Saturday, February 28, 2009

Morgan 4: John Morgan from the Journal of Discourses

This is much longer than a normal post. Read it at your leisure!


DISCOURSE BY ELDER JOHN MORGAN, DELIVERED IN THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY, SUNDAY AFTERNOON, MAY 23RD, 1880. (Reported by John Irvine.)

(Journal of Discourses, Volume 21, pages 179-188.)

I am pleased to have once more the privilege of meeting with the Latter-day Saints, and I trust that while I shall endeavor to address you I shall have an interest in your faith and prayers, that what I may say may, be in accordance with the mind and will of our Father in heaven and for our mutual good and benefit.

To an elder returning home from missionary labors the privilege of meeting with the assemblies of the Saints in their Sabbath day meetings is one that is very highly prized. We feel to rejoice in the privilege of returning to these peaceful valleys of the mountains, and of listening to the voice of the servants of God teaching the principles of the kingdom of God, and explaining the mind and will of our common Father and God in the heavens. I have often thought and meditated in regard to this privilege when away from home traveling in the midst of strangers, that when here we scarcely prize and realize the value of it. And doubtless this is true in regard to very many of the great and glorious principles of the Gospel. We must see the opposite, come in contact with the opposite; we have to taste the bitter before we can appreciate the sweet; we have to see and experience the condition in which the world is to-day to appreciate the situation the Latter-day Saints are in.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Morgan 4: John Morgan—Early Life and Civil War

Very little is known about the Morgan family’s migration to America or their history prior to the 19th century, but records trace back at least to 17th century Virginia.

John Hamilton Morgan’s parents, Garrard Morgan III and Eliza Ann Hamilton Morgan, were born in or around Nicholas County, Kentucky.

Garrard and Eliza followed a similar path across the wilderness as the Thomas Lincoln family, from Kentucky to Indiana to Coles County, Illinois. The first of their seven children, William Woodson Morgan, was born in Indiana on July 27, 1840.

Eliza gave birth to their second son, John Hamilton Morgan, on August 8, 1842, in Greensburg, Decatur, Indiana.

Subsequent children Sarah, Leonidas, James, Luella, and Garrard IV were also born in Indiana before the family settled outside Mattoon, Coles County, Illinois.

On September 6, 1862, Colonel James Monroe organized the 123rd Illinois Volunteer Regiment at Camp Terry, Mattoon, Coles County, Illinois.
  • From Coles County: Companies A, C, D, H, I, and K.
  • From Cumberland County: Company B.
  • From Clark County, Company E.
  • From Clark and Crawford Counties: Company F and G.
John Morgan belonged to company I. He was twenty years old.

The regiment shipped out on freight cars on September 19, 1862, for action under Major General William “Bull” Nelson. Their immediate task was to fortify Louisville, Kentucky, against Confederate General Braxton Bragg.

On October 1, the regiment left Louisville under the command of Union General Don Carlos Buell in pursuit of Bragg. The regiment with its untrained recruits suffered heavily in the Battle of Perryville on October 8, 1862.

The regiment spent the next three months protecting the railroad bridge in Munfordville, Kentucky.

The Battle of Chickamauga

The Battle of Stones River from December 31, 1862 to January 2, 1863, was the regiment’s second introduction to the horrors of warfare.

After a period of inactivity, the regiment saw action at the Battle of Vaught’s Hill (March 20, 1863).

The Battle of Reseca

Their next action was at the Battle of Hoover’s Gap (June 24-26, 1863), followed by the Battle of Chickamauga (September 19-20, 1863), Farmington (October 7, 1863), Resaca (May 13-15, 1864), New Hope Church (May 25-26, 1864), Dallas (May 24-June 4, 1864), Marietta (June 9-July 3, 1864), Kennesaw Mountain (June 27, 1864), and Selma (April 2, 1865).

Several of the battles were part of the Atlanta Campaign. The regiment also participated in Garrard’s Raid and Wilson’s Raid.

The Battle of Kennesaw Mountain

After the Battle of Selma, Captain Owen Wiley wrote that,
Our loss was one officer killed; six wounded; seven men killed and forty-two wounded. All did their duty, and so deserve the highest praise. Color Serg’t. John Morgan, Company I is deserving the highest credit for his gallantry in action in being the first to plant a flag upon the Rebel works, and for being in the supreme advance until all the Rebel Forts were captured, planting our colors upon each of them successively.
In John Morgan's funeral address given by B.H. Roberts, Roberts said that,

When the Union forces were attacking the rebel breastworks at Selma, Alabama, three men who carried that old flag during the assault were shot down; as it fell from the hand of the third man John Morgan seized it, leaped over the breastworks and planted it triumphantly inside the enemies’ lines where the regiment maintained it....

He was wounded during the war, but in what battle I do not remember; twice he was captured; once exchanged and once he made his escape...
After the war, John Morgan attended Eastman’s Commercial College in Poughkeepsie, New York, and graduated in the spring of 1866. He returned to Murfreesboro, Tennessee, to join an army acquaintance in the accounting business, but his career as a carpet bagger ended quickly as he and his friend both took a job driving a large herd of cattle from Kansas City to Salt Lake City.

John Morgan and his friend arrived in Salt Lake City on December 23, 1866. The friend left shortly thereafter for California, but John liked Salt Lake City so much that he decided to stay.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Morgan 4: John Morgan Funeral Address, Part 3 of 3

Travel throughout the south, where he labored, and though men may not believe in the religion he advocated, yet they honored him, and their respect for him taught them respect also for the people he represented. That respect was so great and his record was so well known that he had access to men standing in positions that Elders without such a record behind them did not possess, and whatever of influence his record as a soldier brought to him and whatever wisdom God granted to him, I know from my continuous association with him for more than fourteen years, he brought to the support of the work of God with which he was identified.

The country loses one of its bravest defenders in the death of John Morgan; the state a good citizen; the Church of Jesus Christ one of its ablest leaders whose mission has been to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. The First Council of Seventies in his demise loses one of its wisest counselors; one whose judgment we all felt to respect. But above all the family of this man loses a kind husband, an indulgent father and a kind and steadfast friend whose whole heart was centered in bringing to pass their welfare and establishing them in honor in the midst of the people.

They will feel his loss more than any of us will feel it; and with them I sympathize and condole on this occasion.

So far as Elder John Morgan is concerned, his battles are over. Of late the fight has been a hard one for him, but he has won it. And let it be said that the same courage which he displayed upon the field of battle was brought into all the difficulties with which he was surrounded, either as a missionary preaching the gospel or as a citizen of the community, struggling with adverse circumstances and against great odds. His victory, I say, so far as he is concerned is won; and though he was not free from faults, as none of us are free from them—I believe he was as self-conscious of his weaknesses of any man I ever knew. Yet those were but as motes in a glorious sunbeam and I fell that all is well with him. And while we stand here smitten with sorrow because of the loss we sustain in his departure—I can imagine what a royal welcome will be given to him, and what joy will be in the hearts of those who are preaching the gospel in the spirit world when it is heralded in that world that Elder John Morgan is among them!

I pray that the Lord will bless us that we may emulate his good example, cherish his memory and seek to be worth of future companionship with him. For my single self if, when the time comes that I pass away, my friends can say, as we can say of him, that he fought the good fight, that he kept the faith, I shall indeed be content with life’s mission. May God bless the family of Brother Morgan and may their hearts be comforted by the consolation which the Gospel brings; and may his children be trained up to revere the memory of their father is my prayer in the name of Jesus, Amen.

Part 1.
Part 2.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Morgan 4: John Morgan Funeral Address, Part 2 of 3

There is another line of experience in the history of Elder John Morgan that I wish to mention and of which little is known by the brethren and sisters at large; for he was ever modest in any reference to it. He was a soldier. In his youth the great civil war broke out. He joined the Union army and fought through all the years of the great rebellion, serving in honor in the armies of this country. Many a time I have walked with him over Missionary Ridge, where a great battle was fought; along Chickamauga Creek, where the Confederates won a great victory; around the cities of Chattanooga, Franklin, Columbia, Murfreesboro, Knoxville, and throughout the northern part of Alabama.

Upon the casket lying before us is the bullet-torn and battle-stained flag of the 123rd Illinois Regiment. When the Union forces were attacking the rebel breastworks at Selma, Alabama, three men who carried that old flag during the assault were shot down; as it fell from the hand of the third man John Morgan seized it, leaped over the breastworks and planted it triumphantly inside the enemies’ lines where the regiment maintained it. In recognition of his great bravery on that occasion the regiment made him a present of its flag, and how often have I heard him refer to “his flag” with pride. I am glad to see it form part of the decoration of his casket, for it is the emblem of a brave deed—and of itself, an inheritance to his sons. I speak of these things because during his lifetime he said so little of them in public; but being with him so much in the South and traveling over those battle fields, the war was often the subject of our conversation, and it was most interesting to have him point out the different places where engagements were fought and his own connection with them.

He was wounded during the war, but in what battle I do not remember; twice he was captured; once exchanged and once he made his escape; and may, with all propriety, be classed as one of the heroes of our country.

The only public references he ever made to these services for his country, so far as I know, occurred a few years ago, when mistaken members of the Grand Army of the Republic passing through our territory arrogated to themselves all the patriotism in the land, and something more than hinted at the supposed disloyalty of the “Mormon” people.

Indignant at the course these men pursued, in the presence of thousands, he vindicated the loyalty of the Latter-day Saints and referred to his own services in the Civil war, saying that he permitted no man to go further than he would go in making sacrifice for the flag of his country. With shame and humiliation many of these mistaken men confessed that they were in error. His record as a soldier on that occasion brought honor to the community in which he lived as did his record in all his labors in life.


To be continued...

Part 1.
Part 3.

Note: if you follow the link to the regiment, you will see that someone incorrectly linked this regiment to Rudger Clawson instead of John Morgan. Anyone know how to correct wikipedia entries? [Done.]

Monday, February 23, 2009

Morgan 4: John Morgan Funeral Address, Part 1 of 3

A Brave Soldier

A Zealous Missionary Has Passed Away

Remarks made by Elder B.H. Roberts, at the funeral of Elder John Morgan in the Assembly Hall, August 18, 1894

Reported specially for the Utah Church and Farm by Francis Bannerman.

It has been my good fortune to be very intimately acquainted with Elder John Morgan whose remains now lie before us, and which we are about to lay away in the tomb. I knew him when I was a boy, and for a time attended his school in this city. My acquaintance soon ripened into admiration of him. The first circumstance which drew me towards him was his relating how a mistaken father in this city, for some slight offense, had driven his son from home, and told him he was a disgrace to the family.

Elder Morgan himself became the friend of the young man and led him back to the paths of rectitude. In connection with this incident he remarked that for himself, his children should always find a friend in him, though all the world should turn against them. I admired that sentiment. I loved the principle that stood behind it.

Shortly after this I left his school and met him no more until I was appointed to labor under his presidency in the Southern States mission. The hundreds of elders who were associated with him in that mission for some fourteen years during which he was president of it, know how they became attached to him—how much we learned to rely upon his judgment and what great confidence we had in following his leadership. For some six years I was associated with him in that labor, and I can recall many instances of meeting with him, not only in public but in the quiet woods and by the silent streams of the south, where we met in counsel or in priesthood meeting. I know that the inspiration of Almighty God rested upon him in planning our labors, and in directing our efforts. The memory of this man is enshrined in the hearts of hundreds of the elders of Israel who labored with him during those years. As a missionary Elder Morgan laid the foundation of a great work and started currents of gratitude in his direction which will run towards him through time and through all eternity in constantly widening and deepening streams. When I think of the man who left his home at a great sacrifice to bring the Gospel to the foreign land where my parents lived and preached it to them in public and at the fireside, my heart goes out in gratitude to him. I regard him as my friend and the friend of my father’s house. I shall ever revere his name and shall teach my children after me to hold him in honorable remembrance. This is merely one stream started in that Elder’s direction, but doubtless while on his mission he started many such streams of gratitude. It was so with Elder Morgan. Thousands of families who have been blessed by his ministrations will rise up and call him blessed; and he has by his labors laid up an exceeding and eternal weight of glory for himself and his family. Those of us who have been permitted to associate with him in councils know how great the wisdom was that God inspired in him. We will know how much we have lost when no longer his voice is heard in our midst.


To be continued...

Part 2.
Part 3.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Random Pictures 2

Harold Morgan visiting Carthage Jail.


Harold Morgan visiting Independence, Missouri.


Jessie, Alta, Helen, Paul, and Maxine.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Random Pictures

I will start posting about John Hamilton Morgan on Monday, February 23. Until then, here are a few scans from the family collection.

I wish this one had some identifying information! Whose dog is that?!


A card sent to Jessie on the death of Harold Morgan by old friends from St. Johns.


Harold and Jessie at the Los Angeles Temple with one of their sons-in-law.
The matching photo with their daughter is here.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

For The Tanner Cousins Only...

Stick with the video through the introduction for some fun memories.



The song is actually from 1899, and you can read a bit about it here and hear an original recording.

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part C

On Family Life, Work, and Church Service

How long did you live in St. Johns?

I don’t know. I lived there I don’t know how many years and then we lived in Albuquerque. My Harold got a job on the Albuquerque Morning Journal and then we moved to Salt Lake. We come here to work on the old Herald and the night before we got here it went broke. So then he went over to visit the Desert News and they put him on the Deseret News and he worked there for years. He ... had a nose for news. He was very good.

After Helen was born then was Alta, Paul, Calvin, Maxine, JoAnn and Ann. I named Ann after JoAnn. … JoAnn…I forget what she died with—they said it was spleen anemia. They were going to take her spleen out. They were just experimenting. Helen, Alta, Paul, Calvin, Maxine, JoAnn and Ann …

Mother … was the best nurse I ever had. She could sure tend little babies when they were first born. I was afraid she would drop them and I’d lay awake waiting, but she never dropped a baby. All my worry was for nothing. There was nobody like my kids. I thought they were the only ones on earth.

I sold shoes for 15 years. I could walk along the street and tell them what size they wore just from looking at them. Oh, yes, I sold shoes and they’d come in some of those fancy women and I’d measure their foot, and I’d go get the shoe and they’d say what do you mean, I don’t wear that big a shoe—say a seven and they’d say I wear a five and I’d go get a five and I’d go get a five and put the shoe on behind and they’d stand up and they’d cram their foot in and their instep would be crammed up like that but they’d get it on their toes, push it down on their heels and right down under the heel, I would put SF [which meant] self-fit. And they’d bring them back and the manager would turn it over and see that SF and say we can’t exchange them. The women would fuss because he wouldn’t exchange the shoes and he would say well you fit them yourself, you wouldn’t let the clerk fit you, and we won’t take them. They would leave. Yes, I sold shoes for many years there. And then I used to model shoes. They’d get some new ones in and they’d have me put them on and then walk up and down and show the ladies how the shoes looked. I did that along with selling.

When I sold shoes was when I lived up in the Avenues, I think, I don’t remember for sure, I guess it was, I’d go down and catch the bus. Did we call them street cars then or buses? I think it was a street car. I’m sure it was. There was a street car line that came up from the Temple. I’d go down and catch them. And then I drove a car, I drove a car back to the back parking lot and then I’d go home at lunch to see that Ann would come home for lunch and then I’d drive back to Auerbach’s. I then I got Sister Aryton (Bill’s mother) to stay with Ann to see that she got home and see that she got lunch and all and then I didn’t have to drive up so far and back. Sister was very good with Ann. Ann was a mischief maker. There was this old man, we lived in the front of the house, and this old man lived in a little two rooms at the back and I used to fill a plate a paper plate with a nice dinner and take it over for him to eat, I felt sorry for him. And Ann, what did she do, she swiped his cane or something and hid it.

I was Stake Supervisor of the kindergarten department and used to go around and teach them how to teach their kindergarten/department in the Sunday school. I was in the Relief Society. I was first counselor in the Relief Society. And, what else…I had three jobs in the Church.

Pasadena. Walnut Street? I don’t know. I had a real nice ward in California. Yes. We’d rent a bus and drive it to the Church, we’d charge them $1 round trip to go from the Church to the Temple and back, plus my husband and I would make each of them a pack lunch and give it to them, and the Bishop would say be sure to get on the bus to go to the Temple and get a Morgan lunch and I got up and corrected him and said that J- T- was fixing the lunch, and you know what J- T- did, charged them for the lunch. And you know what my silly husband did, he’d follow J- around and those that couldn’t pay, he’d pay for the lunch. I said, my gosh there isn’t a person on that bus that hasn’t got more money than we’ve got, and he said well that’s not the point dear! We’re working for the Lord, this is the Church. I didn’t like that, paying for everybody’s lunch. So I said we could fix it cheaper that that, so we fixed the lunch. I’d make cookies and buy three or four loaves of bread and make them a sandwich and some kind of fruit—grapes or something. Then we’d just hand it to them, we wouldn’t charge them.


That's the end of the interview and the lives of Harold and Jessie Christensen Morgan. (At least for now.) Next up is John Hamilton Morgan.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part B

On Childhood and Marriage

I got married the 28th of March and I wanted to be different. But I was just a woman and I got married and left immediately for Holbrook to go through the temple and we went back and went through the temple and it took us all day at that time to go through the temple. It took us all day long and we never had anything to eat—we didn’t eat anything and when we got out Harold was so sick. Got in a taxi and it was kind of hot in there. The Salt Lake Temple.

I remember one big snowstorm we had in St. Johns. Boy it was cold. And mother had gone to Phoenix to visit Addie and left we children with Dad and Dad had run out and the cellar was built on top of the ground with the double wall and little windows and he would go out there and cut off a piece of meat, it was frozen stiff, put it in the kettle and make some soup. We sure had lots of soup and the potatoes were frozen—just frozen and we’d have to peel the potatoes and put them in some water to take the frost out and put them in the soup and my little brother Paul had some boots and he had a boot jack to pull off his boots and he sat there and pulled off his boots and put them on until it froze his heels. We were in a mess when mother got home. All of the fields frozen. Then we had a big fire. Everybody in town was in it trying to…haystacks burnt up, trying to get the horses out—you know you can’t hardly get a horse out of a fire. They’d pull on the horse and pull on it and finally they would get them out, but they won’t go out of a fire, they want to stay there. This fire started on the Conrad Overson side. I think he was smoking and threw a cigarette down and started the straw and that started the hay and there was no water in town, they turned the city ditch water down and ran buckets of water down but it didn’t do much good. They didn’t have a fire department or anything. Someone said St. Johns had grown clear out to the Mexican graveyard. … I’d hate to live out there—if the reservoir broke, boy, would they ever go down.

Did the reservoir ever break when you were little?

Yes, it did. I remember all the houses floating off and one house cracked right in two, furniture going down.

Sister Greer had her home just above us and they opened her house for a mortuary and it was full of dead people. One woman I remember, mother told me, this woman had this long hair and it was just full of cockleburrs and they had to just comb it the best they could and then cut it off so they could fix her hair. Yes, that was a terrible sight. Never will forget that.

Where did you live after you were married?

In the Aircastle. It was just an old house. It was just a slim house with an upstairs and they called it the Aircastle and they had a little room built on the back and we lived in the little room on the back—in St. Johns. They had an apple tree out just by my door, I lived…so I would take those apples that fell on the ground and peeled them and dried them and I had a flour sack half full of dried apples and then I took some of the crabapples and made jelly and bottled them whole, and I didn’t pick any, I just took what had come from the ground, and when they come over and saw what I had, they charged me for it and then we moved. We were paying them rent and they were so mad to think I had got some of their apples, they charged me for them. The rest of the year they just lay there and rotted.

Dad was a blacksmith and Brother Udall asked him if he would take some apples on part of his pay and Dad said he would do that, so he said for me to go up and get the apples, and Brother Udall said there they are on the ground, you go and pick your wagon full. So I took the apples home and mother said, well these are all bruised. I said, well she had me pick them up off the ground. So mother said well, you stay here, I’ll be back in a minute, so mother took the wagon, spitting fire when she left, and she went and dumped them in Udall’s lot and she went to the door and said I brought your apples back, there they are, she said, I’ll take money for what you owe my husband. The Udalls were just beside themselves. Nobody could get the best of mother. She said you better get it, I’ll take the money. I’m not taking rotten apples. Mother was a regular businesswoman.

If Dad had let her do the charging and collecting he’d have been rich, but he was so good to people. I don’t know whether that is good or not. I guess they didn’t have any money—if they needed something from the market, I guess they’d charge it. He did keep books, but he never collected much, until after he’d call. Mother sure collected.

Where was your first baby born?

In St. Johns. Mother’s home. Helen, oh she was cute, oh she was pretty. Everybody in town came to see her. She was the prettiest thing—well, I thought so, I was her mother. She laughed. I used to take her to choir practice with me. I used to keep my babies clean. Sister Brown would come down and say what’s the matter with Jessie. And mother would say, why. And she would say well all the other girls take the babies out but I never see Jessie take any of them out. Mother asked why I didn’t take the babies out and tend them for the mothers and I said because they stink. The babies did stink. They didn’t keep them clean. Mother said well that is excuse enough, I don’t blame you.


To be continued...

Monday, February 16, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part A

Excerpts from an interview of Jessie Christensen Morgan, April 1, 1977, Salt Lake City, Utah. By James Tanner.


On her childhood

I remember going to school and I remember my geography class more than anything because Lyle Greer was my teacher and see the top of the map was North and he’d say right up at the top and I thought he meant right up in the stars, and I would say how far up, how far up in the stars, and he’s say come here. Come here to me and I’d go up to him and he’d put a chunk of ice down my back and every noon when I’d go home for lunch, mother would have to change my clothes cause I’d be so wet clear through with ice down my back and she told him if he did that again, she would have him barred from teaching and so then he would have me hold my hand out and he’d strike it with a ruler and I’d shut my hand like this so mother couldn’t see. It was just bleeding where he had hit my hand with the ruler and I’d go this way so mother couldn’t see. Oh, he was mean. I would have liked to have choked him.

And I remember they used to pay their tithing with eggs, fruit and all this stuff, grain, and over at the tithing office they had a cellar with a door that opened out and some boys pushed me down on the grain and threw a mouse down there, and I screamed and screamed and finally had a regular convulsion I was so afraid and that made me afraid of mice. That was mean. I was just scared to death. They used to have lots of mice in the homes. I’d go home from Mutual or something and see a mouse and I’d jump from one chair to another.

I had a little Shetland pony that was mine. I used to go out to the sheds once in a while. Dad would let me ride it with an Indian blanket and a loop on his nose—just a rope and a loop on his nose. And I’d go out with the calves and there were a lot of prairie dog holes and whenever he’d see a prairie dog hole he’d stop and I’d go over his head and sit on the ground and then I’d get up and pick up my blanket and get back on and then we’d go on. I guess I’d go over his head about four or five times every time I rode. Dad said he would give me a dollar if I would milk the cows and oh, that dollar was big, he pulled it out of his pocket—silver dollar it was. So I went down to the corral and he sat on the granary steps and I started to say, so, just as I started to climb through the rail fence to get in to milk the cow, and I got up to her and I said so, so, so and she turned her head to look at me and I ran for the fence. And then any time I did anything that was big or important, he’d give me a fat calf. When I was married I had seven head of cows. I had one old jersey cow that was so tame, and when I had got her she was so mean I had to tie her legs together to milk her. I was scared to death of animals.


To be continued...

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Happy Valentines

I realize this is a birthday card, but how better to celebrate Valentine's Day here than to enjoy some of the sentiments shared by Harold and Jessie...

Friday, February 13, 2009

Jessie Finds Herself in the Middle of the 1967 Newark Race Riots

Jessie Christensen Morgan was visiting her daughter Alta in Newark, New Jersey (she calls it New Ark), when riots began after a black cab driver was beaten by police officers. The riots lasted for six days with 26 dead, 725 estimated injured, close to 1,500 arrested, and property damage estimated at over $10 million.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part VII

Jessie in Salt Lake City.

Harold and I were buying the St. Johns Observer. I ran the press and Harold wrote the stories and set the type. One time Harold shoved his hand under the press while it was going. I ran across the street and got Dr. Bolton and Harold nearly fainted. If he hadn’t had his hand full of type he’d never have used that hand again. The type smashed his hand and one knuckle was dislocated.

Harold got the news. He saw some Mineer lady pass by the window one day and she was just about to have a baby. He thought that by the time the paper came out that she’d have had that baby—so he put it in the paper that Mrs. Mineer had a big, bouncing, 9 pound boy. My land, I looked out the window the day after the paper was released and there walked Mrs. Mineer down the other side of the street still expecting her baby. Finally, two days later, she had a baby. Thankfully it was a boy. Harold was that kind of a guy. He wanted to scoop everything. He wanted to know everything first. He always liked newspaper work. He was the Editor of the high school paper and I helped him. I got so used to him making mistakes on the high school paper, it wasn’t anything getting used to him working on the St. Johns Observer. One time in St. Johns, the Professor walked over to see the Little Colorado River and some high school boys went over after him and dunked him in the river. Harold put it in the school newspaper and he got in a lot of trouble. He had a way about him that if he was in trouble, the whole student body would stand up for him.

We moved to Salt Lake and Grandpa worked on the Tribune. He was head of the copy desk. That means they sat at a round table and they went through yesterdays newspaper and got the news of the day and he gave each person a piece to rewrite. He was very good on news. He had a nose for news. I think he was one of the best newspapermen I was ever around.

When we moved to Salt Lake we lived down on about 8th South and Main Street in a little house behind a big home. We had two rooms and a cookstove. My mother-in-law lived with us and she had a good way of scraping her feet, like my house was so filthy that she had to scrape her feet. That used to irk me.

Helen, Alta, Paul, Calvin and Maxine.

We had the Deseret News, Salt Lake Tribune, New York Times, a Chicago paper, and the San Francisco Examiner every day delivered to our home. Harold would read them but I just read the headlines of some of them.

One time they chose out of each ward a couple of people to sing in the Singing Mothers at Conference. I was chosen to sing alto. I sang on the front row of the choir seats in the tabernacle just clear of the podium. I was always singing in a group, a quartet or a double quartet.


That was the end of the interview. I'm going to post some miscellaneous items and will probably miss a few days before starting to post Jessie's interview by one of her grandsons.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part VI

Just before Helen was born we heard the Lyman Dam had broken and we went up to see the water. It took all the houses over in Mexican town and we could see them floating down the water. Several people were killed.

I was married about 15–16 months and I had Helen. She was born in St. Johns. I thought Helen was so cute. I came home one day from meeting carrying Helen and Charlie Wright’s wife was walking in front of me. Her baby was talking and she put her baby down and it walked. Helen wouldn’t do anything. She’d just sit like a dummy. I put Helen down. Mother and Daddy were sitting on the porch, and said, “Here’s this dumb kid. Anybody can have her. I don’t want her.” My Dad said, “Shame on you. What’s the matter?” I said, “She’s so dumb she can’t do anything. I don’t want her.” He said, “The problem is—you never teach her anything.” He said, “Let me take her.” He took Helen and stood her out and said, “Come to Grandpa.” She ran up to him and he said, “Say Daddy, Mommy…” He kept asking her words to say and she’d repeat them. Then she started to sing “Catch The Sunshine.” Daddy said, “See, all you have to do is teach her.” Oh dear, I thought she was precious then. She was smart as a whip.

Helen, Maxine, and Alta.

Grandpa came back to St. Johns when school was out and taught school in St. Johns. They had a big banquet up to Patterson’s Hotel and all the teachers had to go. I didn’t have any shoes. I didn’t have anything to wear. We had to put all of our money into Harold so he could go to the banquet.

Helen and Alta.

Alta had the thickest hair. I used to curl Helen’s hair, it wasn’t as thick, for Sunday school. I’d just cut Alta’s hair off in a dutch cut. Mother would say, “Shame on you. You always curl Helen’s hair and fix her up and that little darling Alta you never do anything for her.” I said, “Do you want to curl it?” So she started in and until she got to the first ear she’d say, “Turn your head, darling.” After she got past there she’d say, “Turn your head.” And then as she got near the back she’d say sternly, “TURN your head.” I’d say to Mother, “What’s wrong with the precious little darling?” She’d say, “Hush up.” Alta’s hair was so thick and when she’d curl it, it would stick right straight out. She looked like the devil.

Alta, Maxine, Helen, Joan, Paul, and Calvin.

When Alta was a baby we moved up on the hill to H. Udall’s house. His wife had just died and he wanted me to move up there. She had five rooms and we just took the three and I was afraid to stay up there because Ruth had just died. He rented the other side to George Brown and Amy.

I stopped working at the phone company when my children came. I had to nurse them and stay in bed for a long time. They didn’t even let me dangle my feet for two weeks. I sat up on the side of the bed one day after I had Helen and mother caught me. She thought I was going to die. It was just the law that you stayed in bed. I stayed in bed for two weeks and Mother took care of my baby.


Calvin, Paul, and Maxine.


To be continued...

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part V

I came to Salt Lake and lived with Addie and Andrew and went to the LDS High School, Mother paid them board for me to stay there and she would send me a couple of dollars extra just for me because it was hard to get extra money in those days and especially for mother. We just lived a little ways down from West High School but I walked to the LDS High School right across from the temple.

In high school in St. Johns Harold Morgan was President of the student body and I was Vice-president. Harold danced at the dances like he was saying his prayers or something. He’d hold your arm and we’d dance up one side of the dance hall and get to a corner and we’d have to stop and walk out because he couldn’t turn around. So we’d have to start all over again and then he could do pretty well until we got to the other corner. He was funny.

We got married in Mother’s front room on March 28, 1914. He didn’t buy me a ring until we moved to Salt Lake and then he bought me the one I have now. It was wider then and it was all gold. Later he took it and had it cut down and covered with silver gold and left the yellow-gold on the inside because he was afraid we’d look old.

When I was first married we lived in an old house that was just a slim house two stories high. It was called the air castle. I lived in the back in two little rooms and my mother-in-law lived in front.


This is not Jessie.
It is a single-operator telephone switchboard from the right era, however.


I was a telephone operator for five towns and I’d go to work every morning and keep the telephone office. People would call me up and say, “Jessie, has Lavenia left home?” and I’d say, “I don’t know whether Lavenia has left home or not,” I’d say, “I’ll plug you in.” I’d plug in and nobody would answer and so I’d say I guess nobody answered so she wasn’t home. One day the St. Johns newspaper called me up and George Waite ran it and he said, “Jessie, if you don’t stop having every old woman in town call here, I’m going to get your job,” I said, “Go ahead and get it—you won’t get much, I only plug it into the paper when they ask for you,” I worked for the telephone company before I was married and kept right on working after I was married.

Harold taught school out to Sadro. Sadro is a little place between Gallup and St. Johns. He lived with a Mexican family. He’d come into town and the first thing he’d want was to go up to the drugstore and buy a big bucket of hot chili because that’s what the Mexicans ate. He always got a bucket and ate it. I never ate it because it was too hot.

Addie, my only sister, lived just a block below me, and we’d meet every morning and go up to mother’s and she’d walk back with us. One morning I had the boiler on to have wash water because I was going to do my washing as soon as I got home. My mother-in-law was going to do my washing as soon as I got home. My mother-in-law Mrs. Morgan, lived right in front of me and she went in after I had left one morning to teach me to do my work before I went anyplace. She put a big log of wood in the stove and got the water to boiling and then she put a cup of coal oil in the water and it boiled up on the stove and blazed up and burned the ceiling that we’d put up. We’d just returned home and saw all the smoke and found it was our own house. We got the hose and put it out.

I was so glad because I got to move over to the Dormitory. It was a great big house that the Whitings owned and they had it a long time as a Dormitory for the high school for kids that would come up for school from out of town. So I moved up there and then pretty soon Roll Jones and his wife moved over there and then George Brown and his wife Comfort. They had to call Comfort, Amy, to make her happy. And the three married couples lived upstairs in this house. We all had a baby about the same age and we kept a screen across the stairs so they would not get hurt.


To be continued...

Photo of the telephone operator from flickr.com/photos/32912172@N00/3173597640/
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Monday, February 9, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part IV

I’ll tell you my mother was a dressmaker. She used to sew for all of the Mexicans in town and half the white people. She sure made me some pretty dresses. She had one pattern and she made everybody’s pattern from that. They were all different dresses. She had a pasteboard and everybody’s size was punched in holes on it and she just put her pencil in and drew all the holes and then cut the pattern out. She was sewing on her machine all the time. She even made wedding dresses. I had the prettiest dresses in the school.

Marinus Christensen on the right in front of his blacksmith shop.

My Dad was a blacksmith and he was also Superintendent of the Stake Sunday School. My brother Elmer was his secretary. One day Elmer told Dad that if this certain brother came in and slapped him on the back that morning and said, “Good morning, Brother Christensen,” he was going to leave. He didn’t like anyone paying attention to him. He sure was a good secretary. So pop just busted to get over there before the meeting so he could warn the Brother but just as they walked through the door, he slapped Elmer on the back and said “How are ya Brother Christensen?” Elmer got up and left. That irked Elmer because people would call him Brother Christensen. Then they put me in as Stake Secretary. But Elmer did all the work. He was excellent in figures. I knew my figures but I wasn’t as smart as Elmer.

In St. Johns during the dances we couldn’t hear the orchestra for the feet a scraping on the floor. The orchestra was just Brother Mineer playing his fiddle and somebody else played the guitar. We had wonderful dances. One night Joe Jarvis came in a cart with two horses hooked on it. He stopped and got me first and then he went up and he stopped and went in and got Ethyl Greer. It just tickled me so much and I thought it was funny. Ethyl just sat there with a solemn face. So we got to the dance and he said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Ethyl. I picked Jessie up for the dance first so I’ll dance with Jessie first and then I’ll come and dance with you.” Ethyl was not too happy. As we were going down to dance Joe said, “I’m dancing with you first because I’ll never get another chance.” He didn’t.

Jessie is second from the right, next to Albert Anderson, her boyfriend at the time.

The desperados used to ride through the town in St. Johns when I was a young girl. One time they came up through town shooting up the town. I crawled under the steps of the old school-house as they passed and they just shot in the air and everyplace and rode back and forth through town shooting. They shot out over these pastures in St. Johns. They weren’t all wet and soggy like they are now. They rode out over there and then a posse of men went out after them and the desperados shot Willey Berry and killed him.

I had the worst time in my life trying to be educated in music. There was nothing I wanted to do more than play some instrument or take music lessons. So I went down to Uncle Andy’s sister Naomi Gibbons and I washed and scrubbed floors for two days to get a piano lesson. She was good. The problem was I never got a very good lesson. Her kids were always jumping up on the stool and screaming in and out and yelling and pounding on the upper part of the piano until I quit. I said I wasn’t going down there anymore and Mother agreed with me, I still enjoyed singing. I was always in a quartet or a double mixed quartet either in church or school. I was singing all the time.

One time my mother went to Phoenix to visit Addie and we were left alone with Dad. While she was gone we had one of the biggest snow storms that ever hit St. Johns. My brother Paul wore some boots and he had a boot jack that would help him pull his boots off. He’d just sit down and pull his boots on and off. He kept them off so much pulling them off and on that I let him freeze his heels. I didn’t know his heels were frozen. Mother came home and Paul had his heels frozen and I’d never made the bed because Elmer wouldn’t let me in the bedroom. He’d get up in the transom and take a broom and if I started in the bedroom to make the bed, he’d swing the broom and hit me. We’d have soup every day when Mother was gone. We had a cellar that was built on top of the ground with windows. It was just as cold as ice inside. Dad always had half of a beef hung in there and sheep and there was a rug for the pans of milk. Dad would go out and saw a piece of meat and put it on to boil and then he’d bring some potatoes in and I’d have to peel them and put them in the soup. It seemed to me like Mother was gone forever.

When she returned she brought a trunkful of oranges home from Phoenix. Just to tell you the kind of Mother I had, she sent a little bucket full of oranges to all of the neighbors and then we had a taste. She said we had enough and she didn’t want the neighbors to go without.


To be continued...

Picture of oranges from flickr.com/photos/thepma/443241604/.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

"Hello, Grandma!"

If you read the blog regularly (or even sporadically), this picture may look familiar. If it does, it's because I used it in a post two days ago.

The girl on the left is Jessie Christensen. I cropped this photo down from a page of photos out of a scrapbook that my dad scanned from a box of family mementos he received from the family of one of Jessie's daughters. Although I straightened, cropped, and posted the picture, I never looked at all the people in the picture until a reader of the blog mentioned possibly recognizing someone in another photo. Then I thought I should also look at the other people in the photos. When I clicked on the photo, it was too large for my browser window, and I had to scroll the photo to the left to see everyone.

As I reached the last person in the line (one of the adult leaders of the young women's group), I said, "Hello, Grandma!" It is Grandpa's grandma Margaret Jarvis Overson.

So on the left is Granny's mother, and on the right is Grandpa's grandma. Not a remarkable circumstance, considering the size of St. Johns, Arizona, but a fun discovery nonetheless.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part III

St. Johns Academy Class of 1911 with Harold and Jessie marked.

We used to do some funny things. Mother would have fainted if she would have known them. One day some of my girlfriends and I went to Berry’s and borrowed some men’s suits and hats and put them on and went downtown past the ice cream parlor. These Berrys in the ice cream parlor saw us pass and they came out and they started to chase us. So we ran and I just heeled it up and started to crawl under Tenney’s fence and my pants came off. They were too big for me anyway and I just mopped the top of the fence on the pickets. I crawled out of my pants and hid back in the current bushes. The boys finally left and I went home.

I remember that I just hated school because of the teachers I had. I couldn’t understand a map and I thought north was straight up in the air. I didn’t know it was on the paper. I couldn’t get it in my head. I’d raise my hand up (I didn’t have sense enough not to raise my hand anymore) and I’d raise my hand and go up and ask the teacher if north was straight up in the air. My teacher would say to hold out my hand and he’d hit it with a ruler.

Some of my friends were Mary Ann Jones, Viola Thomas and Ethyl Greer. I had a lot of friends.

The first group of "Beehives" in St. Johns with Jessie Christensen on the left.

I used to walk in my sleep. Mother and Dad used to lock the door at the top and the bottom. But I’d get up (I was asleep when I did it) and unlock the screen door at the top and the bottom and walk out, I woke up one night and the moon was just going down and I looked down and I was on top of the tithing office barn. I was scared to death. You had to go up these high steps just to get up to this little platform to sit down. I went down as fast as I could and sent home and mother said, “Where have you been?” I said I was up on the tithing office steps. She asked me what I was doing up there. I said I didn’t know but I had woken up and saw the tithing office barn so I came home. She sent up in the morning and there was my quilt, I had taken it with me. If I hadn’t left it on the tithing office steps they wouldn’t have believed me.

Main Street, St. Johns.

On the 4th of July they’d have quite a celebration. They’d have a program in the morning and a little dance in the afternoon. At the dance they’d have a great big tub full of candy. They’d get up on the stage (there was a stage in the old schoolhouse) and throw the candy on the floor. Then the kids would have to get down on their hands and knees and scramble on the floor for the candy. I never would scramble but I wouldn’t have to because all the boys would bring me some. I wasn’t going to be humiliated by getting down on the floor.

We never had a Christmas tree in our house and all we had to do was go up on the hill and cut one. Not until Joe was left home alone did they put up a tree. We would hang up our stockings and my brothers would hang up their pants. They would tie the legs at the bottom. They got a .22 Rifle once. The card said that it was to both boys. We owned a half of a block in town and down below was just the alfalfa and over to the side was the coral and then the wood pile and then the house. One day Dad said he was going to go out and show the boys how to shoot by the poplar trees. So he told them to do just as Daddy did. They went out in the poplar trees and he was going to show them the gun and how to handle it. Just as he shot, the old milk cow, Bossy, walked out. She fell down and all her legs went up in the air and she was dead. The neighbor across the street came over and they skinned the cow and brought into the house a big chunk of meat and my mother said they could just take it out because she wasn’t going to cook old Bossy.

My Dad was the constable and he was called up if there were big fights in town. One time they had a big row up in Mexican town and one fellow was shot. Well—Dad was gone a long time, Pretty soon he came back and threw a big chunk of meat down on the table. He had gone to a butcher shop and bought the meat but when he threw it down on the table my mother thought it was the Mexican and she fainted.


To be continued...

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part II

When my brother Joe was born he sure was a big baby. When he was older my Dad built him a pole vaulting area up on the part of the lot where they didn’t raise a garden any longer. Joe would run and jump with his long pole. I remember Mother and Daddy looking out the window and saying, “Isn’t he cute. Isn’t he cute! Look at him. Can’t he jump high?”

Jessie, Joe, and Addie.

One day Joe wanted some candy and Mother told him to go down to the chicken coop and get a couple of eggs. A while later Mother said to me that Joe was slow in coming home and to go see where he was. I told Mother that he was sitting out behind the house. She said, “Is he eating all that candy?” I told her I didn’t know. She then told me to tell him to come in the house. She asked him if he had eaten all the candy. Joe said, “What candy?” Mother said that she told him to take two eggs out of the chicken coop to get some candy. He said, “They told me they were rotten, damn um.” He would always say “damn um.”

Joe Christensen

I was five years old when Frank was born, I went out to Aunt Mandy’s all day and when I came home Mother had this baby. They were all looking at him and admiring him and calling him sweet little guy. I had my bed right up between the fireplace and the wall so I crawled back under my bed clear in the corner so they couldn’t see me. Finally mother missed me and she said, “Where’s Jessie?” They all said they didn’t know so they all went out and they were calling me and calling me and of course I wouldn’t answer because I was under the bed. Mother started to cry and I couldn’t stand to see her cry so I crawled out and said, “Here I am.”

Marinus and Fannie Christensen family. Jessie is between her parents.

My brother Paul and I had to take the calves out up along this field and somebody else would drive the cows out over the graveyard hill. Paul and I had to go out to this field. My gosh, I thought we’d never get home. We got up there and the ground was so hot. Paul was barefooted and he’d limp along. I’d go a ways and sit on a rock and say come on. He’d say the ground was hot and I’d tell him to put on his shoes. I waited and waited and it took us I don’t know how long to get home because he had to walk in the hot sun. When we got home he cried because my Dad had gone to the field with the boys and he didn’t get to go with them. So mother told him not to cry and to get a couple of eggs (everything was eggs) and go get some candy and then come home. Paul took some eggs and met Jack Tenney. Jack helped him eat up the candy and then Jack asked him to go up on the hill. Some boys in town had a big bonfire going. The wind was blowing and a tumble weed went on Paul and his shirt caught fire. Paul came running down the street with his shirt and everything blazing. Someone ran out and put a quilt around him and put the fire out. Brother Jarvis was passing just at that time. He could do anything. He was Doctor, watchfixer, anything. So he came in and bound him all up. I just started out to run over the hill, I don’t know why. There was some man on a horse and he asked me where I was going. I said I was running to get the Doctor because my little brother was burned all over his back. He said he was a Doctor and put me on the horse and whipped the horse back and forth. We got there and he put me down. He hadn’t asked how old my brother was. He just went in and gave him something to numb him. Mother always wondered if he gave him too much medicine or if it was just the burns, but Paul died.


To be continued...

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Morgan 3: Jessie Christensen Morgan, Part I

Jessie Christensen Morgan
b. 13 June 1893 St. Johns, Apache, Arizona
m. 28 March 1914 St. Johns, Apache, Arizona
d. 9 January 1980 Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah
b. 12 January 1980 Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah
Husband: Harold Morgan
Father: Marinus Christensen; Mother: Frances Ann Thomas

MEMORIES OF JESSIE CHRISTENSEN MORGAN as dictated to her granddaughter, Jessie Tanner Smith, December 1975.

My Dad was quite a churchgoer and Mother was sick all day just before I was born. She was kind of spunky and she wouldn’t ask Dad to stay home. Dad would come home from one meeting and ask her if she was all right and go back to the next one. She’d say she was all right. Then he came and she told him that he’d better go get Sister Moore quickly. Sister Moore was the midwife. They didn’t have doctors. They never heard of one at that time in St. Johns, Arizona. So he went down to get Sister Moore. Just after he left there came up a big wind storm and it rained while he was gone. The front door and the back door blew open and the wind blew right through the house and it was raining hard. Mother got up to shut the doors and fell on the floor and I was born. When my Dad came I was trying to get my breath from the rain blowing in my face. So I was born on the floor in my Mother and Dad’s home.

Marinus and Frances Christensen.

I can remember my sister, Addie. She was the oldest and she’d comb my hair. I would have it in ringlets all the time and to put it up she’d wrap my hair around the rag and then the rag around the hair. On Sunday morning, why she’d take the rags off and curl them over around her finger and make the curls big. Sometimes she would pull my hair. She would say, “turn your head.” Mother would tell her not to pull my hair. But she still pulled it because she hated to do it, you know.

Adeline Christensen Gibbons.

Elmer was a terrible tease. He was terrible. One day he got a dump cart. A dump cart had two big wheels and was drawn by a horse and they would fill it with manure and dump manure all over the lot. One day Elmer told me to come on and take a ride with him. I told him I didn’t want to but he said I could get down when he got down to fill the cart so I got in. Then he told me to put my arms around his waist and hold tight. I told him I didn’t need to hold so tight but he said I needed to, so I did. He held my hands and drove with the other hand and said, “get-up” to the horses. Those horses were locoed. They would fall down and raise up and fall down again. I’d scream and tell them to get up and they would raise up and fall down. I was scared stiff and Elmer held my hands and wouldn’t let me get down.

Elmer Christensen. (And chickens.)

One day we had to irrigate our lot in St. Johns. Mother had made me some rag dolls. I thought they were so pretty. I had 8 or 10 of them. We had to fill the barrels as we irrigated the lot to wash. Then the water would settle and Mother would have 4 or 5 barrels full of water to wash. I had my dolls sitting along the ground and the irrigation came down and as one barrel got full, Elmer would dunk a doll in it. I’d scream and mother would ask me what on earth I was screaming about and I’d say Elmer was baptizing my dolls. He was so funny. He was the biggest tease on the earth. I don’t remember much about him only that he was the best ball player.

They would always get in the street and play baseball on Sunday after meeting. He was kind of a handsome fellow and he used to run from base to base and his necktie would blow out over his shoulder and I used to think he was so cute.

The Christensen children with their mother, Frances Thomas Christensen. Jessie is standing on the right.


To be continued...

Monday, February 2, 2009

Morgan 2: Harold Morgan, Part IX

I arrived in Pasadena Nov. 11, 1956 and went to work on the copy desk. Bill Summer was managing editor, a very likable fellow and a good newspaperman. There was plenty of work but the pay was the best I had ever received.

I immediately got in touch with Paul and family. The next three week ends I spent at their home in Rivera. I was overjoyed to see him and his cute family. Sometime after I left Salt Lake Jessie went to Phoenix, … Mom and Anne came to Pasadena for Christmas. I had secured an apartment on South El Molino. Once again we were a real happy family [until Anne left home] …

How lonely it was without our little girl. Mom became busy in the ward acting for sometime as second counselor in the presidency and as head of the visiting teachers. I taught the Special Interest class in Mutual and was chairman of the Ward Genealogical Committee. I also served for two years on a stake mission. We had considerable success, having baptized more than 15 persons. As Genealogical chairman we were successful in stirring up much interest and conducting a number of successful excursions to the Los Angeles Temple.

In 1962 I was ordained a high priest, having been a member of the Seventies Quorum for more than 40 years. I was ordained a Seventy soon after high school days under the hands of the late President Charles H. Hart. Early in the summer Jessie was called to Flagstaff, Ariz. by the death of her brother Frank. It was soon after she returned that we joined a tour which took us through some 15 or 16 states on a visit to many places of Mormon historical interest. In another record I have written a history of this trip. What a wonderful time we had.

On the way back to Pasadena Jessie stopped off in Salt Lake City and then returned to Chicago …

Shortly after she returned to Pasadena I was examined for some rectal pains and was told that I had a malignant inoperable cancer. The Dr. Paul Blaisdell, said I probably had only a short time to live. However, I decided this should not be the end. We called in the elders. All the family came home. The ward members were wonderful with scores of letters, cards and phone calls. They also did fasting and praying in my behalf. From Oct. 9 through March 1963 I was in bed much of the time. I also had many calls from my co-workers. Each day I began to get stronger until April when I returned to work. What a happy day that was. The Lord had really been most merciful and kind. Within the past few weeks the manifestation of His Power has again been shown.…

In the course of this narrative I have made little mention of my experiences as a newspaperman but I can assure they were varied. I believe the field offers the greatest assortment of characters of any profession. Many experiences were thrilling and many were sad and depressing. I have interviewed many of the great of the nation and the world. Some of my stories have caused the resignation and sometimes the imprisonment of public officials for theft or other causes. Other stories have detailed notable events and promoted many schemes for the development of natural resources.

To me it has been a most satisfactory and rewarding life, except form a monetary standpoint. In this respect it could have been much better, especially during the first few years.

Harold died on November 1, 1963. His "extra" time gave him the opportunity to write this history. One of his granddaughters wrote a master's thesis on his newspaper career and one of these years I will locate a copy. (There is one in the BYU library.) Here is a last picture of Harold with his oldest children.