Personal History of Alice Affleck Redmon
Contributor: finnsh Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
Early Memories of my Birth and Childhood
January 19, 1978
My earliest memory was of a frame house which was very modest. It was heated by a coal stove on which my mother did the cooking. Wood was hauled in by my father from timber he had cut. Mother always felt grateful when he took time from the fields to chop up wood the right size to burn in the stove. If he did not cut her a pile of wood she would have to do it with the ax. My sister (one year older than I) and I had the chore of carrying in kindling and wood.
Outside the house was a barrel over which was a pump. The water in the barrel was for watering the horses, and we also pumped water into buckets and helped carry them in the house for drinking, cooking and washing. A windmill stood near the house and the pump. We lived on a dry farm where my father homesteaded. Our nearest neighbor was perhaps a mile away. Most homesteaders in the area of Bannock, Idaho grew grain. There was no irrigating of this land. Most of it had been sagebrush. It took a lot of preparation to get this land cleared, ready for the original planting. Then, year by year the land was plowed, harrowed and raked by horse-drawn machinery and if the Lord was generous, he would provide enough rainfall for a good crop to be harvested in the Fall. Neighbors often helped each other by using the same combine (threshing machine) and sharing labor. Once in a while there was a drought and the yield was scarce. Some farmers got discouraged and did not stay with their government contract to homestead. I remember having only one friend-my sister Helen who was just one year and two months older than I was.
Sometimes we played hide and seek in the grain fields which grew as high as our shoulders – we could hardly see over the top of the grain. Although Dad discouraged our playing in the grain fields, we thought it was fun and after all, there were acres and acres of it. I now remember that some of the acres were planted in alfalfa. We liked to see this cut by a mower (drawn by horses) about three times a year. I loved the smell of the new mown hay. Often Dad let us ride on the work horses as he moved or plowed. We were under five and not old enough to do the actual directing of the horses. Many small boys of five were expected to help their fathers in the fields, and other chores were added as they got older.
One day it was about time for my Father to return from the day’s work in the fields. Helen was about three years old and I was about two. Mother kept us in dresses, which they did in those days. Mother sometimes wore overalls when she helped Dad with the chores or when she worked in the garden. Men usually plowed up a plot for a garden site and the women and children usually kept the garden weeded and tilled. Again they prayed for rain to help grow a good garden. Besides mutton, rabbit and occasional beef or chicken (fricasseed because it went further), the garden was needed to add variety to our meals. Going into town (30 miles away) was a journey that was seldom made. This is when our folks got beans and rice and flour – stables that our young people of today would think they couldn’t make into a meal – but we gave thanks for even these items, plus plenty of milk and butter from our cow.
I remember not liking mutton because it was too greasy and strong tasting. Dad thought I was “fussy” but Mother didn’t push it. It was only after I was a grown young woman that I started to like lamb while in San Francisco, California, where I lived with an aunt one summer. She often prepared it with mint jelly, green peas, new potatoes and salad. Finally she convinced me that it was choice, and I now serve it as often as I dared, because of a southern husband who still insisted that “lamb is mutton”.
Anyway the day that mother sent her two little girls to meet Dad as he came in from the fields, he returned home without us. Mother questioned him and both became quite upset. Dusk was coming on and we had been told that mountain lions, coyotes and raccoons were all around. I think we did not sense that danger. When they found us with the light from the kerosene lantern, we were in a dry ravine of a ditch off the side of the dirt road. We were both sound asleep.
Very little was told me regarding my birth, except that I was born at Grandma’s house in Lewiston, Utah. My sister Helen was also born there also. Since she was the first child, she was named after both grandparents – Alice Helen Affleck. My mother’s mother was Healen and dad’s mother was Alice Catherine. I guess I was not expected so soon after Helen. They took Helen’s name Alice and gave it to me, but perhaps not legally because on her birth certificate, she is still called Alice Helen. There was no recorded birth for me except through LDS church records of name and blessing.
We had a little brother named Merrill (named after the Merrill’s on mother’s side). Little was known of vitamins in those days, and he was nursed by mother. His bones did not become strong. We finally left the dry farm to get more doctors’ help in the city of Logan. He died of rickets at two years of age. He never walked.
I was a very shy child when I started school, but I made good grades. The school wanted to skip me, but mother refused because she didn’t think it good for me to catch up with Helen. In fifth grade I did catch up with her because she was sickly and lost a year of school. I was born January 31, 1917.
These are surroundings of my birth. Later, I realized that World War I was terminated the year of my birth. Dad was not drafted, perhaps because farmers were needed in the war effort.
The Logan Years
When we first moved to Logan from the dry farm, we lived in Grandpa Affleck’s house. Grandpa lived there at 160 E. 1st South in a two story frame house which I will always remember. There was a parlor in the front of the house, which was never used except for funerals or marriages. Little Merrill, my brother, was in a coffin in that room when people came to show their respects before the funeral.
I recall a glass cupboard which had precious china in it, and more exciting were beautiful shells from the sea shore of various sizes and colors. We were allowed to hold them to our ears and hear the roaring sound of the sea. There was a sitting room with an organ in it and other chairs and tables which I only vaguely remember. The kitchen was like a large cooking and eating area. The large table had a big turn table in the middle where the food would be placed. Around the edge was a metal strip with indentations to put the finger in to turn the table. We sometimes were chastised when we children were too vigorous in turning the turn table, because food could be swirled off over the small ridge. Besides we were not to treat it as a plaything. I always remembered the geraniums and begonias that lined the window ledge. How careful they were to keep these plants alive during the winter (Years later, I remember having geraniums in my yard that grew the year around. They became so profuse that I had to thin them and pull some out as I did the weeds).
Many times in this farm kitchen we were served warm milk toast, sometimes with an egg poached on top. Another dish Aunt Cecil used to make was baked tomatoes. Old crusts of bread were put with tomatoes and baked. Often we had rice pudding, which was my dad’s favorite dish. These are foods that people seldom make today. I realize that they were limited in food stuffs from the store and they had to cook with milk from the cow and vegetables from the garden, and of course we were always so hungry, so most things tasted good. Cookies were made with lots of flour and very little shortening or eggs. Mother had to conserve on items. I thought that the cookies were great until I took home economics in school and learned how to cook with a recipe. Then I learned that richer, crisper cookies made with shortening were much better tasting.
Again in Grandpa’s house we learned to play and found fascinating cubby rooms under the narrow stairway or in the attic – where we loved to look through old trunks – we’d find old fancy hats, a wedding dress, a drum, another horn, and other things that were kept, probably as a memory of Grandma Affleck.
I was named after Grandma Affleck who died after the birth of her seventh child. I inquired whether she died at childbirth, as many women did in those days. However, Aunt Modena told me it was from an infection that came several days after bearing Preston. Grandpa, having six other children under sixteen, allowed Grandma’s sister, Aunt Lily, to take Preston and raise him. I have noticed that Uncle Preston is more gently speaking, more religious, easier to talk to, which I credit being because of a gentle woman raising him. Grandma also, I’ve been told, was refined and the others also would have been more spiritual with her influence on the children. Grandpa was a hard worker and he cooked and worked at his machine shop until the girls were old enough to do the cooking and other domestic chores. Grandpa was rather rough spoken at times, but everyone respected him. Besides the machine shop, which was across from the flour mill, both beside a stream (for electric power), he planted a garden and kept a cow. Grandpa did marry again, but it didn’t work out. His main concern was his responsibility to raise his children – Arville (My father - 16), Cecil, Modena, Margaret, Doyle, Clark, and Preston.
On the fourth of July, there was always a parade down main street in Logan with circus animals and marching bands. After this there were carnivals in the tabernacle park. We, Helen and I, usually got handmade organdy dresses. We might even get five or ten cents for a treat at the carnival. Dear grandpa put each of us on a high stool and cut our hair dutch cut. When my turn came, he nicked my hair above the line where it should have been, so he had to cut the whole thing shorter. I cried, “I can’t go now, what will people think? No, I can’t go, I’m ruined.” It was one of my most upset times. I believe I finally went to the parade and carnival when mother put a bonnet on my hair. Little girls quite often wore a bonnet in the spring and summer.
From Grandpa’s we moved two blocks away on the same street. This house was small, but it had a bedroom upstairs where Helen and I slept. There was a small porch out of this bedroom where one could step out and look around – very typical of many of the early homes in the towns in Utah. On the front lawn was one large pine tree under which we and our friends played in the hot summer. We lived here until I was about eight years old.
Donna, my younger sister, was born August 12, 1924. I was seven years old when she was born. I loved to help tend her. When she was about nine months old, mother started putting her in the big bathtub. She encouraged me to get in, too and help bathe her. This was fun for both of us. I began to learn to love little children and hoped I would have babies of my own when I grew up. I remember someone brought mother a pat of butter which was made in a churn. We did not have a cow, so this butter was precious. Mother put it in the pantry, and while we were all in the front room visiting, Donna crawled throughout the house. After the visitors left, mother discovered the Donna had butter all over her and had eaten almost all of the butter. Mother was always very intense over problems, but it seems she was angry and then she would also laugh saying “it wasn’t all her fault; she was too young to know any better. I hope it doesn’t make her sick. It’s too bad that that lovely butter is all gone.” It seems that butter was coming out for days in her stools – at least that is what mother said, and what mother said was usually right. Donna Lue was a pretty baby, healthy, sweet round face, big blue eyes and mother would brush her hair into little curls.
In Logan as a little girl I was still very shy. My mother never knew how I suffered with shyness. At school I would hang back and watch when others played at recess – jump the rope etc. If I did join in, kids would criticize if you made the least little mistake – they could be so cruel. Because of my early years on the dry farm, Helen was my only friend. I found it hard to make friends. Teachers approved of me, so I worked hard at school and made good grades. Then, as a result, I got praise from my mother. To this day, I am probably going to school largely because of this approval. (People in those days hesitated to praise their children because it might spoil them and they might appear to brag if they said too much about their children’s qualities to others.) Helen made friends easier, and when she had a friend or two to play with, I, her younger sister, was too young; but I was fine when she had no one else. At home, I’m sure mother was unaware of these sensitive feelings because I probably asserted myself enough at home. If not, mother didn’t help except in other ways.
I remember clearly the hours mother sat at her treadle sewing machine with me at her side. While she was making over clothes for us, I was making doll clothes. Here again she allowed herself to praise me so with this hobby I have developed my skills in making dresses and other hand sewn items. (I’ve even attended college later in life and have taken custom sewing/tailoring in my fifties. The picture we paint for kids surely stays with them as they form a mental picture of themselves since childhood, mostly by the words and tone of voice used about them – it surely helps one’s self image; Sadly, the opposite is also true.) An example: When I was about five years old, mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner and she sang as she worked. Helen began to join in. As I rocked my doll, I also began to sing with them. Mother stopped singing and remarked to Helen, “Listen to Alice, she is just like her father, she can’t even carry a tune.” As young as I was, I knew that mother’s family was musical and it somehow was important to be able to make music. Mormon’s also have a lot of music in their church meetings. Never again would I sing whenever my mother or sister could hear me. Many times they poked me to sing. They never knew the reason for my not singing, nor did I tell them until many years later.
Many years later I was in a therapy group at Langley Porter Hospital in San Francisco, California, when I was in my early thirties. The purpose was to help patients get over nervous symptoms. A group of us were asked to each choose a time in their life when they had felt hurt. Since it was an assignment, I thought and thought and finally decided the singing incident was far enough back so I could dramatize it without any difficulty. I chose two members to be my sister and mother and we went through the scene before the doctor and other patients. I began to step down off the platform when the doctor asked us to go through it once more. I felt perturbed but I obeyed. Half way through, I began to cry and sob and couldn’t seem to stop. The doctor said, “See! That is what I mean when I say how parents can cause deep hurts to children that can last a lifetime and they aren’t always aware of what they are doing.”
In later years, my mother and her second husband, Dean Hochstrasser, had a baby girl, Geraldine. From the time she was three years old, mother taught her to sing, later saved egg money and she took piano lessons and also played in the school orchestra. Gerry was encouraged to take musical parts in school operas. She became and still is a professional singer. She married a man who became Vice-President of Capital Records in Hollywood and she does background singing and numerous other things. If I could have believed in my ability and had the same encouragement I may have been more successful in my musical talents. Who can say someone can’t ever carry a turn if they’ve had but one chance to prove it at five years of age.
I love my sister Gerri dearly, but would not exchange her demanding life with my own.
I enjoy hearing music and consider having a good ear for it. I’ve recently taken three college classes in composers and music appreciation. I did not join any choirs, but I have sung during congregational singing in church, softly perhaps, but I sing because my mother was not necessarily right, as I used to think she was in all things. I still love her dearly. She was near to perfect in my eyes – all people make mistakes.
My Baptism Day
It was the day of my baptism. We lived just about four blocks from the Logan Temple, all uphill walking to get to it. Mother got my recommend which she sent with me. It seems I walked alone. It was a pretty day and there were pleasant rolling hills and meadows to walk over.
After I changed into white clothes, I was ushered into the font room where I saw a huge round tub – like font. Steps lead up to it. Then a man at the top helped guide me down into the water. A man holding the priesthood, I was told, would dip me until I was covered with water all over. It was a little frightening at first, but the temple workers looked so angelic and were so kind, I relaxed as I stepped up to a platform and was confirmed immediately after the baptism in the water. Then I was told that I could be baptized for several other people who were dead. I said, “All right, I will.” I was baptized for over a hundred people that day. I was a little tired and water soaked, but I returned home with a wonderful feeling. I too felt like an angel. I hoped I could always be good.
On Decoration Day (Memorial Day), it was a great event for the family. Our relatives would get together at our house or at Grandpa’s house in Logan. Everyone brought their choice flowers, and we would create bouquets for several graves at the cemetery. Usually peonies and lilacs were at their best this time of year – and what fragrance! (I often wondered why these flowers did not do as well in California where I later lived and grew numerous flowers.)
While the adults were arranging flowers and visiting, we children, many of us cousins, talked and played until time to go to the cemetery.
At the cemetery, we put flowers on graves of our nearest relatives – now deceased. Remarks were made about the people in the graves and how they usually remembered them. Mostly good things were said. We always remembered to put flowers on our brother Merrill’s grave. Since there was not always perpetual care in those days, some relatives would go early – maybe even the day before – and clean and mow the family plots so they would look good on Decoration Day.
Often there would be a grave or graves whose closest relatives lived too far away or otherwise neglected them. If they were in or near our family plot, we put flowers on them also.
When Dad Didn’t’ Get Home for Christmas (Logan)
One Christmas in Logan I remember especially. We came downstairs and saw a decorated tree, a kid doll for both Helen and me, a high chair for a doll, a small table and chairs. Each of us had an orange and nuts and candy in our stockings. The orange was a rare threat.
Little did Helen and I know what mother went through to make all those preparations. We thought Santa Claus did it all. My father sold grates for stoves. (Grandpa made the grates in his machine shop.) Most of the time, Dad was on the road in Utah, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming. On this occasion, mother expected him home. At least if he didn’t get home in time, to help buy and provide for Christmas, he would surely send mother money. Of course we learned many years later about how she managed that Christmas.
It seems that it was the day before Christmas and no mail came from dad. Mother waited, thinking dad might yet come home. She was worried about his safety and also about Christmas for two little girls and a smaller baby girl. We still believed in Santa Claus and she didn’t want to disappoint us. In those days, people often waited until the day before Christmas to shop, but it was getting evening. Thank goodness, mother walked to Grandpa’s and asked to borrow five dollars. She dreaded doing this, but was grateful when grandpa Affleck responded. She walked to town and purchased the whole Christmas with the five dollars. She also bought and decorated the tree that night. I do not know how she got things home since she didn’t drive and Dad had the only car.
We can be grateful for the many times mother cooked for us, sewed for us from used clothes, and did many frugal things that took little if any money. She even made her own patterns rather than by one. Her sisters always said how clever Ora was.
Childhood & Teenage Years in Ogden
A turning point in the life of the Arville Affleck family (our family – Dad, momma, Helen, Donna and I) was in about 1926 when I was eight or nine years old. We were to move from Logan to Ogden, a bigger city than Logan. Dad’s cousin, Jess Secrist, worked for the Gunn Supply Company in the industrial area of Ogden. He had arranged for Dad to go to work in the warehouse for that same company. We were glad because mother was so happy that we would at last have a regular and dependable income – that is if dad’s work was satisfactory.
We lived at the Secrist’s for a few days until we could find a suitable and reasonable house to move into. It was fun getting acquainted with new cousins, Cleo and Jess’ wife was a pleasant friendly woman. In the future, she was always hospitable and helpful. Dad liked Cleo and liked to joke with her. Her husband Jess, was a very quiet man and I think she got lonely sometimes – more about Cleo later in our teenage years.
The folks found a house which I always called the Doll house. Following is a description and example of when we lived there.
House – Doll House in Ogden
Cottage behind a larger house
My sister and I thought of it as a doll house.
When our family moved to Ogden we lived in a small cottage in back of a larger house. My sister and I thought of it as a doll house because it had small rooms. One day Helen and I were late for school – we were about 7 and 8 years old. Mother was at work, so we decided to go home and make doughnuts. The grease was so hot it turned into a disaster because the handle of the pan turned in her hand as Helen removed the grease pan from the stove. It poured over one of her feet and caused pain, blistering and later a scar. It was easy for us to feel guilty over our decision to stay home. Helen even said “Maybe the Lord is punishing us.” I do not remember further about our parent’s reaction.
Mother got a job in a millenary store selling hats. I guess it was because my Dad did not keep his job. The reason I am not sure of, except that he had a vicious temper which he could not control, and he liked the freedom of going and coming as he pleased. So again, momma helped him get his car fixed so he could “hit the road”. We knew she was disappointed that he couldn’t keep the steady income job. Dad’s temper and lack of money became the fears of our life. Collectors come to our door often and mother was the only one home to face them. She tried her best to pay the bills, but dad was full of excuses. Contention and quarrels were frequent. When the rent was too far behind, we were asked to move. We moved many times. Mother so much wanted a house of our own, but it never could be arranged. Dad often came home smiling and jovial, and in five minutes be in a rage over some trivial thing. Mother often argued and cried and carried a grudge for several days. When the rage was over, dad felt fine, but he never knew how he shut Helen and me away from him. We were glad when he left. Nor did we ever have a conversation with our dad. We felt that in his eyes, we were “just kids”. If he loved us, we never felt it. Thinking over it now, I was never hit by him, but I consider myself a battered child because of the fear I had of my father’s temper. So it is hard to write about years in Ogden. When I was thirteen, my mother and father separated and I went to Cleo Secrist’s to work for room and board and three dollars a week. It was summer; Helen went to live with another family, the Black’s. Mother took Donna and Reed and went to Malad to live with Aunt Ines and sell cosmetics. Mother was a good sales lady. She liked to “fix up” and “fix other ladies up” so they would be their prettiest. She got her lagging self confidence back by doing this. Aunt Ines, her closest sister, encouraged her, She said, “Ora was close to a nervous breakdown.”
Turning Points – Provo, San Francisco
During the depression years, almost everyone worked their way through college. Helen and I helped pay for our tuition by working at BYU for an uncle – Dean of Education, Amos Merrill. This was the freshman year of 1935 and 36. In the spring of the year (April – school was out in May) I got pneumonia, and after recovering I went to Live Oak, California where my mother and stepfather (Dean Hochstrasser) and younger children had moved from Tetonia, Idaho.
Dean’s sister, Gladys Bederman, lived in San Francisco. She wrote mother and told her that Martha Washington Candies were opening some new shops in San Francisco and knew one of the managers, who she thought would give one of us a job. Mother always depended on me to do most of the business things, so she persuaded me to go. I was glad to have this opportunity because the summer before we had picked peas in the fields of Teton Basin and also sorted peas in a sorting warehouse where peas where dumped on a belt which moved constantly and women on both sides took out older peas, shorts or flats. This was a more desirable job than picking peas in the fields all day during hot summer days. Acres and acres of peas were planted and all families worked either picking or sorting peas. The sorting was a special job and we felt lucky to be in out of the hot sun. The routine job might have been more tiresome and boring if we had not been young (18 & 19 years old), and with youth, we had dreams of boyfriends and dances we went to every Saturday night. Also we were allowed some chattering among the workers. Later in the summer we went to West Yellowstone where we worked for about a month sorting and trimming lettuce in a lettuce warehouse. It was hard work, but we still have some fond memories of these summer jobs. Besides, we were earning money to go to Brigham Young University for our first year of college. We had about 90 dollars between us which paid for our books, some tuition, room and board, what little clothing we could get by with. Imagine, this lasted us (along with what we earned doing office work – correcting papers for Uncle Amos) until Spring Quarter. This last account of the preparation might be considered a turning point also, as going to college was one of our goals.
Now the turning point of going to San Francisco, where I did get a job as a second girl to the manager of one of Martha Washington’s Candy Shops. My manager was one of their older employees who came from San Diego. The shop was pretty with white ruffled curtains at the windows, pretty satin drapes arranged on the floor of the window over which were arranged carefully planned displays of candies. Each manager did her own decorating. I learned the art of balanced displays, bows, ribbons, packing various assortments of chocolates (milk and dark) and the other candies (bonbons, fudge, divinity, “Virginia Caramel” – and fudge made from pure maple sugar, etc. One of my duties was to dress in a Martha Washington Costume, wig and all, and pass out small pieces of the Virginia Caramel to people who passed by the store every Saturday. I was shy at first, but I was proud of our candy since they advertised “The World’s Best Candies”, therefore I became more comfortable when I graciously did this. No preservatives were put in our candies, so it was important for a manager not to over order from the factory, which they also opened in San Francisco. I was told that each chocolate had a name and that I must learn what kind of fillings were in each cream, chew or nut. If I couldn’t remember, I was encouraged to cut one open and look and also taste it. We were allowed to eat as much as we wanted in the store, but not in front of the customers. What a job! I loved it! We had a very fine brush (like a paint brush) which we used to polish the chocolates as we trayed and packed them. How pretty they looked! Markings on the tape, made by the chocolate dippers, were also a clue to what was inside each candy. We sometimes used a square of colored foil to cover two or three chocolates in the box – and with colorful foil to cover two or three chocolates in the box – and with colorful Jordan almonds packed in here and there, we had a fancy pack. I learned to make fancy bows for special gift boxes. We made our own bows then (1936).
Sixteen dollars a week was the pay. It was like a small fortune to me. The money was put in an envelope which showed the small deductions (small at that time) on the outside. All the candy I could eat and money too. This was great! We wore a black skirt, a white frilly blouse and a white ruffled organdy apron, so it was no problem to decide what to wear. I began building up my wardrobe for the coming school year, and a new hat once in a while. Hats were in then.
After I was in San Francisco about a month, Helen joined me and tried to get a job. She didn’t work much, so I paid the rent and the food and she kept house and cooked. We had a apartment on South Van Nerss in the Mission District of San Francisco. It was about 2 blocks from my work. Goods were reasonable. We bought vegetables at 5 to 10 cents a pound and paid sixteen dollars a month for our two-room apartment.
One day, as I was carrying groceries to our new apartment I looked up to see a young man standing on the steps of the very building I was to enter. I was shy and a little self-conscious of carrying the big sacks of groceries. I wanted him to go on one way or the other, but he just stood there and said “Hi Babe” as I went up the steps. I muttered a weak “Hi” and ducked my head and went on in. It seemed that he had already met my sister and told her he had a brother. They were living in the same apartment building. It looked as if he was encouraging a foursome. Very soon, he knocked on our door and brought his brother, Bill, over to meet us. I thought he (Clyde) liked Helen and wanted his brother to like me. Instead, when Clyde saw me in our apartment, he immediately came over near where I was standing and didn’t leave my side until he and Bill left. After that they made several gestures at friendship – “wouldn’t you like to play their portable radio, when they weren’t using it? etc.
Helen and I had a BYU boyfriend each who hitch-hiked to San Francisco after school was out so they also could get jobs and be near us. Helen’s friend, Frank Hess, got job working days, and he shadowed our place every evening so Bill did not have a chance to date my sister. My friend, John, was not so fortunate. He got a job working nights and could not see me except on Sunday when we both had a day off. Clyde (Redmon) started coming to my store when I was off work at the end of the day. He walked me home, or we went out for a snack and a show or just window shopped up Mission Street. We walked or rode the street car for five cents. A show was ten cents. Clyde was a southerner from North Carolina. He had medium brown curly hair, about 5 feet 10 ½ inches tall, good build, his face was ruddy with a charming frequent smile. He had a pleasant disposition, which pleased me, because my father could be charming one moment and explode the next. I lived in fear of my father’s temper. Clyde proved to take frustrating situations in his stride and never got ruffled. He would make a statement and then giggle a little laugh after so you never knew when to take him seriously.
It came time to prepare to go back to school in Utah. John was urging me to go, but I kept finding excuses why I thought I should keep my job until mid-year. He told me he knew I was seeing this Southern guy who was not a Mormon and who was too old for me (I was 18 years old– Clyde was 26 years old). He said, “If you stay here, you will marry that man,” which I denied. John went back to school in September of 1936. January 11th 1937 Clyde and I were married. Frank, Helen’s boyfriend, stayed in San Francisco and one month after Clyde and I married, they were married. We have lived near each other for over forty years. Our children have been close cousins.