# My Father, As I Remember Him

by Lenna Esplin Pay

My dad was short of stature, being about five feet six inches tall, and never
weighed more than 145 pounds; but other than that he was the biggest man I ever
knew. He had curly reddish brown hair, and it was with that hair mother said
she first fell in love.

I remember first how Mama would send Roland and me up to the corner of what was
called Sand Street to see if Dad was coming home from Grandma's. He always got
up early and went down to help Grandpa with the morning chores and do what else
he could to help them. Then he would come home and have breakfast with us. (he
was very thoughtful of his parents.) He had a fast, brisk walk and held himself
straight and proud. When he was about a block away, we would run to meet him;
and he would pick me up and take Roland by the hand, and together we would go
down the lane to have breakfast with Mother. He had a habit of patting Roland
on the head and calling me his little missionary girl, because I was born five
months after he left for his Southern States L.D.S. Mission.

Dad and Mother were married December 5, 1903, in the St. George temple \[temple
records show 8 December 1903\]. In those days, there was no Zion's tunnel and
people had to go to St. George over what they called the Sand Hills and by way
of Yellow Jacket and Cane Beds. Mother and Dad made the trip to the temple with
Joseph Jorgensen and Elenor Hoyt. They made the three-day trip by horse team
and wagon. The girls slept in the wagon box at night and the men had a bed roll
they placed under the wagon. The men cooked the meals and the girls washed the
dishes. All the water they had to use was obtained from a barrel carried on the
side of the wagon. Mother used to laugh as she told how father looked with his
curly hair and shapeless cotton flannel garments made by his mother. He looked
just like a little cuddly teddy bear, she would explain.

They were to be the parents of ten children, three girls and seven boys. The
first girl died at birth of prematurity. All the rest lived to maturity. A
brother and sister of mother's were also members of our family for a number of
years. Lettie came to live with us when she was thirteen and Father and Mother
took care of all her needs until she married at about eighteen. Carlos came out
to see Mom when he was sixteen and stayed. Dad sen him on a mission and helped
him get a start in the sheep business. Previously they had lived in Farmington,
New Mexico, with their father and stepmother.

We grew up in a very happy home, although Dad was gone a lot of the time when I
was little. He had a herd of sheep and had to be out with them most of the
time. But as we grew older, he began making enough money so he could hire
herders to take care of his sheep. We were always sorry to have him go away but
happy to have him come back. Mother was especially sad when he was gone because
she had all the responsibility of a growing family. By nature she was a very
happy person and would sing as she went about her work even though she felt
very tied down because she loved to sing in the choir and participate in other
church and community activities.

We lived in three different homes in Orderville, each one a little better than
the one we left. Dad was making more money all the time and was a good manager
of the property he owned. Mama and Dad's first home was an old two-room rock
house they rented close to his parent's home. It was just behind where the old
Ward Hall used to be and the seminary building now stands. Palona and Roland
were born here.

When Dad went on his mission, Mother and the children lived with Grandma and
Grandpa Esplin. Dad's brother James and Grandpa paid Dad's expenses on his
mission and also extended free board to his family. I didn't even see my father
until I was two years old. The only "father" I knew was Dad's brother Uncle
James and I had grown to love him. Mama said Dad felt very disappointed when he
came home from his mission and I would have nothing to do with him and would
run to Uncle James and kiss and hug him.

After Dad came home, they bought a four-room brown frame house down by the
creek, just below where Rena Tait now lives. Emily was born here. We then moved
to a four-room house on Sand Street. It was nicer with a big fireplace inside
and a porch in front. Dad built a coal house out back for extra storage space.
LaVoy and Willard were born in his house (Mother had all her babies at home
attended by a mid-wife.) I remember the big watermelon Dad served to the
mid-wife, Grandma, the family and the neighbors. We were always sent to the
neighbors when a baby was expected and we always loved the baby dearly.

Dad finally decided his family was getting so large that he must get a bigger
house. The Will Heaton home was for sale so Dad bought it. It seemed like a
palace to me, standing on ground higher than the road with the sandstone cliffs
behind it. That was to be our permanent home. Jim, Vance, Ross, and Don were
born here. This big white house had ten rooms with an upstairs that Emily and I
loved. At last we had a room of our own where we could play with our dolls in
peace. The boys also had a room across the hall, but they knew our room was off
limits for them.

Dad always loved to garden and take care of his animals. We had our own
vegetables, our cows for milk and butter, our chickens and raised our own meat.
So we didn't think we lacked for much. He was a good provider, was very
ambitious, and tried to improve things for his family. I think we were the
first family in town to have an inside bathroom and toilet. He had that put in
right after we had the Spanish Influenza in 1918. He thought it was pretty bad
to empty the slop jars all the time. He and Roland didn't have the flu; so he
had to do everything. He mopped the kitchen floor by pouring water on it and
then sweeping it out the door and afterwards walking right back into the
kitchen with his muddy shoes on.

He never did help much around the house. I never did see him change a baby's
diaper or sit down and rock one. He loved us all but he wasn't very
demonstrative. We kidded him goodby when we went to school or to bed and when
he came home after a trip.

He was a strict disciplinarian. He never raised his voice in anger; but when he
said no, we knew that is what he meant. Emily didn't always do as he wished and
would sass him back; so she had a lot of privileges taken away. She would
always make me ask for money for things we girls wanted or to take the car. She
said he would always give it to me and not her.

He was very kind to his children and had a lot of patience. He would take us to
the field with him on the hayrack and then ride back on the loads of corn or
small loads of hay. I remember how happy we were on those trips. We would all
sing and Dad would whistle. He didn't' have a singing voice, but we knew he was
happy when he would whistle. It was a different whistle from most. He put his
tongue against his teeth and the sound came out. I have never heard anyone
whistle the way he did.

Dad's idea of Christmas was more spiritual than that of today. To him it wasn't
so much the number of gifts that counted, but the spirit of the occasion. After
all wasn't it a holiday honoring the birth of Jesus? Yet, maybe that was more
of a general concept in those days when he and mother were first married, for
Christmas things weren't even displayed in the store windows until a week or
two before Christmas. A few days before this special holiday we went back on
the hill and cut our own little pitch pine and decorated it with handmade
things. Our gifts weren't wrapped in beautiful Christmas paper with lovely
ribbon bows, but were put under the tree or on a chair with our name on a piece
of paper. We never received more than two presents, a big present and a smaller
one; but we had a happy Christmas. We sang all the Christmas carols Mother had
taught us and were told about the birth of the Christ child.

Dad was very generous with the Piute Indians that came around begging on
Christmas Day. He gave them four, sugar molasses or baked bread and cakes; and
sometimes the Indian children got one of our toys. I always hid with my new
doll when the Indians came. I was afraid he would give it to them.

Dad was gradually taking more interest in church and community affairs. He was
president of the town board, water master, and president of the school-board
that met in Kanab once a month. He had to go across the sand to Kanab in a
one-seated buggy drawn by one horse. He had to stay over night and come back
the next day. It was slow going through the deep sand. He was also the power
behind getting our new school and the high school and the town incorporated. At
one time or another he was the president of each of the church organizations
except the primary and the relief society of which Mother served as president.
He put his heart into everything he was called to do and was loved and
respected for it.

We always had home-evening where we all participated. We learned to get up and
pray and give a gospel talk and sing most of the ward hymns. We also knelt in
prayer every evening around the table and Father led us in prayer. As we grew
older, we all had to take our turn at saying family prayer, some of which were
shorter than others. We weren't very reverent all the time, but Dad insisted we
meet together in prayer before the evening meal. He and Mother believed in
anointing and blessing the sick, and when we were ill and he administered to
us, we had complete faith that we would get better. He always had consecrated
oil in the house.

I knew he and Mother were very happy during those early years. But when he
accepted so many community positions and was gone so much, Mother resented it.
When he was elected to the state legislature, we were all very proud he had won
this new honor, but Mother didn't want him to go because she thought he was
taking on too many responsibilities. He served two terms and worked hard for
the development of Southern Utah. He wanted to do all he could for this area,
for he thought it was a forgotten place as far as the members of the
legislature were concerned. At first he used to walk from his hotel on South
Temple Street to the State Capitol everyday. He enjoyed walking and it was a
new experience to live in a large city and watch all the busy people. Every
week though he took time enough to send home a box containing fresh lettuce,
celery, grapes, bananas, oranges and a sack of candy. The last year he was
there, his once good health began to fail. He couldn't make the walk to the
capitol and he developed a bad cough he couldn't get rid of. At this time I was
living in Salt Lake going to business school and helping him with his
secretarial work. When his second term in the legislature ended, he refused to
go back again even though Kane County wanted him to. He felt that the northern
block got all they wanted and the Southern Utah people were forgotten and his
work was useless.

He seemed happy to be home with his family and his business and his ward. He
was bishop at that time. But the big depression was on. His sheep weren't
bringing in the money he had been used to and his growing family was needing
more and more. Besides this the problems of the ward were growing more and more
severe. He had to mortgage his sheep to meet his obligations. He became
depressed and had a nervous breakdown in 1932. He changed into an entirely
different person. Mama didn't write checks, and he refused to give her the
money for the necessary things the family needed. He tried very hard to bring
himself out of the depression but he couldn't shake it. He grew worse and
worse; so Mama's brother Carlos went to the general authorities in Salt Lake
and asked them what to do. They said to take him to the state mental hospital
in Provo for treatment. Carlos asked him to go for a ride up north to see
relatives and he took him to the hospital in Provo.

Carlos said he would never forget the look on Dad's face when he realized where
he was. He looked as if he had been betrayed by everyone. At first he seemed to
improve, but then he became worse than ever. A good part of the time he was in
the hospital he spent in bed with a serious heart condition. I went to see him
twice, but he wouldn't even talk to me, didn't even ask about home or mother or
the family. Mother went up once to see him, but it seemed to make him worse, so
none of us went any more. Frank Harmon, his brother-in-law went to visit him
once in a while. I feel so bad now when I think how unfeeling we all were. We
just didn't understand his illness.

I remember coming down stairs early one morning when he was in Provo. Grandpa
Esplin and Mother were talking, and he said, "We just can't let that boy stay
up there, Chat. What are we going to do?" The tears were streaming down his
face. "He was the best boy and the most considerate of any of my sons. We can't
let him die up there alone." He was very proud of Dad and loved him very much.

Finally in November, 1934, Mama received word that Father was coming home. We
were all very happy but wondered if he really was better. He came home with
Charlie Anderson. Mother said that when he came into the house, he just looked
around the room, took a bath, and went immediately to bed. She felt so bad she
went over to Aunt Chastie's and cried and cried. She thought they had just sent
him home to die.

He spent most of his time in bed or sitting in a large chair in the dining
room. He felt so miserable that he couldn't sleep at night and spent many of
them in the big chair. I remember how good Jim was to Dad. he would stay up at
night and talk to him, rub his back and try to make him comfortable. I am sure
he appreciated all Jim and the other boys did for him.

He couldn't eat much of anything but he did like brown sugar. I guess because
it gave him quick energy and tasted so good.

He finally worked himself back into the family ways again, but he was
different. I think he thought he had disgraced his family and we were ashamed
of him. AT first he wouldn't even go to church at all, but finally he started
to go but not with the family. When he finally arrived at the church house, he
would slip in a side door and sit well away from the rest of us. Mama always
sat in the choir; but any of us would have been happy to sit by him.

I do blame the church for the way he was treated by the members, especially
those with whom he had worked and the others who had been so friendly with him
and sought his help and advice. No one came to see him or talk to him except
family members and Alvin Porter. He was the only man in town who treated him as
a normal person.

Father couldn't walk very far and would have one of the boys saddle up a riding
horse for him and help him on. Then he would ride all over the fields and hills
around orderville. He even went to the herd at times. Mama tried to talk him
out of going, but he was very stubborn and went anyway. She was afraid he would
be injured or die someplace where he couldn't be found.

But his health grew even worse and he began filling up with fluid. Then he
would go to St. George to see Dr. Donald McGregor, who was also a personal
friend. He would put Father in the hospital for a few days, give him shots, and
drain off the excess fluid. He would come home thin and worn out. Then in a few
weeks it would begin all over again. We all knew this couldn't go on forever
and he knew it too. He straightened up all his business affairs as best he
could. He had such a sad look when he looked at his family. He wanted to do so
much but he couldn't. Then on Easter morning, march 28, 1937, he passed away at
the age of 54. Mother said it was a relief to see him to and end his suffering;
but she wondered why such a good brilliant man should suffer so much and die so
young. He was buried in the Orderville Cemetery on April 1.

* * *

* 15 Nov 1993 - Typed by Valery Evensen.
* 29 Jun 2000 - Manually converted to html by Mark Esplin.
* 15 Nov 2004 - Updated.
* 15 Sep 2010 - Converted to [markdown](http://daringfireball.net/projects/markdown) by Daniel Esplin.