My mother wrote Keith started school in Weston in 1936 with Mabel S. Nelson as the teacher. Beth Shoel was the 2nd grade teacher as well as the third grade. Both classes were taught in the same room. (Neither one taught me any thing, I couldn’t read the questions on the test so they flunked me and I had to take second grade over again. I knew all the answers if they asked me the questions. There were two classes in a room. I remember that I knew the answers the third grade was asked too when I was in the room. Sometimes while the teacher taught the other class we were sent out into the hall to read. We were supposed to take turns, but Renee Kofoed could read better than the rest of us so she did all the reading.) In the third grade Sarah Gruwell was the teacher. The last 6 weeks Mabel Nelson Pratt took over the class. She tried to undo the harm that had been done in the past two years and soon had me responding. Keith said, when she says sit you sat. (I remember doing something she didn’t approve of and for punishment she made me sit in the same desk with Renee Kofeod. Big deal! We had to memorize the Gettysburg Address. I always thought that was great. I can still do some of it.) The only photo I could find of that school was in a news paper about the time it was being torn down. Only the bell tower was kept as a reminder of all the kids that were taught there. Now the kids are all bussed to a neighboring town to go to school. I would have hated that. I used to love to just run the mile and a half home from school rather than ride the buss unless the weather was bad.

Fred Thomas was my teacher in the 4th grade and I looked up to him and was doing well. Mr. Thomas wrote,” I have surely enjoyed my past winter working with Keith and look forward to continuing if I can come back next term. “However, he was drafted into the service of Uncle Sam in 1942 and from that he did not return. George Fallis was next to take the class but he also was drafted.

I remember in one of those classes I did something I wasn’t supposed to do and the teacher, a lady, I don’t know who, took a swing at me with a yardstick. I ducked and she hit Georgia Lannon right across the cheek and left an imprint across her face that stayed there for quite awhile. It must have been that same teacher who refused to let Georgia go to the rest room, and she went in her pants. I was so mad. I told Georgia I would have just got up and gone no matter what she said. Eldon Hansen was the principal for the grade school. He had a wooden paddle he used on a few kids behinds. I was never scared of him, it was my dad I worried about if I did something to deserve a paddle. I don’t remember him ever using it on me.

Kids can be pretty mean to other kids and I am sure that is still true. We didn’t have a lot of new people in Weston, and I knew about everyone in town. Once a new family moved into town. The father was a drinking man. The mother was an Indian with long black hair she kept in braids. I don’t remember them at church, but the kids I remember at school. All four kids seemed to me to be a little slow. Someone gave the two little girls a piece of chewing tobacco, and they thinking it was candy, ate it. How cruel thinking back on that now. I didn’t even think it was funny at the time. I am glad to say it was not me. There were two boys in that family also. One of them I remember so well. Odell Andrews was his name. He to seemed a little slow to me. And the kids were not kind to him either. We used to say to him when we had an assembly, “get up and sing a song.” He would and couldn’t carry a tune at all. The kids would all laugh and he wasn’t smart enough to know we were laughing at him. He just thought he was entertaining us. He got the last laugh though.

After he finished grade school, Os Moser from Dayton took him in. I don’t know how that came about, but he kept him on his farm, giving him board and room and paying him a dollar a day for his labor. He finished High school there. When the war was about to end, companies started to make things again for people at home instead of the war. The Ford garage in Preston advertised that they were getting their first cars and would show them to the public on a certain day. Everyone was interested in going to see them even though it would be a long time before they had enough of them to sell to you. I remember the day we went to look and the car I remember was a black Ford convertible and Odell Andrews, was the new owner. He paid cash for it. He seemed to have a lot more friends as he cruised town with a load of girls in his car.

LaDell Tingey, my neighbor was the one who taught me how to read. He just sat down with me and helped me until I got the hang of it. Once I caught on I had no problem with reading. The Problem was that I lacked interest in most of the stuff the teachers were talking about by then.

Some times the blind lead the blind. I feel like I had teachers like that. Sometimes what they did didn’t really make sense. It is kind of like the mother who cut the ends off her ham before cooking it so it would taste better. Her daughter ask why she did that. She said I don’t know but my mother always did it, so I do. She then ask grandma why she always cut the end of her ham. I don’t know she said, but my mother always did it, so I did. She ask great grand mother why she cut the ends of her ham and she said it was because she didn’t have a large enough pan to hold it all.

I read the Curriculum Fable from Kansas City schools 1947. It describes pretty much how I felt about my schooling. I don’t know who wrote it.

One time the animals had a school. The curriculum consisted of running. climbing, flying, and swimming. All the animals took all the subjects.

The duck was good in swimming, better in fact, than his instructor; and he made passing grades in flying, but he was practically hopeless in running. Because he was low in this subject he was made to stay after school and drop his swimming class in order to practice running. He kept this up until he was only average in swimming. But average is acceptable so nobody worried about that except the duck.

The eagle was considered a problem pupil and was disciplined severely. He beat all others to the top of the tree in the climbing class, but he had used his own way of getting there.

The rabbit started out at the head of the class in running, but he had a nervous breakdown and had to drop out of school on account of so much make-up work in swimming.

The squirrel led the climbing class, but his flying teacher made him start his flying lessons from the ground up instead of from the top of the tree down. He developed charley horses from overexertion at the take-off and began getting C’s in climbing and D’s in running.

The practical prairie dogs apprenticed their offspring to a badger when the school authorities refused to add digging to the curriculum.

At the end of the year an abnormal eel that could swim well, run, climb, and fly a little was made valedictorian.

Before George Fallis left for military service he helped put on a smoker for the scouts in which Clyde Smith and I went in the ring against each other and put on a good show. This was in April of 1942. Later Clyde went into the service and lost his life in Korea. I was two years younger than Clyde but at the time of this fight I weighed 95 lbs and Clyde 90 we were the same in height.

Claude Hawkes taught me in the sixth grade. He was old and had been retired but was brought back because of the war. We spent the whole year listening to him re-fight World War 1 instead of studying civics and other books we had but hardly ever opened. I had Thelma Simpson and Art Neuenswander in 7th and 8th grades. Here is a photo of the school all the Morgan kids went to.



In 1942 MerLyn was a half head taller than I was but I soon gained that and out weighed her. Dr. Hawkes was not concerned about my weight but I was considered a fatty by some. Dale McKay said I was so much like my brother Charley, (Elvour). I stare at him and watch every move.

Archie and Rachel Lott had a store during the years I was growing up in Weston. I have heard Rachel say on more than one occasion that every kid in town had stolen candy from their store. I have thought that it would have been great to be invited to speak in the ward there and tell Rachel in front of the whole world that I was one kid who never had taken anything from their store. Nor do I believe that I was the only one who hadn’t. I didn’t have a lot of money to spend when I was small but did earn money and some times would go to the store with other kids to buy goodies. Like most country stores of the time they had a little of every thing in there. I was very fond of olives and if I had a dime I would buy a can of olives instead of candy take it out on the side walk and sit down and cut the top off with my pocket knife. I would drink the juice then eat the olives. When I was on my first mission mother sent me a can of olives for Christmas the last year I was there. I was sharing with my companion and offered some to Ingamar Åkerström an investigator and good friend of the missionaries. He took one and eat it then said, you fellows eat the olives and then I will eat the can. He didn’t share my fondness for them at all.

Keith was baptized 25 June 1938 by J William Hyde in the Logan Temple, and confirmed by Owen Waite on the same date.

I don’t know the date but I hope it was before this baptism so that my sins could be washed away. My cousin Jerry and Orin McKay, a neighbor, and I decided to go and help ourselves to some of Clark Campbell’s watermelons, which grew just north and east of the McKay cow pasture. The first melons we got were all green so we went back for another try. We loaded up. I had one tucked into my shirt and one under each arm. Just as we were leaving the patch, a car sounded its horn and we, seeing the car, dropped the melons and ran for our lives. I don’t think Jerry stopped until he was home. He was so scared he just leaped over the fences and the creek that ran through the bottom of the pasture. When Orin and I got to his house we stopped at the water trough to get a drink and talk it over. We decided we should go talk to Jerry so we could get our story straight. I had never stolen anything before and was more frightened that dad would find out than anything. I was also the youngest of the three of us. When we knocked at Jerry’s and asked Aunt Ethel if he could come out and play, she said he was ill and asked us what had happened to him. We of course knew nothing.

I had nightmares every night after that, often dreaming that I was being chased and that when I was just making some headway my legs would give out and I would almost be caught. I would get up and run again. Over and over this would go all night it seemed. In the evening when doing chores my older brother Chuck would say to me when a car came down the road, “Oh, there comes Lee Hansen (the Sheriff) I wonder what he is doing here.” I would almost faint away until the car passed without stopping. It was years before I found out it was Chuck and some of his friends that had the same idea that we had and had run us off before we got a melon to eat.

I guess it was a good lesson to learn so young. I never was tempted to steel another melon after that. Well I guess I better change that. I did take melons from my dad’s patch when I shouldn’t have. Dad didn’t care how many we ate but he didn’t like to have any waste. I picked some too early one time and they were still green, even though Dad had taught me how to tell the difference. I didn’t want to get in trouble so I chucked them over the fence into Wash Thompson’s field. He came along not long after and seeing 2 or 3 melons busted up in his alfalfa that were green, he naturally thought it was one of his boys, Seth Or Clair so I heard him chewing them out for taking the melons I had picked. I didn’t say anything to him. I hadn’t learned to confess my sins that early in life.

Telling stories was something that I learned to do and enjoy very young. The only thing we had in our home for entertainment was a radio, and in those days they had wonderful programs telling stories of all kinds. People also visited more then than they do now. I remember Hi McKay, a sheep herder who was gone with his flock most of the time, but would come to our house when he was home and sit for hours in the evening swapping stories with Dad. I don’t ever remember Mom or Dad saying “Keith, it is time to go to bed.” Or, “Keith it is 8 o’clock and you have school tomorrow.” I was always permitted to stay up and listen until I fell asleep on the floor, then someone would carry me off to bed.

My son Ezra tells me I must be a bad influence on my grandkids though. He said he heard his son Shaun answer the phone. A telemarketer was calling. Shaun listened awhile then said, “yes, Ezra is here but I don’t understand why you want to talk to my dog. His name is Ezra.” The guy hung up then.

It seems to me that humor must be good for your health. A lot of general authorities I have known had a good sense of humor, and lived to be very old. I remember hearing when President McKay was up around 90 years old; his driver let him out in front of the church office building. This was the old one not the skyscraper. He had just started up the steps when two other General Authorities arrived at work. Seeing him they hurried to help him up the steps, one on either side of him. He stopped, looked at them, and said, “Brethren, I think I can drag one of you up these steps, but not both of you.”

Brother Romney one of the First Presidency was ill the last few years he lived. One of the sisters from the General MIA I think it was Elaine Cannon went to see him and as they visited she said to him, “President Romney, I hope you are well soon so we can go together to a Stake conference again.” He looked at her and said, “Yes, but I will have to do a lot of repenting before that.” “What on earth would you have to repent of?” she asked. “Well, I have told a lot of people that I love them, and I really don’t.”

In grade school especially in the winter when it was miserably cold outside, I would entertain other kids, and myself by telling stories inside. I went to a school built on the southwest side of the public squire, a 10-acre plot of land. In back of the school was a grand stand and ball diamond. On the east were the church I attended and an opera house where plays were put on. Movies were also shown on Friday and Saturday and you could see a double feature for a dime. Down under the stage was a large room called the scout room with an exterior door where we boys did our scout things when a little older.

On the west side of the school there were a lot of willows growing. This was not anything that had been planted there, but just grew. It made a great place for kids to play all kinds of games. Once we found a skunk had decided to play also knowing we should not get very close someone took off his jacket and putting that on a long pole we teased the skunk. It wasn’t long in teasing back. Boy what a smell we had created on that coat. That had to be gotten rid of. Kids lost clothes all the time so we had to find a good place to lose that one. It was put down an air vent or behind a radiator, I don’t remember, but when the whole building filled with the odor of a skunk we were all sent outside while the teachers looked for the critter they thought had come inside. I remember one lady teacher putting a handkerchief over her nose and mouth while she ran inside to retrieve her purse. After a few hours of hunting and no skunk was found we were all sent home for a nice 3 or 4 days of vacation. I suppose I just had to work on the farm but maybe I got in a little fishing too. I don‘t remember that part.

The school was a frame wood building facing south. There must have been 3 or 4 cement steps going up to the front doors. Inside was a long wide hallway with about 3 classrooms on each side. There were hangers for our coats on the walls in the hall. At the end was a smaller building that looked like it might have been built later. It was one floor which housed the boys and girls restrooms. Back at the front doors to the school to the right were the stairs up to the second floor. Also by the stairs to the south was a long narrow hall as long as the classrooms were wide, which led to the only drinking fountain in the building. Mr. Nelson our custodian had room for his supplies in a room built under the stairs. The stairs went half way up going east then turned to the right and went the rest of the way up going west to the top floor. Just up the stairs were windows facing south and looking out over the playgrounds in front. A bell tower sat on top of the building with the rope hanging down and sometimes the teacher would let us pull the rope to end recess or noon hour or whatever. There were two or three rooms on either side of this shorter hallway one being used as a cafeteria where sister May Jenson cooked wonderful meals for us. At the end of the hall was the gym with a stage at the west end. Here we had our Christmas day dance every year for kids. A Brother Bingley who could play accordion mouth organ, and a drum at the same time, provided the music.

It was down stairs in the long narrow hall by the fountain that I would crawl up and sit on a windowsill just over a warm steam radiator and tell stories. It was not hard to get an audience nor was it hard to keep them spellbound with my stories. These did not come from my life’s experience, as I had little at the time, but I repeated stories from Mom and Dad or Grandpa Sam. Dad, I think mostly told true stories. Mom told a little of both and one never quite knew about grandpa. He always claimed his stories were true but sometimes Grandma would tell us the real skinny. Here are some examples of stories we told.

One of the stories I have always liked I got from Mom. I don’t know if she made it up or if it was just a story she kept, but I thought it was about me, but she didn’t use my name. She used George, but I will use Keith. She called it Mud Pies.

Mother standing on the porch with broom in hand calling Keith. No answer! Two small boys on the other side of the fence, one peeking through a knot hole. “Keith its your mother!” “I don’t care.” “Ain’t you going to the house?” “Naw.” I know right where you are young man. I can see you in that apple tree. Can you hear me Keith?” I ain’t though. “Where’s she at?” “At the door.” “ What’s she doin?” “Just standin’ there. Ain’t doing nothing.” All right young man. Wait till your father comes, I’ll tell him about your doin’s. “Keith! She’s going to tell your pa. Ain’t ya scared? Naw! My pa’s aferred of me! And besides she won’t tell. She says she will but she won’t. “KEITH SHEARL MORGAN! You better get in this house, your mother isn’t calling you again.” “I bet she does. Where’s she at now?’ “At the steps.” “What’s she doin?” “Ain’t doing nothing, just standin.” “Keith, I’m going to whip you.” “Oh, Keith she’s going to whip you ain’t you scared?” “Naw! See if she’s coming.” “All right young man, wait till your father comes, he’ll tend to you.” “See what she’s doing now.” “She’s goin in.” Well, I’m mighty glad. Hand me that shingle. Isn’t that a dandy bunch of mud pies? If I’d a listened to her, or to you, I’d never get my bakin done.

When mom got angry at me sometimes she tried to use a broom on me to get my attention. I would reach out and catch the handle and not let loose. Nobody wants to get smacked with a broom handle. That just made her more angry. Of course I didn’t dare do that if Dad was near by.

This is the kind of stuff I was raised on.

“I’m not only Pretty but Smart.”

My dad gave me a dollar Bill
Cause I’m his smartest son,
And I swapped it for two shiny quarters
Cause two is more than one!

And then I took the quarters
And traded them to Jolly
For three dimes–I guess he didn’t know
That three is more than two!

Just then came along old blind Bates
And just cause he can’t see
He gave me four nickels for my three dimes, And four is more than three!

And I took the nickels to Archie Lott
Down at the seed and feed store,
And the fool gave me five pennies for them,
And five is more than four!

And then I went and showed my dad,
And he got red in the cheeks
And closed his eyes and shook his head-
Too proud of me to speak!

Grandpa told me many times about when he drowned in Bear River but Old Ranger his dog leaped in, pulled him to the bank and gave him artificial respiration and saved his life. At least I knew Old Ranger was true. He was still there. He was really skinned up. If a stray dog came along he would take him on and a real dogfight ensued for a few minutes. Ranger usually won.

Another story I heard many times and found it just as spell binding each time, was when grandpa was sent to the store as a boy for something. When he got there he looked through the window and found a robbery in progress. He was so frightened he jumped in a barrel and pulled the lid over him. When the robbers came out they picked up the barrel and threw it on the small wagon and took off. They bounced along a rough road for a long time but after a while a wheel hit a rock, bouncing the barrel off the wagon, and it rolled down the hill for some time before coming to a stop. All this had fastened the lid on so tight he was unable to escape. It was a tight fit in that barrel but he finally was able to get his pocket knife out and slowly cut a hole about 2 inches wide in the barrel, letting in fresh air and giving him a peep hole. Sitting there looking around and wondering how to escape, he suddenly heard a cow bell. Looking out he saw range cattle feeding and coming toward him. Finally one of them came right past his barrel with the tail hanging down in front of that hole. He reached out with his forefinger and pulled the tail into the barrel and he hung on for dear life. The cow became frightened and started to run. The barrel bounced up and down from the ground to the cow’s back over and over until it finally hit on a rock and broke to smithereens. Grandpa was free and made it home again to tell the tale.

I think one of his favorite stories was about a roan stallion he owned. Grandpa loved to stop in the middle of the road when someone was passing and trade horses. They would just dicker until a trade was made then take off the harness right there, make the trade and then be on their way. Everyone wanted this stallion but grandpa would never make a trade for him. Mart Rasmussen, a neighbor, had tried to trade for him many times but no deal was made. One morning when grandfather went to do his chores he found that stallion had gotten into the granary, foundered on grain and was dead. He said he called over to Mart and said, ‘Mart, if you still want that stallion you can have him. I need the money to pay some taxes.’’ Mart hurried right over before he could change his mind. After paying grandpa for the horse he was told he would find him out behind the granary and could take him away anytime he wanted to. Then Grandpa would say he found him out there with all four legs in the air, and he would laugh and laugh. That is where the story ended each time but grandma who had been listening would always say to us kids. ‘Grandpa gave him back his money.’ But grandpa would deny that saying, “No I didn’t I kept every dime of it.”



This is Grandpa and Grandma Whitney as I new them.

The school bus picked up the kids at the grade school in Weston and then went to the High school a few blocks away for those kids. One night we had stopped for the High School kids when my brother Chuck got on the bus and sat down by Donna Benson. Blaine Thompson our neighbor, got on and said to Chuck, “You got my seat.” Chuck looked around and said, “I don’t see your name on it.” Blaine said, “Come out side and I’ll show you.” Big mistake! Chuck got up and outside they went. It took only a minute with all the kids watching for Chuck to cold cock Blaine. He got back on the bus. Claude LaPray who was the driver got out and picked up Blaine, put him on the bus and then started off. I being so young was eager to brag about my big brother when I got home. I remember mom’s lecture to Chuck many times, saying if he didn’t learn to control his temper he would kill some one and end up in jail. He wasn’t too happy with me for telling either.

Chuck was my hero. He played on a star basketball team for Weston. There has never been one like it since. They had a lot of guys who had played together for years, Tom Lannen, Keith Taylor, Max Godfrey, Roland Bastian, and Chuck, were the starting five all 6 foot or more. They didn’t have many others on the team. It was a very small school. I remember Dan Burbank and I guess there must have been 4 or 5 others but I don’t remember there names. They won all their games that year in the B class then took on the A schools. Dad took me to all the home games. I even saw them play the Globetrotters once.


This is a letter written to mom from Chuck after he enlisted in the Navy.

Twenty-one dollars a month they say,
And there’s pity in their eyes
Pity, because we exchanged our suit
For the navy blues, off size.

Pity; because to us is lost
The joys of civilian life.
The joys of working and playing
And shopping around for a wife.

All these things they say with their eyes.
Whenever we pass on the street.
But they’re the birds who are being fooled,
Yet still they say, “Its my treat.”

They set us up to whatever we want’
Then they tell us they know how things go,
It’s tough to be in the Navy, they rant,
And never have any dough.

Now maybe if some of these folks would stop
And think the whole thing through
They’d find that our life isn’t so bad
Even tho’ our dollar’s are few.

Cause while they must pay on the nose for their food
Uncle Sam takes care of our keep.
And tho’ the landlord grabs for their pay
We’ve always a place to sleep.

When on a train it’s one cent a mile
While they pay two cents and more.
And a seat in the movies that cost them six bits,
Can be had by us for a four.

We see the best plays and dance with the babes.
And the cost for it all is so low.
That it couldn’t be equaled by any one else
For less than ten times the dough.

So all in all its not so bad,
If they’d bother to find out the facts
We live as well as most of em do
And we don’t half to pay income tax.

On January 30, 1943 Chuck wrote to mom from Pearl Harbor. I don’t know if this was his writing or someone else’s but it was sent to mom.

Dear mom

Though the crisis is twining,
And your heart is yearning
For your boy in the navy blue.
Keep your chin up, mother,
For I know there’s no other He’d rather see smiling than you.

He’ll sing and shout
As he dances about
With a letter long past due,
And he flashes a grin,
As he looks there in
Cause he knows the letters from you.

He’ll drink a toast,
And often he’ll boast
About the mother so kind and true.
For like any other,
He loves you Mother,
Your boy in the navy blue.

When Day’s work is done,
And the battle is won
Of the task he was chosen to do,
I’ll wager my best
That, as he lies down to rest
He’s saying a prayer for you.

So come on and smile,
For it’s just a short while,
Till he’ll be coming back to you.
Then like any other,
You’ll be proud, Mother,
Cause your boy wore the navy blue.

I was 15 when I graduated from the eighth grade because I was held back in the second grade. The program took place in the old opera house. I was asked to do a funny reading which mother wrote for me. She gave it to me when I went to do chores and I read through it a few times while milking. When it came time to do my part I didn’t even look at the paper. I had everyone laughing too, except for my Grandma Whitney. She seemed determined not to laugh no matter what I said. I guess she didn’t know it was supposed to be funny.

Here are the Predictions mother wrote for me to give.

I have waited a long time to graduate but now I guess I’m a little scared. I was going to tell you about some things that happened to me. There I was standing in front of a beautiful gate. It shone so brightly and it was made of pure gold. I could see the people inside the gate were very happy so I wanted to go in I stepped up and pulled the cord. The chimes rang out beautifully. An old man opened the gate and invited me in. I followed this old fellow into a large room. He seated himself behind a great desk. I was invited to sit beside him. I read the sign on the desk, “St. Peter,” I then new where I was.

“He handed me a large book. I read Weston across the top as I opened it. There was the name Archibald. That made me think of Phyllis, whom I went to school with. I read on, and learned that she had become a great opera star. She sang her way through high school, college, and in hospitals and other places of mercy.

“Then I thought of V’lee Anderson, and Marlene Butters, so I looked up their names. I read how they became great and noble red Cross nurses.

“Now I wondered about Zetta Benson. She used to say she was going to become a career woman. I couldn’t find her name. So I inquired of old St. Peter, whether Zetta, had left earth yet. He told me to look under Monkeys. I thought that mighty queer, but I turned to monkeys and there I read how Zetta was a first class grease Monkey.

“I accidentally dropped the book and it lay open to a page that told how frogs became important in this country. I read all about Larry Dahle, buying up all the swamps around Weston, and how he raised frogs to help out the meat shortage during World War 11.

“I ask if Paul Fonnsbeck was still on earth. The old man told me a long story about how Paul fell heir to his fathers dry farm and had worked hard to run it. But Paul was interested in aeroplanes. Every time one flew over, Paul would look up trying to identify it. After while he couldn’t get his neck back in place so he had to keep looking up all the time. When the government learned about Paul’s condition they took him to Washington and made him the chief weather prophet. Paul spent the rest of his life at this. I hoped none of the other school friends had suffered such a fate. Good old Saint Peter then told me how Georgia Lannan had taken flying lessons in Preston and cracked up on her first solo flight. She had spent the rest of the time dusting stars and redecorating in Heaven.

“I inquired about Duane Lott. When St. Peter opened to his name it said ‘famous comedian.’ I ask if that was all about him. He said, “Yes Duane had been beating off women as far back as 1945. He succeeded in staying single. So now he has a golden harp and is still entertaining as usual. You see he has his hell down on earth.”

“I ask if there were any more of our class in heaven. St. Peter, stroked his flowing white beard. Until he remembered the three M’s LaVoyle Maughan, Marlene Maughan, and Joyce Merrill. These three had sworn to be old fashioned housewives while all the other women worked in war plants and factories.

“Just then the chimes rang and the old man left the room to open the gate for someone. When he returned he told me that Farrell, and 3 Tubs, I mean Theo Schvaneveldt, had both married the same women and spent all their life tending babies.

“Well I said, “ That about accounts for all the class.” But he hurried to tell me that LaRue Rasmussen and Vernal Weeks were still on earth. They are Scientists, trying to prove to the world that grasshoppers are of great value to mankind.

“St. Peter handed me a card that told me where I should stay, all through eternity. He rang the bell for an Imp to escort me below when the Imp arrived I recognized Ladell Tingey. Well we got started but stopped to get some large sticks of chalk. I ask Ladell what we would do with so much chalk. He told me “that’s the hell of it, you have to write down your own sins where you’re going.” We saw Mr. Neuenswander, coming up the ladder toward us. When I saw he was coming up instead of down, I reached out and grabbed hold of him. I told him he was going the wrong way. He told me he was only going up to get some more chalk.”

Mother had a lot of imagination and had a pencil and paper in her hand almost all the time.

Grandmother Whitney also performed a lot but hers was done mostly on stage in programs meant to entertain. Here is a sample. She did it with a broken accent like her many Swedish neighbors would do.

Vas Bender Henpecked?

“Any yentlemen dat vil go around your face and talk in front of your back, about someting is a svindler. I heard dat Brown say, veek before last about me, dat I am a hen pecked husband. Dat vas a lie. De proof of de eating is alvays in de puddin. I am married tventy years already, and I vas not yet bald headed. But I tink a feller vas better to talk vit his vif and got her advices about someting never about her husbands business, and ven da time comes and not much money, dat don’t make some difference. “Still she vil have dat new skirt or petticoat vit every kind of trim. Dat’s vhy husbands get bankrupted all to pieces.

ven da doctor is sent dat man dies, ven dat vomen marries to other man, even she don’t maybe like. Den der is von and to mother’s in law and maybe a step mother in law; hoo sometimes says she vish she ver dead a little. If a vomen do git dead dere’s a difference. Nobody hardly know about it. Dat husband go on vit de business just like noting happened to some buddy.

“American vomen are other kind of peoples. Like last year ven Brown vas in butcher business vit me; vel dis American voman come to husband and say, need money. Den she goes riding have fun vit de money. Brown say to me I von’t be hen pecked husband, so he get drunk, if I not der dat Brown never vould go home. Sat on de floor. I talk to mine vif dat night. Next day I say to Brown, I say, look here mine vif she make de sausage and verk in de store, mine daughter she verk, make de head cheese, your vif only go riding in de fine carriage. Your vif could verk in store, cut beef, make sour krout, if not, we divide not equal any more; da profits.

Brown goes home talk vit da vif. Pretty quick, Brown and vif come, ve have misunderstandings, every buddy talk, even dog Kaiser, Brown’s vif say, dog little devil, she kill. Here da Police come up to arrest for breaking promise for breaking da peace.”