Joseph Neal Heywood Jr. (1876-1968), Uncle of the contributor, Richard N. Heywood
See Also:
Pioneer Doctor by Bess Ericksen
Mattie's Death by Jospeph Neal Heywood
Joseph Neal Heywood Jr.
Musings and Autobiographical Notes till age 27
Birth 23 Oct 1876, Spring Valley Nevada
Death 20 Feb 1968, Mesa, Arizona
Comments by the Submitter, Richard N. Heywood.These notes contain memories, thoughts, observations, experiences, and relationships of Joseph Neal Heywood Jr. involving, mostly, the first 27 and one-half years of his life, though they were written in his mid-70’s. They contain almost nothing after that age, virtually nothing about his wives and children. Still, they reveal a lot about him, his early pioneer surroundings, his thoughts and his feelings. It also displays a great writing talent.
He was named after his father, Joseph Neal Heywood Sr.; he went by the name of Neal. The notes cover birth in Nevada, home in Utah, trek to Arizona, the family and home of his youth and childhood in and around Alpine, Arizona, his father’s mission to New Zealand, his family’s losses, poverty, and struggles, his mission to _____, his early limited educational opportunities, his family’s move to Thatcher, Arizona, and finally his father’s tragic death at age 54 and Neal’s assumption of a surrogate (2) father’s role in the family.
These notes give a picture of Mormon pioneer life and its setting in and around Alpine, Arizona. They include the names of many of the early settlers in and around Alpine – See Appendix.
Notes: Bold headings have been added by the submitter. "Musings" are italicized. Memories and specific observations about the past are not italicized.
Musings and Autobiographical Notes
Musings
1 Dec. 9, 1950
During the night I awakened to hear the clock strike one and each quarter hour until past three. These wakeful hours in the night occur frequently; it almost becomes a habit. I always have a book or magazine within my reach so I usually read until I become sleepy again; sometimes I lie awake thinking or alternate the two. I seldom read light stuff or continued stories; I enjoy the other more.
I read two articles from the book, The World's Best, just off the press this year. The first was entitled, Edwin Arlington Robinson, by Van Wyck Brooks. I paused along the way as I read to better get the clear description, the beauty, the strength, and the significance of this character delineation as well as a picture of the character himself. Then I read it again. To me it was impressive. The writer says of Robinson, "his style and his personality were bleak and bare. Had there ever been a poet who loved life less?" And I thought of some that I had known whose lives had been bleak and bare and disappointing.
The next article I read was, the Poetry of Christianity, by H.L. Mencken. Though entirely different it was equally interesting. Twice I have read it and shall do so again. He is an unbeliever yet says, "The Bible is unquestionably the most beautiful book in the world." I did not read this to believe or to disbelieve but to enjoy and that I did to the extent of my capacity to enjoy. There crept into my mind and into my being the wish that I might have had opportunity for such reading in my younger days. Life might have been much richer and broader. Such writings as these are stimulating and I feel the urge to write and suffer the pain of knowing that I cannot. Still I trifle with the thought that had I been given the essential education when I was young I might have done a little. It is just a little pleasant to think of it that way.
--Footnotes--
1 Typewritten notes were found among Richard N. Heywood’s records and are believed to have been received from Pearl Heywood Jones of Mesa, Arizona, Joseph Neal Heywood Jr.’s daughter. They are published with her permission with minimal changes in format, punctuation, and spelling and with added footnotes.
2 One that takes the place of another; a substitute
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"For to live is to function." Of recent weeks I wonder if I have been functioning. The turn of events has left me with more leisure time than have ever known before. There are just the two of us here now, Emma and I. The winter season is on and there is not the outside work to do and my practice is so small that is requires but little time. The difficult thing is to determine how best to use this time. The decision is not easy to make. I feel that I should choose something that is purposeful that requires effort, that offers a challenge else there will be no growth, no development. Lying ahead I have about four months of such leisure and how best to use that time is the question. Some of my folks urge me to write my autobiography. They have more confidence in my ability than I myself. If I really tried would I have the tenacity to follow through?
Sunday, Dec. 10th
There are my two brothers, Leland3 and David4, my brother-in-law, Alma Frederickson (5) and my son, Bernard (6), who have told me that my letters to them are interesting enough that they are filing them away and have suggested that I write up incidents of earlier events that might be worth while as well as my autobiography. They might be of some passing interest but I can hardly convince myself that anything I could record would be of any permanent value.Four or five years ago I started to do this and wrote about twenty-five pages. Recently, I looked these over. They seemed rather interesting in a simple sort of way but not good enough to be very encouraging. I have done considerable thinking about this, spreading my life out before me and viewing it as if viewing that of any other, dispassionately. I don't see much to commend it, to make it worth recording. In way of self-commendation I might say that I have had high ideals, worthy ambitions and have tried hard to achieve them but my success has been far from satisfying, hardly being worthy of being called success. In saying this I am being frankly honest.
High ideals, what are they; worthy ambitions, what are they? Maybe they are only arbitrary viewpoints, differing with temperaments, training, environment, and these ideals and ambitions modify and change with experience and increased knowledge. But through the larger part of my life there is one thing that neither temperament, training, environment or knowledge has changed. Despite my slips, mistakes, sins, momentary forgetfulness or errors of judgement this one thing has been ever with me, a thing for which I claim no credit, something I could not help--the desire to do good. In spite of base ingratitude at the hands of many whom I have served in times of dire need, who have even maligned and discredited me, when need has risen again, again I have served. I couldn't help it. Sometimes I wonder if I have not been wrong. Regardless of whether right or wrong the desire to do good has motivated my efforts, my life.
My Advent
When I was sixty my mother, then seventy-six, wrote me congratulating me on my sixtieth birthday. She was still sixteen when I was born having been married at fifteen. Part of this letter I am quoting:--Footnotes--
3 Leland Heywood – Birth: 17 Apr 1892, Alpine, Apache, Arizona. Marriage: 18 Aug 1921, Salt Lake City; Margaret Eleanor Smurthwaite. Death: 6 Dec 1976, Mesa, Maricopa, Arizona.
4 David Evans Heywood – Birth: 11 Aug 1896, Saint Johns, Apache, Arizona. Marriage: 21 Aug 1923, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah; Marie Smith. Death: 20 Aug 1974, Phoenix, Maricopa, Arizona.
5 Alma Frderickson – Birth: 4 Mar 1884, Castle Dale, Emery, Utah. Death: 28 Jan 1973, Safford, Graham, Arizona.
6 Joseph Neal Heywood’s son, Bernard – Birth: 26 Oct 1917, Thatcher, Graham, Arizona. Marriage: 10 Jul 1942, Louisville, Jefferson, Kentucky; Frances Marian Gowan.
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"Birthday greetings. Sixty years ago today while in bed and looking at and admiring my robust healthy looking baby, little did I imagine that sixty years from that day I would be in Los Angeles, Cal. in bed. Not because I am like Sarah of old but just old age and bronchial trouble. Have been in bed for a week. Ella (7) is here caring for me.
"O! I want to tell you what my diet has been for two months. For breakfast, 3 medium spoons of pablum, a prepared cereal mixed with water and canned milk, two or three figs and a cup of coffee but I am now taking Ovaltine instead of coffee. That menu is repeated three times daily. The girls think I should eat more but I have no appetite for anything. When I weighed ten days ago my weight was one hundred ten pounds. Have been comparing today's menu with that of sixty years ago. I cannot give it for each meal, but during the day I was given corn meal gruel well seasoned with cream and sugar, thickened milk, hot bread and butter with molasses, mashed potatoes and gravy, fried meat, water cress, mince pie or plum pudding seasoned with brandy and several times each day a real good eggnog with plenty of brandy. No wonder my stomach is on a continual strike.
You have brought so many children into the world that maybe just a few incidents of your advent might be a little different from any you have had.
"Mayrette (I think it should be spelled Maryette, but am not too sure) Maxwell (8), Andrew's mother, was the midwife. The first thing was a bed on the floor near the wood heater as the night was very cold. I lay down on the pallet, your father on the one side, my mother on the other, each to pull on a hand and pressed on a knee whenever a pain was on. Maryette was on her knees in front with a hand on either side of the uterus when a pain was on. When the wood in the stove had burned out your father got up and while refilling it knocked the stove over. I got up and walked into the front room. The pallet was spread near the fireplace. All went well except when one of the last hard pains was on your father changed his position and to do so he moved the hand on my knee and pressed down on it with all his weight. I jerked my hand loose from his other hand and slapped him in the face. You came in a few minutes and the fight was over. Just see how early in life you began to settle controversies. I got up and walked to my bed and climbed in. I did not have one after pain. [Note: she had eleven children and no after pains with any].
"The ninth or tenth day, I have forgotten which, I had to remain in bed all day so 'the bones could slide back in their proper places.' Just imagine, if you can, no part of my body was bathed during that time except my face and hands. How you managed to grow up strong and healthy with the kinds and amounts of food you were given I do not understand. These days, children must be given the proper kinds of foods. Well, I suppose this is enough on your birthday."
At some later time this midwife had a baby of her own. She got up and did a washing on the eighth day but religiously remained in bed the ninth day so “the bones could slide back in their proper places.” She was up and went about her usual duties the tenth day. In my practice I have known of midwives who conscientiously insisted that the patient have no bath until she was up and around again. It was a custom to put a
---Footnotes---
7 Ella Heywood Kvist – Birth: 1 Sep 1884, Alpine, Apache, Arizona. Marriage: 28 Sep 1923, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah; Paul Kvist. Death: 8 May 1972, Los Angeles, Los Angeles, California.
8 Maryette Magdaline Hamblin Maxwell, wife of William Bailey Maxwell.
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"split raisin over the cord of the new born especially if there seemed to be any inflammation or infection; an axe or some sharp instrument was put under the bed to cut the pains or the afterbirth was put under the bed until the pains quit which they usually did in three or four days. A terrible odor could develop in that time and did."
So that was the beginning of me this cold night the twenty third of October. I say the beginning --almost. It was nine months since two cells were drawn together, united, added cell upon cell, these cells developing differentiated tissues and organs and thrust out into a cold world to begin its mortal existence as an entity, an individual destined to be unlike any other and whose future none might divine. What potentialities, intelligence, inclination, temperament or possibilities lay inherent in that little helpless mass none might foretell.
Like all other infants this was the beginning point, the zero hour of existence from which might develop a genius or an idiot; that might either wreck or fulfill the fondest dreams of hopeful parents; that might have health or be weighted down with lingering illness; that might have special talent or none; that might feel the exultant thrill of success or the depressing ignominy of failure; that might be rich in loyal friends or suffer at the hands of traitorous enemies; that might be blessed with ample means and comforts or feel the sting of poverty; that might have home and love and wife and boys and girls or tread the lonely path of life with none to bear a father's name; that might tread the full measure of long life or be taken or snatched away while still a hopeful promising youth. And there was I, a helpless waif, with all these staggering possibilities yet ahead.
Like all newborn babes this little bundle was thrust into life helpless, without knowledge, without conscious existence, reacting to stimuli only. All babes are equal, no superiority, no aristocracy, in this democracy of birth and regardless of difference and distinctions through life are again reduced to equality in the great democracy of death. With this in mind, "Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"
This humble beginning of mine was over seventy four years ago. There was the steady development into conscious sensations of sight, hearing, feeling, taste, smell, temperature, prehension (9), etc. and these grew into the complexities of life. Which experiences was most or least important or whether important at all is a matter of opinion. Except in occasional instances these could be of little or no importance only to the individual himself.
This was the beginning of my little world, my little heaven or hell. It was for me to build, to shape, to fashion. What this was to become depended on my reaction to all those varied influences brought to bear and my capacity or ability to use them best. This world of mine is a small one due to two things--my limited capacity and my restricted environment but, in my way, I have done about the best I could.
Looking Back
This little world has been an ever-changing one, which is to admit there has been some progress, some growth. Standing nearly three quarters of a century from the start and looking back I try to spread out my life, see it as a whole and then examine it more in detail. It has not been unusual or outstanding, except to me perchance. Questions arise and I wish I knew the answers. Has my life been worth while? Has it been purposeful? What is its destiny? These questions remain unanswered.Mother was a few months from being seventeen when I was born. That was rather young to take on the responsibilities of motherhood and the teaching and training of children. She was
--Footnote---
9 Mental understanding; comprehension
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without experience, young and her education only in an ungraded school. But she did have high ideals and a never-ending persistency in teaching me, and the ones that followed later, to read write, and spell. Many weary hours I spent at her side going over lessons while she was busy ironing, sewing or some other work. This she continued even after I was of school age and regularly attending the district school the few short months it was held each winter. Her efforts at discipline were largely experimental and often novel. I must pay tribute to her tireless efforts. No doubt the younger children profited by the things she learned practicing on me.
Early Memories
There were some experiences, my earliest, that I still remember. I just mention some of these, in passing, that were impressive. Sometimes, a thing of little consequence occurs in such a way that, at the time, it seems important and we never forget it.Our one room log house, which I remember well, stood near a small creek with willows along the banks. One day my Aunt Sue, two or three years older than I, took me across this stream into a little field. It couldn't have been but a few rods away but it was my first trip that far to the east. My world was enlarging. The wheat had been cut and gathered. Some Indians were here gleaning the heads of wheat that had fallen or been left. Seeing them at work and being told what they were doing, there was added to my vocabulary the word gleaning. At this same time there was another unforgettable incident. One squaw was squatted on the ground nursing her papoose. As we walked by she put the infant down, protruded her dusky pendulous breast toward me with an invitation to partake. I was embarrassed completely. I didn't know the word for it but I know the feeling.
Pardonable Deception--"It flared into a puff"
My brother, Spence (10), was two years younger than I and had fine white fluffy hair. One evening, Mother was going down in the cellar for something. Spence was following her and I brought up the rear carrying the tallow candle. As we went down the steps I wondered if that fluffy white wouldn't burn and pushed the candle up against it; it flared up with a puff. He screamed and Mother turned quickly and threw her apron about his head. I was frightened, very much frightened, and expected punishment feeling as deep a guilt as a little fellow could. She thought it was only accidental; I was quick to perceive that and kept quiet. It was the first time I knew what it was to deceive. Through my young life there may have been many instances where the instinct of self-preservation may have led me into pardonable deceptions.There must come into the life of each normal child that terrifying first knowledge of death or that there is death. A Mrs. Roundy had lost her child who was possibly a year or two old. In one of the rooms of Grandfather's house the little body was prepared for burial. I must have been about three. I was about there and was in and out. The women were too busy to notice me and I may not have asked any questions. I saw the small coffin placed on two chairs or a small table; I forget which; they put the dressed corpse into the casket and put the lid over it but a hem of the dress showed between the lid and the box. I saw them correct this. I saw the still body that did not move and the mother weeping over it. I wondered what is was all about. They held short services. Just a few people were there. Then the remains were taken away and somehow I understood that they were to be placed in a hole and covered with dirt and that the child would never, never come back. I understood vaguely and I know I didn't want to die. There was nothing else that could be so bad. The desire to live and still knowing that we yet must die fashions for us a future life, a life in the hereafter.
--Footnotes--
10 Spence Coleman Heywood – Birth: 19 Oct 1878, Upper Kanab, Kane, Utah. Marrige: 30 Mar 1905, Central, Graham, Arizona. Death 1 May 1969, Mesa, Maricopa, Arizona
J.N.H. Says he was 3 yrs. Old at the time this happened, not yet 4.
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Father Explores Arizona. Typhoid Fever. "If he died he died unto the Lord and if he lived he lived unto he Lord."
In the autumn of 1879 Father made a trip into Arizona to locate a place for a new home. I am quite sure it was during his absence that Mother and I came down with typhoid fever. There were no doctors in the country and had there been it might have made little difference since there had not been found any effective treatment. Neighbors and friends cared as best they could for the patient and elders of the church administered to him and "if he died he died unto the Lord and if he lived he lived unto the Lord." The treatment was often experimental, something new to be tried with the hope that it might prove effective. In my case I was made the recipient of one heroic treatment. That is the only thing that I can remember about my illness.This treatment was administered one chilly autumn evening. I remember being taken from the bed in the corner. In the east end of the one room log house was the fireplace and the fire was burning briskly. In the corner close by a tub stood filled with ice cold water. Someone with a hand under each of my arms supported me as I was unable to stand alone. They stripped me naked. I was shivering with the cold and my teeth chattering. In my weak and emaciated condition I had little resistance. As I stood shaking and suffering with the cold a sheet wrung out of the ice water was slapped around my wasted body. I can only say that the shock was terrific. But somehow I survived it. The idea of the treatment was to break the fever. I remember nothing else either before or after concerning the illness. But that seems quite enough to remember.
LORD vs. Lard.
I remember the hole cut through the ice so the stock could drink and that the geese, through this hole, got under the ice and were drowned. Mother used to tell me about the Lord and gave me vague ideas of how wonderful He was. One day I heard someone say that the lard had been hung over the back of a chair in a cold room and I had only heard of the other kind. It was very puzzling to me when I saw only a mass of fat. It was a long time before I could differentiate between Lord and lard.Place of Birth
I am somewhat ahead of my story by not having told of my place of birth. It is unlikely that I shall follow closely any chronological order in relating incidents and events, nor that I shall be altogether accurate since I am writing from memory and a long time has elapsed since my childhood. However, what I give is substantially correct and will serve for all practical purposes. In any event few or none will be interested in reading this so it will not matter.I was born in Springvalley, Nevada Oct. 23, 1876. This was a little valley abounding in Springs, hence its name, about a day's drive from Pioche (11), a mining town. I believe it was the next year my parents and grandparents moved to what was then known as Upper Kanab, Utah (12). William B. Maxwell (13) is one of the earliest settlers there, Springvalley and was well fixed in means. His was the most imposing house in that section. It still stands and is the only one remaining at this time. It was a two-story structure with a basement beneath.
---Footnotes---
11 Pioche is an unincorporated community and census-designated place in Lincoln County, Nevada, United States, about 180 miles (290 km) northeast of Las Vegas. Its elevation is 6,060 feet (1,850 m) above sea level. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pioche,_Nevada
12 Upper Kanab: The first arrivals were Latter-day Saints who came from different parts of the country seeking homes in southern Utah. But if they had hoped to find a southern climate comparable to that in Utah's Dixie, their neighbor to the southwest, they were sorely disappointed, for the area lies at an altitude of seven thousand feet. http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~utkane/upperkanab.html
13 William Bailey Maxwell – A major influence in the lives of the Heywood family in Nevada, Utah and Arizona.
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It was Maxwell who induced Father to come to Springvalley to teach their school. My mother was one of his pupils and he marred her while she was still fifteen. Maxwell was good to my father and treated him much as if he were a son.
The latter part of last April, 1950, with my two uncles, Prime14 and Evans15 and my brother, Yates (16) we made a trip to Springvalley to visit the place of my birth. Evans was also born in Springvalley. This was our first visit there since moving away. I have told of this elsewhere so will say no more about it.
Located now in Upper Kanab my parents and grand parents were not long content. For what reason or reasons I do not know. Perhaps this area did not seem promising; perhaps the pioneer spirit urged them on beyond any present well known borders. Whatever may have been the reason in the late autumn of 1879 my father went down into Arizona in search of a new location on almost the farthest boundaries of the territory for the final destination was at Bush Valley (17) within four miles of the New Mexico line. He must have had some information through his old friend William B. Maxwell who was located here and must have felt pretty sure that Bush Valley, or some place near by, would be chosen since he, Dave Lee and others took with them quite a large number of horses.
Father's Diary -- (Trip to Bush Valley)
Father kept a diary of this trip and it is interesting. Winter was coming on, the scarcity of feed over some of the desert areas and the inclination of the horses to return to the home range made it difficult. There was no place to corral the horses at night. Often during the night some would turn back and cover considerable distances in the attempt to return. A rider would be sent to find them and return them to the herd and sometimes they would not be found. Occasionally others who came later might pick up some of the strays and bring them on and some no doubt fell in the hands of the Indians. It may be correct that an occasional horse would swim the Colorado River and finally return to the home range. Frequently in the diary Father would say that such and such a mare "slipped her colt last night."Father decided that Bush Valley was to be his future home
Father decided that Bush Valley was to be his future home. He thought it offered possibilities of future security and prosperity. In fact, he was enthusiastic and spent the winter there securing land and cutting and hewing logs for a future home. He mentions in his diary buying elk meat from a Mr. Gibbs who lived on the head of The Blue. I mention this because in the next three or four years not an elk remained; it had become extinct. Many years later, it was restocked by the Government. On his return home the next April, I understand that he found a few of the lost horses.Grandparents also decided on Bush VAlley
My parents and grandparents decided to move to Bush Valley in the fall of 1880. They had their crops to care for and many things to do in preparation for the move. There were trades to be made, property to be disposed of and wagons to be put in the best possible condition for the long trip over rough and in places, almost impassable roads. They could take only what were considered necessities. It took planning and ingenuity to find room for all. I believe---Footnotes--
14 Prime Thornton Coleman Jr. – Birth: 22 Feb 1868, Pinto, Washington, Utah. Death: 6 Jul 1953, Saint Johns, Apache, Arizona. Parents: Prime Thornton Coleman Sr. and Emma Beck Evans. Wives: Anna Sariah “Minnie” Tenney and Laverna Sherwood.
15 David Evans Coleman – Birth: 12 Feb 1873, Spring Valley, Lincoln, Nevada. Death: 15 Dec 1954, Thatcher, Graham, Arizona. Wife: Eliza Emily Skinner.
16 Irving Yates Heywood – Birth: 11 Nov 1902, Thatcher, Graham, Arizona. Death: 8 Oct 1995, Holbrook, Arizona.
17 Bush Valley, Arizona, later named Alpine. History and information about Alpine, Arizona:
http://jeff.scott.tripod.com/alpine.html
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there were plows and Father had a mower. They would need to put in crops and make hay. Travel would be slow as they were taking along some milk cows as well as a few horses. The horses Father had taken out before were a total loss as the Indians had stolen these and those of the other settlers during the summer of 1880. These horses were being herded together when the Indians rode out from the trees and drove them all away. It was a heavy loss.
Note: Prime Coleman who used to be on the Apache Indian Reservation at Cibecue says that the old Indians told him about these stolen horses, and that after they had driven them into New Mexico they circled around by way of or near the Gila Valley finally taking them to the Reservation.
Preparation for Migration
I regret that we do not have one of the older ones to give a more detailed account of the preparations for such a migration. There would be the bedding, the clothing, the chests of dress goods with cloth, buttons, needles and thread, flour and grain for the horses to be closely estimated for the trip so there would be no excess baggage, ropes, hobbles, chains and tools for any repair work needed. An axle might break or a reach or tongue and they sometimes did on this journey. There were cooking utensils, frying pans, kettles, Dutch ovens, etc. It was a work of ingenuity to so arrange these so that when camping each night the rolls of bedding and things necessary for cooking could be taken out in an orderly way and with the least delay possible. Fifty gallon barrels were strapped on the sides of the wagon beds to haul water for the needs over long stretches of dry country.Troubles Along the Way
There were troubles along the way, plenty of them. A horse or cow might stray away during the night and have to be hunted up the next morning; a tongue or double tree might break and have to be toggled up or a suitable one found, trimmed and fitted; grass was often scarce and the stock became restless and hard to hold. These are only suggestive of the troubles and by no means exhaustive.With cattle to drive travel was necessarily slow. I am not sure of the entire distance but would roughly estimate it at five hundred miles. I believe the company left Upper Kanab Nov. 15, 1880; they arrived in Alpine (18) Jan. 15, 1881. The date of arrival I know to be correct. That would be sixty days of travel giving an average of less than nine miles per day. The date of leaving may have been Nov. 30th and I feel quite sure that is correct. In this case the rate of travel would be about eleven miles per day. New Year's dinner was eaten either at Sunset (19) or Bingham City (20), just across the Little Colorado from each other. The distance to Alpine is approximately one hundred fifty miles. That would give an average of ten miles per day. How speed has stepped up since that tardy time! (In my attempted writing I hit about that pace.)
Over the long dry stretches the felloes of the wheels would dry out and shrink leaving the tires loose. Water would be poured over the felloes to swell them and wedges of thin wood driven between them and the tire to hold it in place. Whether it became necessary to stop and shrink a tire on this trip I am not sure. Easily it might have been. Grandfather (21) was quite expert at
---Footnotes--
18 Anderson Bush built a log cabin in 1876, named the area around it Bush Valley, and so settled what would ultimately become the tiny town of Alpine http://www.arizonahighways.com/extras/archive/hometowns/0713_hometowns.asp
19 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunset,_Arizona
20 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brigham_City,_Arizona
21 Prime Thornton Coleman Sr. – Birth: 22 Sep 1831, Thorncote, Bedford, England. Marriage: 1 Nov 1856, Lehi, Utah, Utah, Emma Beck Evans; 26 Nov 1864, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah. Death: 19 Aug 1905, Thatcher, Graham, Arizona.
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Frazer's Axel Grease
Careful watch was kept to see that the wheel was greased. Frazer's axle grease12 was the lubricantIf this was neglected a thimble would get hot and soon be ruined and out on these travels was not to be tolerated. It could not be replaced on the spot. To grease a wheel the bur that held the wheel hub on the thimble was removed then the top of the wheel pulled out until part of the thimble was exposed and the grease applied both at the base and the tip. And woe be to him that pulled too hard and dropped the axle down. That would evoke words not exactly a prayer. They had no jacks in those days and it was an awful job to get the axle lifted to replace the wheel, especially if the wagon was heavily loaded. I had this mishap just once--I never repeated.
There was the routing of camping each night. Whenever possible the camp was pitched at some watering place but at times it was more than the day's drive between these. Sometimes a rider was sent ahead of the train to select a place where, if possible, there was wood and water. In the timbered areas wood was plentiful but over the long dry stretches of desert dead sage brush and rabbit brush had to serve and possibly, at times, cattle chips. The camping ground should be level, free from bumps and pebbles and in some protected spot on the leeward side of a hill or bank, as winds were sometimes vicious. To choose well was something of an art.
When the wagons were located everybody was busy. The teams had to be unhitched, unharnessed, watered, taken to the best grazing spot and hobbled. Bedrolls were taken from the wagons and placed on the smoothest places since most slept on the ground and they were strategically located so that when undressing modesty would be least disturbed. The grub box, food and cooking utensils were unloaded and placed around the campfire. Camp was usually struck about sundown so that not too much daylight might be wasted and yet avoid too much dark, a time when hills and peaks and trees threw fantastic shadows with giant strides across the flats or valleys, then soon the dark. Fuel was to be gathered and piled while it still was light. On cold dark night blazing fires were cheerful things with the bright blazes dancing out this way and that, here and there, then dying down into glowing embers. There is one thing that must be said about these campfires--no matter which side you are on the smoke soon follows to choke and make the eyes water and smart; change to another place and it soon follows. Let anyone who doubts this give it a trial and be convinced.
To give a detailed view of a camp that would be typical of these pioneers on the move I feel quite beyond my descriptive powers and any attempt to do so is only with the idea that it will give to those of the future some sort of picture of what used to be. To the preceding paragraphs I add: After the things mentioned above there was supper to get. While the woman were getting food ready to cook the fire would burn down to a pile of coals that were better than a blaze for cooking, less smoke and easier to get near. A tin basin was used in which to wash the face and hands and because of scarcity of water at times two or more washed in the same water. If water was very short one would dribble a little water from a cup onto the hands of another taking it turn about. Towels could get mighty dirty from the dust and smoke and grease and grime. Kettles of water were heated over hot coals, bacon fried and gravy made, potatoes boiled or sometimes sliced and fried and as necessity required biscuits baked in the Dutch oven. I cannot be sure whether there was milk for the children from the cows that were being driven but I feel quite sure there was. Cottontails were occasionally killed along the way and when fried offered an appetizing variation. Chance might provide a rock or log for seats, though rarely so, and a spring seat might be lifted from the wagon but to keep away from the smoke that followed round one was kept pretty much on the move and ate while standing. Some sat cross-legged on the ground. Children were often scolded for kicking up the dust and wind in a dusty place was a near calamity.
After the evening meal was over and the things put in order, beds were unrolled and spread and the small children put to bed. The older ones retired as they saw fit. Usually evening prayer was said being often included with the blessing on the food. The axles might be greased at night or the next morning. There was nothing in the way of entertainment during the evening except telling stories, rehearsing the past events and planning the morrow. Would there be grass or water or fuel and what the weather?
In the early morning, at daylight, those designated the night before hustled out to round up the horses and cattle, leaving a fire to1 burn down to coals for the cooks. Others got up later and the children last of all. After breakfast, dishes washed, dishes put away and beds rolled they were packed in the wagons and we were again on our way. Possibly memory has failed to record many interesting things I have omitted for I was but a small child just turned four.
I have mentioned Frazer's axle grease. It was an essential like Bain's wagons and almost a commodity in trade. No one would be so foolish as to start on a trip without it. It was always to be found in the jockey box on the front end of the wagon bed. I digress to relate an anecdote. Dr. King went to the mining town of Leadville during its boom days expecting to become rich. He was disappointed in this but one day drove or rode out into the country to enjoy the scenery. As he related it he went out on a plateau and rode through the forest with trees as artistically arranged as if a man had planted them there. As he rode he came to the brink of a vast deep gorge that had been worn down during untold ages. He looked down on the trees and shrubs that lined its banks. Turning and looking back there rose from the edge of the plateau the massive mountains with peaks and granite walls. It was a marvel of beauty and grandeur. As he viewed this the sun slowly threw the shadows of night into the gorge below but was still shining where he stood. Presently the sun was down where he stood but was still shining on the mountain peaks beyond. It was impressive. Instinctively he looked about to see what mighty hand had wrought these marvelous wonders and there high on those massive granite walls he traced in letters of living light this beautiful legendary inscription, BUY FRAZER'S AXLE GREASE (23).
Crossing the Colorado River at Lee's Ferry24 [named after John Doyle Lee25] and going up over the precipitous mountain known as Lee's Back Bone26. I clearly remember. I now know the size of the river was greatly magnified in my child mind and when the boat loaded with wagons and some of the cattle pushed out into the river I was frightened, but when the wagon bumped along over the narrow dugway that seemed dangerously near the edge of the
--Footnotes
23 A Frazer Axle Grease Salf-framed Advertising Sign from about 1900 was appraised on The Roadshow Jun 16, 1910 for $4,000 to $5,000. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/archive/201002A41.html . Samuel Frazer was the inventor. Galena Daily Gazette, 1 May 1899. ((http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/read/IL-OBITS/2005-08/1123607254
24 Lee's Ferry (also known as Lees Ferry, Lee Ferry, Little Colorado Station and Saints Ferry[1]) is a site on the Colorado River in Coconino County, Arizona in the United States, about 7.5 miles (12.1 km) southwest of Page and 9 miles (14 km) south of theUtah-Arizona border. For detail: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee's_Ferry
25 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Doyle_Lee
26 Two accounts of Lee’s Backbone: http://walkingarizona.blogspot.com/2009/07/two-accounts-of-lees-backbone.html)
---
perpendicular cliff I was gripped with terror. I made no sound -- perhaps I was dumb with fear. When some of us visited this ferry last April, 1950 how different it looked. It was hard to believe my memory was so at fault. The river and Lee's Back Bone had shrunken to less than half the size my child mind had pictured. I had felt so sure that the disillusionment was almost a shock. I could no longer feel so sure of the accuracy of my childhood memories. Had the size of these objects grown in memory with the years or had they just loomed big at the time? I am not quite sure. Those first impressions still remain the stronger. I marvel at the courage, fortitude, endurance and achievements of these early pioneers that explored and broke trail into new areas.
Jacob's pool, named after the Indian Scout, Jacob Hamblin (27), Houserock (28), Navajo Springs (29), Limestone Tanks and Willow Springs were some of the watering places along the route that were well known. The springs at House-rock as I remember when we passed in the late autumn of 1880 were partly enclosed by steep cliffs that rose to great heights, it seemed to me but I am sure that if I could see them now they would seem diminutive. I have heard it related that once there was a battle here between some Indians and whites. One Indian clambered up the cliffs and when at the tip he stooped over spatting his rear in defiance and as an insult at the whites below. He was hit by a well placed bullet and tumbled off the cliff. I do not know whether this is true or not.
One incident I recall that I am sure no other would remember as it affected me only. Somewhere south of the Colorado we camped near a small clay hill that rose in the form of a cone to a point. It was similar to those in the Painted Desert except that it didn't have the layers of different colored clay. Some of the older children clambered up it to the top and I followed suit except I didn't get to the top. When about half way up I turned and looked back. It appeared to be so steep and so far from the bottom that I was terrorized. I tried to put my arms around the hill to hold on and screamed for someone to come and get me. Every body else laughed as I was carried down. I didn't laugh.
And I remember camp being pitched near the Black Falls (30) of the Little Colorado. We could hear the roar of the water as it fell over the falls. When some went to look down the chasm I wanted to go but was too small to be noticed. After my fright on a hill possibly twenty five feet high I can imagine my feelings had I stood on the edge of the deep canyon.
It was between Moancopy [Moankopi] and Black Falls that Christmas was spent. Forty five or more days of creeping along at an average of ten or eleven miles per day. Most of the way days were getting shorter and nights longer and colder. At times there was snow and wind and cold, freezing cold. Children were bundled up beneath the wagon covers. At one place wagons crossed the Little Colorado on ice which was so thick it did not break. From Sunset
---Footnotes---
27 Buried in Alpine.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob_Hamblin
http://www.utahsdixie.com/jacob_hamblin.html
http://historytogo.utah.gov/people/jacobhamblin.html
28 House Valley, named after a distinctive house built under a huge rock. . . http://www.360cities.net/image/house-rock-house-rock-valley-arizona-usa#0.00,0.00,70.0
29 Navajo Springs, Arizona http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Navajo_Springs,_Arizona
30 There were two primary crossings of the Little Colorado—one at the Grand Falls, and one at Black Falls, a smaller waterfall some 10 miles (16 km) downstream. It was easier to ford the river at the two waterfalls because at that point, it flows over hard bedrock, making the crossing much easier. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Colorado_River This site includes some pictures of cliffs which may have been like “the edge of the deep canyon” mentioned by Joseph Neal Heywood.
---
or Brigham City about New Year's Day it was a steady up-grade for about one hundred fifty miles, except the last four, to Alpine over eight thousand feet above sea level. The divide four miles west of Alpine separated the stream running southeast to the Frisco from one head of the little Colorado running westward.
Pioneers moving, pushing out to new frontiers and why? I wonder. Was there any hope of bettering their condition? It is questionable. Was it the pioneer spirit, something in their nature, a restlessness, a discontent that pushed them ever on? Did they have enough facts upon which to base a sound judgment or were they led by a sort of blind faith and hope that all would turn out for the best? Was this a thing of destiny or a thing of choice? Did destiny shape the choice or did choice shape the destiny? Who knows?
Next month, January 15, 1951, makes exactly seventy years since these two families landed in Alpine. I look back over those seventy years and ponder whether my father's choice was wisest and find that I am not wise enough to judge. Yet I question it. It was a beautiful little valley, beautiful, inviting and promising. Yes, and tempting.
A View of Alpine
Let us take a view of this little valley set a midst the mountains eight thousand feet above sea level. It has been said that it is the most elevated agricultural valley in the United States. Whether this is correct I do not know. It is one of the most beautiful valleys imaginable. Mountains surround it on three sides, the north, the west and the south. It slopes toward the east to end abruptly where extending from the mountains on the north and the south are hills separated by a small boxed canyon cut through by the small stream that winds through it and is one of the heads of the Frisco River. The greatest width is approximately one and a half to two mile and the length four miles but its outline is very irregular since the timbered foot hills jut out into it at many points from the north and the south. Between these foothills on the south the hollows sometimes spread out making an ideal place for a rancher, there being timber, water, pasturage and a small acreage for raising grain and potatoes.Dense forests
The mountains on the west and south sloping down to the valley were covered with dense forests of pine, quaking asp, oak, fir and spruce trees with some underbrush consisting of wild elderberries, thorny gooseberries, black locusts and other shrubs. The south slopes of the mountains on the north were more sparsely timbered, mostly with pine.
The Excudilla
The Escudilla (Es-cu-de-a) is a massive lone mountain or peak that rises well above any of the surrounding mountain ranges and is a well-known landmark that can be seen on clear day's distances of a hundred miles or more. The extreme top is bare of timber, possibly above timberline. The top provides a grand view of the surrounding country but is too difficult of ascent to be inviting to sightseers.
When the first settlers came all this abundance of timber was theirs for the taking. There were no restrictions, no forest rangers; it was theirs to take where and when they pleased, and there were no game or fish laws. Pine logs could be hewn with the broad axe for homes and barns and all accessory buildings, oaks for posts, plow beams and axe handles and such, aspens for poles.
Streams, flora, fauna Later times, extreme drought and over grazing.
The little streams abounded with brook or mountain trout and some less desirable fishes; in the forests were white-tailed deer, black-tailed deer, antelope, bear, the turkey and pine hen and all theirs to hunt, kill and use. No restrictions.
In the valley and on the foothills grass could be and was mowed for hay to supply the winter needs. The abundance of grasses for grazing and extensive ranges was open invitations to each and all. It could hardly be imagined that at a later time extreme drought and over grazing of the range by large cattle companies was at all likely but both made their inroads.
The rich bottom land and little coves back among the trees and foothills were there to be taken up and homes established. In time corners were located, the land filed on under the Homestead Act and the land "proved up on" and title furnished the settler. Often unclaimed open places or flats were fenced and farmed without any interference, oats and potatoes being the usual crops. During the summer's rainy season fields and hills and mountains were at their best and seemed a paradise.
Beauty Unlimited
And here was beauty unlimited from the grandeur of the forest-clad mountains down to the delicate beauty of the smallest wild flower such as the violet and buttercup. There were the little coves and nooks with living springs of cold clear water that bubbled from the bottom and skirted with shrubs, oaks, aspens and blue spruce; there were ferns and numberless varieties of flowers blooming everywhere; among the trees and shrubs and in the open grassy flats; there were the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets when the sun's rays played a medley of changing colors over the clouds skirting the horizon; there were the autumn scenes when frost had touched the aspens and oaks, miles of them. Beauty was to be had for the seeing, but I pause to make a moment's comment.
Really, I wonder how many saw this beauty, recognized it, felt it, thrilled with or enjoyed it. "Beauty lies not in the landscape but in the mind that apprehends it." The majority of people, I am persuaded, only see the mountains and hills as such, whether high or low, regular or irregular, smooth or rough, precipitous or sloping; they see the forests with a view as to their utility, availability and accessibility; they see all these unaware of the harmony and beauty before them if they only recognized it, only knew it. The dainty flower with its faultless form, rich colors, delightful fragrance that endows it with rare beauty is only stepped on, unnoticed. The sunrises and sunsets are noticed in a matter of fact sort of way; the resounding melodies from the myriads of birds that flit from tree to tree get passing notice and that is all.
For myself, though color blind and wanting in musical ability, I am overwhelmed with the magnificence, grandeur and beauty of it all and am always reminded of Bryant's [William Cullen Bryant (31)] FOREST HYMN:
"The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them, ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down
And offered to the mightiest, solemn thanks And Supplication."
---Footnote---
(31) A Forest Hymn by William Cullen Bryant: http://www.bartleby.com/102/18.html
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With all these resources at hand and to be had for the taking there is little wonder that young enthusiast like my father should find here a strong appeal. Then, too, the Bible said: Isa. 2, 3, "Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and He will teach us of His ways, and we will walk in His path." Many were called on missions to settle Arizona and others who came voluntarily were called on a mission to remain. Father was one of the latter. Were not these enough to justify them in settling here? They felt that they were here in obedience to a divine call from church authorities and were fulfilling Isaiah's prophecy. This feeling sustained them against doubt. How often have I heard this scripture quoted in church on Sunday! The belief they were doing God's will gave them solace and comfort. They were coming out of The World, a sinful evil world, out of Babylon.
His Father's Error
But Father was not called to remain in Alpine, but the Arizona Mission. He might have gone elsewhere in Arizona with equal obedience to authority. Did the resources and advantages apparent here blind him to a larger consideration of the problems of the future? I believe it did. "Here", he said, "as my children grow opportunities will grow with them." In this he was in error; true, we grew right along, but opportunities remained, and were to remain, limited. When the children grew up they must go elsewhere to establish homes; there was no room for them here; all the land available was already secured by the early settlers; there was no room for growth. It has been often remarked that only three occupations were possible here - farmer, stock man, teacher or combinations of these. Teaching should be ruled out since a teacher cannot long remain in one place and at most it could never give occupation to more than two teachers at a time. Other than these there was no choice for any who chose to remain in Alpine. Only two occupations, farming and cattle raising were possible and these so overlapped that they really became one. And not all were fitted by nature for these. If they remained they were stuck; there was nothing else, just misfits. To put in a lifetime as a misfit may be endured but not enjoyed.There was little to be had in the way of education and social life, the disadvantages being so apparent that they hardly need to be discussed. In the one room log schoolhouse one teacher taught all the children six years old on up to and including adults. I remember one in his twenties who wore an enviable mustache. The pupils were loosely classified into first, second, third, fourth and fifth reader classes. The McGuffey's Readers (32) were in use for most classes but for the fifth reader class the National Fifth Reader was used. Few, indeed, reached this fifth reader class. There was no curriculum, no outline and no uniformity or standards throughout the different schools in the county. Each was a unit by itself. The little thin geography was in the form of a catechism, question and answer. For example: Q. what is an ocean? A. an ocean is the largest natural division of water. And so on through with gulf, bay, sea, mountain, cape, peninsula, etc. I remember Colburn's Mental Arithmetic (33) and the famous Old Blue Back Speller (34). A number of Aesop's fables were in the back; the words were all divided into syllables the child spelling and pronouncing the first syllable, then spelling the second syllable and pronouncing both and so on. I think of one word that had the merit of length - in-com-pre-hen-si-bil-i-ty.
---Footnotes--
32 McGuffey Readers were a series of graded primers, including grade levels 1-6, widely used as textbooks in American schools from the mid-19th century to the mid-20th century, and are still used today in some private schools and in homeschooling. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McGuffey_Readers
33 First Lessons in Intellectual Arithmetic (Boston, 1821) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warren_Colburn
34 Noah Websters’s “blue back speller books taught five generations of American children how to spell and read…” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noah_Webster
---
Much might be said of the merits of those early readers. They were full of choice selections, classics, both in prose and in poetry intended to cultivate the desire for the best literature. I remember my boyish interest in excerpts from Shakespeare - The Tempest, Merchant of Venice, etc. I used to read and reread these in the little country school even stealing time away from my other lessons. Characters like Prospero, Ariel, Mirandy and others seem still living ones. I knew nothing of Shakespeare and nothing was taught concerning him. I was interested only in the reading, not the author and did not associate these with him until I was grown. At the end of each lesson new words with their definitions were listed and we were required to recite on them. In helping acquire a vocabulary this was most valuable - a thing too much neglected now a days.
Father's greatest ambition was for the future success of his family, of us children, and for that he strove. He was easily the thriftiest man in Alpine and that statement cannot be challenged; but in a larger environment he would have been equally thrifty but on a much larger scale. For myself I feel that a full, broad, successful, useful life has been greatly restricted and has denied me much that might be desired. But I cannot say for sure. It must remain an enigma. Who lives most and best, anyhow?
Arrival in Bush Valley (Alpine) Jan 15, 1881
We arrived in Bush Valley (Alpine) Jan. 15, 1881 and were welcomed by Wm. B. Maxwell, Father's friend and benefactor in Springvalley, Nevada. He lived in the northeast part of the fort commonly known as the Old Fort though it was not old having been built in the latter part of the 1870's, probably during 1879 and 1880 according the best information I have been able to obtain.The fort was built in the open valley near a spring that supplied the domestic water and in the form of a hollow square with an open space in the southwest corner through which wagons could be driven. The buildings were a series of end to end log cabins. One was built of hewn logs but most were from logs with only the bark removed but notched at the ends to interlock at the corners. Most had dirt floors and dirt roofs. Portholes were cut through some of the outer walls through which to shoot in case of attack from Indians. One Sunday evening at dark the roof of the cabin we occupied caved in burying Spence and me beneath. The center beam had rotted and gave way and since we were near the wall we were unharmed though badly frightened.
Soon after reaching Bush Valley Feb. 1881 grandfather and grandmother35 and two boys, Prime and Evans, went on into New Mexico to Pleasanton on the Frisco River where they farmed one summer. Raised 40 acres corn April 1882, returning to Bush Valley, I believe, in 1883. Grandfather's second wife, Aunt Lizzie36, had remained in Nutrioso but later joined them here, Alpine. She had quite a large family37, William who died as an infant, Willard, Sue, Doll, John, June and George.
---Footnotes---
35 Emma Beck Evans – Birth: 12 Jan 1840, Payson, Adams, Illinois. Death: 11 Jun 1913, Thatcher, Graham, Arizona.
36 Elizabeth Eagles – Birth: 22 Sep 1847, Burlington, Des Moins, Iowa. Marriage: 26 Nov 1864, Salt Lake City. Death: 26 Mar 1883, Alpine, Apache, Arizona.
37 Children (Joseph Neal Heywood Jr.’s half uncles) – William, Birth: 22 Feb 186 Death:6 Feb 1868; Willard Elias, Birth: 5 Jun 1868, killed by lightening 19 Jul 1897; Mary, Birth: 23 Oct 1870 Death: 7 Apr 1873; Susie, Birth: 22 May 1873 Death: 14 Aug 1898; Sara Ida “Doll,” Birth: 20 Jan 1876 Death:10 Sep 1951; John, Birth: 29 Jul 1878 Death:12 May 1960; Junius, Birth: 10 Jun 1881 Death: Jul 1893; George, Birth: 26 Mar 1883 Death: 29 Aug 1941.
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Aunt Lizzie lived in the northwest corner of the fort and here George was born. After the delivery and all seemed well Grandfather went to the field to work. During the morning suddenly he was sent for and told to hurry. By the time he reached the room she was dead., flooded or bled to death. "Lizzie, Lizzie", he called and then he wept aloud. Again here was that awesome, fearsome thing - death. Of course, there was only a midwife but even skilled physicians have lost patients from hemorrhage.
Bush Valley was officially named Alpine when it was granted a post office. It was first named after Mr. [Anderson] Bush probably the first settler. I think his son was the first death; a badly eroded stone marks the grave and this established the location of the cemetery. After these many years the population there may be approaching the living population of Alpine. Aunt Lizzie and her two sons, Willard and June, three of my sisters, Martha Emma, Ida Etta, Sarepta and my son Junius Neal (38) are interred here. Junius was laid away in July of this year, 1950. The location here is near the brow of the hill with a fine view of the valley east, south and west and is among native pines. Many remark about the beauty of the place.
During the summer of 1880 Duane Hamblin and Will Maxwell were herding the settlers' collective band of horses in the south side of the valley opposite the fort. They rode into the fort for the noon hour leaving the band out in the open. As they returned after dinner about fifteen Indians rode between them and the horses swinging their guns around their heads but without shooting. The boys raced back to the fort firing their pistols in alarm. These were Apaches belonging to Victoria's (sic) Band (39) of about eighty Indians. The main band remained out of sight in the trees. The boys wanted to put up a fight but, fortunately, the older men advised against it. Why the Indians did not attack seemed strange since from then on they killed every white man they could. Often during the next few years marauding bands of Apaches left, "broke out from", the Reservation and there were Indian scares a-plenty but none ever appeared except this once.
Sunday, Sept. 4 1881 Father took the children from the fort a mile up to where the townsite was located to attend Sunday School. During services David Lee (40) rode in from Nutrioso bringing word that a band of Apaches was out on the warpath and strongly advised that the settlers of Alpine go at once to Nutrioso or that Nutrioso come to Alpine so they could defend themselves should the Indians attack. It was first decided by Bishop Noble (41) and those present to go to Nutrioso but when Father returned to the fort several were unwilling to go insisting that they strengthen the fort. Father returned to convey this word. A council was held and it was decided to immediately build a church or school house, which could be used as a place of defense in the future. The building was planned that day.
As the Indian dangers subsided settlers moved out of the fort into homes they were building on the land they were taking up. Usually the building spot for a new home was in the edge of the woods near a living spring of water and looking out over the fields and meadows below. A few built home in the town site a mile above the fort; some came and remained for a time and then moved on.
---Footnotes---
38 Pictures of their tombstones may be found at www.findagrave.com
39 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victorio
40 Believed to be the son of John Doyle Lee
41 David A. Noble, “first bishop in Alpine” of whom Joseph Neal Heywood Jr. spoke highly.\---
Mr. Bush must have been the earliest settler 1876-1878. He had four children, two boys and two girls. One of the boys died and, so far as I can learn, was the first burial.
Con Bunch farmed what was later known as the Jepson ranch, in 1878. He moved to Springerville where he had one of the best farms in that valley (Round Valley). He taught school several years later moving to Duncan where he continued teaching. He was known as a fine gentleman.
The Assays built a cabin in the lower part of the valley, which for many years was known as the Asa field. They did not remain long. They came in 1879.
Fred Hamblin, brother of the famous Indian scout, Jacob Hamblin, was one of the first settlers and one of the longest, living here until his death an old and feeble man. He had been a scout in southern Utah and was a hunter of some repute. His encounter with Silver Tip, a huge bear, is recorded at Alpine. I well remember the incident. One of his Sunday sermons that impressed me I must relate. It impressed as a boy and revealed his wry humor.
One summer the valley was blessed with unusually fine crops of grain, mostly oats. When ripe the grain was cut, bound by hand and shocked where it was to remain until green stems had dried out so it would not heat in the stack. This was about the first of September. Then it commenced to rain a prolonged drizzling rain that saturated the ground. It was too boggy for wagons to haul it out, and had it been put in the stack it would have heated and been ruined. Oats was sprouting in the shock and being spoiled. Sunday came and there was a full attendance at church, a lot of glum, blue discouraged people. Fred Hamblin was called up to speak. His sermon ran something like this:
"Brothern and sistern, it looks purty discouragin, don't it? We plowed the ground in the spring and sowed the grain and harrowed it in and it come up good and when the rains come in July it growed awful fast and the redroots and pigweeds and sunflowers and we weeded 'em out and made good crops, about the best I ever seen. When the grain was ripe we cut and bound it and shocked it up to dry ready for the stack and we felt good and prosperous. Then it begun to rain and it rained and it rained and it rained. Now the kernels are sprouting in the shock and the ground too wet to get on. It looks bad like our grain's goin to be ruined, but, brothern and sistern, let me tell you something - this is the first rain I ever seen that didn't let up and I believe it will."
Billie Black, son-in-law of Maxwell, was one of the earliest settlers and taught the first school in Alpine. He was a miller by trade and before long moved to St. Johns and took care of the grist mill there for a number of years. Note: Mother taught the first school summer of 1881, Black 1883 - Mother's diary. Billie Black had first store, goods from Montgomery Ward.
A hunter by the name of Burns with his son Ed were there in 1881 but did not remain long. Ed was a tall lanky young fellow and rather wanting in intelligence.
Reddin Allred came about 1881 and the Bryces and Felshaws the next year. All these left and went to the Gila Valley where they became permanent residents leaving a rather numerous prosperity.
Without comment I name other early settlers, Billie Hamblin, James Mortensen, 1882, Milton Daily, Olsen, Pitcher, Hoe Scott, C. I. Kemp. 1883 or 4 and I think a little later the McFates, Jepsons and Hobson.
I must make special mention of Edward A. Noble, 1879, who was the first bishop in which office he served a number of years. He made his home in the upper end of the valley. He was a genial man and, had he had an education and training, would, I believe, have become something of an orator. He was likely the most interesting speaker the town afforded.
Some names might be omitted but not intentionally. I have named the above as of possible interest.
Father acquired the land on which the fort stood. He filed on a quarter section, four forties, under the Homestead Act. This was almost entirely bottomland and subject to cultivation, possibly the choicest one hundred sixty acres in the valley. The small creek ran through three of these four forties and there were three or four living springs of water.
The fort was torn down and some of the logs put in the house he built about a hundred yards north on a rocky point that jutted out from the hill above. Grandfather built about two rods directly west. The two families were dairying together, making cheese and butter during the rainy season when there was an abundance of grass. They had one building in which the work was done and one in which the cheese was cured. In the late fall or winter the dairy products were taken to Springerville, St. Johns, Holbrook and other places to be sold or traded for supplies.
Thursday, Jan 4, 1951
I am occasionally inserting a date to indicate my progress in writing as well as what is occurring, our health, progress and plans for the future.
Holidays for Emma and me were rather lonesome and unusual. For her they have been distressing, as she has been ill. For four or five days including Christmas day she was real ill with dizziness, nausea and vomiting of the most vicious type. There was no Christmas dinner as she ate nothing and I but little. None of the children were here, no tree lighted up and decorated, none of the usual hilarity and good cheer with well wishing and, since neighbors knew nothing of her illness, none called in. Later, when they learned of the illness, they were very kind and thoughtful.
Emma is still not well though she is doing the family washing today. I fear she may never be well again. She is twenty pounds under normal weight. Her basic trouble has not yet been accurately or satisfactoryily diagnosed. We plan on her going through the Grunow Clinic in Phoenix next week hoping that something may be done. How helpless we are!
We have sold our home and part of the lot to Russell Hakes and expect to move to Idaho, where Bernard is located, during March or April but I wonder if Emma is going to be able. She has done quite a lot of packing already but will she be able to complete it? The possibilities are not pleasant to contemplate. I am quite incompetent when it comes to packing; she is rather adept. She wouldn't want to entrust it to me. The job is a big one and over the years we have accumulated more than we realized and sometimes what to keep and what to discard is difficult to decide. To move all that we wish to keep to Idaho, a distance of about 1,300 miles, will be hard and expensive. Yet we feel we must get away from here.
During these days of home building there was plenty, plenty for everybody including all the children down to those who were able to go out and pick up a pan of chips from the woodpile, an overabundance of work to do. Briefly, there was the house to finish, the rock chimney to be built in one end, the shakes to be split and to nail on the roof., the cheese-cloth to be stretched overhead for the ceiling and possibly down over the walls of rough-hewn logs and all those things incident to making the home livable.
Fences to enclose the one hundred sixty acres had to be built as well as corrals and barns. The land had to be divided into fields, meadows and pastures which required a number of partition fences. Just to enclose the land meant nearly two and one half miles of fence to say nothing of the partition fences. There were gardens and crops to put in, care for and harvest in due season; hay had to be made from the timothy, broadleaf and wire grasses and put in stacks or the barns for winter, and the dairying to be spoken of in more detail. But here let me emphasize that there was plenty to do, everybody busy.
Dairying
Dairying was important and its requirements exacting. The dairy herds belonging to the two families were largely of the milk Durham or short horn breed, the dual purpose type - good for both beef and milk. The making of cheese and butter for the market was during the late summer and early autumn while the rains produced an abundance of grass. The cows usually turned out on the hills during the day and their calves penned up; at night the calves were let out and their mothers corralled. We boys, usually Uncle Evans and I, had to ride out each evening and round up the cows and bring them in by milking time, which was about sundown. Sometimes the cows would scatter and an occasional one be missed and "layout" over night.The boys of today might well envy us the job of riding out in the timbered foothills, listening for the cowbell, hunting the cows, rounding them up and driving them in. There was never a dull moment. Evans usually rode a burro we called Jinnie, which was left him when the owner, Mr. Terry, went insane and was hustled off to the asylum. (It was never mental hospital in those days). I rode one of the old mares and neither of us had a saddle. We were up to all sorts of things. There was a fascination in the soughing of the wind in the tall pines and as the sun neared the horizon it was interesting to watch the shadows take giant strides across the flats and hollows. We were not conscious of how happy we were - we were just happy.
Milking was done in the evening as late as possible without running too much in the night. Calf pens were in the corner of the corral and a boy would let one out at a time as the milker was ready to milk another cow so its mother would "let down" her milk. This done it must be whipped away from the cow and run outside the corral for the night. At daylight we were hustled out to round up the calves. They were let into the corral one by one and then put in the calf pen for the day. Getting the cows out early and bringing them late gave more hours for them to graze and consequently the amount of milk was slightly increased and in those hard times a very little counted. I always felt, and still do, that Father was rather extreme in doing the milking after dark. During the rainy season the corrals would become nasty, soft, slippery and muck almost shoe-top deep and the nights very dark. As boys it was our job to tend the calves, let them in to the cows and then drive them away. They were tricky and dodged in and out among the cows; it was almost impossible to see them; sometimes we would slip and, instead of simply falling, would slide and coast in the soft slippery muck which wasn't conducive to prayer. Occasionally the milker would get kicked over when he squeezed too hard on a tender or sore teat, falling in the soft muck below and the milk poured over him on top. Then it was our turn to laugh but not too loud or too close.
Cheese-Making
Cheese-making was an art that deserves description but I refrain from going in to detail by telling all about the methods, the vats, warming the milk to the right temperature, putting in a little sour whey to acidify it, adding the rennet to coagulate it, cutting lengthwise and cross wise with five bladed knife when curdled, gently stirring it, drawing off the whey, working the curds until they were tough and adherent, adding the necessary salt, then scooping up the curds and putting them to press in the round hoops. After the cheeses were made they were put away on shelves in the dairy room to cure which required the proper temperature for several weeks. There may be few today who know how the rennet was prepared. A good sized calf was kept from the cow until it was real hungry and the stomach empty and then permitted to suckle its mother until the stomach was full. It was then killed, the stomach taken out, tied at both ends to retain the curdled milk and then hung up to dry. When needed a piece of the dried stomach and contents was cut off, soaked in water to extract the rennin and a cupful stirred in with the milk to curdle it. Prepared tablets used at present simplify the process.Fencing was a tedious and somewhat prodigious job. There was the log fence, the post and pole fence, the worm fence and the ripgut fence. Around the hundred sixty acres all these varieties were represented. The log fence: Pine logs up to two feet in diameter were dragged or hauled in and put on blocks of pine with the ends of the logs overlapping; blocks were placed on these ends and logs put on them, making the fence (#) logs high. When the fence was not high enough to turn stock, stakes with the butts dug in the ground and then crossed over the top logs formed a crotch and poles were put atop these crotches. These were known as stakes and riders. The post and pole fence: Holes wide enough for two oak posts placed with a space between and the dirt tamped in to make them solid; the pairs of posts were about a rod apart; poles usually quaking asp, were then placed between the posts with ends overlapping. This was sometimes known as panel fence. The worm fence: Usually these were made of split rails about twelve feet long varying according to convenience and the panels at angles to each other in a zigzag fashion. The rip-gut fence: This was the vicious fence. Short poles or rails were used; one end was on the ground and the pole slanted upward so the top was five or six feet high and resting on the crotch of stakes crossed over the preceding pole; a hole in the ground had to be dug for the base of each stake and it required a lot of work and was slow and tedious. The tops of the poles and stakes formed a formidable array of points that might rip out the guts of an animal that risked jumping it. Hence the name rip-gut. Rotting logs and posts and poles and breechy range stock that frequently broke into the fields made necessary a lot of work to keep fences in repair.
It is not necessary to name other ways of being kept busy nor need it be thought that we had no fun or sports. So much work sometimes hurt my feelings but I think it didn't hurt my health at all. Sports is a sort of business now-a-days, but not then. They are invented for boys and girls these times; we pretty much devised our own amusements then.
I have before me the current issue of Life magazine and here is one heading: LIFE WAS NEVER THIS GOOD FOR CHILDREN BEFORE. And here on the West Coast "youth can find such an extravagant combination of mountains to climb, slopes to ski, waters to sail, dry lakes to race on and beaches to flop on,--make possible a new way of life that no generation of children could ever explore before." Here are all these sports all cut out, prepared, fitted, sponsored, supervised, directed and all ready for the child without any effort on his part. How wonderful it all is and I wonder as my mind runs back over my boyhood days more than half a century ago how much more fortunate they are than we were.
Perhaps the distance of time lends enchantment to those childhood days, magnifies the pleasures and more or less erases the memories of things less pleasant. But I think there is a lot to be said in their favor. At least, age likes to look back:
"Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again just for tonight!"
And--
"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view."
And the parody on this,
"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view; The cow stall, the pig pen, the ten cords of fire wood, And all the tough chores I had to go through."
Was life good to us? Was it as full for us as on the West Coast? That poses a question that may be difficult or impossible to answer; at best it may be just a matter of opinion. I would note this difference: These good things of life for us were not ordered, planned, supervised or run off an assembly line for any mass production; they were free, spontaneous, coming as chance or needs arose. Whether life was never so good to us as the West Coast children I am not sure; it certainly was different. They of the coast were exposed to far greater varieties of activities and a much wider range of contacts and in this respect life was much more generous with them than with us. Our extremely limited human environment was our misfortune.
The West Coast has their skiing; we just had homemade snowshoes. They had guides; we went it alone. Which derived the most pleasure I do not know. Our advantage, if any, was in learning it the hard way by ourselves. We had the freedom of the hills - no restrictions. But it is needless to make comparisons.
Horseback riding was part of our lives, part of our work and even then it gave pleasure. To sit astride a strong mount champing at the bits gave a real thrill but to be out on the range and start up a bend of horses and give chase was more than just a thrill, a sort of exaltation. Our horse range was densely timbered with occasional small open grassy spaces. There were thickets too dense to get through and at best plenty of fallen logs to go over. The wild horses knew the range and all the tricks of getting away. As soon as started the band would hit out at full speed and away they would go with rider and steed following. It was a race, and exciting to both; up hill, down hill, through the thick trees, over fallen timber, down steep rocky slopes and all at full speed bending every effort to turn the band and on, on, urging your steed, quirting, spurring him on, leaning forward pushing on the reins, splitting the breeze. And now your horse is winded, out of breath and can go no farther. O, if he could have held out another fifty or hundred yards you might not have lost your band. Your horse is all a lather and you feel sorry for him, take off the saddle, rub him down, lay the blankets out in the sun to dry, give him an hour's rest and then ride down off the mountain headed for home. You'll have to try another time. You are disappointed but you have met a challenge, felt an animation, a surge of excitement, a stirring of the primitive instincts handed down over the ages - could riding along the guided trails of the West Coast match this? Oh, to be young again!
I've had to grow old to know how much I thrilled with the chase; I thrilled then but didn't know it. It takes time to give perspective. These wild rides were not without their dangers. More than once my horse, when at full run, has stumbled and fallen turning completely over while I scooted in front on my elbows and knees and up ready to catch the bridle reins as the horse got to his feet. Needless to say that my elbows and knees were skinned badly. The wonder is that more harm did not result. These were accidents common to others, not just mine.
Jan. 13, 1951
Some days have elapsed since I did any writing. Emma had so many recurrences of dizziness, nausea and vomiting and such violent attacks that I took her to Phoenix on the ninth. Briefly, examinations are not yet complete and the doctors have not made their diagnosis. There is a calcified growth on the under side of the frontal bones but there is doubt that it is causing the trouble. Also, she has had much trouble with a discharging left ear and a mastoid operation may be advisable. They have not yet decided. Both Bernard and Charles have talked with the doctor. The one in charge is Dr. Eisenbeiss, a neurologist. He suggests an arteriogram of the head to determine whether there is some soft tumor that doesn't show with the usual x-ray. A dye would have to be injected in an artery of the neck to circulate through the brain so an x--ray would show whether an additional tumor is growing. There is some danger in giving this dye and the boys think there should be caution and only as a last resort should it be given. At best things look pretty gloomy and Emma is discouraged and depressed. Whether her condition will respond to treatment or whether it is a malignancy from which recovery is impossible we do not know. The uncertainty is disturbing. A decision should be made in the next few days.
While in Phoenix I let David look over the previous twenty-four pages I had written with the purpose of giving constructive criticisms and any suggestions on what I had written. I let him keep these to look over them further since I will be going down there soon. He suggests that I should leave off all apologies and that in the last paragraph on page twenty four I should give it in the first person as one day's riding of my own. He is no doubt correct but when I can get at re-writing it I do not know. However, I shall tell of a few more of the pleasures of my youth. These were not just sports but experiences as well that were pleasurable.
The Groves Were God's First Temples
My excursions, usually alone, out in the mountains, in the coves and little nooks, by the springs about which wild flowers grew and blossomed and the grass grew green and soft and spongy, among the tall trees that lifted their tall tops toward heaven as they swayed and soughed in the gentle breezes, up on the craggy peaks that revealed a panoramic view of the valley below and the surrounding ranges of mountains that faded away in the far distant blue, all these afforded me unbounded pleasure and I revel in the memories of those scenes still and long to visit the old haunts again. Truly "The Groves Were God's First Temples". Here nature was at her best. I say that I was usually alone for other boys seemed not to share my interest and enthusiasm.Often I sought some secluded spot where the tall tree tops seemed almost to touch the huge clouds that floated above and was lost in boyish contemplation; or stood on the brink of the mountain, looked out over the spacious landscape and wondered about the eternities. Sometimes I would take from my pocket a folded page with some favorite poem and read and look and think. And it was all mine, the landscape, the trees, the shrubs, the flowers, the songs of the birds, the stillness, the sky, the clouds, the poem and God. "Here was continual worship." There was a fullness, an exuberance of spirit, a satisfying peace and contentment, a feeling that all was well, How often I read Bryant's poem, the Forest Hymn, and I still read it.
"Be it ours to meditate
In these calm shades thy milder majesty,
And to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform
the order of our lives."
Father and Son at Bear Spring--"Never were we nearer."
I have in my mind one of our camping sites which Father called Bear Springs because one time he ran across an old bear in the edge of the timber and he tried to drive it out in the open but failed. It was an open glade set amidst the dense forest about one hundred fifty yards across and there was a spring of fresh cold water near the upper edge. We pitched camp under a huge spruce tree so large that three men with out-stretched arms could hardly touch fingertips. It towered above all other trees, the patriarch of the forest; the thick sloping branches were almost equal to a roof in shedding the rain. A thick carpet of dead and decaying leaves formed a mattress upon which to place our bed.We cleared a place for our camp fire out a little away from the tree and built our fire. We could always find some dry moss or small twigs with which to start the fire. A campfire is always a cheerful thing as it blazes up, dies down, is replenished and blazes again and the smoke curls up among the trees and its warmth was needed for the nights were always cold. We frequently had to move about to keep out of the smoke as it followed us around. We stood or sat by turns while we talked or fell into deep silences until time to crawl into bed. As the shadows fell and deepened the forests resounded with the calls and cries and good night songs of the myriads of birds that flitted here and there. Then, with the dark, there came a hushed, almost ominous, stillness and continued, except for the solitary howl of the coyote, until daylight.
When in bed we looked up through the trees into the sky at the small patches sparkling with stars and were impressed with the immensity of space. We fell to talking, talking about God, the creation, the universe, the heavens, the earth and that other place, oh, we talked about most everything and without restraint. Never were we nearer, closer together, more understanding, more in unison than then, Father and I. I wouldn't call it sport or pleasure; it was something deeper and profounder and more enduring than that. What more opportune time possible than this to build ideals of the good life, the life of service, and honor and progress. It takes time to give proper perspective and after the long years that have passed I look back and understand more and more how wisely he guided my thinking and inspired desires that still remain. I would be happy had I done as well.
With the first streak of dawn the deep, breathless stillness of night erupted into a medley of multitudinous sounds and the forest was alive, tumultuous, animated. There were the notes of the birds singly and in choruses, the call of the turkey hen and the gobbling of her strutting mate; there were the barks of the little grey squirrels with tapping of feet and twitching of tails as they sat on a limb near their nests in the trees and the weird howl of the coyote as he slunk away for the day. The tree's long shadows grew shorter and were all home by noon; the dewdrops sparked like jewels in the grass. In the light breeze the trees swayed gently and spoke softly, were both seen and heard. I cannot resist a further partial quotation from The Forest Hymn:
Thou
art the soft winds
That
run along the summit of these trees In music; -thou art in the cooler
breath,
That from the inmost
darkness of the place,
Comes, scarcely felt; - the barky trunks,
the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct
with thee.
Here
is continual worship; - Nature
here, In the tranquility that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence.
Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots
Of
half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of
all the good it does.
Thou hast not left thyself Without
a witness, in these shades,
Of
thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak--
By
whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost
annihilated -- not a prince
In
all that proud old
world beyond the deep E'er wore his crown as loftily
as he
Wears the green coronal
of leave with which Thy hand has
graced him."
The Whole Heaven Seems Ablaze
The thunderstorm had an especial appeal for me. Through May and June there was usually little or no rain, the rainy season setting in the first part of July and lasting on into the latter part of August or early September. The normal rainy seasons are punctuated with frequent electrical displays and thunder storms. There are vivid zigzag flashes of lighting as well as sheet lightning when, at night, the whole heavens seem ablaze. I shall attempt to describe one of these. There was period of expectancy, almost anxiety, before the loosing of the rain. If they were abundant, crops were good; if scant, crops suffered. During the dry weeks preceding the rains vegetation grew but little and at times almost dried up. There was concern as to whether rains would come in time to save the crops so there was a watchful anxious waiting for these first rains.For weeks through May and most of June the skies remained clear with "nary a cloud". Then one day a speck of a cloud would appear above the southwestern horizon sometime during the forenoon, about ten or eleven o'clock, and soon disappear. The next day it returned but grew larger and maybe another one. Day by day this was repeated until great white clouds rolled up over the horizon, poised above the forest-clad mountains.
These increased in size and number, grew dark, black and ominous, covering the sky. By evening they were all gone leaving a clear cool night. At last from a black cloud came a flash of lightening and the sound of thunder and from it a small local shower played against a background of green forest. How eagerly we watched! It would not be long now. Soon now there would be rains that would saturate the parched ground and, as if over night, the grain became fresh, green and luxuriant and the weeds and grasses and flowers shoot forth like magic.
The Storm--A sudden Flash of Lightning
And one morning, let us say about nine, the clouds began to gather, tumbling and rolling over one another, filling the entire sky, settling lower and lower, growing blacker and blacker and the heavens darker and darker. Huge clouds settled below the horizon, hiding the forests as they moved slowly on. The air became heavy and oppressive and the heavens closing in over us. The birds and wild animals sought places of shelter, cattle raised their heads and sniffed the air; we stood around the house corners watching with a tense expectancy. Instinctively we knew the storm was near at hand, that the clouds could not clear away until relieved of their burdens of moisture.Then it came. A sudden flash of lightning streaked the black cloud, then another and another followed with thunder, ear splitting claps or loud roaring peels that rumbled from horizon to horizon and finally died away. It seemed that heaven's artillery was turned loose and nature's great pipe organ thundered out music fit for the gods. During one such storm Willard Coleman, while working in his field, was struck by a bolt of lightning, his head pierced and his shoes torn from his feet. Torrents of rain were swept across the valley in sheets; water ran everywhere; it seemed there could be no end. But this was not so.
The storm was soon over; the clouds began to break and were soon gone; the sun shone clear and mists rose from the bottom lands; the dust and impurities were washed from the air and gave it a wholesome freshness; the animals and birds came from their retreats and the forests were again alive with life and sound. And after the storm there came a sweet, delightful, perfect calm. The setting sun glinted across mountains, hills, forests and fields and with evening came quiet, peace, tranquility, renewed hopes and sweet repose. God was in the heavens above and all was well in the earth below.
In Alpine there were extremes of drought and wet. From boyish curiosity one summer I noted that there was a down pour of rain every afternoon without a miss for six weeks. Of course, this was unusual. Then there were bogs where now the ground is dry and hard. Not infrequently the empty wagon would bog down and the team had to be taken off and hitched on the end of the tongue so the team would be out on the firm footing and sometimes the wagon had to be pried up and blocked beneath before it could be gotten out.
Getting stuck reminds me of the story of old Uncle Aaron Adair. He was considered insane; in fact, spent his last years in the asylum near Phoenix. He was in a wagon with two other men. They needlessly drove in a boggy place and got stuck. Uncle Aaron stood about and watched the other two work with shovel and pry poles until they finally got out without offering to help. Then he said: "You fellows call me crazy but I wouldn't be a big enough damn fool to drive in a place like that."
The differences in the sports of those days and those of today are as great as the differences in homes and conveniences and so many other things. Common childhood and school day games were; Pomp, Pomp, Pullaway, Run-away, Catch-away, Steal-Sticks, Stink-Base, One Old Cat, Three Old Cat, Anti-I-Over, And Run Sheep Run. But there were other forms of recreation. Those named I mention as they will soon, no doubt, be lost in the oblivion of the past.
Bronco Busting
Bronco Busting never lost its interest. Wherever possible a crowd gathered to watch the performance. There was an element of danger and risk which always attracted the interest of the observer; there was action, a matching of wits and strength,, a keen watchfulness lest the bronco bite or strike or kick and tenseness equal to that at a critical time in a football or basketball game. A bronco was sometimes snubbed to a post while being saddled and that 25took a lot of action and maneuvering to place and cinch the saddle. Often the horse was blindfolded with a handkerchief while the rider mounted and tension reached its height as he reached over and lifted the blind. It was anybody's guess how the horse would perform but usually quite certain that he would buck. Some would double up in a ball, shoot up in the air, whirl, light stiff-legged giving a terrific jar and go in to all sorts of contortions. This sport that follows the rodeos is too well known to merit further descriptions but it was as interesting then as now and, out on the ranches, occurred much more frequently. There it was a job and not merely a sport.
"The green kid from Socorro"-- The joke was on the crowd.
Cowboys were fond of practical jokes and when a new hand came in it was their delight to have in his mount a horse that was meant to buck. One day Tod Browning rode into a camp on a ranch in western New Mexico and wanted a job. He was a small man, a mere boy scarcely twenty. The boss hired him. That evening as the boss issued each hand his mount there was one horse known to be a wicked bucker that the other hands avoided taking. "Who will take this horse in his mount?, asked the boss. Tod, "The green kid from Socorro", after looking the horse over replied, "I believe I can ride him." He was quickly assigned to Tod. This pleased the other hands with the prospects of fun they were going to have next morning when this kid tried to ride the big wicked bucker. In little groups they talked over, speculated on how far the kid would get, whether the little unwary fellow could even mount the horse. They were not interested in the danger, the unfairness of this; they were going to have some fun.Next morning Tod lassoed his mount and led him out. After several maneuvers he managed to get the bridle on; it took several attempts before he could place the blankets and the saddle and then reach under and get the cinch and tighten it. The others grew tense with expectation. Could the little fellow even reach the stirrup or mount the big horse? Some wondered if the risk was worth the fun and felt a little guilty. The "greenhorn kid" seemed least concerned of all, poor, ignorant, trusting fellow.
It was a mean low trick. Tod grasped the side of the bridle and twisted the horses' head back toward him, managed somehow to get a foot in the stirrup and they hardly knew how he did it but he lighted astride the saddle. As he gave the horse free rein he shot up in the air. Tod sat erect as if glued to the saddle and whipped and spurred the horse to a finish. Tod was an expert rider. The joke was on the crowd.
Questionable Sports
Some of the more unusual and, perhaps, questionable sports were fights between two stallions, two bulls or dogs or roosters. The first of these was the rarest but one of the most skilled and interesting. Each range stallion had his little band of mares and these he held together. If one attempted to leave he would run out around her with his head lowered and herd her back in the band. If she persisted he would lunge at her and bite her until she was glad to return. When possible we would run two of these bands together just to watch the encounter. The two would rear, fend, guard and strike with the fore feet, suddenly lunge and bite and whirl like lightning and kick. They showed amazing skill. The others I merely mention. I still would enjoy one of these more than a boxing match.Cruelty to Dumb Animals
Woe to the stray bull or steer that came home with the dairy cows. He was forthwith tin-canned. When lassoed and snubbed a large tin can with rocks in it was securely fastened to his tail. He was then turned loose out in the lane and how he would run. Our mothers were strongly opposed to the "cruelty to dumb animals" and our father didn't exactly approve outwardly but I noticed they always liked to watch.During the summer horses and cattle were pestered with the timber flies and deer flies. The first was a large fly and the second about half as large with speckled wings and much the more active. These poked their bills down into the hide while they filled up with blood. The bites were distressing to the animals and they often lost weight. The old thick-necked bulls suffered most. The flies would attack the shoulders, which were out of reach of the tail, and the bull's neck was too thick and stiff for him to throw his head around far enough to drive the flies away. Often a smudge was made in the old chip pile near the fort and cattle would collect in the smoke which drove the flies away.
With the coming of spring there was the return of the birds that had gone south for the winter, blackbirds, meadow lark, robin, bluebird, killdeer and many others. After the long dreary winter they brought notes of cheer. During the nesting season many happy carefree hours were spent in hunting out the nests. Meadow Larks built their nest on the ground in the meadow with an arched entrance covered with grass; blackbirds built most anywhere, in the fences, the willows, the trees or on the ground; to find a killdeer's nest was an achievement as it was merely a scooped out shallow place on some dry barren spot and the speckled eggs blended so completely with the ground that they were difficult to see. The wild ducks lined their nests with down they plucked from their breasts and they always carefully covered their nests to conceal the eggs whenever they left it to find food. Occasionally a wild turkey's nest would be found out in the woods and the eggs brought home and put under a setting hen that rarely raised a brood.
One time I found a wild duck's nest with ten eggs in it. In the barn we had a nervous fussy little hen set on ten eggs. She was too small to cover the usual dozen. As an experiment why not exchange the eggs. I did. The hen made a perfect hatch but the fussy little thing pecked all the ducklings to death; apparently the duck made a good hatch but if so, she lost all of the chickens -- possibly pushed them off in the creek where they drowned. I'll never know.
Neither Nimrod nor Isaac Walton
Hunting and fishing were forms of recreation though I was never much of Nimrod in hunting nor an Isaac Walton in fishing but I tried hard enough and they were great sports. When about fifteen Prime Coleman, my uncle, and I were building a corral on Coleman Creek, putting in part of the time riding the range. One evening I went afoot up a draw with my gun to see if I could get a deer or turkey but was unsuccessful. While following the trail on my return to camp an old brown bear that was coming up the trail ran out to one side to enter the woods. I blazed away and she fell and then raised up on her haunches with a "Woof, Woof". I shot again. She fell over dead but not from the second shot for I missed her that time. I was thrilled - just fifteen and had killed a bear! I had the hide tanned and kept it for a rug a number of years.The squirrels were beautiful animals, those with the two red streaks running down the back, bushy tail and tufted ears. Sometimes one would venture among the trees in town and a crowd of boys would be after him. Of course, the squirrel was soon high up in a tree while the boys shouted and threw rocks but almost never hitting him. Finally one of the nimbler boys ambled up the tree to frighten it out. When the climber got too close the squirrel crawled out to the tip of limb and jumped, sailing out into space with legs spread out like wings and the tail serving as rudder. If another tree were near enough it caught on a limb and was soon in the top of another pine. When the distance was too great it struck the ground, bounced unhurt and was off again headed for another tree. In event of this the boys were ready with rocks and sticks to kill the little fellow or, failing this, there was usually a dog or two that caught it before it reached the tree. Occasionally the squirrel would make good its escape. I 27
guess we boys were little savages. Sometimes the squirrels were fired for dinner but the meat was usually tough. The smaller grey squirrel was much better eating.
Home was built on a rocky point about a hundred yards from where the fort had stood
Father acquired the land on which The Old Fort stood. According to the best information the fort was built in 1879. Danger of attacks from the Indians lessened sufficiently for the settlers to feel safe in moving out on the land they had taken up. By 1882 it was practically abandoned. Father built on a rocky point about a hundred yards north of where the fort stood. Grandfather Coleman built a rod or two west of Father's house. Two dairy buildings, one room each, were just south of the homes.For some time all the water for the homes and the dairy was brought from a spring a hundred yards west of the homes. Grandfather had cased in the spring with boards and had a cover on it to keep out the bugs, snakes, etc. A fifty-gallon barrel was fastened on a dray and a horse hitched to this dragged it back and forth. In time a well was dug between the buildings so it was convenient for all. The entire depth, twelve or fifteen feet, was blasted in sandstone. The water was cold as if from a spring. Buckets were suspended in the well with butter and other things they wished kept cool.
Peter Christopherson "sustained sundry and severe bruises"
When this well was about six feet deep, and with jagged rocks protruding, Peter Christopherson, one dark night, walked off into it. He weighed about two hundred twenty five pounds, so it is needless to say that he sustained sundry and severe bruises. He and his second wife, Sarah, were on the "Underground", that is, trying to keep away from federal officers who had a warrant to serve for being polygamous. Earlier in the afternoon he was coming from Luna Valley to Alpine. He had a 3¼-inch wagon with a high spring seat and was driving a fine spirited team of brown horses. A couple of miles below town some men were repairing a crossing on the little creek when he came along. Against their advice he drove into the creek below the crossing; the front wheels dropped suddenly off the steep bank; Sarah was thrown from the high spring seat in front of the wheels; the horses lunged forward and the wheels passed over her, but in the soft mire she was not seriously injured though painfully bruised. They remained over night at Father's.When “C.”(Christpherson) fell into the well --
During the evening C. went to visit Grandfather and remained until after dark and since the well was in a direct line he unwittingly walked into it. Hearing a noise outside Uncles Prime and Willard came and helped him out of the well. We boys slept on the floor that night, letting Peter and Sarah occupy our bed, the usual thing when there was company. There was a cheese cloth partition between our bedroom and Father's and Mother's so the slightest sound was audible. First one would groan and then the other. "Do you hurt much, Sarah?" Peter would say and she would reply with, "Oh, Peter do you feel very bad?" It somehow so amused Mother that she laughed outright much to Father's embarrassment. He nudged her and scolded but to little purpose. Peter frequently got himself into awkward predicaments through recklessness and carelessness.Cow Camps have there practical jokes
Peter lived in Springerville and used to peddle in St. Johns and Holbrook frequently stopping at the Greer Ranch some distance below St. Johns on the Little Colorado. They finally became somewhat tired of him. One evening he drove up and they invited him to get down, the usual hospitality. They were just finishing supper and they asked him if he was hungry. "I sure am, boys; I'm hungry enough I could eat rat soup", he replied. He hobbled his horses out so they wouldn't go too far during the night. In the morning he went for his horses. The grass was short so they had gone a long way in search for food and he was late in getting back to camp. The boys had made rice soup in one of the black camp cast iron pots. They waited for a time for his return but finally ate without him, when they saw him coming. Someone thought of what he said about being so hungry the evening before. A few days before a wood rat, which had drowned in the well, was thrown out in the brush and was in a state of decay with the hair slipping. They poured out some of the soup in a dish for him then took the rat and whipped it up in the rest. When he had finished his dish they asked if he cared for more. "Yes, I'm sure hungry." They emptied the pot in his plate. He stared at it a moment dropped his spoon and said: "Boys, I didn't think it of you." "Why", they said, "you said you were hungry enough to eat rat soup." "But I didn't think you would do that to me", he replied. He went out and vomited what he had eaten. It was the last time he camped with them. Cow camps have their practical jokes.Jan. 31, 1951
I have been looking over copies of a rather extensive collection of diaries, poems, letters, partial autobiographies, journals and other writings from various members of the Coleman and Heywood families. These include all four of my grandparents, my parents, brothers and sisters and one uncle, Evans. But here I want to give some interesting facts about the early settling of Alpine.
During the next two years (Correction made by me: this should be five or six years as some of the ones named did not settle until 1882. Heywood came Jan. 15, 1881, Coleman went on to Pleasanton returning in 1882 and Mortensen came about the same time. Am not so sure of other dates.) The following families moved there and built a fort of log houses, Wm. B. Maxwell, with his three wives, Lucretia, Jane and Maryette; William Hamblin; George Mangum; Reddin Allred; Joseph Neal Heywood; Prime Thornton Coleman, his two wives Emma Beck and Elizabeth; Edward A. Noble; William G. Black; John Felshaw and James Mortensen.
A town site about one mile above the fort had been selected by Erastus Snow as a more feasible location on account of a mountain stream that could be used for irrigating town lots. He advised the people to erect a public building to be used for a church as well as a rendezvous if attacked by Indians, to build their homes and move to the town in a body. This was not done. A few families built and moved there.
James Noble, the first bishop in Bush Valley
Church and Sunday school were held in the home of James A. Noble, the first Bishop in Bush Valley.An Indian Scare
One Sunday while in Sunday School a runner came to warn the people to prepare for defense as the Indians, Apaches, were on the war path. Those families who were still in the fort felt as if they were protected. Those in town decided to move to Nutrioso where they remained some time and some of them did not return.In regard to the last paragraph, it was Dave Lee who brought word about the Indians. Father tells of this in his diary. It was Sunday Sept. 4, 1881. He had brought children in his wagon from the fort to Sunday school. When the runner came the Bishop and others present decided to go to Nutrioso but when he returned to the fort the men there were unwilling to go to Nutrioso feeling it wiser to strengthen the fort so they remained. This resulted in some ill feeling some feeling that the Bishop should have been sustained in his decision to go to the neighboring town. It was on this date that the building of the new schoolhouse was begun.
But to continue the quotation: "During this Indian excitement Mr. Coulter, father of Fred Coulter, returning from a trip to Canada, stopped at the fort. He was very sick and was housed and nursed by the Heywoods until it was safe for his wife, her two little boys and her brother, Charlie Rudd, to take him to Springerville, their home.
Mr. Coulter had typhoid fever. Mother did most of the nursing. His son, Fred, figured most prominently for several years in urging the building of the High Line Canal from the Colorado River well above Boulder Dam. He was so enthusiastic and worked so hard that he became extreme so that by some he was considered a "little touched".
[From Evans Coleman’s42 writings:]
"In 1883 William G. Black opened the first store with a stock of goods worth $100.00 obtained from Montgomery Ward, Chicago. He had worked on the railroad for John W. Young. He was also the first postmaster, appointed in 1885. The Government changed the name from Bush Valley to Alpine. The store and post office were first in town but later P.T. Coleman bought the stock of goods and Mrs. S. F. Heywood was appointed post-mistress so both were moved to the fort where they lived.
"In 1881 Mrs. S. F. Heywood taught the first school in Bush Valley. It was taught in a large room in the corner of the fort and lasted one month. W. G. Black taught in 1883 in town. Both teachers were uncertified, though later received certificates. Emma B. Coleman was the first certified teacher. E. C. Bunch, Probate Judge and Ex-Officio County School Superintendent issued her certificate after an examination in 18__. Other early day teachers were J. N. Heywood and William Reid.
"In 1891 J. N. Heywood built a new log house in the town of Alpine. (This statement is not correct. Father never did build a log house in the town. During the winter of 1891-2 he moved a log house from the farm a mile below. The structure was elevated and log runners put under it, it was braced and practically all, if not all, the teams in the valley were commandeered to pull it through the deep snow to its final destination. It was a terrific job.) It was the first home in the valley to be papered with real wallpaper. The first wire fence (smooth wire, not barbed) in the valley enclosed the lot. The first ice was put up and the first ice cream made by the Heywoods.
"Fred Hamblin brought in the first riding plow in 1883. It was a ten inch gang sulky. Walter J. Winsor in '83 or '84 (I am sure it was later) brought in the first threshing machine, a small treadmill belt power take off. There had been others in Alpine doing custom work but this was the first locally owned machine. It would thresh 50 or 75 bushels per day of that long straw that grew in Alpine. (I believe the output of this little thresher was much less but am not too sure.) Mr. Winsor paid Becker at Springerville $300.00 for it."
Evans Coleman, the wit.
I had thought the foregoing quotations were from Mother's writings but find they were Evans Coleman's42 as evidenced a little farther on by his characteristic witticisms and descriptive extravaganzas. In these he has no double.Father brought into Alpine the first cream separator and the first haying apparatus, hay slings that were brought into the county which, at that time included Navajo County. He was ever on the lookout for some new labor saving device or machine.
---Footnote---
42 Neal’s uncle.
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Joseph Neal Heywood Sr.'s Mission to New Zealand
I am here summarizing some of the information regarding Father's mission to New Zealand. He had about a month after receiving the call to make preparations to leave. There were the farm, the dairy herd and approximately a hundred head of range horses to be let out or rented during his absence so they would supply an income for his needs and to keep the family. Due to extreme drought, grasshoppers and cattle from an overstocked range breaking down fences and tramping out pastures and fields Mother found it necessary to teach school to provide for her family of five children and send him the money needed.The call to go on this mission was dated April 10, 1888 and was signed by President Wilford Woodruff43. Father left home May 17, 1888 and arrived in New Zealand June 23, 1888, being enroute five weeks.
The usual duration of a mission was two years in sections where the English language was spoken but three years where another language had to be learned which allowed a year for mastering the language. Three years and one week elapsed from the time he boarded the train at Navajo Springs until he stepped off the train in the same place on his return. On his return trip he left New Zealand April 25, 1891 and arrived in San Francisco May 15, 1891, being twenty days on the way. He remained in San Francisco until the 27th, about twelve days.
The reason for this stay in the city is not fully revealed from the little given in his journal but later conversations with him I feel safe in saying that he wished to see interesting places, better inform himself and mature plans and ideals for the future. I do know that he strongly developed the feeling that he should move his family to a larger place for the sake of the greater and more varied opportunities that would be afforded. For the first time he fully realized how little Alpine had to offer for the future of his children. He had the fixed purpose to make the change. Why he did not will be told later on.
"He looked wonderful... tall erect and wearing a full beard."
He stepped off the train in Navajo Springs 3:30 P.M. May 29th, Mother met him there with team and wagon: I went along to drive. I was fourteen years old at the time. We were in Navajo Springs a day ahead of his arrival and camped out for the night. I was greatly impressed with my father dressed in his black missionary suit, tall, erect and wearing a full beard. He looked wonderful to me and I was proud of him. It took two days to reach St. Johns, which meant one night camping in the cedars.Father's Call to be Bishop
Thursday June 4th, we were in Springerville and Father met with Pres. D. K. Udall44 who called him to go to Alpine and be a bishop. This was very far from what he had planned. Besides this he was a frail man, almost constantly in poor health and he felt that he had not the strength that, together with providing for his family, the position would require. He so expressed himself but Pres. Udall was unyielding. In those times to have refused would have been considered the equivalent of defying authority. Mother was bitterly opposed to returning to Alpine, but he felt it his duty and accepted. Mother was heart-broken and between them there was never that harmony that had previously existed. Later from overwork, bearing children and grief from losing Mattie, her health broke.Prosperity before the mission
I now return to the time between 1882 and 1888 when Father left for his mission. This was about six years. The reason I make special mention of this is because of the things he accomplished. It was a period of growth, development, becoming established and prosperous.---Footnotes---
43 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilford_Woodruff
44 Udall was appointed to be a Stake president, a higher position in the Mormon hierarchy, in 1887. He held that position for the next 35 years. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_King_Udall
New Perspectives on the West http://www.pbs.org/weta/thewest/people/s_z/udall.htm
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Despite his frail body and poor health no other man in Alpine did so much in building up in a material way and, more than that, no other approached him in his continued intellectual advancement. He would have books, papers and magazines.
Most of the families had moved from the fort by the end of 1882. I cannot be exact but believe that by the end of the next year none remained. At any rate, about this time Father had completed tearing down all that remained of the fort. Part of the logs were used in the house he built to the north of it and others were used in building his first barn. He built another larger barn, two corrals adjoining the two barns and some completed fencing the hundred and sixty acres of farmland with some partition fences. Most of this was done during the first half of the six-year period.
The dairy herd was increased and improved until he had the best milk cows in the valley. Sometimes he had a surplus of steers and heifers but he refused to build up a herd of range cattle as he felt that it would place his boys in the company of cowboys whose influence he regarded as dangerous to their morals and ideals. He had some well-bred mares that he put on the range west and south of Alpine. They rapidly increased their numbers. During the summer roundup the choicest mares were brought home and put in the pasture to be bred to his selected stallion. He was diligent in trying to improve his stock.
Oats and potatoes were the main farm crops with some wheat and barley. They were usually sold in Springerville. The wheat often did not mature and was a soft wheat that made sticky flour. Father was ever trying out new varieties of grains and potatoes in the hopes of finding better varieties. I remember the seven-headed wheat with large irregular heads with beards like barley. Meshanic and early rose potatoes were the usual varieties for a number of years. The first was a large regular elliptical shaped potato with deep-set eyes and somewhat flattened. Under the skin they were white. This variety I have not seen in over fifty years. I am sure it has gone out of existence.
New farmland was added by breaking the sod and some that had been farmed was summer fallowed, allowed to rest for a year. To break the sod two teams were put on a fourteen-inch walking plow with a cutter attached to the beam to cut through the sod. In breaking one of these fields Father's two stallions, Tucker and Henry, made up the wheel team; I was riding Tucker driving the lead team and Uncle Willard was handling the plow. One night the two stallions got loose and had a fight. The next day when we stopped to let the teams rest Henry reached around to bite Tucker and got my leg instead. A large scar still remains on that leg.
Part of the bottomlands were set apart for hay meadows. There were two native grasses used for hay, the broad leaf and the wire grass. Red top and timothy seeds were sowed in the meadows which greatly improved the quality and the yield of hay. The two barns usually afforded room for the hay to be put under shelter and this saved much waste that occurred when stacked out in the open as well as letting a man feed under shelter instead of out in the snow and cold and wind. Often the wild hay was supplemented with oat hay. Oats was planted about the first of June just in time for the July and August rains to produce the most luxuriant growth. When cut while in the dough and the stocks still green it made an excellent hay that both cattle and horses were fond of. I have seen these fields of oats stand six feet high.
What with building fences, barns and corrals and keeping them in repair, with plowing, planting, weeding and harvesting, with dairying, wood hauling and other things to do, there was plenty to keep us all busy. There was the daily and seasonal routine and yet with so many variations that it did not become too galling. And we had our fun in forms that I have mentioned before. During these six years I advanced from tending calves to milkman, from harrowing the land to plowman, from tramping hay on the load to pitching it on the wagon, from carrying in the stove and fire wood to chopping it, and so on. Step by step I was advancing toward the realization of boyhood's fondest dream - to become a man. And yet it seemed such a long way off. "To be great man, you must be a great boy", the reader said and that was what I wanted - at times. But temptation often lured me into forgetfulness, the temptation to tin-can a dog or the calves, to catch chipmunks, hunt birds' nests, gather flowers, look for bugs, slip away with other boys. There were many things, innocent in themselves that made me feel that I had fallen from graces.
"My Foolish Adventure" and "Maybe" a Kindly Providence
There is one incident that stands out above all others as the most dangerous venture of my boyhood days or, possibly, of my life. Frequently wild cattle came in at night with the dairy cows, a bull or steer or cow and often the men chased them out of the corral with pitchforks. One day a two year old bull was left in the corral and all the folks were gone, all of them. I was there alone. I was about ten or eleven and doubtless had read of Spanish bullfights. Anyway it had seemed fun to watch the men jab the strays with the fork and see them run so here was my chance. There was no one to interfere. I didn't think for a moment of the danger, of how vicious a bull could be and how much bigger and stronger and more active than I, or that by prodding him he was sure to get angry and fight. I didn't think of these things but only of the fun and the action and the excitement. It was my bullfight, all mine and no one to hinder or to help in case of need. I knew the dangers, that if he knocked me over he would trample and gore me to death and mangle my body. I knew them if I had only thought of them but my mind was so completely filled and thrilled with the prospects of the fight that I didn't once think of the danger.I got a pitchfork and climbed into the corral with the fence so high that there was no chance for him to escape. He ran from me as he slowed to turn the corners I jabbed him and round and round we went. I should have noticed that he was becoming angry and would surely turn on me. There was a calf pen in the corner of the corral with an open gate next to the fence. He finally ran into this pen and I was left standing by the side of it. By this time he was mad and as soon as he entered the pen he turned toward me and lunged but the fence was between us. I knew he was coming out after me. I couldn't pass the gate to get out; there was a shed at the other end of the pen that I couldn't scale, and I knew that I couldn't get across the corral before he would catch me. The consequences of getting caught flashed through my mind. I stood frozen in my tracks but was neither paralyzed with fear nor panicky. I preferred facing the danger rather than getting caught in the back. I stood braced with the fork clutched in my hands determined to give the best I had. My fate was held in those few dramatic moments. It was win or lose. There could be no flag of truce or cessation of hostilities and in this critical moment none to help. I had but little time to wait less than a minute. The angry bull made starts toward me as if to go through the fence, then darted through the gate whirled toward me with head lowered to make the attack. The sudden turn gave him little momentum. When close enough with all my might I drove the pitchfork in to the end of his nose. With a bellow of pain he turned and ran across the corral. I quickly climbed over the fence to safety and stood there a few minutes weak and humble. There had been none to watch and none to chide or applaud. I was a sober thoughtful boy as I walked quietly with the pitchfork to the barn, yes, and wiser, too. It was years before I revealed to anyone my foolish adventure. Was there some kindly Providence protecting me from harm? Maybe.
"Mother contributed her full share and more"
The accomplishments during this six years of building up, from 1882 to 1888, amazes me. Of course, Mother must not be forgotten for she contributed her full share or more. In every sense of the word she was a real helpmate, strong, healthy, willing, courageous and ambitious. To an unusual degree beyond the acquiring of means both were almost passionately ambitious for the better life intellectually, morally and spiritually. To realize these they spared no effort.Father's Mission in New Zealand
And now I turn to that three-year period Father spent on his mission in New Zealand. I was still eleven when he left and fourteen when he returned. Without a father's hand to guide and restrain, I regard it as a critical time in my young life as I shall explain later. It was also a time of heavy financial reverses that were almost disastrous.When he left for New Zealand during the spring of 1888 the crops had been put in and were up and the prospects for a bounteous harvest encouraging. His property and business affairs were all put in tip-top order. There seemed no doubt that from the sale of the surplus cattle and horses, dairy products and crops there would be ample for his needs while away and to provide for his family, the six of us he left, Mother, Spence Mattie, Ella and Ida, and myself the oldest.
Mission, "a heavy sacrifice" for the missionary and his family
Going on a mission imposed a heavy sacrifice both upon the missionary himself and the family he left behind. Which made the greater sacrifice is not certain. He was separated from his loved ones by a distance that it took approximately two months for a letter to reach him and a reply to be returned. There were all the longings of a father for the companionship of his wife and children and all the fears and anxieties he felt for their safety and well being. On the other hand there rested upon the mother all the responsibilities of providing for his needs, those of the family besides teaching, guiding, directing and controlling the five of her children. I was about the age to be incorrigible and, to my regret, oft times was. An over-all picture of the sacrifice of all concerned can hardly be over estimated. But there was an implicit, unfaltering faith in the divinity of the call and that, "Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven". The response to such a call was made cheerfully and willingly. After all, God had prospered them and it was "he who giveth and taketh away".That is a brief picture of the hopeful outlook ahead. But how soon that picture changed! Father had been told that where pines and oak grew there were extremes of wet and drought. There had been abundant rains and snows since he moved to Alpine seven years before and he had doubted the correctness of that statement but now the dry years came, a devastating, all-consuming drought and two years of armies of grasshoppers.
With the coming of this drought the over-stocked range was short of feed and many watering places dried up. Hordes of cattle poured into the valley in search of grass and water; they broke down the fences and ruined the meadows; they even ate off the willows that lined the little creek. For the first time the stream dried up and along its bed there was a stench from the dead fishes that rotted there. The four living springs of water on the place were tamped in by the thirsty cattle fighting for a chance to drink. On other farms the owners were home and met with some success in turning back the cattle, driving them away and repairing the fences; but not so on our place - there was no one to do it. Besides, its location made it more accessible and vulnerable.
Then there were the grasshoppers, two years of them. Whether they came first in this summer of 1888 or the next I am not sure. They worked only in the open valley. Farms that were back in the draws were not molested; the trees surrounding them formed a barrier the hoppers did not pass. One morning I went down to our little field of wheat. It stood about eight inches 34
high and looked fine. That morning the clouds of grasshoppers alighted there; before noon not a spear was left except a square rod or two I had just irrigated. The hens feasted on the hoppers and produced eggs as never before, but the yolks were such a dark red that they would not sell and few cared to eat them. At breeding time the hoppers selected hard dry ground, bored down into it with their nether parts and there deposited their eggs; often the male was at the side of the female and also bored into the ground along with her. The county road passed through a lane just east of the house. She was postmistress. When some passerby who stopped in was told how the hoppers deposited their eggs in the hard ground along the lane they seemed doubtful; Mother went out with a spade and dug up a piece of earth to give the visitor. It was literally speckled with the grasshopper eggs. The curiosity was satisfied.
Mother "Studies up" for Exam
Due to the drought and the grasshoppers the income was insufficient for the needs. Some means of providing must be found. For Father to return home was not to be thought of; it would be a disgrace. The Lord had called him and "the Lord would provide". Mother buckled in to "study up" so she could pass the examination for a teacher's certificate. She put in all her spare time and sat up at nights studying and reviewing arithmetic, grammar, history, geography, spelling, penmanship, hygiene and mental arithmetic. If there were others I have forgotten. She passed and received a second grade certificate good for two years; another examination must then be taken.Teacher
One winter she taught school at ST. Johns in the white schoolhouse up on the hill. Another winter she was at Egypt, four miles below St. Johns and she put in one summer at Luna Valley, New Mexico. She enjoyed teaching and, besides, it gave her contacts and a social life she had not before known. She was strongly social in temperament but in her very busy hard-working life and the restricted environment of Alpine it imposed on her a sort of social drought.The winter she taught in St. Johns several, which came to attend the St. John's Academy, lived in with her in a rented adobe house. It was a pretty large number for so small a house. There were Nancy Noble, Uncles Prime and Evans, Aunt Sue, Mother, Spence and myself. To me it was a wonderful winter, a new life with so many interesting things going on. I distinctly remember the thrill it gave listening to the brass Band. Grandfather came at intervals bringing supplies for the living and a cow and load of corn fodder.
The winter she taught in Egypt was a difficult one. She had all grades to teach, the winter was severe and the house we lived in was on a little knoll exposed to the fierce howling winds that swept through the many cracks and openings on the walls and floors and about the doors and windows. We shivered with cold while starting fires of mornings and the house cold and dreary when we returned from school at night. On Sundays we went to St. Johns for Sunday School and the afternoon church. Sometimes we got to ride in the wagon of some neighbor but often we walked there and back at night. It was a long walk for Mother.
There was a two or three months' school taught in Luna Valley during the summer. Through the efforts of David Lee she secured this school. He had been an intimate friend of the family many years. He was a member of the school board and Mr. Leornard, foreman of the Spur Ranch near Luna and a non-Mormon, was the other member. He strongly objected to hiring a Mormon. The Mormons, he said, were too exclusive. They excluded non-members from their dances and parties so he didn't want a Mormon teacher. But Lee was persistent. Finally Mr. Leonard said: "if you will bring your wife and daughters to attend one of our parties, I will consent to hiring Mrs. Heywood to teach our school." Lee agreed to this and took his wife and daughters to one of the parties. Bishop Greer, a fine conscientious man but 35
overzealous, promptly disfellowshipped him for violating a local rule. Later when the stake president, David K. Udall, was visiting he was restored to fellowship. I think Lee saw the humor of the Bishop's action rather than becoming perturbed over the action.
We were moving so much that there seemed no regular place of abode. I was about the right age to want my own way, to be reckless and selfish. I thought of just having a good time. I thought it smart to fool with tobacco. One time with my Uncle John we went to a saloon and, being the older, I asked the bartender to sell me some whiskey. He raked me up one side and down the other, berated me soundly, the idea of me, a boy thirteen, wanting to buy liquor. What kind of a boy was I anyhow? It left me with no inclination to ever return and was a good lesson to me. One time I shot a neighbor's dog, a worthless thing that the owners had asked others to kill. But when I killed it the dog was immediately worth a cow. Mother had me go to the owner to make things right. The things I did were not so terribly bad but I must have kept Mother in a state of uneasiness much of the time.
Nomadic Sort of life was not Stabilizing
For three years now the family had been separated, Father in New Zealand and the rest of us in Arizona but never long in one place. And in moving from place to place for Mother to teach we were also much apart. I was with Grandfather much of the time. He could keep me employed. But there was no normal family life, nothing to hold us as a unit and children need more than just a mother's care and guidance - -the father is necessary. Between Mother's school terms we lived at Grandfather's. He provided for much of our living. But this nomadic sort of life was not stabilizing; we were not headed toward any definite goal.Father Home Again, But...What would be his course?
But now after three years absence Father was home again. Things would be different now; there was no doubt about that. But how? What was to be his course? Would he return to Alpine or go elsewhere? One can imagine how disappointed, discouraged and disheartened upon his first visit to Alpine. Instead of meadows of grass for hay, green pastures supplying feed for the dairy cows and fields of grain there was only the dry parched earth. Even the willows that had lined the little creek were eaten down to short stubby stalks, and everywhere fences were down. The mile long ditch (small canal) would practically have to be rebuilt. This had little resemblance to the place he had left three years before. His and Grandfather's homes were vacant, unoccupied, the dooryards bedding places for cattle. It was a dreary outlook. Was it for this that he and Mother had made the three years' sacrifice? A sacrifice of time, of labor, of family association, of property, of prosperity, all these!Father would be forty in the fall, Nov. 18, 1891. He was still young enough to start over and become thrifty again, even in Alpine. But he had other plans in mind, plans he had been maturing during his absence and especially the latter part of his mission. His greatest ambition was for his children, to give them opportunities for an education, a chance to grow big and be useful. He had definitely decided not to return to Alpine, but to find a locality that offered what Alpine could never provide - schools of higher learning.
AS if a Plague Had Struck
I can see him now as he and I drove to Alpine for the first time since his return. Mother and the other children remained at Grandfather's. I can see him as we drove over the hill that gave the first view of the farm. His eyes moved back and forth as they made appraisal of its condition. Silently, except for the chuck of the wagon wheels over the rocks, we drove up to the home. It was empty, cattle had been in through the open door; it was unoccupied, deserted, abandoned. It was as if some plague had struck and it had been left to decay, as if there had been a hasty retreat. And the barns that had been left with lofts full of hay were empty.Then there was the homestead to look over. He followed along the fence lines with their many breaks making the entire place open for cattle. The creek bed was completely dry. The hay meadow that had always been moist and sometimes spongy and even boggy was as hard as a roadbed. Three of the four living springs had been cased in and the fourth kept dug out. These were now all tramped in and there were four little green spots where the trickles of water ran. The cattle and horses had been neglected and were scattered and there is no doubt about it there were colts that bore, not his brand, but the brands of others.
And now he was to return to all this, to Alpine to be bishop! He had spent three years on his mission, willingly leaving all to respond to the call while Mother struggled to provide him with the necessary means as well as to provide for her children. Was all they had both done not enough? Was there still more to be added?
Father's last recording in his mission journal was June 4, 1891 at Springerville. June 1st he said: "Several tell me that I am to be Bishop of Alpine and it makes me feel melancholy to hear it. I cannot do the work I had done before which will be necessary to fill that place". And on the 4th he says this: "My mind is very much exercised over the call that I am told is awaiting me and today visited Bro. Udall at his place where we also met his wife and a sister Morgan. Pres. Udall referred to the call. I told him that I did not feel capable to endure the climate of Bush Valley and do the work, which would be required but would be willing to sacrifice my feelings and go there for a short time, as a mission. He replied that it would not be well to go there in that way, as the people would not be likely to rally around me, and he would let the matter rest and I could pray about it".
He Dare Not refuse a "call from God"
And he did pray about it earnestly and in humility and he and Mother held long and tearful discussions. They came out with sad faces and reddened eyes and looked worn and worried. He felt that he dare not refuse a "call from God"; she could not reconcile herself to the move but finally yielded. She felt that it was asking too much, that it was not fair or just. She consented to go but it left a breech that was never fully bridged but that was widened upon the death of Mattie and Serepta45 and her loss of health. Why hadn't their sacrifice been great enough? She could see nothing ahead but hard work, the loss of social mingling and educational advantages for her children. Would the blessings, if any, be worth the cost?Future Plans Were Set Aside
There is no doubt that this was the most important and difficult decision Father ever made. His most carefully formulated plans for the future must be put aside; he must suffer the pain of seeing his helpmate made sad and unhappy, she who had born his children and the burdens of hard work; he was sacrificing the educational future of his boys and girls. In case of sickness the nearest doctor was sixty miles away. All in all, it was a hard mission. Since he would be bishop he must get a home in town instead of on the farm. He may have found consolation in the sufferings of Job and was not Abraham called upon to sacrifice Isaac? Theirs were the greater trials."My reaction..."
My reaction to all this as a boy nearly fifteen was one of resentment tinged with bitterness. I had been enjoying a large measure of freedom and now I was to be restrained, disciplined, the reins tightened and held rigid and I would have to work and work hard from early morning until after dark with little time for pleasure or vacation. This was but a natural feeling for a boy my age and under such circumstances but my deepest resentment was the feeling that it was not just or fair to Mother. I could pretty well understand that her burdens would be increased, not lightened.---Footnote---
45 There is a picture of their tombstone
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Sometime during this summer of 1891 Father took me with him to Alpine where we were to begin the rebuilding or reconstruction period. We batched it. It was far from my liking but I had no choice. Our fare left much to be desired and neither of us was a very tasty cook. I remember we had beans a-plenty. Much of our cooking was over the fireplace and the pine fuel kept everything covered with smoke. It was a luxury when we occasionally had a dish of prunes.
Fences had to be repaired. That was a big job, more than could be done in just one fall. I was set to plowing a ten-acre patch to have it ready for planting the next spring. I had a twelve-inch walking plow and a poor, thin, miserable team to drive. The two horses were not matched; one was large, the other small; one was lazy, the other willing. I carried or dragged a strap whip to stimulate the lazy horse. It was hard work and by night I was thoroughly tired. How many weeks we were here I do not remember.
A log house was secured in town for the winter. There was one large front room, which served as living room and bedroom and a small kitchen and a dining room also used as a bedroom. Mother and the children were moved over from Springerville during the autumn. Needless to say that with six of us we were crowded. It was more a makeshift than anything else. But it was good to have Mother there. The winter was severe and the snow deep.
There was no cash reserve and no resources to be sold. There seemed only one way out - to teach school. Mother was expectant so not in a condition to teach so Father "studied up", passed the examination, was certified and engaged to teach the Alpine school. A beef was killed, part of it put down in brine and a hindquarter hung on the north side of the house where it froze solid. It was my job of mornings to take this down and saw sliced of round for breakfast. These sizzled in the frying pan as they thawed out. Meat, bread, potatoes and gravy was the burden of our diet. I should also add, milk.
A town lot was purchased and we immediately began making improvements. A milk cow, maybe two, was rounded up and brought in to supply us with the much needed milk. Hay was procured and Father and I put in evenings and mornings, before and after school, putting up a sort of barn. I say a “sort” advisedly as it was stretching a point to call the structure a barn. It had some resemblance to a barn, length, breadth and height and when hay was put into it we knew what it was meant for. It was irregular and unsightly and a stiff wind would have blown it down. Building was out of Father’s line, but he had a sense of perspective and proportion and was of an artistic temperament. He was not proud of this creation of his and it annoyed him. Every day when we went to do the chores he would look at it and shake his head. Occasionally with a wry smile he would say something disparaging of its looks. Finally he could stand it no longer and we tore the unsightly thing down. Later we built a real barn, large, commodious and strong. He had retrieved himself. In fact, this was the best barn in the valley.
We had a town lot and the next thing was to get a home on it. Instead of building one Father saw a way out. A one-room structure that had been a dairy house stood on the farm. Why not move it on the lot in town? So plans were made for this. It was a tremendously heavy structure and the only possible was to do this was to put under it a couple logs like sleigh runners, beveled at the ends and drag or pull it over the snow. This was done and the time selected when the valley was blanketed with about a foot of snow. It must have been during January 1892. The building had to be pried up inch by inch and blocked util the log runners could be placed beneath. Boards were nailed diagonally on the walls inside and out as braces lest the building collapse.
To pull a load so heavy every available team in the valley was requisitioned. The owners brought chains and doubletrees and all were needed. The teams were strung out in two lines, one for each runner. There must have been a dozen teams though I cannot say certainly. When the snow was sufficiently settled the call was made and the men brought in their teams. It took a lot of maneuvering to get so many teams to start and pull together. There were starting, stopping, seesawing back and forth, breaking of chains, doubletrees and singletrees. At times the teams on one side would lunge ahead of he others and twist the building until it seemed certain of collapse. The move was routed through the bottomlands where it was level and smooth. It took a few trying days to get the house to its destination, at least three or four or more. I do not remember that a Sunday intervened, a time much needed to rest and renew the ragged spirits.
There was only one room in this house but a lean-to on each side was added as we were able and each made into two small rooms. The attached snapshot pictures the exterior of the home; the interior may be imagined. Soon after moving in, Leland was born April 17, 1892. Both before and after Leland’s birth it was unfortunate that Mother had to go up and down the high steps.
During the next year or two we built the large barn on the lot. I mention that the rafters were made of hewn red pine poles. These were strong and enduring. Nails driven in them could hardly be pulled out again; the heads of the nails would tear through the sheeting before they would pull out of the rafters. In its construction I did most of the work. The lot was fenced with smooth wire, the first in the valley. There was no barbwire used at that time. Our vegetable garden gave us carrots, beets, peas, string beans, potatoes, turnips, rutabagas, onions, cabbage. We had specimens of cabbage weighing over twenty pounds. Because of rich soil and the cool climate these were of superior quality.
The dairy herd was rounded up and again butter and cheese were being made in quantities. The reputation of these established a few years before gave them ready sale in Springerville and St. Johns and some other places. The first cream separator, the De Laval, was purchased by Father. In fact, it was the first in the whole county. This reduced labor and gave a better quality of butter.
The range horses were being cared for and the choicest mares brought in to pasture to be bred to selected stallions. We kept the colts branded up so there was little loss from theft. The stock was being improved and the number increasing. There was some income from selling work horses and saddle horses.
The farming land and pastures and hay meadow were again enclosed and all were productive. Again bins were full of oats and wheat and the barns packed with hay. Order was brought out of chaos and prosperity smiled again.
Added to these incomes which were often in trade instead of cash, were the salaries from Father’s teaching in Alpine and Mother’s teaching one winter in Eagar. During that winter Father and I batched it while the other children went with Mother. This must have been the winter of 1894-5. The money received supplied a well-felt need.
Mattie's Death was on Christmas Eve
But the winter before, Dec. 24, 1893 Mattie (Martha Emma46) died of pneumonia after a few days illness. The next day, Christmas, she was laid away. Snow covered the ground and the day was cold and bleak. This was a crushing blow to mother. It bowed her head in deepest grief. It was pathetic. She knew Mattie was never strong and this drew her nearer with an apprehensiveness, tenderness and the deepest affection. She grieved over the death of Ida during Father’s absence but to this she could be reconciled; but not so with Mattie. She had not yet felt right about returning to Alpine, but now this. No doctor was available; there might have been elsewhere. In some other place less cold and rigorous this might not have happened. Mother was not one to yield to misfortune but in this she could not throw off so deep a grief. She avoided others and sought to bear her grief alone; she would not burden others. She tried to wear away this depth of feeling through frenzied toil and win by weariness a night of rest. All these together impaired her health and imposed organic trouble of her heart. Though she lived for over forty years she never again enjoyed a full measure of health. But she worked on and bore five more children.Since Father went on his mission there had been heavy loss of property; from drinking lye Ida47 had died a violent death; Mother had moved from place to place with the children struggling for a subsistence and to supply Father; it was not easy for him to know how she worked, news of the loss of property and Ida’s death; much against their desires they had yielded to the call of authority: Now Mattie, dearer than life itself to Mother, was taken. By now had their sacrifice been great enough? Would not Pres. Udall understand and tender Father a release with his appreciation for the loyalty he had shown, thanks for his services and with his blessings? Would he not do this? No, not yet.
By the summer of 1895 we were sufficiently prosperous for Father to suggest sending me off to Provo to attend the Brigham Young Academy in Provo in the fall. I was eighteen, tall, awkward and gawky. At first the thought startled me, then thrilled me with the prospect. I had an ambition but had little dreamed that such an opportunity could come to me. Could it be that I, an ignorant country boy who had never been anywhere or seen anything beyond the confines of small country towns, be granted so great a boon? It seemed hardly possible and it took time for me to feel certain or secure. I worked with greater vim and energy- there was something to work for, a goal to reach. There had been a companionship develop between Father and me. I had been resentful and hateful but now I understood, understood how deeply he desired my welfare. He was happy about it and I was happy and grateful. The summer passed away all too soon
Sarept Died
I was to leave for Provo in August. During the month the baby, Sarepta, became ill with “summer complaint”, a disease that throughout the United States took thousands of babies during the summer months. At that time feeding babies had not become a science, babies were both over fed or improperly fed and treatment doubtful. To lose a baby from this illness at the present time is a rarity. Sarepta grew worse.. It was about time for me to leave and Mother wanted to take her to Dr. Platt in St Johns for treatment so we went together in the single seated buggy, she holding the baby on her lap and I drivingWe stopped at Springerville over night and Mother saw Sister Lytle who had served as a practical nurse for years. She was a very fine old lady. She went on with us to St. Johns. Dr. Platt said it was a mistake to bring a baby with this complaint to a lower altitude and the baby, he said, was beyond any chance of recovery. That night she died, Aug. 12, 1895. The remains were prepared and placed in the little coffin that she had had built and the two women returned, one driving and the other holding the coffin on her lap. I continued on my way to Provo. It was a sad parting.
Somewhere Mother has described that sixty mile drive back to Alpine, just the two women, each mile taking toll of grief and pain. Especially she pictured that part of the trip up the divide above Nutrioso. A storm broke over them. Huge, dark clouds heaved themselves up over the horizon rolling out over the sky until it was black and ominous, closing in over them, the two helpless women and the little one. As the storm broke vivid flashes streaked the blackness, the deafening thunder roared, then rumbled away in the distance, driving rain poured down in torrents. The climax of her grief broke forth in sobs and tears and the elements wept with her. Three deaths in less than seven years, three little girls denied the full measure of life. Surely this was enough. Would not Pres. Udall now understand, read the feelings, see the needs and moved with compassion and tenderness, tender a generous release? No,. not yet.
To School with $100
Father started me out with one hundred dollars. That to me was a lot of money. I don’t remember having ever before owned at one time as much as five dollars. This was to pay my tuition, a small amount, get my books and get me started. Byrum Pace from Nutrioso was also going to Provo and we traveled together. He was about four years older than I and a fine outstanding man. We left St. Johns August 13th or 14th on the mail buckboard for Holbrook where we took the train. Never before had I been inside a passenger car. It was all new, strange and exciting. I was keenly alert and wanted nothing to escape me. We took along our lunch boxes, replenishing them along the way. The rail road trip was new to both of us.It was a wonderful trip. As the train sped along we poked our heads out the open window to better take in the landscape and the coal dust and smoke settled in our hair; in fact, on everything. There was no air conditioning and only the single sash window and these we kept open since it was summer and hot. Ventilation, smoke and sight-seeing we got all at the same time. Out in New Mexico level grassy plains spread out without a hill or mountain; at home we saw only mountains. Once the train stopped for half and hour. We got out and walked about in the lush gramma grass the summer rains had grown.
There was a stop in Colorado Springs, the beautiful city of the wealthy with broad streets, shade trees, attractive yards and elegant homes. We walked about and in my mind I measured these beautiful buildings against the rough log hovels we called homes. Why should we merit so little? Were we incompetents?
Utah Valley
Somewhere about here an extra engine was put on to pull us up the divide and the train chugged along around Pike’s Peak. As the train left the canyon and rolled into Utah Valley it seemed to me we were entering a paradise- the thrifty little towns snuggled at the bases of those rugged peaks, lying between these and Utah Lake, the largest body of water I yet had seen. The orchards were bending under their loads of fruit, apples, pears, peaches and prunes; and there were vineyards. In Alpine we seldom had fresh apples, rarely ever tasted fresh peaches or pears and never prunes. I recall that Father once set out a few fruit trees. They did nothing but one cherry managed to put forth a few blossoms in August.Byrum and I rented a room and proceeded to batch it. We wanted to save. We were neither of us cooks but we did gorge ourselves on fruits. After a few weeks we decided to get board. Ellen Jakeman who lived across the street gave us board for ten dollars a month, not a week, a month. She was an excellent cook and was over generous in serving us the best. She was a woman of rare talent and wrote stories and poems of quality. The change of diet and climate agreed with me and I put on weight almost reaching one hundred ninety pounds. I inherited Father’s worsted Prince Albert cut-a-way missionary suit. He weighed about one hundred thirty five pounds. Imagine how it fit my hundred ninety pounds. I made a grotesque figure with as much as possible of me squeezed into that small a suit with that long coat tail streaming out behind. It attracted an attention that was humiliating to me. But I was there for study- not style.
I have before me the slip admitting me to membership in the Brigham Young Academy dated Sep. 20, 1895 and signed by Benj. Cluff, Principal. I attach it to this sheet. I worked hard, very hard; in fact, too hard and put in too many hours. I must have progressed satisfactorily as the principal once called me into his office and proposed that they would put me through the school if I would bind myself to remain and teach after graduating. I wrote Father but he was unwilling. Perhaps I shouldn’t add here that Benj. Cluff employed me to do chores for him, sometimes called me out of school to do something. I hauled hay for him and once he sent me on a two-day trip up Provo Canyon to take some colts for him and two days return. He beat me out of every penny he owed me.
When school closed in the late spring I did chores and cared for the little yards of Professor Hendricks, a teacher, receiving my room and board in return. I could not have been treated with more consideration but I began to feel tired and worn out and had little appetite. Finally I had to give up. I went to Lehi to Aunt Becky’s, Grandfather Coleman’s sister. Here her daughter, Emma Jane, took over and called in Dr. Seabright to see me. I had typhoid fever. This was the second time for me to have the disease. Emma Jane was a widow and a teacher. She used to read to me by the hour and give me every attention. I hold her in the highest regard.
I was able to be back for the autumn term of school and all went well. During the Christmas holidays I went to Lehi. Here Grandfather and Grandmother Coleman had many relatives, brothers and sisters, brothers-in-laws, sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces and those farther removed. There were the Jacobs, Southwicks, Smiths, Evanses (a lot of them), Winns, Lots, Thurmans, Taylors and, no doubt, others I do not recall or did not meet. I had a wonderful time going from place to place being the utmost welcome. I’d like to be young again and do it over. It was one of those bright spots that just does something to us and leaves something enduring with us. There were some interesting intricacies in their relationships here.
Intricate Relationships
Grandfather Coleman married Bishop David Evans’ daughter, Emma Beck Evans whose mother died when she was a small girl; in turn the Bishop married Grandfather’s sister, Rebecca which made her Grandmother’s step-mother-in-law and at the same time her sister-in-law and the Bishop while her father was still her brother-in-law. Grandfather’s sister, Rebecca was also his sister-in-law and the Bishop became both his father-in-law and brother-in-law. To follow the relationships of children and grandchildren would be too intricate to attempt.While in Lehi I was exposed to mumps. I had the foolish notion that because I was in the best of health I would not contract the disease but soon after returning to Provo I came down with a very severe case of mumps I have ever seen except that it didn’t “go down” on me. My face or jaws were terribly swollen. I might remark in passing that among some, even at this time, there is the belief that a boy cannot catch the disease from a girl. I know better for I was exposed to a girl that I held often on my knee when she came down with mumps. But there needn’t be raised eyebrows for she was only five or six years old.
Before I was over the mumps I came down with a pronounced case of measles. From what source I contracted the disease I never knew. For a time just before the rash appeared I felt that I was going to choke to death due, no doubt, to the swollen glands caused by the mumps. An abscess formed over the right eye, rather in the upper eyelid, and it was swollen shut for several days. My health was impaired and my eyes so weakened that it became necessary for me to leave school. More about my eyes later. I think it was during February, 1897 I returned home.
Brother, David, born 11 Aug 1896
In the meantime things were not going so well at home. Mother’s health was declining. Dr. Platt told Father emphatically that she must be moved to a lower altitude if he expected her to live so he bought a home in St. Johns which is about two thousand feet lower than Alpine. It must have been in the early summer of 1896 that he moved Mother and the children to St. Johns since David was born there Aug. 11, 1896. The distance between the two towns was sixty miles, or two days’ travel. Father was still bishop of Alpine ward and now his time had to be divided between his duties there and the care of his family in St. Johns. This required trips back and forth.During the winter the sixty-mile drive occasioned suffering from the cold and were exhausting. The wagon was loaded at Alpine with supplies, meat, potatoes, grain, etc. Early in the morning he would start and drive until after dark to reach Springerville. There was a short stop at noon to grain the horses and eat the cold lunch taken along. It took the very best the team had to pull the load up the steep long Nutrioso hill. Occasionally when near the top, the steepest part, the team would stall. Part of the load had to be taken out and carried to the top to there be re-loaded. The night was spent at Grandfathers and the journey resumed early the next morning. Sitting on a high spring seat exposed the driver to the inclement weather. Nearly always during winter months a chill, cutting, penetrating wind drove in from the snow covered mountains that lay to the southwest. He was chilled through and through and it took hours after reaching home to return to a comfortable body warmth.
Upon my return I found Mother a near invalid, David a frail delicate little baby and others with colds. There was no heating in the bedrooms so most of us slept in the front room where there was a fireplace. Some of us slept on the floor, making our beds down at night and taking them in the morning. We used cedar for fuel and this had to be cut into stove-wood and fireplace lengths with an axe. It took a full day to drive out four miles to the cedars, get a load, and return. It was a very hard job for me since I was still weak from my illness.
As much time as I could find and as much as my weakened eyes would permit I studied in preparation for the County Teachers’ Examination in June. I passed this with high grades and received a first grade certificate entitling me to teach for the next four years. The next winter and following summer I taught the school in Greer and the next winter in St. Johns. Father taught in St Johns the winter I was in Greer
Eye Trouble
Concerning my eyes: I had much trouble with them and it was about four years before I could use them with comfort or do much reading. I had granulated eyelids. During the summer of 1897 Dr. Gaff, a specialist, who was traveling through and Dr. Platt operated on the lids, scraping of the granules and burning them with electricity. The follow up treatment was given by Dr. Platt who at intervals applied silver nitrate, 10% and sometimes copper sulphate. The pain was excruciating. I made a full recovery at last and now, at seventy-four, during the day and at night read with no discomfort.August 30, 1898 Velma was born.
Mother was not too well and Dr. Platt insisted that she must be taken to a still lower altitude. That presented a difficult problem. Father fully sensed the need but he was still Bishop of Alpine; he had not been released though he could not give the position the time he felt it needed. It was hard to be torn between Alpine and St. Johns. He had hinted his desires to Pres. Udall but the hint was ignored.Despite our trying circumstances Pres. Udall felt that I should be going on a mission though he did not press it. Father felt that I should wait but I was of age with religious zeal felt that I should go so I went to Pres. Udall and told him. I received a call and was to report in Salt Lake City late that year, 1899.
About this time Spence was becoming recreant and rather wild and we felt the need of sending him to Provo to school. Pres. Udall was opposed to this feeling that we should support our own little academy in St. Johns. This would have seemed very well except that at the same time he sent his daughter, Pearl, to Provo instead of at home. That didn’t set well. We sent Spence to Provo.
Having to be away so much Father felt that he was not succeeding in his position in Alpine; the ward members shared this feeling; Pres. Udall was not satisfied. In these early days and particularly as some in authority viewed it, it was a disgrace to resign and he who had the temerity to do so was in the future ignored. Was it not God who called and He who should release? But surely now the president would understand when Mother’s life was endangered, she who had yielded to his call on a mission and as bishop, had seen her three little girls laid away, had worked and struggled until her health was gone and life in jeopardy, surely now he would understand as if it were his own family at stake and offer a release. Surely the ultimate sacrifice, life itself, should not be imposed. The Lord had stayed the hand of Abraham when the knife was raised to sacrifice Isaac. He did not require that life. Should her life be required and four little children left motherless? Surely a release should come. But did it? No, not then – nor ever.
Father and many others came to Arizona of their own accord and were then called on a mission to remain in the Arizona Mission. He had to decide between what appeared to be the life of his wife, his partner, the mother of his children, the one who had exhausted her health or the bishopric. It would not be difficult to find another bishop, but to replace a wife and mother-never. He resigned. But before doing this he wrote Pres. Lorenzo Snow telling him of the circumstances and state of health and requesting that, if it met with his approval, he would be glad to be released. I quote the reply he received from Pres. Lorenzo Snow dated in Salt Lake City,
September 11, 1899.
Elder J. N. Heywood Sr.,
St. Johns, Ariz.
Dear Brother:
This is in answer to your letter of recent date, in which you express a desire to leave St. Johns to make your home in some place having a more congenial climate provided it meets with my mind.
You have my full approval to act in this matter according to your own judgement and desire, and I trust the blessings of the Lord will attend you wherever you go.
With kind regards,
Your Brother,
Lorenzo Snow
How different the attitude of one who was broad and generous!
Father felt grateful for Pres. Snow’s reply and he forthwith presented his resignation to Pres. Udall, and he soon went to Alpine to replace him. Thomas Hatch was selected. In the reorganization Father was not given a seat on the stand, a courtesy usually extended the retiring officer, but was to occupy a seat in the extreme rear. He was not given one word of appreciation or vote of thanks for the eight years of service he had given. He was ignored and humiliated. It hurt, the wound went deep.
Thatcher was selected to be our next home and preparations were begun for our next move. We reached there in October.
Property had to be sold at a great sacrifice. The home in St. Johns was sold for a fraction of its real value. No one in Alpine would consider buying the farm with its improvements. Under most any conditions it should have been worth five thousand dollars; it went to the Government for six hundred forty dollars or four dollars per acre. Father was bitterly criticized for selling to any other than a Mormon but none would buy and he had to sell and close up the gap. Of course, the range horses had to be left. He rented theses out well knowing that colts would be stolen. The two town lots with the old house, the barn and other improvements were deeded as a gift to Mother’s half sister, Sarah Ida (Doll) Hamblin. Doll had often worked for Mother and helped her out many times when a girl and the gift was in appreciation of this.
The wagon was piled high with furniture and other belongings and pulled by a four-horse team, two wheel horses and two leaders. Father drove a small nifty team on the open buggy or buckboard. Besides, we drove our cows and heifers. There were two or three saddle horses.
Our route was down The Blue, a small creek or stream, and the Frisco River to Clifton and then across the mountain to Thatcher. These two streams followed a deep canyon which for the most part deep and precipitous and in some places narrowing too a mere declivity between perpendicular walls of rock that rose high above. The bottom of the canyon was covered with rocks and pebbles and the semblance of a road extremely crooked and rough. Before reaching Clifton it was said to have crossed the stream about three hundred sixty times. Going in the water so often and then out on the pebbles made the feet of some of the cattle so tender that we had to tack leather on them.
Arrived in Thatcher we rented a small three-room house and Father hustled pasturage and feed for cattle and horses, trading a horse here and there. Our cows were producing more milk than our needs and I started delivering milk to some of the homes in Safford; also, some vegetables I obtained from Mr. Nichols, a gardener. This little business was growing and itseemed promising. When a little later I left for my mission I left the business with Spence who had come back from Provo, Father feeling that he was needed at home. This milk and vegetable trade could have grown into a permanent and lucrative business but Spence just wouldn’t stick. That has been an unfortunate characteristic of his life- not to stick
It was about time for me to leave for my mission but Father was not well. Pres. Andrew Kimball thought it best to have my time deferred and wrote to Salt Lake City and a delay of two months was readily granted. With no improvement another delay was granted and Father was operated for hemorrhoids. Following the operation he improved and Thursday, March 1, 1900 I left for Salt Lake City.
In looking back over the fifty one years that have since elapsed I have many times wondered whether I should have gone at that time, whether the pay-off justified the cost. We had bought a lot and before long (after I had gone) a large tent was bought and the family moved in. They lived here until May, 1902. During this time Father, Leland and David have typhoid fever. Little help is given them and Mother, frail as she is has to lift Father from bed to bed while she makes up the one. Seems they needed the help I could have given them.
Had I remained home and helped through this crisis I can picture a prosperity that might have been; had I used the time, money, energy and health expended on this mission in getting an education, or even in business, I am inclined to believe I would have reached a far greater measure of success and usefulness. Of course, it is not possible to know but there is ever the feeling, “It might have been.” It is useless to indulge in vain regrets. No doubt, at times all of us say to ourselves, “Oh, if only I could live my life over again!”
Concerning my Mission
Concerning my mission I haven’t too much to say. As stated I left home Thursday, March 1, 1900; I reached home again June 2, 1902 being gone almost twenty-seven months. My missionary diary or journal consists of five notebooks pretty well filled. I marvel that they have been preserved after so many moves. I have never read them through since they were written. As I glance through them at the present time I find them interesting and, through them, can fix some events and dates. I may quote from some pages, at random, just as samples, but feel it better not to try to include all of it.I went on my mission feeling it my duty. The teachings of my parents, in Sunday School; in Church, in the Brigham Young Academy and the testimonies of returned missionaries led me to feel that a most important chapter of one’s life was omitted without a mission. Many of the returned missionaries of the wonderful times they had, the happiest times of their lives. As deeply religious as I was I was too realistic to feel sure this would be the case with me. I went from a sense of duty, entirely, and not from any hopes of a wonderful time. I had no anticipation of deriving pleasure out of walking all day in a hot southern climate carrying a ten pound grip while tracting, of being refused time after time a night’s lodging, of traveling without money, of the likelihood of sleeping in a school house or in the woods, of being hooted and bemeaned. Really, I went with some fears, doubts and apprehensions rather than joyous expectations. There must have been something wrong with me. Again, I repeat, I went from a sense of duty.
Southwestern States Mission was my assignment, St. John, Kansas headquarters, 47m T. Jack, President. The mission at that time included the states of Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Texas. I was sent to labor in the North Texas Conference, headquarters at Cobb, Kaufman County. I arrived there Wednesday, April 4th.
Now I am a full fledged missionary ready for active work, ready to be “broken in” by the more experienced elders, ready to begin preaching, tracting and trying to sing, ready to walk the black lands where never a track is made- too hard to make a track when dry and so sticky when wet that the tracks are carried along-, ready for the head and the cold, the rains and the snows and, yes, the dread Texas Northers and the occasional cyclone, ready for most any eventuality. And, I must not forget malaria. Just once I had this with a dumb chill. That’s not the one where you shake but the one with a terrific ache.
Walking was always one of my weaknesses. Maybe a good long walk to break me in was the thing and I didn’t have to wait long. Pres. Leavitt took me on one; that was his strong point. I quote:
“Thursday, April 12th,
Today Pres. Leavitt and I start for Royce, a distance of 30 miles, where we arrive about 6 P. M., but I am so completely worn out that I am too tired to write up my day’s travel. We go without dinner.Friday, April 13th,
This morning, oh, how tired I am. I can scarcely walk I am so stiff. We stopped at Brother Wetherley’s last night and had a good soft bed but I could not turn over without pain. It seems to amuse everybody to see me try to walk, but it doesn’t amuse me. Tonight we stay at Brother Harless’ place.”Thirty miles to Royce and my first day’s walk; but we stopped in to the places just mentioned which was two miles short of Royce which made it twenty eight miles instead of thirty which was twenty miles more than I cared to walk in one day. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t walk the next morning, not until I had made a number of agonizing efforts. What spiritual uplift it gave I’ve never known, April 14th my dairy says: “I am able to walk around some today.”
This Brother Harless mentioned was father of Dick Harless, an attorney, who was recently Arizona’s Representative in Congress recently. The father died in Texas and the family located in Thatcher.
I continued work in Texas until Oct. 4, 1901 when I was instructed to go to Kansas City leaving that same afternoon. From Kansas City I am assigned to the East Kansas Conference to labor remaining here until my release May 27, 1902.
In my diary under date of May 17th, 1902 I find the following: “I received two letters from Father in which he earnestly requests my immediate return as he has just bargained for a place at $2000.00 and has too much to see to alone. His health and Mother’s and three of the children is poor.” I immediately wrote the office in Kansas City indicating that if it met with their approval I felt it my duty to return home. I was promptly informed that I was to come to the office where I would receive an honorable release. This I did and left May 27th in company with Elder Wm. Adams of Mexico who had just been released.
I have spent several hours looking over my mission diaries. I see no reason to include them here but quote part or all of the recordings of my trip homeward, the ending of one epoch of my life.
Tuesday, May 27, 1902:
At 3 P. M. we leave Kansas City. It hardly seems possible for me to realize that I am returning home. Midnight finds us near Dodge City where time changes one hour. Our train 47is late because of heavy rains. It is whispered that we may be delayed indefinitely farther west. Streams are swollen.
Wednesday, May 28,
The day’s break finds us well in western Kansas on the smooth level plains. There has been very heavy precipitation. The vast plain is almost a sheet of water. When we reach Arkansas River it is swollen and a vast muddy stream is surging between its banks. The farther we go the heavier has been the rain and the river is rising rapidly, until when we reach Lamar it is furious. We continue to a small place west (Caddo). Along the way the flood spreads out a mile or more and all sorts of debris are floating down the billows. At one place we see a group of cattle standing on a prominence and entirely surrounded by water. At another place a deer stands not far from the track shivering from fright, cold and dampness; it has been driven from its haunts by the fearful flood. Often the water is flowing on either side of the track, and not infrequently the fence which encloses the right-of way is hidden by the water. Just beyond Caddo station the water is above the tracks. It is considered dangerous to attempt to go farther and we return to Lamar to await developments. Many haystacks are standing in water. The railroad feeds us at the hotel, as they must do in case of long delays. We sleep in the car. The sun shines this afternoon. The water is still rising.Thursday, May 29th:
The day opens quite clear but again it clouds up and mists a little. The flood has assuaged a little and we are given hopes that we may leave before night, but disappointment awaits us. All is uncertain and it becomes very tedious to be so confined. Our meals are taken at the hotel at the R. R. ’s expense. One of the most noticeable features of our fare is that it is extremely difficult to obtain bread. We have to call continuously for it, very little fruit and dessert but any quantity of meats. Waiters are scarce and we have many rests in our eating. Sleeping in our car is our fare tonight. Promise is given that we will leave in the morning at 9 o’clock. Weather is clear. During the morning some Darkeys amuse us with singing.Friday, May 30th:
Breakfast is taken but instead of getting off at nine A. M. eleven is set. We are told that we will have no dinner but we do at 2 or 2:30 P. M. Five P. M. is now set and we are to get no supper, as we will go. The promise that we will get no supper is fulfilled but we do not start. It is annoying in the extreme to be full of expectations and then meet with such disappointment. Those upon the train are a good-natured class of people, which helps to pass the time away.Saturday May 31st:
About 3 o’clock this morning we leave Lamar. All feel like cheering when the train starts. Sixty-seven hours delay when, had the train been on time we would have had no delay. I think, as the train speeds along, we will have no more delays or lay overs, and I will get to spend Sunday at home. Soon after leaving La Junta we come in sight of mountains. These are the first mountains I have seen for 26 months and I greatly enjoy the scenery. Arrive in Albuquerque about 8:30 P. M. and we change cars and lay over for another 12 hrs. Our train should go out at 11:45 but we are assured that it will not leave until in the morning sometime. We sleep in the car.
Saturday, June 1st:
Our best expectations and hopes are at times blasted, and with all the hopes of being home Sunday, I now see that I will be unable to reach there until Monday and the query arises, “Will I get home then?” We fast this morning. Our train does not leave Albuquerque until 12 P. M. Along the Rio Grande valley is a rich section of country but it is very poorly developed. Indians (Pueblos) and Mexicans are the principal inhabitants. Reach Deming about 8:30 P. M. I go to a hotel for lodging.The above is the last recorded in my diary. I reached home some time Monday afternoon. There was no question about their need for me to help. It was rather pitiful to see their condition. Mother, of course, was never very well. Father, never very strong at any time, had had typhoid fever during my absence and there were four small children:; Leland, ten; David, 5; Velma, 3: Robert, 1; and Yates on the way.
But before going further with this I am typing one or two would be poems of mine written while in Texas. I am not doing this because of any excellence but to give some idea of our sentiments and type of thinking.
Oh, how my heart is yearning For the ones I’ve left at home.
Just once more if I
could see them, Just to cheer me as I roam.
Just once more my heart to lighten, Once again my heart to cheer;
Yes, a word my hopes to heighten While in love I labor here.
But I’ll trust to God
my
helper- He will see me safely thru.
He
will guide me with His spirit When I’m tempted, tried and blue.
Though I’m far from home and dear ones I can love them just the same,
And by doing here my duty Be an honor to their name.
Then
the little time I stay here, Tho but little
good I do,
I
will strive to do my duty-He
will see me safely through.
I sat alone with my conscience In place where time had ceased, And we talked of my former living In the land where the years increased; And I felt I should have to answer The questions it put to me And to face the question and answer Throughout an Eternity.
The ghosts of forgotten actions Came floating before my sight, And things I thought were dead things Were alive with a terrible might And the vision of all my past life Was an awful thing to face, Alone with my conscience sitting In that solemnly silent place.
And I thought of a far-away warning, Of a sorrow that was to be mine, In a land that was then the future And now is the present time. And I thought of my former thinking, Of the judgment day to be, But, sitting alone with my conscience Seemed judgment enough for me.
And I wondered if there was a future To this land beyond the grave, But no one gave me an answer And no one came to save, Then I felt that the future was present And the present would never go by For it was but the thought of my life Grown into Eternity.
Then I woke from my timely dreaming And the vision passed away, And I know that the far-away warning Was a warning of yesterday; And I pray that I may not forget it In this land before the grave, That I may not cry out in the future And no one come to save.
And so I have learned a lesson Which I ought to have known before And which, though I learned it dreaming, I hope to forget no more. So I sit alone with my conscience In the place where the years increase And I try to think of the future In the land where time will cease.
And I know of the future judgment How dreadful soe’r it be That, sitting alone with my conscience, Will be judgment enough for me.
This poem I quite often quoted in my public speaking and it never failed to have an effective appeal. It somehow struck a responsive chord in the feelings of the audience.
When I returned home my health was not good. There was plenty to do, the irrigation, the alfalfa, the garden, the cows to milk and feed and all those things incident to this kind of life.
The little home farm consisted of twenty acres, there was a small two room house with a sort of attic used as a bedroom. It was a frame structure and under the hot summer sun was almost unendurable and about it there was no shade. The previous owner, Mr. Zinger, had recently died of typhoid. It was suspected that the well, an open one, in the back was responsible. The water tasted terrible. One of the first things was to clean out this well. I worked in the bottom of the well. After removing a thick layer of slimy mud I found a couple of buckets of old beef bones. Little wonder the taste was so foul.
We were without cash and the food we were able to supply was far from being either sufficient in amount or in furnishing an adequate balanced ration. We were under-nourished. We didn’t know it then but I know it now. To get a little cash I went to work on a baler; I lasted just three days. I was so weak I just couldn’t make it.
Looking Back--Struggles, privations, etc.
In looking back over the time between 1888 and 1902, fourteen years, it might be regarded as a period or epoch in the family history. During these years there had been struggles, privations, disappointments, heavy financial losses, illnesses both temporary and lasting, tragedy with the deaths of the three little girls. There had been three moves: to Alpine, to St. Johns and to Thatcher. For about four years of this time there seemed promise that prosperity lay just ahead; but the break in Mother’s health disrupted this and made necessary the two moves to St. Johns and Thatcher. Then I left for my mission and they were left to struggle again, live in a tent and suffer a siege of typhoid. As I review the picture my emotions are deeply stirred. Were the returns worth the cost?The picture on my return was not encouraging, but I was not discouraged nor inclined to complain. There was nothing to do but go ahead the best I could. Unable to stand up to hard work I turned again to teaching, a thing I had hoped never to do. Again I had to review the examination to become a certified teacher. Two more subjects and higher grades were required for first grade certificates than for second grade. I thought of nothing short of the first grade and had no trouble in percents up to the time of the two extra subjects when I was so completely worn out and nervous I just could not go on.
I taught that winter in Central, three miles below Thatcher. Part of the winter I boarded there and part of the time rode back and forth each day. The next winter I taught the sixth grade in Thatcher and for the following six years was principal of the Thatcher Public Schools. But it was necessary for me to take examination in June, 1904 for first grade certificate. Byrum Pace was to take the same examination so we reviewed together keeping bachelor’s hall during the time so we would be less interrupted in our work.
Tragedy--Father's Death
May 17th about eleven o’clock someone rode up on a work horse with a blind bridle having thrown off the harness and said, “Your father is dead.” It was a shock. For a time I just couldn't sense it. I jumped on the horse bareback and hurried home. Father had been brought in from the field and placed on boards and Mother sat there overcome with grief.Father had been out with the buck-rake bucking the hay up in piles ready to be hauled in to the baler. The buck-rake was a treacherous thing that might suddenly shoot from one side to the other if the team made a mis-move. One of the horses in the team had been recently brought from the range and was not well broken. When he made a sudden lunge, no doubt, it threw the rake out from under him and as he fell on his head it broke his neck. It must have been an hour or two when Mother stepped outside and noticed the team wandering about the field and he lay there all that time in the hot sun.
Father would have been fifty-three the following November. I marvel at the endurance wrapped up in that frail body and his achievements and I think of what might have been done had he been blessed with a strong body to give a feeling of conscious strength. I felt a sense of guilt in not being down there to help with the haying but it seemed so necessary to get my certificate to teach to be insured a cash income.
With his death there was left a mortgage on the home that looked big. It must be paid off and I felt it my responsibility to see that this was done. Spence helped some for a time and then he married and for a time was sick. I was in my twenty eighth year and unmarried. I felt that I should find a companion but felt it a duty to, as nearly as possible, take the place of Father in paying off the mortgage, provide for the family and direct the five small children, Leland, David, Velma, Robert and Yates. They needed to be given incentives and ideals and these I tried to give. I accepted it not only as a duty but also as a privilege and their later success, their loyalty and gratitude have been ample reward. I can hardly say that it was a sacrifice; it was a pleasure.
The death of Father interrupted the plans Spence and I had made to go away to school to further our education. We worked intimately together and were closely knit in love and regard for each other. We now had to abandon our plans and settle down to the work that lay ahead. While it was disappointing we regarded it as one of those things that had to be. We both taught school and the indebtedness was being gradually reduced. The outlook was good and then March 1905 he married. This was a blow to me for I knew I was left with full responsibility. It was pretty hard to take. Nothing could induce him to wait awhile.
******
Appendix: Settlers In and Around Alpine Mentioned in the Narrative.
GandparentsPrime Thornton Coleman Sr. b 22 Sep 1831 m. 10 Nov 1856 d 19 Aug 1905
Emma Beck Evan b 12 Jan 1840 d 11 Jun 1913
Parents
Joseph Neal Heywood S. b 18 Nov 1851 m 12 Jan 1876 d 17 May 1904
Sarah Francelle Coleman b 22 Mar 1860 d 9 Feb 1937
Siblings
Spence Coleman Heywood b 19 Oct 1878 d 20 Feb 1968
Martha Emma “Mattie” Heywood b 24 Dec 1893 d 24 Dec 1893 in Alpine
Ella Heywood [Kvist] b 1 Sep 1884 d 8 May 1972
Ida Etta Heywood b 15 Apr 1887 d 3 Apr 1889 in Alpine
Leland Heywood b 17 Apr 1892 d 6 Dec 1976
Sarepta Francelle Heywood b 3 Apr 1894 d 12 Aug 1895 in Alpine
David Evans Heywood Sr. b 11 Aug 1896 d 20 Aug 1974
Sarah Velma Heywood b 30 Aug 1989 d 4 Oct 1981
Robert Tassie Heywood b 17 Nov 1900 d 14 Dec 1971
Irving Yates Heywood b 11 Nov 1902 d 8 Oct 1995
Other relatives
Aunt Becky Coleman
Aunt Susie Luella Coleman Phelps
Aunt Sarah Ida (Doll) Coleman Hamblin
Grandfather’s 2nd wife: Elizabeth “Lizzie” Eagles
Neal’s brother-in-law: Alma Fredrickson
Neal’s uncle: David Evans Coleman
Neal’s uncle: Prime Thornton Coleman, Jr
Neal’s uncle: Willard Coleman
Others
Aaron Adair, Assays, Benjamin Cluff, Bryces, Burns, a hunter with a son named Ed, Byron Pace, C. I. Kemp, Christopherson, Con Bunch, David King Udall – Stake President, David Lee, Dr. King, Dr. Platt, Duane Hamblin, Edward A. Noble – spoken of with high regard, Ellen Jakeman, Erastus Snow, Fenshaws, Fred Coulter and his father and mother, Fred Hamblin, George Magnum, Hobson, Hoe Scott, Jacob Hamblin, Jepsons, McFates, Milton Dailey, Mortensen, Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Terry – who went insane, Mr.Bush, Nancy Noble, Olsen Pitcher, Reddin Alredd, Zod Browning, Roundy Reid, William “Billie” Black – William Maxwell’s son-in-law, William “Billie” Hamblin, William B. and Maryette Maxwell – prominent roles in Neal’s life.
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