Happy Birthday Donald Dean Stoker (My Father-In-Law)

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.

John Hogan Stoker

Sarah Nelson

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 17^th 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. 

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.

Barbara Stallings, Peggy Wallace, Jeanne Wallace Stoker, Don, Charles Pollai (Don's best friend)

Jeanne and Don with their mothers Agnes Watson Wallace and Sarah Nelson Stoker

Honeymoon at sister's house

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. 

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.

So now, I love my body.

Paul, me and Paul's brother, John 11-80

I don't know if I've been organizing pictures because I blog or blogging because I've been organizing pictures, but either way I've been finding some great pics that I don't remember seeing before. One picture I found a couple of weeks ago kind of started a tantrum.  The contrast between 20 year old me and 50 year old me did not make me very happy.  I was mad...mad because I didn't appreciate what I had when I was twenty and mad because I had aged just like I said I wouldn't.  I was mad at my body.

I was carrying on with this sulking and pouting in my mind as I sat in church choir, and then I had an epiphany.  I'm going to go so far as to say an inspiration.  The thought came to me that my body had done amazing things for me.  It had married my husband and born my children and basically given me all the people I love best.  It takes me on walks and drives me on road trips.  It learns new things and gets me out of tight spots.  It works if I tell it to and heals itself.  It dances and sings and finds things to laugh at and then laughs...long.  It sleeps and eats delicious foods and then eats again...my favorite.  It can read and write and play some musical instruments.  I'll bet if I had it play more often it would play better.  It sweats when I'm hot and shivers when I'm cold and breathes even when I don't tell it to.  It sees, hears and loves beauty.  Sometimes it forgets, but sometimes it remembers. 

 So now, I love my body.  I want to be good to it because it has been good to me.  I know it will die sometime, and it's getting older.  But if it's getting tired and showing some wear and tear inside and out, so what?  If it's preparing for old age by storing fat in unattractive places that's okay.  It's been serving me for 52 years. God gave me a lovely gift and I need to be more thankful and use it to do good things.


 When Paul's Dad died I remember looking at his hands at his funeral.  I was overwhelmed with the thought of all the things his hands had been used to do. They loved and raised the little boy that became my husband and father to my children. They worked hard to support his family and truth be told, he helped us financially when Paul was getting his PhD.  They painted his car with a brush.  They took avacadoes to the neighbors and people at work.  They wrote letters to his children, and performed countless acts of service.  

Don Stoker (Paul's Dad) and Aaron

Our bodies are fantastic.