Tommy: Our Laker Fan and Rollercoaster Rider

I hope that I have this picture right, because I remember Tommy having a Laker outfit and several hats too. When he was little, it was rare to be able to hold him. Ann and I were not around until he was a bit later, so I remember how he glared at us when he noticed that I was neither him mom nor his dad.

The first time he really let me hold him was when Ann and I visited Lydia and Jeff when they were in Ohio. Jeff knew a steakhouse that was very good, and as soon as we had a table, I picked up Tommy and talked to him and gave him hugs. I remember his mom and dad laughing at the look of absolute horror in his eyes, but he didn't make a squawk or a sound.

Lydia and Jeff stayed with with us in our home a couple of times, and we went to Disneyland and took the boys--Jack and Tommy--when they were both just two. It was the time of our lives. We stayed in the California Hotel at the Disney park. Days were full of fun riding rides, and when we wet back to the hotel, I took my time and bought both boys stuffed animals to surprise them when I arrived.

Then came the time that I picked Lydia and the kids from the airport. Tommy ran to me and jumped into my arms. It was Anna who scowled at me that day. The trip had been a long and difficult one for her.

Tommy is drawing a birthday picture for grandma in the apartment in Ontario. He loves to draw and has an incredible gift like his mom.

I am so glad that the kids are away from Ontario, away from the Jeffersons, the flies and the ambience of happy California cows, yet I miss the close trip to Disneyland, when both grandsons shouted with excitement and Anna said, "I wanna go Pooh."

It scared me when I heard Anna say that the first time, until I realized that she was talking about The Adventures of Winnie The Pooh, a ride for little ones near Splash Mountain.

I love this picture. It was one we did at J.C. Penney in Idaho Falls for both boys. It reminds me of happy times and fun things that both boys did when they were little: hiding in the kitchen cabinets, playing with Thomas Train cars and shouting with joy whenever I returned from the store with some new Matchbox Cars.

And the picture below shows the boys when we first took them to Disneyland, when they had as much playing in the curtains as they did on the rides. The first ride we took them on at the park was It's A Small World. Both boys were in the boat stunned, looking at the little figures dancing and spinning and singing.

They sat quietly, their mouths agape, their heads glancing from side to side watching everything they could see.

We even called Uncle Cles during the ride. He didn't appreciate our humor, since he hated that ride even when he was little.

The picture at the bottom of Tommy getting soaked at the park brings back memories. That day was fun. We left Lydia's very early that morning on one of the trips when we stayed with the kids in Ontario. Lydia is sleeping on the couch with Tommy and Anna. She and Jeff let us sleep in their bed, and Jeff slept on the air mattress in the other room. I still feel guilty about imposing on them in Ontario.

I showered first that morning. Ann's turn was next, and Jack roused out of a deep sleep. He had been looking forward to Disneyland, and he knew we were on our way that morning. I dressed him, and I never noticed that he left the bedroom, until Ann was out of the shower and I heard him talking to Lydia. When Jack said, "We're going to Disneyland!" I heard Tommy's voice.

"I wanna go to Disneyland." Ann heard it too, and she went in immediately. She apologized for Jack waking her, and then she asked if we could take Tommy with us. It was a first for grandma and Pop Pop. We had Tommy alone with us on an outing.

The picture below shows Tommy on that day, our "magic" year. We bought deluxe year passes, on an earlier visit, and on this day it was incredibly hot. Ann forgot her wallet with some cash, so she only had a credit card. We made the mistake of passing a churro concession.

It upset Tommy when we couldn't get a churro, until we went to the water park at the bug section of The California Adventure Park, immediately next to Disneyland. Both boys were sopping wet within minutes. It was fun, and in the heat, it helped them cool off and become comfortable.

On another day at Disneyland that year, we stopped and bought a churro near The Haunted Mansion.

Neither one of the boys liked that ride, even if I tried to bribe them into going with me with great treats.

The picture below will always remind me of that magical trip. I had returned to work at Rigby after my first fight with chemo. Having finished teaching a bunch of dual-credit classes for ISU at Rigby, I had a large check. Every day we walked through the park going on the rides and enjoying the boys. When we returned to let the boys take a nap at the California Hotel in the afternoon, I would take a little longer to arrive at the hotel, partly because my legs were tired but mostly because I made a stop at the huge Disney store to buy stuffed animals. I bought one for each boy each day. It was as much fun for me to buy them as it was for the boys to receive them.

To start that trip, Ann and I left early and drove to California. We stayed the first night in Vegas. I will always remember the boys when we left Idaho Falls. They knew something was "in the air," because they would sit on my lap or grab my legs and refuse to let go.

Ann and I left Vegas early the second day, and we arrived at the hotel very early. Lydia, Kristin and the boys arrived on a shuttle. We were waiting on a bench at the curb, and the boys spotted us. It was so fun to see their reaction.

The picture at the left was one Lydia sent us of Tommy's birthday. I think this was when the kids were in Ohio, because the tile in the background looks unfamiliar to me. Although I visited there once for a few days, Ann and I didn't spend much time with Lydia and the kids.

We visited an Amish town and visited other sites before traveling to New York on our eventual way to visit Cles and Leslie at Chapel Hill.

Anna: The Face Of An Angel With A Touch of Rage

When Anna first learned how to walk, she extended her hands out, and then as she stepped, she waved them back and forth--kind of like a 60's folk festival without the hairy armpits. We always laughed, because she stepped like an Orangutan as she made the waving motion.

It was cute. It was one of the things that made Anna unique and unforgetable. Something that made us smile.

This picture is one of the many we took during the magical year when we used our year passes over 30 times.


The next picture shows the same thing when she first begain walking. In fact, as I remember, it shows some of the early steps she took before she began getting around on two feet rather than crawling about the floor.

And and Jack and I were in California at the time, again during that incredible year.

We call the picture below Darth Anna. After one of our trips, we found a Darth Vader helmet and voice changer toy for the boys, and Lydia took the picture of Anna just after we returned home.





The picture at the right is of Anna on her birthday, enjoying her cake and eating it too. Ann, Jack and I were in California a few weeks before the picture and a few weeks after, but we did not make it for this party.

The sparkle in the eyes is fun.

All three of my grandkids have it, something they inherited from Granny Annie. And just before they start teasing--just like grandma does--their eyes sparkle like stars on a clear night in January.

The picture below shows Tommy and Anna waiting for the parade in California Adventure Park, adjacent to Disneyland. It was a bit cold that day, and she is wearing the outfit that Pop Pop picked out for her. She looks cute in purple.

Music Is My Life

This was a great Christmas. My parents bought a large console stereo system. Grandma Liza had the same one, just a different style. Our system was brown, and grandma's was a cherry wood, its reddish color blending in with her piano she had in the same room.

Grandma had her stereo at least a year before we had one, and I would start missing some of the sounds of my best record albums. Abby Road by the Beatles was one, and Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel was the other. My sisters would go with me, and we would sit in grandma's front room and listen to the incredible sounds. At that point our old Webcor was a destroyer of vinyl. One spin did the trick, making scratches or damaging the entire LP.

I also spent a lot of time performing in the music program in high school. I began playing in the high school band as a ninth grader. My parents bought my Selmer saxophone, which sold for over $800 in 1968. It is worth $6000 today; however, I really am not interested in selling it at any price.

During the senior assembly my senior year, I had a pleasant surprise. The Marine Corps honored me with the Outstanding Musician Award, the first one given at our high school.

I had always been bad about submitting paperwork for anything that required filling out a form or keeping track of points, so I never really won any high school band honors given at my high school, so this was fun.

During high school, my parents let me participate in summer music programs: the first one at Utah State in 1968 and the second one at BYU the next year in 1969.

Vaclav Nelhybel was a Czech composer who was at the program at BYU. I was a member of the Instructor's Band, and we took part in performing his Sine Nomine. It was a composition dedicated to those Allied soldiers who fell during the invasion at Normandy.

At the height of his symphony, a full orchestra, band and choir perform. Instrumentalists play any note, beginning as a half note played quietly before increasing volume and tempo to a sixteenth note. The choir, at the same time, said their name in a whisper before repeating their name at shouts at the end. When they performed this at the dedication of the Allied cemetery in Normandy, choir members each had a name of a fallen soldier. Even while typing this, I feel goosebumps on my arm forty years later. It was incredible.

The Czech musician was a genius, but he concentrated on music education rather than composition and spent time at workshops like this. I contacted his widow in 2005 to see if I could find a copy of the performance of that number, but all that remains are a few recordings of badly taped concerts.

Our high school band played one of his compositions at contest our senior year, and we received the highest ratings. I also played another one while performing with BYU's Wind Ensemble during my first semester there, my freshman year of college in the fall of 1971.

During my junior year I also qualified and participated in All-State Band in Boise. It was incredible, once we arrived. Our high school didn't provide us a bus or hotel, so we relied on Mr. Castleton getting us there. He drove one car, and Ann's Aunt Edith Thomas drove the other. Ann's Uncle Boyd and Aunt Edith were our neighbors on Bannock Street, and Ann's cousin Lucille was another musician chosen to participate.

The night before we left, I was finishing my research paper for Joe Davis. Lucille was also finishing her paper for her U.S. Government class. My mom said the lights in their house did not go off all night.

I rode with Mr. Castleton and slept until Twin Falls when suddenly I heard Mr. Castleton shout. Edith fell asleep at the wheel and drove off the road. When we stopped and looked, dust still concealed the accident site. The car balanced precariously atop a small lava crest. At the time lava rocks and large outcroppings were all along that section of the road. Everyone exited the car, and other than small scrapes and scratches, no one had any injuries.

We went back to the hospital in Twin, where doctors examined students in the car. The delay meant that we missed tryouts. I would have been first chair, the other baritone saxophone player not able to play many of the complex parts of the things we played, but it didn't matter. The most important thing was that no one was seriously hurt or killed. It really was a miracle nothing happened that morning.

Lucille did not participate. She was in shock, and as I remember, she had a gash in her forehead, so she returned to Malad.

This picture is from my junior year. I was in a saxophone quartet my freshman year that received the highest ratings at every level in the state. As a soloist, I had excellent ratings my freshman and sophomore years, but the last two years saw the highest ratings there too.

After performing my senior year for Dr. Ralph Laycock from BYU, he talked to me about a music scholarship. He was the conductor of the Wind Ensemble, a rude Canadian from Alberta--enough said.

When I performed my solo at the end of my senior year in the high school auditorium, it was an incredible experience. I played something written for an alto sax, and it had complicated trills and 32nd notes throughout the piece.

At one point in the middle, the piano accompaniment stopped during a cadenza, where I played alone. I played one series of 32nd notes, and then I waited for a short time before beginning the last one. You could not hear a pin drop in the large hall, filled to capacity with people. Mr. Castleton taught me to do that hesitation, in order to create tension and anticipation. That like the Nelhybel piece give me the "goosebump" reaction after all these years still.

Our high school pep band was one of the best. I began playing with them my sophomore year of high school. I liked it, because it gave me a great seat during crowded basketball games. During football season, I only played one year in the band, because I started as an offensive lineman my junior and senior years.

Mr. Castleton was disappointed, and he often told me so. He kept telling me that I would have to make a choice. But I loved football. I loved pep band too, but football was important to me. To "letter" as an athlete like I did was something very important to anyone going to school.

My friend Randy Wille had a new drumset his senior year. He played as a drummer in our local rock band that played for most of the school dances and all of the weekend dances in the top floor of the American Legion Building.

I still remember this picture. Having forgotton to wear my black shirt like a couple of other players, Mr. Castleton went into a rage and cussed us for at least 10 minutes. You can tell I was angry in the picture by the look on my face. In the previous picture, we were all trying to look cool. Here we were "hot under the collar."

The picture at the left is of the "M" mountain. At easter every kid in Malad hiked to the top and roasted hot dogs and marshmellows. We climbed on Blue Rock, and no one was ever hurt.

The "M" is the symbol for our high school. It was fun when Jack first noticed it, after visiting Grandma Ward and picking up a bucket of chocolate chip cookies.

"Pop pop. Why is there an "M" on that mountain?"

The mountain reminds me of those simple, fun times where life was so uncomplicated, although I never believed it was like that at the time.

The Girl Who Always Makes Me Smile

This is how I remember my Annie when we were little. It is funny how much this picture reminds me of Jack, especially through the eyes. And there is also something about the smile and the sparkle in her eyes in this picture: the same one Jack gets just before he says something funny or just before he runs and jumps into my arms to tickle me.

Ann wore her hair like this throughout elementary school. I never remember her crying or being mean. And Miss Maag did one thing that would have forever altered the emotional well-being of most children. The crazy second grade teacher asked Ann and Dotty to stand in front of the room one day.

"These two little girls have the hairiest legs I have ever seen." The class erupted into laughter. No one in their right mind would have said something that bizarre, something that cruel, something that heartless. It sometimes amazes me that we survived elementary school. We rode bikes without helmets, sat or even stood in the front seats of cars. Seatbelts did not exist until the 60's, and even the early ones were an optional thing you ordered in a car. We brought old rollerscates to school that clamped onto our shoes, and we used a key to tighten them. No one used a helmet. And we played hardball every day during the spring and again in the fall. Softball was for sissies. We played tackle football without pads when we were in the sixth grade.

By junior high, she looked like this in the picture below at the right. I noticed her in elementary school, and I remember being sad when I heard she and her family might move to California. But they didn't.

In junior high, Ann tells me she noticed me. I was so shy, that I couldn't really talk to people and feel comfortable about it.

In the picture above and on the right, you can see Annie and me posing, her picture for Girl's State and my picture for Boy's State. That was the summer before our senior year of high school, when Ann asked me out for the first time.

This picture was at the Senior Ball. We had been dating, and while dancing, Mary Lou Jones looked at Erma and gave some advice.

"If a boy were dancing like that with my daughter, I'd be talking to her."

Thank goodness they didn't see me doing my signature dance step: The Bear Hug. I was in love with my Annie. And the tiara here is important, because she was in the Royalty for the dance. I do not remember what it was, but as far as I was concerned, she was the one for me.

We stopped dating in January that year. And we didn't really talk until after I left on my mission.

I dated a Salt Lake City girl at BYU. She was a Sterling Scholar and was studying to be a nurse. When I left, I gave he a promise ring, something that seems so funny to me now. Because no sooner than entering the Mission Home, all word basically ceased other than an occasional letter.

Within two weeks of being in the LTM--the Language Training Mission in Provo--we were arguing in our letters. My mom sent a package with cake and cookies and all kinds of good stuff one weekend. My mother let me know in an enclosed letter that Ann delivered the package for her, and she reminded me that Ann's birthday was February 19. Ann and I began writing, and we never stopped during the next two years.

I returned in January of 1974, and our marriage was in the Salt Lake Temple on May 31, 1974. My only regret is that I didn't marry her sooner. She is the love of my life.

Whether I think of memories of when we were very young, or when we were in high school, she makes me smile. And she always will. The snapshots at the right are from one of those automated machines like they once had in malls and amusement parks.

And she still makes me smile too.

Once while on a cruise in the Bahamas, we went snorkeling. I was afraid of the water, worried about sharks and the temperature. There was a step at the back of the small boat that took us to a reef. Although they warned me to step into the water, I sat down and slid off the step. I never knew that I tore out the entire back of my swimsuit.

We swam for probably two hours, and I had the time of my life. Ann kept teasing me. She would swim close to me and pull my goggles, letting water into them. I would surface, fix it and begin again. After doing that three times, she approached for an encore.

They had given us containers of food for fish, and hundreds of small yellow, blue and black fish followed us. As Ann swam to grab my goggles, I emptied the entire container below her. I heard her squeal under the water. I guess that is what it was. "Blub, Blub, Blub!" And it may have been some choice euphemisms for me too.

When we returned to the small boat, I walked around and looked at the view. I noticed the strange reactions from fellow passengers. Annie was smiling broadly in the back. She motioned for me to come to her.

"Feel your suit." I patted the legs. "No, feel your suit." Again I patted the legs. "Let me help you." She placed my hands at the back of the suit. There was nothing but bare skin, more than most humans could tolerate during the twenty minutes I walked about the boat.

At least they didn't stare. I suppose they knew the quote by Nitsche too--"And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

Old Bob & Dutch & Curly & Daisy & Bear

I can never remember a time when my dad did not have a dog. The first one I remember was Old Bob, a black and white English Springer Spaniel. When he was old, some friends of dad all decided that they would buy an expensive Weimaraner female and then divide pups among themselves after they bred her.

Two of my parents' friends at the time were Fern and Dale Thomas. He kept the female locked in a secure coop. His neighbor had a little tiny mut that looked a bit like a Dachshund, one of those mean little dogs with the short legs. It's the one most people referred to as a weeny dog. This one was one of those under any definition of the word "weeny." Dale would find the dog with the female, and then a few months later, he would drown the little mutants. This happened a number of times, all the while Dale tried to find how the little critter kept getting into the coop. He finally found a small hole in the wall some six feet off the ground.

Finally the day came when they were able to get some real pups. Dad picked out a male. We named him Dutch. I will never forget the first time I went hunting with my dad. Dutch was the type of hunting dog, that unlike the springer--running back and forth across a field brushing birds--would stand motionless with one front leg and an opposite back leg raised a bit. Dutch, like all Weimaraners, was a pointer. The dog's nose would point in the direction of the bird. It was fun to watch, and Dutch was an incredible dog. The fact that dad never mentioned how much money the female cost them is proof enough that the blood-line was very good. He would never have mentioned something like that in a farming community. The thought that you would spend as much if not more money on a dog than a range bull would raise eyebrows.

After we moved to Bannock Street, Dutch was hit by a car. Prior to the accident, he was dominant in the entire neighborhood. After they inserted the pin, one leg was never functional. He would hop on the remaining three.

Dogs would seek him out continually, and Dutch would still fight, but he never was the same dog. Eventually, dad had to have him "put down."
Curley, the springer in the picture at the left, was the next one. He was a cute pup. And we played with him so much, that he really developed a personality. The picture at the left is Memorial Day 1971. During that summer, I would load him into the back of the Model A, go to the Malad Drive-In, and order Curley a frosty.

I would had it to him out the window. I wore one of those large black felt hats that you see Native Americans wear in the movies, and I had an eagle feather I found at the ranch. In those days, I didn't know you could get an incredible fine for that, and I never knew it was an eagle feather until years later.

People always laughed watching me and Curley at the Malad Drive-In. I would hand the treat out the window, and the dog would lick it from my hand, wagging his tail and coaxing for more.

Daisy was a cattle dog, the little Blue Heeler at the left in the picture with Curley below. Daisy could climb to the top of a load of hay on the pickup, and we stacked the hay very high. At first she killed cats, whenever they approached her "dog dish." But we soon trained her not to do that.

When coyotes killed Curly one night on the ranch, we soon found another dog. Bear was dad's last dog. He was a Rotweiler, a breed of dog the ancient Romans used as cattle dogs.

When he was just a pup, we were riding to the ranch and fussing over him, Daisy was on the floor sulking and covering her eyes with a paw. After we put the pup down on the seat, Bear leaned over and sniffed at Daisy. She bared her teeth, and instead of a growl, she hissed like a cat. It was crazy. I have never heard of anyone ever seeing anything like that.

Daisy became very strong-willed. She would trot to the Interstate, and run along the road. Someone ran over her, and she was not in the lane of traffic: just a short distance in the emergency lane, so we always believed someone swerved to hit her.

Bear went everywhere with dad. During the final days of dad's life, he was under hospice care at home. We built a large pen for him in the back yard. On February 11, 1991 at 9:00 p.m. he began howling. It was the very minute my dad passed away.

Christmas--A Favorite Family Tradition

Christmas was my father's favorite time of year, and he always overspent on gifts for kids and grandkids. He loved a large tree too, and every year the same ritual happened: having to cut a bit more from the bottom or a bit from the very top, so that it would fit in the house.

The picture above is an important one, because from the shape of the tree and given my size, I think this was my grandpa's last Christmas in 1955. You can see the wool carpet in the foreground, and at the immediate right of me, you can also see the old record player. Grandma and grandpa had a couple of old Spike Jones records. Our favorite was The Tennessee Waltz, or as my sisters and I called it, the burp man record. Spike Jones did a lot of comedic music recordings, and this one is a classic. I copied it and put it on a CD with some other stories about my grandpa Cles.

In the 60's and 70's my parents used a white snow-like material that you would blow onto the tree. First you sprayed the tree with a light mist, and then you used an old vacuum cleaner that would allow you to insert the cleaning tube into the opposite end, where air came out of the machine. Attaching bags of the material to a small plastic unit and shaking the bag during the process, you could spray the tree with material that looked like snow. It had the slight smell of ammonia, kind of like some of the Santas who work the malls now from Labor Day until late Christmas Eve.

The biggest problem was that the white material masked the actual smell of the tree, so in the last few years, dad preferred the real thing. In the very late 70's and early 80's, they did it less frequently. The picture at the left shows Lydia's first Christmas on a year where they didn't put the stuff on the tree.

The picture on the right shows another Christmas Eve tradition. Santa always visited grandma and granpa's house to deliver the first Christmas presents after our family program. Larry Thomas, one person Cles knew in town, always called him Cleese instead of Cles. The first night he came, Cles noticed immediately who it was as soon as Santa said his name. We still laugh about that, especially since Cles didn't say anything until years after the fact. Even because Larry Thomas didn't live at The North Pole and drove a domestic car instead of a sleigh drawn by deer didn't mean we couldn't have fun with the whole Santa thing.

The picture below shows another Christmas Eve tradition. Santa always visited grandma and granpa's house to deliver the first Christmas presents after our family program. Larry Thomas, one person Cles knew in town, always called him Cleese instead of Cles. The first night he came, Cles noticed immediately who it was as soon as Santa said his name.The first night he came, Cles noticed immediately who it was as soon as Santa said his name. Lydia and Kristin were still always excited, and Cles loved getting the presents, so he didn't mind getting called Cleese every year.

The tree at the left shows one of the first ones we had in the home above Pioneer Park. We put it in the northern corner of the front room, the wall where our fireplace would be a few years later.

Cles is standing by the southern edge of the front window, a spot where we put a short table with candles. I always had candles burning at Christmas, because I learned to like that tradition while I lived in Germany.

One night Cles crawled to the top of the table, peered into a burning candle and blew the flame. It covered his face with hot wax. It frightened me to death. I grabbed him, threw water on his face and peeled away the melted wax, and then spanked him. I feel bad about that now. But it frightened me. I thought he had burned himself as a result of my stupid yearning for memories of German Christmas traditions.

The picture at the right is my favorite, but Kristin always hated this picture. I bought the outfit as soon as I saw the hat.

Whenever Lydia hid behind the Curtains

This picture is of Lydia in our first home just north of Pioneer Park in Malad: the one close to the elementary school and the Budge home, where Lydia's best friend at the time lived. When Lydia was just able to walk and before she was toilet trained, we could always tell when she needed a new diaper--we would see her feet at the base of the curtains. She would seek brief solitude.

Her favorite past time was hiding my keys. It would sometimes take hours to find them, and they were always in one of my shoes, a pair I had not used for years in the darkest corner in the back of the closet.

The picture at the lower right is my favorite picture of Lydia. I just returned from California back at the time when I took German students on a five to seven day trip through Southern Utah and Nevada and California. I was trying to finish my film, so I took pictures of my kids in front of the house with my Rolei, a German camera I still have that takes incredible pictures.

I have no idea where those German pictures are now, but the ones that I like the best are the ones I took of my three kids that day in Malad.

Our white Mercury Cougar is in the background. During the winter, when I would have all of us in the car on slick roads, and if I found a large parking lot, I would enter and spin the tires to do doughnuts. Annie would squeal and the kids would giggle. They enjoyed seeing me tease their mom. And they enjoyed the spinning car too.

A sled like this one was an incredible gift. When snow packed the roads, dad's would secure a long rope to the front of the sleigh, secure it to the back bumper of a car and pull it with a number of other kids on roads that did not have a lot of traffic. This is my Radio Flyer, and I am wearing the red plaid coat I wore whenever I went with Grandpa Cles and my dad to get meadow hay in the hay lands or whenever I went with both of them to feed cattle. I am guessing I am just a bit older than two in this picture.

I remember going with grandpa and dad once, and we loaded a cow and calf. We always had names for some of them, and the one we hauled that day was Ol' Red, a Jersey Hereford cross. Since she had was a range cow with some dairy genes, she always gave a lot of milk, and she always had large calves. We kept this cow for years.

We stopped on the drive at the side of grandpa and grandma's house in the old truck, either the green or red Chevrolet. They were both different years, but they were the same make of truck. Since we only had one cow and a calf, we probably used the smaller of the two: the red one. When we stopped, the cow stumbled before she started to kick the side of the truck.

"Sow, you old Red son of a bitch," my grandpa said. (I have no idea what "Sow" meant, but I remember my dad saying that to cattle that kicked when we had them in a barn, trying to get some milk to start a new born calf with some energy.)

As a two-year-old, I said the exact same words as clearly as anyone could say them. I remember my dad laughing. Grandpa did not even smile. "We're going to have to start watching what we say in front of Jonie."

In the second picture, I am standing in front of the same Buick that appears in the one above. I wish I could find one of these. I figure that the same Frenchmen who named the Teton Range designed the front bumper. It was a classic car from the era when Marilyn Monroe was about to become queen of Hollywood.
This picture shows the old chicken coop that was behind the house on South Main. The Chevrolet truck is in the background with a load of loose hay. The area to the right led to a stack yard area where the cows could come to eat out of the long manger.

More High School Memories

I was one of the first in my graduating class to letter in football. J.D. Thomas and I were the first starters, both beginning our junior year. This picture is at the end of the season my senior year. My number was one I made me proud, because it was my dad's number.

Coach Bill Schmidt was the coach when I began to start my junior year. It was my first year back after major knee surgery. And it was his first year out of college. My family tried to talk out of playing, but I insisted.

Before the season began I was excited to impress our new coach. One night after getting in from the ranch, I jogged to the football field, about a half mile away. It had been very hot during the day, and when it cooled that night, I wanted to work out in order to be at my best when practice started the next week. The last thing my dad said when I left the house was, "Remember what they say, you scratch your backside, but don't make it bleed. In other words, don't overdo it son!" I jogged up the small incline to the high school and football field.

I ran 10 sprints of about 400 meters, running as fast as I could. I jogged a mile, and then I did 10 sprints of 100 meters. It felt good.

When I returned home, everything seemed fine, and then I woke up in the morning with severe headache. It remained for a full week. And I missed the first days of two-a-day practices. My parents took me to Dr. Worely, my knee surgeon in Logan. He told my parents, that given what I had done, I had probably burst a small vessel in my brain. We contacted the new coach, but it was not the impression I had wanted to give.

I started practice days later when the headaches subsided. The first night of practice found me starting at the bottom. On each set I hit as hard as I could. Finally I had the chance to go against the varsity tackle and guard. They undercut me, hurting my leg for a moment.

Coach Wendel Smith, the assistant had watched how older players had hurt me while Lane Hemming was coach, and he screamed at them. I got to my feet and continued, but being able to play took a while.

The class of 1970 was an interesting class. When I played junior varsity with them, none of them wanted to play at the game at Bear River. Coach Wendel Smith put me into the game early. We all took a beating, and he never forgot two things--the fact that I played with an injured knee and with a swollen nose that took a hit every play. It was weeks before my nose felt normal. I may have broken it, but unlike my dad who had had to have it set, mine stayed in place.

My junior year's season was well into the second game, and it was a disappointment. I had not had a chance to play a single play. When we played Soda Springs, the offensive guards played very poorly. I knew I would get my chance, but it didn't happen.

Dad was at the game. Bishop King took a group of scouts to a lake near Soda, where they camped overnight. At the end of the game, I was visibly upset, but not nearly as angry as my father. He knew how hard I practiced, and he didn't want me risking another injury. He asked the coaches if I could return with him, since he was with some scouts who were camping near there. He told them he needed my help.

I do not remember the camping trip, but I do remember my dad coaxing me to quit. He did it only briefly, because he always let me make up my mind about something like this. The next week was much more of the same. I played in scrimmages that led me to believe I would have a chance to play, but when they announced the lineup, I was not on the list.

The game began. It was not long before Coach Schmidt called my name. He sent me in with a play. I was fast, so they were excited to see what I could do as a pulling guard. The play began, and I pulled the wrong way, running into the right offensive guard and knocking down the quarterback. Coach Schmidt pulled me out. I felt horrible. My coach had me stand at his side, and he put his arm around my shoulders.

"Just calm down," he said. He waited two plays and sent me in again. I became a starter that game. My number my junior year was 68. In the picture above, someone stole my jersey. It always made me angry, but we were able to get new uniforms the next year.

The picture here is our senior year in Snake River. By the end of the first few plays, every defensive lineman on the opposing team had blood dripping from their noses. The game was a joke. Hometown referees took charge. They called at least two touchdowns back, and they stalled us with penalties. And in spite of everything, we were still winning. Snake River was driving toward the end of the game. There was no scoreboard to see a clock. Our gutless high school principal had the gun that was to sound the end of the game, and another local official held the clock. The official let Snake River drive for a score after time was out, according to the principal holding the pistol. It was our only tie in my years of playing football. And it was the worst example of how adults can affect the game. There was no doubt of who should have won. We beat them to a pulp.

In another game against American Falls, there was a former Malad athlete who student taught in Malad and bragged about how his American Falls team would beat us the next year. Within the first set of plays, I intimidated the defensive man who played against me. The last act was knocking him to the ground. I pointed my finger at him and laughed. It only took a fraction of effort to do what I wanted the rest of the game.

I will always remember one play. Ann and I were dating at the time. It was the closing seconds of the game, and J.D. Thomas our quarterback called a wedge play, a drive up the middle. It split so that the entire center of the field was open. He and I ran for the end zone. I ran with him, because some defensive players were behind us. J.D. scored. The game ended. Pep club girls flooded the field. I remember my Annie grabbing me and giving me a hug.

I had a friend from Soda Springs, my roommate at Boy's State. His name was Kent Smith, and while we did activities the American Legion sponsored activity, we often teased about who would win the game that year at Malad. Before the game we wrote letters back and forth.

When the game began, it was difficult. The players were very good, and their lineman were strong. My friend was a defensive end. I playd right guard that year, and my teammate next to me was having a difficult time keeping Kent out of the backfield. It was early in the game, and he had already been in on some major defensive plays.

My teammate and I did a cross block: I hit Kent, and my teammate, the offensive tackle took my man. Kent fell to the ground, and the play was over in an instant after a sizeable gain our running back was able to get. My teammate Roger circled around jumped on top of Kent while he was on the ground and began hitting him. Kent threw him to the ground, and just before he took a swing, the referee caught him, pulled him away and tossed him out of the game.

I tried to talk to Kent after the game, but he waved me away and refused to talk to me. I felt horrible, although we did win the game. I never heard from him again.

Years later while going through chemo at Dr. Mulvey's office in Idaho Falls, Angie was a blood technician who came from Soda Springs. When I told her the story, she said that her father had taught there at that time. She brought a yearbook the next week.

I showed her Kent, because I could not remember his name. A week later, she told me that I would have to wait a few days before she would tell me the whole story. It was a difficult time for me during my fight against cancer.

When I returned, I found out that Kent had been killed in an accident weeks after that game. He was driving a wheat truck, and a freight train struck the truck while he was crossing the tracks. Whenever think I have it tough, I think about my old friend. He never knew what it was like to go to college, to marry his soulmate, to have children and grandchildren.

This is my senior football picture. You will notice the helmet didn't let anyone smack my nose like I had happen in Bear River in 1968. Having a face mask that was a net like this was fantastic.

Dr. Jeff

This is my favorite picture of Jeff with Tommy. I love Tommy's poncho in this picture. When Lydia and Jeff were in Malad, Jeff could always strike up a conversation with my Grandma Williams. I'm not sure that I could do that like he did.

Two things that I remember about Jeff and Lydia's marriage. Their reception was set in San Diego, and since we knew the date in advance, we reserved our time share in Ramona, a red-neck community in the mountains above San Diego. It was beautiful there.

Lydia and Jeff moved the date of the reception up a few weeks, and although some might think that it was an inconvenience, Ann and I never needed an excuse to go to California. Ann and I went to the reception in San Diego, and then we went again weeks later when we had the days reserved in Ramona.

I remember being there during the winter. Ann and I would go to Disneyland in shorts. Everyone had winter coats. It was 85 degrees. When we returned to Idaho Falls, it was 15 degrees below zero, and it stayed that way and colder for a few weeks. It was a 100 degree change for us, and I have never been able to stand the winters here since.

It is fun having the kids stay here. Jeff goes fishing occasionally. I just wish he would forget the release part of catch and release.

Dr. Leslie

This was a great day. I remember how excited Cles was, and it was fun to meet all who learned to love him like we do--Leslie's family and those he served with in the army. The weather was ideal in Augusta, and everything was so beautiful.


From a selfish standpoint, it is fun to have a daughter-in-law with a connection to the South. The visits there are great for the food, for the peaceful landscapes, for the chance to see North Carolina Blue. And most importantly, it is fun just to hear her say pecan pie.

I will always remember the visit we had in Chapel Hill the first time. We returned from a restaurant, and fire flies were abuzz. Jack was excited. He loves Disney movies, especially Peter Pan. When he saw the first one, he thought it was Tinkerbell. He kept saying "Tink." Leslie caught one in her hands. Shook them and let it loose, all aglow.

Any time we are at Disneyland and we ride the Pirates ride, I remind Jack of fire flies and Aunt Leslie.

Grandma Liza

Grandma Liza was an incredible grandmother. She loved us, she spoiled us, she tolerated us. On the left is a classic picture when she was young. She graduated from Malad High School in 1926. I don't remember all the classes they taught there at the time, but I do remember she mentioned Latin. I can not imagine having someone teach Latin in a rural school--only large urban schools have that kind of luxury in today's society.

Grandma was very bright, and she was incredibly independent: a true free spirit in every way. And although she was a very short Welsh woman, she could put anyone in their place if they needed it. She never put up with any kind of monkey business.

She was an incredible cook. I remember the gravy she made, but more importantly, I remember everything she had at Thanksgiving Dinner, when a large group of family members met at her house every year. For me it was exciting to see cousins I rarely had a chance to be together with during an afternoon. And I remember how much fun the dinners were. Uncle Jenk told jokes that raised a few eyebrows. The kids never understood them. When he was an MC at Ann and my reception in 1974, my mother told him he would have to soak his jokes in Biz, a popular stain remover for clothing.

That night he related that story and said that he preferred different soaps: Cheer and Joy, a popular clothing soap and a dish soap widely used at the time. The people from Malad who were there really laughed at that. He was popular, and he also served in the Idaho Legislature for a very long time.

I don't remember the number of grandma's address on Bannock Street, but I think it 167 Bannock. That was only five or six houses away from us. She doted on me. When I was still quite young, I would stand next to her and measure how tall I was with the flat of my hand. That had to be irritating for her. I have noticed that Grandpa Cles, who was over six feet tall, always slumped a bit when he stood next to her in a picture. I think it was his way of not embarrassing her. When you are young, you don't think about things like that, and even today, I am not what you call the sensitive type. I often do things that shock and annoy people. Sometimes I do it on purpose. But I would never hurt a family member's feelings, other than one sister and several distant cousins.

Notice how grandpa not only slumped a bit, but he also stepped down from the step. Grandpa never let anyone belittle my grandmother or talk to her rudely, and my dad taught me that quickly. It was how he taught me to view my mother too.

Whenever I needed some money, whether for a model I liked putting together, or for some of the balsa wood flying planes you could by for 10 to 25 cents, I would stop by and mow her lawn. I pretended not to be interested in any money, but she always stuffed $1.50 in my pocket. It was usually a dollar bill and a fifty cent piece. During the winter I would shovel the snow from her walks. I feel guilt for that now. I should have done it for free, especially everything she did for me.

In the picture on the right, we had a dinner with grandma one evening when Julie Cooper, our first cousin, was there for a visit. Dad was most likely just home from feeding livestock and doing other chores during the winter. At one time we wintered cattle in Malad, but at the time of this picture, I can not say for sure. Dad most likely just arrived from the ranch after a long day in the cold. I always rode with him on Saturdays, and I still remember the itch I would feel in my feet whenever they would get so cold. And it would get cold on the ranch.


This picture is Thanksgiving 1951, mom and dad's senior year of high school. From the left are Grandma Liza, Great Grandma Thomas (behind her), Aunt Sara, Aunt Delila, Nellie Lilly, Jess Park Ward, Great Grandma Ward (in front), Aunt LaVerne, Great Grandpa Ward, my dad, my mom and Jess Ward. There were others who for some reason chose not to be in the picture, because I can not imagine Uncle Jenk not being there, or Aunt Ada and Uncle Earl. I remember that grandma liked a picture after most dinners, and I also remember some adults not wanting to be in the picture. As cold as it looked outside on this day, it would make sense.

These dinners were fantastic. And the best part was always dessert. After all these years, I have not changed all that much.

I will always have fond memories of Thanksgiving and Christmas: the smell of turkey, the taste of homemade pies and Christmas pudding, the sound of laughter and fun and the warmth of family. There was always a pan of pudding sauce on the stove. I would sneak tastes with a teaspoon.

Grandma Liza always spent Christmas with grandkids, sleeping with all of them in one bed. At ths time of my life, I realize some things that you don't understand when you are young.

Being a pop pop, I now know how little sleep you get when there are wiggling little ones next to you that either do not want to sleep or want just one more story. And with grandma's situation it would mean, especially with all of them in the same bed, even more giggles and wiggles and even less sleep. And that bed was not a king or queen either, because I remember that the one bed was only a twin if not even just a double.

In the beginning, grandma stayed with us every Christmas, but eventually, she would come every other year. Grandma Liza did her best to be fair, so one year she would stay with Aunt Janice, Uncle Dennis and Julie and the next year she would stay with us.

The Christmas in the pictures above and below was when my parents stayed in the Spencer place, a home that Sorenson's let us use until our new one was complete. This was early Christmas Day, after we opened the presents. And the day began early. The tradition began while still living on South Main. We would get up at 2:00 a.m. Grandma would always try to talk us out of it, but when we refused and walked in the darkness to the tree and gifts, she came with us. "Oh, you little darlings," she would say.

This picture happened a little later on Christmas Day that same year. But even then, it was still dark outside. Grandma was not feeling well that year.

I remember that my parents were at some friends until late for a party on Christmas Eve, most likely Sorensons and Crowthers. That was one year we didn't have a large dinner that night. The kitchen was not large, and there was not a lot of room for people to eat. And I'm sure that my parents did not want to have a dinner in a home that Sorensons had just spent so much money replacing carpets and painting walls. Regardless how careful you are, little ones still have a way of spilling sodas, and holiday dinners in particular have good things that make nasty stains.

We stayed up late on Christmas Eve, watching an old black and white version of The Christmas Carol. I remember how excited grandma was, because it was one from the 30's, a classic the networks still play every year during the holidays. Grandma was a real sport that year, because she was not feeling well at all. I remember that. She had said that she would not stay with us, but we pleaded for her to spend the night with us, and she came. It made Christmas something special.

Getting poles in Island Park was not an easy job. Each one was at least 18 to 20 feet, and the base was also about eight inches in diameter. Every pole weighed at least 85 pounds or more, because they were green. Cutting dead wood was not wise, because they often did not last, so we only cut and loaded "green" wood--extremely heavy but sturdy enough when they dried to be an advantage in a future corral.

Cutting the trees was easy. But loading was another story. Dad would cut the tree as close to the ground as possible with the chainsaw, cutting as far as he could without it tipping. I would push against it, until we dad started to cut from the other side. Occasionally it would remain standing, even after the final cut sliced through the base of the tree. In a case like that, the tree was in a thick stand of other trees. Then dad and I would grab the base of the tree, lifting it and running to one side. The tree would crash to the ground. As soon as it fell, dad would cut the branches quickly with the chainsaw, but it didn't do it cleanly. I would use an ax to finish that while dad looked for another tree.

We could only cut those the U.S. Forest Service marked with blue paint. And the trees had to be within the lot that dad purchased a permit for the day we arrived.

Loading trees was a difficult job, but we worked hard and quickly. We were in Island Park for at least five or six days. That meant one or two tough days of hard work and some great fishing. Grandma asked to come with us one particular year. It was not a pleasure trip. In the picture above, she is in a paddle boat with Jill and Ann at Mack's Inn, where we always stayed.