Don Stoker was born April 20, 1919 and died Oct. 13, 2003. When my nephew, David, was on his mission in 2000, my father-in-law wrote him a series of letters that were essentially a personal history. I'm so thankful we have these letters so we can know him better. Since today is his birthday, I'm posting these letters with some additions.
"Like Nephi, I
was born of goodly parents (Sarah Nelson and John Hogan Stoker) in Bountiful, Ut ( a town of about 3,000
people) I was born in my parent’s
home, in a breech birth. The doctor had
to spank me to get me to breathe. My
mother said, “Oh, He is crying.” The
Doctor said, “If you knew how hard it was to get him to cry you wouldn’t mind
the crying.” Mother suggested my first
name, Donald. My brother Del contributed my second name. I was called “Dean” until 9 yrs. old and then called “Don” at own request.
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| John Hogan Stoker |
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| Sarah Nelson |
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| Donald Dean Stoker age 4 |
[My father’s
cousin, David Tolman was the principal of Stoker school.] Once he called me into his office for
fighting. A friend of mine was in a
little fight and I cheered him on. His
opponent’s brother objected to my action and took a poke at me. I responded in kind.”
[The Stoker school was named after] David
Stoker [who] was my grandfather. Both he and
his father were Bishops. The Bountiful
Tabernacle is just across from the school building. He took part in constructing the tabernacle
and his name is on a “Pioneer” plaque attached to the building. I was baptized in the font. We lived several blocks away to the north of
the building. When the house was first
built there was no running water. Water
was obtained from a well behind the house.
The house was heated by a pot bellied stove in the living room. The job of my brother, Wayne was to cut the
kindling to start the fire. My job was
to bring in a bucket of coal from the “coal shed” In order to have hot water we would start a
fire in the kitchen stove which had chamber for water. As I understand it we were about the first
family in town to have such a stove.
By that time city water had been piped to our house. Incidentally, my father was about the first
person in town to own an automobile. One
of the first cars, an oldsmobile, was in a little garage on the property. I never saw it run.
In the back
yard, we planted a vegetable garden. A
little stream of water ran through our property on the west. We used to play in the creek (pronounced
‘crick”) Inside the house there was an
“ice box” A man would deliver a block of
ice to put in it about once a week.
My Mother,
Sarah Nelson Stoker would lead us in family prayer.
My childhood until the age of nine was
happy. At that time my father John
Stoker died of heart and kidney failure.
Before that my father was not home.
He was a travelling shoe salesman.
Before I was born my grandfather, father and others owned a general
store in Bountiful, UT called the Bountiful Co-op which burned and was under
insured, a serious omission. The
successor store, “Stoker Brothers” was opened with my father as manager, but
too much credit was extended to buyers and the store went bankrupt. For a couple years before Father’s death he
opened a little department store in Ogden entitled “Everybody’s Store.” He
would take the Bangerter railroad train to Ogden Monday morning early and get
home late Saturday night. At least once
he let Wayne and me separately go up with him and stay for a few days.
We were
planning to move to Ogden but about that time my Father became ill with heart
trouble from which he did not recover.
After that we had a struggle financially. Mother had never worked for a living. We had
an interest in my grandfather’s home and our home. Mother
took in boarders. Within a year after
my father’s death my sister Mabel married Sherman Smith a childhood
sweetheart. The marriage did not last
mainly for financial reasons. My sister
Mabel worked as a secretary in Salt Lake and helped to support us. Finally, she got tired of the commute and we
sold both homes and moved to Salt Lake.
We lived at the Kensington Apts. near the State Capitol. To help pay the rent we advertised for
boarders. Percy Jerald Gaisford was
one. He later married Mabel and took her
to LA to live.
We moved into a small
apartment. Mother sold women’s
underwear door to door and was a cook in a restaurant, “The Doll House” Moving was traumatic for me. I left a small town, that was home, for a big
city where everything was strange. Since
my old school was advanced I was considered to be a good student in his new
school, which changed my self image and life.
We attended the 17th ward.
President McKay and family were in the ward. Nicholas G. Smith was the Bishop. He later gave me my patriarchal blessing.
(When Don was in High School, he was editor of the school newspaper, a member of Student Council, Debating club, Glee Club, and Cosmopolitan Club.
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| High School Senior |
He attended the University of UT and graduated with a BA in Political Science.)
(After graduating he served in the U.S. Army Air Force as a sergeant.)
While in the
military service, I not only learned discipline but I had a good time. My job in the service was “Link Trainer
Instructor.” The Link Trainer was a box-like miniature airplane big enough for a
pilot to enter. It had flight
instruments in it. At that time the
nation was covered with radio beams. If
the plane was on one side of the beam, the pilot received the signal for an
“A”. If on the other side of the beam,
he received the signal for an “N” If on
the beam, he received a solid sound. On
the desk in front of the trainer was a diagram of the beams with a tracking
wheel which traveled on the diagram. If
the wheel was on one side of the beam, I gave the pilot the appropriate
signal. I taught the pilot how to follow
the signals so that he could fly on instruments until he could see the ground
to land the plane. Simulated flight
planes are much more complicated today.
I enjoyed the work.
My turn came
to take a furlough (a vacation from the service.) Ten days plus travel time of several days to
UT from Columbia, South Carolina, where the base was located. I went over to Base Headquarters and asked if
any plane was going west. “Yes,” said
the officer in charge. There is a plane
on the flight line going to California.
I’ll call the pilot and ask him to wait for you.
I hurried
back to the barracks and packed my duffel bag.
It was pay day and I had not been paid.
I borrowed $10 from a buddy. I
returned to the flight line. The
Sergeant at the Base Headquarters handed me a parachute. One could not fly without having a parachute. I was on my way. After one stop, probably in New Mewxico I was
taken to Burbank. I took a bus to Los
Angeles where I was met by my sister Mabel Gaisford and her husband,
Percy. They put me on a night train to
Salt Lake City, loaning me the fare which was about $25.
After the
visit, I went up the Clearfield near Ogden where there was an Air Force Base to
get a ride back to my Base. I first got
a ride to Lowry Field in Denver. There
was a B-17 Bomber on the runway ready to go.
I asked the Sergeant at Base Headquarters if there was a plane going to the East. He said, “Yes, to South Carolina, but you are
not gone on the plane. We do not have a
parachute for you and you would have to get permission from the Ferry Command
. The plane I had left South Carolina in
was in a hangar for repairs, and I picked up my parachute which was on it. I returned to South Carolina two days ahead
of the expiration of the furlough time.
I spent two
other furloughs in New York City. On one
trip, I got a ride from South Carolina in Long Island. While in New York I stayed at the Y.M.C.A.
for $.50 a night. New York was a
wonderful place to visit. There was a
place for servicemen called, “The Stage Door Cantina.” There I received free passes to Broadway
plays. I did pay $3.00 to see
“Oklahoma.” I had a free meal at a
hotel. I received a pass to attend a
dance sponsored by the “Women’s Shoe Maker Union.”
When my
furlough time was about up, I went to the Holland Tunnel to hitchhike back to
South Carolina. After several rides, I
arrived back at the Base. On one ride, I
was picked up by a truck driver and he let me nap on his bunk inside the truck
behind the cab.
I had
additional furloughs. On one, I took a
train trip to Utah by way of Chicago and return. On additional trips, I continued to hitchhike
plane rides on military planes.
Many other
benefits came from my service in the military.
I went to law school on the “G.I. Bill.”
Also, the Veteran’s Administration financed two homes, one in North
Hollywood and one in Redlands. In both
cases the interest was very low.
I was
discharged from the Service at a Base in North Carolina. I didn’t try to get a plane ride home. Most plane crashes occurred in Winter when
the weather was bad. I decided to
hitchhike at least part of the way home.
In my wallet was my severance pay.
Discharged Servicemen were given a patch to wear on the uniform. I took mine off so that any person picking me
up would not know that I was carrying several hundred dollars in my wallet.
On one ride
I was picked up by two service men. I
didn’t volunteer the information as to where I was going. One of the service men asked the other,
“Where is he going?” The other said, “I don’t know. He just seems to be happy to be going.”
I received
rides to the mid-west, probably Nebraska.
I then took a train to Salt Lake City for a service man’s special rate
of $25. While I was in the Army in South
Carolina I had a buddy named “Henry Stokers” who studied law books on his
own. I decided I would study law and
upon my return to Salt Lake City I went to the University of Utah to see Dean
Leary of the Law School. He said he
would admit me. At that time the school
was on a Quarter System. On Dec. 10,
1945, I enrolled in the school for the Second Quarter of the First Year Law
Course. When Test Week came, I was
utterly confused and unprepared for the tests.
A classmate, Norman Nielsen, from Idaho, whom I did not even know asked
me if I wanted to study with him. “Of
course,” I said. They pounded the
material into me so that I understood it.
I was able to take the test and pass.
One member of the group got some “D’s” and quit law school. I was blessed that I was offered help to take
the test and pass.
While I was
in Law School I studied day and night.
My wife Jeanne couldn’t spend much time with me. While I was going to Law School we were
married. This is how we met: In South Carolina, I went to church at the
branch and met Jeanne’s sister, Margaret (Peggy) Coombs and her husband
Melvin. He was then stationed at nearby
Fort Jackson. Once on a furlough in Salt
Lake City, I went to a public dance hall, “The Rainbow Rendezvous.” Jeanne was there on a date with Glenn
Cornwall whom Jeanne had known in England on his mission and whom I had known
in South Carolina when he was a “G.I.” there.
I subsequently dated Jeanne. She
sent me a “care package” full of goodies in the course of our war time
correspondence. After the War on August
27, 1947, we were married. In those
days, Agnes, Jeanne’s mother, could not go to the temple because her husband,
Robert Wallace, was not a member. We
were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on March 27, 1947.We lived in the Barbara
Worth Apartments in South Temple in Salt Lake City.
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| Barbara Stallings, Peggy Wallace, Jeanne Wallace Stoker, Don, Charles Pollai (Don's best friend) |
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Jeanne and Don with their mothers Agnes Watson Wallace and Sarah Nelson Stoker
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| Honeymoon at sister's house |
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| Honeymoon at Redland's bowl |
I studied
for the Utah Bar examination and was admitted to the Bar on June 6, 1949, just
before graduation ceremonies on June 10.
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Don graduated with honors. He was 3rd in his class of 40. He was
elected to Phi Kappa Phi Honors Society. |
I immediately went to the University of San Francisco to study for the
California Bar examination. The class
was held at night. To earn some money, I
applied for a job with the State of California.
I was given the job of “Agricultural Inspector,” but my duties consisted
of typing grain certificates (certifying the grain had been inspected and had
passed inspection). After I passed the
California Bar, I was unable to get a job in a law office. I went to work in Sacramento for the State as
a Deputy Legislative Counsel helping to prepare proposed legislation. I quit that job to return to Utah for the
first of several hernia operations.
I returned
to California where a friend, Robert Davies, told me there was an opening at the
State Compensation Insurance Fund as an attorney defending cases filed by injured
employees for benefits under the law. I
was hired by Edward Gibbons who was in charge of the office.
At the time
the cost of housing was determined by the Federal Government. During the War all effort went into preparing
for War. Housing was scarce and a
prospective buyer had to pay “under the table”, money which was in addition to
the price set for housing. My sister,
Mabel, and her husband Frank lived on Rampart Boulevard in Los Angeles. The landlord was Mr. Opun. A vacancy occurred in the apartment and
because he liked Mabel, when a vacancy occurred he let Jeanne and me move in
without making “under the table” payments.
I worked first for the State Compensation Insurance Fund and later as a
Deputy Attorney General under Pat Brown who later became Governor. I took a Civil Service examination for a job
as Referee of the Industrial Accident Commission (later designated as Worker’s
Compensation Judge of the Workers Compensation Appeals Board). I had been
receiving $295 a month. The new job paid about
$1,000. One reason I took the job was
that I knew the Board was going to open an office in San Bernardino. I wanted to get out in the “country” out of
the heavy traffic and where there was less traveling. It was then that we moved to Redlands, about 10
miles from San Bernardino, in October 1956.
We went to church in Redlands in what was formerly a Mortuary. A church member, Nadine, helped us look for a
place to live. The house we lived in on
Esther Way was for sale. The tract
houses were not moving very fast and the tract owners let us move in without
buying. The rent we paid was later
considered as part of the purchase price and when we did buy the house, it took
only about $50 to take title. We got
another “G.I.” loan. We paid about
$16,000.
We are
thankful for our wonderful family.
Jeanne became pregnant with John while I was working in San
Francisco. He was born in the L.D.S.
Hospital in Salt Lake City because we had Blue Cross insurance. Donald was born while we were living on
Rampart Blvd and Good Samaritan Hospital.
Paul was born in St. Bernardine’s Hospital in San Bernardino. I was sick with the flu and couldn’t go the
hospital to be with Jeanne."
That is the end of Don's letters and notes about his personal history. There is so much more to tell, but I'll just mention a few things. He enjoyed fishing, reading, and writing. His children have fond memories of going to Bishop, CA where their Dad worked in the morning and then took the kids fishing when he was done.
He taught his children to box with real boxing gloves.
Don was famous for "money scrambles" where he threw all his pocket change onto the floor and the kids would grab all they could for their own pockets. This tradition was shared with his grandchildren too.
He had a high backed chair in the living room next to a reading lamp with a stack of 5-8 books of all kinds that he was constantly reading. He enjoyed "The New Yorker" magazine and made sure his grown children had subscriptions to the magazines of their choice. Our Readers Digest kept coming even after he died. Don also loved BYU education week. He never stopped learning.
He held many callings in the church including Sunday School Superintendant, Stake missionary, Counselor in the Bishopric and High Councilor
Don was a dedicated article clipper and sender. I thought it was funny that he faithfully sent newspaper articles on proper grammar. I supposed he was preparing us for a writing career, but I understand now that he enjoyed writing and wanted to share the skills he had learned with us. He took several creative writing classes . This is a sample of one of his autobiographical stories:
Sunday Revolt
"You will dry those dishes," my mother said. "I want it done now, before it is time to go to Sunday School."
"I hate dishes," I said. "I hate drying them. I don't want to do it. Why doesn't Wayne have to do them?"
My brother Wayne was three years older than my none years and it seemed to me he did not do anything which could be called work.
"Dean," said my mother without raising her voice, "Drying the dishes is your job and that is all there is to it."
"Do as your mother says," came my father's quiet voice from the living room where he sat in his Morris chair, reading the Sunday newspapers. He did not ordinarily concern himself with disciplinary matters but left them to my mother. His words were hardly audible and id not impress me.
"We'll see who is going to dry the dishes," I said to myself, and as soon as my mother left the kitchen for amoment, I threw down the dishtowel and scooted out the kitchen door, into the yard. I didn't stop running until I was out of sight of the house.
"It isn't fair for her to make me do the kitchen work all the time," I thought. "I think I'll just go away. Mother will miss me when I'm gone. She will come to the bed to kiss me goodnight tonight and the bed will be empty. She'll feel sad then and sorry she was mean to me."
My mother was a kind lady, kind but firm. She never shouted at me, nagged me, scolded me or spanked me, but she wouldn't stand for any nonsense. When I misbehaved, she would thump me on the head with her thimble-covered finger. She seemed always to be sewing.
"Who will bring your glass of water to you at night, mother," I said to no one present. Mother was frequently thirsty at night and always liked me to put a glass of water on the night stand near her bed. It miraculously never capsized or spilled. I sauntered on down to "the crick." That is what we called the small creek which ran through the block behind our back yard. It was not over seven inches deep and three or four feet wide. The place was a fine one for hiding. The willows grew abundantly and when we were not using them to hide in, we were cutting them down to make thatched huts. The creek itself was lined with fine sand wonderful for building castles or cities on the banks. At that moment I did not feel much like building thatched huts of sand cities. I felt too sorry for myself. I mashed down some willows and made myself a bed of them. I lay on them in the sun for some time and watched the bees collecting nectar from the dandelions that grew in a grassy stretch near the creek.
"It must be time now for Sunday School," I said to myself. I wondered if mother and Wayne had gone. Dad did not usually go, just puttered with his car.
As I lay there, I pulled one of the dandelions which had gone to seed and blew on it to see if I could dispatch every tufted seed with one blow. I could and id. I blew on dandelions for a time.
When I got tired of lying in the sun and blowing on dandelions, I took out my knife and cut a willow to make a whistle. I cut around the willow, slipped off the bark, carved the whistle, and then put the bark on for a cover. I made a fine whistle.
I felt hungry and knew it must be past noon. By now Sunday School was over and the family was home. Mother would be getting dinner. She would be wondering where I was. Pride would not let me go home.
"I'll show her for being so mean to me," I thought. "She is going to miss me more before I go home."
By now I felt like playing in the creek. I made a little dam in it and with my knife cut some sections of willow and made a boat dock, tying the sections together with strips of willow bark. I then made rafts and boats.
The afternoon passed by pleasantly. After a time I no longer felt particularly hungry. Then the warm sun began to be obscured by clouds. A summer thunderstorm was on its way and soon I was pelted with rain. I ran through the thicket of willows, climbed over the backyard fence, and headed for the house. My mother was standing in the doorway.
"Don Stoker, you get in here this minute," she ordered. "Where have you been? I have been worried about you."
Before I could answer I heard my father's houseslippers padding down the hall into the kitchen.
"Alright, young man, I want to have a little talk with you. March right into the bathroom."
"Why the bathroom?" I asked myself, but I responded with alacrity.
"Now," he said, "take down your pants."
I did as I was told. From behind my father's back, he brought forth a piece of packing crate, a section of hardwood about four feet long, two inches wide, and one inch thick. I began to holler, "Don't hit me! Don't hit me!" The tears began to flow and I shook with surprise and fright. I could already feel the smart left by the wood on my posterior.
"If I let you go, will you promise to help your mother with the dishes whenever she asks?"
"Yes! Yes!" I promised.
"Very well, I"ll let you go this time, but if it ever happens again, I'll tan your hide."
A few minutes later, before the tears were completely dried, my father said, "Here is fifty cents. The rain has stopped. Go over the the Three Corners Drive In and buy us all a quart of "orange creamo" ice cream. And I did.
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