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Copyright, 1978, N.A. Brimhall Family Organization

Published by
Cox Printing
Mesa, Arizona 85202


A copy of this letter dated January 1, 1978, went out to the living sons of Norman and Agnes Brimhall:

"There are living today FIVE of the thirteen children (six girls and seven boys) born to Norman Andrew and Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall. The shadows are getting long with all of us, Elias Ray 76, Rulon Wells 78, George H. 81, Joseph Thomas 83, Logan 86, as we were named each in his turn.

"Norman and Agnes were special people with intriguing stories that reach back to the Garden of Eden and forward to Paradise. Considerable information has been recorded across the years and much lingers in the memories of the living FIVE. It will be too late for memories ere long, and too little of the records is well preserved.

"Soon or never will the FIVE do its specially assigned job to compile, create, edit and publish in book form that which is the Norman Andrew and Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall family story. Shall we do it? DO IT!

"Assuming you are in harmony with the idea, meetings are called for 6 PM 3/18/78 and 8 AM 3/19/78 at the ranch home of Elias in Taylor, Arizona. Please bring your FORMAT for the book. The enclosed format was done hurriedly but we [it] may serve as a stimulant for action from which we can select our final plan of the book."

Writing and compiling this book, in which members of the families of the nine who reached maturity took part, has been most revealing, interesting and rewarding. One hundred sixteen years ago the originators of this family left the world of spirits and came to Earth on assignment. Norman, in October 1862, joined the Noah and Samantha Brimhall family in Hyrum, Utah, and a few weeks later Agnes, in December 1862, came to the home of Josuah Thomas and Sarah Dodge Willis family in Toquerville, Utah. Eighteen years later they met at a leap year ladyís choice ball in Taylor and after two years preparation they started a new kingdom February 14, 1882.

What this couple, their thirteen children and two additional lovely ladies crowded into little more than a century of living, you, dear reader, are invited to share with us.



The FIVE are most appreciative of all help in preparing this book. Members of the Family have cooperated many ways too numerous to list.

Perhaps special mention should be made of the efforts of the wives who kept accurate records of many interesting activities and father Norman for his journals and for his persuasion in getting his daughter Dicie May to record the many things he dictated to her as she wrote, ACROSS THE YEARS WITH NORMAN ANDREW BRIMHALL and ACROSS THE YEARS WITH MARY AGNES WILLIS BRIMHALL.

Thank you,


Sons now living 1978


This is a family quip used when the quality of one,
or all family members, or what they did,
was in question.

Chapter Page
1. "When A Ladís a Man"    by N. Merrill Brimhall
2. "Dark Eyed Maiden"    by Vern H. Brimhall & Norma B. Tidwell
3. "Together Across the Years"    by Logan Brimhall
4. "The Builders"    by Elias R. Brimhall
5. "The Freighters"    by Logan Brimhall
6. "The Farmers"    by Elias R. Brimhall
7. "The Stockmen"    by Joseph T. Brimhall & Elias R. Brimhall
8. "The Churchmen"    by Logan Brimhall
9. "The Long Dozen"
         Return of the Four Little Ones
         Mary Alice Brimhall Palmer by Dorcie P. Ball & Otto B. Palmer
         Andrew N. Brimhall    by Edna L. Brimhall
         Logan Brimhall    by Norma B. Tidwell
         Dicie May Brimhall Ellsworth    by LaDawn Ellsworth Brewer
         Joseph T. Brimhall    by Joseph T. Brimhall
         George H. Brimhall    by Janet Zablinsky & Rosie B. Hall
         Mocella Brimhall    by Seymour Fish
         Rulon W. Brimhall    by Rulon W. Brimhall
         Elias R. Brimhall    by Elias R. Brimhall

10. "The Aunties"    Caroline by Logan Brimhall
         Phoebe by Logan Brimhall

11. "Our Heritage"    by Jean B. Stapley
12. "Tales, Tall and Tender"    by various members of the family
13. "Afterglow"   by Logan Brimhall

Illustration Index
Name Index


"When a Ladís a Man"

"Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your blessings, every doubt will fly
And you will be singing as the days go by."

Norman Andrew Brimhall was born October 20, 1862, in Hyrum, Utah (territory) to Noah Brimhall and Samantha Lake whose marriage was now in its tenth year. The joy this frail youngster brought into the frontier home of Noah and Samantha must have been boundless. This lovely child was later to make the footprints of a giant as he walked across the theater of life. He was to sire descendents of goodly fame and some fortune. Greatest of all though, he gave them and theirs a heritage to be forever proud of. The frontier school of "hard-knocks", coupled with the admirable stature of a good father and a lovely mother who put her entire soul into making a home for hers, had a great influence on this new boy, their sixth in what was to be a family of 11. (Note that four died very young.)

Both of his parents had shared in the early years of church history, even to Noahís working on the Kirtland temple and to being a participant in the rescue of hand-cart companies stranded on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Samantha knew Nauvoo as a girl and undoubtedly thrilled to the adventure of riding her little sorrel pony across the plains. Their roots were deep in church history, fed with burning testimonies of those early prophets and leaders. As a youth, Norman must have delighted to the many hours of story telling that only mother and dad could relate from past experiences. No doubt his strong testimony was built on this solid foundation, a foundation that held strong when later threatened by doubt and frustrations.

Probably no more beautiful valley in the Mountains could have been the haven into which the newly born Norman was sent, than Cache Valley. It had been explored and trapped less than forty years earlier by the greatest of western explorers, Jedediah Smith. This valley and surrounding valleys had hosted several "Rendezvous" of the burley, hairy, courageous, cantankerous mountain men as they met yearly to swap their "hairy bank notes". Even its name, as "a place of storage" derived its source from these early adventurers who "cached" their furs and supplies as they trapped farther away from home base.

Hyrum, Normanís birthplace was situated in the southern end of the valley. Its mountain streams would flow northward as tributaries of the Bear River. Ringed on three sides with magestic mountains gave this spot a special atmosphere of awe and wonder. It was "new". It was " young". It was there to be developed and shaped into a way of life. It was the frontier. Frontier was the mode of life. Their first home here and the one into which Norman was to come, was built in a peculiar shape, something comparable to a triangle triplex of today, except this was built as a defense for the three families who occupied separate but attached living quarters. What was common place daily routine then would be like camping out continually today. Saturday night with its rinse baths, running water (if you ran fast enough from creek to kitchen barrel), home-made furniture that Noah fashioned and manufactured with his ready carpentry tools. There were beds of straw and sometimes feather ticking. They had home grown spuds and cabbages cooked with the delicious tidbits of plentiful wild game. There was a scrub-board, a homemade bar of lye soap, a tub of hot water and lots of elbow grease that kept clothes spotless and smelly clean. Cords of wood had to be piled and chopped to supply huge stoves and hungry fireplaces. Even at this date, homespuns were still in vogue and Normanís mother was one the best weavers in the country. It was a hard, demanding life interspersed with moments of fun, frivolity and excitement. Normanís older sister tells of her delight in watching her father playing his drum and marching in the community band; of how she noticed the inviting hearth fires and candle lanterns from village homes that beckoned them invitingly, as father took the children out in the winter evenings to see the stars, that only mountain air can give such indescribable beauty to. Norman must have loved these first years.

Elsewhere in the world, the commerce and contacts of men went on. Norman was 13 months old when President Abraham Lincoln solemnly delivered his immortal address as [at] Gettysburg. Six hundred miles west of Hyrum, the richest of all silver finds, the Comstock Lode of Nevada, was belching its wealth to the surface as men flocked to it from all over the world to work in its depths. Its riches would relieve the financial burden of the Civil War then going on. Less than a days drive, in todayís automobiles, from Normanís bedside, would have put us into the heartland of the vast buffalo herds that would fall prey to the large calibrated rifles and sharp knives of the hide hunters during the next two decades. Nine hundred miles to the south, later to be Normanís home of his adult years, several bands of the Apaches, the Coyoteros, Mescalero, Jicarilla, Chiricahua, White Mountain and San Carlos were following leaders like Cochise and Mangas Colorado who existed on the plunder of their victims, a way of life inbred over the centuries and soon to come into open warfare with the U.S. soldier. The frontier was yet to be tamed.

Here at home, that is along the Bear River, and within a days travel by wagon from the Brimhallís village, Commanding Officer Patrick Edward OíConnerís 200 troopers from Fort Douglas, Utah, fought the Ute-Bannok of Chief Bear Hunterís band in the "Battle of Bear River". Norman was almost three months old to the day, when 239 mangled, bloodied corpse lay strewn over the stained snow on that cold, bitter January morning of 1863. All major harassments against settlers and travelers would gradually cease and within one and one-half years, Noah will move his young families into that general area to pioneer a new homestead.

At the age of 18 months, Norman is placed into a wagon along with all the families possessions and his father moves some forty plus miles northward to homestead at the northern base of the 9200 foot peak now called Oxford Peak. Here, new land had to be cleared and broken to the plow, buildings constructed and a fresh new venture put into operation. This was a beautiful spot, respendent with native grasses and gushing mountain streams. Noahís was the first cabin to signal the coming of settlers. It was made of logs standing on end in a trench, with other logs placed across the top to form the rafters that supported brush, covered with earth, to make its roof. In one corner was a voluminous stone fireplace for warmth and home cooking. At each end of the structure, a wagon box was placed next to the building to serve as bedrooms. Defense from maurading Indians wasnít so important now as was protection from the winter cold. All of this was probably considered fancy for the times and conditions but vastly different to centrally heated, carpeted, spacious houses of today.

Situated now in what was then the warmth and comfort of the day. Noahís brood prepared for a winter that was to be long and hard. Two friends from some miles to the south will come to visit for a few days and then on their return trip home, freeze to death in the bitter cold of an Idaho winter.

Along with the buds and blossoms of spring, other families came, looked and settled near. The loneliness wasnít as pressing with others sharing in the delights of grubbing a new community out of the wilderness.

This new village was to be Normanís home until he was eleven. Dear reader, think back on your own life from about 3 to 11 years old. Very formative years werenít they? Every day [everyday] was a new experience. Sometimes the daily tasks were looked upon as "old-new" exposure to the vicissitudes of life but being a day wiser always gave the numerous tasks a new hue of excitement or boredom. So it was with Norman. Many a spring day he must have helped prepare and plant rows of garden vegetables and worked fields planted with marketable crops. Many a warm summer day would have been spent weeding and tending plants, irrigating and nursing crops to maturity. Harvests must have held a special awe to this boy. He grew up loving the soil and what it could do under the hands of loving care.

Animals were a special delight to Norman. He learned early their needs for attention and kindness. He developed "his way" with them. A way that even the best of horsemen admired and a way that was to hold him in good stead when and wherever he worked with animals during the rest of his life.

Formal schooling for Norman during these early years wasnít as thorough as might have been. "Mans work" kept him out too much of the time. What few years he had was at the village school of Oxford and at his motherís knees. It wasnít until his adult years that he excelled in academic subjects but the school of "hard-knocks" in these years of early youth had chucked him full of learning to live and help provide.

At the age of eleven (1873) Normanís mother and her children were moved to a farm some two and one-half miles from the village. We donít know the arrangement nor why. Noah did have two other wives, Melinda Zundell who gave him one child, and Lovina Jones, widow of Baily Lake, Samanthaís brother, who gave Noah 15 children over the years. Regardless of the happenstance, Norman at age eleven is now cast into the mold of being the man of the family, a role he must shoulder the rest of his life. Childhood for the boy was short. Formal schooling stops and an education from the college of "Daily Toil" takes over and heads the boy in the direction of a "diploma" of life. A manís world was his to cope with. This was the beginning of when a boyís a man.

Early in 1877 (Norman is not yet 15) Normanís father sells his properties and half of the farm, takes his other family and starts for the Little Colorado settlements in Arizona via Leeís Ferry. By May of the same year Normanís mother had sold her acreage, packed and was ready to migrate southward to Arizona, the "land of opportunity" as expressed by Norman in his journal years later. Samanthaís goal may have been the Little Colorado River colonies too since this was where her husband Noah was going and her brother, George Lake, was there also. Smallpox changed those plans.

Perched on a high wagon seat, holding four reins (guide lines) in his deft hands, encased in beautiful soft deerskin gloves made by his mother, an expert glover, feet and legs hardly long enough to touch the brake arm, hat pulled down against his ears, Norman eased his double teams into their polished well-cared-for harnesses. The younger set, Alma, Elnora and Willard rode up front with Norman while Clayborn nudged along the four milk cows and three calves. The second or possibly the third nightís stop must have been near the old familiar grounds of southern Cache Valley along some mountain stream. Dutch oven biscuits, butter, berry jam, fresh cooled milk taken from an earthen jar set down in the stream, the last vegetables from the winter root cellar and strips of venison could have been the menu of that lingering supper. All probably slept under a blanket of stars since the space in the long wagon box was filled with reminiscence of a past and hopes for a future. Then too, maybe it rained all that night - Grouch.

Several days into the month of May found them passing through the Salt Lake City corridor and arriving at Santiquin (June 1). Here were some of Samanthaís family. She rented a small house for what was to be but a few months and set up her tools for crafting excellent gloves and straw hats that were traded and sold to the local population. Norman and younger brother Clayborn contracted hauling iron ore for the Tintic Iron Mines. This twentyfour [twenty-four] mile stretch not only toughened up their prize teams for the later to be Arizona-New Mexico trek, but gave the very young boys the challenge to excell. This they did. Young as they were, older teamsters tried to take advantage by forcing their loaded wagon off the beaten track but with Normanís capacity to maneuver and Claybornís accuracy with thrown chunks of iron ore, bullies soon let them be. Can you imagine what it must have been like--say--even to lining up with rough, burly grown men to draw your pay for a job well done?

September, Samantha and children bid all familiar faces of the Santiquin stop-over goodbye and with her children started south. Near Salina, they were overtaken by the Bear Lake Company who convinced Samantha and her children to take a more easterly route than originally planned. It would take them through the northwest corner of New Mexico, to Fort Wingate and then to Savoia (Ramah), New Mexico. Here she could visit with her oldest daughter, Samantha, who had moved there with her husband, Benjamin Boice and his seven motherless children.

Because she and her children were alone, "Widow Brimhall" soon became Samanthaís nomenclature to the others of the caravan. Many an eye watched and admired with some envy the well ordered life of this "Widow". Her "teamster" sons kept the menagerie moving. They were the early ones when it came to pulling out in the mornings. Their equipment was kept in good working condition. Their animals were toughened to the rigors of the trail. Early responsibility had jerked these young men, Norman and Clayborn up to be men and they seemed to handle themselves very well.
Farmington, New Mexico became their home for a month while they rested and cared for their animals. Not to be idle, Norman and Clayborn got jobs milking cows for one of the local inhabitants. Clabourn [Clayborn] later returned to this area to make his home and today we find some of his descendants living there.

Late in December, they left the comforts and rest of the San Juan river valley communities and started southward. The second night on the trail the old milk cow wandered away from camp and the next morning, Norman mounted the trusty pony to retrieve her and the stock she led away toward the rich grasses of the San Juan. By the time he found and turned them back it was late evening and the high altitude of Canyon Largo contributed to the bitter cold of the coming darkness and falling snow. Norman spied a herd of sheep and sought refuge with its two herders. They sensed his plight in spite of his crude sign language and poorer Navajo and Spanish. The skilled herdsmen soon had the cows tethered to near-by trees and Norman seated next to a warm fire eating a shepherds supper served up with congenial companionship. They shared their sheepskins and blankets with Norman but the cold bitter night soon drove all three together to keep warm. Placing Norman in the middle they were all soon snoring in their own language until the rising sun stirred the camp. This experience so impressed Norman, that he carefully noted its details and his appreciation in his journal. Experience was molding compassion in this young manís life that would later be one of his outstanding traits of character.

By afternoon of the new day, Norman catches up to the now waiting family. All together again, they move on. Christmas finds them in a Mexican village watching with curiosity the excitement and uniqueness that only the Mexican can put into this season. Eggnog is sampled. Hot Spanish tidbits take his breath away. Norman is so fascinated with his first Spanish fandango that he must squeeze a word about it into his record. No doubt he was awed and fascinated with the Hispanic culture of the Southwest as were so many Americans who first came into the area only fifty plus years before, first as traders, then trappers, next as soldiers and now as settlers. It had been only a short 36 years past that famed Mormon Battalion had moved southward through this general area. It was but nine years ago that the famed Kit Carson had walked the Navajo to the now infamous Bosque Redondo "prison camp" but a few hundred miles to the south and east. All of this was undoubtedly part of the lore of the land but another incident of this season of the year had a more lasting effect on the lad. A man of rough character traveling in company with the caravan, sold one of his horses and bought merchandise which he gave to the needy. Norman and Clayborn each received a much needed pair of shoes. He learned it is blessed to receive in humility and thanksgiving as well as to give graciously.

January 1, 1878, they arrive at Fort Wingate. Twenty five [twenty-five] miles through deep snow to Savoia valley is all thatís left of a long artuous [arduous] trip. The young teamster pushes the weary horses up over the mountain road along which they meet Benjamin Boice, husband of Samanthaís daughter, on his way to the Fort for medicine and supplies. Smallpox in the settlement was taking its dreadful toll. News of this caused some of the Caravan to move away on their own. Normanís mother, out of money, food, clothing and travel weary and wanting to see her own, chose to enter the stricken village and see what help she could be.

The need for family funds finds Norman working in the logging camps during February. With the cold of late February comes smallpox to the Brimhall encampment. Word is sent to Norman at the log camp, but before he can reach home, his mother sickens and dies. It is now March 6, 1878. Those "responsible" in the village wonít let him look on his motherís body. Instead he is given a shovel and with the held [help] of a young man who has just recovered from smallpox, Norman must dig his Motherís grave. What memories must have passed before his mist-filled eyes as he picked away at the frozen earth. Falling snow blotted out the immediate landscape and the forested hills of this small but beautiful valley. All was arrayed in beautiful soft white except for the gradually growing mound of brown earth soon to be placed carefully upon a pine box containing the earthly remains of the greatest influence in Normanís life.

What was he to do now? Norman, not yet 16, but the oldest at "home", in a new land, with very few acquaintances had the responsibility of caring for himself, three younger brothers and sister Elnora. True, there were neighbors but each had their hardships to contend with. Other graves were being dug on the same small rise on the valley floor. Four other mothers of large families were soon laid to rest along side Normanís mother. Norman being the only one not stricken with the dreaded disease found himself tending two families, his motherís and that of his sister.

Noah, in Woodruff, Arizona, hearing of the plight of his family in New Mexico, came to claim his own. The three younger children were left with a caring family and he took the two oldest boys on an extended freighting tour of several weeks. Norman managed his motherís teams and Clayborn rode with his father Noah, who cared for him while he recovered from smallpox. When they returned to Savoia they picked up the other children and made their way to Woodruff, Arizona.

The few months Norman stayed in Woodruff were filled with memorable and unusual experiences of which probably the most impressive was personal interview by the President of the Church, Erastus Snow, who was visiting the Arizona Colonies. A quote from Normanís journal gives a clue to this unusual experience, " life was changed in that I have profound respect for men of God, leaders of the church, and have striven to yield obedience to their counsel and advice."

This could have been one of the turning points in Normanís early life. A testimony of strength and conviction pertaining to the Gospel and the Lordís Plan for man must surely have been his now. The pangs of sorrow and remorse brought on by the struggles of the previous cold forbidding winter months accompanied with the terrible loneliness from the trauma of losing his precious mother, were eased.

A few weeks later we find Norman relaxed and camping on the shores of Silver Creek in what was to become the community of Taylor. His father would arrive in a few days and this is to become the "home" of Brimhalls. Norman loved his valley as evidenced by the roots he so deeply planted in its soil. Here he will meet his sweetheart, raise their children and eventually come to rest in the depths of its fertile loam.

Not to be unnecessarily idle, Norman worked along side the "men" digging the ditches to irrigate the numerous farms being laid out by the brethren. He turned his knowledge of building to construction of the new wardís first meeting house. It was a busy life. It was a satisfying life but the need for hard cash to supplement their needs soon found Norman perched high on the seat of a freight wagon, gently coaxing his beloved horses to pull heavy loads of freight intended for miners, railroaders and soldiers moving into the young territory.

It will yet be four years before the old Beale camel route will be spanned by the now Sants [Santa] Fe Railroad, so we find the lad picking up California-bound frieght in Las Vegas, New Mexico and tediously moving it across the territory to the California border where his emptied wagons were piled high with the bounties of California destined for the commerce of eastern cities.

Elsewhere, the young town of Prescott, not for off his route was booming as the capitol "city" of the young territory and as center of increased mining interest. Over six thousand mines of the eleven thousand recorded in the Territory at that time were in Yavapai County of escott [Prescott] is the county seat today. The tall timbers of the virgin forest around Flagstaff wonít feel the twang of the sharp axe for a few years. Not until the year Normanís marriage will the railroad reach this hamlet that will produce millions of board feet of lumber. The harsh droughts of the late 70's and the terrible winters of the 80's that killed herds of cattle on the open prairies from Texas to Canada is yet a few years away. These happenings will cause many cattlemen, some good, some honest, others filled with greed, to look into the corners of the Arizona territory for what grasses havenít been staked out. This will result in the eroding and destruction of much of the beautiful meadowlands that Normanís wagon rolled across. Around the settlements surge the last Indian uprisings. Soldiers on their way to assignments and military posts trudge through the village of Taylor as do wagons of Norman-s [Normanís] neighbors contracted to carry the Quartermasters supplies. General Crook, the greatest of Indian fighters, so called by General Sherman (one of the greats of the Civil War) had been called back to Arizona to stiffle Indian uprisings that have all the southwestern U.S. in alarm. Fort Apache is kept fully manned and ready to check renegade movements. The spotlight of the eastern news media is intently focused on this little corner of the west. Millions read, watch, and wait.

Norman is part of it all.

Norman is important even though his name will not appear in featured story or military dispatch. Not yet out of his teens, his contribution to peace and tranquility of "the last frontier" is felt. He is somebody.


"Dark Eyed Maiden"

The bright yellow dress Agnes and her mother had made was the envy of all the girls. In the long swirling skirt she moved around the dance floor as her brother, Merrill, played the violin. The boys vied with each other for the pleasure of a dance with her, for she was light and graceful and a good conversationlist. As the music stopped and the boys were escorting the girls back to their seats, a call came up from the boys section, "Agnes, Agnes."] This was a cue to brother Merrill to change the tempo of the music. Tucking the violin back under his chin, he drew the bow across the strings in a few practice chords, then there burst forth a lilting melody. Everyone cleared the floor but Agnes, hesitating for a moment to catch the rythmn, she felt the joy of the moment. As she started to dance, her friends joined in by clapping their hands in time to the music. Around and around she swirled, holding her yellow skirt just high enough to show the tops of her shoes. At the conclusion of the dance, she fell exhausted on a nearby chair, receiving the accolade of her friends with a happy unassuming air as she rested for a few moments before the next dance.

This was "Aggie" - the dark-eyed maiden whose loveable zest for life was infectious and admired!

Mary Agnes Willis was born December 31, 1862, in Toquerville, Utah. The twelfth of sixteen children born to Sarah Melissa Dodge and Joshua Thomas Willis. They were converts to Mormonism in the New York state during the early rise of the church and participated in the hardships incident to the exodus of the church from Illinois and the colonization of Utah and other Western states.

Agnes was a bright active child and a favorite in her fatherís large family. She learned early the ways of the household.

"Aggie, would you please keep an eye on the children, as I will need to be with your father at the Ward House for awhile, then Iíll stop by Aunt Doshaís to check her needs; she hasnít been well lately, and then," her mother paused trying to put into place all the things she need accomplish that day, "and then Iíll work in the garden. Oh, and thanks, Aggie, for being such a great help. You know how I love and appreciate your willingness." And fetching her bonnet, Mother was off for the days activities. For a moment the black eyes of Aggie fired up, then a smile flicked into them. Well for the most part she did enjoy her responsibilities, but sometimes they seemed pretty heavy. Now she thought, "No sewing today. JUST the house, the meals and the children!"

Her father was a polygomist, her mother lovingly known about town as "Aunt Sarah" was the second wife. The other wives, Aunt Dosha, had two children and Aunt Ellen and Sophia had three each. So of a necessity her motherís home was the largest, to accomodate the very large family. Aggie loved this home, a large two-story brick building facing east on main street.

Her mother was a wondrous sustaining influence to her father who was the Bishop of the Toqerville Ward for twenty-five years; in fact, she seemed to be such in each of their lives. Aggie dearly loved her Mother who was a true friend. She loved and appreciated her fatherís kindly ways.

Dependability became Agnesí early watchword, as she learned quickly and easily. She knew how to make decisions and act on them. She discovered her talents and skills and enjoyed using them.

Aggie and her older sister, Mocella (Dolly), were constant companions during their late childhood and early youth. Their talents were comparable in music, acting, dancing, creation of clothing and culinary tastes.

Whatever was going on in Toquerville, be it school, church, socials, theatrical performances, Independence Day programs, Halloween pranks, Christmas or birthday parties for young or old, Agnes and Dolly were in the midst of it all. On the other hand, if there was nothing going on, these two girls were in the planning process of stirring up something worth the effort. Often it was a dance where they danced all night. At midnight there was an intermission for rest and refreshments. And at Mother Willisí there was often a steaming hot supper for her children and their partners.

Later, many of Aggieís brothers and sisters were married, leaving some room in the large home, so her mother turned it into a hotel. She served a special Sunday dinner each week, which attracted many from the near mining town of Silver Reef, near Toquerville. Agnes did a major part of the cooking and serving and general care of the hotel.

Then came the call to move to Arizona in 1879. It seemed as though the end of the world had come, but Agnes took with her the things that had given her enduring popularity among the young and old: [.] The same delightful gaiety at home or with the crowd; the same dependable assistance to her Mother; the same capacity for sincere comradery and friendship and the same trust in the Lord. So the pangs of loss were soon forgotten in her involvement in the new town.

Their first home in Taylor was a small log building, not nearly so nice as their big home in Utah, but Agnes and Dolly cheerfully accepted the challenge and put into this little cottage touches of art made by their hands. Agnes knitted curtains for their bedroom, a room which served as a living room for the family as well. These were a work of art that caught the attention af all who came to visit.

Then came the day all young maidens pin their hopes and dreams on - the discovery of the greatest, the finest!

Aggie had been a resident of Taylor a short while. Her father, sister Dolly and a few others of his family had come to Arizona in advance of the rest to get a home started.

Now itís February, 1880, and the little town of Taylor is ablaze with preparations for the leap-year dance. Agnes joined a group of young girls who were going around town "dating-up." She was to ask Bailey Brimhall whom she had met a few days previously. The group of happy girls halted at last by the woodpile where Bailey and Norman were cutting wood, the former big and agreeable self-assured, the other slight, but athletic in build and retiring in nature. Bailey rested his axe, was at ease with the girls, and stood out ready for a date.

Dolly gave Aggie a dig with her elbow. "Get busy, heís waiting."

Agnes answered in a side whisper, "Iím going to ask the other one!"

"Why Ag, you havenít even met him yet."

"Youíre right, but Iím going to meet him now," her black eyes sparkling and a chuckle in her throat as she stepped forward, putting the question squarely and without embarrassment. "Norman, will you go to the dance with me tonight?"

Norman came out of the backgroung [background] lifting his hat with the right hand, still holding the axe in the left, "Certainly Agnes, and I thank you."

It was a case of mutual love at first sight. Agnes gay and carefree, showed Norman a good time that night, repeatedly bringing him out of the background to dance another set, he was literally "taken off his feet."

Then followed two years of courtship, during which time Norman was freighting between Bacon Spring and Needles, California. He and Agnes ran a banking institution of their own. He sent or took every dollar he could spare of his wages to Agnes, who deposited them in a private cache dedicated to the fulfillment of their plans.

Agnes continued in her service to those around her, family members as well as townspeople. Her brother, Merrill, oft times called upon her to assist his wife, Cedenia. Aggie would be the nurse and household manager. She became the editor of the local handwritten newspaper: The Young
Ladies Herald of the Union, which was still living in 1895 (see below). She continued in her singing and theatrical performances, at which she was exceptionally good.

Thus, the "Dark Eyed Maiden" came to the threshold of, "for time and all eternity" with a sparkle in her brilliant eyes, a great love for her family and community, a deep and abiding faith in God, and complete confidence in her lover. She came with her lamp trimmed and filled!


"Together Across the Years"

Theirs was an interest of mutual understanding and appreciation from the moment their eyes met when Agnes, with a group of village maidens, date shopping for the February 1880 ladies choice ball said to him, at the Brimhall wood pile, "Norman, may I have the pleasure of your company at the dance this evening?" Norman, ever the gentleman, responded, "Thank you Miss Willis, I shall be delighted."

They dated, courted, planned, worked and saved for their wedding day, February 14, 1882. The ceremony was read by Jesse N. Smith, president of the Snowflake Stake in the Willis home, Taylor, Arizona. Within the year their vows were solemnized in the St. George Temple.

Norman was an industerous boy who knew how to work and save. As we learned in chapter one during the years 1877-79 the Samantha Lake Brimhall family trecked to Arizona by way of the Savoia Valley, New Mexico settlements. Bereft of their mother by small pox [small-pox], Normanís three younger brothers, Clayborn, Alma, Willard and sister Nora [Elnora] looked to him for leadership, guidance and sustenance. Norman and Clayborn used their motherís teams and wagon hauling freight from Fort Wingate to Fort Defiance, a distance of some twenty-five miles and from Keams Canyon to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

When Normanís brothers and sister arrived at Woodruff, Arizona, Aunt Lovina took them into her home and cared for them. Norman turned his motherís horses and wagon over to his father and went out on his own. He brought from the Walker boys a pair of gray horses, harness and wagon. With these, he freighted from Bacon Springs (150 miles east of where Holbrook now is) to Needles, California.

Agnes was his bookkeeper and banker. When came their marriage date, they paid all expenses, had bought a building lot, paid for their freight outfit and had $200 towards the trip to St. George Temple, that was consumated the same year.

Their first home was a log cabin or frame house on their own lot just south of, and across the street from the red brick Palmer home in Taylor, Arizona.

Bless this house, O Lord we pray,
Make it safe by night and day;
Bless these walls, so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out;
Bless the roof and chimney tall,
Let Thy peace lie over all;
Bless this door, that it may prove
Ever open to joy and love.

Bless these windows shining bright,
Letting in Godís Heavínly light;
Bless the hearth a-blazing there,
With smoke ascending like a prayer;
Bless the folk who dwell within,
Keep them pure and free from sin;
Bless us all that we may be
Fit, O Lord, to dwell with Thee,
Bless us all that one day we
May dwell, O Lord with Thee.

Normanís three brothers, Clayborn, Alma, Willard and sister Elnora came to live with the young couple and a bond of love evolved that made this home sweet home to all of them.

About three years from their marriage date, their home was blessed by the coming of Sarah Agnes, a lovely little girl. Sarah stayed with them but fourteen short months, just long enough to teach them the sweetness of children in the home. She sickened and died of summer complaint and left a great void in their hearts and home. Months later, Agnes found relief from the overwhelming pangs of sorrow, when it became known to her that she should be blessed with another child. It was then she came to know, it was more tragic not to be able to have a baby, who was subject to death, than death itself. She knew more fully that womanís greatest joy and achievement lies in having and rearing children to good citizenship. Mary Alice came July 3, 1887, and decided to stay for more than 80 years to brighten the homes and lives of many.

Agnesí grief was added upon by the passing of her parents during these trying years. Their bodies were interred in the Taylor Cemetery and markers placed to designate their place.

In March 1889, Electa was born to Norman and Agnes in the Rock house erected on property that previously was owned by the Willis family. She made a short stay of some fifteen months, and once again the family went into mourning.

Norman was involved in the passing and burial of his two parents, his wifeís parents, five of his children and two of his three wives (not polygamous). Nine of Normanís thirteen children grew to maturity, and five of his seven sons are living today, 1978. Twelve times death came to the Normanís door, all of which he bore manfully and provided for each a proper grave marker. His children and great-grand children like to visit and repair the graves in the Taylor cemetery. These are great teaching moments as to life, death, realities of the resurrection and eternal life, and the continuity of the family.

Following the death of Sarah Melisa Dodge Willis, mother of Agnes, Norman bought the Willis home and lots situated on both sides of Highway 77 in Taylor, Arizona. They moved the Willis house from the east side of the road to the west side and set it over a cellar and called it home while they were building the two level Rock house now known as the J. J. Shumway house in south Taylor. (Present home of Vera S. Rogers.)

Eight of the thirteen children of Norman and Agnes were born in this two story [two-story] rock [Rock] house; Electa, Andrew Noah, Dicie May, Joseph Thomas, George H., Mocella Verdell, Rulon Wells, and Elias Rae. Logan was born in Mesa, Arizona, Sarah Agnes and Mary Alice in house #1 and Margaret and Jesse N. in the family Taylor farm house.


By Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap oíliviní in a house tí make it home,
A heap oí sun and shadder, aní ye sometimes have tí roam
Afore ye really Ďpreciate the things ye lefí behind,
Aní hunger fer Ďem somehow with Ďem allus on your mind.
It donít make any difference how rich ye get Ďt be,
How much your chairs aní tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ainít home ít ye, though it be a palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort oí wrapped Ďround everything.

Home ainít a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore itís home thereís got tí be a help oí livingí in it;
Within the walls therís got tí be some babies born then
Ritht there yeíve got to bring íem up tí women good and men;
And gradgerely, as time goes on, ye find ge [ye] wouldnít part
With anything they ever used - theyíve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; aní if ye could yeíd keep the thumb marks on the door.
Yeíve got to weep tí make it home, yeíve got tí sit and sigh
An watch beside a loved oneís bed, aní know that Death is nigh;
Aní in the stillness of night tí see Deathís angel come
Aní close the eyes oí her that smiled, aní leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, aní when yer tears are dried
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, aní sanctified;
Aní tugginí at ye always are the pleasant memories
Oí her that was and is no more - ye canít escape from these.

Yeíve got tí sing and dance fer years, yeíve got tí romp aní play,
Aní learn tí love the things ye have by usiní íem each day;
Even the roses íround the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ícome a part oí ye, suggestiní some one dear
Who used tí love íem long ago, aní trained íem jesí tí run
The way they do, soís they would get the morniní sun;
Yeíve got to tí love each brick aní stone from cellar up tí dome:
It takes a heap oí liviní in a house tí make it home.

Each of the FIVE have pleasant memories associated with the old Rock home . Here we lived out the days from early morn to the wee hours of the night. Here we filled each hour with sixty full minutes of effort. Here we carved out of life most of the thrilling stories of our family life as a unit and as individuals. Father and mother were good story tellers and the children learned how to keep it interesting. Some of them, the reader will find retold in chapter 12, Tender Tales. Here we lived through tragedy, pathos, mirth, warfare, debate, humor, health, sickness, success, failure, love, hope, apology, forgiveness, and try, try again for more than eighteen impressionable years.

Mother Agnes was center of all positive activity, for around mother, little folk build their here and now and much of their tomorrow. Father was away from home much of the time doing missionary work, making a living and presiding over church units. One of the delightful occasions was family hour. It took place most every evening, partly because there were no other attractions in a small country town. Mother was musically inclined and used her beautiful voice in teaching us many of the songs of the day and hymns of the church. She was a good reader and selected lively stories from the scripture for our enjoyment and edification. Besides taffy and molasses candy, we enjoyed parched sweet corn that we pounded to powder by Ďchounchingí it with the hammer handle in a quart can which we then covered with a layer or two of rich cream from one of the several pans of jersey cowís milk. A special treat was clabber from the milk pan covered with a layer or so of sugar and seasoned with some spice. After the games and fun, there was always family prayer werein each of the children took his/her turn. Then there was bedside story, individual prayer, and the tuck in safely and the night night kiss.

Big events like the Civil War, World War 1 and 11 always give us stirring songs that are popular for years. Many of the songs mother taught her children had their origin in slavery and Civil War days.

The older one gets, the more precious becomes the memories of those moments at motherís knee in prayer or even a flitting dream that she sits on the edge of oneís bed and leaves her impression of solution to oneís problems. Oh, that mothers could never forget their God given power to raise their children in righteousness! This world would never lack for love, security and happiness if they would but remember.

Father Norman was always the gentleman who honored women and motherhood. He was at motherís side in joy, sickness and death. What a contrast today wherein more than a million babies were never born because of abortions, and mothers run away from their families and fathers desert them. Millions born out of wedlock never have a legal name and go through life as regular topsies.

Mother bottle fed sister Dicie May, and her brother, two years older, vividly remembers climbing into her crib, taking her bottle and when it was empty, hiding it in a hole in the wall behind the cook stove. The mother was quite relieved when she caught the lad on his eighth trip to the depository and retrieved all eight bottles and accompaning nipples. The lad was declared to be a cutie, but a thief!

Logan, Dicie and Joseph were confined to the sick room at the same time. One had measles, one had whooping cough and the other had measles and mumps. They occupied a room away from the rest of the family. There was crying, itching, coughing, scratching and vomiting to no end. Golly, how could a mommie love such a nasty trio? But she did, and we can only repay her by being good for something.

There was a cherry tree in motherís garden below west Taylor irrigation ditch, that came as a twig from Toquervill [Toquerville], Utah in 1879 and became a haven of delight to the community, for it was always full of summertime cherries, kids, birds and bees. Mother managed to keep us out of the tree till ripe fruit appeared and then taught us how to pick only the red fruit and thus we had ripe fruit, red lips, torn trousers and aprons from June to September.

There was this apple tree and four peach trees, one pear tree and oodles of currant and goose berry bushes on the four acres devoted to gardens. The apple tree was named "old leather coat." [".] It was a hardy specie that bore fruit every year regardless of weather. Itís hide resembled the skin on a baseball, hence the name "leathercoat." [".] It became most delicious after Christmas. These we came to think of as our fruit trees of life.

One of the family delights was to harness a pair of horses, hitch them to a wagon and head out for the Jensen Ranch, about five miles south of Taylor. We generally took along quilts, pillows, chairs for each, and a box of bread, cookies, bottles of cherries, a supply of jerky or what had we. The boys never knew what the women talked so much about for so many hours, but we do remember a goodly dinner each trip.

There were polly wogs, toads, fish, rabbits and an occasional fox in the underbrush at the confluence of the Silver and Show Low Creeks. We had whistles, water guns, fiddles and slings made from raw material at hand and a lot of chappy hands and feet come sundown. It was here among the stumps, grass bumps, rocks and snags that we learned there was one thing that was worse than a sore stubbed big toe, and that was two of íem.

At the dinner table, one of the Jensen girls that was beginning to talk in her young days, answered motherís question on this wise, "Leona, why donít you eat all of your custard pie? Donít you like it?" Her response was, "I like the cuss of the cussed pie but I donít like the cussed." The family usually got home before darkness set in.

The Rock house had no plumbing, that did not come Ďtill after 1930 or later, and the Brimhall family had long since moved out. However, we managed for when it came shower time, the children carried water from the ditch and heated it on the cook stove. It was then transferred to a number two or four wash tub, placed in the wash room where the occupant soaped and soaked Ďtill someone called, "Make it snappy."

If shoes had been scuffed too badly, or someone wanted to appear well groomed, he turned a stove lid upside down, applied a little water to the soot, and applied it to the shoe and rubbed it in. If one wanted a real shine, he used milk rather than water. After this preparation he ate a bowl of gruel, or bread and milk and shuffled off to bed to wait for the sabbath morn and Sunday School. This family was taken to church, not sent. Then there was Religion class, M.I.A., Primary and Sacrament meeting. The chief texts were the Standard Works of the Church. Thus the children became acquainted with the Ten Commandments, Articles of Faith, and learned true happiness lay in the area of obedience to what Deity had prescribed for mankindís happiness.

To the listed activities, we may add a Friday night dance or a Saturday night play presented by the local town talent, and these together with school five days a week, made up the families activities. In this day and time, 1978, the variety of activities the child is expected to engage in is so great, the parents seldom get time to teach lessons that can best be taught in the home.

Mary Agnes had learned in her youth to participate in all of the functions mentioned above. She and her sister Dollie were "live wires" in the town of Toquerville, Utah where she learned to be happy in well doing. Service is a good word whose activity pays large dividends in happiness.

All of the Brimhall children were school minded and did well in the grade, high, and college level schools. Norman, as a child, lived on a farm in Idaho some distance from the school house. Due to severe weather conditions, childrenís diseases of epidemic proportions, quarentines, etc., his school days were limited to the equivelent of two years. He made good use of the opportunities to study with his children in the home and became a self educated man.

Young folk of the town liked to visit the home of Agnes for there were always songs, stories, games and refreshments to their liking. To this, add the miracle of the phonograph that played Alexanderís Rag Time Band off a round disc through a big horn. There was a piano in the home, and some of the children became proficient accompanists to the singers of duets, quartets, and the chorus. It was something special to have the Tenny boys drop in to sing the Valley of Custer.

Norman and Agnes were lovers of trees, grasses and flowers. They planted shade trees around the Rock House above the ditch and this meant water had to be hauled to them. For this purpose, a lizzard was built, a kind of sled on which one or two fifty gallon barrels were placed to bring water from the ditch to the thirsty plants. Often, the horse weighed less than the barrels of water and in order to get the load moving from a dead stand still, the pony would back up take a run and things in motion. This often tipped the barrels up on edge and sometimes tossed them over. On one such occasion, the writer got one of his big toes under the barrel. Good thing Norman was there to lift the barrel and yell "get your toe out!" If Norman had not been there, the kid would still be holleriní 60 years later, Mommie! Mommie! Mom.

Norman had been assigned to do missionary work in the Salt River Valley in what was called the Mutual Improvement Association Mission. Some two years later, he was called to the full time missionary service in the Western States Mission with Denver, Colorado as headquarters. While he was gone March 25, 1900 to February 10, 1902, Anges and the children carried on at home. There were responsibilities for all during those twentytwo [twenty-two] months. Of course, mother Anges carried the responsibility load. It is surprising how children can and will go to and carry their part of the burden.

Mother Agnes was overall planner and daughter Mary Alice, thirteen, became general overseer of the children. Logan says he remembers doing some things, not of free will and choice. Andrew, ten, was farmer and Logan, eight, was cowboy for that is what the family cow milker gets dubbed. He well remembers going after the cows in the pasture or on the ranage and getting them milked, simply because Andy said, "Do it!"

Maybe this is a good place for a little story oft remembered, but unrecorded. Mr. Bull, a cattleman, located at the juncture of Bull Hollow and Show Low Creek, owed father a small sum of money for some deal thay [they] had made, and since Norman, the missionary was in need of money, mother dispatched her two oldest sons to the ranch on a collecting mission. The ranch was some seven to ten miles south of Taylor. Neither of the boys had been that way before, so it was a try and find out assignment. They saddled old John, a dark red horse, that had been a Hash Knife cow pony, with two sheep skins, one fore and one aft, mounted and headed south into the wilderness. Some five or six miles out, the boys came to a fork in the road, and one half of it went southwest and the other southeast. Which way? Andrew always got the inspirations first and he said, "Tuggie, we are going to turn around and go back the way we came 100 yards, get off old John, and youíre going to pray. The Lord always listens when you pray. You tell Him we are going to get on old John and go up the road and old John must choose the right road!" Logan boosted Andrew aboard and Andrew reached out his foot for a stirrup and pulled the pray-er aboard. The reins were laid on old Johnís neck, and he fox trotted up to the forks of the road and took the left hand trail. About two miles farther on we came to Show Low Creek. Old John took a few bites of water, went on through and up the hill to where the road forked again. Old John reached down, got a few nibbles of grass and took the right hand road. Ere long we came to a large corral, a sizeable house, and the biggest dog we ever saw. A man met us in the yard and said, "I am Mr. Bull and I suppose you are Mr. Brimhallís boys? We admitted that was our name and he said, "Get down boys and come in the house, my wife had a lunch ready for all of us." They were such nice and kind people, we loved them from the start. During lunch, they asked us lots of questions about father, mother, the children and what each was doing. After lunch, Mr. Bull said, "Now boys, I owe your father $80.00 and maybe that is why you came out here to get it." Andrew, the trained spokesman had to tell it the way mother said to do it, and they seemed pleased with his story about fatherís need. They watched us mount old John and seemed amused. Then he tied a sack around old Johnís neck that contained the money..all of it and when we got home, mother said it was a good job and kissed both of us a big "Thank you, my sons." How do kids know prayers are answered?

Our farm of 33 acres lay on the East side of Silver Creek and all of the hay, grain, potatoes and whatever we raised had to be carried over the creek to the barn, cellar or grainery. Irrigation water for the farm was taken in turn, day or night, at a specified time. It was a case of "Use it or loose it" when your turn came midday or midnight. Mother and her oldest son went to the midnight irrigating, more often than she went with her two oldest sons, so Andy said. Logan would contend that if he did the praying, nothing would hurt Andy during his irrigation sojourn.

When father built the barn he provided a runway to drive the wagon load of hay in out of the rain at the west end. Directly overhead, and at the barnís apex, he placed the gear for running the hay lift fork perpendicular, and to the right a cable that ran full length of the barn, and down the east end to the ground where a horse was attached to pull the hay up to the apex, and at right angle to any spot in the barn for dumping the hay. It was a thrill to ride the fork up and away! The hay unload fork was made in a "U" shape with an extra set of tines running inside of each of the prongs that turned to a right angle by a lift so the hay could not slide off ítill released by a trigger rope in the hands of the operator. Grain was stored in bins west of the hay run and tools were placed in their shed just north of the grainery. Roots and fruit were stored in the cellar.

Sometimes we sold ourselves short on animal forage and had to work and worry about feeding the animals in the spring. Andrew made a wagon for the purpose of hauling green feed from the field to the barn. This was difficult, but again, Andy said, "Do it!" Joseph four, and George two, went along for the ride. Boy, there is going to be a howl when those two read this because they are inclined to think nothing went right unless they did it.

We cut hay with a scythe. Do you know what that is? Well, itís a six foot long crooked handle, bent just so, and a sharp edged steel cutting bar fastened to the lower end at a right angle. The operator put his left hand at the upper end of the handle and his right on a knob at center. Now with a half circle swing into the grass or hay and it fell severed from itís roots stem. Gather it up, place it in the wagon and head for the barn one-half mile away, and get amused at the hungry animals fighting for a portion. We sometimes used the cradle reaper. Whatís that? Another handle comparable to the scythe, but to the back of it was fastened a basket into which the mow fell and was gathered in the arms and tied in a bundle by a few strands of the mow.

Did you ever make a wheat stack? No? Well this is how. The binder cutting machine that goes into the field cuts the grain, binds it with string and throws it to the ground. You come along and stand the grain up on end to the tune of a dozen bundles in a shock. After it dries for a week or ten days, it is loaded on the wagon and hauled to the stack yard. Begin by making a shock for the middle of the stack. Then begin laying the stack by placing bundles flatter and flatter on the ground ítill the circle is the size you want the stack to be. Next, you go íround and íround with bundle on top of bundle ítill you get up some 10 feet to where Andy or Joe or George canít bang you to the side of the head with a well aimed bundle. Now you can lay off that perpetual complaint, "Stop it, stupid!" Your compensation for the many bundle bangs is to see the pitcherís sweat and grunt in the great effort of heaving 20 pounds up and over. Well, go on up with the stack, but begin to pull the bundle butts in each round to top out the stack in a peak at 20 feet. "Beautiful," says mother or sister, "and you have done it!" Except your brothers that threw the bundles up will surely say something like, "Looks like ...... ......," some girl in town that all of you know. Of course, itís a compliment if the right girl is named.

This is not a tall story, so it may fit in here, about taking the horses and cows to water. It was some 100 yards from the corral to the ditch where the animals quenched their thirst. Too far to walk and too close to ride, so Andy said. One day, Log, that was his nick name, ítill Andy wanted him to pray for something, and then he changed it to Tuggie, well, Log had gathered up several hats that originally belonged to his younger brothers, who had not taken the best of care of the wear. He had on his head several hats collected on the principle of "loosers weepers, finders keepers." [".] Log was following Andy by some thirty feet and the howling brethern were some where to the rear calling after him, "Give me my hat, I want my hat, mommie, mommie, Logís got my hat." Andy had ordered distribution of hats several times but Log stuck to the sound principle of loosers weepers, finders keepers..., and as he opened his yap to re-announce the adage, wham! A rock lodged in his mouth. He could neither spit, pull or blow or shake it out, he couldnít even cry for mommie. Blood oozed down the chin and Andy rushed him to mother. She tried with fingers to dislodge the stubborn rock, but it would not, so she resorted to her chief tool, a button hook, whatís that? Itís a thin round steel, crooked at one end in a small half circle and a complete circle at the other end some four inches up. Well, mom dislodged the rock, lectured Andy on efficient denistry and the brethern on proper care of hats and as for the rock victim, she told him, "Keep your mouth shut or you may loose all of your teeth instead of two. That bunch has your number." Log couldnít eat anything but Mormon gravy for a week.

This chapter is not adhering to chronological order, so we shall return to an earlier event that threatened disaster. During the years 1891-94, Anges was stricken with paralysis that rendered her entire right side useless. During these years, she gave birth to two children, Logan and Dicie May. Some might think there should have been no children during these years, but to the contrary, Anges wanted the children and said they kept her from being completely paralyzed.

During this time of great trial, George Q. Cannon came to hold Snowflake Stake Conference in Pinetop, Arizona. Agnes felt if she could get a blessing at his hands, her general health would improve. To this was added a trip to the Salt River Valley during the fall months of September and October. She wanted to be nearer a doctor when her expected child came. Logan was born October 12, 1892, and the family left for home in Taylor in late November. They traveled by way of Black Canyon, Camp Verde, Beaver Creek, Pine Springs, Jarvis pass, Winslow and on to Taylor. A snow storm of blizzard porportions overtook them and lasted a day and a night and a day. The horses, Jeff and Chess, seemed to realize the safety of the family lay in their strength, ability and service. Norman cared for his family well by placing a small wood stove in the wagon box and a supply of wood for Mary and Andrew to keep the quarters warm. Each night, Norman dried his horses off with gunney sacks and fed them well. His only guide to keep in the roadway in this two feet of snow, was blazes on the trees put there twenty-two years before. They took four days from Camp Verde to Winslow. To add to the discomfort, the baby had the whooping cough.

During the hectic days in Taylor, Agnes was efficiently helped by grandma Margaret Hancock, the town midwife, and young ladies like Rebecca Standifird, who later became wife of Jesse Kay.

Norman sold his thriving sheep business, with headquarters in a valley known as Phoenix Park, between Pinedale and Heber, Arizona. He found employment nearer home so he could be with his Agnes most of the time. She mended slowly, but surely ítill she had recovered complete health.

In an attempt to meet their finances, that were badly strained during the paralysis days, they sold their Rock house [House] home and the four acre lot and built a house on the farm on the east side of Silver Creek. Among the chattels received from purchaser Betsy McCleve, 1904, were 27 head of cows and a 40 acre tract of land just south of Pindale, Arizona. The cattle were leased to Ira Wakefield, who took them down on the Perco River, North of the Point of the Mountain, east of Snowflake some ten or fifteen miles. The deal was on some kind of increase basis. The cattle were returned in 1906, with an increase to 30 head of cows and a white face bull.

Norman secured from the state brand department the right to his cattle brand, , the N was for Norman and the 7 represented his seven sons. Logan was designated chief cowboy for the summer of 1907. The cattle were taken to the Pinedale ranch where there had been erected a corral and barn (see chapters 4 and 7). His equipment was 33 head of cows, one bull, one dunn pony, a sheep skin saddle, a tent with stove, and cooking pots and pans. His instructions were to keep salt in the trough for the cattle and at the springs in west fork of Pinedale wash and at the deer licks. "You will see each one of these animals every day for the next six weeks. If any of them stray away from the herd, you will bring them back to the fold." The cattle wintered in the cedars north of Pinedale and south of Taylor.

The old rock [Rock]house, barn, corrals, sheds, woodpile, fences, the old cherry and apple trees and all the rest bring memories that pull at the heart strings. They call for a lot of stories, some of which belong in chapter 12, Tales Tall and Tender [Tales, Tall and Tender], and some that belong in oneís own individual storybook. Some few things may be said without infringement on other tales. There were a lot of kid fights, group fights, that scattered dough, biscuits, cans, pillows, hats, and anything that was not fastened down, around and about. It was battle royal when big sister Mary and Andrew chose up sides for the fray. Even the little kids got splashed with cold water if they cried too loud. One of the favorite games was the rock fight. Can you imagine kids taking sides and throwing rocks at each other at close range or far off? Joe likes to tell how he put Log to flight when he hit him on the ankle with an egg sized rock that put him on crutches for a week. Rulon and Elias were little fellows, but they got training in how to keep your place or go hurt and hungry. After the battles, we cleaned up the place, after a fashion, and other [Mother] coming in from Relief Society would look us over and say, "Well, Iím glad you didnít kill anyone."

George H. was younger, but as tough as an owl. He did his part in tearing up and fixing up, but was hard headed when it came to being told not to do something that looked feasable to him. Like the time when the lye can fell off itís perch and before his sister could get it away from him, he had his hand in and some of it in his mouth. Why did he do it? Well, he thought it was cold gravy. It took a lot of time, doctoring, mothering, brothring and sistering to get him healed before he could take his place at the table comfortably.

There were three sisters in the group, Mary, Dicie and Mocella. Each of them were good women and true to the standards taught by their parents. Mary was chief when the parents were away, that is, almost and until Andrew decided his territory had been invaded. Not that he was quarrelsome, but he was defender of equal rights and didnít like anything that had the appearance of usurpation. Mary brought us all up in good kindly style and turned over to sister Dicie after she began dating. Her chief suiter was John E. Palmer, whom she married after he returned from the mission field and Mary had been graduated from the Snowflake Stake Academy, (S.S.A). These two events were well approved by our parents and became a model for the children of the family. Dicie May was a model child in every way. Just thirteen months youger than Logan, she became his constant playmate, bedfellow for six years and tutor in arithmetic. Dicie helped bring the family through two tough trials. She was mother to the younger boys after their mother died in 1913. Then some years later, she was keeper of the family together after fatherís second wife, Caroline Smith passed away in 1924. Mocella Verdell was a small child when the writer of this chapter was in the home, but he learned to love, honor and respect her for her many talents in music, art, educationa [education], and for the comfort she was to her father during his many trials. The writer ate Thanksgiving dinner with her and a few days later came the word that Mocella died of the flu December 7, 1918. She had a sweetheart in the person of Seymor Fish to whom she was sealed as wife in 1927. More shall be said about the girls in chapter 9, The Long Dozen [The Long Dozen].
Among the many things Dicie did well, was telling the story of her parents and family in articles titled, "Across the Years with Norman and Agnes Brimhall." [Across the Years with Norman and Agnes Brimhall.] Itís pages are worn and crisp but much of her effort will find place in this volume under appropriate chapters. Here we quote from her article about Agnes: "In 1904 the family gave up the rock house with its adjacent lots and went into the field on the east side of Silver Creek to begin again. It was a trial for Agnes to give up the lots above and below the ditch whre she and her mother had planted a pansy bed, rows of peppermint, spearmint, asparagus, dill, rose bushes, trumpet creeper vines, currant and gooseberry bushes, and many fruit trees. The place was in bloom of productivity and more [,] it was rich in memory for the entire family.

In the new home in the field she helped Norman and the boys plant fruit trees, berry bushes, shrubs and the like. She did not live to see these bear fruit, but she did get harvests from her own little garden of herbs, pieplant, dill and sage.

During those years 1905-13 in the new home, after she had laid her last two babies away, Margaret and Jesse N., and realized there would be no more child bearing for her, she reverted to the arts of her girlhood days, crocheting, knitting, cutting and fitting quilt blocks, making herself new clothes, and doing things to improve the home. She wanted everything about the place done up in good order including the family record. She made many trips to the home of the ward clerk, F. M. Perkins, to verify dates, ordinances and bring her record to completeness.

Agnes longed for her son Andrew to get home from the B.Y.U. where he had been attending College [college] since 1911. She wanted very much to see him and he had promised to put in the new house, cupboards, clothes closets, etc. He had not been home since leaving for he found it necessary to work in the Butte Montana mines during the summer months to maintain himself in school to the finish. At the time he went to the mines to work, Agnes said to her daughter Mary, "I shall never see him again in this life." Sometime later, she told Dicie just how she wanted things done in case of death...just how the children were to act. How and who was to make her burial clothes and what she expected her children to be without further help from her.

During her extended sickness, a few years previous, she went into a coma and attendants thought she had passed away. Later she told her husband that she had seen the spirit world and was admonished to remain there but she felt her family on earth needed her help and promised to return as soon as the children could get on without her. She now felt the time was near for her to keep the promise made. Apparently her time came, for in [the] spring of 1913, she caught a cold that turned to pneumonia and died March 12, 1913. Her remains were intered in the Taylor cemetery. The funeral service was beautiful. Among the speakers, [no comma] was Samíl F. Smith, president of the Snowflake Stake, who said of her, "She was a women in whom there was no guile." Mother Mary Agnes had lived a good life, reaped the rewards of virtuous living, had reared a large family, had done her part by church and society and was now ready for the next step forward.

Norman was left with six sons, the youngest, Elias Rae, ten years old and three daughters and the Taylor Ward to preside over. Norman soon found anothr [another] lovely woman for a helpmeet in the person of Caroline Smith, daughter of Jesse N. Smith and Emma Larson. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple October 9, 1913, and immediately returned to their duties at home in Taylor, Arizona. Caroline picked up where mother Agnes left off and endeared herself to the entire family by her kindness, understanding, and real love for the members of her ready made family. No woman could be more loved and respected than was our new mother Caroline Smith Brimhall. The writer cannot remember a single incident wherein there was disagreement, confusion, argument or ill feeling. It was "Home Sweet Home." [".] In the spring of 1914, Logan was called to the North Western States Mission where he labored from June 5, 1914 to September 10, 1916. During this time, every month, without fail came a letter and check from mother Caroline and her husband Norman. Heaven bless them!

Caroline took her place as mother of the Taylor Ward and assisted her Bishop husband to fill his obligations as the leader of this unit of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At his request, Norman was released as bishop of the Taylor Ward, February 11, 1916, and was made a member of the Snowflake Stake High Council. He was also made superintendant of the Snowflake Stake Sunday School. Caroline was his secretary of the organization.

They were released from these positions November 10, 1917, because they were moving to Mesa, Arizona.

The farm life of Norman, Caroline and the children will be part of chapter 6 titled The Farmers [ The Farmers]. Suffice it to say, Caroline was a devoted wife to Norman and mother to his children. She passed away following a tumor operation January 19, 1924, and was buried in the Taylor cemetery. The plot where Normanís wife Agnes was buried being filled, Caroline was placed in a new plot nearby where since have been placed Norman and wife Phoebe.

Norman, bereft of his Caroline, eased the ache and sorrow in his farm and church work. Then one bright day came Phoebe Neslen Foster into his home as wife and helpmeet. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple [,] June 23, 1925, and their efforts will be chronicled in chapters 6 and 10. Phoebe was a devoted wife to her Norman and they lived well and happily.

During Normanís last years, he took his wife and daughter Dicie by car back over the trail to Savoia, New Mexico, where he visited the ruins of each house as he remembered the standing location of each. At his motherís grave, he gave way briefly to tears of joy and sadness in memory of his greatest of friends, his mother. There was placed, at that time, a fence around the plot of ground where there were several graves and he replaced the marker with a more durable one. Some years later, the Norman, Clayborn, and Alma Brimhall family decendants held a family reunion in the area and placed a bronze plaque in cement that was in good condition August of 1977 when the area was visited by Normanís son Logan and grandson Norman Merrill and his wife Bonnie Brimhall.

During Normanís visit to his motherís grave, some forty years after burial, as a final parting, he sent word to the home of chief [Chief] Josephine of the Pines, that he, Norman Brimhall was in the area and would like to see him again. Joseph of the Pines sent word he was too ill to see anyone but to you I send my son. Norman retold the story of how Joseph and his people had saved the lives of the white people by bringing fresh meat, medicine and other relief in time of their great need.

Norman planned and built well and left evidence of his thrift in the homes he constructed, the Taylor ward chapel that was completed during his bishopric, supplying the Relief Society house with chairs, purchase of the Decker Hall as a place of ward recreation, fencing Ward Square and similar projects. He was interested in education all his days, was a good story teller and shunned all things of a derogatory nature. He died suddenly of heart failure at his home in Mesa, Arizona, November 29, 1938, and was buried in Taylor, Arizona.


"The Builders"

Norman and Agnes were married on Valentineís Day 1882, and started a life long career as builders.

Shortly after their marriage, they purchased a town lot from Agnesí half brother, William R. Willis. This lot was across the street south of the big red brick Palmer home. They built a two room [two-room] house out of logs (presumably). This building has been added to and most of Norman and Agnesí children have known this house as the John Standifird place.

Sarah, Mary, and Electa were born in this home. Agnesí mother, Sarah Melissa Dodge Willis died April 1, 1890. Norman and Agnes purchased the Willis property. This property was in the southwest part of the town of Taylor. Two of the seven acres were on the west side of Highway 77, and five acres were on the east side of 77.

Grandpa Josuah T. and Grandma Sarah Melissa Dodge Willis lived in a log house just above the West Taylor Ditch on the east side of highway 77. Most of the five acres were below the ditch, and made a very fertile little farm.

Norman and Agnes dug a basement and moved the Willis log house to the west side of Highway 77, and placed it over the basement they had prepared. The family lived in this home while they built a rock house on the property west of Highway 77. This two story[two-story] rock house became the birth place of several of the Brimhall children. Andrew, Dicie, Joseph, George, Mocella, Rulon, Elias, and Margaret were born there. Logan was born in Mesa while Norman and Agnes were on a trip to Mesa for Agnesí health.

The two story [two-story] rock house was made livable [liveable], but was not entirely completed until Norman returned home from his mission early in 1902.

Early in the nineties, Norman signed a contract with the Army at Fort Apache to feed not only their mules, but to furnish a house in which they could cook, feed, and billet the men as they came through Taylor on their way to Holbrook or other parts of the state.

They built a large hay barn running east and west with a grainery in the west end. To the north of the barn, they built a large board corral which covered one-half acre. Along the entire west side of the corral they built a sturdy shed. There was a manger against the west wall. This manger ran the full length of the shed. Under this shed, stalls were built so that each mule would have his own stall. In addition to the manger in each stall, a grain box was built for each mule, or horse. There was a rope running the full length of the east side of the stalls. The rope was put up to keep the mules and horses out of the stalls until hay and grain were placed in each. When the feed box was filled, the rope was dropped and each mule or horse went into his own stall to feed.

A three room house was built so the army cooks could provide meals for the soldiers, and their officers. The officers also slept in this house.

The hay and grain used in this operation was raised on a thirty-three acre farm on the east bank of Silver Creek which Norman and Agnes purchased from the Perkins boys. Norman and his boys had turned this thirty-three acres of brush into a very productive little farm.

This enterprise only lasted five or six years. As soon as the telegraph came to Snowflake, the Army moved their feed operation to Snowflake so it would be near the telegraph office.

Early in 1904, Norman and Agnes sold the Highway property to Joseph and Betsy McCleve, who soon sold it to the J. J. Shumway Family, thus the two story [two-story]rock house on the west side of Highway 77 has been known throughout the years as the J. J. Shumway home.

While a new home was being built on the thirty-three acre farm, the family lived in the Joe Warner home which was on the east side of highway [Highway]77, just south and across the highway from the rock house, in which they had lived and raised their family.

Norman had become acquainted with an excellent carpenter in Holbrook by the name of Laraby. At that time, Mr. Laraby had no tools, so Norman bought a complete set for him to use in building the new home. The home was built in the southwest corner of the thirty-three acre farm. This placed the new home right on the east bank of Silver Creek.

Both Norman and Agnes planned this new home. Not only did they plan the house, they planned for a garden and an orchard. The orchard was planned especially by Anges. Since it took several years to get the orchard in, Agnes did not live to see it bear fruit.

Soon after the new home was finished, the fine tools Norman had purchased for Mr. Laraby became property of Andrew. This started Andrew on a long life as a builder. He, in turn, taught nearly all of Normanís boys the building trade, both in school and on the farm.

The last of the Brimhall children was born in this new home. Jessie N., named after Normanís friend Jessie N. Smith, the president of the Snowflake Stake, was born on April 29, 1906. Jessie N. lived only a few months, and passed away September 16, 1906.

Shortly after the family moved to the farm, an adobe cellar, and an adobe chicken coop were built. Norman and his boys, during several years, built a big barn and corrals. There were few barns ever built that were as practical. The hay barn stood in the center. On the north were stalls and a corral for the cows. On the east was a tool shed that ran the full length of the barn. On the northeast end of this shed was a room used as a harness room as well as a Blacksmith shop. Above this room was a grainery.

The horse stalls were attached to the west side of the barn. All of the mangers were built in the stalls next to the barn so it was easy to feed all the animals.

Norman was not only a good builder, he was an agile builder. He prided himself on being able to get around in high places much like a mountain goat. When his son Elias was about eight years old, he and Norman were up on the roof of the barn putting on the comb. There had been a rain just before they went upon the roof. The roof was wet and slick. Elias with his leather soled shoes was creeping around on the roof very cautiously. Norman became very aggravated with the clumsy boy, and scolded him severly. Then Norman said, "Here I am over fifty years old. I have a house full of high shool athletes, and none of them can get around up here as well as I can. I can hop the full length of this comb on one foot." At that point he grabbed one foot in a hand and started hopping on the comb of the roof. Mid way [Mid-way], his foot hit slightly to the west of the comb. His wet leather sole slid out from under him. He rolled and slid down the west side of the roof, and dropped the four or five feet to the roof of the horse stalls. He had built up such speed that he continued to slide and roll down over this roof, and as he fell over the edge of the horse stall roof, a work horse came out of his stall and Norman lit on the horse. The animal was so suprised that he threw Norman high in the air.

Elias oozed down off the roof and went to his father who was by now sitting up in the corral gasping for breath. After catching his breath, Norman limped into the house and was laid up for a day or so.

This thirty-three acre farm with its buildings proved to be an ideal place to rear a family. By 1917 many of the children were on their own, either away on jobs, or in homes of their own. The little farm became the property of Joseph, and later Logan.

In the year of 1904, Norman and Agnes started the cattle ranch in Pinedale. Nearly all his boys helped with the cattle and the ranch, but the main responsibility for the cattle fell on the shoulders of Logan until 1913, when Joseph became the cowboy of the family. Joseph not only had charge of the cattle but aided Norman in several other cattle projects.

Here at Pinedale, Norman and his boys built a log barn, and a huge log corral. The corral was not only huge, it was built out of huge logs. Norman notched each log with his trusty double bitted axe. Each log was then rolled up skid poles by a faithful team and placed just so.

The log barn and corrals served the ranch well for many years. About a year before the ranch and cattle were sold to John Hunt, in about the year of 1915, Norman with the help of Joe and George, built a new corral in the northeast corner of the ranch, and dug a new well near the corral. This ranch was not only a cattle ranch, but was a very productive dry farm.

Agnes passed away on March 12, 1913. Caroline Smith became Normanís second wife October 9, 1913. Norman and Caroline with Rulon and Elias, moved to Mesa in the early fall of 1917. They purchased an eighty acre farm located on East Broadway and the first canal. They purchased the farm from George Ellsworth. The farm had been used as a pasture for diary cattle, and while it was in bad shape, it was extremely fertile.

There was a snug two room adobe house on the farm. Norman and Caroline used their building know-how to add to the house, and make it liveable for the little family. Two years later, when Andrew and Logan took over the farm, Andrew also added to the house and it became a very comfortable home.

Norman used his building skills in erection of an adequate barn with corrals for the horses and cow that was ever a part of the farm operation.

Normanís true skills came to light in his creating and maintaining farm implements and machinery. He built land drags, land planes, buck-rakes, and ditch-vees. All of these implements were the best in the Salt River Valley. Not only did Norman revamp the whole eighty acres, and build all new ditches on this farm, he did the same thing with the 320 acre Metz farm as well as the 160 acre Cash Brimhall farm, both of which he added to his farming operation.

While Norman was numbered among the most successful farmers in the valley, the depression and age finally caught up with Norman and his third wife Phoebe Foster Brimhall, and they retired to their new home at East Broadway.

This beautiful little home was planned, and financed by both Norman and Phoebe. Much of the work on the house was done by Norman. The home was built on about two acres of land that was located on Broadway and Cresent Street.

While Norman and Phoebe had moved to the city, they took the country with them. They put in an orchard with all kinds of fruit trees and vines. Norman built corrals and a very sturdy barn on the property. Naturally they had to have two Brown Swiss milch cows to keep them happy and contented.

It was imperative that Norman build a shop and tool shed. This shop was no palace, but it was unique and very serviceable. The neatness, and the care Norman gave his shop and tools was the wonderment of his family, and his neighbors. No one ever found a dirty or dull tool in his shop.


"The Freighters"


Wagon wheels, wagon wheels,
Keep on turn-iní, wagon wheels
Roll a-long, sing your song
Keep on turn-iní, wagon wheels,

Roll a-long, sing your song
Wa-gon wheels, carry me home
Wa-gon wheels, carry me home.

Freighting in western U.S.A. was an intriguing, but hard way to make a living. Many men who loved animals, wagons, close friendships and long days found this occupation to their liking. These yesteryears reach back from 1920 to 1850 for the subjects of this chapter.

Norman Brimhallís acquaintence with this employment began at age 14 in 1877 and ran across the years to 1920. Of necessity, the wagons had to be well and sturdily built. The roads were rough and deeply rutted and seemingly ran to nowhere [no-where] and back. The vehicle bounced over rocks, stumps, trees and whatever was there. Among the sturdy brands of wagons, were the Bain, Studebaker, and the Winona. The chief lubricant was good old stand by Frazerís Axel Grease.

The Samantha Lake Brimhall family, having grown tired of cold winters, short school seasons and forbiding loneliness of farm life in Oxford, Idaho, sold their land in the spring of 1877 and went out towards sunny southland of Arizona. The husband and father of the family had already left for the south with his other family on another route. Samantha wanted to go by way of Savoia, New Mexico, so she could see her daughter Samantha Boise, who was going into Old Mexico with her family. This group consisted of mother Samantha, 42, Norman, 14, Clayborn, 10, Elnora, 8, and Willard, 4 years old.

The family had a good covered wagon that was drawn by four horses, Doll and Beck as leaders, Lime and Madge as wheelers, four cows, three calves, and a brown pony, Skipper, that was ridden by Clayborn to herd the cattle. They stopped along the way to visit relatives. At spring, between Santaquin and Goshen, they rented a house for the summer and spent the summer hauling iron ore fromn the Tintic mines to the Santaquin station, some twenty-five miles. The mother added much to the family budget by making and selling hats and gloves.

Norman and Clayborn did the freighting. They took good care of the horses, grained and fed them hay in right proportions and made good use of the currey comb. A horse likes to have his hair and mane combed as does a young woman. The round trip was some 50 miles and since a freight team travels from three to four miles per hour, the boys had to camp out one or two nights per trip.

This was quite a responsibility for two boys 14 and 10 years old. They made friends along the way, and added to the budget sufficiently to complete the funds and equipment necessary for the journey into New Mexico and Arizona. Norman managed the four horses and wagon with ease and pleasure. They arrived in the Savoia Valley in late December of 1877 or early January of 1878. The mother sickened of small pox and died March 6, 1878. Norman dug her grave in the edge of the pine forest and helped a good woman friend lay her to rest in an unfriendly land covered with snow.

Noah, the father, came from Woodruff, Arizona in a few weeks to help his children. Norman was placed on the lead wagon with four horses and Noah and Clayborn followed with his teams. Clayborn was recovering from a bad case of small pox and needed to be near his father. The other two children, not fully recovered from small pox, were left with friends.

They hauled such items as wood, hides, salt, blankets and food supplies for Indian traders from Fort Defiance to Fort Wingate and from Keams Canyon, Arizona to Albuquerque, New Mexico. On return from Albuquerque to Savoia, they gathered up what was left of Samanthaís equipment and started for Woodruff, Arizona where they arrived July 24, 1878.

Norman soon went to Taylor, Arizona to help construct a home for Noahís third wife and her family. This was on the property that now, 1978, is home of Vern and Lena Hatch. Noah had managed to buy the farm north of the house and across the street that came to be called the Jennings farm. It was here on this property and in this house or another near by that the "Boy from Taylor", Renz Jennings was born.

Our young man made friends among the Walkers and Kays and with them helped dig the irrigation ditches that serve farm land on east and west Taylor. Norman must have had lonely moments away from his brothers and sister who were being cared for by Aunt Lovina and her children in Woodruff. It was under these circumstances that he met his wife to be, Agnes Willis, at the woodpile and caught a new vision of life.

In 1880, Norman bought a pair of gray horses, harness, wagon, etc., from the Walker boys and set out freighting from Needles, California to Bacon Springs (150 miles east of where Holbrook now is, 1978). His earnings were well cared for by his sweetheart, Agnes Willis, and they were married February 14, 1882.

About 1886, they went into the sheep business and had the promise of making good in the industry until his wife became very ill and almost helpless. Their interests were disposed of so Norman could be close to home and more helpful to Agnes.

Freighting from Holbrook, Arizona to Fort Apache south some ninety miles, became a part of the local effort in making a living. Most every man had some kind of freight outfit. Our young father to be got into the whirl with a six horse and two wagon tandum hitched outfit that proved profitable employment. This freighter rode the right rear horse so as to be near the wagonís brakes and closer to the horses. He used a single line to control the animals. This line ran through the hame loop of the swing horse up to the inside ring of the leaders bridle. A slight twitch of the jerk line and a call of "Jip, hah," would turn the animals to the left of the reverse by calling "Jip, gee." Other calls included "Get up," that meant go forward. "Whoa." meant stop, and "Hold," which meant to stop and hold the load where it was. If the driver wanted more or faster turn right or left, he repeated the call till he got what was wanted.

This freighter had a way with horses. After a brief acquaintence with him, he could get them to do what ever [what-ever] was needed. Some men made balky animals out of good horses but he could make pulling horses out of those that refused to work for other men. The family had a black mare by the name of Florence, that the boys used to haul wood with. Most every time they arrived at the mud hole, near the unloading place, old Florence would stop dead still just before getting into it or at the middle point of the bog. The boys tried most everthing short of building a fire under her, but nothing budged the animal. Sometimes she sulked for more than two hours or until Norman arrived on the scene. He would pat her nose, rub her shoulders under the collar, smoothe her mane and brush the flies out of her eyes, say a few kind words, mount the wagon and say, "Florence, itís time to get the wagon out of the mud, get up!" Florence would respond by moving off in unison with the other horse and dad would try to explain what made Florence balk. Florence always got a double portion of grain for obedience after one of her scenes.

The writer of this chapter has seen this man go deep into the pine forest, cut a log two feet in diameter and thirty feet long, hitch his freight team of four horses onto it and bring them to the corral or barn that was in the process of being built. This he did without doing anything with the horses save call to them, "get up, gee, haw, whoa."

One of his sons said, "What dad canít do with a team of horses, an ax, a shovel, a hand saw, and adz, a hammer, a bale of hay and a bag of oats is very limited."

Where did Mary Agnes fit into the name of this chapter, The Freighters ? She was bookkeeper, banker, replenisher of the grub box, and on occasion, the cheerful sojourner. On an occasion of mountain travel, she got directions mixed up as well as her words and said to the driver, "Norman, is this side of the mountain the other side?"

The freighters day was long, difficult and was often sprinkled with amusing incidents. The day began at daylight. One man was dispatched to bring in the horses that had been hobbled out to grass the night before. Another man greased the wagon wheel axels, mended harnesses or whatever needed fixing and the rest made breakfast ready. They left the camp ground in prearranged order and moved along at three miles per hour ítill the sun said it was noon. The horses stood in harness, given a bucket of water from the barrel on the wagon and a bag of grain hung over his ears into which he lustily thrust his nose. An hour or more before sundown, the freighters arrived at a designated camp area and made preparations for the night. The most entertaining hour of the day came while each person warmed the rivets in his overalls by turning fore and aft around the camp fire. Many freighters carried hot rivet scars. Subject matter ranged from mishaps of the dayís journey to the Tukesí Berry war, to feats of Commodore Owens, to Sheriff Dan Divelbess, to the Flake brothers attempt to capture the desparado in the streets of Snowflake, Arizona. This latter story ended by Charles, a young father and the desparado dying on the spot and James M. Flake being wounded in the lobe of one ear. Well, Norman and his sons did freighting and story telling summer, and winter for several years and Mary Agnes and her girls kept the home fires burning.

It was during these latter freighting years that Vern Hatch and Leo Willis accompanied their fathers on occasional trips to Ft. Apache. Vern tells this story. He is a good story teller. He never records one....just tells them. Perhaps because he wonít have to remember what he said last time. At any rate, he and the Willis boy were the last two wagons in the line. The Willis lad had a pony named Finger Tail and he was a stubborn animal. The Willis wagon was last in line and Finger Tail had been tied behind the wagon to be led along. One of the boys managed to come out of McCoyís Pinetop store with a 5 cent bag of Bull Durham, set it on fire in the form of a cigarette and it smelled more Bull than Durham. As the men often did when the going was comparatively easy, they walked or rode and chatted with each other on their leisurely way. Willis tied his lines to the wagon rack and went to Vernís wagon for converation and a little home comfort. They disposed of several stories and a number of roll your own Bull Durham cigs. The boys pace put them a worrysome distance behind and the fathers rested behing [behind] a cedar tree Ďtill the boysí wagons came along. They stepped out and yelled, "Whoa." Everything came to a halt, even the cigaretts couldnít find a hiding place. After gathering the Bull Durham bag and papers, the dads went to see why the Willis team was so well soaked with sweat and seemed well nigh done in. They found Finger Tail on his side, rope around his neck taught, [taunt] tongue out and his ground side completely void of horse hair. Young Willis cried bitterly over Finger Tailís demise and Vern finished by saying, "Boys, tabbacie, íspecially Bull Durham, ainít no good for growing up Mormon boys, and is hard on horses."

The three biggest sins of freighters are: Caffine, nicotine and exaggeration. There were those among them who knew no sin.

Good freighting was an education in and of itself. The freighter had to know how to care for self, animals, and equipment. He learned about courtesy in dealing with others. Of necessity, he had to be reliable, full of integrity, helpful to others, get up and do on time. A good freighter was a gentleman, a friend, full of kindness towards men and animals. He was dependable and EVERREADY.[EVER READY]

"The Farmers"

Norman Andrew Brimhall was born on a farm in Hyrum, Utah, October 20, 1862. His wife, Mary Agnes Willis, was born in Toquerville, Utah. Toquerville was and is a very small town in southern Utah. Not only were they both born on a farm they pretty well spent their entire lives on the farm, therefore, it is not hard to see why they both had a deep love of the soil.

Norman and Agnes were married on Valentineís day in 1882. Their farming consisted of gardening for the first eight years of their wedded life. Angesís mother died in April of 1890, and Norman and Agnes bought the Willis home and farm. The home and farm was in the southern end of Taylor. Two acres of the property was on the west side of what is now Highway 77. The home they built here was patterned after the Willis home in Toquerville. The two story rock house is now occupied by the widow of Paul Rogers. Four acres of the property on the east side of Highway 77 was mostly under the West Taylor Ditch.

On this irrigated land was a small orchard. Many of the trees were brought from Toquerville by Grandpa and Grandma Willis. Norman and Agnes added a few trees of their own. Naturally there was a garden. Agnes had to have her rhubarb, dill, mints, and asparagus beds. On the rest of the land they raised wheat, oats, corn, and potatoes.

Several of their children were born in the two story rock house. Elias who was born October 28, 1902 was the last of their children to be born there. Shortley after 1902 the Willis property was sold. In a short time it became the J. J. Shumway family home. Norman moved the family to the Joe Warner house on the east side of Highway 77. This little house was not far south of the two story rock house. The family lived here while a house was being built on a 33 acre farm on the east bank of Silver Creek which Norman and Agnes had bought from the Perkinsí boys.

The house on the new farm was built by Mr. Laraby. Jessie N., the last of the children, was born in the new home. He was born on April 29, 1906 and died on September 16th of the same year.

The general slope of the land on the new farm was from east to west, but the ten acres on the west side near Silver Creek was a little higher than the land in the middle of the farm. A dyke had to be built to put the ditch on to get the water to the west end of the farm. This project took a lot of time and effort. One team was used on a slip scraper and one team was used on a tongue scraper. Today, Larry and Darrel Brimhall can move more dirt in one load with their front end loader than a team and scraper could move in an entire day. Since the ditch was much higher than the surrounding land it took one boy to keep the gopher holes plugged up on irrigation day. If that boy was a little lazy the water soon washed a big hole in the ditch.

It was necessary to purchase Water Shares in the Snowflake and Taylor Irrigation Company. The water came to the various farms on a two[Two] Turn schedule.
The Long Turn came every 14 days, while the Short Turn came every 7 days. This made it possible to raise lush gardens. The Short Turn lasted but a few hours, but the Long Turn ran for many hours.

Agnes was an expert gardener and under her eagle eye she and her boys
always raised an outstanding garden. Norman was considered to be among the best farmers in Navajo Country [County]. There were many horses and cows on the farm so the garden and the entire farm was well fertilized, and the productivity of the farm was the envy of the whole community. Not only was the land well fertilized, but since Norman and Agnes were prayerful souls[,] the land, the garden, the orchard, the stock, and the children all got a daily blessing.

I always marvelled at Normanís capacity to have a place for every thing [everything], and to have everything it [in] its place. His whole farm was neater than most womenís front rooms. Just a few days before he died one of his daughter in-laws complimented him on the neatness of his shop and his entire place on East Broadway.

In his youth, Norman was an expert with a cradle. I am not refering [referring] to a baby cradle but one that was used in harvesting grain. With an axe he had few equals. He could hugh [hew] a straighter line with an axe that some of his sons could with a hand saw. When I remember how easily he could swing a scythe even in his old age, I get an inferiority complex. Up until his death his little place on East Broadway was free of unsightly weeds and grass and his faithful scythe was the instrument he used to keep it so well groomed.

Norman wasnít lazy but he was always looking for easier and more efficient ways of doing things on the farm. While Normanís neighbors pitched the hay on to the wagon in the field and then again pitched it off the wagon into a stack or into the barn, he worked out a system of rolling an entire load off the wagon into the barn. Two ropes were fastened to the back of the barn and then brought down over the top of the hay and fastened to the two ends of a rope that had been looped across the wagon before the hay was loaded on to the wagon in the field. When the load was brought into the barn [,] the team was taken to the far end of the barn and hitched to a long cable that ran over a pulley in the top end of the barn. It then was taken the full length of the barn up over the new load and hooked into a rope that had been placed on the wagon. When all the proper connections were made the team would roll the entire load to the back of the barn. What a beautiful sight for tired boys to see.

There were no field hay bailers in those days, so the hay was not bailed until late fall or early winter. The power to operate these bailers came from a team of horses going around a power take off that operated a plunger thus compressing the hay into bails.

There were no harvesters that threshed the grain in the field. Grain was cut by a binder drawn by three horses. The machine bound the grain into bundles. The boys put these bundles into shocks of about 12 or 15 bundles. When the grain was thoroughly dry it was hauled to the stack yeard and the bundles were placed in round stacks that sloped to a point so as to be rain proof. Late in the fall the threshers would come and thresh the grain.

The threshing crew was usually composed of four or five men. The boys in the family did the rest of the work. The threshing machine was powered by 12 head of horses hooked up as teams that went around a power box which turned a drive shaft that in turn operated the threshing machine. A boy was usually given the job of bouncing a few rocks off the ribs of the laziest horses so the would do their share of the heavy work. The boys stacked the straw, and hauled the grain to the bins in the grainery.

The crew was fed at the family table, therefore, our women spent days getting ready for the threshers. The women of our family knew the threshing crew would compare their cooking with the cooking of the women in all the families in the community. Believe you me, the threshing crews were fed like monarchs.

Some years Norman raised sorghum cane much like Uncle Joe does today. Just before frost, when the heads had ripened the boys would take short sticks fashioned some what like a short blunt wooden sword and beat the leaves off the cane. This was called stripping. The heads of the cane were then cut off and saved for stock grain. When the cane was cut it was hauled to a cane press powered by one horse going aroung the juicer. The juice was cooked in big metal vats placed over furnaces fired by wood. Norman usually used a neighborís vat and juicer, but the boys hauled the wood and fed the furnace. Uncle Joe [,] being modern [,] uses an electric motor to operate his juicer and gas jets to fire the furnace.

Norman didnít make a yearly practice of making molasses, for Uncle Will Willis had a corner on the molasses market.

We hear much these days about the L. D. S. Church Welfare program, but it hasnít reached the perfection of the 33 acre Brimhall welfare program.

Norman and Agnes would be considered poor by todays standards, but by the standards of their time they were among the more fortunate. Food and clothing were what counted in those days,[] and if you could get what was needed of these two items[,] you were living in the lap of luxury.

Picture if you will, a cellar with several pans of rich milk with thick cream setting on the cellar rack, pounds and pounds of home cured hams, and side bacon; ample potatoes, carrots, turnips, parsnips, and cabbage in a frost free pit. Quite often a quarter of a beef was hanging on the north side of the house. There would be big barrels of salt pickles, and a barrel of sauerkraut in the cellar. There were eggs in the chicken coop. Frequently there was a dozen loaves of hot bread on the kitchen table made from home grown wheat, ground at the Silver Creek mill in Shumway. This mill was run by water power. Dryed and home canned fruit were usually available.

This was a diet that kept the hard working men strong and healthy, but a diet that left much to be desired as far as the women were concerned. This was doubly true during the period of the year we referred to as ĎBetween Hay and Grassí. Between Hay and Grass came in the spring when the hay in the barn was gone, and the grass on the range surrounding the town had not started to grow. Fruit, green vegetables, carrots, turnips and the like had been exhausted. Taters, ham and gravy were the order of the day. This was a littly heavy for the women.

Hog killing time was a time of rejoicing. Not so much for the older boys, for it was hard work for them, but for the small fry it was a celebration. A fifty gallon barrel of water was heated scalding hot and leaned against a platform. When the hogs were killed they were placed on the platform and shoved head first into the barrel of hot water. Then they were pulled out and turned around and shoved, behind first into the scalding water. When the hogs were pulled out on the platform, Norman and the older boys used scraping knives to remove all the hair. The hogs were then ready to butcher. The hogs looked so white and clean at this stage.

After the drawn carcasses had hung in a cool place for a few days, they wre taken down and cut into hams and side bacon. All the meat was salted to remove excess moisture and placed in wooden barrels. After a week or so in the barrels the hams and side meat were hung in a smoke house. This smoke house looked like a Chick Sales Three Holer. There was a fire pit under the little house and a stove pipe leading from the fire pit into the little house. Corn cobs were usually used to fire the pit. Smoke, and a little heat went up into the little house. The smoke could be seen oozing out of the cracks of the little building. After several days the meat was cured and ready for winter use. The small boys usually got to tend the fire.

The women made head cheese out of the pigís head, and some other parts of the carcasses. Home made [Home-made] soap was made out of the trimmed off fat. This was done by boiling the fat in big wash tubs over an open fire in the back yard. The right amount of lye was placed in the solution to bring about a chemical reaction that produced soap.

Sauerkraut was made by chopping up a hundred pounds or so of cabbage with a hash knive in a big wooden bowl. The chopped up cabbage was placed in a wooden barrel kept in the cellar. The right amount of salt was added. A clean white cloth was placed over the cabbage in the barrel. A wooden lid that fit down inside the barrel was placed over the cloth, and weights were put on the wooded [wooden] lid so that the cabbage was soon coompletely covered by its own juice. After a week or so you had delectable sauerkraut. The wooden lid was then removed. Any boy who hasnít sneaked into a cellar and run his hand and arm up to his elbow into a barrel of sauerkraut and pulled out a big handful and eaten the luscious kraut hasnít experienced life at its fullest.

Speaking of the joys of youth, what modern recreation could possibly bring the utter joy and satisfaction to a young soul as a leisurely hour spent in a three holer on a warm spring day thumbing through a Sears-Roebuck Catalogue? A boy could dream about all the wonderful things he could order after he spent a full week pitching hay for Johnny McCleeve ten hours a day at the hourly wage of 25 cents. This was doubly true if the winter had been long and cold. Then nature demanded that the trips to the little brown house be short and done with dispatch.

In those days when a neighbor lady came to visit her friend it was considered in good taste for the two of them to go to the little brown building together if they so desired, for visiting time was precious and not a moment of it could be wasted. There was a small hole for a child if one needed to be taken along.

Much that has been told has been menís work. We should now take time to mention one of the major tasks for the women. The task of which we speak was Wash Day. Women today with their automatic washers and dryers wonít quite understand. Washing was a task for the women in the family except the boys carried all the water, built the fires and carried the wood.

Gallons and gallons of water had to be heated in tubs over open fires in the back yard. The clothes were all scrubbed on a washboard (you know, rub a dub dub, three men in a tub) by hand, using the homemade soap as mentioned before. All white clothes had to be boiled for many minutes while someone continually stirred them. The boiling took place in a special oval shaped vessel called a copper clothes boiler. Lye was placed in the boiler to soften the water. While the water was heating, scum would form on the top of the water. This scum had to be skimmed off many times before the clothes were placed in the boiler with cut up homemade soap. When the clothes had boiled a sufficient time they were taken out of the boiler with a long round stick and placed in a tub of cold water. They were rinsed in several tubs of water. Each time they were wrung out by hand. The clothes were dried on clothes lines.

The last of the Brimhalls to own the little farm was Logan. Here he raised most of his 13 children. Logan kept many of the old ways but of course he was able to modernize the old place with modern household appliances. His farm equipment was mechanized.

Norman and Agnes engaged in many activities not associated with the farm in their effort to provide the necessities of life for their family, but these activities will be dealt with in other chapters.

Early in the fall of 1917 Norman, Caroline, Rulon, and Elias moved to Mesa. Norman and Caroline purchased an 80 acre farm on East Broadway and the Consolidated Canal which was known as the George Ellsworth Farm.

The farm had been used as pasture land for dairy cattle for many years, so it was a most fertile farm. Norman and his brother Cash bought a Sampson Tractor, and the plowing was done by Cash Brimhallís son Morgan, who at that time was a senior at Mesa High School.

The west forty was planted to wheat, and the east forty was planted to cotton. The wheat crop was most outstanding. Ben Johnson and Rulon furnished the man power to put the wheat bundles into stacks, and again from the stack to the thresher. Ben was a leaner while Rulon was a pitcher, but the uneaven team got the job done. The wheat was of such high quality that it was sold to the Mesa Mill for seed at $2.50 a hundred.

The forty acres of cotton was the best in the valley. Early in September of 1918 Rulon set out to match our cotton pickers from Oklahoma. He was able to pick a hundred pounds of long staple cotton in one day. Elias struggled manfully to match his brother, but his ten thumbs were no match for Rulonís piano picking fingers. The younger brother got only 35 pounds over a very long day.

When Norman and Caroline arrived on the farm there was an open well for water, but Caroline being a trained nurse was afraid of the water in the open well so a thirty five[thirty-five] foot well was drilled to furnish running water for the home. Now, because of overuse of pump water in the valley, you could not strike water in the same place short of three hundred feet.

Early in September of 1918, Rulon went to Snowflake to attend the Academy as a senior. Mocella, who had graduated from the Academy came to Mesa. The flu struck and Mocella passed away on December 7, 1918.

The tractors of that time had proven faulty, so they were discarded by the farmers after one yearís use. All the farmers in the valley returned to horse power.

In the spring of 1922, Norman and Caroline again took over the farm in Mesa. During the time Normanís youngest son, Elias, was on his mission (October 1922 to December 1924) Norman and Caroline expanded their farming operation. Their operation not only included the George Ellsworth 80, but also included the Metz 320 acre farm just west and south of the 80. (This farm is now known as the Gail Fuller farm.) Norman and Caroline were also operating the Cash Brimhall farm on the corner of Southern avenue [Avenue] and Gilbert Road. This 160 acre farm is now called the LDS Church farm.

On January 19, 1924 Caroline died after an operation for a tumor. Elias, the youngest son, was on a mission, and Dicie was teaching at the Academy. Dicie gave up her job at the Academy and came to Mesa to take care of her father, Norman.

During the early winter of 1925, Rex Shumway came to aid Norman and his son Elias on the expanded farm. Rex worked on the farm in the daytime and pursued Bessie Solomon vigorously during the hours of the evening.

When school was out at the Academy in Colonial Juarez, Mexico, Normanís eldest grandson, Otto Palmer, came up from Mexico to help on the farm.

Shortly before Otto came to the farm Norman married Phoebe Foster of Salt Lake City. The solicitiousness of the new bride for her husband amused young Otto to no end.

Normanís neighbors usually slept during the early hours of the morning, but he did a lot of his planning during those hours. Norman knew a long time in advance just what was needed to be done on any given day, so he and his crew were always ahead of the operation. The planting, irrigating, cultivating, and harvesting was done at the proper time, therefore his crops were always among the best in the valley.

The great depression didnít come until after the stock market crash of 1929. The truth however, was that farming in the valley never recovered from the cotton slump of 1920. No one knew this any better then Andrew and Edna, for there were on the Mesa farm during the early twenties and the going was tough. From that time until the early thirties, Norman did what few farmers of the valley were able to do, and that was to hang on. A few years after his youngest son left the farm Norman and Phoebe retired to their small but lovely home on East Broadway.


"The Stockmen"

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,
where the deer and the antelope play.
Where never is heard a dicsouraging word,
and the skies are not cloudy all day.

Where the air is so pure, and the zephyrs so free,
and the breezes so balmy and light
That I would not exchange my home on the range
for all of the cities so bright.

How often at night, when the heavens are bright,
with the light from the glittering stars,
Have I stood there amazed, and asked as I gazed,
if their glory exceeds that of our.


Home, home on the range, where the deer and the
antelope play.
Where never is heard a discouraging word,
and the skies are not cloudy all day.

Shortly after Norman and Agnes were married some of Normanís brothers and sisters lived with them for a short time. While Clayborn lived with them, he and Norman had a few cattle that they owned together. This little start never really got off the ground.

Norman and Agneís first successful stock adventure was in the sheep business. Norman began by looking after the sheep belonging to the ACMI organization. However, Norman and Agnes acquired a small flock of their own that they developed into a very profitable business. Norman and Clark Lewis ran their sheep together. Their range was from Taylor west to Phoenix Park Wash about twenty five miles[twenty-five] west of Taylor.

Norman told the following bear story. He left Clark with the sheep and came into Taylor for a few days. At night the sheep were kept in a big brush corral. One night while Norman was in Taylor, a big bear got into the corral and killed a number of the sheep. When he returned to camp the first thing he saw was a number of sheep carcasses lying around just outside the corral. Clark had skinned and thrown the hides on the brush corral.

It was evening when Clark returned to camp with the sheep. Norman was told what had happened and Clark predicted that the bear would be back that very night. They sat up near the corral and at about three in the morning the bear crashed over the brush corral and the sheep went wild. The two men rushed to the coral to shoot him. The night was rather dark and it was hard to get a shot at the bear. The bear recognized their presence and crashed over the brush corral and ran toward a clump of large pine trees. The two men were sure they had seen the bear go up a certain tree. It was too dark for them to see the bear in the tree so they built a fire at the base of the tree and waited for morning.

After several hours it began to get light but they still couldnít see the bear. Finally they convinced themselves that they hadnít seen him go up the tree, so they started back to their cabin with their guns in their hands. They had gone but a short distance when the bear came down the tree backwards, making a tremendous sound. The racket so unnerved the two that they ran for the cabin as fast as they could go. They hit the door at the same time and fought to get in first.

When they had slammed the door shut they looked at each other sheepishly by the light of the coal oil lantern that they had left lit in the cabin. They stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.

Clark was an old bear hunter, and he was very chagrined by the fact that he had run. Norman, not being a bear hunter, only saw the funny side of the matter. They got breakfast and as soon as it was fully light Clark took their little sheep dog that they had locked in the cabin during the episode and went to the bear tree. The little dog picked up the bearís trail and in the middle of the afternoon, Clark came back to camp with the bear skin over his shoulder.

Agnes was a semi-invalid between 1891-94. Norman sold his profitable sheep business in October 1892 so he could be with his wife and take better care of her.

In 1904, Norman and Agnes sold or traded their home and farm on Highway 77 to Betsy Crandall Brewer McCleeve for a little cattle ranch in Pinedale. With the ranch came 27 herd of cattle, which George and Ed Brewer, two of Betsyís sons, delivered to the 33 acre farm in Taylor.

This little bunch of cattle became the nucleus for the very profitable cattle outfit. The [] brand stood for Norman and his seven sons.

The first year the cattle were kept around Taylor and were cared for by boys on a pony and on foot. The second year Norman contracted with the Wakefield boys to take the cattle for four years. They were to double the herd in that length of time and return them to Norman.

Norman and his son Joseph trailed the twenty seven[twenty-seven] head down the east side of Silver Creek to Navajo Springs where the Wakefield boys had their headquarters. When they came to the Little Colorado River it was at flood stage so Norman and his son had to spend several days taking care of the cattle on the south bank of the stream until the flood receeded. The trip was made by wagon and pony. They took turns driving the wagon and riding the pony on which they drove the cattle.

Due to circumstances beyond the control of the Wakefield boys they only kept the cattle for two years, and the herd only increased from 27 to 31 head. One of the increases was a TOT bull on which Ira Wakefield had placed the[ ] brand. Ira had done a masterful job on the[ ] that he had placed on the bull. The bull was beautiful, but morose animal. His offspring were all magnificent.

Late in the summer of 1907 the cattle were moved to the Pinedale ranch which by then had been expanded to a full 120 acres with grazing privileges on 40 miles square of range.

The first year Logan took care of the cattle on old Jimmie, a yellow pony, using a sheep skin for a saddle.

When the summer of 1908 rolled around, Logan did his cowboying in style with saddle, boots, spurs, and rope.

In 1909 this remuda had been increased by Nibs, a black horse, Biscuit and Lyman, both buckskins.

By 1910, a big log barn and a huge log corral had been built on the ranch by Norman and his boys. In the same year Norman traded a beautiful bay Hamiltonian stallion named Tim out of old June, a famous Hamiltonian mare, for 10 head of cows and calves. The stallion was traded to Mr. Howard, a cow man down in Pleasant Valley.

When these cattle were delivered to Pinedale they were all rebranded with the[ ] . The rebranding was quite an affair, as Norman and all of his sons were there with the exception of Andrew. Joe and Logan did the roping. Norman and George did the branding with the help of Rulon. Elias was assigned to the fire and to bring the hot irons to those doing the branding. Both an O ring and a running iron were used.

The cattle were very wild and wooly.[wool-ly] There was a snubbing post in the center of the corral. Norman instructed his young son Elias, who was about 8 years of age at the time, to get behind the snubbing post in case one of the cows started after him. One of the cows did charge the boy, but instead of running and getting behind the post he ran and threw his arms around the post. Everone held their breath helplessly, but the boy had camouflaged himself as a post so successfully that the cow thinking him to be the post, turned to one side. Of course, everyone had a good laugh at the boyís expense. It didnít bother the boy much since he had been used to being the butt of many of the family laughs.

There were no fences in those days so as winter came on the cattle drifted north around Shones Crossing and some would cross over the east side of Silver Creek and would winter around Bulldock and Concho Flat east of Snowflake.

Once Logan was sent down on the Little Colorado to bring back some of the cattle. Joseph was sent as far down as the Purco on a roundup to bring back some of the strays.

In 1910 Joseph stayed at the Pinedale ranch for four or five months during the fall and winter to look after the cattle and help harvest the crops that had been raised on the dry farm. While there he attended school.

During the late summer or early fall of both 1911 and 1912 Logan was on roundups in which George Baily was foreman. Upon one occasion they had 3,000 steers in two corrals at Dry Lake. A big lightning and thunderstorm came up and the steers stampeeded from both corrals. Everyone jumped on his own night horse, which each cowboy always kept tied up at the camp, by the light of lightning flashes the cowboys were able to get the steers to mill around in the open country at Dry Lake so by morning all of the steers were where they could be rounded up.

During the early summer of 1913 Andrew used Joseph, George, Rulon, and Elias to remodel the home on the east bank of Silver Creek and Norman ran the cattle at Pinedale. Later in the summer Joseph took over the task as cowboy.

In about 1911 or 1912 Norman bought several head of Short Horn cows and calves. There was one Red Pole Angus among the herd. They were dual purpose cattle, but they leaned a little more to beef cattle then dairy cattle so in time they and their offspring were added to the [ ] outfit. Among the herd were two young Red Durham bulls that were used at the ranch in Pinedale.

Back in thos days, Norman sold Long Yearling steers for $12.00 a head. One of Normanís sons paid $630.00 for two Long yealing steers on April 25, 1978.

In about 1915, Norman sold the [ ] outfit and Pinedale ranch to John Hunt.

Norman and Joseph homesteaded a 160 acre ranch in Bagnel Hollow. They bought the IP-cattle from Perry Pearce. It was a small but good outfit. Joseph cut and dragged posts to fence the 160 acre ranch. He also cut and dragged enought tall cedar posts to build a corral. The corral was made of these posts placed upright side by side in a deep trench. That was a lot of posts. He dragged these posts by the horn of the saddle on Old Bob, a bob-tailed bay horse. Old Bob was also used to stretch the barbed wire around the entire 160 acres. Joe lived in a tent nearly a whole winter. A one room adobe house was later built.

Joe was called to the army and this put a stop to this adventure. Norman sold the ranch to Josh Allen.

Early in the summer of 1916 Norman purchased 100 cows and calves from a herd of 2,000 head of cattle that was being moved from the Apache Reservation to Holbrook. These cows and calves were rebranded with the CN brand. Norman and Elias took care of these cattle in section 3 and upon the Swale above the Johnnie McCleeve ranch until a nine section pasture could be fenced. This pasture included the property owned by Emma Smith and her sons. Norman had gone into partnership with his brothers-inlaw [brothers-in-law]. Aken Smith and Rulon did the lionís share of the fencing. As soon as the pasture was ready, the cattle were moved in and spent the winter of 1916 and 1917 in this pasture.

During the summer of 1917 Norman sold most of the hundred head of cows and calves and kept only a few head that belonged to himself and Joseph. Joseph was called back into the army early in 1918. During the bitter winter of 1918 most of the small herd of cattle died along with Eliasí bobtailed roan and Josephís favoirte horse, Old Red.

Norman, Caroline, Rulon and Elias had moved to Mesa in the early fall of 1917. During the summer of 1919 Norman and Caroline were back in Taylor. Norman and Joseph had a small herd of cattle which Elias took care of in section 3. He watered them daily in the west Taylor ditch. Norman and Joseph went out of the cattle business until late in the summer of 1920, at which time Jess Pearce and Norman took over the TIL, cattle outfit, composed of between 1,500 and 1, 800 head of cattle.

Early in August Jess Pearce, Norman, Elias and Raymond Holt started working the cattle with headquarters at the Jess Pearce ranch which is now the headquarters for the L.D.S. cattle ranch.

In the fall, Elias started at the Academy at Snowflake. Joseph set up a winter camp at Scott Tanks and looked after tthe cattle until the spring of 1921 with the help of Rex Shumway. At this time he went back to the Jacques ranch. Norman and Elias spent the summer at the old TIL ranch on Cottonwood Wash working the cattle.

Early in the fall of 1921 Jess and Norman sold the TIL outfit. They kept the Walking N horses which had been part of the TIL outfit. Norman used his 25 head of horses to take 18 eastern businessmen on a deer hunt. Norman, Joseph, George, Perry Pearce and Jim Brimhall ran the hunt.

Soon after the hunt Norman sold the Walking N horses and he and Caroline moved back to Mesa and took over the farm from Andrew and Edna.

Norman lived out his life cattle minded, for when he and Phoebe moved to their little retirement home on East Broadway, he took two Brown Swiss heifers with him. These he kept until his death on November 29, 1938.


"The Churchmen"

Two of Elder Brimhallís favorite songs (in part)

Ye who are called to labor and minister for God,
Blest with the royal priesthood, appointed by his word,
To preach among the nations the news of gospel grace,
And publish on the mountains, salvation, truth and peace:
O let not vain amibition nor worldly glory stain
Your minds so pure and holy; acquit yourselves like men;
While lifting up your voices like trumpets long and loud,
Say to the slumbering nations: "Prepare to meet your God".

We are sowing, daily sowing, countless seeds of good and ill,
Scattered on the level lowland, cast upon the windy hill;
Seeds that sink in rich brown furrows, soft with heavens gracious rain;
Seeds that rest upon the surface of the dry unyielding plain.
Seeds that fall among the stillness of the lonely mountain glen;
Seeds cast out in crowded places, trodden under foot of men;
Seeds by idle hearts forgotten, flung at random on the air;
Seeds by faithful souls remembered, sown in tears and love and prayer.

The Brimhallís were busy with church and ward work when at age 26, in 1889, Norman was chosen and set apart as a High Councilman in the Snowflake Arizona Stake. From November 1898 to February 1899, he and his companions, Adam Brewer, of Snowflake Stake and Elders Greer and Overson of the St. Johns stake [Stake], labored as Mutual Improvement Association missionaries to the Maricopa Mesa, Arizona Stake. To get to their field of labor, Norman rode a fleet pony by the name of Johnie down over the mountains and by staying with friends on the way two nights, he arrived in Lehi on the eve of the third day. The other Elders went by railroad and bus lines.

The M. I. A. hadat the trips to the little brown house be short and done with dispatch.

In those days when a neighbor lady came to visit her friend it was considered in good taste for the two of them to go to the little brown building together if they so desired, for visiting time was precious and not a moment of it could be wasted. There was a small hole for a child if one needed to be taken along.

Much that has been told has been menís work. We should now take time toy set up the organization among the Papagos by use of Henry Rogers and a man by name of Valensuela as interpretors. The Elders labored under direction of Collins Hakes and Issac Dana. Their missions completed in Mesa, Elders Brimhall and Greer were sent to work the Pine ward. They traveled there by horses that belonged to W. R. Brewer of Pinedale, Arizona. After completing their work in Pine, they pushed towards Taylor through deep snow, and found needed relief at the Rama ranch and in the home of Samuel U. Porter in Heber. Elder Brimhall arrived home in Taylor, February 8, 1889. We might insert here that all of the Brimhall children have enjoyed M.I.A. each in his/her turn. During the next few months, Norman worked to complete the rock house, but before the job was completed, a letter came from Box B, Salt Lake City, calling Norman to serve a full time mission in the Western States Mission headquarters, Denver, Colorado.

After due consideration, the call from the Prophet of the Lord was accepted and preparations for the venture were consumated. They sold their teams and wagons, harnesses, some farm machinery as well as part of their milch cows. The farm was rented to J. H. Allen, and everything done to make the burden as light as possible for mother Agnes and her seven children. All Latter-day Saints missionaries paid their own expenses and received nothing as pay for their service, save occasional gifts from friends and blessings that always accompany pure sacrifice and patient endurance. It takes good solid belief and knowledge to sell self and family short on needs and go out into an unbelieving world and try for two years to bring strangers into the fold of Jesus Christ. To some folk, it is total foolishness, BUT when the job is done, all requirements filled, the families harvest time appears in unexpected dividends such as normal children, church attending families, school bound families, no jail birds, no drunks, no hop heads, no one in need of food stamps or on relief rolls, a total family of lifters and no leaners. One is reminded of the scripture, "Straight is the path and narrow the way that leads to life eternal." It also reminds one of the other side of the song, "Donít fence me in". The wrong thing this day with many of us is most of the fences are knocked down and we follow a "Do what you want to" when you want to idology. At this moment the church has 25,000 missionaries in the field on the same basis as was Norman 78 years ago. At the moment one of Agnesís sons has 6 of the family in the field and more looking longingly in that direction. Really, it is something most special for the entire family. The greatest divident being RIGHT THINKING AND DOING. Our motto is "If it is right, do it."
To be sure, mother, children and missionary have problems. To recognize, face and solve them right, adds up to lives full of joy.

We shall be interested in learning about what the family did during those two years and what the missionary accomplished. Norman was away from family, yet in touch with them from March 25, 1900 to February 10, 1902 and served under three mission presidents, John Griggs, John W. Taylor, and Joseph A. McRae.

During the first four months, our missionary labored in Wyoming in such cities as Casper, Lander and Cheyenne. He came to love the Tetons and was often on the Mormon Treck Trail along the Big Horn River. It is possible many of the sentiments expressed in Robert Sauerís song, "Little Sweetheart of the Mountains," crossed his mind. Elders Streeper and Brimhall received a twenty day leave of absence to visit spiritually ill relatives in Idaho. Elder Brimhall traveled 450 miles by horse and buggy loaned to him by saints in Afton, Wyoming. He found his older sister, Lydia Ann Brimhall Wyat, in Lost River Idaho. Her husband, John, she, and the children and a host of others had become estranged from the church and joined the Josephite movement. Some good repair work was done by Elder Brimhall, but to this day, the writer of this article has not been able to locate the family nor ascertain their status.
On return to Afton, Wyoming, Elder Brimhall received word to come to Cheyenne, Wyoming, a long distance for one in his financial circumstances. It was a usual situation for Mormon missionaries: in need of shoes and suit, no money in pocket and an authorative call to come. There were no instructions as to how, simply get to the appointed place. It reminds one of the story, A Message to Garcia. Believe me, it makes men out of boys who get there. With Elder Brimhall, it was a three way pull on his heart strings: his own needs, his familyís needs and the call of authority to be at a certain place far away and on time. This is a missionaries best, "Sweet Hour of Prayer" time. Sure he got there, and how? It became known in Afton, Elder Brimhall was called to Cheyenne, so brother Meredith of Northfork came up with ten dollars and brother George Terry found a loose ten dollar bill floundering in his pocket, so he contributed and in a cheerful letter and package from home, Norman found a lot of knick knacks and part of the money Andrew and Logan had collected from Mr. Bull at the Bull ranch south of Taylor (see chapter 3). How come things click if you are determined?....Well, what kind of things are done by Apostle John and the Three Nehpites? Elder Brimhall walked the first fourteen miles, got a horse for free to ride the next 130 miles to Rollins, the nearest railroad station, paid his ticket and arrived in Cheyenne on time, September 11, 1900, spoke in a street meeting that night. Next day he witnessed Cheyenne at its best wherein 75,000 people celebrated its Pioneer Day. He joined other elders boarding at the home of one sister Blix, who had been baptized in Omaha, Nebraska by one Elder Loren Hatch. (No doubt a brother to E. T. Hatch of Taylor, Arizona).

Elder Brimhallís next move was to Denver, Colorado, where he presided over the Denver Branch for eighteen months and was in daily contact with the Mission President Joseph A. McCray, Alfred Peterson, president of East Colorado Conference, and four elders laboring in Denver: Christain Peterson, Elias C. Ashton, Robert Sideaway and Elias Jensen.

On October 20 1901, he began rooming alone in a snug little room provided in the newly completed mission home in South Denver. On this his 39th brithday, he received from home, his wife, and children, a box of many delightful things that made it a doubly happy day.

During these eighteen months in Denver, many instructional and delightful things came into the life of Elder Brimhall, here we make mention of three of them. March 14, 1901, James E. Talmage, of the Council of the Twelve, delivered his noted address, "The Principles of the Gospel," to the Denver Philosophical Society. The second event, September 19, 1901, the day set apart to commemorate the life of United States President McKinley, who had been shot September 5, and died Septemeber 15, 1901. The third event came January 18, 1902 when the Mission President, Joseph McRae, took Elder Brimhall as companion and helper in disorganizing the Pueblo Branch because of sin among some of the members of the Branch. This was done on order of the First Presidency of the Church. They encountered an ugly spirit on the part of many of the people present at the meeting.

Health conditions at home made it necessary for Elder Brimhall to be released to return home and care for members of his family. There was held in his honor a farewell party in the Denver Branch at which time he received gifts of appreciation among which was a completed Standard Works of the Church. He was released February 10, 1902, and arrived in Holbrook February 12 at 8:30 p.m. and the next day went with J. J. Shumway, U.S. mail carrier, to his home, Taylor, Arizona.

This writer at the time of fatherís arrival, remembers well how nice he looked, clean shaven, suited, polished shoes, black mustache, kind words, white hands and all in all the picture of one who cared for self and all that was his own. Mother, too, was all fancied up and as beautiful as a young bride. The kids had on their very best and I can feel to this day the pride one has, though he be little, if his tie is straight and his shoes polished with good old cook stove lid black soot with milk for moisture.

Father was home. He was leader from here on. Andy and Log, Joe and George wanted to rest a bit, but more things needed doing than they had ever known about. There was no resting place for the girls and their mother, just a lot of family fun and relaxing and reporting. I can still hear father tell mother what a good cook and mother she was, and how pretty. We were a happy family. Would we repeat the venture? YES...O YES!

Soon father had a purchase contract with one Joseph Richards of Joseph City, Arizona for a wagon, harness and one Hamiltonian stallion, (a special strain of American trotting horses). The family had retained, with much care and effort, one beautiful black filly of the same strain named June. From this pair, Norman raised several pairs of horses that sold for as much as $600.00, a pair. Mother loved good animals, too, and thus her dream was realized for her Normanís re-establishment, horse wise.

The next important church assignment that came to this Brimhall family, was May 10, 1910, when Norman was set apart as Bishop of the Taylor Ward, Snowflake Stake. This position he held ítill early in 1916. During these years the tithing office, a hexagonal red brick building, was completed. The Relief Society hall was furnished, the Decker Hall was purchased and made ready for socials, theatricals, etc. The Ward Chapel was painted, furnished with an organ and a paino was placed in the recreation Decker Hall. The Ward Square was fenced with good cedar posts, and barb wire so it was taken out of the town cow herd grazing stage.

During these busy years, Normanís wife Agnes, companion of 31 years, sickened of pneumonia and died March 12, 1913. This time Norman was not left with one little sister and three little brothers to car for, but with six living sons and three living daughters and a ward family of 430 to father.

Caroline Smith, daughter of Jesse N. and Emma Larson Smith, came to make our home happy by being a wonderful mother to the whole lot of us. Bishop Brimhall was released from this assignment and became a High Councilman again in the Snowflake Stake. He was also made Superintendent of the Snowflake Stake Sunday School. He was released from these positions November 10, 1917, because the family was moving to Mesa, Arizona. June 11, 1922, Norman and Caroline were set apart as Maricopa Stake Sunday School workers.

Caroline secumbed too, after effects of a tumor operation on January 19, 1924 and Norman married her good friend Phoebe Foster, June 23, 1925 in the Salt Lake Temple. They were among the first Arizona Temple workers which they enjoyed and did very well ítill Normanís demise, November 29, 1938. Thus, he lived and served his fellowmen for seventy-six profitable years. He was a gentleman always, honored women in their places and callings as friends, sweethearts, wives, mothers, daughters and taught his sons to do likewise. Whenever a church call came to him, he responded willingly, happily, and to the best of his ability. He was largely a self-educated man, using the scriptures as the foundation of his study efforts. In the words of sister Dicie, the children of Norman Brimhall and his wives gave their children depth in better living, love and affection, family loyalty, spiritual strength, a sense of better values, a sense of fundamental goals and a good sense of direction. For these things we are most happy and appreciative. We do enjoy and honor our great heritage as offspring of Diety, and earthly parents, citizens of the United States of America, membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and as residents of our states and cities, for our neighbors, friends and families.


"The Long Dozen"


I Am a Mother

I am a Mother, dedicated to the principle
of Eternal Birth,
Liberated in the Spirit World
before the foundation of this earth.
I am Woman, natures aquaduct
by which mortals came to be
And no man, prince or pauper,
pass this way save by me.
I am a Mother, and contritely
I bear the noble name,
Meekly I absorb the glory, and calmly
I have endured the pain.
I am she who was anointed with
the consecrated oil of love,
And Iíve held high the banner given
by the powers who rule above.

The lawmakers and the judges
who so cleverly disguise
The murder of a fetal child
I vehemently despise.
The shills, who profane Motherhood
and practice legalized abortion,
Have disgraced the very land I love,
and won the scorn of other nations.
I am a Mother who, in the dead
of a wintery night
Has watched the life-blood flow
from a sickly child,
but I fought a noble fight.
And Iíve laid the fruit of my labor
In a snow-capped grave and then
Arose, conquered fear and self,
conceived and bore again.

I am a Mother, and my humble Queendom
is my home,
My loyal subjects are my children
and my kitchen is my throne.
I have carefully watched beyond wildest dreams
these lovely subjects grow
And I am, if they so seek it, a Mother
to Gods in embryo.
I am a Mother, and shall I wail
or bemoan this mortal state,
Shall I reprove the very Gods above
responsible for my fate?
I say "Never, No, Never," for my life
I feel complete,
For I have served and grown,
and sown and reaped. I am a a Mother, an Israelite indeed!

Kent B. Palmer

Return of the Four Little Ones

We understand why the Lord giveth and taketh away, but it is so hard to be reconciled.

born died

Sarah Agnes 22 May 1885 30 July 1886

Electa 3 March 1889 25 June 1890

Margaret 30 Jan. 1904 10 Oct. 1904

Jesse N. 29 Apr. 1906 16 Sept. 1906

Mother Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall bore thirteen children, four of whom died in infancy of a common disease then know as Summer Complaint, perhaps a form of dysentery. Children of our day, 1978, are little bothered with many killer diseases of long ago. One day may we be free of cancer, the common cold, and other killers of our day.

Agnes waited for more than three years to be blessed with a baby girl named Sarah Agnes. She was a lovely little miss who wrapped her parents hearts around her person so tightly, it was most difficult to let her go. Only those who have experienced this bereavement can understand the grief and sorrow. The parents are left with the little trinkets and fluffy clothes so tenderly fashioned by motherís fingers and these they treasure from day to day. The pain did not relinquish for months, even until Agnes knew she would be a mother a second time and then fear troubled her mind lest this one be taken too. But Mary Alice came to make a long stay and bless the homes for 80 years and more.

Electa came one spring morning, a smiling happy little soul, but she too left after some fifteen months and thus was repeated the sorrow of Sarahís passing.

Eight more children were born and decided to stay ítill they reached adulthood. The last two children to grace the home, Margaret and Jesse N., were the last of the Long Dozen line to arrive and they made their stay too short. Agnes had now gone through deathís ordeal six times by those close to her, her father and mother and four of her own. Norman, before he came to the end of the trail, had buried his mother, father, two brothers, four babies of his own and one adult daughter and two wives, so he knew something about bereavement. To all of these graves, he placed appropriate head stones of remembrance.

Mary Alice Brimhall Palmer

The joint story of John E. Palmer and Mary Alice Brimhall actually began one evening in 1897, when a very reluctant ten-year-old Mary allowed the eager twelve-year-old John to escort her home from a party, silently, and on opposite sides of the road.

Although this outward aloofness on her part set the pattern for their relationship, even through subsequent years of courtship, throughout their marriage Mary proved her love for John in many practical, nondemonstrative ways. Through their years together, each gave the other encouragement, help, and support in daily living, in church duties, and in community service.

John and Mary were married in the Salt Lake Temple 3 October 1907, after John had filled a mission for the Church, and Mary had graduated from Snowflake Stake Academy. They established a home in Taylor, Arizona, where their first two children were born. Otto Wayne on Jyuly 15, 1908, and Dorcie Agnes on November 11, 1909.

At "Oklahoma Flats", their cattle ranch four miles east of Heber, Arizona, their first "home" was a tent. It was soon followed by a log cabin with dirt floor and roof, and then by a small fram [frame] house with a fireplace. Here Sally Electa was born October 24, 1914, with Johnís younger sister, Sally as the only attendant.

Ranch-life was primitive, hard, and sometimes lonely for Mary; but there was always homemade fun, (such as taffy pulls), trips to Joppa (Airpine) for church services, and to Taylor for family visits and supplies.

Several prosperous years at the ranch enabled John to sell it, and with the proceeds buy a dairy farm in the Salt River Valley. The farm, located about half-way between Mesa and Gilbert (Arizona) at Base and Transmission Line Roads, consisted of 110 acres, 28 dairy cows, barns, etc., and of course a comfortable house for the family. Here, John Rex was born October 24 1917, the only child of the family to be born in a hospital, with doctor attending.

Parents and children worked hard and prospered. They sold milk and eggs, raised all their own food, except sugar and flour, and thrived on cotton-raising.

Besides the ranch house, John had a nice home built on East First Avenue in Mesa, near church and schools. Mary kept itís large basement filled with home-grown, home-canned fruits and vegetables from the farm.

But Johnís talent with animals and farm was not matched by business expertese. He mortgaged both homes and put all available cash into a land development project, so he would "grow cotton on a large scale." The land developers turned out to be swindlers, and the cotton market crashed. Both homes, savings....everything, was lost, except teams, wagons, some farm equipment, and Johnís determination to start over again.

Much to Maryís consternation, and the delight of the children, the little family became "Pioneers," traveling in a tent-covered cotton wagon to Colonia Juarez, Old Mexico. Thirteen-year-old Otto drove the big team. Old Jack and Ted, pulling the family wagon (equipped with bed, cook-stove, food, water-barrels, and a ladder down one side for easy entrance and exit). John drove a five-horse team, seated on one of the wheel-horses, as they pulled the big hayrack wagon loaded with farm equipment.

Activities in Mexico included an unsuccessful farming venture at Chuachupa, managing the village general store in Juarez, magnifying their church callings, making many lasting friendships, the birth of their fifth child, Kent Brimhall Palmer, losing the upstairs portion of their home to fire, and moving into the house next to the store. Mary never felt safe there, as Mexicans in groups often came at night, asking to get in the store, while John was gone to El Paso (Texas) for supplies. Mary always told them "No sabe", and luckily they believed her and went away without harming anyone. John loved the Mexican people, got along well with them, and learned much of their language.

But in the summer of 1925, John once more put his family in the tentcovered cotton wagon and moved them back to Taylor, Arizona. He had been asked by his family to substitute as manager of the A. Z. Palmer & Sons store so that his younger brother, Arthur, could leave to fill a mission. They bought and lived in the old A. Z. Palmer home, where Mary Alice was born on August 20, 1925, just a month after the long tiring wagon trip, and a very frightening experience on the way: Heavy rains and flooding had caused a bridge to wash out, and the only way to cross a big ravine was to go down the railroad track, which was supported by a tressle-work high above the ravine.

John led, softly coaxed, and literally prayed the huge team and wagon across each tie, knowing that one miss-step by either horse would spell disaster. Meanwhile, the rest of the family watched with hearts in their throats and a prayer on their lips. When John, horses, and wagon were safely across, the family crossed on foot, and several travelers in cars first applauded, then decided they too, could cross on the tracks.

After Arthur returned from his mission and took over the store, John again raised cattle. Then came the depression of 1929, losses, and various jobs in construction and Forest Service for John, and a short period of working at the Snowflake Maternity Hospital for Mary.

In 1947, John and Mary moved back to Mesa, Arizona, where, after a short time of renting, they again worked side by side to build a home.

For several years John worked as night watchman on the Temple grounds, despite sever pain and suffering from arthritis and bronchial asthma; and Mary worked long hours in the Temple laundry. Both did Temple ordinance work, continued to serve in the various auxiliary organizations, gave love and support to their children and granchildren when they needed encouragement or a "sitter". They especially enjoyed teaming together as teeachers of a lively, heretofore unruly Sunday School class. With John as the "doctrineíarian," and Mary as "disciplinarian," the class was a great success, thoroughy enjoyed by teachers and class members alike.

Over the years, John served his church and community in many ways: As a full time missionary, "home" missionary, Y. M. M. I. A. President, Bishopís Counselor, High Councilman, Recreation Director, "star" in innumerable home-town theatricals, south-paw pitcher on the town baseball team, and general promoter of beautification projects. Mary served several times as Y. W. M. I. A. President, Primary President, always served in Relief Society in some capacity; helped her children and grandchildren in any way she could so they could magnify their callings too; and gave solace and advice to those who came seeking it. She once stole the show as "Ma Bascom" in the Juarez production of a play, "The Silver King", in which John played the part of her son. Most of the time, though, her "part" in theatrical productions was to keep the home fires burning and to furnish the stage on opening night with items from her house, while John was actor, and often director.

Wherever they lived, John and Mary tried to "brighten the corner where you are" with beauty. Gardens, lawn, and well-maintained structures, inside and out, were important to both...(though Johnís habit of bringing harnesses and tools into the house did not fit Maryís idea of beauty!)

Through good times and bad, they always paid a full tithing, ranging from $8,000 one year to just a few dollars per month another year.

They were very different in temperament, which caused a few problems. Each had to endure personal health problems and fight individual battles with Satan, and though there were times of failure and despair, as well as success and joy, they each won the over-all "war" and went to their Maker in peace.

The "Kingdom" of John E. And Mary Alice Brimhall Palmer to date consists of six children, sixteen grandchildren, and an ever-increasing number of great-grandchildren. Among the grown-ups are doctors, lawyers, teachers, civic workers, carpenters, building contractors, construction workers, mechanics, I.B.M. experts, electricians, musicians, accountants, and business men and women, to name a few. All have served their church, community, and country in their own special way, as missionaries, auxiliary workers, or in the Armed Services. All are proud of their Pioneer Heritage, and each in his own way strives to "endure to the end," as John and Mary did.

Andrew N. Brimhall

Andrew N. Brimhall was born January 15, 1891, in Taylor, Navajo County, Arizona. He passed away in Yuma Memorial Hospital, August 6, 1973. His colorful, interesting and productive life spanned 82 years of drastic world changes. From the time the last Indians were corraled on the Reservation to this present day of instantaneous communication and fantastic explorations of outer space.

Andrew grew up in Taylor and went to high school in Snowflake three miles away. He knew poverty and hardship. Some of the stories he told about having to sell a pet horse or high quality breeding animal illustrated this point. After graduating from high school, he attended Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. That institution did not offer a specific degree in architecture, and as his course of study was more or less a general one with as much emphasis on architecture and many related subjects. During the summers he worked at the Butte, Montana, and earned enough money building houses to put himself through school in the winter months. Andrew graduated from B.Y.U. in June, 1913. He was now a good builder. There was none better.

It was while he was away from home those four years that Andrewís mother passed away. One of the great sorrows of his life was that he could not have been with her at that time.

The next portion of Andrewís life, about 40 years, was spent in and around Thatcher, Arizona, with short periods of time in Mesa and San Diego. He and Edna Lee of Thatcher were married in Salt Lake City on June 9, 1915. They have two sons, 14 grandchildren and 21 great-grandchildren.

Andrew taught manual training in grade school for two or three years, but gave it up to go into the sheep business. He loved livestock and building. He particularly loved growing alfalfa, for it was feed for the stock. He took great pleasure in seeing the animal grow fat under his care. It was in the Thatcher area that his sons grew up, learning building skills and interest in livestock and farming.

In February of 1954, Andrew and Edna, moved to Wellton where again Andrew put his building talent to use. The Community Presbyterian Church at Roll was one of his many projects.

His last contract job was building the L.D.S. Church for Wellton Ward. He was construction superintendent and he did all the finish woodwork in it.

Andrewís hobby of late years was making both large and small cedar chests for gifts. He was hampered by limited eyesight, but when he could see to do this work, he made dove-tailed joints, which are very difficult to do. Many of our community residents and others have been recipients of these beautiful chests and they now have a gift that was made to last.

Andrew had many outstanding characteristics and attributes. He loved children and was loved by them. He was Gramp to all in the Ward. He helped Edna in her Sunday school class and he usually had two or three bodyguards fanning him on either side. He quieted many a fussy child when "mama" couldnít.

Andrew was known for his tremendous generosity. Large sums of money were given to his children and grandchildren. He was always helping the down-and-outer. Andrew and Edna were stingy and frugal with themselves but lavish with others.

Andrew loved this great country in which we live. He was not afraid to show his patriotism and to say the he loved America. He often warned of the dangers of corruption, dishonesty, and conspiracy.

Andrew showed a great deal of respect and courtesy to others, a carryover of his love for his mother.

Andrewís moods were moment he was extremely benevolent and the next he was like an orge, to use Ednaís expression, but behind it all was a sincere interest in humanity and a desire to be loved. He might be mistreating the cats and when asked "why", he would say, "This is cat kicking week." The next minute, however, he would be feeding those same cats, and making sure each one had plenty.

When Andrew was at B.Y.U. he excelled in track, particularly in the halfmile. He developed a wonderful physique and was proud of his physical accomplishments. He has many times performed tasks that would be impossible for the average person to do. He has told the story of riding horseback alongside a six or seven-year-old steer. (You can imagine how big that animal would be), grabbing its tail and wrapping it around the saddle horn, then jerking the steer to the ground. His stories of taming vicious, stubborn wild mules were pretty good too. Andrew believed in giving a full dayís work for a full dayís pay. To the very end, he could out-work any man in the Yuma area, probably.

Andrew had his spiritual side, he loved the Book of Mormon, and believed in the truthfulness of it, and was quite knowledgable concerning it. He probably acquired this trait from training at home and at B.Y.U. He read and studied the Book of Mormon while herding sheep. One of his favorite scriptures was evidently from the Sermon on the Mount, as I have frequently hear him quote, "Judge ye not that ye be not judged. For with what judgement ye judge, the same shall be measured to you."

Andrew believed that if anything was worth building, it was worth building stout.

Andrew requested that the song, "The Hills of Home", one of his favorites, be sung at this funeral. Mt. Graham is a beautiful mountain and he wanted to be laid to rest at the foot of it.

Logan Brimhall

"Get up and Yankee Doodle", the favorite "life line" of Logan (number 5), born to Norman and Agnes in Nephi, Arizona (west of Mesa, Arizona), October 12, 1892. He likes to make each moment count as worthwhile. If weariness overtakes him, a five minute snooze on a comfortable piece of floor will revive him for more "yankee doodling."

Little fat Log grew to school age and having developed a strong will of his own, he required coaxing, spanking and loving to get him in the mood for school going. Young and beautiful teacher, Lulu Hatch, soon quieted his fears and spurred him on to many years of school activities.

During the fourth grade activities, his attention was drawn to the black curley ringlets of one cute little girl name Mary Hatch. Her blue-green eyes somehow encouraged his life-long persuit of, "Making do for Mary."

In 1907, Logan was given charge of 30 head of cows and one Herford bull, one yellow pony, and a sheepskin saddle and was sent to the newly acquired Turkey Roost Ranch, just south of Pinedale, Arizona. Most of his next seven summers were spent there. For the most part, he lived alone, cooked and ate alone and rode the range alone, and to quote him, "As a consequence, my soul was deeply stirred by the relentless silence of the forest and itís song of patience, wait and see."

In the fall of 1907, while he was still in his 15th year, he began high school in Snowflake Stake Academy. Here he made a letter each of the four years in basketball, baseball, track and field events and took part in inter-school debates and oratory. He served one year as student body president and managed to get passing grades in all subjects except one...he is trying to forget.

In a inter-high school athletic meet, he and Ernest Shumway represented S.S.A. in the spring of 1914, at Tucson, Arizona. All he remembers about it was what appeared in the Tucson paper, quote, "The Gauls swept down from the North and captured second place in the 21 high school athletic contest here in Tucson yesterday." Logan completed high school in the spring of 1914 deeply in love, for Mary had promised to become his bride in June. Sometimes people have to change their minds so Mary waited more than 30 months for Logan to complete his mission for the church.

Logan had the privilege of associating with his mission president, Melvin J. Ballard, for several days and nights. Elder Ballard proved himself to be a great pal, an understanding associate who knows how and when to lead and then sit down and let his trainee learn what the Lord can and will do if one tries and prays.

He spent six months of his mission among the nations of the Souix, Grovons, Assinibones, Lodge Poles and Black Feet Indians as teacher of a church school and missionary to the young, very young and the ancient.

On return from the mission field, Logan went over to the Hatch home to see how Mary felt about the masculine world and family. Frankly, she didnít know. However, a few days later at a chance meeting on Solomon Hill he announced he was going to attend the B.Y.U. and her response was a very decisive, "Well, you are not going this time without me."

They borrowed $400.00 from the Bank of Northern Arizona and railroaded to Salt Lake City, where they were married in the Salt Lake Temple, November 1, 1916 and the next day Logan enrolled in the B.Y.U. Educational Department.

Here, they had a happy six months honeymoon until World War I sent them to the farm in Vernal, Utah.

They made a living by farming, teaching in Vernal and Taylor, working on a cotton farm in Mesa, Arizona, back to Vernal farms and then again to the B.Y.U. When school was out, they went to the coal mines in Stoors, Utah, where Logan worked in the coal mines and taught ninth grade in the local school. During this time, he carried correspondence courses and extension courses with several different universities. Finally came graduation day at the "Y" in the spring of 1924, and then they were off to Arizona where Logan was head of the Social Studies Department in the Snowflake Union High School for more than twenty-five years.

Logan was elected the first president of the newly formed S.I.D. (Show Low and Silver Creeks Water Conservation and Power District) with headquarters in Snowflake, Arizona. He was also the last president of the Snowflake and Taylor Irrigation Company that had served the communities since 1880's. The three S.I.D. board members, E. J. Larson, Rube Rogers and Logan Brimhall directed the federally financed Lone Pine Dam project to its completion. Some of the final results of this venture are: 1. The dam was sound and well done by Leo Frost and Chase Rogers. 2. Unknown to the federal engineers was a fault running across the storage basin that was covered with some six feet of earth that gave way under the water pressure as the basin filled and the water ran out the spill-way for several days. Most of the water went down, down, down, through this fault some 400 or more feet to the Coconino Sand Stratta. 3. From this underground reservoir, many pumps lift water some 100, more or less, feet for irrigation, operation of the local mills, etc., that accounts for the steady growth of the area. 4. This dam and other developments on the Millet Swale ended the waste of lost run-off water each year. 5. The government cancelled all debts against the project, thus leaving the area out of debt. 6. S.I.D. water rights on the Show Low Creek were sold for $100,000.00. 7. The S.I.D electric franchise sold for another $100,000.00.

As the years rolled on, Logan and Maryís family increased to thirteen children. All, except Hulda Lou, deceased, are married and have families. Education wise, the group has members who degrees run from Bachelor to Phd. Logan served as Bishop of Taylor Ward twice and Mary worked all of the auxilaries from Primary to Relief Society. Mary suffered a broken back as a result of a fall while visiting California. Almost instantaneous healing followed administration by Apostle Cowley of the Council of the Twelve.

January 1, 1952, Logan was set apart by Elder Stapley, of the Council of the Twelve, as director of the Arizona Temple Bureau of Information, Director of the Temple Genealogical Library and Executive Secretary to the Arizona Temple Committee in one setting. He functioned in these positions for twenty years and retired at age 80, January 1972. During this period of service, the library became a branch of the mother library in S.L.C. The Visitorís Center, north of the Temple, was erected 1956, and visitors to the area increased from 15,000 in 1952 to more than 300,000 in 1971.

During the summer of 1974, with son Grant R., he attended the International City Manager Conference in Boston, Mass. This was opportunity for teacher Logan to visit many of the historical scenes he had been talking about with his students for many years. The teachers wheel chair got them into many places they would have not had access to. A similar journey took the same twosome all over England during July of 1976. Highlight of the journey was an extended visit to the ancestral Bramhall Manor of Dooms Day time. The place is known as Bramhall Hall and a similar place, Capesthorne, housed relatives by name of Davenport. Read about the journeys in two booklets titled, "Flight Eighty-one" and "Flight Eighty-three".

Logan and Mary organized their family very early into a "Family Organization". Many a fond memory of those early years, when youngsters romped over the hills and camped along mountain streams, fill pages of its membersí records. As the Organization grew, and new forest service restrictions cramped their camping-family reunion style, the family decided to purchase a plot of land in Pinedale, Arizona, adjacent to the Old Norman Andrew family homestead. Having properties held in common prompted the Organization to consult a lawyer and instruct him to form a legal Arizona Corporation known as "Brimhalls Thirteen Inc." (B-13), which represented Logan and Mary and each of their twelve living children and their families. Not only could the Organization function along church related activities, but it could now legally engage in business ventures under the direction of its stockholders. One such venture was the development of Rawkide Park in Gilbert, Arizona. Up to that time (1973), Gilbert had one 500-member ward. With this development, and increased attention now from other developers, the L.D.S. population soon increased to where in 1978, Gilbert was organized into the five-ward Gilbert Stake.

And now, just as this section began, let it end...."Get up and Yankee Doodle."

Dicie May Brimhall Ellsworth

Dicie, the sixth child of seven boys and six girls, was born in Taylor, Arizona, November 8, 1893. "Childhood in the country", she wrote, "provided us with limitless possibilities for entertainment--building cities in the sandpile, playing vigorous running games, keeping a group playhouse, going visiting with Mother, receiving company, making excursions into the lot for fruit, herbs, flowers and garden produce; and always there was work to do. Fully related in chapter 12 of this book is Dicieís account of an experience which at age 12, set her lifeís course on the path of obedience and service. Always she endeavored to follow the straight and narrow way spoken of by Nephi in the Book of Mormon as it was indellibly explained to her by her father. Impressed by this experience, she read the Book of Mormon and received a testimony of itís truth. This book, along with a keen sensitivity to the whisperings of the still, small voice, which she often referred to as "The voice of the intangible", would direct her throughout her life. She would receive promptings, warnings of tragedy, actual directions which she, through her great faith, would follow.

After completing elementary school, Dicie attended the Snowflake Stake Academy. Near the end of her junior year came shock of her motherís death. As the oldest daughter at home, Dicie shouldered the responsibility of caring for the home and younger children. When school began the next fall it became her self-appointed task to stay at home, "so the children could be comfortable in school and father free for the trip to Salt Lake City where he and Caroline Smith were to be married." She gave her full support to her father, providing love, warmth and care for the children as a true mother would.

Sensing that her time on earth was limited, Dicieís mother gave many instructions which Dicie dutifully carried out. When the time came for a new step-mother to join the family, Dicie gathered the children together, counseling them to make life pleasant for "Auntie," as they voted in this council to call her. In response to Dicieís plea, "Auntie" was obeyed cheerfully and respectfully. She became a true mother to them and was a favorite of the entire family.

Now 20 years old, Dicie planned to finish her last year at S.S.A., but just a week before school began, Andrew was stricken with typhoid fever. True to her nature, Dicie stayed at home again that winter to help out. Then, feeling at a loss to know which direction her life should take, she arose early one morning and walked up the creek to a favorite old tree to watch the sunrise. In answer to her fervent prayer for guidance came a quiet, peaceful feeling that she should finish high school the next year, which she did.

Standing at another crossroad in her life, feeling relieved, yet empty at the fading of her first romance, the "voice of the intangible" again spoke to Dicie, impelling her to attend B.Y.U. to pursue her goal of obtaining a teaching certificate in the field of English. A great conflict raged in her soul. Her life must fill some useful purpose, but was it selfish to strike out on such an expensive undertaking when her folks had a missionary in the field and four children in school? At length she presented the idea to her father and "Auntie." After serious consideration and "Auntieís" urging, her father placed in her hands the sale of some lots to obtain money for her schooling. Arriving in Provo, doubt again over came Dicie. She longed to know that her mother approved of her plans. As she sat on a sunlit lawn one Sunday her eyes were compelled as if by a magnetic force to look at a certain point near the roof of a nearby building. She saw her Motherís face clearly, smiling a look of approval. Then it was gone, but it was a real as any picture transmitted by televison. Content now, she buckled down, obtaining her teaching certificate in two years, including summer sessions. She live frugally, intent upon reaching her goal as quickly as possible so she could give financial aid to other members of her family for their missons and schooling. She was often lonely, feeling that romance had passed her by after the demise of a second such association.

In 1917-18, she was offered a position teaching English, Book of Mormon and P. E. at Snowflake Stake Academy. These were busy, happy days shared with Mocella, and various of her brothers during their student days there. Again warned by the Spirit of impending sorrow, Dicie was grief-stricken at the death of Mocella, beloved sister and pal, when on December 7, 1918, influenza claimed her life. The epidemic closed school for two months.

Dicie wrote: "The one theory in teaching, it seems to me, that knows no change is: Love those you teach; Know your subject: Discipline by the calmness of self-mastery." Putting this theory into practice, she became a friend, a light and inspiration to countless S.S.A. students who yet remember her for her influence upon their lives. Known respectfully as "Miss Dicie," she had no disciplinary problems though she weighed less than a hundred pounds. There were many wild, rough boys in school who made life miserable for those they could run it over, but they never batted an eye in Miss Dicieís class. When her big, black eyes snapped, all foolishness ended immediately. In her time, there were no school counselors as such, yet this was her role to countless students who sought and received counsel from her wise and sensitive soul. On May 3, 1919, Dicie graduated from BYU. She, along with Clara Rogers and Florence Bushman were the first women from Snowflake Stake to receive B.A. degrees. She continued to teach at S.S.A., spending one summer at the University of California in Berkely where she enjoyed theaters, concerts, sight-seeing and other experiences to feed her soul. During these teaching years, she carried a heavy load of church responsibility in the stake and ward Primary and Mutual. She supervised many school activities and programs. She was talented in writing and drama, serving on the town drama committee, and playing "Eliza Doolittle" in Bernard Shawís "Pygmalion." Exhasuted from this grind, she determined to take a year offf. By November she felt rested and it seemed the Academy could not function properly without her. At the Principalís request she returned, receiving a welcome that was almost overwhelming. She taught until January of 1924, when a telegram delivered the stunning news of Aunt Carolineís death following an operation and a long illness. Yielding to her Fatherís wishes, and again giving up her own future, she resigned her teaching position to stay with her father on the farm in Mesa. Her concern and love for her students made this a difficult move for her. In July of 1925, her father married Phoebe Foster. Her bark again adrift on the sea of life, Dicie was directed to fill a mission. From September of 1925 to August of 1927, she served in the Eastern States Mission, enjoying a rich experience. Returning in the fall of 1927, she went to teach at Snow College in Ephriam, Utah, dtermined to obtain a Masterís degree and build a life for herself. The next summer she planned to attend summer session at the University of Washington, but lo, destiny interfered. Giving in to a wave of homesickness, she attended the first six-week term at Flagstaff, then went to the old hometown of Taylor to visit family and friends. July 24, 1928 found her at a dance in Decker Hall. She was just leaving when an old friend came in. "Donít go until we waltz for old timeís sake," he said, tossing his hat at a nail on the wall. They waltzed divinely together as in former days. "seems [Seems] good to find one of the old gang unmarried," he said. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you," she laughed. The dance was over. His hat was nowhere to be found. "Itís worth the price of a dozen good hats to dance with you again," he said as they parted. She thought nothing of the fact that heíd asked to call on her later. However, when she closed her eyes to sleep that night, Elwinís face came before her repeatedly, as her motherís face had come in Provo. She was furious with herself for having degenerated into a sentimental old maid who couldnít dance with an old boyfriend without being disturbed by an aftermath of silly dreams. She knew, however, that this was no dream, for with the face came the message she had lived for. At 19 the still, small voice whispered, "Not yet...not will know!" Again the same message at 22, and now at 35, "Here is your companion; with him is your future." She taught that winter again at Snow College, then on June 7, 1927[9], Dicie and Elwin Ellsworth were married for time and eternity in the Arizona Temple at Mesa. Though they lived in the poorest of earthly circumstances, they were rich in love and respect for one another. Happiness reigned in their home. "Without such a considerate helpmate, I could never have known the reality of Motherhood," Dicie wrote, "Which experience has brought me the deepest, truest happiness I have ever known." In her few short years with her children, she taught them carefully, leaving a rich legacy. They knew she loved them, that they were the stars in her crown, the treasure of her heart. She and the children were ill most of the time, yet she was kind, loving and patient. Oh, not that she couldnít reprimand when necessary! Geniel, who childhood memories these are, remembers the flash of those brown eyes. Also, that many people came to share their burdens and troubles with our mother. Always, they went away refreshed and renewed, having drunk from her well of wisdom, strength, and inner peace.

On April 11, 1940, Dicie died of pneumonia; her frail body no longer able to continue itís valiant fight for health and strength to raise her three children, Geniel, 9, Elrowe, 6, and LaDawn, 3. The light gone out of life for Elwin, he perservered in carrying out his task of being both father and mother to their little flock, whic he did as few men could.

On June 5, 1951, Geniel married Robert W. Gardner in the St. George Temple. Their children are Robert Wayne, Jr., 26, B.Y.U.graduate in Mechanical Engineering, employed by Val Tek in Houston, Texas. He filled a mission to Argentina North, 1971-73; Kenneth Elwin, 25 a Junior at B.Y.U. in Civil Engineering. He filled a mission to North Carolina-Virginia, 1972-74; Brent Ellsworth, 22 a sophomore in Civil Engineering at B.Y.U.. He filled a mission to Japan, Fukuoka, 1975-77. He married Kristine Turley, June 2, 1978; Julene, 19 a sophomore at B.Y.U., Sylvia, 17, H.S. Senior. Robert has a P. Hd. In Animal Nutrition, teaches and does research in the Animal Science Depít at B.Y.U. He serves as Bishop of B.Y.U. 7th Branch.

Elrowe married Betty Anne Lindsey, July 17, 1965 in the Arizona Temple. Their home has been blessed with one son, Ethan E., 10, and eight daughters: Dicie Anne, 12; Delline, 11, Temberly Vee, 9, Velmarie, 5, Elizabeth, deceased; Eleece, 3; Dawniel, 1; and Alene, born June 4, 1978. Elrowe owns and operates the Old Ellsworth Ranch where we were raised, just south of Show Low. He is the one who can be depended on to perform whatever task the ward needs done at any particular time.

LaDawn married Larry B. Brewer, August 29, 1956, in the Arizona Temple. Larry is Superintendent of Schools in Snowflake, and also serves as President of the Snowflake, Arizona Stake. Ther children are: Michael Lee, 21, serving in the Mexico, Guadalajara Mission, (1976-78); Larry Mark, 19, serving in the Portugal, Lisbon Mission; Killyn, 18, B.Y.U.; Camile, 15, Marcelle, 11, and in the Brimhall tradition, twins, Celia and Cynthia, 10!

In accord with Dicieís firm belief in the words of the young Prince Hamlet, "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will," she came April 11, 1972 to take her beloved Elwin home; 32 years to the very day from that parting which left a wound never healed. We did not see her, but we felt her presence there. Across the years bridging eternity, hands clasped, hearts beat anew. Together forever now they would build that eternal home upon the foundation so briefly yet correctly laid in mortality; where with joy they await the homecoming of not just three children, but numerous posterity.

Joseph Thomas Brimhall

I was the seventh child born to Norman Andrew and Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall, who were pioneers of the Little Colorado River Frontier in Arizona. I arrived October 22, 1895, at the old rock house in Taylor. Mother was a dark-eyed woman who wore her hair twisted in a knot and piled high on her head. I can still remember a dark plain skirt she wore. Father was a tall blue-eyed man. The kind of a man that gets things done. As Mabel Jensen and Basha Standifird would sometimes scrub floors and help mother with other household chores, I found they made good horses as they wielded the scrub brushes and homemade soap on the floors. It was these rides that gave me a early start as a cowboy.

My first childhood memories were of my mother taking her children to a birthday party for Uncle Will Willis at his home; of Old Jessup, the pig, that loved to crawl into bed with us kids as we slept on a straw tick on the earthen floor of the east room; of the old back [black]dog, "Tuck" we loved; of the butter and cheese mother made to sustain herself and her family while father was on his mission. I remember when dad returned and went to the corral to help with the milking, how the cows went wild when this stranger came into the corral. They wouldnít behave at all.

We children were taught responsibility early. One time I was sent with a small pail of flour to exchange for yeast at Aunt Mary Standifirds. Her sons Quill and Lon, tied the legs of my overalls tightly around my ankles and filled them full of apples for me to take home to mother. What great fellows they were, and what fun they had as they watched me waddle home with my load.

While father was on his mission, we oftimes had help from friendly folk. One of these occasions was when mother sent me to the store and I was caught in a hailstorm. Brother James Pearce came along and tied up his fine blue horses and took me in his arms and carried me to the store and bought me a new set of clothes, then carried me home to my mother. He also administered to my baby brother Rulon when he was very ill, and often brought flour and looked after our needs, as did other people while father was away.

The farm animals were well taken care of at our place. Father taught us all how to work, even if he had to have us dig a hole and fill it up again. He had to have ingenuity to keep six boys busy. We all knew how to pitch hay, (Johnny McCleve liked to hire me), use a shovel, how to harvest corn and how to survive in a world of hard knocks. We learned courage and dependability by the assignments that were given us. The Brimhall children all had lively imaginations and an abundance of energy. We went barefoot in the summers and slept on straw ticks and homemade quilts for covering. We had homemade carpets and feather pillows. We had our own fruit trees and dried apples, peaches, plums and also corn on our roof. The fireplace and kitchen stove were particularly comforting on the cold winter days. We had our share of sickness; enduring typhoid, flu, diptheria, and anything else that came along. Mother sang many songs and was active in the church auxillaries. She could step-dance, and was very talented as an actress in the local plays.

We raised all our own wheat and would take it up to the mill and have it made into flour. Our bin would hold about a thousand pounds. One time Dicie hid a present a young admirer had given her in the flour bin and when it was discovered, she received a lot of teasing from her family. One day as she was scraping the dishes into the swill can outside the kitchen door with a big long handled spoon, I began chanting, "Silas in the flour bin, Silas in the flour bin." She cracked me right between the eyes on my forehead with that spoon and nearly knocked me out. Gravy flew in all directions.

My best friend in the lower grades was Loren Shumway. He pitched for our baseball team and I was catcher. One time, Lafe Hatch, Ralph Hatch, and I were asked to sing, "Oh I Had Such a Pretty Dream Mama." I have never forgotten that song. My brother Andrew said of me, "Joe was always bawling or singing." I greatly admired some of the adult people of Taylor. J. J. Shumway always treated me kindly, and the Perkins men were fine men. Aunt Mary Jensen and Basha Standifird Call, and Pearl and Ruth Standifired were special, too. Whenever the Standifird girls sang, people would come a long way just to listen to them. Heber Tenney used to sing for our Mutuals, sometimes. Music was always important to me. Rhoda Wakefield was my Sunday School teacher, and at one time Dora Hatch and I taught a Sunday School class together.

Passing the sacrament was very different in those days from what it is now. We would have a glass in one hand and pitcher in the other. At conference time in Snowflake, it became quite a challenge to keep water in the glass for the children of the families who had traveled by wagon long distances. It was a big job to collect fast offerings in those days. The donations were paid in kind. We found our own transportation, a buggy, wagon, or horse, and go from house to house making a collection. It was often a pound of butter from one house, a gallon of milk, beef, or flour from another. These donations were turned in at the tithing office and the Bishop would distribute the produce as he thought best.

The games we played as youngsters were pomp-pomp pull away, steal the sticks, and baseball. When the floods came, we would go to the old red schoolhouse on the hill and dance while Frank Willis played the accordian. My school days started in Taylor with Rebecca Smith as my teacher. Constance Decker, Will Shumway, T. R. Greer, and Bye Pace followed. My next schooling was at Pinedale, with Mrs. Crawford as the teacher. While I was at Pinedale, I looked after the cattle that father had there. I attended the Academy at Snowflake the first semester the first year, and the second semester the second year. While I was in high school, I was in a quartet, which I was proud to be a part, and composed of Noble Rogers, Walter Shelley, Vern Gibson, and myself. My brother, Andrew, was a teacher at the academy, and he tried to make a runner out of me. He would ride a bicycle while I ran beside him to Snowflake every day. In cold weather, skating on the creek provided a good way to get to school. We also enjoyed skating on the reservoir east of town. We enjoyed molasses candy pulls and hayrack rides and dancing for recreation. It was while I was attending the academy that my brother Andrew and Jesse M. Smith talked me into joining the State Militia. We did a lot of training before I left to go to Bagnell Hollow, where father was homesteading to tend the cattle. I made a stockade corral there by dragging the long posts by saddle horn on Old Red, my favorite horse. (This stockade stood until very recently.) While there, I lived in a tent alone, roughing it. I did most of my praying while I was by myself, for the things I needed at the time, and didnít take too much time doing it. I prayed then and still do. I have deep religious convictions, but sort of keep them under my hat, so to speak.

I lost my wonderful mother when I was just seventeen, and this loss was deeply felt by the entire family. Father was fortunate enough to find us a wonderful mother to take her place-Aunt Caroline. She was a woman among women, completely devoted to her adopted family, and had the respect of each one of us, and our love, too.

When Pancho Villa raided across our border, I was called to active duty. serving with Company 1 of Flagstaff. I took care of General Pershingís horses and sometimes rode with him. After coming home from the State Militia, I worked as a cowhand for John Pearce. To earn my wedding stake, I helped drive 2,000 head of cattle to Salt Lake, New Mexico. For this effort, I earned eighty-five dollars. On the way home, we stopped at St. Johns and listened to the first radio I had ever heard. This really amazed me, hearing a voice right out of the air. I gave most of my earnings to May Hancock to use for her wedding expenses, and to pay for our wedding dance.

I think it would be in order to tell you a bit of our courtship. When May was about sixteen, she had curls hanging down all over her head, and was always fixed up so pretty, and I thought I would like to court her. The boys from Snowflake had also noticed how pretty she was and would come up to Taylor to escort the girls home from Mutual. We Taylor boys resented the competition, so devised a play to out-wit the intruders. As Mayís escort left the church with her holding his arm, one Taylor boy grabbed the Snowflake boyís arm, and whirled him away while two fellows held him, and I took Mayís arm to escort her home. This was my night and I felt great. I guess May didnít share my enthusiasm, because when we got to the narrow lane by Flo Jacksonís house, where her sister Ida lived then, she called Carlo, the mean old family dog, and set him onto me and then ran into the house. I didnít try to date her for some time after this. I didnít give up though, and married her when she was eighteen. Our wedding dance was held at the Decker Hall following our wedding at Mayís home. Our musicians were Bert Allen, Claude Youngblood, and Kenner Kartchner.

Our first year of marriage brought us a baby and a call to serve our country in World War 1 in the Argonne Battle area. My assignment was in the line of communications. We had wireless and also telephones to be responsible for between the infantry and the artillery. We had to carry rolls of wire with us and lay our own lines. I had a fine strong black man for my companion. Our communications were scattered out all along the entire front line, being spaced about 400 yards apart (each team). The first airplanes used in battle were being used in this war, and the poisonous gas warfare was used, duck-boards were thrown in the bottom of the trenches and a blanket thrown over them for our beds. These were little more than ladders, to keep us from sinking into the mud caused by the constant misty rains that fell. We seldom ever saw the sun. No mail came to lighten the gloom of this war. I wore my only gleam of hope in my money belt where it was kept dry. It was my Patriarchal blessing, given to me by Uncle John Hatch just before I went overseas. I followed the guidelines set forth in that blessing, and the Lord kept his promise. I returned home to my wife and baby, a war-weary veteran, but without visible battle scars, and took up my role as a family man.

Upon my return from the War, I tried farming, ranching and hog raising to sustain my family. We moved to Linden and dry farmed. While there, I began to work for Ed Reidhead at Standard and put a shed over his sawmill. When Ed sold out to Kipado, I worked for him for a while. John Zelaha bought out Kipado. John was Tom Pollackís adopted son (from Flagstaff). Drake Smith became the partner of Zelaha and these men gave me the bluprints and twenty-seven carpenters and put us to work to build Standard mill and the houses there. Later, they sold out to Cady Lumber Company of McNary and after a few months, decided to put a railroad into Standard. I ran the mill at Standard about four years and then they sent me and Drake Smith to McNary to repair and rebuild the McNary mill that had been in operation for about fifteen years and was in a rundown condition. We put new timers under tracks and carriages and I was mill foreman for a few months, then they asked me to "take on the woods". This meant to get the logs for both McNary and Standard out of the woods. This was a big assignment. It meant running two ten-hour shifts each day, furnishing 300,000 feet of logs to the mills. In this operation, we employed seventy-two families. We had fifteen cat drivers included in the eighty men employed there. We had eighteen railroad cars of logs each trip. We had about twenty coaches standing on a side rail in which we lived. One of these was the cook shack and one was the office of John E. Palmer. He was the bookeeper for this operation and did a wonderful and accurate job without the aid of an adding machine. The strain of this logging was too much for my health, so I had to slow down.

The depression years were spent trying to eke out a living with our gardening, at odd jobs, working at the cannery, and a few of us organized the Taylor Construction Company. We put the first light poles and lights in Show Low. I worked for the cannery at Fort Apache, and contracted to take up the rails from Standard to Snowflake in 1940. With the money earned from this, my sons and I began to buy land at four-mile. We first drilled a shallow well, then a deep one. Our family received a call to fill a mission at four-mile, to develop the land there, from our Stake, through our ward bishop, Logan Brimhall, my brother. Of all the things I have done in my life, I consider this the most important. This well was dedicated on October 2, 1946, and the building up of this part of the Lordís vinyeard began in earnest. In order to finance this calling, I have worked building chapel at Taylor, Winslow, and Globe, and was employed at the Whiting and Porter sawmills. I have always had a flare for inventing the tools I needed for my work. I made the first log turner for sawmills that was run by air. I have made two-hundred and fortyseven [forty-seven] guitars in my late years, and this has been an enjoyable hobby and has given pleasure to many people.

The scriptures say, "By their fruits ye shall know them," and this being true, my wife May and I have a large family to be proud of. Jocie May has served in may[many] church capacities and has had a happy life with her husband Reed LaGrand Tenny, rearing eight children. He is a retired schoolteacher. Joseph Terrance (Ted) is a building contractor and he married Ilene Tanner, and they have five sons. Larene, operates a Dairy Queen, and is married to the county Assessor, Cecil Tuley. They had four sons. Twila Valoye is an accomplished secretary and is married to Donald A. Dennee who is a retired military officer. They have nine children. Larry Duane married Helen Bunch and they have ten children. Darrell Lake married Hazel Pearl Bryant and they have ten children. Larry and Darrell operate a sand and gravel business. Emily Winona is a talented homemaker and church worker and married Bernald Clyde Porter, a lawyer. They have seven children. Sonya Danae married Lonnie Shaw and the have eight children. She was called home to her Heavenly Father, August 9, 1988 [1977]. At the time of this writing, May and I have 152 descendents and proud of all of them. Life has been good to us as we tried to do our part in our turn here on earth.

George H. Brimhall

Tribe 1

Geroge H. Was born October 28, 1897, the eighth of Grandpa and Grandmaís "bakers dozen" Taylor, records are available as to details, but it is supposed he was a healthy baby, and resembled his blond, blue eyed [blue-eyed] father. His youth was spent in the usual manner for those days and times; homespun games, church and school activities, dances, and lots of hard work. His father believed in work and taught them all to work and they learned many manual skills. When he was quite young he ate lye and they very nearly lost him. He attended the old school house on the hill in Taylor and the Snowflake Stake Academy. His mother died in March of 1913, a bitter experience for a 16 year old boy and he must have felt very alone and neglected.

Andrew was at the B.Y.U. when she died and because of finances, did not come home for the funeral, but came when school was out. That summer Andrew, Joe and George remodeled the old home by the river...took the paper off the walls, mixed the mud for the adobes for the chimnies and between the studs. They built fireplaces in the living room and what was called the "parlor". In the fall of 1913, Andrew taught Manual Training and Algebra in the Academy. Joe and George took these subjects under him. As a project, the Manual Training class took big 2 x 4 oak planks...sawed them up and made furniture for the school: it was the only furniture they had for a long time. They had no electricity or gas and the big circular saw four feet in diameter was powered by hand. Each boy turning it (hopefully ) 500 times.

Daddy was active in Student Council affairs while a S S A and at one time had left the Manual Training class to attend to them. Being gone longer than Andrew felt necessary, he went to look for him and found him up on a ladder putting signs in the window. Putting the claw of his hammer in the belt of his pants, Andrew proceeded to drag him the length of the Auditorium, down the stairs and back to class.

Once when the N-7 cattle were at the ranch in Pinedale, George and Rulon were there taking care of the crop and animals. Grandpa told them to cook some beans, so they started with a ten pound lard bucket with a tight lid. When the beans got hot and swelled, the steam couldnít escape so the lid blew off, the beans blew out. They put the remaining beans back on the fire, with a tight lid, and again the lid blew off. Again they "regrouped", tried it again with lid, dutch overn lid, and rock on top. Finally, Grandpa arrived and showed them a hole must be punched in the lid for the steam to escape and all went well. Between "cow camp", no mother at home and natural ability Daddy became a proficient cook, and has always been a good cook, and always interested in good healthful foods, and very able whether over campfire or in a kitchen, to handle the culinary arts especially well.

George also helped Joe build stock tanks at the ranch with a "slip scraper" and horses; no easy task for men..and they were only boys when the did the job.

In another episode at the ranch, Daddy and some friends had made some chicken stew to have when the brought their girls home after the dance, but Uncle Joe and some fellows who had come home from round-up to freshen up for the dance cleaned up the stew, in its entirety, so the "cupboard was bare" when George and his group of friends returned from the dance. In these days "jargon" weíd call that "dirty pool."

When in the "Second Intermediate," as the Sunday School classes were called then they had a contest for attendance, lesson preparation, etc.; he tied with Rose Palmer and they both won a "Book of Mormon". That may have been the beginning of their acquaintance. He was active and prominent in his Deacon, Teachers, and Priests Quorums as he was growing up.

Around 1915, George contracted to put a new porch on the old John Hatch (Bates) home, using and developing further the carpentry skills he had learned from his father and his brother Andrew. He and Joe also made caskets before they were made commercially. They went up Show Low Creek Canyon and pulled red cedar logs out by a cable, hauled them to Pindale to have them sawed. They also used pine, and Mable Jensen Hancock lined them.

He loved and appreciated his two step-mothers. Caroline Smith, and Phoebe Foster, and seemed to get along well with them. They were always his friends, thereby easing the ache of losing his mother at such a tender age. He says, "Dad brought Caroline Smith to grace our home...what a precious jewel...a very excellent nurse who nursed Andrew through Typhoid for her honeymoon. God bless her sweet memory and help us all to strive for a small portion of the virtues with which she was so abundantly blessed. She helped us when little Muriel swallowed Carbolic Acid, always thinking of other, she sent me part of her paycheck when I was in the mission field."

George married Rosetta Palmer October 4, 1916, in the Salt Lake Temple, and in that first year lived out in "Oklahoma Flats", (near what is now overgaard[Overgarrd]. John Palmer and Mary Brimhall Palmer were homsteading [homesteading] in this area, and Wes Palmer also. Together they helped run the A. Z. Palmer cattle and raised large crops of oats and ahuled [hauled] them to Pleasant Valley to sell. When the cattle were sold, they moved into Taylor where Muriel was born August 16, 1917, and Bruce [,] October 7, 1918. Daddy worked mostly as a carpenter during this time, also a little farming. He fixed a box on the plow so he could take Muriel with him as he plowed the fields.

In the summmer of 1919 he contracted to do the floors in the buildings at Fort Apache. Shortly after this he was called to serve a mission in the Southern States Mission under Charles A. Callis. Mom worked in her fatherís store while he was gone. She took Muriel and Bruce on the train to go see Daddy while he was in the mission field. After he returned from his mission, and in the fall of 1921, Grandpa sold the cow outfit, keeping 27 saddle horses, and took a group of business men on a hunting trip (maybe the forerunner of todays "Range Ride"). Joe was the cook for the group. George and Joe entertained them around the fire at night, singing songs and telling stories. George answered the questions they wanted to ask about the church. He served for awhile as a counselor in the Bishopric. John Waldo was born February 3, 1922 and Agnes Kathleen August 4, 1923. In October 1923, They [they] moved to on a ranch somewhere near the Broadway and Gilbert road area. August 28, 1925, another daughter was born and Daddy named me Rose. Mother had returned to Taylor for the blessed event so Grandma (Anna) Nelson could attend her. They built a nice home on North Hobson in Mesa, but traded it for an 80 acre ranch at the corner of Southern and Stapley. Sometime during this time he was Sunday School Superintendant and in the M. I. A. Presidency.

These were deep depression days and everyone was struggling to survive. Daddy was gone a lot and would come home at intervals. Weíd have "Santa Claus" days with big lugs of vegetables, fruit, oranges, etc., then he was gone again, doing anything and everything to try to survive. He was back east driving the trucks taking new cars from the factory to dealers, he took groups back east to drive new cars out to the Mesa area, he was carpenter, salesman, farmer, and what have you! Times were very lean and Mother did everything she could to hold family and soul together.

In May 1934, Daddy had a very tragic car accident at Sand Tanks, east of Mesa. The two people in the other car were killed, one in Daddyís car was killed and the other people were very badly injured and Daddy nearly "demolished." They thought him so near dead, they figured it would be a waste of time and energy to attend him. However, upon finding his tenacious grip on life, were forced to help him. His toes, instep, legs, knees, arms, body, teeth, jaws...everything were broken and mangled, but with good doctors care and Motherís excellent and zealous nursing, he was put back together and finally able to get around again...although one knee was left stiff and his body was never the straight, forceful machine it was before the accident. He taught himself to play the guitar and banjo during his convalescence, and was very good on the harmonica. One of my happiest memories was hearing him play "Climbing Up Those Golden Stairs." He said he learned it from John E. Palmer. He was a good dancer and had a very winning personality.

He had a beautiful tenor voice and he and Mother sang together for many years. Whatever job Daddy held was done especially well and he has many talents and abilities...architect, carpenter, plumber, electrician, chef, refrigeration engineer, writer, speaker, promoter, farmer, rancher, singer, dancer... he does everything well... and can do anything he sets his mind to!

After recovering from the accident, he spent more and more time in California and has made it his home, living in several different areas. Los Angeles area, San Diego area, Palm Springs, Carmel, Lake Tahoe, and has been in Half Moon Bay for several years.

George and Rose were divorced in October 1940...and during the early War11 years he worked construction in Hawaii.

He married Alice Shepherd Travers April 2, 1943 and from this union were born Agnes Ann, February 2, 1944, Janet, April 27, 1946, and George H. Jr., August 24, 1947.

Daddy wrote this about his father, "On that blood chilling 13th day of March 1913, after laying Aunt Aggie (as everybody in town called her) to rest, he went home with a heavy heart, to a family of youngsters without a mother... but like General Ulysses Grant after the Battle of Shiloh, he reformed his lines and always attacked life anew at daybreak. A lot of credit is due Uncle norm[Norm] and Aunt Aggie (as they were called by all who knew them) for what they did for their brood of 13. Among other sterling qualities we strive in this book to perpetuate, it seems, the most outstanding mark of intelligence was his remarkable choice of companions." Also, he wrote, "I think our three mothers did more for me than for the other children, so I thought it fitting and proper that I emphasize the role they all three played." These are also his words, "When you ride the Santa Fe from Los Angeles to Gallup, New Mexico, youíll still see many of the juniper posts so neatly trimmed and put into the fence line by "Uncle Norm." He could take a double bitted axe and go into a juniper thicket and by noon, cutting right and left, would come out with more posts than any three of his competitiors. He did more physical work, clearing, digging, chopping and pulling up the oak thickets on Mt. Pisgah Ranch than any three ordinary men did in a lifetime. I think that were he here today, he could cut more jumiper posts that all his sons pooled together and do a smoother job. If he had me cut ten acres of alfalfa and got me up at 4:00 a.m. the team was all hitched and the first round cut!"

This tribute for Daddy was written by his daughter, Ann, and he says it would fit his father very well so I would like to include it here:


"A mountain stream gushes forth its energy. A sheep dog restlessly
circles his herd, forever watching.
A gentle breeze blows softly at the land... YOU ARE THESE.
A boundless energy of mountain stream, a man ever mindful of the
problems of his flock,
A gentle man, full of nature, full of rejoicing for the bounty Mother
Nature passes out.
Life is joy, adversity is a test of your strength, of your love,
of your loyalty.
Inequities, manís struggle to overcome bounties placed upon his
head by stronger men or unwise men
Is your constant vigile...your defense is of the small man.

Life is struggle, life is not easy, because of unfairness around
your fellowman
Life is pain and overcoming conditions, placed upon you by testing
Life is love and sharing, life is song and music, life is whistling
and laughter
Life is sound of childrenís happiness.
Singing flows around you, through you, with a song in your heart,
you rejoice in life.
You lift your head and carry burdens, you create a gentle presence.
You are part of life and life is your cause, gentle, sensitive,
watchful, emphathy,
Forever moving, strength is your life, forever, a need to ask why,
these are your qualities, THESE ARE YOU." (abp)

Some of the memories of "Tribe 1" as he calls us, are as follows..."Jim Bear" stories, as we traveled along, the caves in the mountains were Jim Bearís home, and the stories were so real and Jim Bear so real, it was a bigger disappointment than the "Santa Claus" awakening, to find out they werenít so. Going to "Murphyís Theater" in Phoenix, for stage plays and programs was a fun time, with popcorn and all the trimminís. Corn roasts and parties at the ranch, swinging beds in the trees in the summertime, or the big platform he built and called the "crowís nest", for the beds, before the days of coolers or refrigeration, swimming in the pump and canals to try and keep cool, picnics on the desert, going after Ironwood near Globe, or picking black walnuts near Prescott, a picnic at Cassador Springs, hauling hay to Superior in an old Model B, singing songs around the piano or traveling and always singing "Moonlight on the Colorado", as we drove across that river. Christmas was always fun and a special day as long as he was home...and somehow the food always tasted better if I could sit on his lap and eat from his plate. He took me with him on lots of trips and one to see Uncle Andrew in a sheep camp near Safford has always been remembered fondly by me. We sang songs, recited poetry, "Jim Bear," by Edgar Guest, no less, and the "The Builders" by Longfellow and parts of it have been with me ever since..."All are architects of fate, working in these walls of time, some with massive deeds and great, some with ornaments of rhyme... In the elder days of art, Builders wrought with greatest care. Each minute and unseen part, for the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, both the unseen and the seen. Make the house where Gods may dwell, beautiful, entire and clean. Lives of great men all remind us, we can make our lives sublime, and departing leave behind us, footprints on the sands of time."

Daddy has always been interested in education, politics, history, poetry, nature, people, animals, new inventions, ideas, philosophies and can converse at great length on any of these subjects. He can do anything manually with his hands, and has a very active brain. Today he is in good health, very alert and busy making a life for himself since Alice died in November, 1975.

Tribe II

George H. Brimhall married Alice Traver on April 25, 1943. Born to them were: Agnes Ann in 1944, Alice Janet in 1946, and George H. Jr. in 1947. Perhaps the single most outstanding memory I have, being the middle child of these two, is of the optimism of both of my parents. They faced many hardships in their life together; having children in their later years, constant fluctuation of income of the building business, totally opposite backgrounds, pressures from family members due to divorce. In spite of these difficulties, I never remember either of them conveying anything other than a feeling that everything would turn out all right, and for the best.

They were both totally devoted family people. Their children were everything to them. And no sacrifice was too great in order to give us the finer things and advantages of life. They wanted us to be educated, and more importantly, loving human beings who believed in each other and helped one another.

It is difficult to write separately about my parents because they seemed to me to be so much of a team in their ideas of raising children. My Mother was much more the disciplinarian. She always said she had to be because Daddy was so easy going. She didnít like this role, but she felt we needed guidelines and strict ones at times. But she also conferred with my Father. "Letís ask Daddy what he thinks," I remember hearing so often. She taught us that you must have pride in yourself, not unnecessary pride in your accomplishments, but of your worth as an inidividual and that comes from being a loving and honest person with all whom you come in contact. She believed in looking for the good in every situation. Dwelling on the bad or the unpleasant only made you small and nowhere near your potential. Her belief in God and dependence on Him for all supply of good and harmony and peace was unfailing.

In her own way, with her own children, I would say that my Mother was a true teacher in every sense of the word. She wanted us to understand the reasons, the necessity of kindness, harmony, peacefulness; and also to understand that we must search for many things, but know also that much of contentment comes from within.

My Father taught us by example also. I never remember him letting circumstances get him down. He always knew that things would get better or in some way work out for the best. His children were his life.

The happiest memories I have of our life together are of waking up in the morning and smelling good smells from the kitchen and hearing Daddy humming. He is very much a morning person. My Mother learned to be after marrying him. She always said you had to pick the time your husband felt like talking and was at his best and share that time with him. (And I know 5 a.m. was hard for her!) When I got married and moved away from home, it was a big adjustment to wake up with the house cold and silent. I missed the sounds, and smells, the morning happiness of our home that was underway long before I woke up.

We moved a lot during our life together; whenever there was building to be done. My parents felt that "home" is not the house or the spot, but rather where you are with your loved ones. When we were older and ready for college, we moved so we could all be together. (My Mother had been in boarding school much of her life because of her Motherís health, and she didnít want that for us.)

All this time Daddy struggled with his building profession which was so unstable. He worked incredible hours to make up for slack times. No matter how tired he was, there was always time for his children. During the summers we would rotate, one of us going with him on the job in the morning, another in the afternoon, and the third the following morning. We would wax nails or sweep or hold boards in place, but most importantly we would have a special time with our Daddy and hear him tell stories of "Aunt Aggie and Uncle Norman" and his memories of the happiness he had as a child. We sang songs from his childhood, heard about roundups, the huge dinners with all the family present plus many guests seated at the table, heard the love he felt for his brothers and sisters, the pain he felt at losing his Mother when only 16 years old. We heard the stories over and over again and loved them more each time.

Perhaps the greatest amount of time I spent working with my Father was when he and my husband and I built our house. It would be impossible to even conceive the hours Daddy spent on each detail, on each hugh beam, on each rafter. He had always built houses, but I had never been so involved in each aspect of his work before. He seemed to have superhuman strength and endurance because he was doing this for his child and he knew we were running on a shoestring and faced disaster if we didnít meet each bank and city inspection. My husband and I would be ready to drop from exhaustion, but Daddy (50 years older) would just keep plotting, and nailing, and smoothing the cement until it was finished. I know now I could never sell this house of my own free will simply because of the love, and struggle, and pain that was put into it for my sake. It was truly a "labor of love."

To look back on oneís childhood, encompasses so much time, so many memories, so many feelings. I firmly believe that the attitude we take with us through life is primarily based on our relationship with our parents. Iím very grateful that my parents taught us to look forward with anticipation and also to find contentment in each day.

Mamma is gone. She past away one year ago today.
No more letters in the mailbox
no more smile and laugh over adversity
no more charm, and grace and quiet
No more love she filled her day with
no more warmth her presence left us.
but wait...
Here to stay immortal is our memory of her

Here to stay forever is her love she shared
with us all
here to stay is her gentle philosophy
here to fill our worlds with daily
are the lessons taught us
to touch
to share
All of these have filled our world
for one year
and they will fill each
year forward
You are not gone afterall, Mamma
you are here to stay.

by Agnes Ann Brimhall Philllips


Muriel Married to Lewis A Phelps, a retired school teacher and living in Mesa, Arizona. They have 8 children.
Lewis Jr. -Phd, in music. Married to Jean Frodsham 4 children: Michelle, Elna, Allison, Bradley

Laura Jo - Married to Howard Roberts, M. D. 8 children: Natalie, Laurel, Celia, Craig, Rhoda, Sam, Leah, Nathan.

Jay Russell - D. O. Married to Lellani John 3 children: Reesam, twins Blair & Dason

Melvin Douglas- C. P. A. Controller Married to Linda Bailey, 4 children: Glen, Greg, Todd, Darren

Norris Darwin - Teacher, Life Science, Married to Elizabeth Cluff, 1 child: Christina

Roseann - Married Kay Porter Phd. Agronomy 2 children: Regina, Jeffery

Barbara - Married to Ky Hathcock, Real Estate (Title Research)

Heather - Still at home.

Bruce Palmer Law Enforcement Officer, farmer, rancher. Lives in Farmington, New Mexico. Married Ella Dortha Brown 4 children

Daniel Bruce - Const. (Millwright). Married Patricia Richardson, 3 children: Suzanne, Stephanie, Sabrina

Christina - Married Lynn Isaacson, engineer 5 children: JoLynn, Kristy, Elizabeth, Rebecca, Kathleen

David Thomas - D. C. Married Donna Denise Butt 1 child: Benjamin Bradley

Edward Dee - Farmer, married Donna Spangler 4 children: Shane, Amy, Elene, Katie

John Waldo Builing contractor, pilot. Married Jane LaRee Peterson. Lives in Taylor, Arizona. 5 children

Ginger LaRee - Married L. Gary Palmer. Paper maker (Pulp Mill), 5 children: Kim, Troy, Robin, Callie, Heath

John Wayne - D. C. Married Claudette Hatch 4 chilren: Ian, Stephanie, Brett, Sherida

Sherida - Married Rickey V. Hatch. Own and manage motorcycle business. 1 child Melissa

Keith Wade - Construction. Married Debra Rae McNeil 3 children: Jeninne, Tori, Ammon Keith

Brian Wynn - Single, works at Pulp Mill

Agnes Kathleen Married Philip Alma Petersen, Regional Director of San Diego Schools. 4 children.

Phil Brent - M. D. Married Carol Gold, 3 children. Ryan Christian, Amy, Barr Jonathon

Lani - Married William Frederick Reynolds, M.D. 4 children: Brandon, Paul, Damon Andrew, Todd Daniel, Trenton Jeffrey

Angela - Married Grant Price Miller, Foreign language, Business, 2 children: Amber Kalani, Rachelle Serene

Jeffery Lynn - Medical student, salesman, married Dawn Lynette Miller

Rose Married Reed Waldo Hall, rancher, merchant. Live in Eagar, Arizona, 3 children.

Sandra - Married J. R. Rush, attorney 3 children: Michael Craig, Jason Eric, Robyn

Dale Waldo - 2 children: Shae Denton , Kayrena

Muriel Janece - Student

Tribe II

Agnes Ann Married to Warren Phillips, Phd. Political Science Live in Baltimore, Md. 1 child.
Scott Kimo

Janet Married Nick Sablinsky, Phd. Music. Live in Pacific Beach, Calif., 2 children:

Margaret Ann (Meg)

George H. Jr. Married Mary Ann Patroan, Phd. Geology. Lives in Berkeley, Calif. 1 child:

Lara Claire


(as told by Seymour Fish)

We were already busy packing our belongings when the crisp notes of the bugle sounded reveilee on a cold December 9, 1918. No doubt, Kaiser Bill had heard of the Studentsí Army Training Corps at Brigham Young University and had given up the fight on November 11. No longer having need for the embryo officers, Uncle Sam was separating us from the service.

My spirits were at very low ebb - not so much because of the sudden end to my brief military career as from the fact that I had not received a leter [letter] from Mocella for two weeks. There was no precedent for this; and my mind was so much occupied with wondering that I scarcely was aware of the proceedings as I stood in line awaiting my turn at receiving separation papers. Then my name was called out as a postman approached our line. My hand shook as I received a special delivery letter from him. It was from Dicie, telling me that Mocella had died with the "flu" on December 7. The world went black.

That evening, I boarded a train for Holbrook, Arizona. Art Savage arranged to go with me, for he felt that I should not go alone. He was going back home anyway. On that trip, however, I was scarely aware of the presence of Art or anyone else. Even the clackety-clack of the wheels on the iron rails broke through to my consciousness only occasionally. I was too busy going over and over in my mind what had happened to Mocella and me.

It was near the end of my second year in high school that I first became aware of Mocella as someone special - something more than just another girl. Incidentally, all the students called her "Cell". I believe her family called her "Cella," [Cella",] at least Dicie did. There was a school outing - games and a wiener roast - in a wooded area south-west of Snowflake, out toward "Four-Mile". After the party broke up and we began drifting homeward, I somehow found myself in step with Mocella and Rulon Brimhall. Soon it wasnít important whether Rulon was there or not. After all, he was only her brother, and a "Freshie." But for the first time in my life, I found it easy to carry on a conversation with a girl. She was so fresh and wholesome that it warmed my heart so well that the event became strong in my memory.

Very shortly after this, I had to leave school, two months early, to work on the Woodruff Dam. The dam had gone out the year before, and the people of Woodruff, my home town, were in a desperate situation. I returned to school, however, in the fall and still felt a lifting of the spirit whenever I was near Mocella. Without wanting to be too obvious, I managed to sit by her in class whenever I could. I did not try to make dates, however, for I had not yet begun dating. There was not much reason to date a girl in that community unless you could dance; and I had long felt that dancing was the silliest form of human activity. Strange, though, that before the year was over, I was dancing well enough that the girls did not run away when they saw me coming. Even more strange, it no longer seemed silly. But Mocella had too many suitors for me to try to break in. Especially, Parley Peterson seemed to have preferential status. I think I was not really jealous of him, for I like him; but I was discreetly envious.
The next summer, I again worked on the Woodruff Dam and such other jobs as I could get. But I was back at school again in the Fall with a job as head janitor at the school. Now I was a Senior at the good old Snowflake Stake Academy, with the added confidence afforded by that lofty status. For the first school dance of the season I asked Mocella for a date and, to my great relief, she did not even hesitate.

It became a year of increasingly pleasurable association. Not only did I begin to date with fair regularity, but I frequently found occasion to call between dates. Mocella and Dicie were living in part of "Aunt Em" Smithís home and I was living in the north end of town. But the distance was not increased if I let my bicycle roll straight down the hill whereby I had to go by the Brimhalls. After finishing my janitor work, each day I was tired and often found it convenient to pause and rest. Besides, the girls sometime needed wood cut and carried in, or some water brought from the well. On occasion, when there was a rush for time because of some event planned for the evening, I even did their ironing - well, part of it. Finding excuses for being there was not difficult. And neither Mocella nor Dicie seemed to be annoyed by my presence; in fact, they viewed some of my performances with amusement, it [if] not amazement.

At school, I somehow managed to get a seat in study hall directly across the aisle from Mocellaís. In the study hall, the seats were of the old-fashioned variety, intended as singles. It was surprising, however, how comfortably two people could be seated in a limited space. Ordinarily, the teacher in charge of study hall frowned on such co-operative studying. But there was generally good rapport betwen [between] the teachers and the seniors because that particular group of seniors was more than usually studious and serious about their school work. Frequently, the teachers were late getting to the classrooms for the first class after the daily assembly. And with the seniors, instead of making a furor, they were usually singing. Nearly always they favored religious songs, the favorite being "Let Us Oft Speak Kind Words To Each Other." After being greeted that way as you came into a clasroom [classroom] you could hardly be too strict about study hall. Anyway, good friends were less likely to make disturbances when seated together than when across the aisle from each other.

As the year progressed, I increasingly felt pleasure in Mocelllaís company. Dating extended beyond the weekly dances to include important meetings and entertainment features. One occasion became especially strong in my memory - the reading by Orson F. Whitney of his epic poem, "An Idyll of the Westland." While the entire story was interesting, there was one verse that stuck in my mind enough to make me look it up later in the printed version:

"Not alone her charm of person
Loveliness of form and feature;
Mental gifts and moral graces,
Jewels of the mind and spirit,
Fit to shine in haunts of sages,
Or in palaces of princes -
These were hers Ďmid other treasures."

This, I thought was Mocella. She had, among other talents, a natural talent for art. There was no art teaching in the school, but she did a lot of drawing anyway. She did most of the art work for the school annual and the occasional papers put out by the students. One day, during our "cooperative" studying, she drew several cartoons, then ended by drawing a fish, branding it "C. More". I said, "But fishes are supposed to come in schools; and I have heard that it takes at least two to start a school." Accordingly, she drew another fish which I promptly branded "Cell". By the slight giggle, the blush and the stars in her eyes, I knew that I had not offended her.

On a few occasions Mocella went to my home to help me with my chores and to have bread and milk with me. The chores involved, among others, going to the pasture to milk the Jersey cow I kept there. I didnít have a car, but my bicycle was admirably designed for two. I was glad, too, to have Mocella meet my family which consisted of Mother, Grandmother, Sister and Myself.

One very pleasant experience was an Easter picnic which included a hike to the canyon of the Silver Creek, north of Snowflake. There were five of us John C. Smith, Ella Peterson, Mocella, Dicie and myself. We were always glad to have Dicie along with us, and I have ever been grateful for the influence she had on our lives. In fact, she was a stablizing influence on the whole school. She gave ample proof that it is not the size of the teacher that gives dominance in a classroom.

That year I was involved, along with Renz Jennings, in two debates - one at Mesa and one at Flagstaff with the Northern Arizona Normal School. In preparation, I often used Mocella as a scribe. She could put more material more legibly on the four-by-six cards I used than I could. Besides, she often helped phrase the ideas more clearly. And besides that, it was pleasant to have her work with me.

Because of the war, school was shortened that year, ending the week of our debate in Flagstaff. When I returned to Snowflake, Dicie had gone to Mesa and Mocella was at Taylor with Joe and Mae. There was a dance at Snowflake, and I managed somehow to get transportation to Taylor. Joe and Mae took Mocella and me to the dance. Afterward, Joe and Mae discreetly withdrew to the house, leaving us the car. We didnít go anywhere in it; but the next hour was one of sweet confidence. There were mutual confessions of love, with promises based on eternal concepts. I donít remember how I got back to Snowflake afterward, but I must have flown. I had to get there, for that day I had to move my family back to Woodruff.

I spent the summer working wherever I could get jobs - Woodruff Dam, McNary sawmill, highways - all made bearable because I received regular letters from Mocella. In August I was busy hauling gravel to surface a section of highway near Holbrook. When Mocella informed me that she was going to visit in Taylor for a few days and invited me to visit her, I hired another man to drive my team for a few days and I caught the stage for Taylor. When I got there, Mocella had gone with John C. Smith and Kimball Rogers, fellow high school students, to Pindale to visit with Ella and Viola Peterson. They had arranged for a horse for me so that I could follow them. I was used to shoveling gravel rather than riding horses, but it didnít take long for me to get started for Pinedale.

The Petersons were gracious hosts; but that was just background for romance. There were two delightful days in that beautiful mountain atmosphere. On one day, we went for a picnic somewhere south of Pinedale, over the ridge to a beautiful stream that gurgled its way off toward the south instead of the north. Mocella and I found a perch on a big flat rock in the middle of the creek, away from the ears of the others, and there we made our plans for the future. The next day, we went back to Taylor; but this time I rode in the buggy with John C. And Mocella and let Kim ride the horse.

In early September, I left for Provo to join the StudentsíArmy Training Corps. For me the end to that was cataclysmic. I reached Taylor a few hours before Mocellaís funeral. I was in pretty much of a daze, and the proceedings are very hazy; but I remember that one song was "Cast Thy Bread Upon The Waters." But that was not the end of our saga. On December 28, 1927, Mocella and I were sealed for eternity, the ceremony being performed in the Mesa Temple, with Dicie acting as proxy for Mocella. After that I felt a peace that I had not known for a long time.

Very shortly thereafter, I met another lovely, brown-eyed girl, Vera Pyper, who had come to Phoenix to help her brother whose wife was seriously ill. Within a few weeks we were pledged to each other, but we were not married until October 4, 1929. We each had family obligations that could not be ignored.

Some time [Sometime] later we lived for five years in Show Low, Arizona, where we had close association with Dicie. Vera and Dicie learned to love each other like sisters. I am sure that in a better world, Vera and Mocella will love each other with an understanding that exceeds all earthly knowledge.

Rulon Wells Brimhall

By April 20, 1900, N. A. Brimhall was the father of ten children and had not seen one of them. Now before you form a hasty opinion as to the character of our father, N. A. Brimhall, let me explain. According to the diary of President Jesse N. Smith, he blessed the infant son of N. A. Brimhall, who was serving in the Western States mission with headquarters in Denver. Being born after his departure, I was the one he had not seen.

I remember living in the rock house west of the highway, also the home east of the road and farther south. But most of my youth was spent in the frame home east of Silver Creek, on the farm. While we were living in the rock house, I used to enjoy watching the soldiers from Fort Apache go by, especially the mule teams drawing their coaches. I remember the building of the farm home east of the creek. We had the assistance of a tobacco chewing carpenter by the name of Laraby. While living on the farm at Taylor, we had experience in all the tasks that were common to a farm in those days. I have watched father sow oats and wheat and marveled at how evenly it was distributed. The farm work consisted of planting, plowing, harrowing, mowing, shocking grain, stacking grain, hauling hay, cutting and raking, stacking and baleing [baling] hay, threshing, etc. The first threshing machine that came to our farm was powered by horses that went around and around like a treadmill. It was always the lot of the youngest brothers to fall heir to the most despised job af all (stacking the straw).

The brick for the ward house was fired just south of the present building. Many times as a deacon, I have swept the floors, rang the bell for meetings; started the fire in the stove that stood in the center of the building. Bert Allen lead the choir and Uncle Will Willis was the main tenor. He played the fife to accompany the Jennings drum and Uncle Frank Willis thrilled us with his concertina. Henry Lewis read the minutes and I can still hear him say "nineteen ought eight." Renz L. Jennings bore his testimony twice in one priesthood meeting.

The first automobile I ever saw was a Stanley Steamer that Walter Smith used in transporting the mail from Holbrook to Fort Apache. The first car we owned was a Ford we got from Walter McLaws in exchange for a team of brown Hamiltonian Mares that father got from President Andrew Kimball (the father of Spencer). I have good reason to remember this well. I had to deliver the team to McLaws at Holbrook. I objected to this system saying I preferred to lead the mares. Father sent me on my way according to his plan which was promply abandoned as soon as I was safely out of sight. I felt that I could not properly manage the team by driving them. I tied the mares together and led them to their destination. I had previously profited by an experience when I was sent to Holbrook to get a load of freight. The team consisted of Dixie and Natson. I left for Holbrook about 4 p.m. during the rainy season (August). I had to camp out because there was not time to reach Holbrook before night. It rained at night with great flashes of lightning. To keep Dixie from breaking loose each time the lightning would flash, I tied her with a log chain to the wagon. When it came daylight, Dixie had dragged the wagon at least fifty feet nearer home. I felt more secure leading the mares to their destination.

The first schooling I recall was held in the ward (Taylor) meeting house, with Constance Decker as teacher. At first I was bored, but I soon adored my teacher and everything related thereto. I well remember the Art Literature readers with their fascinating stories and pictures. I still have some of the work I did in the first grade, but Ida has put it away so thoroughly that we are unable to find it. Other teachers I had were Orpha Standifird, Will Shumway, Will Pace, Thomas R. Greer, Charles F. Hansen and Marion Gibbons. I got a double promotion and skipped the sixth grade which proved to be a disaster. I skipped fractions and to this day they have ignored me. To partly compensate for this folley, I spent two years in the eighth grade. I entered the Snowflake Stake Academy in the fall of 1915. I also attended there during 1916-17. In the fall of 1917, we moved to Mesa and I attended the high school there for one year. In the fall of 1918, I returned to Snowflake Stake Academy. Dicie was a teacher there then and we lived in part of Aunt Emm Smithís home. I graduated from there in the spring of 1919, and after working during the summer, 1919, at Fort Apache with George, I came to Utah to attend the B. Y. U. I came by automobile with Logan and May as far as Wellington, where I took the train for Utah and Logan and May went on the [to] Vernal. Both Andrew and Dicie had preceeded me at B. Y. U. I profited by their good reputations they had established at the university. President Brimhall had previously invited me to his home. I took a taxi direct to his home and spent the first night of my stay in Provo with him. He helped me the next morning to get my bearings so the sun could come up in the East. Besides President Brimhall as a valuable friend, I had Aunt Jennie Brimhall Knight who got me acquainted with all my relatives in Provo, which helped immensely in bearing the separation from home. I was taken into the home of Jesse Knight for a meeting of some of the cousins. Uncle Jesse died soon after this, but I have always considered it a special favor on the part of Aunt Jennie to let me meet Uncle Jesse. If it had not been for Uncle Jesse Knight, A. O. Smoot, George H. Brimhall and a very few others, there would be no Brigham Young University today!

I always got the assistance from home that was necessary (combined with my own efforts) to remain at the university until I graduated. I received help from each member of the family, from Andrew and Edna on down the line. I even received help from Logan and May at a time when it was a super-human effort for them to stay in school and keep plugging. George gave me work to do with good compensation. Joe paid a note and got me off the hook with Joe W. Smith. Logan and May shared their groceries with me for a time and Andrew and Edna loaned me money when I was desperately in need.

My first teaching experience was at Eagar, in the Round Valley High School. Levi Udall of St. Johns offered me a contract at $1,700. This was several hundred dollars more than was offered at the Orem High School in Utah. Had I taken this job, I would have had to supervise the music program in nine elementary schools with an allowance of $250.00 for transportation.

Ida and I were married on August 29, 1923 in the Salt Lake Temple. The very next day we set out for Arizona. It took a week to make the trip to Arizona in our new Model T. which we had purchased from Andersons at Provo. We used all the daylight for a week in making our journey. One eighteen hour shift netted us only 90 miles. We crossed the Colorado at Needles, California. We stopped at a hotel there for the night but the heat was so intense, that we abandoned the torture chamber during the small hours of the night and continued on to Oatman.

A little frame house was awaiting us at Eagar. When the wind blew, the snow would come up through the cracks of the floor. Ida secured a teaching job in a one room school at Colter. She had to take the Arizona State exam before she could draw any pay. So it was after Christmas before she got any compensation.

The next year, we went to St. David after returning to Utah for the summer. This time we crossed the Colorado at Parker. Three years later, as we returned to Utah, we crossed the Colorado at the same place on May 17th. Willis was exactly one year old. We reached the river just at sundown and were ferried across along with ten billion mosquitoes. We drove 30 miles beyond the river before bedding down for the night on the desert. We were still in the company of so many mosquitoes with voracious appetites, that we were forced to continue our journey in the middle of the night.

The next year, I taught at the Dixie College at St. George, 1927-28. The next two years, I taught at Layton, then came to the Alpine School District in American Fork where I served until retirement in 1965. I served in nearly every school in Alpine School District because I was a special traveling Music and Spanish teacher for much of the time. I occupied the same classroom in the Harrington School for 18 years and during ten of those years I had a stretch of perfect attendance. I went to the American Fork Hospital for a hernia operation. Ida came over from Pleasant Grove to see how I was making out. I grabbed the keys to the car and my clothes with the remark "If you donít want to walk home, come with me." The next day the doctor came to take me back to the hospital but I had gone to school.

I have always had good health, due mainly to the attention of my good wife. I have had two operations, both of which saved my life. I go to a surgeon when the knife is required. When my bones get out of alignment, I roll over like a good work horse or saddle pony. Rarely this wonít furnish the necessary relief, then I visit the chiropractor and he puts me in shape. Over the years, I have acquired the reputation of being able to do more work than ordinary men. This is fine. I often walk to the temple, a distance of 6 miles round trip. I will not die in a hospital or rest home, if I can help it. You would be amazed to see the number of homes and buildings I have shingled or lathed during my lifetime. I think I have dug more postholes than any other man in Zion. If all these were one hole and I were at the bottom, Iíd sure as hell be there now! Iíd much prefer to be found dead half-way down the furrow than to be found alive six months after Iím dead, in a hospital surrounded by all the gadgets that permit doctors and hospitals to extract the last farthing.

On returning to Utah, we built a home in Pleasant Grove where we lived until 1960, when we moved to Provo, Utah, 773 N. 600 West. This was much more convenient for Ida, who was working in the B. Y. U. Food Services and we still had children attending the B. Y. U.

As I look back over my life, the part I can view with the most satisfaction is the period I spent at the Harrington School in American Fork, Utah. We had a very fine music program. The high school teachers in that area have told me on many occasions that they could tell every kid that went through my classes becasue they could read music so well. Some of the Salt Lake City teachers came down to witness a sight singing demonstration. Dr. Wheelwright, their supervisor, in order to make sure it wasnít a prepared parade, brought material that my kids had never seen before. The fifth and sixth grade could study three part songs for a few minutes then sing them off at sight. They donít get training like that in public schools today. When the Russians put up their Sputnik, our school superintendant curtailed the music progrm and put me to teaching Spanish. They wouldnít let me teach the pupils to read Spanish...just speak it. This was a colossal waste of time. After three years of this, I rebelled. I told my supervisor that we already had too many illiterate Mexicans in the world. I quit teaching for three years, then went back to the fifth grade for four more years, teaching all subjects. I was just learning to be a teacher when I arrived at the age for compulsory retirement.

The services I have rendered to the church during my life have been mostly very pleasant. I was either leading the singing or playing for the hymns. For many years, I was either the Stake Organist, or Chorister for the Timpanogos Stake in Pleasant Grove. One one occasion, I accompanied Jessie Evans Smith as she sang at conference, and she told me that I did a good job. At many parties, weddings, outings, etc. I have played the accordion or other instruments.

I work at the temple in Provo now and very often hear the remark, "Do you remember me?" Iím a grandmother or grandpa now." It usually turns out to be one of my former pupils. I am rarely unable to speak their names. This conversation often ends with a warm embrace, which we are instructed to avoid. I simply cannot resist a fond embrace from one of my former pupils, even though we are instructed to not impede their passage to the celestial realm with any form of conversation or demonstration. I prefer to enrich these contacts when they are presented. I might not overtake them again.

Ida and I have six children, Dr. Willis H. Brimhall married Lynette McRae. Willis a professor of geology at the B. Y. U. Louise married Dr. Uwe J. Hansen, professor of physics at Indiana State Univerity. Louise has her own art studio and teaches gifted children. James Wesley married Rosalyn Burton. He operates his own camera and audio-visual equipment in Salt Lake City, Utah. Norman married Marcia Ann Rayner. He is supervisor for a computer manufacturing company. Eugene operates his own fencing business. He married Judy Hillam. Deanna married Drew Binks (they have since divorced) and she is employed at Utah Valley Hospital in food services.

Elias Rae Brimhall

Elias, the eleventh child of Norman and Agnes Brimahll, was born on October 28, 1902. He was the first child to be born to Norman and Agnes after Normanís return from his L. D. S. mission. This accounts for his strange name. He was named for two of his fatherís missionary companions: Elias, after Elias Ashton, and Rae after Joseph MacRae. Elias was born in the two story [two-story] rock house located in the south end of Taylor on the west side of Highway 77. Over the years this house has been known as the J. J. Shumway home. It is now occupied by the widow of Paul Rogers who is a daughter of J. J. Shumway.

On 1904, the family moved to a 33 acre farm on the east bank of Silver Creek. The lad led a happy life on this little farm. Two children were born to Norman and Agnes after the birth of Elias, but both died in infancy, so Elias was really the baby of the family.

Being the baby of the family had it advantages as well as its disadvantages. On the plus side, the older children got all the lickings. On the minus side, the lad got pushed around and bossed by all the older children. Even now at age 75, the older members of the family that are left, consider Elias as fair game. He never had to think for himself for he was always told what to do. Since he never had to use his head, it is almost brand new!

The family, by modern standards, was poor, but they never knew it, for they had as much or more than any of the other pioneer families that they grew up with.

Eliasí mother died when he was 10 years old, and his father married Caroline Smith, a young woman that was a school teacher, and a graduate nurse. The lad missed his own mother very much, but he also learned to love his step mother [step-mother], for she was able as a former teacher, to help Elias to over come [overcome] his early school failures, even to the point that he became a rather good student, and got grades as good as any of his brightest brothers and sisters.

In the fall of 1917, Norman and Caroline moved to Mesa. Rulon and Elias, the only two living at home at the time, drove a team of horses from Taylor to Mesa. They set a new record, that has never been broken. They completed the journey in six and a-half days.

The family purchased an 80 acre farm on East Broadway and the first canal. The farm had been used as pasture land for dairy cattle for many years. The farm was in bad shape, and needed a lot of work. Norman and his two sons whipped the farm into shape and it became very productive. They raised wheat, cotton and melons.

Elias entered the Franklin school about the second week in October of 1917. It was a very large school, and the country boy had many new and exciting experiences, none more frightening than his first use of a flush toilet. When the water began to run, he thought the Dutch Dike had broken. He naturally wanted to save the dike, as the little Dutch boy of old, but he couldnít figure out where to stick his finger. What a glorious relief when the automatic fixture took care of itself.
Elias spent his first two high school years at Mesa High, but he did spend some of his summers in Taylor. In January of 1919, Andrew and Logan took over the farm in Mesa, and Norman and Caroline went back to Taylor. Elias stayed with Andrew and Edna, he spent the summer of 1919 in Taylor taking care of a small herd of cattle. In the fall, he returned to Mesa to live with Andrew and Edna, and again attended Mesa High.

In about the middle of the summer of 1920, Elias returned to Taylor and helped his father run the +1L cattle. Norman and Jess Pearce had purchased this large cattle outfit. The outfit was composed of between 1,500 and 1,800 head of cattle. Their range was from Taylor west nearly to Heber.

In the fall of 1920, Elias entered the Snowflake Stake Academy as a junior. He was on the basketball, track and tennis teams at the Academy for two years. He lived with his sister Dicie, who was an English teacher at the Academy.

He spent the summer of 1921 at the +1L ranch on Cottonwood Wash, working with the cattle. The work was hard, but rewarding. He made many lasting friendships during this summer. Early in the fall of 1921, Norman and Jess sold the +1L outfit, and Norman and Caroline moved back to the farm in Mesa. Elias again stayed in Snowflake with his sister, Dicie, and attended the Academy as a senior.

After graduating from the Academy in the spring 1922, he returned to Mesa and spent the summer on the farm. He was called on an L. D .S. mission to the Southern States in early October 1922. After visiting with his brother Rulon, a student at the B. Y. U. in Provo, Utah, he went to Atlanta, Georgia, which was the headquarters of the Southern States Mission. President Charles A. Callis sent Elias to labor in the East Kentucky Conference.

Elias spent 30 months in East Kentucky. This was a happy and productive 30 months. He returned home to Mesa just before Christmas in 1924. While he had been gone, Caroline had died, and Dicie had quit her teaching job in Snowflake, and returned to Mesa to look after her father. The spring and summer of 1925 were spent on the farm, which Norman had expanded to 560 acres.

Elias entered Arizona State Teachers College at Tempe, (Arizona State University) in the fall of 1925. He supported his schooling by milking four cows and selling the milk to a dairy for 10 cents a quart, and by hauling five girls back and forth to college for $5.00 each per month. He aided his father on the farm during the summmer of 1926, and returned to school in the fall.

He was graduated from A. S. T. C. in the spring of 1927. As soon as school was out, Elias went to Oakland, California with Charlie Sellers and his mother. Elias worked for the Alhambra Water Company the entire summer.

Before he left for California, he had been appointed principal of the Dos Cabezas School in Cochise County. He arrived in Dos Cabezas in time to open the five teacher school in the fall of 1927.
He married Marita Butler, daughter of John and Susie Butler, in the Arizona Temple on December 27, 1927. Elias and Marita returned to Dos Cabezas, where they both taught school. They were in Dos Cabezas for six years. It was there that their first child, Dwayne, was born. When Rae, their second son was about a year old, they moved to Tucson so Elias could work on his masterís degree.

During the four summers of the years they spent in Dos Cabezas, they attended college in Flagstaff. Elias took 30 quarter hours of correspondence and received his B. A. degree from Flagstaff.

Having finished the work for his M. A. degree at the University of Arizona, he received a position as principal of the Irving school in Mesa.

After becoming principal of Irving the fall of 1934, he spent 31 years in the Mesa District, as principal of Irving elementary school [Elementary School], Lehi elementary [Elementary] School, Mesa Junior High School, Mesa High School, and Westwood High School.

Marita taught 24 years in Mesa, 5 years in Gilbert, as well as 3 years in Dos Cabezes.

Marita and Elias have five children. Dwayne married Neva Kirby. He is principal of Freemont Junior High School. Rae married JoeAnn Leavitt, and teaches at the Starlight Park School in the Cartright District, and is also director of the community school at the same place. Marilyn married Dr. John Hales, an anaethesiologist in Los Angeles. Mocella married David Shumway, who operates an 800 cow dairy at Magma, Arizona, and Marita married Dr. Bernell Edwards, an education specialist at the Human Resource Lab. at Williams Air Force Base.

Chapter 10

"The Aunties"

Caroline Smith Brimhall

Material obtained from sketches by Hyrum Smith, Lorana Broadbent and Seraphine Frost, found in The Kinsman, Vol. XVIII No. 2, March 1964.

Caroline Smith Brimhall was born November 19, 1884, the oldest daughter of Jesse N. Smith and Emma Larson Smith. From her earliest years she manifested a selflessness and patience that would characterize her entire life. All of her brothers and sisters recalled her with affection and appreciation and she long helped her mother in providing tender care and concern for her younger siblings.

After going to the local school she attended the Stake Academy. There she was inspired by Professior Joseph Peterson. Taking the Navajo County teacherís exam, she qualified as a teacher and was a conscientious and effecient instructor of youth for several years.

Feeling the need to seek another alternative, Caroline went to the L.D.S. Hospital to take a nurseís course. While she was there, her youthful companion and half-sister, Annie S. Bushman, died in childbirth. This left her bereft. She dedicated herself even more to her new calling and during the time of her training nearly ruined her health with overwork. In March, 1913, she made a trip to Davenport, Iowa to visit her brother Hyrum and family, and while there attended his wife, June B., in the birth of her third child.

After completing her training she returned to Snowflake. Shortly thereafter, on October 9, 1913, she married Norman A. Brimhall, Bishop of Taylor Ward, who was a widower with a large family. She became a loving mother for the Brimhall children, but was saddened considerably by the fact that she could have none of her own.

Later, Norman and Caroline moved to Mesa where Caroline was active in church affairs, including a calling in the Maricopa Stake Sunday School organization. Then in 1923, a tumorous growth was discovered. Surgery was required, but her constitution was not able to recover from the illness. Not yet forty years of age, she died on January 19, 1924 in Mesa, Arizona.

Her brother, Hyrum, later paid tribute to her in these words, "In every large family of children there is usually one who becomes the family favorite because she is the kindest, sweetest, most lovable one of the group. Of the nine children of Jesse N. Smith and Emma Larson, Caroline was the recognized favorite. She had love, kindness, understanding, charity, forgiveness, patience for everyone and seemed always willing to go the extra mile."

Her sister, Lorana, added, "She was admired by those who knew her for the many services she gave as a neighbor, her generosity, kindness, honesty and her love. She was equal in goodness and beauty to any of the wonderful daughters of the Jessie N. Smith family."

Aunt Caroline was much loved and appreciated by all the N. A. Brimhall family. She nursed Andrew through a three month siege of typhoid fever, which made medical history. Rulon had the same disease at the same time, but Andrewís case was so much more severe that nobody even remembers that Rulon had the dreaded disease also. He weighed 135 pounds when he came down with the fever. The first time he was able to walk to the scales, he weighed 75 pounds. When he presented his skeleton and insatiable appetite at the Taylor Public School, he could neither kick nor strike a ball with any force. By the time winter had set in sufficient to freeze the Taylor reservoir for skating, he had gained sufficient strength and balance to defend his reputation at skating.

Elias has a very special tribute he remembers of Aunt Caroline, to bring to the attention of all. When he began his school days, he had difficulty with spelling and reading. Aunt Caroline took matters in hand and gave him the sympathy and assistance that started him on the way to an illustrious career as an educator. We are all grateful for this.

All members of the family remember Aunt Caroline with deep devotion for her tender love and care.


Phoebe Neslin Foster had recently buried her mother on who she had spent most of her time during her convalescing years in Salt Lake City, Utah. She came to Mesa, Arizona to visit her sister Laura Phelps. Normanís wife, Caroline, and Phoebe had a long standing acquaintance from ther associations in Salt Lake City, Utah while Caroline was in Nurse training. Norman was made acquainted with Phoebe during her stay in the valley during the summer of 1924.

Caroline died January 19, 1924, due to after effects of an operation. Normanís report to Phoebe of the death of her friend Caroline started a correspondence that culminated in their marriage June 23, 1925. Phoebe was a kindly, motherly lady who took great interest in her husbandís family.

Phoebe Neslin Fosterís story is short and to the point. We find she was born May 19, 1880, and endowed in Salt Lake Temple June 15, 1921.

She was a Sunday School teacher in the 18th Ward, S.L.C., member of the Ensign Stake Sunday School Board, a Primary teacher, second counselor, first counselor and then president of the 18th Ward Primary. Phoebe was a member of the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir for several years which she enjoyed immensely. She had a beautiful alto voice. Along with these pleasantries, she did endowments in the S.L.C. Temple.

Phoebe and her husband were set apart temple workers in the Arizona Temple for some years. She carried on in the capacity as temple worker in the Arizona Temple for some time after her husband died, and in 1949 was released.

Demanding of her time was the care and nursing of her convalesing mother. She graciously accepted this responsibility, her nature being one of gentleness and compassion.

During her last years, she was unable to have renters in her home, so she lived alone. She passed away on November 24, 1963 in her home. Her remains were interred in the Taylor Cemetery beside her husband, and her friend Caroline. The Brimhall boys keep the family graves well cared for.

All members of the family greatly appreciated Aunt Phoebeís tender care and making for their father a happy home during his declining [years]. She was appreciative of each member of her husbandís family and was zealous in serving them in every possible capacity.


"Our Heritage"

Who am I?

I Am A Child of God

"I am a child of God, and He has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.


Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with Him some day.

I am a child of God, and so my needs are great;
Help me to understand his words
Before it grows too late.


I am a child of God, rich blessings are in store
If I but learn to do His will,
Iíll live with Him once more.


I am a child of God, His promises are sure,
Celestial Glory shall be mine
If I can but endure.


The Great Creator gave man a decided advantage when He organized intelligent entities and left them the power to make decisions. Another step in the evolutionary process of man was his appearance on Earth as mortal man. This trueism was announced by God in Genesis chapter one, verse twentyseven [twenty-seven], "So God made man in His own image. In the image of God created He him; male and female created He them."

Man was given a set of rules for guidance among them, the Ten Commandments, the Word of Wisdom, and the Articles of Faith. Man was given his agency wherein he could follow the tried and trusted rule or conjure up some idiology of his own. There is one thing man could have learned long ago, but didní one can succeed who serves two masters. Choices made within the rules helps man succeed in his efforts...break the rule and their[there] is no promise.

There have been some most successful societies developed when they obeyed the rules and some most dismal and unhappy societies resulting from disregarding of the rules. In the main, we like to think man has progressed in the Earthly sojourn.

God provided for the next step in the evolutionary process within the species, known as man. All shall experience the change called death, wherein the spirit body and the mortal body of flesh, bone, and blood shall be separated for a time. In this process the physical body shall return to Earth and the spirit body goes to paradise where it shall make preparations for the next step, the Resurrection or re-uniting of the two bodies in the Resurrection as provided for by Jesus Christ.

No doubt, manís greatest need is OBEDIENCE. Obedience to the existing law, order, rules, and norms tends to maintain a peaceful progressive society that is interested in manís happiness rather than his misery.

We are talking about heritage in this chapter. Heritage is a big word. Herein we use it in the sense of Lot, condition, the situation into which one is born, birthright, Godís chosen people, descendants of Abraham, Issac and Jacob, citizens of the United States, membership in the [The] Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, membership in your very own family, and finally relationship to extensive Brimhall family. But first of all I am a child of God...He cares most of all.

For a memorable Home Evening, place the two words side by side in a conspicious place and discuss Heritage and Obedience.


"Tales, Tall and Tender"

"A picture is worth a thousand words" is much believed and often stated axiom, but not always true. Do you think it possible for an artist to paint Lincolnís Gettysburg address? Can an artist paint a picture that could ever replace the words, "I love you?" It may be quite impossible for pictures to replace all that is the story hour.

There are stories and there are stories, some of them are called "Tall Tales" and others "Tender and True." Tall tales have an element of truth that is overworked by exaggeration, a figment of the mind that is seldom found resting in the shade of the old apple tree.

Our parents were good story tellers, and most, if not all of the children learned the art in some degree of achievement. Herewith are presented some of the many stories that came over with us from the yester-years.


Grandma Agnes was a favorite of her son-in-law, John E. Palmer. He loved her dearly, and delighted in telling how she once took his part and helped him win his point during a small marital "spat."

"Now Mary", said Grandma Agnes, after a few moments of the argument, "You just behave yourself and let John keep his cat. You know how much he loves animals, and it wonít hurt you a bit to learn to like them a little."

Dorcie Palmer Ball


When Father was on his mission for the church we saw some mighty hard times, even though we never did go completely hungry. The time did come however, when the flour bin was practically empty. But we had to have bread, so Mamma told me to Ďscrape up enough for one more batch.í I did, sadly wondering all the while how it could possibly be enough. Well, it was, and to my amazement, this incident happened again and again. The flour bin always produced enough for Ďone more batchí until Father returned home."

Uncle George made one Christmas Eve at the ranch a most joyous and memorable occasion for Mom, Dad and especially us children. He came "dashing oíre the snow in a one-horse open sleigh" piled high with toys and gifts, and with sleigh-bells jingling all the way. Best of all, he came appropriately dressed as Santa Claus!

The beautiful doll he brought for me was so precious and cherished that I would not play with her for fear of breaking her! So Mother kindly crocheted a little cone-shaped "sack" for her, and hung her in a corner of the room where I could see and "talk" to her at will.


Grandfather and Auntie Caroline often hosted us in their home, but one extended visit comes to mind especially. While mother accompanied Dad to Salt Lake City where he competed in a speech contest, we children stayed with our grandparents. It was a wonderful experience for us, and the baby, little Electa, fell so much in love with Auntie that she momentarily refused to accept her parents upon their return. Otto and Elias became buddies, and Dorcie was Mocellaís constant shadow, even going to Campfire Girl meetings with her.


One incident, traumatic at the time, still haunts this writer today, though the "terror" of it has long since been converted to mild amusement. Tales of early-day encounters with Indians had probably grown in exaggeration as they were told and re-told; but in any case, to me as a child, Indians were creatures to be feared and avoided. So when Mocella sent me one day to answer a knock on the door and I opened it to see a fierce red-skin, complete with headress, war-paint, and tomahawk, horror froze my facial expression as well as body mobility. Then the fiendish, gleeful "Hee, hee, hee" exploding from "Heap-Big-Chief" Elias, electrified me into action. Needless to say, it then took much gentle coaxing and explaining by co-conspirators, Mocella and Elias, to get me out from under the bed!


Norman Andrew Brimhall owned one of the first Model T Fords in town, but before heíd had it long enough to completely forsake the starting and stopping routines used with horse and buggy, in favor of those needed with the automobile, he had a small accident.

Driving toward White River one day, he came around a bend in the road to discover directly ahead of him, a wagonload of Apaches. The road, of course, was wide enough for only one vehicle, so to avoid running into the Indians, Grandad pulled back hard on the steering wheel, shouting loudly and frantically, "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Stop, you idiot!" But the "iron horse" did not respond. The driver remembered too late to apply the brakes, so Model T met Wagon, head to tail, scattering frightened, but unharmed Apaches in all directions.

Grandfather and Aunt Phoebe loved to entertain their children and grandchildren. Often while the other grown-ups talked, Aunt Phoebe would play games with the smaller children, until she became stiff and sore from the action. She claimed us all as her own, proudly followed our activities, and carefully kept a record of each new birth in every family.


To me, Grandad Brimhall always represented the Acme of Authority...gentle, but firm and final. His stern visage became soft and sweet when he smiled; the kindly light in his eyes, and low tone of his melodious voice insured comfort in times of stress. That is, all but one time:

When Mocella died during the "flu" epidemic of 1918, not even Grandad could console me. Mocella had been my favorite "sitter", my companion, and ideal; and now a selfish (it seemed to me) God, to quote Grandad and my parents, "Needs her more than we do!"

After what seemed a lifetime of grieving (probably a week), I had a dream which brought lasting peace and confident assurance of Godís goodness, of his [His] Plan, and of His loving concern for all His children.

As the dream began, I arose from my bed on the screened porch, went out the door and up several flights of wide, white marble stairs. At the top, a beautiful scene spread out before me. There were trees, flowers, and groups of people everywhere. In one group, I saw Grandma Agnes; and in another, a handsome Man with a shining halo around His head; but the group that held my rapt attention was a circle of children listening to my own dear Mocella tell a story.

No one spoke to me, or even seemed to notice that I was there; and after a few moments I descended the marble stairway, returned to my bed and slept contentedly. Grandfather
Brimhall and my parents had not deceived me after all!

Dorcie Palmer Ball


I had an urge to make adobes, so I built a little mold about 2 x 3 x 8. I had worked all day and had near 100 of them made when my lovely sister, Mary, appeared on the scene. She bragged on me and said how nice my adobes were and what a great builder I was destined to be, but my back was towards her as I was washing my mold. She ran through my new made adobes and when I turned around her tracks were on everyone of them. Damn her! Damn means stop her.

Edna L. Brimhall
From Andrew Brimhallís Stories

I went to Hollywood to be on This is Your Life by Ralph Edwards. it [It] was honoring Viola Hopen, and I was her first beau. I told my story as follows: There was a dance in Pinedale and everyone went with stuff to eat and it lasted all night. I was sitting in between Viola and Ella Hopen in the back seat with a pile of pies and the two girls. Viola kept putting her elbows in my face when fixing her hair. I stood it as long as I could, then I bit her. She screamed bloody murder. Bill Hopen said, "Whatís wrong?" Ella said, "Andrew bit Viola." I thought Bill would make me get out and walk, but he said, "I would have bit her too." He was my friend.

from Andrew Brimhall Stories


I always liked to build things, so I made a covered wagon. I had been to church with the folks on Sunday and the preaching was about going back to Jackson County and rebuilding Zion. I got the idea they were going to start soon, or about next day. In fact, I think the old brethern believed it too. As I did not want to be left behind and be a "foolish virgin without oil in my lamp", I went to work on a wagon which in my mind was to cross back over the mountains and plains that my grandparents had crossed over to get to where I was born and lived. After several days of hard work, which was a lot fun (and to build things is still fun to me) I came out with my newest creation, a darling covered wagon. It had black willow bows and a white cover all puckered in on the front and hind end with a string, a little water on the side and you could almost see the kids inside.

Of course, I had to pull it by a little tongue, Ďcause it was a little wagon. I happened to bring it out on one of those days Mother was away and left Mary, my older sister, in charge. When she, Mary, saw my wagon, one of those shedevil [she-devil] fits of hers came on. She said, "Hi, old Brother Massiar Hancock! Going back to build up Jackson County?" Then she jeered and mocked and scoffed and poked fun at me and got all the other kids to do likewise. I became angry, very angry, and I told her to shut up or I would shoot her withy [with] my bow and arrow. She got one kid to run outdoors and throw a rock at the wagon, and just as he got back to the door, I shot him in the pants with an arrow which had no point. But I was saving one with a good point for old Mary. She knew better than to come out. Of course, I could have taken me and my little wagon out to the barn and got away from the persecution, but I was not about to run from that she-devil, Mary. I stood my ground until Mother came and found four arrows stuck in the front door and that she-devil, Mary, made her think I was a bad boy. My wagon was unharmed through this war and Mother thought it was cute, so I figured I won after all!

Andrew Brimhall Stories


Somehow, the N. A. Brimhall family came into possession of a small white pig that was so young she had to be bottle fed. The children kept it well boxed and housed where ever [wherever] Mother designated. It became a house-broken pet. Why not? It was as inoffensive as oneís cat or dog. The only thing it did in the house was eat and squeal. It never squealed unless it got hungry or stepped on. Itís breath had the aroma of sweet smelling milk and cranberry jam. The pig grew and grew and at two months age, Mother consigned it to the pen out of doors. Somehow, on occasion, a rock got under one corner of the pen and Jessop, that was her name, learned to extricate herself by getting her nose under the pen, raising it up, squealing and wriggling forward.

Two of the boys, the writer knows which two, but refrains from divulging the secret for fear of reprisals, slept in the northeast room of the rock house. One warm summer night they left the north door open in the interest of comfort. Father Norman arose early the following morning and went about checking to see if the brood came safely through the night. An unusual sight caught his eye, so he had mother Agnes come to see what he saw. There lay two of her younger sons facing towards each other, with Jessop, who had gone in from the top head first, lying between them. Jessops curled tail was wagging back and forth as if fly switching for her bed fellows. (Rulon and Elias were not old enough to sleep with the pigs yet.) Norman applied a lighted match to Jessops tail...and she went right on down and out of the foot of the bed, covers, squeal and all. The boys arose drowsily, rubbed their eyes and acted as if they had had an overdose of ozone.

Jessop grew taller and wider and the family architect, Andrew, designed a pack saddle for her that fit like hot tar on your arm. The saddle was patterned after the ones sheepherders use on their jack-a-sees. The boys and Jessop were under the old apple tree below the ditch, east of the rock house. Andy had been wondering all the while he was making the saddle, just what it could be used for besides carrying weeds from the garden to the cows. Little Joe was standing close by when he finished the saddle. He was picked up, placed in it and declared to be a beautiful fit. Andrew tried the outfit by yelling at the pig, "Gee, Haw". O how sweet, you should have seen that pig leave the shade of the old apple tree and head for home, sweet home, across the ditch. Joe was wet to his neck and both he and the pig were squealing so loud they couldnít hear each other. The pig had not been trained to open the gate and go through, she simply went under the lowest strand of barbed wire. The saddle caught on the wire and the pig clawed dirt and gravel and squealed, but to no avail. The wire wouldnít let go. All this time, the rider of the purple sage was yelling, "Mommie, Mommie! Daddy, Da! Da!" Norman was in the front yard of the rock house and when he was aroused to the danger of his offspring, he got over the road in less than time. He got little Joe untied and out of the saddle and looked him over for cuts and bruises, but found none. He wiped little Joeís nose and began calling, "Andrew, Andrew Noah, Andy, what in heavenís name have you done this time?" Later, Father and Mother complimented the carpenter for a good job well done on the pack saddle.
Logan Brimhall


Some two or three weeks later, after the excitement of the pack saddle rodeo had become family lore, the boys and their pig were back under the old apple tree. It was wash day. This was the most meticulous ordeal of the housewifely tasks. The wash had to be done just so. Mother had a big vat for heating water, scrub board, soap, lye, pins, and all that, below the ditch, east of the road and under the old cottonwood tree. Well she got going and finished the "whites" as they called the sheets, pillow cases, shirts, etc. She had all of them on the line, west of the ditch, in the sunshine to dry. As she stood admiring her extra white, white wash, she heard Jessopís loudest squeal, and looked up in time to see the pig run through the ditch and up under her white clothes. In a moment, Jessop was at the west end of the line and on seeing Agnes, she turned and ran back down the full line of whites spraying the clothes with the best of pig blood. Well, you see, Andy had a sharp knife and he had been peeling apples and slicing them for Jessop. She wanted more and rubbed Andyís leg with her ham and Andy simply reached out, caught Jessops curled tail and by the use of his sharp knife, relieved the pig of her fly switch right down close to where it leaves the main body. Jessop ran the white washline with her stub tail, squirting blood of pigdom up and overall.

Knowing full well what was coming his way, Andy made haste to his retreat, private bedroom, and made fast a makeshift lock. Agnes was not far behind and she began, "Andy, Andrew Noah, Andrew, open this door." About the time Andrew moved to reinforce the door, Agnes backed off and threw her 135 pounds into it hard and fast. This broke the knife he had stuck behind the door casing. The door flew open, and when Mother entered, there stood Andy, with blood squirting from his nose that had got in the way of the flying door. Add to this, undried blood from the pig tail operation on his left hand, and it was more than Mother could stand. She wrapped him in her arms and told him he was more precious than all the pig tail blood spilled on this earth.

That was the most blood ever spilled on the battle field of a single Brimhall Civil War. That was one time the blood of Israel and the blood of pigdom sprinkled the door posts of a modern Israeliteís home.
Logan Brimhall


Jessop went visiting, and grew and grew until all the kids began wondering if she had been eating too many dried apples off our tree and drinking too much warm water from the ditch. The more she grew, the lazier she got and the cranky-er. Every time one of us wanted to take a ride on her back, she barked at us and her teeth looked dangerous. One night, Father locked her in a big pen and the next morning he called us out to see what one pig can do between the setting and rising of the sun. There were 13 piglets and twelve of them looked just like Jessop did the first time we saw her. One of them died and we held a funeral, full service, and as usual, Andy called on Logan to do the praying. There was the grave digging, marching to the pig cemetery, flowers from the roadside, everything that goes with pig funeral [funerals].

Father explained the reason for the death of the one pig may have been because Jessop had only twelve feed bubbles.
Logan Brimhall


On the farm was a corral, sheds, stables, etc. There were horses and one of them had born a beautiful gray boy colt. When the colt got to be a couple of weeks old, Joe wanted to ride it. In fact, he lawled [bawled] and bawled and climbed up on the motherís back so he could mount the colt. Well, Log gave him the necessary push and Joe went out of the stable like a steer that wants to get out of Texas. Ere long, Joe was in the dust and holleriní, "Mommie, Mommie!" Dad and Mom got to him about the same time and after digging a spoon full or two of dust and corral stuff out of his mouth, Norman began on Logan, "Golly sakes alive, if you want to kill someone get on the colt yourself. Donít be a coward, and, and...". Mother said, "Now Norman, do you remember the time you threw Logan into the horses watering trough because he wanted to ride old Jeff?"
Logan Brimhall


One of the super feats of the olden days was to feed a family of thirteen children and save thirteen eggs to set a hen that got an idea she wanted some babies. Agnes saved for 6.5 days and set the "Little Brown Hen." Each egg was pencil marked so if there got be fourteen or more the grandmother could tell which were the fresh eggs and remove them and feed the kids better.

It was a well known fact, to Anges, that a setting hen had to leave her nest on occasion to feed, stretch her legs and wander. Mary and Logan didnít know this so the first time they caught the little brown hen off duty, they proceeded to teach her obedience.

Logan was fond of straps, expecially red ones about five feet long and half an inch wide. He had confiscated such a piece of equipment from a neighborís yard. Might explain he did not steal it, just borrowed it for keeps. Loosers weepers, finders keepers was the idea, pulled into a stretch. But thatís another story.

Mary explained that the eggs must be kept warm if they were to hatch into little biddies. They captured the hen and set her on the nest, tied the strap around her neck and fastened the other end to the roost. The little brown hen wouldít [wouldnít] stay put, so they reset her and this time made it safe by placing a large flat rock atop the little hen. By this time, it was getting dark and they could do no more Ďtill morning. Bright and early they were up and out to the hen house. The hen was gone, the eggs every one smashed. A brief search revealed the hen had committed suicide by hanging from the roost by the neck, with one red strap, Ďtill dead. In modern days, it might be called an abortion or something or other. There was no funeral, Mary explained, because Logan was so sore he couldnít occupy the ministerís chair in comfort.
Logan Brimhall


It was a cold night in 1962, our three little girls were sleeping soundly. Melanie, the youngest, since birth had been subject to severe attacks of croup during which time a vaporizer was kept close by her bed.

This night something awakened Luann, the eldest, who came running into our room to waken us. As she did, I saw my Grandad Norman standing behind her with a hand gently touching each of her shoulders. He was dressed in white and a gentle smile parted his lips.

Eagerly I sat up in bed, looking up anxious to speak with him, but Luann was shaking my arm. "No Mom, Iím down here, Iím down here, I smell smoke in our room!" As my attention was quickly diverted to her, Grandad was gone from my sight. Rushing with Luann into the girls room, I found the elctrical cord on the vaporizer had shorted and burned to within a few inches of the carpet and had been snuffed out!
Norma B .Tidwell


Many times Father showed a deep understanding of child nature exemplifying big principles. Do you recall the picture of Mocella coming in on Sunday evenings just at late dusk carrying a generous arm load of wood? The act was her penitence for having over-stayed the hour when she was due home from after-church play hour at some neighborís home. I can see Fatherís kind smile and his firm look at all of us not to say a word. It was his business to handle the case without comments from us.

Times without number he did this with a smile of forgiveness that put her completely at ease. Somehow he recognized in her manner true repentance. It was characteristic of his proceedings in life to act on the impulse and then ask forgiveness of the ones he offended. As a child, I used to think, "Oh, what is the use of forgiving him? He will just turn around and do it again." With increased knowledge and experiences, I learned that it sometimes require several times of repentance to get the sinner up to the point of repenting so thoroughly as never to do the act again, else why did Jesus require that we forgive seventy times seven?

Taken from the journal of
Dicie Brimhall Ellsworth
by her daughter, LaDawn E. Brewer


In October 1904, there came into my life the first experience with personal sorrow in the death of baby Margaret, 9 months old. Mary was attending the Academy in Snowflake so the baby had been in my little charge, returning the devotion I felt for her and mother in a cunning sweet way that left me desolate for a time when she was gone. Upon returning from the cemetery, after her burial, I slipped away from the bareness of the house to the barn to cry out my grief where Mother wouldnít have to see me. I never see or smell Mexican-flowers (Cosmos), without living again the hope that surged through me in that day of sorrow when one of Motherís friends sent her a bouquet. Their modest colors, their perfume soothed me unspeakably.


Of all the pleasant things we did in our golden childhood days, going to Primary and Sunday School was the best. One Sunday, because of a severe cold and fever, I had to stay quietly in bed. The pain was an intense monotony of sensations ranging from a far-flung ride on circular swings with the rope gradually lengthening to a bottomless drop into yawning pits. My head seemed to be twice its normal size, and there was as the haunting background of it all an awful feeling that I was somebody else. When Father left the house to attend church that afternoon, all the power against darkness seemed to go out with him. At length, I asked Mother to send for him to come and administer to me. As soon as he sealed the annointing I was instantly healed and could have arisen at once, except for being weak. That was my first testimony of what faith can do through reliance upon the priesthood. It seemed wonderful to have a Father who not only provided for us, but through honoring the priesthood he held, was able to preserve us from danger in illness. I felt happy and safe when he was home, so it was not puzzling to Mother when she found me hugging his overcoat a few months later when he was called away to serve in the Northern States Mission. Little six-year-old child though I was, I shall never forget how tenderly Mother kissed me that day and cried with me. Two long years of financial struggle lay before them as parents and as devoted Latter-day Saints; but they met it all bravely, successfully, and for us children it was a truly happy time.


For many Sundays in succession, when I was a child, our group repeated in concert recitation, Matt. 7:13-14. There was to me enough of a message in those words that I considered telling the truth, being prayerful, honest, willing to work, to repent of errors, to forgive others, and all such constructive conduct the right way for a child to enter the straight and narrow way.

"Beyond those small ways of being good, what does it mean to find the straight and narrow way?", I asked my father one day shortly before my teen years. I shall long remember the keen smile that played around the corners of his kind blue eyes as he answered. "That is a proper question for a twelveyear-old [twelve-year-old] girl to ask," he answered frankly pleased. "Iíll take you to the very clearest explanation Iíve ever found on that subject." He read to me from the Book of Mormon, the Prophet Lehiís dream of the straight and narrow way, (1Nephi: 8) also his discussion of the meaning of the dream (1Nephi:11). These passages of scripture together with Fatherís explanation of them gave me the resolve to chart my course in life in accordance with the truths he pointed out that day. The straight and narrow way is the path of obedience to the words of God as taught by Jesus of Nazareth and as revealed since by Joseph Smith and subsequent prophets of God. By following this path and holding fast to the iron rod, or word of God, running parallel with the path, one can reach the tree of life and partake of itís fruit, which is immortality, and Eternal Life...a fullness of joy in the right to eternal progression.

The clearness of Fatherís explanation was so intriguing that I read the Book of Mormon before I was thirteen, and won not only the prize of a new dress which Father promised me if I would read it, but also the realization of the fulfillment of the promise found near the end of the book (Moroni 10:2-5). I received that testimony. I knew the book to be true!

The dress I won for reading the book was a reward I remember with joy. Father bought the white lawn material and Mother made it up for my Fourth of July dress. She trimmed it with blue glass buttons and also made me a rollbrim, wheat straw hat, edged with blue-wine hued velvet. We children helped her gather the wheat straw, watcher [watched] her braid it in a four strand flat length of braid that she sewed into the shape of a hat. She then bleached it in a big barrel over a slow sulphur flame, just as her pioneer Mother had made hats in Toquerville, Utah. Mother made my younger sister, Mocella, another style of hat at the same time. We were thoroughly pleased and were well assured that none of our little friendís commercial hats excelled ours. How I loved my Mother; first for herself, and second for all the useful and artistic things she could do. I loved her most for her clear straight forward knowledge of the Gospel and her willingness to answer my question about it.
from the journal of
Dicie B. Ellsworth


Norman Brimhall always kept a plug of chewing tobacco in the jockeybox on the freight wagon to doctor horses with. Logan made a trip to Fort Apache and when he came back home, the family gathered about the fireplace and Logan sat there with his hat on. Joe knocked it off and as he did so, a hunk of tobacco fell on the floor from the hat. Logan landed on top of it to cover it up, and Joe was about a split second behind him. Logan whispered to Joe, "Donít tell, and Iíll give you half."

The next day, these boys were working on the old rock house, on the northeast room. There was a dirt floor and the floorjoists to the upper story were in. In the north wall of the building of the upstairs was a door with a ladder going up to it from the outside. These two boys, Joe and Logan, were up there on the floorjoists and began chewing the plug of tobacco and spitting the juice on the kids beneath.

Pretty soon, the house started going around and around and Joe was so sick. He reached the ladder and got half-way down before he had to stick his knees through one rung, and his head through another, and then he began to heave. He was really a sick boy. Logan was a captive, he couldnít get by while Joe occupied the ladder. Even though Joe was a terribly sick boy, he didnít get discouraged, he kept trying, and finally developed a tobacco habit that it took years to lick. He finally buried Sir Winston in his front yard and made a little marker to him. Many members of his large posterity prayed daily that Grandpa would kick the habit, and one day, Gary Brimhall said, "Iím tired of praying for Grandad, itís time he did something for himself." This motivated the headstone, which read; "Sir Winston, Born 1914, buried 1966." A little epitaph that his daughters put below read, "May he rest in peace."
stories of Joe T. Brimhall
as told to Jocie B. Tenney, his daughter


While Bishop Z. B. Decker was putting shingles on the roof of the Decker Hall, Norman A. Brimhall gave his young sons Joe and Logan each a dime and a penny to give to the Bishop as a teaching experience in paying their tithing. These two boys climbed the ladder and gave the tithe to Bishop Decker. Logan gave the penny and Joe gave the dime to the Bishop. Logan was three years older, so better knew what it was all about!
Joe T. Brimhall


All his life Joe was obsessed by having a tune running through his head, and the tune was like a broken record, it just kept going. If he stopped to talk, or work, the tune might be interrupted, but would faithfully come back, until it had run itís course.

Andrew was teaching at the High School and Joe was helping him make adobes, and working his heart out to help him. Do and Q. Tenney had just made the song popular by the name of, "Write My Name in Your Heart". Joe couldnít refrain from singing this lyric. "Darling, while I kiss you, write my name in your heart."

Andrew had had a recent crush on a girl, and must have been rejected because he couldnít stand to have Joe sing this song, even though Joe was a very good singer. Andrew warned Joe to be quiet, and not sing that song, or he would beat him up. Joe didnít want to offend Andy, but the broken record habit of his mind began turning and the fragment came out. Andy warned again and Joe tried his best, but...he did it again. Alas, Andrew knocked all the song out of him!
Joe T. Brimhall


Logan loved to tease Joe and Mother Agnes would tell him to stop. He persisted in teasing Joe and before Joe could retaliate, he would grab him and hold him until he calmed down. One time Logan miscalculated, and wasnít close enough to grab Joe and decided he had better run when he saw Joe pick up a half a brick. Joe hurled it at him and it caught Logan on the heel just as he turned the corner of the house. Logan hopped around the house and to the kitchen door howling. Mother Anges opened the door and gave him a slap across the mouth, and said, "I told you to leave him alone." Then she saw the terrible cut on his ankle and her tune changed and she did everything she could to fix the wound.
Joe T. Brimhall


The Brimhall children loved to play in the sand along the creek bank and loved to make sand castles. They liked to see who could make the biggest and the prettiest ones. Andrew had outgrown this interest and was more interested in making trouble for the builders. One day he and Rufus Crandall got the cabbage chopper, that they used to made sauerkraut with, and they were going down the line destroying the homes and castles. When they got to Joeís, he had done his "home work" well. He had done as the rats do to protect their homes, and by time they had discovered his prank when they were scooping his house into the chopper and it was flying in all directions. Joe was hid out under his motherís skirts under the three legged stool in the kitchen. Andy looked and looked for his little brother, but the mother sat like a bird on her nest and didnít give him away.
Joe T. Brimhall


When Father came back from his mission to Colorado, he brought a little three by four inch hymn book with just the words in it. He did a good job of singing "We are Sowing." and "See the Might Angel Fly". Logan and Joe each took a special liking to that little book and would barter back and forth to see which one of us got to keep it for awhile. Weíd challenge each other with such things as a race, or a marble game, to see who got to keep it. It finally disappeard, (did Joe steal it? LB)
Joe T. Brimhall


Dadís greatest love for stock was horses. His best horse had to be sold when he went on his mission. After two years of freighting through the mud, he was a pretty hard looking animal. The first thing Father did, was to buy him back. After a couple of weeks, he gained a little strength and Dad put George and me to work with him hauling hay. he[He] made a sled and weíd put the hay on the sled and drag it to the barn and pile it in there. After weíd made a few trips, weíd just send him back and forth on his own. He would go where George was and after heíd loaded the sled, heíd bring it to the barn for me to unload. Thatís the kind of training Father did with his horses. One day, along about noon, I had a distraction of some kind and wasnít there to meet the horse. He was smart, and knew it was about time for his dinner, so he pulled the sled of hay around where his stall was and pulled the sled right in behind him. When I came upon the scene, I couldnít get him out anyway I tried. I was having an awful time. I told him what I thougt of him, how crazy and loco he was and everything else I could think of. All at once, I turned around and there was Dad standing there listening and he said, "Donít you ever let me hear you call that horse loco. Heís got more sense than youíll ever have." I kinda think he was right.
Joe T. Brimhall


We were unloading corn from a wagon up into the barn, and we had a big load on the wagon. To load the wagon, we would walk up a plank about twelve inches wide, that was placed on the back of the wagon to the ground, and then when we unloaded it, we would use this plank to reach from the side of the wagon up to the top of the barn. We would walk up this plank with an armful of corn. Log and Andy werenít going very fast, and Dad thought heíd show them how to do it, so he got a big armful and about halfway across the plank, he missed it, and fell down between the haystack and the wagon heels up! It liked to have "done him in." No more "Watch me" that day.
Joe T. Brimhall


In those days there were no doctors, the only thing you had to use was home remedies. It was windy and easy to get sore eyes. One time Dad got a very bad case of sore eyes, they were awful bad. It was more than he could take. Aunt Carrie Perkins was the town nurse at that time, and they sent for her to come and see if she could do something for Dadís eyes. She got a clean bucket and sent someone out to the corral where the cattle were and had them catch some fresh cow manure as it fell from the animal. Then she made a fresh poultice out of it and placed it on Dadís eyes and put him to bed. He wore that for about twenty-four hours. When he took it off, his eyes were well, but everything seemed to have a green tinge!
Joe T. Brimhall


After Dad sold all his cattle, he still had twenty-seven head of old broke down horses. He decided to arrange for a hunting trip for businessmen from California, and get some good out of these horses. Eighteen men signed up for this adventure, which took place about 1923. These men came as far as Holbrook on the train and from there they came on the Ferguson taxies, to our starting place, the Jesse Pearce Ranch. Later, we moved on to Heber, then Dry Lake.

Alma Brimhall and Earl Pearce, Perry Pearce and George Brimhall were the hired help, and I (Joe) served as cook. I served dutch oven biscuits, meat and dried fruit. This party was entertained for about a month. In the evenings, we would gather about the fire, and these men would have us entertain them. They asked many questions about the church. Joe and George would sing hymns for them. A Mr. Heywood was a redwood lumberman, and he offered Joe and George fifty cents for each squirrel pelt they could get. They got enough for his wife a coat. These men would give Jim Brimhall $5.00 to ride wild horses (Alís oldest boy). These men really enjoyed their vacation, and we enjoyed working with them. Joe T. Brimhall

Before Easter each year, the kids would begin early to collect the eggs from the dozen or so hens they owned, and hide them from each other. What fun it was to find a stash of hidden eggs and rehide the treasure, and outwit the other members of the family. Some of those eggs must have been in pretty bad shape before they found their way into the big five gallon candy bucket at the store, where they were finally traded off at Holbrook.
Joe T. Brimhall


One time Andrew brought company home for dinner. They were Alvin and Silas Decker. We had beef for dinner. Alvin took a chunk of it between his teeth and pulled it way out in front of him and said, "I know this old cow," as he tugged away at it trying to get a bite. He did know that "old cow" too. The hunk he was chewing on had been brought to the Brimhall family by these visitorsí father, Z. B. Decker, who was bishop while Norman Brimhall was away on a mission.
Joe. T. Brimhall


While Father was Bishop, we had a distinguished visitor come to our home. It was a Mr. Miller. He was adept at reading skulls, a science whereby he could tell your aptitudes by the shape of your head. He could put his hands on the kidís heads and tell what their talents were. I didnít want to have him read mine, becasue I had accidentally killed my fatherís dog and I didnít want to be found out. I was afraid this man might discover my secret and tell on me. He didnít, but he did tell me that I was mechanically inclined and would have to watch the company I kept.

Joe T. Brimhall


What did Old Red look like? Well, itís hard to describe him. he [He] had a curly tail, that distinguished him, and sort of an ugly head. His nose was too long. When Ammon Hunt came to this country, (heís a brother to Alma Hunt), he brought some fine horses with him. One day I was going to the Northern Arizona Bank in Snowflake and when I was coming back, I ran into Ammon leading this horse. The horse was all skinned up by a hackamore he had on his face. He was a beautiful horse. In those days a good horse was worth a lot of money. I sided up this horse and asked Ammon how much he wanted for him and he said he wanted one-hundred and twenty-five dollars. I wanted this horse awful bad. We went back to the bank and I gave him his money. Then he told me, "Now kid, youíll never be able to ride that horse." I took the horse home and started to grain him, and petted and curried him, and when I mounted him on a sand bar, I held him up good and we got along all right. We got to where we were pretty good friends, he wouldnít let anyone else ride him. Heíd throw them off.

I spent two winters out at Bagnell Hollow, in the winters with him, and when I went into the militia at the border, I left him with my dad to take care of. Dad got mad at him and traded him off, because he throwed him off. When I came home from the militia, Dad sent me on a round-up. There was an old stockade corral just above the Lonepine Dam and that is were we were camped. When I rode up there, we had about sixteen unbroken horses. As I came into camp, Alf Hancock was the cook, and Bill Baldwin and Charlie Frost were there. Bill Baldwin said, "Looks to me that you need a good night horse." And I said, "I sure do, I havenít anything here thatís fit to ride." Then he said, "Well, thereís one tied up over there." The men had just finished their dinner and should have gone back and worked their herd, but they stood around. After dinner, I went over and put my saddle on this old horse. I had figured out that he was Old Red before I ever went over to him. They had been carnivaling him and having him throw everybody that came along. I put my saddle on him and talked to him a little bit, and when he humped up like he always had done, I nudged him with my knee, and got in the saddle and trotted off. I left some very disappointed men watching for a good bucking exhibition.

Red was a horse, no matter where you pointed him, there was where heíd go. He went across a little log bridge like he was a dog. Mom rode him a time or two, but he wouldnít let anybody else ride him. He died out in the pasture west of town in the bad winter of 1918.
Joe T. Brimhall


Dicie was in high school when Mother died, and being the oldest girl at home, she became the mother of the tribe, a position she took very seriously. Shortly after she became the mother of the family, Rulon and Elias were in need of underwear. There were three ways open to her: She could send to Sears, purchase them at the Palmer store in Taylor, or she could make them. She pondered these facts. At the local store, the choice was very limited and expensive, and sending to Sears would take two weeks, or she could make them. As was common practice in those days, she bought some green checkered outing flannel at the local store and made each of the boys two pair.

No one will ever know where she got the pattern that she made them by. When Rulon and Elias put the newly made underwear on after their Saturday bath, they found that the crotches were just about three inches above the ankles, therfore, they served as hobblers. Of course, when they put on their pants, the crothces were pulled up in place, but that brought a lot of cloth in contact with their little manly fixtures, and they were very uncomfortable. They spent much of their time tugging at their crotches. After a day or so, Dicie noticed their continual tugging and asked them what was the matter. She couldnít believe them when they told her. She made them take off their pants so she could observe the location of the mysterious crotches. When the crotches dropped down almost to their ankles, her mouth dropped open in disbelief.

She immediately went to the local store to get some store bought underwear. She was able to get the right size for Rulon, but the only thing she could find for Elias was a pair of girlís underwear that were about three sizes too small.

By this time, it was Saturday again, so the boys dragged the old wash tub into one of the rooms with a stove in it and took their bath and put on their store bought underwear. Well, Rulonís fit O.K...Elias tugged and pulled until he finally got his on, but they were skin tight. After he got them on, to his horror he discovered that there was no fly in front to use in case he needed to go to the "Chick Sales Two Holer." Of course, there was the standard flap in the back, but what self-respectiní boy would sit for number one?

Elias brought his problem to Dicie, and after pondering his dilema for a while, she got a pair of scissors and told Rulon to cut a hole in front at the proper spot. Having viewed the situation, Rulon proceeded to cut what he thought to be a proper size hole, but due to the fact that the underwear was stretched so tight, and to their great dismay, the hole spread to about four inches in diameter, and continued to grow as the days passed by.

Naturally, Eliasís levies had a copper rivet in them at the most inappropriate spot. As he stood before the fire to warm, the rivet would get hot so that he would get branded where no little boy should be branded, and when he was outside in the cold morning air doing his chores, he would be frost bitten in the same place.

Dicie, seeing his dire suffering finally was persuaded to sent [send] to Sears for underwear. The two weeks that Elias waited for the order to come was the longest two weeks in his life. When the new underwear arrived, they were more welcome than gold or silver!
Elias R. Brimhall


Norman Brimhall was no visionary, but he did have a few meaningful dreams during his life. One of those dreams involved Elias.

Andrew, the oldest brother, had just spent two years at the B.Y.U. and one year in Butte, Montana working at a mine as a carpenter. He came home early in the summer, full of vigor and vitality, and called all the motherless brothers together and told them we were going to spend the summer remodeling a house.

During the fireplace building program, Joe, George, and Rulon were assigned to the mud hole mixing mud and making adobes. Andrew had finished the rock work on the fireplace, and was laying up the chimney out of the adobes that were not as dry as they should have been. The chimney was well up into the attic, and Eliasí job was to stand at the base of the fireplace and hand up mud to Andrew in a bucket with a rope on it.

Norman was up at Pinedale looking after the cattle. About two in the morning, he had a dream in which a ladder fell on Eliasís head. He woke up and the dream so impressed him that he got up, saddled his horse, and rode to Taylor. He arrived just as the family was eating breakfast. He sat down at the table. As he ate, he told the family of his dream and asked Andrew to take special care of Elias. After breakfast, he returned to Pinedale.

Instead of leaving Elias at the base of the fireplace, Andrew took him up in the attic so he could keep an eye on him. Late in the morning, as the chimney was about to reach the comb of the roof, the green adobes gave way and tons of green adobes went tumbling to the base of the fireplace where Elias would have been standing were it not for Fatherís dream. Andrew exclaimed as he saw the chimney give way, "There goes Dadís ladder."
Elias R. Brimhall


Joe, the most proficient cowboy of the family, traded for several head of broom tail horses. He had these horses in the corral at Taylor. He decided to put hackamores on these horses and tie them up for a day or so while he gentled them.

He asked Elias to help him, or more accurately, he conscripted Eliasí aid. Joe would rope a horse around the neck. As it circled the corral, Joe would flip the rope over the horseís hind quarters, and set back on the rope. This was a professional technique Joe had learned from Port Adiar, a local cowboy of great repute.

When the horseís legs were pulled out from under him, he would fall to the gound on his side. Elias was to run quickly to the fallen horse, and grab itís head and twist it back towards itís shoulders, thus theoretically, the horse could not get up. During the first two or three trys, Elias reluctantly and fearfully grabbed the animalís head and pulled it back toward the horseís shoulder, but the lad did the job so slowly and without vigor that the animal would get up. However, under the shouting and threats of Joe, the lad soon feared his brother more than the horse, and the technique worked perfectly.

The episode gave Elias an idea that he decided to carry out with a vengence. Elias owned a young Jersey bull that was kept in the corral during the day. Each morning the milk cows, after being milked, were turned out to roam the grassy hills and valleys west of Taylor, but the bull was kept in the corral. Each day in the afternoon, Elias would put a rope over the animalís head and strive to lead him to the creek for water, which was about seventyfive [seventy-five] yards from the corral. When the gate was opened, the bull would run for the creek, and always jerked the rope out of the ladís hand.

Elias decided to teach the bull a lesson that he would never forget. He planned to use the Port Adair system, but he intended to improve on it. He got two lariates from the saddles in the harness shed and tied them together. Each rope was between 35 and 40 feet long. He placed a loop over the bullís head and opened the gate. Both bull and boy ran as hard as they could. When the lad came to the sand near the creek, he threw the coils of the two ropes out, and wrapped the end around himself. Then he waited with confidence and anticipation for the bull to hit the end of the rope. He had a vivid vision of the bull being thrown head over heels right in the air.

Well, it didnít turn out as planned, for as the bull hit the end of the rope, Elias went sailing high in the air! He came down face first in the sand with his mouth open, which acted as a scoop shovel. He got up to his knees and spent some time spitting sand out of his mouth. When he could again breath freely, he looked around cautiously to see if anyone had observed the training procedure. He spied Rulon sitting on the edge of a gravel pit, laughing. Elias was greatly embarrassed, and to break the embarrassment, he asked Rulon, "Did it jerk him?" At that point, Rulon fell over backwards into the pit kicking his feet up in the air in a fit of laughter, thus the family expression, "Did it jerk him?" was born, and lived on for many years to plague Elias.
Elias R. Brimhall


When I was about eight years old during haying season, the boys decided to go swimming up Silver Creek in our old swimming hole. As we left, Father told us to be back in an hour so we could get on with the haying. We had such a wonderful time that the hour stretched into two hours, and Dad came looking for us. We saw him coming and got dressed in a hurry. While he was waiting for us, he cut a long sturdy willow, and turned around and led us all home. We were lined up according to age, and as each boy passed through the front gate, Dad gave him a sharp swat with the willow. As I went through, I threw my forearm up over my head and eyes. Dad didnít hit me, he just knocked up a big dust just behind me. That didnít make me popular with the rest of my brothers, and I am sure they would have sold me into Egypt if they could have found a buyer.
Elias R. Brimhall


George and I had gone to Pinedale to get a lad [load] of corn. We grew some beautiful Yellow Dent corn there without irrigation. It must have rained more in those days. Since the job would require most of the day, a pot of beans for dinner was placed on the campfire. I should say, a can of beans. We had a tin can with a large push-down lid. While cutting the corn, we heard a loud explosion. I looked up in time to see the lid of this can making a journey in mid air.

What evil force could it be? I went back to the fire and replaced the lid and added a little more fuel to the fire. It was not long before we heard the same loud bang. This time, the can had shifted itís position on the fire somewhat, but I simply could not understand what force would send that lid sailing through the air and leave the can intact. Brother George, being a little older and perhaps a little brighter, undoubtedly understood the nature of the disturbance, so he allowed the futile effort to contain the lid to continue. In fact, he suggested that I place a rock on top of the can.

The rock that I chose for this purpose was the maximum weight that the can could support. The explosion this time was a bit longer in coming, but when it arrived, it was very convincing. The can was slightly bent. Itís contents, what remained of them, were hardly sufficient to provide an ample meal for two hungry boys. About this time, Father appeared on the scene. George succeeded in maintaining a straight face while I related to Father what had happened.

Father immediately placed more beans in the can, recovered the lid and placed the can back on the fire. I simply could not understand the wry smile that decorated the contenance of both Father and George. I was sure Father was on the verge of having an enlightening experience. I warned him of the impending explosion. He payed no attention to my warnings. Then all three set to cutting and loading corn. I expected to hear an explosion any time now. Father went back to the fire in spite of my vigorous warning that he was in mortal danger. I followed close, close behind, uttering warnings on every step. I felt the voice of experience should not be withheld.

Father approached the fire, opened his pocket knife, and punched a little hole in the lid of that can. Immediately a little column of steam was singing out of the opening, bearing the aroma so pleasing to hungry boys. I had received a silent lecture about the power of steam. This method of imparting knowledge was a favorite practice in our family.
Rulon Well [Wells]Brimhall


During our high school days, there was no bus to get us to school. Every family was responsible for their own transportation. It was generally a pony for riding or propelling a rig of some kind. Some of the students were residents of Snowflake for the winter season, but generally some means of conveyance was provided to get them to the Academy. Much of the time they walked. Occasionally, someone was lucky enough to have a bicycle. Brother George was among that number. I was able to swipe it on several occasions, and so was developing a skill well concealed from the rest of the family. Andrew also had a bike. I followed the two of them to the hill south of Taylor and begged for a chance to try their bikes. Finally, Andrew consented to let me try if I would start from the top of the hill. The price of this adventure was to furnish them with some excitement. They turned me loose at the top of the hill expecting to see a disaster. The realization of their follly came in a hurry. I steered in the middle of the road with full speed into town and left Andrew to walk. After that, George bought a lock for his Ranger Bike, which was faithfully applied.
Rulon Wells Brimhall


On several different occasions brother George sent for me to come to California and Oregon to work with him on some of his projects. We built several homes and a school called the American Heritage School for Boys. Also a large guest home for a wealthy lawyer in Oregon.

Perhaps one of the largest projects I helped with was the remodeling of the St. Francis Church in San Bruno. George was unable to acquire Union labor or perhaps was unwilling to hire such (he disliked Unions, except the ones he organized himself).

They had many problems from roof to basement. The furnace wouldnít work, inspite of the best efforts of several so called experts. Many times every day you would hear the expression, "Whereís George?" Whatever the problem was, they knew where to go to get the answer. George stood in the doorway of the furnace room and told them what was the matter with the furnace. "The furnace is not getting enough gas. If you will replace the supply line with a tube twice as large, you will have no trouble." That was a very simple, but effective remedy.

The outlet to the baptismal font was not properly installed. He told the plumber over whom he had no jurisdiction that it would leak. This hombre became furious and told George to tend his own business. George was so positive that impending disaster would occur when the font was filled, that he warned the church authorities. They trusted the plumber, and one evening filled the font so it would be ready for service the next morning. During the night, they discovered water all over the basement floors with soaked walls and partitions. They chopped holes in walls and ceilings to stop the leaks and what a mess! From then on, George had jurisdiction over everything that was done in the building. He was responsible for many innovations in building codes wherever he worked. He was always successful when he came to grips with the municipal authorities in getting building codes changed simply becasue he knew a better way.

It was a great pleasure as well as very enlightening, working with George. We would go to work very early in the morning and stop about three in the afternoon. This way we avoided the traffic. At about five-thirty in the morning, George would serve the family breakfast on individual trays. By daylight we were always on the job. Then in the early evening a veritable banquet would be served by his wife and daughters.

The love, mutual respect and ideal companionship that existed in this family surpasses any other family relationship I have ever witnessed. Those kids simply adored their daddy. They worked and played and planned together in a manner that was truly beautiful. For some unknow reason, George had merchants privilege with the markets. He would buy produce in case lots so there was always choice friuts and vegetables on his front porch. Hungry kids were often treated but miraculously there was no stealing, of these commodities at least.

One night, a noise was detected in the garage. George caught a young man siphoning gas out of his car. He had a large can pretty well filled, "Put it back son." The kid panicked. He trembled so it was some time before he was steady enough to get the gas back in the car. He begged George not to turn him in since he was already on probation. George gave him five dollars and told him to go and buy the gas he needed to look for a job, and if he couldnít find work, to come back. In a few days the kid came back and George put him to work, and he proved to be employable. He worked with George long enough to accumulate a little means which helped to enter school. He came back the next summer and acquired enough skill and stamina to enable him to qualify for other jobs. I am sure, judging from the affection his neighbors and many friends always showed for him, that he helped many people.
Rulon Wells Brimhall


Oh surely youíve heard of Sweet Betsy from Pike
She crossed the high mountains with her lover Ike
With one yoke of oxen and one yeller dog
A tall Shangai rooster and one spotted hog.

Well Iím just as famous as Betsy from Pike
Or Crokett or Custer or Boone or such like
Put forth a small effort just give it a try
Iím sure youíll be able to identify.

The angels in heaven are standing about
Neglectiní their Home Work while this V.I.P.
Unravels his stories with almighty clout.
I hope theyíll be patient and not cast him out.
Who am I? Who am I? This man is my brother, It couldnít be I

At first he gew up and then he grew out
A teacher, a farmer, a preacher devout
A man of Great wisdom substantial in girth
In family relations a man of great worth
Who am I? Who am I? This man is my brother, It couldnít be I

Thereís nary a thing in this world I canít make
A sawmill, a guitar, molasses, or cake
Iíll take a small cuss word like a hell or a dam[damn]
And give it the flavor of Strawberry jam.
Who am I? Who am I? This man is my brother, It couldnít be I

I crossed the high mountains to live by the sea
If ever a builder was tops why thatís me
I had a bad wreck and my features were shot,
But still Iím the handsomest one in the lot.
Who am I? Who am I? This man is my brother, It couldnít be I

Youíll see by statistics that Iím number ten
A constant reminder if I failed to please
Theyíd use me for tithing. Oh gosh, what a deal
This threat Iíve avoided with vigor and zeal!
Who am I? Who am I? This manís not my brother, Itís got to be I

I go to the parties and show forth my brand
I stand in the frontlines and patiently wait
To harvest the kisses that come by mistake
To look like my brothers is not a bad fate.
Who am I? Who am I? A robber, a smoocher, A [a] squeezer, a fake.

I regulate schools and eliminate fools.
Iíve solved more tough problems than Solomon Wise
Now in my retirement I toil in the soil
A friend, a good neighbor, a sage in disguise
Who am I? Who am I? This man is my brother, It couldnít be I

Thereís still one more brother for whom we must sing
He came to this country quite early one spring
He looked the tribe over and left with disdain
"Iíll go back to Heaven and there Iíll remain."
Who am I? Who an [am] I? This lad is my brother, It couldnít be I.

Written by Rulon Wells Brimhall
For the N. A. Brimhall family reunion, 1978



Man has learned much about the Earth, Air, Water, Sunshine and all that makes up his happy home on this sphere and something about the multitude of planets and galaxies that attract his attention day and night; that seems to be floating in space according to a regular time schedule. A prophet has said that our next adventure in a place called Paradise is located on this planet, Earth. There is much we do not know because of limits set by our bodies and minds. These we have improved considerably by aids such as the microscope, telescope, television, radio, computer and so on in the long list of aids.

As a prelude to the events that are to take place at the B-13 Pindale Ranch, August 11, 12, and 13, 1978, Mother Nature gave the assembled families one of her wildest, most intriguing, furious and beautiful rain, lightning and thunder storms from 10 p.m. to 12 midnight. The storm came from the northeast on a gust of wind and awakened everyone in camp. The lightning slit the sky from zenith to horizon time and time again. The thunder roared as if great giants from the nether world strode across the land and back, again and again. Window panes rattled, tents swayed, children cried, moms and dads enjoyed the spectacle as they looked out through great sheets of falling rain and the lightning showed details of the premises and the surrounding forest as if it were noon day time. After an hour of serenading, the thunder and lightning moved out and for an hour or more, there was the splatter, patter, patter of gentle rain. The next morning, August 12, the sun rose in all her glory, dispelled the mist, dried the campus, and the camp came alive to the bugle call of the flag ceremony and made the people comfortable for the events of a glorious weekend[week-end].

The setting of this chapter, Afterglow, is not at all farfetched when oneís mind is set free by possible aids and a bit of fantasy, (reader keep in mind items marked with *asterisk).

*Time, mid August, 1978

*Place, a window of paradise,

*Occasion, Family Home Night

*In attendance, all deceased members of the N. A. Brimhall family

Norman Andrew Brimhall presiding and conducting, He asks, "Dicie, will you please call the roll?"

She calls, "N.A. Brimhall?"
He answeres, "Present!"

"Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall?"
"Caroline Smith Brimhall?"

"Phoebe Foster Brimhall?"

"Sarah Agnes Brimhall?"

"Electa Brimhall[?]"

"Mary Alice Brimhall Palmer?"
"Present [!]"

"John E. Palmer (husband of Mary) ?"

"Andrew Noah Brimhall?"

No answer. Then Mother Agnes asks, "Where is that boy?" Jesse suggests, "Andrew is mending the Golden Stairs".[."] Then Agnes asks Jesse N. to bring Andrew in, which he proceeds to do.

Dicie continues the roll call. "Mary Hatch Brimhall?" (Wife of Logan)

"Hulda Lou Brimhall?" (daughter of Logan & Mary)
"Present" [!"]

"Dicie May Brimhall Ellsworth?"
"Present" [!"]

"Elwin Ellsworth?" (Husband of Dicie)
"Present" [!"]

"Mocella Verdell Brimhall Fish?"
"Present" [!"]

"Margaret Brimhall?"
"Present" [!"]

"Jesse "N" Brimhall?"
Enter Jess N. and Andrew. Jesse replies, "Present"[!"]. Then Andrew says, "Andrew, Iím sorry Iím late. I asked F. M. Perkins to finish the job for me."

Dicie then calls, "Alice Travis Brimhall?" (Wife of George H [.] Brimhall), "Tiffany Tidwell?" (Daughter of Bradley and Debra Tidwell), "Roy Dell?"(Son of Lyon and Elizabeth Stapley Dewitt), "Sonya Da Ne Brimhall [Shaw]?" (Wife of Lonnie Shaw), "Debra?" (d[D]aughter of Lee Foster Brimhall), "Alfred Duane?" (Son of Cecil and Larene Brimhall Tuley), "Robert Jerry?" (Son of Cecil and Larene Brimhall Tuley), "Robert Duane?" (Son of Larry and Helen Brimhall), "Julie Ann?" (Daughter of Darrell and Hazel Bryant Brimhall), and "Thomas Stewart?" (Son of Tom and Kathryn Tenney).
All responded with a hearty "Present!"

Norman Andrew says, "Thank you, Dicie. You are a most delightful group of people and thanks to all of you for being present. We shall now sing, ĎOh Say, What Is Truth?í and Mocella will offer the invocation". (All sing). Mocella begins, "Oh Father in Heaven, we are thankful for this occasion, where we can renew our family bonds and strengthen our concern for our earthly loved ones. We rejoice in the fact that there are those among them who deem it essential to put forth the effort necessary to complete some of the tasks we should have attended to before we were called here. May they be conscious of our presence here waiting anxiously for their return and fulfillment glories of Life Eternal. Keep them pure and free from error so that we may all be united for eternity. Amen."

Norman Andrew speaks, "We have a special privilege at this time. We may all look out on our loved ones and note their progress in their Earth life efforts. Judging from the number assembled, they are believers in keeping the commandment, "Multiply and replenish the earth that you may have joy in your posterity."

"Agnes, would you like to tell us what conclusions you have reached after your review of the earth memberís activities?"

Mother Agnes says, "I am pleased with the overall picture for there seems to be general happiness among them. All of them seem to be ambitious, to get on in the world and make their own way. There are among them those active in the various professions inclusive of body structure, medicine, philosophy, education, trades, industries, mechanics, art, social leadership, city management, government in general. A goodly number of them hold directive positions in the church and there is a substantial number engaged in all of the church activities. The great majority of marriages are temple bound. More than a dozen missionaries are serving now. A dozen or more served their country in two world wars and we do no slackers in Viet Nam."

Father Brimhall asks Caroline, "Would you make your comments now?"

Caroline responds, "I have been looking at the group from the health angle and find them quite sound of body and mind. They seem to have been most fortunate in avoiding the misfortunes that beset so many people due to misuse of things that tend to weaken and destroy. I pronounce them a healthy and happy lot!"

Norman asks, "Phoebe, your turn next."

Phoebe answers, "This review should make daddy most happy. Here he finds himself at the head of a prestigeous family wherein abides faith, hope, charity, and devotion to the principles that make for home and happiness."

Father Brimhall asks, "Sarah Anges, our firstborn, who bereft us in early babyhood, what is on your mind?"

Sarah Agnes answers, "Though my stay among the family members on earth was of short duration and my acquaintence with all of you has been limited, I can truthfully say I am proud and happy in my relationship with the family and may our unity increase for therein lies the secret of eternal progress. We must have charity for all and work towards co-operation in all good things."

Father Brimhall asks Electa, "You likewise left us in early babyhood. What is on your mind?"

Electa responds, "This is an hour Iíve longed for. One that could not be until the N. A. Brimhall family was organized. You see, there are laws governing all things and here we are observers of the law. There was no Norman Andrew Brimhall Family Organization functioning until after the 17th day of March 1978. In unity there is purpose and strength. We get a new sense of direction and an accepted leadership that we shall wisely follow. The Lordís earthly prophets have asked that all families of the earth be organized in 1978. Do it, that your progress may not be impeded."

Norman A. remarks, "We have time for two more comments at this setting...Mary Alice Brimhall Palmer, you may have the honor at the moment."

Mary speaks, "I was [a] bit afraid that I might be passed over. Thank you, father [Father]Norman, this is a most delightful occasion for me. I had something to do about helping my parents rear their children, and I think we did a most excellent job. Oh yes, we made mistakes and most of us are still making little ones and that is where repentance comes in. No doubt, there will always be room for that blessed principle. We have learned the pain of mistake making and have found the ecstasy of trying again and again ítill perfection has been attained. The battle lines of this family are far flung and we are up and at the problems of the day. We have succeeded in much and there is room way up ahead. I notice few, if any, of us sit with hands serenly folded, waiting for Uncle Sam or Aunt Arizona, California, Utah, Virginia or any other auntie to come along and fill our baskets with stamps or lettuce. We seem to have the AMBISH to get on, on our own. And get there we shall."

"Andrew," asks Father Brimhall, " You are next in line. Please say on."

Andrew speaks, "I never had much to say as a kid. I was too busy trying to think how to do what had to be done. We have done well, but not well enough. I have things to do and not much time to do it in. Yes, I know we have forever to do things but there are great events in the offering that must be prepared for a long time in advance. Iíve had a few sad days in my time, but most of them came about naturally. You see, there were big events to take place at given times and when the time arrived I couldnít get there because the can I was carrying had little or no gas in it. I learned a gasless lamp is as dark as a pit at midnight. I like that song about carry on, carry on, CARRY ON."

"Andrew," responds Father Brimhall, "you have touched a vital cord for all of the family. Lamp trimming is a wholesome activity for all seasons of the year. No matter how good one cares for his own, there is a possibility of more needs. We have now come to one of those occasions mentioned by Andrew." The hour now is for the beginning of the FIRST Norman Andrew Brimhall Reunion. The hour is noon time, August 12, 1978, the place is the Brimhall Ranch in Pinedale, Arizona. The occasion is pot luck dinner for three levels of family organization assembled. There are 400 present, from California, Utah, Washington, Massachusetts, Arizona, Tennessee and Iowa. At the head of the program is acting patriarch Joseph Thomas Brimhall. Following the lunch hour at 2 p.m., the first official general meeting will be held in the B-13 Family Center.

The hour is now 2 p.m. August 12, 1978. Presiding, Joseph Thomas Brimhall, patriarch to the Norman Andrew Brimhall Family. Conducting, Rulon Wells Brimhall. The congregation sang:
ĎOh what songs of the heart we shall sing all the day
When again we assemble at home
When we meet neíer to part, with the blest oeír the way
There no more from our loved ones to part.
When we meet neíer to part, oh what songs of the heart
We shall sing in our beautiful home.í

There was more singing of original songs Rulon had prepared for the occasion. "Thereís No Flies on Us,í ĎWho Am I?í Each of the children who grew to adulthood and their families presented a number for the entertainment and instruction of the group that numbered 400. Each group had five minutes to get on stage, present their number and make way for the succeeding group.
The Mary and John Palmer family: Kent B. Palmer gave a reading authored by himself entitled, ĎExodus Two.í

The Andrew and Edna family: Story by Lee Foster Brimhall (son) ĎThe Rock from Marsí one of Andrewís stories.

The Logan and Mary family sang: ĎYouíll Never Walk Aloneí and ĎScarlet Ribbon.í

The Dicie and Elwin Ellsworth family: LaDawnís children played a musical trio on the piano, cello, violin, ĎLong, Long Ago.í

The Joseph and May family: A vocal trio consisting of Joe, Ted, Twila entitled ĎAnnieís Song.í

The George and Rose family: Story by Bruce ĎGrandad Brimhall rides my horseí, Uncle Joe sang ĎLittle Brown Houseí.

The George and Alice Brimhall family: Agnes Ann Brimhall Phillips recited a poem entitled ĎMy Dad.í

The Mocella and Seymore Fish family: All positive things come to those who wait and serve.

The Rulon and Ida family: Rulon and James sang a vocal duet, ĎMy Mountain Home.í

Elias and Marita Family: A family song was sung, ĎWrite Your Own Storyí.

At this point, the group went into report and review of the book titled, ĎThe Norman Andrew Brimhall Familyí, that is in the making process. Logan reported all chapters of the book were now complete in the first writing, and that several chapters had been placed in the hands of the publisher.

It was especially pleasing to see the eargerness with which family members ordered copies of the book. Elias reported that he, the secretary of the organization, had received sufficient funds and pledges to insure an order of 1,000 copies.

At 6:30 p.m. the mortals went into the dancing activity lead by Grant R. and his associates. We noticed the music came from Rulonís squeeze box (accordion) and from tapes and records. It was most pleasing to note the zeal with which the children entered into the Bunny Hop. The Square Dance was popularized by the youth, led by such enthusiasts as Grandpa and Grandma Tidwell. The laughter of Aunt Alice and Aunt Avis cheered the group into the Nth degree of pleasure. About the time the little fellows got sleepy the YOUTH turned on the LOUD and lose your partner music in the Merlee Hop, Twist, Shake and Shuffle dances of this day, for an hour.

We, of Paradise, enjoyed the morning sessions wherein the children played games while the adults were attending a picture showing of the Mormonís approach to helping the Lamanite folk understand the Book of Mormon message, done so ably by Richard L. Brimhall.

Gale J. Brimhallís presentation of "What of the Future?" was masterfully done. He made us understand that Zion is where there are organized Stakes and those who will, may find refuge therein by obedience to the law and order the Lord has revealed. We came away with a better understanding that the prophesies of the Lord are in process of fulfillment and that we may look for tougher times in may [many] areas of the living process but the Zion way provides more security for all who choose that way.

We are especially happy that our five living sons and their associates organized the Norman Andrew Brimhall family under a constitution that complies with the specifications as announced by the Lordís prophet for 1978. All of us can now go forward more rapidly with that we must do.

Something was said about additional aids, in the beginning of this chapter. Know ye that this means has helped Rulon Wells Brimhall and his associates to bridge the space between us, the Paradiseites, and you, the Earthites and tune us in on your proceedings. We are pleased to call you our own in this effort named the AFTERGLOW.


Much attention is being focused on the foundation of society, the FAMILY. Negative forces seek its destruction. Positive forces recognize its continuence as essential to survival of the human race. One of the musts on the Churchís agenda is, every family in the church will be organized and functioning.

There are three levels of organization recommended:
Level 1. Parents and children residing in the home
Level 2. Grandparents, married children and grandchildren
Level 3. Ancestral lines

Emphasis is on level 1 - the one family organization. This is the worldís greatest educational institution where are found the most efficient teachers and the most loved and interested pupils. In the well organized family, all members know and understand the family goals, individual assignments and that there is ever ready efficient help.

When people get interested in organizing their families, four good questions usually come to mind. Who? When? Why? and How?

As to the first question, Who? The answer is, every family. The answer to number 2 is, as soon as you become a family. To number 3, the answer is, because the Lord asked you to. The answer to number 4 may be found in the sample constitution herewith provided.


The Constitution and By-Laws of the John and Mary Doe Family

We, the John and Mary Doe Family, do adopt the following constitution and by-laws for the perfecting of our family members this---------day of 1978.

Article 1

This organization shall be known as the John and Mary Doe
Family Organization

Article II
The objectives of the organization shall be: To strengthen the ties of the family; To conduct the affairs of the family on a business-like basis; To hold meetings every Monday night under the direction of the family patriarch where there shall be an accurate record made of all proceedings which shall be filed with the family records; And to implement the Correlation Program of the Church in our family organization.

Article III
Membership in this organization shall consist of John and Mary Doe and their unmarried children.

Article IV
The husband shall be the patriarch of this organization and his wife shall be his assistant. The children shall be officers in the various departments such as chairman of the welfare effort, head of the missionary department, leader of the genealogy work and leadership of the spiritual effort in the home.

The custodian of the records shall be a male member of the family to insure perpetual access to the records of the family. All offices shall be filled by appointment of the head of the organization and approval of the membership.

Article V
The patriarch shall name all committees and their chairman and the members shall vote to accept or reject.

Article VI
The constitution and by-laws may be a mended by proposals of the patriarch and the approval of a majority of the members present at a meeting called for that purpose.


1. To complete the project, completion of the organization shall be reported to the Genealogical Society, 50 East North Temple, Salt Lake City, Utah. Name, officers, address, etc.
2. The executive committe shall consist of the patriarch and all other officers of the organization. They shall hold meetings at the call of the patriarch.

3. It shall be the duty of the patriarch to preside at all meetings of the organization; sit in counsel with officers and members; give instruction; help establish goals and instruct officers and members in their stewardships.

4. The patriarch may ask each officer to present before the family a plan for the conduction of his/her office.

5. In case there are no children in the family, the spouses will assume more responsibilities.

6. In case there is no husband in the family, the wife may assume his duties.

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