Crandall Memories: Excerpts from "Pomeroy Bits" by Catherine Pomeroy Pendleton

These are some excerpts from the family history I am writing called, “Pomeroy Bits.”

            My memories are a bit different than a lot of my cousins. This is typical in family dynamics: the older children have experiences the others are too young to remember, then, get married and move away, and the younger children experience things the older ones aren't around to experience.
            Dave wrote his memories of Saturday Night Hamburgers. I remember only having Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) once or twice. This became more of a tradition after Grandma and Grandpa moved to Thatcher.
            Also, Coke was the Crandall obsession long before Dr. Pepper. The Coke addiction dates back to the Crandall drugstore. Dr. Pepper in those days was more medicinal and advertised as a health drink. After the company tinkered with the flavor and changed advertising strategies, it gained in popularity. Dr. Pepper didn't find its way to the bottom of the Crandall ice chest until around the time Aunt Clare was traveling to Europe and going to BYU. The caffeinated drinks were placed at the bottom of the ice chest to discourage the grandchildren from partaking of the "hard stuff,” and those cans were VERY FEW in number compared to the large volume of other flavors. At first, Papa usually passed the word of the location of "contraband" quietly to those family members he knew would be wanting a fix. As time went on, everyone knew where to find it and Papa made sure it was available. Being the child I was (a busybody) I overheard conversations, observed body language and facial expressions, and I can witness that we had family members truly addicted to the caffeine, and there was some guilt attached. While still living in Phoenix, Grandpa began having heart palpitations and very bad headaches. The doctor diagnosed his problem as consuming too much caffeine. It wasn't just the pop. Papa was also taking extra strength Exedrine for pain. Exedrine's effective ingredient is caffeine. Caffeine can help a headache, but when taken too often it can actually cause headaches. Papa had to go on a caffeine-free diet. It was tough.
            My experiences with Grandma Crandall may seem unpleasant, but some things need to be explained. First, Grandma’s stress level and health were not good during my younger years, making her more sensitive and irritable. Even As a five-year-old, I considered myself an adult. Grandma saw me as a five-year-old and treated me as such, which rubbed me the wrong way. She was well ordered and logical, and I was a free spirit. I had a big spirit stuffed in a little body and it required the adults around me to have a greater amount of patience and energy to keep up with me. Grandma had neither at the time. Our relationship was much different by the time I reached my late teens and she became less stressed. I struggled with sharing some negative things about Grandma. I decided it was necessary for her posterity to know the hard things as well as the happy things. It was not easy being the wife of someone who was in constant danger, often not knowing where her husband was or if he was going to come home alive. She chose a way to deal with life and prayed for a happy outcome.



                                                                        Catherine Pomeroy Pendleton

Saturday Night Hamburgers

            When Mom and Dad got married, Grandpa Crandall decided there needed to be a way for his little chickens to gather and be together as they began to grow and leave the nest. Thus, Saturday Night Hamburgers was instituted a week after the marriage. At the start, I should mention that in our early childhood, Grandma Crandall was called “Other Mother.” I believe grandma-hood was something she was too young to be associated with, so she preferred to be called Other Mother. As we became older, we started calling her Grandma, while the Jacobson grandchildren continued to use the name “Other Mother.” Both of our Grandfathers we actually called “Papa.”
            Born in 1911, Grandpa was the son of a pharmacist and grew up working in the Crandall Drug Store in Safford, Arizona. The pharmacy had a soda fountain in it. (A soda fountain consists of a long bar-like counter with stools on one side and food prep stations on the other, like a mini diner.) He worked as a soda jerk, making malted shakes and flipping burgers. Coke-a-Cola was a popular new beverage of the day. His children used to laugh that he couldn’t pass a Coke machine. He would stop for gas, start to walk past the machine, and then, as if some magnetic force was pulling him, he would turn around, put in some coins, and come away with a cold bottle of Coke. I myself witnessed this many times. The knowledge of caffeine and its unhealthy, addictive nature was not known at the time.
            With Papa’s background, it seemed only natural that the draw for the weekly family gathering would be hamburgers. He would spend the day shopping for supplies, patting out burgers, and making the fixings to go along with them. Just before the family would arrive, he’d put on his apron, and fire up the grill. The standard menu would include an ice chest full of assorted pop flavors (Coke and Dr. Pepper hidden at the bottom for his now caffeine-addicted children), potato chips, red Jell-O with strawberries or other fruit and a can of whipped cream to spray on top (for the grandchildren), a huge green salad in a wood bowl, ice cream, all the hamburger accompaniments, and plenty of olives. The menu might be expanded to include pinto beans slow cooked all day, or chili con queso with tortilla chips (my personal favorite). We never had this kind of food in our house. I would eat until I could eat no more because I knew it would be a whole week before I got to have “junk food” again.
            These weekly gatherings began in 1961 and continued until Grandma and Grandpa moved to Thatcher in 1983. (Grandpa couldn’t cook only four or five times. When that was the case, Grandma made tacos, instead.) The door was open to any family member who happened to be near. Aunt Drucie and Uncle Bruce came until they moved to Yuma, participating when they were in town. Uncle Rick and Aunt Melody came until they, too, moved to Yuma, also popping in for a burger on their visits to Phoenix. Clare was there except for the times she was in Europe or at BYU or living out of state. Uncle Jerry sometimes road his bike from their home near Dysart High School to Hamburgers. Uncle Russ came and went as he moved around. Those who lived in the area came every week without missing. We all met our future Aunt Rusty over Saturday Night Hamburgers. Aunt Clare would occasionally have a friend/date over. Sometimes there was entertainment. Uncles Rick and Russ played their banjo and guitar, or sang funny songs; Aunt Clare’s friends might put on a little show. Even Grandma sang and played the piano or organ on occasion. Only once, maybe twice did Papa get out his violin and play for us. Most of the time, everyone just sat around the dining room table talking, laughing, and telling stories.
            Often, it was not nearly as fun for the grandchildren as it was for the adults. Grandma thought children were noisy, which made it difficult for the adults to converse, so after we got our plates of food we were shooed to the family room and the door was closed. We were the oldest of the grandchildren, so we didn’t have anyone to socialize with. It was great when Marilyn Tsosi (pronounced Soh´-see), a Navajo foster daughter, lived at the Crandall residence. She would be with us in our exile. You would think that Grandma being a college professor and having a Masters Degree in Early Childhood Education would mean that she would have toys or SOMETHING for her grandchildren. There was nothing. No toys, no books, no games. There was only a tiny black and white TV that got very poor reception. Sometimes we would entertain ourselves by looking through the stack of old West High School yearbooks, trying to find all the pictures of our aunts and uncles in their funny haircuts. I really wanted to be out where the fun was, listening to the stories told around the table. I would try to sneak out as much as possible to be near the action. I was frequently captured by Grandma and returned to our cell. Elizabeth and Karen preferred to stay in the family room and out from under Grandma’s radar, watching “Hee-Haw” and “Emergency” on the little TV. As we became teenagers, we were allowed to sit at the table with the adults. Sometimes the big TV in the living room was turned on, but Grandma insisted that the volume be turned very low. She would walk over and turn it off if a World War II movie came on. Mom said that it was very scary for her when her brother-in-law Paul was in the war and there was a long period of 18 months, when he was a P.O.W. in Italy, that the family had no contact with him and did not know if he was alive or dead. Great-uncle Lyle was in the Navy in the Pacific and had ships sunk out from under him. She didn’t like revisiting that time in history.
            My favorite Saturday Night Aunt was Rusty. She would always take time away from the grownups to sit down and chat with us like we were adults, and showed an interest in our lives. She would involve us in the family chat. We loved our other Aunts and Uncles, but I think they liked the opportunity to talk to their own brothers and sisters, other adults, and became so engrossed in their conversations they didn’t think to include us. I often wondered if they just didn’t know what to say to us. Aunt Rusty was one of us, though. I have used this experience with my own nieces and nephews, trying to make sure they know I am interested in them and their doings, sometimes wishing I could do more for those living far away.
            There was one night that Grandpa was out at the grill when the phone rang. A runner was sent out to fetch him. He came in and took the phone, on a very long cord, into a bedroom and closed the door. A minute or two later, he came out, set down the phone, hung up his apron, and went to the hall closet. He reached up into the top of the closet and pulled out a gun in a leather holster. He grabbed his keys and was out the door without a word. It was the only time I ever saw Papa’s gun or witnessed him receiving an FBI business call. What struck me was that no one in the room asked questions, or seemed surprised. They continued to talk and laugh, and one of the uncles stepped out to finish the grilling without losing a beat.


            ...... Both our grandmothers were great women who were smart, very opinionated, and dearly loved their children and grandchildren. Grandma Crandall was serious, and often had her nose in a book. She liked to laugh and have a good time, but I don’t think she knew how to create fun or make happy moments in daily living, depending on others to make them for her. I think her sister, Lella, did a lot of that for her. Grandma probably felt her role was more as an educator, sharing her know-how. She was not demonstrative with her children or grandchildren. There weren’t hugs and kisses. She suffered from fibroids and, I’m sure, Endometriosis. After Clare was born, she struggled with pain, not healing very fast from the cesarean. Mom took over the care of baby Clare and the rest of her family during this time. Finally, Grandma had a hysterectomy. When they opened her up, the doctors found everything was covered in scar tissue. She suffered from, what I think, some depression and hormone chaos for a long time after the surgery. She also suffered from shingles and arthritis. She kept her pain to herself. She kept her fears and worries about her husband’s profession to herself. Grandma didn’t want her children to be scared. She kept everything hard and difficult bottled inside. Who wouldn’t be grouchy? Mothers always pray that their children will hold to the good memories and forgive their shortcomings. Daughters sometimes fear growing up to be like their mothers. But, the very nature of relationships is that attributes are passed from one person to the other, good and bad. Knowing this, we look at ourselves, evaluate, make a choice, and learn. And thus it is from generation to generation. After her retirement from Phoenix College and subsequent move to Thatcher, Grandma Crandall softened considerably and was a much happier person, hugs and laughter coming freely and easily.

SEASONS

            The saying goes, “Phoenix is three months spring, nine months summer.” February brings out the orange blossoms and sweet peas, and the deserts become yellow with a blanket of wild flowers. The thermometer rises quickly, holding steady at 100 degrees before April is done, climbing to cools of 90 and highs of 115 and more.
            We didn’t play outside much during the summer, nor did we ever go out bare footed. It was just too hot. Instead, we went to the library weekly and participated in the summer reading programs. The library also offered free movies for children, and the Palm’s Theater, that used to be on the corner of Virginia and Central Avenue, would also offer cheap kid flicks. We had a week at the cabin and a week in Yuma. There were trips to Aunt Sharon’s house to swim, and swimming lessons at Nelson’s Pool on 19th Avenue. Mom started swimming lessons when we did. When she was younger, her cousin Sue Holbert Woolley was pushing her on an inner tube in the deep end of Nelson’s Pool. She fell off the tube and nearly drowned. Mamma had a fear of water afterwards. She decided it was time to overcome this and learned to swim at the same time as her children, at age 32-33. It was a rare treat when Mom took us to der Wiener Schnitzel for a hot dog after swim lessons.
            The summer heat was unbearable to me without air conditioning. I would often sleep on the floor instead of my bed. It was just cooler closer to the ground. I couldn’t sleep on hot nights. I know I woke Karen up a few times while I was jumping on the bed, unable to sleep. Elizabeth, the scientist, did try to fry an egg on the driveway. It turned white around the edges, and then just sat there. The vinyl seats in the car would burn our legs if our shorts weren’t long enough, and sweat would make our legs stick to the seats. One summer after Daddy died, the air conditioning in the car broke and paying for the repair was not an option. It would only blow hot air. Rolling down the windows would circulate air, but it was still hot as it blew through. We had to think like a dog and hang our heads (feet, hands) out the window. We were miserable all summer. I was so miserable, one day I thought I would see if we had just imagined the A/C had broken all those months ago. It was then I noticed the switch had slid over to “heat” (who uses “heat?”). I slid it back over to “cool” and, boy, did we feel embarrassed.
            I have a lot of respect for my ancestors doing without the cooling comforts of air conditioning. Grandma Pomeroy said when they went to church, they would have to sit up straight and not touch the back of the car seat with their backs or their clothes would stick to their sweaty backs, showing sweat stains. Grandma Crandall would put a block of ice in a pan on the floor of the car. She used a towel or cloth diaper to soak up the melting ice for cooling off hot heads and necks and to put in the windows while traveling. They also would spend the summers in the cool of Turkey Flat on Graham Mountain when she was growing up.
            The tradition of getting up really early in the morning for travel actually comes from these times. It was to avoid traveling through the deserts during the heat of the day!

HOLIDAYS

              . . . For Easter, Mom and Dad had us focus on the resurrection of the Savior, the true purpose of the holiday. It was not celebrated with baskets from the Easter Bunny. We didn’t even know such a thing existed until I had a teen birthday during a trip to Yuma. My birthday landed on Easter, and I woke to a bag of treats at the bottom of the bed. My brothers and sisters received a little something as well, except the Jacobson's had baskets.
            We learned to make our own marshmallow eggs, covering them with chocolate frosting and decorations. It was fun, but time consuming, so we only did it twice. We did color and decorate hard cooked eggs every year. We would each get three eggs to decorate as we chose. We enjoyed this tradition, as well as all the marble-colored deviled eggs we had Easter Sunday. When we were very young, Grandma Crandall held egg hunts in her back yard. We used real, hard cooked eggs dyed in every color. There were times when we were sure we hadn’t found all the eggs hiding in the ground-cover surrounding the yard. I often wondered if the egg hunts came to an end because Grandma might have found a rotten egg or two during her garden chores.
            We didn’t watch fireworks on the fourth of July, though we did have sparklers once or twice at Grandpa and Grandma Crandall’s house. It may seem surprising that fireworks were not a part of our celebration, but, remember, we lived in a hot, dry desert where such things are considered fire hazards.
            We did not visit the cemetery on Memorial day. After some discussion and thought, we decided it was because there was no grave site to visit. Everyone was either still alive, or buried in Safford: the two great-grandpas died in 1942, Mama Jake in 1969, and Granny in 1982. After Daddy died, Mom’s feeling at the time was there was no point in going to visit his grave, since he wasn’t there.
             Halloween in our childhood was not the same as modern Halloween. Houses put out jack-o-lanterns, but did not have the elaborate (sometimes obsessive) decorations of today. There was a lot less horror and gore. Costumes were simple, as well. Our growing up years were not too far off from the time when children would throw a white sheet over their heads, mark, then cut eye holes, and dress up as ghosts. Oh, wait! That WAS us! Though, one year, Mom went all out and made a tiger costume for Elizabeth, a pilgrim for me, a princess for Karen, and a clown for Cassandra. David was already a clown, so he didn’t need a costume. These costumes were passed down and others were usually put together from things about the home (like hobos and gypsies). Masks were a traditional costume experience in these years.
            We only went trick-or-treating on our block. As we got older, we crossed 5th Avenue and knocked on doors, but we stayed on Virginia, hitting, at maximum, the houses on both sides of two blocks. There were often not very many doors that would open. I was very persistent, though, looking through windows for a light on, and continually ringing the bell just in case the home owner was in the bathroom and didn’t know someone was at the door. It would take at least 20 rings before I would be discouraged, more if I spotted a light coming from a back room. After the neighborhood doors, we would get in the car to go knock on the doors of both sets of grandparents.
             When we were teenagers, Grandma Crandall started doing a trick-or-treating thing at her house for the younger cousins and siblings. The older grandkids (us) would each be stationed behind a bedroom/bathroom door. The youngsters would knock, we would open, they would say, “trick-or-treat!” and we would give them a candy. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as the real thing. There is something thrilling about being out in the spooky dark, knocking on the doors of strangers, while watching our buckets fill with sugar. There were only five doors to knock on at Grandma’s, equaling five pieces of candy in the bottom of those trick-or-treat buckets. I’m sure Grandma did this because she thought it would be fun and because of the worries of children getting hit by cars and the growing number of scary rumors about needles or poisons hiding in candy.
            Mom says we took turns visiting the Grandparents on Thanksgiving and Christmas. If we went to Pomeroy’s for lunch, we visited Crandall’s in the evening. The reverse would happen the next holiday: lunch at Crandall’s, evening at Pomeroy’s. In later years, the Thanksgiving ritual changed on the Crandall side of the family. Every two years, the entire family would make a pilgrimage to Yuma for the turkey feast: guest total approximately 40. Traveling families were divided up between Aunt Drucie’s and Uncle Rick’s house for lodging. The Thanksgiving dinner and activities were based at Aunt Drucie’s. We would eat through 40 pounds of turkey, a mountain of mashed potatoes, about ten homemade pies, and piles of the standards: stuffing/dressing, sweet potatoes, cranberry relish, vegetables, and lots and lots of olives for all the fingers of the grandchildren.
            After a Yuma Thanksgiving weekend, we packed up and headed back to Phoenix in our yellowgreen station wagon. As we were driving through town, our car began making a noise: Shhhhhhunk, shhhhhhunk. We pulled to the side of the road. I got out and looked under the car. Didn’t see anything dragging. All four tires seemed to be fine. I got back in the car and reported such. Mom started driving again. We were almost to the edge of town now when we heard the sound again. The faster we drove, the more pronounced it became. Shhunk, shhunk, shhunk. We pulled over. This time, Mom and some siblings got out, too. We made the same inspection. Tires looked good, nothing hanging down underneath. The hood was opened. It appeared we still had an engine. There were lots of black, greasy things in there. Seemed normal. The hood was shut. We stood around the car wondering what to do next. Should we turn around and go back to Aunt Drucie’s? Maybe Uncle Bruce would know what to do. We felt awkward just having said our good-byes only to turn up again 20 minutes later. On the other hand, if the car was in trouble, now was the time to fix it before we got out into the desert and became stuck. It was then, that I, being the tallest, saw a glass pie plate that had previously been filled with pumpkin pie, sitting on the top of the car. It would have fallen off as we drove away if not for the luggage rack that had kept it in place while it slid around . . . Oh! The pie plate was loaded into the car with the rest of us and we made it safely, if not sheepishly, back to Phoenix.

FOOD

            The first indication that our family’s focus on food was not like everyone else’s, was in Yuma. Mom and Aunt Drucie would send out the dinner call, and Pomeroys would come running. Jacobsons would wander into the kitchen whenever they felt. A couple cousins might sit at the table, picking through their food, while others would head for the pantry for peanut butter or Cheerios.
            “Are there onions in it?”
            “Did Aunt Lella make it?”
            “What’s in it?”
            These questions always puzzled us Pomeroy’s.
            Mom says she grew up with more simple fare than what was typical for us. Spaghetti made with tomato soup, and “mock fish” (zucchini slices fried up like fish) for example. Grandma Crandall didn’t know how to cook when she was first married. The story goes, she would burn the pot roast and apologize, in tears, to Grandpa. He was so kind. He would say, “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine!” Then, he would eat it without complaint. Grandma improved as time went on, and was proud she could prepare a nice meal. It was then that she discovered that Papa wasn’t just being a prince of a husband. He really did like his food well done! Grandpa would even occasionally take the perfect pot roast back to the kitchen to cook it a little more! Papa liked his beef cooked almost charred. He would even grill his hamburger longer than the others.


            ...I remember the first time we had quail at Grandma’s. The quail were in a baking pan looking like chicken thighs with buckshot holes. They were yummy.

Grandma would traditionally serve German red cabbage with the Thanksgiving fare.

            Grandpa Crandall made the best pancakes. I’ve never been able to make a pancake like his, which rival the big, fluffy ones in restaurants.



This next bit is not necessarily about Grandma and Grandpa Crandall, but it is about the church building the family attended while in Phoenix and includes some churchgoing history the newer generations are unfamiliar with.

CHURCH

            When we first started going to the building on Ashland, known as the 2nd and 3rd Ward¹ building, it had not yet been remodeled. It was built in a time when each meetinghouse had its own unique architecture and design. There were no standard blueprints. The white building sat on an island with the street circling around it like a moat. The church did not have a steeple, but something more like a bell tower. The main entrance was at the very front of the building. We would walk up the front steps, then go through the large, carved, wooden, double doors straight into the chapel. There was no foyer. The chapel had the look of a conservative cathedral or Spanish mission, with a very high, ornate ceiling. The ceiling had carved molding laid out in squares, with gold and intricately painted designs in each of the squares. On the north side of the chapel, were columns separating the seating area from an isle, much like in the tabernacles built by the pioneers. On the wall above the pillars were round windows like portholes. The south side of the chapel had the same porthole windows, only lower, and a door that lead to a tiny office with the trap door to the bell tower in the ceiling. I don’t think there was ever a bell, though. The pews were antique: made of wood with curved seats, and sides that were squared at shoulder height while sitting.
            There was enough room for two short rows of seats on the stand where the priests, Bishopric, and speakers sat. To the north end of the stand were the sacrament table and a little desk for the ward clerk. The wall that separated the stand from the congregation was curved, with rounded decorative molding, not like the boxy look of today. Behind the seats on the stand, as a focal point in the chapel, were the brass pipes of the organ. Mom would interject here and remind me that the real organ pipes were actually behind this facade.
            Other unique things about this chapel were the choir seats, and the cry room. To the right of the podium, on the south wall, was an alcove. Here, the high ceiling changed to a large arch. Under the arch were the choir benches, the same style as those in the congregation, on three different levels. The choir did not face the congregation. They viewed the podium and speaker in profile. The organ sat in front of the choir benches on an extension of the stand that curved into the congregation. Thus the entire stand was in an“L” configuration instead of the straight-across-the-front stand that is typical of chapels. The music leader would stand in front of the organ, in the curve of the wall. This put the music leader and the organ closer to the people in the congregation than in modern buildings.
            To the left of the stand, was an adjoining room, giving the chapel an L-shape. This room was filled with pews to match the chapel. There was a wall, like a garage door, that could be pulled down or pushed up to either open the room to the chapel, or close it off. But, when it was closed, it was not a solid wall. The top half of the moving wall was made of windows. It was called the small assembly, or cry room, because church members with fussy infants and children could access the room from the hallway, and continue to watch, through the large windows, the proceedings in the chapel while listening to the meeting via the sound system hooked up in the room. Parents could see and hear the meeting, while the rest of the congregation did not see and hear the fussy babies.
            While we were on the east coast, the building was remodeled. A long foyer was added across the front of the building. Instead of having the big double doors in the front, a colored window, arched at the top, was put in as a focal point. The entrances were now to the side of the building, on each end of the new foyer. The chapel remained the same, except it was painted, re-carpeted, and the glass in the lower porthole windows was painted over. There was an atrium added to each side of the building, surrounded by classrooms. In the middle of the atriums were large planter boxes with tall palm trees that towered above the roof.
            The most notable change, though, was that the building was no longer white. The bishop had selected the color “Desert Rose” for the exterior of the remodeled building. The sample color was not quite like the real thing. On our first Sunday back after our eastern adventure, we hadn’t even turned onto Ashland when we could see the color pink radiating above the buildings like a localized sunset. Our church glowed somewhere between a hot pink and Pepto Bismal pink. There was no money to repaint it. It would just have to fade. It did fade, meaning, the glow stopped being visible from Central Avenue, but it was still VERY pink. It was known far and wide as The Pink Palace.
            I loved the chapel when it was decorated at Christmas time. Swags of greenery with large, red velvet bows were draped across the curving stand of the chapel, and large wreaths were placed in the porthole windows. A Christmas tree was placed in front of the arched window in the foyer.
            There were a few other aspects of this building that are not found in modern churches. The nursery had built-in wooden cribs along one wall. The room had a half wall with a swinging gate dividing the room. The crib side was carpeted. The other side held a child-size table and chairs, and a counter area with cupboards, and was tiled. The room looked somewhat like a preschool.
            The Relief Society room, accessed in the cultural hall, looked more like a living room than a classroom. The wooden, double doors leading into the room had glass windows on the front, and antique knobs. White, sheer curtains hung on the inside of the doors. There was a bay window with a lowboy in the alcove, and sheers and draw drapes on this and the other window in the room. The chairs were cushioned in green, and had arm rests. They neither folded or stacked, but were large and comfortable. The Relief Society room had one other door, and that led to the kitchen.
            The kitchen was large, the equivalent of four or more modern church kitchens combined. It had a large island in the middle, with storage underneath, for food preparation. There was a huge, black, restaurant-style oven, that had three long, narrow doors for mass baking. This kind of kitchen was common in older buildings in the area. Our building also had an outdoor Barbeque pit. David said when the scouts used the pit they had to forewarn the fire department.
            The cultural hall was not connected to the chapel. The main hallway of the building separated the two, otherwise the stage and the podium would have been back to back. The cultural hall had columns on both long sides, with large porthole windows near the top of the high ceiling. This was the favorite dance location for the whole Phoenix area. There was only one other building, the Phoenix West Stake Center near West High School, that would sponsor the area dances. The pillars gave our cultural hall a bit of romance, and the area behind and between them made a great spot for socializing off the dance floor. The floor was also wood, not carpeted. Mom says, “The wooden floor could give with the dancing feet. You could feel it sort of gently bounce under your feet as you danced. Uncle Ray came in his security uniform to pick up me and [cousin] Connie once and he looked so official...like a police officer and we all really played it up. I met Dick Haggard there (another one of Mom’s cowboy crushes). I danced with and dated Kent Pomeroy (future brother-in-law) at the Saturday Night dances. That's where your Dad and I would go to the Gold and Green Ball. Your Dad was not much of a dancer...he felt a bit awkward with dancing. But he knew I loved to dance, so he would let me get all dolled up and he would wear his white dinner jacket and take me to the Gold and Green ball anyway.”
            The other thing that made our building so appealing for dances were the unique bathrooms in the little hall near the stage. The women’s bathroom was huge. It was actually divided into three parts. Near the door was an area with chair-style, wooden benches for mothers to feed babies, or groups of girlfriends to gather and socialize during a dance. This opened up to an area that included two vanity tables with mirrors and lights. Then there was a door that led into the tiled sink and toilet area. It was great as a dressing room for road show casts and wedding parties, and for nose powdering and giggling during socials.
            When Mom and Dad had their wedding reception in the Cultural Hall, they had some concerns about getting caught by wedding pranksters. Dad had been on the giving end of such pranks too many times and knew there was going to be some comeuppance. Mom changed out of her wedding dress and into her deep purple, going-away dress in that large bathroom off the stage. Then she and Dad met up outside the door to decide how they were going to get out of the building. They obviously couldn’t exit through the cultural hall, and Drucie had a Volkswagen full of friends waiting for them outside the glass doors on the south side of the building, so they decided to climb out a window. They made their escape through a classroom window off the long hallway that faced the northeast side of the building. They had already secretly arranged a get-away car. Their own now decorated vehicle was only a decoy. They sprinted to the car parked on the northeast side of the circle, and zoomed down the alley over by the caretaker’s house.². The best man zipped his car in behind them and stopped so that Drucie and any other cars couldn't follow. The joke was on the newlyweds, though. The best man made sure there wasn’t much gas in the tank. Daddy learned that what goes around, comes around, even with his best friend.
            Aunt Drucie had her reception in this building two years later. Uncle Tom would also have his wedding party there, as well. A generation later, Elizabeth and I would add our names to the list of family wedding celebrations held in the 2^nd and 3^rd Ward Cultural Hall.
            I was probably one of the few girls of my day that explored the building. I investigated the upper level High Counsel room at the back of the cultural hall, as well as the attic room off the main hall used by the deaf branch. I climbed up into the storage area on the upper level of the stage and even climbed up the ladder all the way into the “bell tower” three times. The view was great except for the pigeon droppings. I did not, however, get to see the real organ pipes.
            Growing up, our Sunday experience was also different than modern times. We went to Sunday School in the morning, went home for lunch, then came back in the evening for a two-hour Sacrament Meeting. Primary was held on a weekday. Mom would always fix a fancy dinner on Sunday, (to eat between sessions of church) and we’d set the table with a fancy cloth and Mom’s china.³ We did not change our clothes after church, but stayed in our dresses, though it was something we never actually decided to do as a family, that’s just what we did. I felt it helped us remember it was the Sabbath.
            As the church grew and spread across the world at an even greater rate, the needs of the world-wide members needed to be addressed. Not everyone lived near a meeting house. Travel was often difficult, and having the meeting schedule as it was, was not practical. The “block schedule” was established. Sunday School, Priesthood and Relief Society meeting, Young Men and Young Women, Primary, and Sacrament Meeting were now combined in a three hour block. We still had Primary activities during the week for a few years following the schedule change. Funny enough, though, the big talk among the Relief Society sisters was how the new block schedule was going to effect their pot roasts! If they put them in the oven before they left for church, like they always had done, dinner would be burned after three hours of cooking! The block plan changed meal plans and cooking methods!
            A long time ago, wards had to hold fund raisers for ward budgets, building and temple funds.  Money was raised through events like the Relief Society Bazaar, the Boy Scout Barbeque, and most notably, the Enchilada Dinner. The Enchilada Dinner was a traditional, annual fund raiser for 3rd Ward. It took Nana Mortensen a year to prepare and gather supplies. Sister Mortensen had grown up in the Colonies of Mexico and knew the cuisine back to front. The dinner was held on a Saturday night, so the Monday before the event, the Relief Society room, connected to the kitchen, was turned into a walk-in refrigerator. Heavy plastic was put over the glass doors, the thermostat was turned down low, and chairs were moved out to hold all the carrot Jell-O (orange Jell-O with shredded carrots, celery bits, and pineapple), sheet cakes, bags filled with shredded lettuce purchased from a local restaurant and thousands of enchiladas. The Relief Society sisters would gather every morning for a week to chop onions (no food processors!), grate cheese, and make enchilada sauce. The actual rolling of the enchiladas was an invitation-only service. They had to be done just right. We all went to the church when Mom got the honor to be a part of the enchilada production line. We played in the cultural hall, sometimes stopping to watch through the kitchen service window as the sisters worked in their assembly line. There were ladies frying tortillas, ladling sauce, spreading cheese or onion, spooning out meat onto tortillas, and enchiladas being rolled, all with speed and precision. The day before the dinner, beans were put on to soak in big roasters, then turned on to cook early the next morning. After a day of slow cooking, they were mashed and seasoned. Tables and chairs were set up for diners, using every bit of space from the stage to the back, from pillar to pillar on the sides, with just enough room for a line of tables holding the food. Homemade rootbeer and ice cream were also sold. That evening, pan after pan entered the big, black ovens. The cultural hall would be full of people standing in long lines (clear out the door and down the sidewalk) for a plateful of enchiladas and refritos. People who had long since moved out of the ward would be there. People who lived in the neighborhood would show up, the aroma wafting out of the kitchens being the sign it was The Night. As people finished their meal, someone else would be there to take their seats and feast. This went on for three hours. Relief Society sisters would be serving up plates or moving between the kitchen and serving tables bringing more trays of enchiladas and accompaniments, while the men would be in the kitchen as part of the dish brigade. The meals were served on real plates, using real utensils (not paper and plastic). As dirty dishes would come in, they would be washed and dried and sent back out for an enchilada refill. I would have to guess there would be 600-700 plates dished up. An adult plate had three enchiladas, and a child’s plate had two. That’s a lot of enchiladas!
            During this time, members were responsible for not only raising the funds to build new church buildings and temples, but they were also responsible for helping to do the construction work. In 1974, we all went to the construction site where our new stake center was being built. The concrete foundation had been poured, the cinder block walls were up, and the roof trusses were set. The children’s responsibility for this work detail was to sweep each classroom of debris, and scrape the mortar spills off the cinder block to prepare it for paint. The Relief Society sisters had food and drink set up in the big, open space that would be the cultural hall.
            When the building was complete, I went through the classrooms trying to find the ones that I had swept and scraped. Elder LeGrande Richards came from Salt Lake City to dedicate our new building. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew he was an important somebody. I was brave and took my meeting program up to him on the stand and asked him to sign it. He did, and even threw in a handshake and warm smile.
            In the days before satellite, cable, and internet, we would watch General Conference on T.V. at home. The only session available was the Sunday morning session. We would watch in our pajamas, with pillows and blankets. Daddy would listen to the other sessions of conference on the radio. We were very fortunate to watch it on T.V., because members in other parts of the world would only be able to get it on radio, or would have to wait until they received the conference issue of the Ensign (pronounced ‘Enʹ-sin’ in Arizona, compared to ‘Ensʹ-zine’ in Utah). When the new Stake Center got a satellite dish, all sessions became available for viewing in real time. Black plastic was put over all the windows in the chapel, and conference was projected onto the huge, white movie screen on the stand. It wasn’t until we were of seminary age that the family started driving all the way to the Stake Center for each conference session. We had learned to take notes, recognize the General Authorities, and listened intently to any council they had to give.
            In April of 1975, the Mesa Arizona Temple was to be rededicated after being renovated. Our great-grandmothers Mama Jake (Loella Jacobson) and Granny (Elizabeth Crandall), along with Spencer W. Kimball were members of the choir at the original dedication of the temple. The choir stood on the temple roof, dressed in white, and sang as if they were angels sent from heaven. Granny played the piano and Mamma Jake sang a vocal solo. Mamma Jake had a spiritual vision at the time, but did not speak of it to Mom, so the details are not known by us. Now, at its rededication, Mom, Elizabeth and I were able to attend, me being twelve by only a couple of days. As we arrived, we met Elder L. Tom Perry coming down the steps of the temple as we were going up. He greeted us and shook our hands. Our tickets had us sitting in the foyer inside the temple. We watched as the Prophet Spencer W. Kimball walked past us, with Sister Kimball and other church leaders, all dressed in white. Though I didn’t understand all the proceedings, I was in reverent awe of the beauty of the building, and the feeling that radiated from it.



Notes:

            1.         The ward is now called Central Ward. The building was remodeled again and no longer has the unique choir loft or nursery. The pillars on one side of the cultural hall have been replaced by classrooms, and the atriums have also been removed. Oh, and it has been painted white.

            2.         Church buildings were not cleaned by the members in these days. Near our meeting house, at the back of the church parking lot, was a little home for a “caretaker.” This caretaker, or custodian, was hired by the church to do all the cleaning and maintenance of the building. This would be everything from lawn mowing and gardening, to plumbing fixes and changing light bulbs in the chandeliers, to painting and floor polishing. Brother Tejada, a new caretaker from South America, took great pride in caring for the Lord’s house. One day, he polished the wood of the organ and organ bench until they were smooth and glossy. Mom went over to practice, slid onto the organ bench and kept sliding until she came off the other end! She had to tell Brother Tejada not to polish the bench anymore.

            3.         We couldn’t afford a pot roast after Daddy died. Mamma saved up and bought one on sale, but it had been so long since we had roast beef, David looked at the plate and asked, “Are we having burnt chicken?”

PETS

            Our first pet was actually a loaner/visitor before we went to New York: Aunt Clare’s green and turquoise parakeet. I sprayed it with Real Kill bug spray, it lost all of its feathers and died . . .

INJURIES AND AILMENTS

Mom’s Ankle

            In 1980, we were all preparing for Cassandra’s birthday party, when Uncle Tom and Aunt Rusty popped in for a brief visit. Mom walked out to the car with him. Her foot slipped off the sidewalk as she leaned over to turn on the water, and down she went. I came out of the house and saw her laying in the flower bed. It wasn’t something she usually did. I asked if she was okay, and got an “OF COURSE I’M NOT!” response. Uncle Tom carried her to his car and drove her to the hospital. Not being able to do anything else, we proceeded with the birthday plans. Cassandra would have to remember whom she invited and what games we played. I just remember cooking the hamburgers and being disappointed that they came out the size of meatballs. They didn’t look anything like Papa Crandall’s burgers.
            After a time, the call came that Mom’s ankle was badly broken and she needed surgery and pins put in. She was in the hospital for over a week. I went to the hospital and washed her hair. She was very uncomfortable and feeling a bit blue. As usual, Elizabeth and I ran the homestead. I think the Relief Society brought in a meal, two at most. Other than that, we didn’t have any visitors, and took care of things ourselves. Mom was in a cast for nine weeks, but even after it was technically healed, her ankle continued to cause her pain and would swell with the slightest exertion, eventually developing arthritis in the damaged area.

Karen

            Karen is famous for her black eyes. The most notable ones, were, as a toddler, she collided with a moving swing (more than once); then the glider on our swing set; she took a tumble down our long flight of stairs in New York; and was dumped out of a dune buggy. We had gone down to Safford for a family reunion on Grandpa Crandall’s side of the family. We all went out to the desert for a picnic. One of the cousins brought his dune buggy that pulled a little trailer. He gave everyone rides, filling the buggy to capacity with eager cousins of all ages. Some kids would sit in the buggy, but most of us kids sat in the little trailer. Karen climbed into the trailer and off she went on her turn. They had been gone for awhile, when a runner came, saying the dune buggy and trailer had overturned. Several adults went to help and evaluate the extent of the injuries. It turned out there were mostly bumps, bruises, and a few cuts, though some had fallen into cactus. Karen suffered another black eye.

 Movies and Television

            The first big movie I remember seeing was “The Sound of Music” at the drive-in. Aunt Clare came with us. Elizabeth and I watched it from the top of our blue station wagon, with pillows and blankets (it had a luggage rack to keep us from falling off). When the first Star Wars movie came out, we enjoyed it so much we invited Grandma and Grandpa Crandall to see it. We all went out to the Cine Capri, the one and only time I got to go into the “chandelier theater.” The grandparents declared the movie as good as “Tom Mix,” a TV hero from their day.

Yuma

             A trip to Yuma to visit Aunt Drucie and Uncle Bruce was Mom’s first “solo” vacation. Daddy needed to work and build on the house and we needed a break. I was nine (1972). This was a big deal for Mom. She had never ventured out on the wide-open road by herself before. Well, it wasn’t the friendliest of roads back then, so we’ll give her points to her credit for worrying about being stuck in the middle of the desert with five children, and nothing but snakes and jack rabbits for more miles than even a camel would care to walk. This one trip turned into a twice or thrice yearly excursion.
            The travel ritual began with housecleaning. In Arizona, going on vacation requires a couple extra precautions. After everything got a good cleaning, bug killer was poured down all the drains, and the stoppers put in. This was to prevent large roaches from moving in while we were gone. Even with these precautions, we still came home to a “dead body” in a sink or tub. Next came the trip to the Mobil gas station on McDowell and 7^th Ave. We would all sit in the car and watch as the gas attendants gave the car a farewell inspection. In those days, gas stations were called “full service,” meaning, fellows in a gas station uniform with a patch declaring their identity and hands dirty with grease would fill up the gas tank, check the oil and other fluids, test tire pressure, wash windows, and take payment all while we sat in the car. When Mom was assured all was well and the gas tank was full, we began the arduous three-hour expedition with enough provisions to get us there and back three times over. Mom was very focused while she drove, that first time. She was always a careful driver, but I remember her being more anxious the first several trips.
            The first year we visited Uncle Bruce and Aunt Drucie, they lived in a house in town. Then, after pinching pennies until they screamed, Uncle Bruce bought a 10-acre piece of property on the edge of town, out in the middle of nowhere. His claim was easy to spot from a distance. It had a little oasis: some tall palm trees in a tiny spot of grass, the only green in a sea of dirt and sand. They built their dream home near the oasis, kept some of the land for their own use, and share cropped the rest out to farmers. The house they built was a very big, ranch style home that easily accommodated both tribes. Uncle Bruce once joked how he looked like a polygamist walking with 12 children and two women (the younger Jacobson's hadn't entered the scene, yet).
            We generally played with Legos, swam, did crafts, went shopping, and just hung around with cousins. I couldn’t say for certain what each of us did. The house was so big, we all just sort of did our own thing. I was usually with Ginnie, who was oldest, but two years younger than I. At night, we would lay in our sleeping bags and I’d tell her stories. I had to make sure I’d read a good book before I went to Yuma so I would have a new story to tell each time.
            The Legos were a favorite of mine. We had never played with them before, and Ginnie showed us how to overlay each little brick joint to make stronger structures, and we began building. We built houses, each one grander than the one before, until we were literally combing through the thick carpet for any stray Legos to make it even bigger.
            There were also shopping trips over the border into Mexico, a tour of the old territorial prison, and the Yuma County fair. The Jacobson boys had rabbits they had entered for show. When we arrived, as usual, we all split off into our cousin groups to enjoy the fair. Aunt Drucie and Mom realized little Patty had dispersed with the group and they wondered where she was. An announcement came over the PA.
            “We have a lost child here. Tell us what your name is.”
            “Potty.”
            The two moms just stood there and guffawed before they went to get her.
            Having a large family like she did, Aunt Drucie had learned a few penny saving tips. She liked going to Pick-and-Save, a bargain shop, so a trip to find a cheap treasures became a Yuma ritual. Some of the kitchen stuff I had in my first apartment was from my Pick-and-Save moments with Aunt Drucie. She bought Mexican sugar, which is cheaper than U.S. sugar, but is not quite as fine a grind, and is still a bit brown. Aunt Drucie also introduced us to Mexican vanilla, which is much stronger but cheaper per ounce than the little bottles that are typically sold in U.S. stores. I still buy the stuff. I also saw my first brown eggs at her house. She had her own chicken coop for egg gathering, and, yes, for occasionally plucking and cooking. Though, she sometimes didn’t tell the kids whom they were eating until after the fact. Then there were the pigs or a cow in a corral for putting in the freezer when the time was right. One year, young Patty informed us there were bones in the freezer. Aunt Drucie clarified: “Bones, the cow.” They also planted citrus trees. I remember juicing quite a pile of grapefruits for Uncle Bruce one year, so he could freeze it. Aunt Drucie didn’t have all the kitchen gadgets that Mom had. I had learned how to make gravy the way Mom did it: in a blender. Drucie taught me to make it by using a fork to make a paste with the flour and drippings in a cup, then adding the paste to the rest of the drippings. Uncle Bruce had encouraged Aunt Drucie to learn to cut hair, so, all her children had home cuts. She then showed Mom how to use the clippers. Aunt Melody coached her further and from then until recently, Ben had home-cuts as well.
            Learning how to use the clippers was very handy for Mom since the boys needed their hair cut more often. The only time us girls got our hair done was when we went to Yuma. Aunt Melody, a beautician, had always done our hair. When Uncle Rick and Aunt Melody moved to Yuma, so did our hair appointments. In those days, Mom liked Aunt Melody to tease her hair and shape it into big curls on the top of her head. She finally taught me how to do Mom’s hair. I couldn’t get that big-hair look that Melody was so good at, but I felt I did a decent job of it.

The Cabin

            A trip to the cabin on Mt. Graham began with a stop at Granny’s house in Safford and, occasionally, a trip into town to Crandall’s Drug Store. Granny’s house was white with a porch across the front, shaded by a tall shrub, yearning to be a tree, in front of the house. Through the front door, we entered the large living room. The floor was carpeted in an old-time flower pattern. There were glass nick-knacks everywhere, doilies, and sheer, lacy curtains. It wasn’t a house that encouraged roughhousing. I usually found my way to the black grand piano. She had a pile of yellowing sheet music, most of which I wasn’t familiar with. I did try to play my way through “Danny Boy” and a hymn or two.
            Granny, Elizabeth Claridge Crandall, was Grandpa Crandall’s mother. Grandpa was her first child, Mom the first grandchild, so was given the middle name “Elizabeth.” The first great-grandchild, Elizabeth, was named for Granny. Granny had short, curly white hair (she kept it dark until her later years when she let it go white), a slightly bowed back, and dark, almost black, twinkly eyes. I never saw a solemn expression on her face. Granny’s face always matched her twinkled eyes. She had a problem with swelling in her legs, so they were quite thick and trunk-like. She would walk slow and bent over, but "twinkled" none the less. She often tucked a lacy hankie under her thin watch band.
            Granny would offer us a can of Fresca (“Frisky” she called it, with a smile on her face) which she seemed to have cases of. She also always had her ‘fridge full of Coca-cola. When Tab and Fresca were invented, they appeared in her refrigerator with the regular Coke. Mom says, “There was only Coke at the drugstore, but they would put any flavor syrup in it that you wanted. I always liked cherry, but I seem to remember that [my cousin] SueDette liked chocolate or vanilla in hers.”
            I had never seen jars of jelly like hers before. She made it herself and sealed the jars with white paraffin. I liked popping off the paraffin and scooping out the jelly under it. I remember gathering as a family around her kitchen table in a sunny dinning nook, eating her homemade tamales made with venison. Her glass-fronted kitchen cupboards seemed to go all the way to the ceiling and were filled with glass dishes, jars, and shiny things. The sun shining through the windows made all the glass in the room glittery, making the kitchen feel bright and cozy.
            Granny’s bathroom fascinated me. To get to it, we had to pass through one of the bed rooms on either side of it. The bathtub and toilet were along one side of the room with a little tile wall separating the two. The other wall had tall, painted, built-in drawers, like a dresser, with the middle section cut lower to serve as a vanity desk in front of a mirror. What fascinated me, was the floor was covered with soft, pink and white fluffy carpet, and the vanity/dressers were COVERED in perfumes, lotions, and cosmetics. Because of the family drug store, she had her own little cosmetics counter at home! Granny always had powdered and rosy cheeks, and wore a touch of “smell-good.” Mom says she preferred the heavier perfumes, particularly Tabu.
             Crandall’s Drug Store looked right out of a history book. It was long and skinny with glass cases and shelves full of sundries and medicine on the left side, and a long counter with round swivel stools on the other for sipping malts and eating burgers. Along the back was Uncle Burdette’s pharmacy counter. Uncle Burdette is Grandpa’s brother. He took over the pharmacy from Great Grandpa Stan.
            Sometimes we visited Uncle Burdette at his house. Granny’s house was on the corner, and Burdette’s was behind it to the south. I remember our family being invited for Sunday dinner and Aunt Fern made a wonderful meal that included a creamed zucchini dish that I have never been able to duplicate. Aunt Fern had a wall in her house that was so covered in old family pictures, it was hard to see what color the wall was behind them! We did a little socializing with our cousins, our favorite being Linc, short for Lincoln. He was Karen’s age, and very fun to be with.
            We usually didn’t have long visits at Granny’s or Burdette’s. We were anxious to make the hour’s drive up the mountain before dark. I remember only one night time trip up to the cabin. Besides the darkness, it was pouring rain, and there were deer out and about. It was a scary drive!
            The Cabin on Mt. Graham was built in 1927 when Grandpa Crandall was 16. Papa’s carpentry skills got some practice as he helped his Dad put it together. The Crandalls weren’t the only family seeking relief from hot summers in the valley. Grandma Crandall said her family would spend their summers on the mountain, as well, “Wearing our jeans until they stood up by themselves.” Her Grandfather, Peter Jorgen (“PJ”) Jacobson, an immigrant from Denmark, carved the road up the mountain for his logging business he shared with his son George. The road starts out long and flat, then begins to rise. It reminded us of an airplane runway so we often added airplane sound effects as we began our assent up the mountain. We would turn off the air conditioning and roll down the windows. The steep climb is too hard on the car engine, and the AC would cause it to overheat. As we came up the “runway,” the road would begin the wide curves around the foothills. Soon, the grade would steepen and the road would become mountain on one side and cliffs dropping off the other side. We pass Wet Canyon, the first landmark. Hairpin turns, my head is getting dizzy; winding, narrow, steep, grip-the-wheel road, remember to honk before going around the blind curves, and finally we pass Noon Creek. This was our half-way-there mark. The creek got its name from Grandpa PJ’s time when it took half the day to travel that far up the mountain and that is where they would “noon,” or stop for lunch. As we continued the steep, winding climb, the paved road would end and the rest of the trip would be on dirt. (Mom said that Granny would drive these roads at a scary speed, zooming around the dirt twists and turns.) The road would finally turn in toward the mountain, instead of clinging to the edge. We would be driving through the tall Ponderosa pines and feel the cool mountain air blowing in through the windows. The next landmark: Arcadia camp ground. We’re three quarters there. We finally pass the old store, and turn off the road onto Turkey Flat. It got its name from the wild turkeys that used to roam there. We take the “low road” to the cabin. It’s filled with big ruts and rocks, so the going is slow. We pass “Grandma Rock,” a large boulder at the side of the road. As a girl, Grandma Crandall was running down the mountain road, didn’t make the turn, and fell, braking her collar bone on a rock. This big boulder wasn’t the rock she fell on, but we imagined it to be the one, so always called it “Grandma Rock.” We pass Uncle Burdette’s cabin and finally pull up to “The Cabin” with the familiar white Crandall name on the side declaring “You’re here at last!”
            When the cabin was first built, it had one main room with a wall that separated the kitchen area from the main and created an attic. The kitchen had a big, black, iron stove. The burners on the old gas stove had to be lit by hand each time, not like modern stoves that light themselves as the knob is turned. We were always a bit nervous of the “whoosh!” as the flame from our match ignited the gas. One year when Uncle Rick and Aunt Melody were at the cabin with us, Melody got a bit confused while lighting the oven. Strike the match and then turn on the gas? Or turn on the gas and then strike the match? With her head in the oven door, she chose method two. “POOOOOOF” With a flash of blue and a scream, the oven was lit, but Aunt Melody was now missing some of her eyebrows and had a slightly melted wig.
            The white, porcelain kitchen sink was very deep and large. It could fit the wash pan with room around it to rinse dishes. I remember washing dishes at night: the smell of soap, the warm sudsy water, the sound of the gas light, and looking out the window in front of me and seeing nothing but my reflection as the darkness peeked in from the other side. The sink also fit little bodies for bathing. A night time bath to wash off the collected adventure of the day was a cozy evening event. I wouldn’t be surprised if every grandchild has had a bath in that big sink
            The attic ladder was made of logs nailed to strips of wood attached to the wall. It was great to climb on and hang like a monkey. Climbing up to the top, we would open the trap door and crawl into the attic. In early years, this was the extra bedroom, a place for all the children to sleep. I only remember sleeping there once. There was a window at the end of the attic that we could look out of, and wire-frame beds. When the cabin was closed for the winter, Grandma Crandall would sprinkle laundry soap on the floor as a mouse deterrent. Cassandra and Karen wrote their names on the wall.
            The main room had a fireplace, and a front door with a screen. The screen would bang closed as children would run in and out.
            Odds and ends from the Crandall’s store and home made their way up the mountain to the cabin on Turkey Flat as the Stan Crandall clan built their summer nest. There was a fire in the store around 1928, and some things were salvaged for the cabin. The old glass front door of the store became a picture window next to the fireplace. At night, we would shine a flashlight out that window and watch the nightlife, skunks, mostly, sometimes porcupines. Then there were the metal frame chairs with heart-shaped backs and round, red, wooden seats, that looked like we should be sipping sodas cheek to cheek, that were placed around the dining table off the kitchen in the main room.
            The first cabin refrigerator was actually an ice box. It looked like a small refrigerator, but was actually just a fancy ice chest. Later, a large refrigerator came up. The icebox became a dry food storage cupboard, securing the food from the mice. We had to stop to buy a block of ice before heading up the mountain for the bottom of the refrigerator until one that ran on gas came to live at the cabin.
            If family members had orphan dishes and utensils, the cabin adopted them. Their home became a wooden dish cupboard painted a pale blue-green. The bottom half had two drawers for silverware and cooking implements, and a cupboard for pots and pans. The top half of the cabinet was shelves with glass-front doors for dishes. A painted block of wood twisted on a screw to serve as a door latch.
            There was an old rug tapestry of a buck deer that hung on the wall of the main room. This was one of two tapestries that were original to the cabin. Somehow, a couple of my paint-by-numbers of deer in the woods ended up tacked to the wall. Even more puzzling was how one of my paintings from my freshman art class ended up hanging on a wall. There was an old gold framed mirror with deer antlers hanging above it near the front door. The deer antlers served as a hat rack, but also could hold one of Papa’s handmade slingshots. In the main room was also an old dressing table and a double bed. There were a couple chairs and a little table in front of the fireplace, a chair or love seat by the picture window, a wooden box by the front door for firewood and kindling, and a little bookcase. The bookcase was next to the chair by the picture window. It held orphaned books and a lot of Reader’s Digest back issues. One old chair might be exchanged for another old chair, and things might be rearranged, but the basics stayed the same.
            Two rooms were added to the cabin later. This picture was taken in 1944 and the porch isn’t there yet. Grandpa Crandall didn’t know when the rooms came to be, since they were built while he and his were back east. The long, skinny addition to the back of the cabin held a full size bed and a single. The room was exactly the width of the bed. Grandma and Grandpa Crandall always slept in this room. At the other end of the addition, off the kitchen, a simple showering area, a closet with a curtain instead of a door, and a bathroom stall were added. Until the indoor toilet was installed, everyone had to use the outhouse. It must have been nice not to fight the critters for a cold seat in the middle of the night! My mother remembers those nighttime trips to the outhouse as a girl. After this, the outhouse was then used for garbage storage to keep it from the bears until it could be carried down the mountain. There was no garbage service up there. If it couldn’t be burned, it had to be stored until stashed in town. The new bathroom stall had a little window and a wood, plank door, not a regular door with a doorknob. Uncle Rick (resident artist) made a little sign on a string that said, “School of Contemplation” on one side, and something just as deep on the other. He hung it on the bathroom door latch. This was to warn others that the bathroom was occupied. The problem was that it took some years before I knew which side should face out while taking care of business.
            The other room that was added was a partially-screened porch. The two side walls had regular windows, but the longest wall just had the screen. There were two full beds on old-fashioned metal frames with wire springs. There weren’t any box springs, just old mattresses stacked on top of each other that made the bed feel very high up. This was my favorite room in the cabin. I loved laying on the bed listening to the wind blowing through the trees and smelling the pine; hearing the rain beat on the tin roof as I read a book or played games, with the smell of wet earth and rain filling my nostrils; feeling the chilly night air and wondering what creatures were below the window as I snuggled into the cold bed and waited for warmth and sleep.
            The morning sun piercing through the pines and the honk of a logging truck going around a blind curve was the official Mt. Graham alarm clock. Elizabeth was usually first up in the morning and would get a fire going in the fireplace (unless Daddy or Papa Crandall were with us). There might be other early risers, but they tended to keep their toes under the covers until the fire was going. Then, we’d sit in front of the fire until we were awake and warm and ready for breakfast. I think David would bounce right into the day, poking at the fire, looking at mouse traps, dancing for his next adventure.
            When we were young, we spent our days digging in the sand in front of the cabin. The top of the soil was loose and sandy like a beach, and heavier deeper down. We would use big spoons or sticks to dig holes. Some siblings would try to dig to China. I would create sand houses. Behind the cabin, by the back door, the rocks were covered with moss. I would peel off the moss and use it as carpeting. Carefully selected rocks and twigs, pine needles and pinecone bits were shaped into furnishings.
            We also liked picking the wild flowers. Grandma Crandall tried to teach us the names of the flowers, but I couldn’t seem to remember them. I liked looking at all the toadstools: the splotchy colors, the clumps and singles, the jumbos, the teeny, the bizarre. The forest floor was also covered with ferns. We would walk along the road down to Grandma Rock, swing at Uncle Burdette’s cabin, lounge on a chair outside with a book, attempt a game of badminton, or go on a hike.
            A “hike” meant walking down the steep slope in front of the cabin and following the faint trail blazed by little Crandall feet to the old store on the main road. Then we would hike up the road to the entrance of Turkey Flat and sing, “You take the high road and I’ll take the low road, and I’ll be to Scotland before ye!” Of course, we didn’t know the whole song, so we just sang the same line over and over again, making sure our voices penetrated deep into the woods and the ears of every camper on Mt. Graham. Sometimes we took the low road, and sometimes we took the high road. Grandma Crandall said, to get to her family’s cabin, take the high road all the way to the end. Turn as if to head to Granny’s cabin, and “Jake’s Roost” is there on the corner. The Jacobson’s called it that because of the wild turkeys. There is a historical marker at the cabin site.
            Grandpa Crandall took us on REAL hikes. He walked with us to the new road (a dirt road carved on the other side of “Jacobson Canyon” that was never used) and told us about a place he visited in his youth that he called “Bear Cave.” The new road had destroyed a lot of the old landmarks. I remember him looking into the woods as we came around each bend, until he said, “I think this is the spot.” He led us through trees and shrubs, turning this way and that, until he found it. I was a little nervous up to that point. Grandpa was always really sharp, but how could he remember where something was in the middle of the woods? A tree was a tree, and a rock was a rock! How could he know where he was going? Yet, there it was! The cave was actually a massive boulder, the size of a house that had fallen into a v-shaped rock formation. A stream up above ran down between the crevices, through the cave, and down into a waterfall just past the mouth of the cave. It was a beautiful spot! We wanted to show Chari [Pomeroy cousin] when she came up with us. Before we had gotten too far down the path, we intruded on the home of some very tiny bees. It resulted in a trip down the mountain to Uncle Burdette’s drugstore for a bee sting remedy.
            Grandpa also took us to Ladybug Saddle, which we called Ladybug Peak back then. We had to drive further up the mountain, park at the side of the road, and then start the hike up to the Peak. As we walked along the trail, the trees and rocks appeared to be spotted orange-red. The farther we walked, the larger the red patches became. The red was actually masses of Ladybugs. They didn’t fly around. They just sat together in sheets, completely covering branches, tree trunks, rocks, and patches of ground near the path. At the peak, we would sit on big boulders and look out over the valley, or watch the ladybugs in the rock crevices. Aunt Clare decided to break off a branch orange-red with bugs, to take back to the cabin. We got in the car and drove back toward Turkey Flat. As the altitude began to change, the ladybugs began to “wake up.” By the time we got back to the cabin, the car was filled with flying ladybugs! They were in her hair, in her underclothes, and in the cracks and crannies of the car upholstery, and speckled the other car occupants, as well! The car doors had to be kept open until all the ladybugs had flown away.
            We occasionally had guests with us while up at the cabin: Aunt Kathy (Uncle Russ’s first wife), cousin Chari Pomeroy, cousin Hudson McEuen, Marion Smith and Chris Leader, the Reads, Aunt Drucie, Aunt Melody, Aunt Clare, and, of course, Grandpa and Grandma Crandall. Uninvited guests also brought adventure. A bat was flying around the cabin and Grandpa caught it in his coat and took it out into the night. There was a year when there were so many mice in the cabin, they would scurry across the foot of our beds. Every night, I pleaded in my prayers, “They are your mice, Heavenly Father, so tell them to stay off the bed while I sleep!” I was afraid to even put my feet on the floor in the morning, until I had checked to make sure nothing was under them. We sometimes saw a mouse run across the floor while we played games at night, and even saw a rat one year. When Grandpa was with us, he would take care of the “bodies” in the traps. When David became a little older, he was in charge of the extraction and burial.
            Spiders were the most common guests, and they seemed to be everywhere. We called them Daddy Long-legs. They have tiny, beadlike bodies, and long, hair-thin legs. In “The Year of the Spider,” Aunt Drucie and Aunt Melody were with us. The spiders were numerous, even crawling into the playpen with the babies.
            One evening we were all outside when a neighbor called out to us. He pointed near Uncle Burdette’s cabin, and padding down the slope was a small bear. It scared me. I was afraid to look out the windows at night for fear I’d see a bear peering in at me. I didn’t want to open the front door unless I looked through the window in case there was a bear knocking on the door wanting to come in.
            We knew other families on the mountain, though, we were rarely there at the same time. One year, we were invited to the Porter’s cabin in Columbine. Columbine was much higher on the mountain. It was a long, nauseous trip. It was not nearly as pretty as Turkey Flat, which was tall pines, thick forests, and ferns. Columbine had more modern cabins, the woods were more sparse, trees were shorter, and the ground was covered in something called “skunk cabbage.”
            Daddy tried teaching us to shoot. He bought an air pistol to deal with the birds in the pecan tree, and then found out they were legally allowed to rule the roost. Dad brought the pistol up to the cabin, set up paper sacks on the slope in front, and tried to teach us to aim and shoot. Elizabeth and I couldn’t hit the sack! He moved us closer, thinking that the target was too far. We continued moving closer to the sack until we were about three feet away. THEN we hit our mark.
            Grandpa made sling shots and taught some of the grandsons how to use them. One night, a bolt of lightening struck a tree near the cabin. Grandpa took me over the next morning and showed me the scar and the strip of bark and wood that was peeled off in the process. He said I could shape the wood into something and let it dry, and it would hold its shape. I used his pocket knife to cut a design into it and shaped it into a bracelet.
            If we were to stay for more than a week on the mountain, we went down for church. When the Reads were with us, Daddy and Brother Read rearranged the furniture in the cabin, set up the sacrament on the little table and covered it with a white dish towel. They took turns kneeling on the floor to bless the bread, and then the water, passing it to us as we sat on chairs, all set in a row.
             Most evenings were spent playing board games. The favorites? Monopoly, Mille Bournes, Careers, Life, and Clue. These game nights inspired a love of playing games as a family. We could be miserable and quarreling amongst ourselves at home in Phoenix, but all was well when we gathered around an old table, in an old cabin, high in the mountain to play a game of Mille Bournes.
            It was always nice to have popcorn to go with the game. We popped it over the gas stove in a big pot with oil, or over the fire in the fireplace in a popcorn basket. Sometimes, we just used Jiffy Pop, which came in a pie tin with a handle. The pan is covered in foil that is folded in a spiral. As the corn pops, the foil puffs up and uncoils until it looks like a huge silver ball sitting in a pie pan. I loved to watch the pan poof. Popcorn smell, snaps and pops of the fire in the fireplace, the sound of the gas lamps – all I needed was a cup of hot chocolate and I was ready for games!
            There was always a deck of cards and poker chips in the cabin. Granny was quite the card player: poker, canasta, etc. Mom remembers the days when Granny could still go up to the cabin, and witnessed her card playing skills. We would play War, Go Fish, and Concentration. The summer of ‘74, the Dickerson family from our ward was up at their cabin at the same time. They invited us over for the evening. They taught us a new card game that required several decks of cards. It was so much fun! We laughed, played cards, and munched on burnt homemade granola. When it was time to go, Art Dickerson (about 16 years old) escorted us all back to our cabin. It is very dark on the mountain at night. We huddled together so we could all see by the light of one flashlight. We knew we were not the only creatures roaming the woods, and the blackness of the night with a teenage boy heightened the scream and giggle factor.
            Back in Phoenix, Mom bought several decks of cards, and we began playing that card game the Dickerson family had taught us. We would play it almost daily, for long periods of time. It began to be somewhat obsessive. Dad hadn’t been with us on this trip. He began to grumble about the amount of time we were spending playing cards. We reluctantly decreased our playing time, but we still played. The next October General Conference, President Spencer W. Kimball spoke.

“Gambling is seeking wealth without work. We hope faithful Latter-day Saints will not use the playing cards which are used for gambling, either with or without the gambling.” [“God Will Not Be Mocked,” Gen. Conf., Ensign (Nov. 1974), 4 (live commandments)]

            That was all we had to hear. We gathered up the cards, threw them in the garbage, and never played with cards again, even at the cabin.
    


 Notes:

1.         Granny’s driving was so fast and aggressive, when she reached her 80's, her children had to take her keys away from her and sell her car in fear of her driving. Grandpa Crandall tells of her driving in his history.

2.         Drought had a serious effect on the plant life on the mountain. When Curtis and I visited the cabin in 1994, the ferns, moss, and toadstools were gone. The dirt in front of the cabin was dry very far down, and was dusty.

3.         On our first trip to Ladybug Peak, the road was not paved, and there was only a small place for one car to pull off the road. By 1994, the road was paved with a large pullout parking area, complete with a large sign, calling it Ladybug Saddle. Whether by drought or increase in hiking popularity, the trail became less red. We never saw the massive population of ladybugs as we had in the early years.

4.         The forest service wanted to do away with cabins on Turkey Flat. After discussion and debate, the existing cabins were allowed to remain, but strict rules as well as a moratorium on new building was set in place. If a cabin collapsed under winter snows or suffered serious damage, it could not be rebuilt. If a cabin was not cared for properly and did not meet requirements, a cabin would lose its permit and be removed. When Grandpa Crandall could no longer go up the mountain because of his heart condition, the cabin fell into a state of disrepair and came in danger of losing its permit. In 2004, Grandpa sold the cabin to his nephew Kelly Smith. Kelly said he would try to preserve it as it was. He left the Crandall name on the outside. He replaced all the windows, and replaced the screens on the porch with regular windows. He removed the wall that separates the main room from the kitchen, thereby taking out the attic. New appliances, and a bath/shower were put in. He put paneling up every wall and up the ceiling. All furnishings belonging to “Crandalls” were removed and given back to Grandma and Grandpa before he took over the cabin. In the summer of 2005, there was a fire on Mt. Graham, which came near Turkey Flat. The cabins were in danger of burning down, but they were spared.

DADDY

Monday, February 10, 1975

            Daddy wasn’t feeling well. Saturday night, he had gotten up in the middle of the night and nearly fainted. He had to sit on the edge of the tub until he felt well enough to walk. Early Sunday morning, he called the bishop to let him know he wouldn’t be coming to bishopric or Sunday School meetings that morning. We all went to Sacrament meeting in one car that afternoon and came home directly afterwards because Daddy wasn’t feeling well enough to stay for his clerking duties. He brought home the tithing money and sat on the bed counting, with his clerking books and binders open and spread out, while doing his church business on the phone.¹
            Monday morning, Daddy made an appointment with Dr. Ken Johnson for 3:00. David sat on his lap and read a “Sam” book from kindergarten. Mom drove us to school.
            Mamma spent the morning cutting out dresses for us. She could lay out the material in one long strip from the living room into the dining room. She knelt on the floor while she laid out pattern pieces, and Daddy took a bath to see if it would help him feel better. After the bath, he lay on the couch and kept Mom company until he decided he would go take a nap, telling her to wake him for his appointment. She watched through the doors as he climbed into bed and snuggled the covers under his chin. Mamma continued crawling around cutting out material until she, too, needed a rest. She lay on the living room floor next to her project and dozed.
            Mom woke with a start and realized it was time to pick up David and Cassandra. She went to the door of the bedroom and called to Daddy that she was off to the school. He didn’t move. Strange. He must be pretty tired. Mamma drove to the school and as little Davie got in the car, the first thing he said was he couldn’t “hold it.” As soon as they got home, Davie went to the tub. Mamma was on the phone when she realized it was nearing 3:00. She sent Pooka to wake up Daddy. Pooka went to his bedroom door. She just stood there, feeling afraid to go in. She looked at him. He looked funny. She didn’t want to go in. Pooka turned around and went back to the kitchen. Still on the phone, Mamma asked if Daddy was awake. “No.” “Well, go and wake him! He has a doctor appointment!” She went back to her phone conversation. Pooka went back to the bedroom. She went in this time, but didn’t want to get too near. “Wake up!” she whispered. She knew something was wrong, but she was too young to know what to do or understand. Cassandra went outside and sat on the front porch. Mamma, now off the phone, went to take care of it herself.
            As Mamma entered the room, she knew Daddy was gone. She stood at the foot of the bed and shook his feet. No movement. He was cold. She shook his shoulder. Nothing. She began to violently shake him by the shoulders, shouting, “Oh, God, don’t do this to me!” She called Emergency and the operator asked if she was doing CPR.² She didn’t know how. The operator walked her through it. Mamma began following the instructions. “I hear a gurgling when the breath comes out,” Mamma told the operator. “Just keep doing what you are doing,” was the reply.
            Pooka, still sitting on the front porch, watched a fire truck and paramedics pull up in front of the house. They were from the station a couple blocks away (Encanto and Seventh Avenue), so they came within two - three minutes of Mamma’s call. She followed the men into the house and saw them go straight into the room where they began working on Daddy. Cassandra went back outside. While the paramedics were working feverishly on Daddy, Mamma called Grandpa Crandall. No one answered. She called Papa Pomeroy at work. He was in a meeting. She left a message for him to call the house as soon as he was back. Whom could she call? What to do? She remembered Uncle Tom had the night shift at the FBI. He would be home. She called him and he arrived within a couple minutes. Mrs. Monsees from next door came over. Mamma told her Davie was in the tub, the girls were still at school, and please take care of things.
            The paramedics wanted to take Daddy to St. Joe’s Hospital, on 5^th Avenue and Thomas. Mamma said, no, he has a brother doing his residency at Good Sam,³ and to please call ahead and have him paged to the emergency room. The paramedics asked if Mamma wanted to ride in the ambulance. No. She would ride with Tom. On later reflection, Mamma decided the reason she didn’t want to ride in the ambulance was because that is not what she wanted as the last memory of Daddy. As they drove, Uncle Tom said, “It’ll be all right.”
            “No, he’s gone.”
            “Don’t say that! Everything will be fine!”
            “No, Tom, he’s gone. He’s gone.”
            When they got to the hospital, the nurses showed Mom and Uncle Tom into a special waiting room. Doctors and nurses would come in periodically and give them reports. Grandpa and Grandma Crandall came. Mamma doesn’t know how they knew to come. It is likely that Uncle Tom was able to get in touch with them while he and Mom waited. Then, the nurses brought in Daddy’s belongings in a bag: his white dress shirt with his pens still in his pocket, other clothing items, and his wedding ring. Grandma Crandall fell apart. She sobbed so violently, Mamma had to console her. Grandma had always felt like Daddy was her son. Bishop Udall and Brother Dick Porter had come to the hospital, too. There were papers brought in for Mamma to sign: permission for autopsy, which mortuary to send the body to . . .
            I was given a note that I was needed in the principal’s office. I left my classroom, went down the stairs and walked through the halls to the office. I was surprised to see Elizabeth, too. We were instructed to go outside and wait for someone to pick us up. This was not normal. As I walked out of the building and down the sidewalk, I thought, “Daddy’s gone.” I felt it. Karen was already outside waiting. The three of us just stood there silently by the chain-link fence. I watched as Oleta Kintz, our neighbor, pulled up in her car. I thought again, “Daddy’s gone.” We all got in the car. She drove us home and said to go over to the Monsees. We went next door. Pooka and David were sitting on the livingroom floor watching golf on the big TV. Though their home was beautiful and immaculate, it was clearly very boring. I stayed for a few minutes, then went home. The house was empty. We still hadn’t talked to each other about why we were brought home from school. I didn’t tell Elizabeth and Karen what I was feeling. I got out some Jell-O and started making Jigglers. We had some whipped cream we could put on them, too.
            Elizabeth sat at the Monsees. The office had told her that there was a fire truck that had come to the house, and Daddy had some heart problems. The people in the office had seemed solemn, secretive. Sitting in the Monsee’s house now, she knew Daddy was gone. She felt it.
            The house was quiet. The Jigglers had now set, and I had begun cutting them into hearts and putting whipped cream on, when I heard Grandma Crandall come in the front door. She said she was taking us to her house. I grabbed my flute to take with me. I wanted something to do while we waited. Waited for what? I didn’t know.
            Grandma didn’t speak during the drive. When we arrived at her house, she took the phone and went into a back bedroom. We went into the family room, the place where children belonged, and waited. “Daddy’s gone,” I thought again. I didn’t play my flute. I went to the living room and sat down in Papa Crandall’s big, green, high back chair. It always had a feeling of power...of authority...of security. I set my flute beside me. I just waited.
            Grandma came out of the back room when she heard the front door open. Relatives began to arrive. They talked in whispers or just sat quietly, waiting. Chairs were brought into the living room, set in a big circle, and Aunts and Uncles began filling them. The phone would ring, and Grandma would run off to the back room. It was now evening. The door opened again. It was Mamma with Uncle Tom, Grandpa Crandall, and Bishop Udall. I looked at her and I knew my feelings and thoughts had told me the truth. The doorbell rang again. Grandma Crandall answered it. She saw Daddy come in with Grandma and Grandpa Pomeroy and Uncle Kent.4 She took no notice of that at first, because it was so normal to see him with his family. Then she realized what she had seen and looked around, but Daddy was no longer visible to her. As the Pomeroy relatives arrived it was as if Saturday Night Hamburgers had collided with Sunday’s at Grandma Pomeroy’s. Grandma Pomeroy was weeping, being supported by Uncle Kent and a dazed Papa Pomeroy. They seated themselves with the others. I saw Daddy come into the circle of chairs. He walked to each person, as if to say goodbye. When he came to me, he smiled at me and said, “Tell your mother I’m okay.”
            The room became still as Mamma sat down on the couch. There was a quiet, whispered discussion of who was going to talk to the children. Mamma said she would, and asked for them to be sent for. Someone went to the family room door and called for my brother and sisters to come into the livingroom. They sat on the floor. Mamma began telling us a story, talking to us children, even though the room was full of other people.
            Daddy had been feeling sick. He decided to stay home from work. He had made an appointment with the doctor, then went back to bed. Mamma had gone to check on him, and when she looked at him, she knew he was gone. She called for an ambulance. They came and began CPR. They worked on him all the way to the hospital. Uncle Kent was called to the emergency room and began to help try to resuscitate him. He worked on Daddy much longer than doctors usually do, but Daddy died. She bore her testimony, then asked if we had any questions. I raised my hand and asked, “How are we going to live?”

            The rest of the evening was spent at Grandma Crandall’s: the phone ringing; calls being made; relatives talking, weeping, sitting in shocked silence. Mamma had to make funeral plans. She called Brother Dick Porter and asked if he would say a prayer. He sobbed uncontrollably and said he couldn’t do it. Mamma said that if she had to, he had to. She called Colleen Malloy and asked her to play the organ, requesting classical music for the prelude and postlude because Daddy loved classical music. Mamma called Virginia Peterson and asked her to sing. Virginia wanted to know what song to sing. Weariness began to creep in. “You just pick something,” she told Virginia.
            Daddy was a few days shy of his 38^th birthday. He was here and then gone.

Tuesday

          Grandma Crandall came over to our house in the morning. She got us up and cleaning the house, trying to get us to feel normal. I went into Mamma’s room and told her what Daddy had said. She cried, and then I cried. Grandma walked past the door and saw us crying. She scolded us, telling us to stop. That angered me. I did learn many years later that she did that because she was having a hard time holding it together, and didn’t want to lose it in front of us. She felt the adults needed to be strong for the children. I preferred to face it, not bury it. But, this was Grandma’s badge of courage: hiding her fears, or grief, so her children could feel security.
            When Mamma had been asked which mortuary to send the body to, she had remembered hearing Memory Lawn was owned by members of the church. Not knowing what else to put down on the hospital forms, this is what she chose. She went to the cemetery with Papa Pomeroy and Uncle Kent. They chose the casket and bought a plot. Five more plots were purchased next to Daddy’s: one for Mamma, one each for Grandpa and Grandma Pomeroy, Uncle Kent and Aunt Margo.

Wednesday

          Mom was having a hard time trying to decide what to wear to the funeral and viewing. She refused to wear black. She was also three months pregnant and beginning to “pooch” in the tummy already. This was her third pregnancy in a year. She had miscarried in February, a year ago, then again in September. I remember Daddy waking Elizabeth to ask her to be in charge of things while they went to the hospital. Mom was miscarrying. I cried and prayed for that little baby.
            Sue Wooley and Connie Hansen, Mom’s cousins, came from out of town for the funeral. They picked up Mamma and took her to Park Central mall. They bought her a long, light green dress from a maternity shop.
            Food was arriving in piles. It was all set out at Grandma Crandall’s house where we gathered before the viewing. The Guggisburg family even sent over a champaign cake from their Guggy’s restaurant. Elizabeth tasted only paper. Her body had shut down. Someone told her she needed to eat, but the desire for food just was not there. She did not want to go to the viewing. Mamma said she had to. This went back and forth, Elizabeth becoming more upset, Mamma becoming more firm. Elizabeth went with the family, forced to go.
            We went to the mortuary early, before the viewing was to begin. Mom had asked the funeral director, Brother Shumway, to talk to us. He explained about how a body was like a balloon that is filled when the spirit enters, and empty when it leaves. He told us that the body doesn’t look quite the same when the spirit departs. After our meeting, we went with Mom into the viewing room. It was a lovely room with cream-colored carpets and light golden drapes covering the walls. The lighting was soft and warm. I went to the casket and looked at Daddy. He didn’t have the twinkle in his appearance. His skin looked translucent. Mom fussed about his hair being wrong and tried to fix it with a black comb. She couldn’t decide whether to put his glasses on him or tuck them into the casket. She had them in her purse. She finally concluded he wouldn’t need them in the resurrection, though he did look handsome in them. Elizabeth didn’t want to look in the casket.
            People began to arrive. Brother John Miller couldn’t even talk to Mamma. He just sobbed as he put his arms around her. Aunt Sharon began to wail. The intense grief people felt was open and becoming loud. Mamma was worried it would scare us. She asked Brother Shumway to see that we were taken from the room. Grandma Crandall came over and ushered us all out. Once again, I was angry at Grandma for shutting me out. I didn’t know that she was following Mamma’s instructions. Elizabeth was relieved when we were escorted out. She didn’t want to be in the room with a dead body. Why didn’t anybody ask us what WE needed? We sat in the hall outside the viewing room on blue, velvet cushioned chairs and a bench. Grandma Crandall sat with us.

Thursday

          Early in the morning, Brother Al Winters came by with a stack of newspapers. They had Daddy’s obituary in it and he wanted to make sure we had enough copies (this was before photo copying was widely available). Mamma also found a note that had been put in our mailbox. The man who wrote it said that Daddy would pass by his house while walking to/from work and would always compliment him on his flowers and yard, and would stop to chat with him. When he saw Daddy’s picture in the obituaries, he recognized it as the kind, friendly man who passed by his house. He was so impressed with Daddy, he asked if he could help Mom obtain her widow’s benefits from Social Security. He worked for the department. Mamma wrote a little note back saying, yes, she would like his help. She was sweetly thrilled to reap the benefits of Daddy's innate goodness.
             We gathered with our relatives in the Relief Society room at Phoenix 3^rd Ward. Daddy’s casket was there. When everyone had come and been quietly seated, the glass doors to the room were closed. Bishop Udall conducted the proceedings, and Uncle Kent said the family prayer. Family members were invited to come up before the casket was closed. Daddy’s mother and father, brothers and sister, stood over him and wept. Grandma Crandall came up and wept. Then Bishop Udall asked Mom to put the temple slippers on Daddy. She replied she couldn’t do it. Uncle Kent put them in place, and the casket was closed. 5
            As we followed the casket from the Relief Society room, there were people standing reverently up and down the hall, filling it. We entered the chapel. The cry room, the choir seats, the entire chapel was filled.
            Many people in the program struggled through their parts. We, as children, were very bored. Dick Dahl’s voice seemed to drone on and on through my head. 6 Mom said Virginia Peterson picked just the right songs.
            After the service, we followed the casket down the isle to the back of the chapel and out through the foyer. I saw neighbors who were not members of the church standing in the pews. The foyer was standing room only. The mass of people stood reverently, watching us pass. The casket was loaded into the funeral car by the uncles, and we climbed into a limousine with Mom. A police motorcade pulled out in front of us for an escort, their lights flashing red and blue. I knelt on the seat and watched out the back window as we turned onto Central Avenue. Car after car joined the procession, turning onto Central. I kept watching until we were too far away to see the cars continuing to join the entourage. The police would pull into intersections and stop all traffic, allowing the entire line to pass through even when the lights were red. Elizabeth thought the motorcade and limousine were the best part of the funeral. We rolled down the windows and waved to cars as we passed by, like we were the Queen of England! Grandma Crandall, who was riding in the car with us, was appalled, but we did it anyway!
            When we got to the cemetery, the uncles carried the casket from the funeral car and laid it on a special platform covered in artificial grass and surrounded by flowers. The grave was dedicated by Papa Pomeroy. People hung around afterwards to converse and talk to Mamma. Aunt Sharon gathered us and took us to the grave of a little girl named Mandy who had died recently. She suggested we take some of Daddy’s flowers and put them on her grave. Daddy had so many flowers they had been piled very high. If we each took a bouquet to Mandy, the pile would still be just as big. Aunt Sharon was one of the few people that talked to us children.

Friday

            It was Valentines Day. I wanted to go to school for my Valentines. Grandma Crandall said it was not appropriate. I protested. The answer was a firm “NO.” Angry again. Uncle Tom and Uncle Russ took us to the zoo. It turned out to be a very nice day for us. I appreciated greatly that they did this.
            While we were at the zoo, Mom stayed home to figure out finances. She had asked Papa Pomeroy if Daddy was going to still receive his paycheck. Yes, he would. She could not make heads or tails of the checkbook. When they were first married, Mom took care of the finances while Dad finished school. When he was done, she said, “You’re the accountant. You should be doing this.” They set up two accounts. Daddy was to pay the bills from his account, and Mom was given a household allowance for her account. Mamma went to the bank to find out how much money was in Daddy’s account. She deposited the new paycheck into her account, and planned to wait until all the checks had cleared from Dad’s before closing it. Then, she paid the bills.

Saturday

            It was Daddy’s birthday. We did not Celebrate.
            Elizabeth sat at the kitchen table, drawing and coloring. She felt compelled to draw. She made a haunted house, skeletons, and ghosts until she felt better. She was almost 13 years old. She wished someone could help her make sense of it.7
            Mamma went through all of Daddy’s belongings. No one came over to help her with this. She did it alone. Mom made a Goodwill pile and a keeper pile. When she was done, she called Uncle Kent and told him to come pick everything up NOW and take it away. Mamma wanted it out of the house. When he came over, she gave him Daddy’s rainbow tie. The tie was multicolor, each color blending into the next like a rainbow. Daddy used to laugh at his “pot” at the end of the rainbow! Uncle Kent did not want the tie. She made him take it!

Sunday

            I don’t remember going to church. Mom says she did not play the organ for a month. We came in just before the meeting began and “hid” on the back row. We left immediately afterwards.

Monday

            We returned to school. Elizabeth did not feel ready to go back. It was too soon. She would not have made it through if she hadn’t had such good friends to help and support her. The rest of us did not have that kind of help.
            Mamma’s glass cocoon of shock shattered. Life was supposed to go on, but now she felt the reality of making the journey alone.





Notes:

1.         Rules regarding the handling of tithes were different back then. Tithing could be given directly to the ward clerk, for example.

2.         St. Joseph’s Hospital and Good Samaritan Hospital were always referred to this way.

3.         911 had not been established yet. There was a sticker on the phone with the Emergency number on it.

4.         After Daddy’s death was confirmed, Uncle Kent left the hospital and went to Grandma Pomeroy’s house. When he walked in the door, she felt terrible news had come with him. Her thought was Steve had died. Uncle Steve had recently come home from BYU and was VERY ill. She and Aunt Patti had been taking care of him. Grandma was worried how serious the illness had become and wondered if Steve might not pull through. Hearing that is was Ben that died, was an unbearable shock.

Little Lisa had her tonsils removed that day. Not knowing what was happening with her brother, Sharon left Good Sam with Lisa about the time Daddy was being brought in. As she was driving, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw a dark cloud over the hospital. She said, “Looks like a storm is coming. We’d better hurry home!” By the time Sharon arrived home, the skies were oddly clear. Uncle Kent called and asked how Lisa was doing, and then asked if he could come over.

Uncle Kent also made a visit to Uncle Steve and Aunt Patti. He sat next to Steve’s bed as he related the story of Daddy’s death. Uncle Steve was hardly well enough to attend the funeral. He dragged himself out of bed to go and went home immediately following. His illness prevented him from being at the family gathering the day Daddy died and the viewing.

Uncle Kent shouldered a big burden that day. He had tried to resuscitate his brother, was unsuccessful, then personally visited each family member to tell them of the loss.

5.         Elizabeth said Cary Swenson, one of her peers from Mutual, came up to her and expressed his sorrow during this viewing before the funeral. He was the only one and it earned her respect, in spite of his goofy ways, to this day. For some reason, people did not talk to us children at the viewing or the funeral. We sat or stood by Mamma as people offered condolences, but we were not acknowledged. That is why memories of those who did are so significant to us.

6.         The funeral was recorded on cassette tape.

7.         I am assuming this was the day. Elizabeth can’t remember which day it was that we sat down to draw.

            My writings of my father’s death and consequences continue in “Pomeroy Bits.” For the purpose of this excerpt, I will add that at the time, a cause of death was never found. An autopsy revealed nothing. This lack of cause delayed the issuing of a death certificate. We were finally told it was heart failure, meaning, the heart failed continuing to beat.
            In recent years, my mother and I have become aware of a virus that can infect the lining of the heart. We suspect this was Daddy’s cause of death. Add Uncle Steve’s difficult bout of illness, and it appears likely the two brothers were both suffering from something they could have been exposed to while working in the same office. Uncle Steve had recently returned from BYU, but was home long enough that exposure and incubation could have taken place. Then again, Daddy did not complain of chest pain and there was no swelling in the lining of the heart.
            That said, from the day of his death until present, our family has seen the hand of the Lord guiding us in His path. We grieve and miss Daddy terribly, even now, but as result of our beliefs, we have not questioned how or even why. We believe Daddy left this life at his appointed time. It was all according to the Lord’s plan, and many events that followed testified of this truth. Does it make the grief go away? No. Does it make the grief any easier? Absolutely. Because the Lord is our beacon, we can put one foot in front of the other, keeping our eyes on the mark, praying for a safe journey, having faith and hope to get us through the stormy seas, while our unseen loved ones surround us to bear us up.