got ready to leave Rupert, no one was going as a Scout leader, except I, the Scout Master. I called the M.I.A. President and told him I needed help. It was too much of a job for one leader. He called the Bishop-result!
I borrowed a truck, loaded up all the equipment for 36 boys and got fathers to hustle up enough cars to haul the boys up to Carey, Idaho, and dump us off. Some cars were on their way back home inside 30 minutes. Some stayed and helped set up camp. At dark, I was alone with 36 boys. It was 10:30 p.m. as we doused our fire and sang taps and our prayer.
Our troop council had planned a very ambitious program. Each day, things had worked almost perfect, until the 4th day. This was the day we were going to follow the Little Wood River through the narrows. The trail crossed from one side of the river to the other 18 times in a short distance of 3 miles, or maybe
2 ½ miles. The water was cold and deeper than we had estimated, or planned for. The walls of the narrows were straight up and down, and when the river ran into the wall, the trail had to cross to the other side. We had 5 twelve year old boys with us. Earl and Verl Blacker, Ray Hatch, Vao Palmer and Guss Nelson.
That water was up to those kid’s middle. I stepped into the creek and that water came right out of a snowbank. Well! Well! What to do? Call a Troop Council! Which we did. Shall we postpone our hike through the narrows? The boy’s council decided NO! Every hour of our week in camp was planned, and if we changed it, some of the things we had planned to do would have to be left out. Well, then what shall we do?
Carl Garner was our senior patrol leader and he volunteered to stay in camp with these 5 boys. If the council would plan what kind of things they, he and the 5 boys would do, what looked like a very good days entertainment was presented and ok’d.
We all slept well that night, arose early and had breakfast-a great experience for some of the boys. The first experience of getting their own breakfast over an open campfire. It may not have won many prizes in the field of cooking, but it was filling, even if some of it was rather brown from closeness to the blaze. As the troop single filed out of camp, fishing tackle in hand and lunch in the shoulder sack, the waved bye, bye to Carl and his troop of 5. Those boys who waded through those narrows that day will never again find a more hungry bunch of fish. Anytime, anywhere, we all limited up or caught every fish the law would allow us to catch. This happened long before we were through the narrows.
After the narrows or above them, there is a very beautiful little valley. We made a fire, gathered firewood, made us a clothes rack out of an old fallen tree, stripped, dried our clothes, cooked our dinner, and sang some songs. Gee! We must hurry. It will take us 1 1/2 or 3 hours to climb over the ridge and back to camp by 5:30, as we had planned.
All days are short when one is fishing, especially when the fish are biting-but this day was extra short. It was real difficult to get those boys to realize that the day was spent, and we must head for camp. I had to get real tough before we were all single file, heading over the ridge. The hands of the clock were getting ready to point at the 4 spot on its face, before we got underway. Those scouts had more pep than a
Mountain goat.
I had to apply the brakes, in order to keep them together.. I gave them to understand that I was the Captain, and that I would set the pace. If there was anyone in the gang who didn’t want it to be that way, I would make arrangements as soon as we were in camp for them to go home. We didn’t want them in our camp anyway, if they didn’t obey orders.

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Now-I would like a show of hands of those who are willing to support me and allow me to make some of the decisions. Every hand went up.
As we cleared the top of the ridge and got so we could see where our camp was, through field glasses, we could see that we had 2 cars in camp. Company-always a nice thing to see. We quickened our pace, which is always the case when we are headed for home on the last lap.
As we returning scouts entered the campground, we discovered our visitors were the ward Bishop, the Stake M.I.A. President and the Stake Scout Leader. We also discovered that as they , the visitors, came into camp, they found all 5 of the 12 year old scouts we had left with Carl Garner, the Senior Patrol Leader, all bawling for bloody murder. Carl couldn’t get them to quit crying. He didn’t know what to do and he was really bushed, the poor kid. I could have cried for him myself.
That was bad enough, but not all. The 3 leaders called me aside from the troop and gave me a real lacing down. They pointed out, what they thought, was every mistake I had made and how they would have done differently. Well-I was tired. I had gone through a rough, but enjoyable day, My patience had been tried to the breaking point in keeping the gang together, and intact, while coming over the hill. I was in no shape, mentally, nor spiritually, for any criticism or recital of my mismanagement. Especially from these persons who had helped in no way, so far, on this camping trip.
I listened until all 3 had spoken their piece. My blood began boiling and I said, “Now, you fellows know so damn much of how to run a scout camp, you can, right now, have a chance to practice, cause you can have this outfit and just stick it in your rear end. I’m going home right now.” “But Brother Lindsay, you can’t do that.” “The hell I can’t-you just watch,” Inside 30 minutes, the headquarters tent, the borrowed truck and all my equipment was on our way to Rupert.
I do not know that any of the scouts ever knew what happened. I never told anyone. I have never been very happy with myself, the way I reacted. My conscience has shamed me for 30 years, but some actions always leave a scar, if only in our memories, and they will always remain a truth requiring an accountability. But, I did repent.
I got back in Scouting on a District basis and Council basis, until in 1947 I was awarded the Silver Beaver Award, in the Snake River Council. I never got back on a ward or Troop basis. At the age of 70, I was asked to teach the Guide Patrol in Primary, a very rich experience. I had 11 dine 11 year old boys. Ten of the 11 went on missions for the church when they were 19 years old. The 11th boy is now my companion as Home Teachers-a fine boy.
I taught Guide Patrol 3 years, when I was called on my second Stake mission, for 2 years and was released from Primary. I served in the Heyburn Ward and we baptized 6 persons-two never took very good and they drifted away from the church. Then, after my release from the mission, I was called again to teach the 11 year old boys, now called the Blazer B boys in Primary and registered as Assistant Scout-Master.
As I stated in the first paragraph of this narrative, my inadequacies will appear somewhere along in my writing. I have gone thus far along this tale of woe, before going back and checking what I had written. Was my face red-T’would appear that I had a father, but no mother, at least I had made no mention of her. I will now rectify that error or oversight.
My mother was a rather quiet, unassuming person. She was well liked among her family and neighbors and judging from her wedding picture a rather beautiful woman. She had long, real black hair, that hung down to her hips and a very white skin that easily freckled. All her children had freckles, inherited from her
She was born 2 October 1876, at Grandfather Richardson’s homestead log cabin, in the mouth of Center Creek Canyon. She was the 2nd child of Wm. Richardson and Jane Howie Muir, who were the parents of 9 children. Both of these grandparents were born in Scotland-Wm. at Glasgow, Lanark, Scotland, and Jane at Kilmarnock, Ayrshire, Scotland. Both were born in 1854-Wm. 4 Apr. and Jane 5th July. All of my maternal great-grandparents had migrated with many other Scottish members of the L.D.S. Church to Zion, or Utah, by 1860. My mother’s people were assigned by Brigham Young to go to Provo Valley-a small valley east over the Wasatch range of mountains from Salt Lake City. It is surrounded on all 4 sides with mountains with 4 openings or canyons where 4 streams of water entered the valley-the Provo River, Lake Creek, Center Creek and Daniels Creek.

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My father was raised on Lake Creek, with their church in Heber City, My mother lived in Center Creek. My father and mother grew up within 5 or 6 miles of each other. They loved to dance and were beautiful dancing together. Both my mother and father were very popular, as dancing partners.
On My Mission
I spent the winter of 1948 in Souix Saint Marie, Ontario, Canada, a city of 35,000, and a great percentage were French Catholics. On peculiar difference was that there was a large congregation of Reorganized L.D.S (Josephites). They had a very large, beautiful church house. A Mr. Edwards was the Presiding Elder. There were four of we Elders of the L.D.S. church (Mormons) assigned to labor in Souix.
In the course of our tracting, we called at Mr. Edward’s home. They accepted our tracts and invited us in. We called back for revisits several times before we were told that they were Reorganites, and believed that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God. We Elders were dumbfounded. This was a new turn of events, requiring new tactics.
We 4 Elders were invited and accepted the invitation to attend their church service. During the service, all 4 of us were asked if we would please stand. Then Mr. Edwards introduced us individually to his congregation, beginning with me, the Senior Elder, then Elder Dee Piper of Blackfoot, Idaho, Elder Paul Moore, Salt Lake City, and Elder Doral Graff of Orem, Utah. All 4 of us were given the privilege to preach in his church, two on one Sunday and two the next Sunday.
We were asked, by Mr. Edwards to tell the congregation what the Mormons really believed and how the church operated without a paid Minister.
Elder Graff went first-me next, and one week later, Piper and Moore. After Elder Graff closed his remarks, I asked Mr. Edwards if, before I spoke, would it be alright to have Elder Moore play a selection on their beautiful organ. Mr. Edwards said his congregation would be delighted. Elder Moore gave me a look, meant to kill, but he, being a very good organist, did a masterful rendition combination of “Oh , My Father’ and “Come, Come Ye Saints. You could have heard a fly walking on the window pane-it was so quiet in that room.
As I arose from my chair, the Spirit villed me to over-flowing, and I bore one of the better testimonies of my life.
I was transferred to the Souix (Soo) the 1st week in November, 1948. I believe it snowed every day from Dec. 4, 1948 to March 15, 1949.
March 15, 1949, I was called into Toronto, Mission Home and set apart as District President of the Montreal District, with 30 missionaries laboring in the district. Six were in the French language.
We, the elders in Souix, had started a Primary and had great success. Therefore, I was asked to organize a French Primary and Sunday School in Montreal, Quebec. It was slow and discouraging at times, but a very good place to practice our faith. I learned some very dear lessons on faith, Prayer, humility and patience. During the next year, President Eyre, the Canadian Mission President, gave orders to hold street meetings. Being able to speak French, I was assigned the task of securing the permit where these meetings could be held
I didn’t like any street where trucks and cars were always interrupting our meetings, nor parking lots of business houses. So, why not Phillips Square, right in the center of Montreal. To our surprise, the chairman of the board, at our next visit, said “ok”. “At 2:00 p.m. for the next 4 Sunday’s, you may hold your services for one hour. Be sure to be gone by 3:15 p.m. We will be there to observe. Then on Monday following, at 10:00 a.m., you come to City Hall and we will have decided if you can continue to hold your meetings.
We took up a collection from each of the Elders, then working in Montreal and had printed handbills, which we scattered in all parts of the city. I went to the streetcar company and received permission to place a handbill on each streetcar bulletin board, on their system.
On the 4th Sunday, at 2:00 p.m., we estimated we had a crowd of about 600 people on Phillips Square. I had asked for and received a very large scroll from the Union Pacific Railroad in Kansas City, Mo., with pictures of their western states, including pictures of Utah and the Salt Lake Temple. I had received permission to hook a light cord into the light fixtures in the toilet or barber shop under Phillips Square and I would give 50 cents each hour we used our large light. We fixed up a spot lamp to show on our large pictures and as we needed a new picture, an Elder on each side of the scroll would change pictures

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On this 4th Sunday, as I stood up before the vast multitude of people, I had the most terrible feeling come over me. The thought came into my mind “what if I’m wrong; what if I’m preaching false doctrine, and these people out there are right and not me”.
I began to sweat. I could feel my whole body tremble. I felt like I was going to faint. I saw Elder Litchfield, from Raymond, Canada, standing by me. I felt my face getting red with shame for letting such a doubting thought to enter my mind. I said to the multitude that Elder Litchfield would be the first speaker. He is bilingual, and if you do not understand, ask and he will explain in either English or French.
I ducked out through the crowd to find some place to kneel in prayer and ask the Lord’s forgiveness for letting doubt enter into my mind. The only place I could see, where people hadn’t gathered, was over the low picket fence that surrounded a huge statue of Jaque Pierre.
I climbed the fence and knelt down in a small inside corner at the base of the statue. With people walking past each way on the walk, I began to pray, and calmness came over my being. My bosom burned within me. My cheeks began to tingle. My hair felt like it was standing on end-straight up! The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that Jesus Christ was Jehovah, the creator of heaven and earth and that it was under His direction that Moroni gave to Joseph Smith the Book of Mormon. It was under His guidance that the restoration had come and that now was my responsibility to teach this vast and multitude crowd, that had gathered in this square this day, and that it was His guidance that we had permission to use this square this day.
So intense, so convincing, so electrifying was that testimony that I still feel the shock, after 30 years.
I thank God for the Holy Ghost.
Special Thoughts
This poem was written by Rupert C. Lindsay on November 2, 1948 at Ottawa, Canada
WORDS
Words are things, they have a life
Like flowers, in varied hues
They speak of hunger and of thirst
Of joys, heartaches and blues.
They are the tools which wisdom use
In council from the wise
The fluency of Poets
As they tell of sunset skies.
The darts of Baby Cupid
As he journeys forth in love
The sublimity of faithfulness
As one prays to God Above
Though in reckless combinations
They can be the cruelest things
They have murdered life-long friendship
With the venom of their sting.
So wisdom says “be careful”
Of the words which we befriend.
Our thoughts come not without them
So in wisdom guide their trend.
Yes, words are things, they have a life
Use well your share today
Make sure no shafts of enmity
You start along their way.

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This poem was written by Rupert C. Lindsay
On November 10, 1948, while serving on an
L.D.S. Mission at Ottawa, Canada
To envenomize a youthful mind
And fill a soul with hate,
Would be triumphant victory
To that cast-out reprobate.
Who in those Heavenly Councils
Before the world began,
Vowed he’d, with hate, environ,
The soul of every man.
But, Christ the elder brother,
Superlative he was
Produced a plan transcendent,
A progressive set of laws.
Creating possibilities
For every child of God,
To realize salvation
If his path, in faith they’d trod.
So by determination,
Their joys, they can secure,
By knowing and abiding
Christ’s laws, they are the cure.
Through them, the power of Satan,
From hence hate emanates
Can truly be abolished,
His license terminates.

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My Friend---------
Of faults you have your share, I guess
But them I never see
I look into your goodly heart
And that rings true to me.
Me thinks sometimes tho, friend of mine
There’s aching in your soul
I feel sometimes that you’ve been hurt
A success t’ward Satan’s goal.
By one, perhaps, who did not know
The trials life brought your way
Who’s insufficient tact, perhaps,
Could find no better play.
But friend of mine, a brother true,
I surely want to be,
You know the gospel more than I
And of life, I less than thee.
I ponder oft, my brother dear, I see no reason plain,
Just why you miss the Sacrament, why not return again?
Me thinks of times gone past. Your face was always there,
But now I search and all I see, is just your vacant chair.
Of business, friend, it’s none of mine
It’s just’ twixt God and you,
I know you need the Sacrament, my friend, and so do you.
I need to meet you often, I know no better place,
So let’s both go to meeting and meet there face to face.
Written Jun 24, 1946, in Idaho Falls Temple on Minidoka Stake’s day at the Temple
At the portals of this Holy House,
I bow my head in prayer,
And utter words of thanks to God above
For all the many blessings that are mine today.
For His great mercy and His love
I pray, that faults which I possess
May not, bar me, today.
From holding full communion with Thee, as I go my way.
I pray that when I enter here
All worldly strife and sin
Shall promptly leave my countenance
And joyous peace flow in.
I pray that every ordinance, which I perform today
Shall satisfy the yearning of some brother, passed away.
Amen.
ADD ON
A son, Don Hymas Lindsay, was born at our home at 100 North 77 West, on October 8, 1929, after Zina said she had carried him for 11 months.
The youngest child, a son, Bobby Dean was born in the same house, on November 14, 1932.

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This very special letter, was written to Zina and I by our very good friends, Herbert and Doris May. I would like to include it in my journal.
May 23, 1977
775 E. Stetson
Hemet, California
Dear Rube & Zina:
I was so glad to see you people that it must have left me slightly “tetched”. I sat down and wrote the following article for my Book of Remembrance. When you get through reading it, you may want to lift the lid of the casket and look to see who I’ve got inside. But it’s you, and I mean every word of it.
April 19, 197
“RUBE”
It shouldn’t have been surprising when I walked into the room where my friend, Rube stood, waiting my arrival. He never was one to do things like other people, and his 81 years seemed to have left him almost untouched by the usual ravages of time. Thirty years of memories slipped by and there stood my friend, almost as he looked when we first started working in the Scouts together. His chin started to quiver and tears came to his eyes, as he remembered-same here. We grasped each other in a bear hug, to express our joy, in such a reunion, after almost 13 years of separation.
He couldn’t wait to tell me all the things he was doing, still Scouting, after 53 years as a registered Scouter. Now he has a Primary class every week to teach the 11 year old boys and bring them up to first class, by graduation time. He’s been doing this for years. Had one class with 14 boys, and every one of them went into the mission field, except one. He and Zina, his wife, sing a duet at the farewell of each missionary, and welcome them home, the same way.
But the, he doesn’t just spend his time with the youngsters, he is chairman of the old folks committee and tries to see that these people aren't left friendless and unwanted and untended.
One night a week, he spends teaching arts and crafts, but his most concern, is with genealogical work.
He awoke one night, in the middle of his sleep, with a female name on his mind, and got up and wrote it down, he had no idea who she was, or what she was doing disturbing his sleep. Some further research tied her into a line that had him stumped, and he was off on a whole new flight.
Still skinny as a rail, and tough as whet-leather, he worked five months at the sugar factory last fall, and never missed a shift.
Well, that’s what he is doing now, and it all had an interesting beginning.
He didn’t get off to a very good start in life, and just sort of “growed up”.
Sometime back in the 40’s, I was drafted as a Troop Committeeman, to work with him as Scoutmaster. After some training classes, I became his assistant, and it was our endeavor to get every boy to be an Eagle Scout.
It seemed that Rube hardly had any time to himself, as there would be one or more boys at his home when he came in from work each night. He taught them cooking and lifesaving and astronomy and citizenship and all the other skills that go with being and eagle scout, and they had to meet the requirements, too. No sliding by.

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We’d take the kids on winter camps. Marsh Creek, up above Albion, was one of our favorite spots. It wasn’t far and we could drive up there after school on Friday evening and find a likely spot to make camp, in the snow. We soon learned the first principles of winter camping, keep dry, you can’t make a fire with wet wood, plenty of warm clothes, and a well insulated sleeping bag. The hikes through the virgin snow the next day, with time out to watch for wildlife, to see how the trees and shrubs were standing the cold weather, the snowball fights, the songs. Always, there was singing.
That summer camp up on the south fork of the Boise River, on Boardman Creek, is still a fond memory. Someone put together a special song for that camp. “Where, O Where, O Where is Patsy, Way down yonder on Boardman Creek”. With the fun, there was always learning, every activity had a goal, teach
Something useful.
Of course, almost every tenderfoot Scout is a specialist, he always knows everything. But after some blistered hide from sunburn or cold feet, from failing to keep dry, a poorly cooked meal for a hungry stomach, they learn, Oh, Yes, they learn. Like our Eagle Patrol. Only Scouts having an Eagle badge could belong to this one. One night up on Mt. Harrison, during a blizzard, they decided to make a lean-to, and really test their Scouting skills. The next morning about daybreak, we found them calmly eating their breakfast, none the worse for the wear, and the proved knowledge that they could survive in such weather.
I remember the time up on the Raft River, when he tried to teach me to fish. The stream was small, not more than 10 feet wide, and there was a little riffle there, that formed around a willow root. “Now, right there, at the top of the riffle, there is a fish”, he said. “Take a Royal Coachman or a Black Gnat and drop it quietly into the water, just above the riffle”, which I did. As the fly floated downstream, he said “Now get ready for a strike, just say ‘”now”. I followed instructions, but missed. He said “you were too slow, try it again.” Next time it worked and the next, for eight times.
He loved to teach the kids how to cook a “granny”, by wrapping their food in a dirt proof wrapper (foil was best), and putting it in a preheated hole in the ground to be left for hours to cook. And then there would be some twists-dough spiraled around a stick and cooked over a bed of coals for delicious biscuits to go with the “granny.”
One lazy afternoon, while the boys were doing their own things, he started telling about himself. He had been in World War 1, in France, and had gone AWOL, for long enough so that he learned to live with the French people, and speak their language fluently. I don’t recall how he got back into his outfit to be sent home, with an honorable discharge, but he did. That experience was to prove useful many years later.
He had some faults he had picked up in his knocking around the country. One was that he smoked, but he never smoked around his “boys”.
The Bishop called me as Superintendent of the Sunday School and I asked for Rube as my 1st counselor. When I asked him, he said “you know I smoke?” “Sure, I know you smoke, and I know that you know that you shouldn’t, but I’ll never mention it to you, only to say now, that if there is anything I can do to help you quit, I’ll be there.”
Several months went by and one day he said “well, I’ve got it whipped”. “Tell me about it”, I requested. “Well, one Sunday morning about a month ago, I woke up about 4 o’clock just dying for a smoke. It was superintendents meeting that morning, and I knew that you would be able to smell it if I smoked. I lay there agonizing over my craving for a cigarette, and my conscience demanding that I leave it alone. Finally, I got up and went into the kitchen and got down on that cold linoleum floor and cried unto the Lord. “O Lord, I want to quit these dirty little cigarettes, but I just don’t have the guts, you’ll have to take the craving from me. And do you know, He did. I’ve never had a cigarette since.”

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Just because there was a Sunday School to run, didn’t mean that you stopped Scouting. It was during these years that Rube received the Silver Beaver, the highest award the Council could bestow.
We might be lying in our sleeping bags under a clear night, a moonless Idaho sky, with the breeze sighing through the pines, and he would call our attention to the stars glittering so bright, and close, that you could almost touch them. As he pointed out the various constellations, he would tell us the legends connected with them. And finally, as a soft glow showed behind a peak in the eastern sky, we watched a sliver of late moon steal on silent moccasins, to cradle a distant star.
It was in the late 50’s or early 60’s that the church called him on a mission. “Why, sure, I’ll go” was his response, and Zina stood behind him, knowing that she would have to get a job to keep herself an the family. He was called to the French-Canadian Mission. Now he could use that French he had learned so long ago.
That wasn’t an easy mission to work in. Those French-Canadian Catholics were continually conditioned to reject any new religion. He and his companion were assigned to a small community, and their 1st day of tracting, they were able to leave 20 tracts in 20 homes. The next morning, as they set out for their days work, they were met at the door by the local priest, who handed them back 19 of their tracts-they had all dutifully turned in to him. Ah-but there was one that didn’t come back.
Sometimes later, they knocked at a door and no one came to answer. Rube knew there was someone in that house, so they went around to the back door and continued knocking. He noticed 2 baskets of peaches on a bench, while they waited. Finally a woman came to see what they wanted-she was too sick to be intereste and only wanted to get back to her bed. “What are going to do with those peaches”, Rube wanted to know. “They’ll just have to spoil, there is nothing I can do about them”, she answered. “Let us put them in bottles for you-I’ve helped my wife for years with her canning” he said. Soon they were in the kitchen, canning peaches.
It didn’t take long for word to get around the village about the 2 Mormon missionaries who canned the peaches for their sick neighbor, and the doors swung wide. Before he left the mission field, there were 24 new Latter-Day Saints-one for each month of his call.
Rube was never concerned about money-if he had enough to pay his bills, he was happy. If he had more than that, he was willing to share with someone less fortunate. He said “we decided to take a trip around the world, and got as far as Acequia, (six miles away) and ran out of money.” But his world was all around him.
Well, just one more story. Not many years ago, Rube was asked to come and show a man how to drop a tree. He could drop on any line you wanted to draw. As the friend started his chain saw in the wrong place, Rube yelled “no not there.” The woodsman turned for new instruction and his saw jumped out of the groove, straight for Rube. He threw his hand up to protect himself and the saw gouged into his palm, leaving his four fingers dangling by the skin. He yelled for the man to tear off the tail of his shirt, which Rube stuffed into what was left of the palm and folded the dangling fingers back over it. “Now you have just 10 minutes to get me to Dr. Moellmer.. That’s how long it will take for me to bleed to death.” The driver just made it-Rube passed out just before they got there. But his long years as a Scouter had saved his life.
They sewed his hand back together again, the blood vessels worked-the tendons worked, but the nerves couldn’t be connected. So it looks like a good hand, but still doesn’t work the same, or feel the same.
The time came all too soon for the end of our visit, but Rube was still working miracles-he had resurrected those golden years of the past and given them substance. Now they can be lived by generations yet unborn.

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When the time came to leave, he didn’t just say good-bye, no, that was too ordinary. “Come on Mamma”, he said, “lets sing them our favorite song.” So, with Rube carrying the lead and Zina singing alto, they sang, just for us, “How Great Thou Art”. Not in quavering 81 year old voices, but in strong, vibrant voices, showing their zest for life.
Thanks, God, for letting us be their friends.
Love, Herb and Doris May