Happy Birthday Grandpa Miller

Janus Wayne Miller (My dad's dad) was born May 5, 1900 in Richfield, UT in the Miller home located 2 blocks west of the court house. I so enjoyed reading the life history he wrote.  To have these stories written in his "voice" is a great blessing.  It changes the way I want to approach my life history.  Not only is it valuable to know the details and inspiring to learn of the struggles, it's heart warming to know a little of his humor and personality.  I will be largely quoting from this history so will proceed with quotes and summaries in the first person from my Grandpa's perspective:

I was born a son of Hans Peter Miller Jr. and Emma Annette Agnes Christensen; but I was not the only fortunate one.  My mother brought 10 of us into the world.  Our father was the first male child born in Richfield, UT.  Our mother was born in Benstrup, Denmark.  She emigrated with her parents to UT.  Our father's parents also emigrated from Denmark to UT.

Janus on front left
Hans Peter Miller Jr. and Emma Annette Agnes Christensen with 8 of their children

On January 21, 1906 my older brother, Lamont, and I had been sent over to a neighbor's to play while our baby sister, Emma, was making her appearance into the world.  After playing for some time I opened the door and entered the house.  The scene that met my eyes was my Father and oldest brother Arno sitting on the kitchen table with their faces buried in their hands and crying bitterly.  When I asked them why they cried, I was told that I had a new baby sister, but in giving life to my sister, my mother had given her life, and that I wouldn't have a mother to talk to me now.

 Then came lonely days and years for me, as well as the others of our family.  With 8 children at home, everyone had to do their part.  I was helping Imelda make "lumpy dick."  I must have stirred too hard .  The kettle tipped over and spilled down on my legs.  That warmed me up good.  I laid on the couch for days and time did the trick, and I kept eating lumpy dick mush for breakfast for many years to come.

June 26, 1907, Father married Sarah Ann Lazenby from Loa, Wayne County, UT.  She was a good woman, but since each of us have our own personalities, her ways were not always as those of our mother.  It took a lot of adjusting on both the children as well as Aunt Sarah's part.  At that time we children often thought it was pretty hard for us, but since I have grown older I think that she had it doubly hard.  Upon her marriage to our father she was presented with 7 children.  She also commenced raising a family of her own.

During parts of the summer months,  I spent time living with my sisters and their husbands in their respective homes.  I was 8 yrs. old and it was my job to drive the cattle from their home in Scrabble Hard or Brooklyn, as it was properly called, up to Marysvale where they had several acres of excellent pasture ground.  It bordered the Sevier River on its East side and ran to the foothills to the west. I rode a very trustworthy horse named Brownie.  He would follow along back of the herd, going from one side to the other, and if a "Critter" stopped to browse a clump of grass, Brownie would bite them on their tail or rump.

On June 2, 1908 my father and Aunt Sarah drove me in a buggy pulled by a team of horses 45-50 miles to the Manti temple where I was baptized.  That night we stayed at the home of friends of my father from his mission in Denmark.  Their name was Petersen, and their eldest son had just returned from a mission in Honolulu, Hawaii.  I was so impressed by the stories he related that from that time on I never gave up the hope and desire that some day I, too, could go to Hawaii.

In 1910 we moved onto my Father's farm in Venice, 5 miles north of Richfield, where my father lived the rest of his life. On June 6, 1912 I was accidentally shot with a "22" rifle through the shin bone of my left leg.  We were camping in a sheep wagon near the Bertelsen Canal 4 miles south of Monroe, UT.  The only bandage material we had was a cloth we used to dry our dishes.  I bandaged my leg the best I could while Jack Naser, the lad handling the gun, saddled an old sore-footed mare, and we started for Monroe on a slow walk.  The lead from that bullet is still in my leg.  I'm keeping it there for a souvenir.

There was very little money to be had for a young fellow through those years.  I worked farm jobs through harvest season.  In January of 1919, my brother, LaMont, and his wife were living in Eureka, UT and invited me to come up.  They thought I could get a job in one of the mines. While working in the mines  I had a couple of close calls. Once where I was supposed to muck out a car, but the car was kept under this frightful rock.  I felt terrible fear and ran back a little way to size the situation up.  The fear left me somewhat, and I felt that I should go up close and throw my shovel out at the wall right back of where I had been working, for the rock looked shattered.  I did this, and no sooner did the shovel strike the wall when the whole ceiling of the mine around where I had been working  fell in.  Had I bumped that wall while working, I would have been crushed by the falling rock.  I didn't work too long in the mine for several old miners would tell me to get out of the mine and find work outside before it was too late.  Mine work was very unhealthy.

In the summer I went to work for Roy Nelson at a two man sawmill.  As an off bearer it was my duty to hold the plank that was being ripped with the saw to keep it pulled away so that it would not fall into the saw when it sawed free.  But one instance there was not power enough to saw it on through, so Roy pulled the log back from the saw, and my hand went with it.  But you know, that saw never even growled, as it ripped through the first joint of the middle finger on my right hand.  Well, I stopped saw milling and went back to farm work.

I had a desire to serve a mission.  In the fall of 1919, I left my Harley Davidson Motorcycle that I had bought with my brother home and rode on horseback to have a talk with the bishop.  He said, "Yes, Brother Miller, I think you are worthy to go on a mission, but have you got the money?"  I told him "No, I didn't have the money, but I had always been taught that where there was a will there was a way."  As I still had that yearning hope within me, I asked the bishop if one could go to a place of his own choosing, or did the church authorities send missionaries where they saw fit.  The bishop answered that since I had volunteered to go, he thought I might have a preference.  Then I said that I was willing to go wherever they saw fit to send me, but I would like to go to Hawaii or New Zealand.  In due time my call came for Hawaii.  The Lord had granted me my long hoped for desire.  Now I had to make things count.

The state was graveling the highway.  I got a job with my team of horses loading gravel trucks.  I read the Book of Mormon through while on this job.  I sold my wagon, a double disc plow, and my cows.  I sold my motorcycle.  My brother and sister, John and Carrie, gave me $50.00.  Willie and Imelda gave a benefit party, and all in all I had enough money to take me to Hawaii and pay my expenses for 1 1/2 years.  More than once I got down to my last 50 cents, but I never went hungry, nor did the Lord ever let me go in need.  My brothers and sisters and friends sent money to me, and the Venice Ward sent me a check one Christmas.  My dear old Grandmother--my father's mother, got a pension each month in the amount of $10.00 and I am sure that she sent me more of this money than she kept for herself.

I arrived in Pearl Harbor April 6, 1920. The following day I was sent to Laie to labor in the temple  Here I remained until July 16 when I was assigned to labor in the Hilo Conference on the Island of Hawaii. I served here for 2 years.

The Lord was indeed good to me.  Shortly before I left my home for the mission field, Patriarch Joseph S. Horn gave me a blessing wherein he promised me health and strength--that I would travel in peace and safety, whether by land or by sea; but he also said that Lucifer would try to stop me from finishing my work, but if I was faithful, I would be blessed, and would fulfill an honorable mission and return home to my family and friends.

Now, as I have stated, before leaving for the mission field, I had contracted the flu, as did the rest of the family, but I thought I was over that, and all my life before that, I had had good health, but on arriving in the Islands, I became quite sick.  I got to where I could not lie on my back, but only on my right side.  I made several trips to the doctor.  It seemed that something was pulling my shoulders together.  I couldn't stand erect, and it was hard for me to breathe.  I developed a cough which steadily got worse for well into the second year of my mission.  By this time the other missionaries at the mission home were becoming afraid of me.  They thought I had tuberculosis.  One evening while holding a cottage meeting, I was asked to speak, but it seemed that with every word, I would have to cough.  I had been worried for several months, and now I was discouraged.  As Elder Amussen and I walked home that night, I told him that on the morrow I was going to write President Smith at Honolulu and ask for a change of field of labor to a different climate, or a release to go home.

The next morning, while standing before the mirror shaving, and thinking how I would word my letter to Pres. Smith, a voice from directly back of me said, "He who findeth his life shall lose it, but he who loseth his life for my sake the same shall find it."  I turned to see who had spoken, but there was no one there.  Again I [started to shave] when the same voice said again, "He who findeth his life shall lose it, but he who loseth his life for my sake the same shall find it."  I finished my shaving, then went in to where Elder Amussen was and told him that I was not writing President Smith--that if necessary they could send me home in a box, but I was staying there until I was called to a different field.  Within two weeks I was almost over my cough, and at present I am healthy and strong.

Another faith promoting incident:  On the 10th of January, 1922, while in the process of tarring the roof of the mission home in Hilo, Elder Amussen and I had climbed up on the roof.  Elder Amussen was sitting astride the ridge while I was working about two thirds of the way up the roof.  When all of a sudden, it felt like someone had caught me by the bottom of my trouser legs and gave me a jerk.  I turned a flip-flop and landed on my back over on the part that I had just tarred.  It seemed to me that I just zipped down the roof, but to my astonishment, as my feet shot over the eves, I stopped abruptly.  I turned over onto my hands and knees and looked up just as Elder Amussen said, "I knew you would not go off."

And so it went day after day, organizing branches reorganizing others, giving instructions as to this and that, preaching, teaching, baptising, administering to the sick, etc. As  I had been writing to four of five different girls, I wondered which of them if any, might be the right one; so I made it a matter of prayer.  On this night I dreamed that I was conducting a meeting, and as I sat on the stand watching the people come in a begin filling the benches all of them seemed to be Hawaiians.  Then I looked down ghrough the building, and on the third row of benches to my right and about center, there sat a beautiful girl and something said to me, "She shall be your wife."  I had met this girl just shortly before leaving for my mission.  While attending the county fair at Richflield, UT her cousin, Pearl Chidester, introduced me to her.  Her name was and is Ila Casto from Salina, UT.

I was then assigned again to work in the temple in Laie where I stayed until Feb. 13, 1923.  I sailed to San Francisco, went south to Venice, CA and stayed a week with my Aunt Marie and visited with brothers Arno and Carlyle.  From here I traveled on to Salt Lake City where I reported my return from duties of the church in Hawaii.  On the 17th of March, I arrived back home, just four days short of three years from the time I left for my mission.

On arriving home I rented my father's farm and part of Pres. R. D. Young's farm, borrowed my father's model T. Ford and make a trip to Salina to see my dream girl.  We were sealed as husband and wife in the Manti Temple on Sept. 12, 1923.

Our first child, Magdaline Lei Nomi (Pearl Wreath) was born Sept. 15, 1924.  Late in July 1925 we made ready a model T Ford that we had bought and headed for California, where I hoped to find work.  We were loaded to the bows, and some predicted that we would never get there.  The roads were terrible.  The highway through Beaver, UT was closed, and we had to go up through Panguitch, then take a wood road up over the mountain and down into Paragonah.  The first night we made our bed among the rocks in the dark with no light.  The reason that we pitched camp here was because our old Ford just wouldn't pull our load up that last steep pitch on the hill.  Morning finally came, and we made ready to try again.  Let me state here that we had made three attempts the night before, but the car would only go so far and stop, and I figured it was due to the fact that the old model T Ford had a gravity gas feed.  The gas tank was under the front seat, making the gas tank lower than the engine when going up a steep hill.  For that reason I thought maybe we could make it over the hill by going up backwards.  When we were already to start, I told Mom, "I believe I'll try once more and see if the car will go up the hill."  To our surprise, it went right up to the top, just as it should.  Then, we knew why we couldn't get over it the night before, for, had we gotten to the top, we may have been there yet.  Immediately from on top, the road went steep down the other side, and there, perhaps 20 or 30 feet down was a large pine tree, and the road made a sharp turn to the right to miss it.  Had we gone over it in the dark of the night, we would have smashed right into it; so the Lord does provide, as he has done many times in my lifetime, for which I am grateful.

Ila and Magdalene

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Grandpa and Grandma went on to have 5 children.

Robert, Janus, Jeanine, Magdalene, Donna, Milo

Milo, Donna, Robert (Dad), Ila, Jeanine, Janus, Magdalene

  Grandpa's prized possession in life was his dog, Moss.  Moss was an amazing little border collie that "spoke English" and helped Grandpa run the farm.   Janus and Ila never had a lot of material wealth, but they were stalwart and faithful in their dedication to the church.  They joyfully served in many different capacities and especially loved service in the Manti Visitor's center. They lived in a variety of places: UT, CA, OR, WA and even Missouri for a time. Grandpa said they always had wonderful neighbors. I think this means they must have been wonderful neighbors.   I remember their place in Manti best and am happy that my father bought it from them so I can return to refresh my memories.  I remember Grandpa milking cows in the barn with their tail tied to a hook to avoid getting flicked.  I would take a little tin cup for Grandpa to fill with fresh milk for me to drink.  He would kill errant bees by squishing them on the fronts to avoid getting stung by the backs, except this one time when he was driving and he accidently squished the back...ouch.  There was a manure pile out by the barn that I could have lived without, but that's probably the secret to their nice garden.  When I went to visit as a young girl, he would give me a great big twinkly eyed welcome saying, "There's my girl."  Thank you for your legacy of faith, Grandpa.

Not quite enough time, but I'll take what I can get.

I believe in attending once in a lifetime events when possible, so last week Paul and I went to UT for Eliza and Joseph's graduation from BYU.  When we made the plans there was nothing on the calendar so committing to the trip was a cinch.  When the trip got close and real, however, so did the obligations of the children I was leaving in the lurch.  Andrew had 2 Lax games with 3 AP exams he needs to study for and a paper due.  Rebecca had an orchestra rehearsal, concert, paper due and all-day Saturday obligations, many of which had transportation needs thankfully met by friends and brother.  Gabe had a reading goal to meet, a science test and stems test to study for.  Being the good mother that I am, I packed my bags, hoped for the best and left.  Okay I did make some preparations.  I found the birdseye frozen skillet dinners in the bottom of the freezer and purchased some extra Tombstone pizza and popcorn. (A kind friend offered to feed them on Thursday.)  I also bought Gabe an extra pair of jeans, just in case the laundry room went unused.  It turns out that was unnecessary.  He just wore the same pair every day.

Travelling is fun, but I'm a little neurotic when it comes to packing.  I've made progress in the shoe department and had no problems choosing 2  flats and some tennis shoes  for any hard core activities. But, I had to take selfies to decide on my outfits.  I couldn't just choose my favorite, because it may not look as good as I think it does.  I had to show respect for the occasion but feel comfortable all day as I went from event to event.  And weather, "Hello"  It snowed in UT last week.  Can I really trust the forecast of 67 degrees?  I made my selections and my backup choices for "What if I spill food on myself early in the morning?" and "What if I don't feel like wearing this?" and finally closed my suitcase and let the chips fall.  Okay, It was embarrassing when my kids were looking at my camera and found the pictures of my various outfits, "Mom you're not even smiling in your selfies."  Ugh, I hate confessing.

Departure was gloriously uneventful.  Our ride to the airport was on time.  We had our IDs.  We breezed through security.  We skipped onto the plane, and the gentleman next to Paul even traded seats with me so we could sit together.  (We purchased the tickets at different times .)  We spent the 4 hour flight time taping paper accordion rosettes for my son-in-law's lei, which he kindly wore, because he's sweet like that.

Our first evening in Provo was a casual dinner with our 3 kids in our daughter's first married apartment.  It was fun to be with them, and I loved being in her apartment to see the window she climbed through when she got locked out of the house, and to eat some of their seriously delicious homemade pickles,  and to be reminded "Don't touch the rail." when climbing or descending the stairs.  (It's just for show and balances precariously against a bolt)  They've made their home cheerful and cozy and live a big life in a little space.

Thursday started with an Erickson/Stoker morning in the Provo temple.  It was a joyful hour with wonderful people.

Our next event was Joseph's Honors luncheon.  When asked if we were interested in attending, I jumped at the chance.  Stokers believe in education and like to get good grades when we can, but we're pretty efficient when it comes to extra work, as in we don't usually do it.  There's always the hope that it's happening and will happen more in the future, but lets just say, it was the first Honor's luncheon I've ever attended and I was very proud to be there.

Our next stop was naturally the BYU Bookstore.  Where else can you find modest clothing for women, fudge, swedish fish and cinnamon bears, unlimited expensive Cougarwear, plus so many gifts and pretties that would make the home people so happy, oh and books, all at the same place?  Not to mention all the memories of library breaks, trying to go at the exact same time as the last time I ran into that cute guy from sociology, and selling my $75.00 textbook back for $3.00.  Good times.

After that is was picture time through campus.  Everyone was brave and patient.  I was happy as a clam.

 When the fam felt we had taken plenty of pictures (We'd only just begun) we went to our appointed areas for the "event."  Now I would like to address the crucial nature of cell phones and effective communication and knowing where your stuff is at events with tens of thousands of strangers who also are worried about where to park and where to sit and how to get with their people.

  As we (Paul and the Ericksons) were walking towards the Marriott center I saw an old friend from MN so I stopped and asked Paul to stick with the Ericksons and text me their location once they were inside.  I thought this plan was perfect.  I had a happy, quick visit with my friend and then proceeded to the seat I was directed to by text on row twelve of the assigned section (behind the stage.)  I saw no one I knew.  After several texts back and forth I came to understand that my people were sitting above the portal about a million rows towards the ceiling.  Being an opportunist I lingered long enough to get some pictures at this superior location and then climbed to the real spot where we enjoyed the excellent piano performance, speakers, and conferring of degrees.

  On this topic I will jump out of chronological order to describe a small (potentially large) mishap of the next day's "event."  Paul and I had just dropped Eliza and Joseph off to line-up for convocation.  Paul was going to park the car and in a split-second decision I jumped out of the car to save a place for everyone.  Of course I would be texting them my location.  As Paul drove away a horrible thought occurred to me, "Where is my cell phone?"  Of course I did not have it, because it was really important that I have it.  I tried not to panic and thought that if I waited for Paul I would see him coming from the...some...which? parking lot.  That wasn't working so I walked inside. Miraculously I walked right through the door to where Eliza and Joseph were lined up.  Joseph called Paul.  I got his location, snapped some pics and was on my way.  Phew.

 And then there were the times when Eliza gave me her car key, I put it in the pocket in my bag, an hour later she would ask for the key and I would reply, "I don't have the key."  I always had the key, I just didn't remember having the key...bless my heart.  Travelling.

Thursday night, the main event was the BYU-UCLA volleyball game.  Paul was delirious with anticipation of seeing this game live at the Smith Field House, and the Cougars did not disappoint.

 It was very exciting.  I actually only saw the last few points.  I like volleyball, but I'm not enough of a fan to want to spend the money to be there when I can watch it on TV.  I passed  on the opportunity and met up with some nieces and a nephew that I haven't seen for awhile and may not see for awhile longer.  This was so fun. I love them.

 The only down side to our trip was that because of our schedule I did not get to see my sister or my niece who had a baby a few months ago or cousins or aunts and uncles or friends that I love that live in the area.

Friday morning, Ericksons and Stokers headed up Provo canyon for a hike to Stewart falls.  This was just what the Dr. ordered after a day of mingling with waves of strangers in a very small world.  We had nature and space and quiet and good company.  The hike to Stewart Falls is traditionally a favorite, but I was intimidated,  (read terrified) to say the least when we started the trail and it was covered in icy snow.

  My tennis shoes were just not doing the trick and I was wishing I had cleats.  Being old, I was pretty sure I was going to meet my doom, but Joseph assured us that the rest of the trail was thawed.  It was and it was beautiful and we saw a moose, and a grouse, and some nice wild turkeys on the drive home.  Oh, and coming back was no problem as the women were practically carried over the still icy spot. ( I'm bragging, not complaining.)

Friday lunch was a picnic and frisbee golf in the park.  Well, Eliza and I went for Mexican and shopping for a lei, 'cause graduating girls get a date with their moms.  Convocation started at 5:00 pm.  The poor usher informed me that he had worked 4 ceremonies that day.  See?  One 2 hr. and 15 min. ceremony is nothing.  And we got to be with our family and listen to the guys behind us complain, and my daughter and her husband graduated, and we're so proud of them, and everything was just great. And we got to take a lot more pictures...which really is one of my favorite things.

Friday night. Paul's brother, John, and his wife, Stephanie, invited us to their home for dinner.  We had been staying with them and their great kids.  And then it was over.  I didn't get to spend enough time with my sons, but we needed to get home.  The word on the street is that Rebecca and Andrew stayed up til 3:00 on a school night writing papers, and a deadline was missed (there was a late pass back-up.)  And Gabe played a lot of video games. The good news is that Gabe met his reading goal and got on the bus every day. The boys did a nice job of cleaning the house and Andrew was Johnny-on-the-spot picking us up from the airport.   Some children felt relief and joy at our return, some children felt oppression and bondage at our return.  (He's used to us now.  Re-entry can be challenging.)  Either way, homes need mothers and fathers and anyone who feels oppressed need not worry.  There's plenty of freedom in your future.

Happy Birthday Annabelle

Since it's Annabelle's special day and she's 5, we had a little interview.  This is how it went down...
1.  What is your favorite movie?  TINKERBELL.
2.  What is your favorite song?  CHOOSE THE RIGHT
3.  What's your favorite book?  FANCY DANCY
3.  What do you want to be when you grow up?  A MOM THAT TEACHES HER KIDS
4.  What do you want your husband to be like?  (I know it was shameless of me to ask a 5 yr. old this question, but I hoped she would say something adorable and she did.)  HANDSOME, NICE, READY FOR THE WEDDING
5. Describe a perfect Saturday. I WOULD PLAY WITH DADDY FOR A LONG TIME.
6.  What's your favorite cereal?   RICE KRIPSIES  (That's just how she said it, and I loved it.)
7.  What's your favorite dessert?  COOKIES
8.  What's your favorite dinner?  CHICKEN NUGGETS
9.  What's your favorite chore?  MAKING MY BED, BUT I DON'T WANT TO DO IT VERY MUCH
10.  What's special about you?I LOVE MY MOMMY AND DADDY
11.  What is your favorite super power?  BE INVISIBLE (And the other day she told her mom that the super power she wanted was "Anyone I invite to church will come.")

Annabelle is a wonderful little sweetheart and I love her.

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.