Without a doubt, the most influential person in my life for as
long as he lived was my dad. It is hard to explain how I
felt about him, mainly because he influenced so many years of my
life. Years when I was a very small child, my teenage
years when I thought I knew everything, and in my pre-marriage
years when I was sure I knew everything. In my early
married life, I realized he had been a young man once and had
experienced the same things in every facet of life. . Dad was forty years and one month older than me.
We had a small Winchester .22 rifle that could shoot short,
long, or long rifle ammunition. I recall my older
brother Basil got it for Christmas, before my time, and it was
around the place for many years.
Mother did not like it at all, but Dad felt we needed a gun
around the place for rodents and birds that plagued us
constantly. Dad set down some rules and we had better not
break them or we would pay the price. The price was, a whack across the butt, or a scolding that was
just as bad. No hunting on Sunday, no matter how urgent it
was needed. Never point the gun at any one you did not
intend to shoot, and no taking it in the house loaded. All
the boys learned to be pretty good shots with our continual
shooting of the varmints around the farm. When the grand
kids started looking at it with envying eyes, Mother had Don
Niece, my sister, throw it in Bear River on her way home to
Grace. This was a big mistake.
Whippings came to me on several occasions and I probably
did deserve them. I think in that day and age, it was the way
you taught your children to grow up to be good kids. Dad
was an expert at this. He scared the hell out of you
without maiming you for life. He probably learned it from
his father, only on the receiving end. "Spare the rod and
spoil the child,” was the code Dad lived by. I still remember
very plainly the first whipping that I was on the receiving end
of.
It was up by the hay stack, in the field, when I was herding
cows. The Barfus boys, Lloyd and Donald came over to play
and "help" me. Dad was at the house with a bad case of the
flu. He was sick, which did not happen very often.
The cows seemed to prefer the green alfalfa on the edge of the
willow lined drainage ditch, to the long grass in the drainage
ditch. I had the privilege of having Old Floss to ride,
but the small stream of water in the hollow was so much fun to
play in, that the cows took second priority. Dad shouted at
me several times to remind me I was to keep the cows out of the
alfalfa, but every time I drove them out, they came right back
in again. All of a sudden, W. E., with fire in his eyes,
was upon me! As he crossed the small stream, he broke off
a good sized willow. After sending the Barfus boys on a
run for home, he wore that stick out on my butt.
When
the willow was broken several times, he finished me off with a
small board lying about the stack yard. He took Floss back
to the house with him, as I went screaming, in my now wet pants,
to get those cows out of the alfalfa and keep them out until
chore time. He did not apologize to me that night nor show
any sign of compassion toward me. Mother soothed my
troubled heart at supper time however. I was eight years
old at the time. I learned where the priorities are when
you herd cows for my Dad.
I do not criticize his method of discipline for the time, but I
am sure there are better methods. When I came home from
Japan and a hitch in the military, in my cockiness I asked Dad
if he could remember whipping me. The answer he gave was,
"I probably didn't do it enough." I feared him, I
respected him, and I loved him, all at the same time.
He and mother were a perfect team and they worked well together.
They had plenty of things they disagreed on, but they never let
me hear them openly talk harshly to each other. Mother
would twist his finger or ear and he would swear "O HELL," but
it was in fun. I knew they truly loved each other.
Several years before W. E. married mother, one of the respected
men in town told Dad, "If you marry that Jemima Keller girl, you
will be marrying the best girl in this town." Dad told me
this when he was in his eighties and I know he truly believed it
was a true statement and I agreed. Bishop Rodney Jensen,
commented in the church foyer as we watched Dad put Mother's
rubber overshoes on, "Bishop Crane is still courting Jemima
after fifty or so years of marriage, just look at that."
Dad was no nonsense when the time required it. When we
were helping Fred Barfus kill a cow for the winter larder, one
cold winter day, I saw W. E. take matters into his own hands. Fred was a gun fan and had several guns he was
very proud of. The cow was fed a small amount of hay under the
Jackson fork on the end of the barn so she could be lifted up by
the fork after her demise. Fred had the Savage (gun) in
hand and was a fine hunter in his day, everyone knew. The
cow was not tied up and when Fred got a calculated shot for the
"x" between the eyes, the gun was shooting low. The sights
were off and the bullet went through the end of her nose.
Fred could not believe he had missed the mark at fifty feet and
yelled to Lloyd to go to the house and fetch the Newton.
This was a much larger gun and he could easily bring her down
with it. In the meantime the cow was on her way to the far
end of the pasture. W. E., with a disgusted look on his
face, grabbed the ax standing near by, turned the blade over,
and with the back of the ax killed the cow in her tracks and cut
her throat. Fred did not need the Newton Rifle after all.
When I was in the sixth grade and attending the yellow school in
north Mink Creek, Dad confronted me with, "I hear you are pretty
good at smoking cigarettes at school." Dad was the bishop
in the ward, which made him the leader of the town as well as
the constable. Dad was one of the first to know everything
that transpired in the town, and was expected to settle or at
least advise on the problems. Some of the boys had been
seen smoking out behind the school house, and I was one of them.
Some people in the town felt like it diminished the seriousness
of the crime if the bishop's son participated in it. I was
not guilty, I knew I wasn't, and I told him so, but Dad seemed
to think there was a definite possibility that I was involved.
I am still not sure if he believed me but he never mentioned it
again.
Anything I did, my dad, the bishop, was sure to hear about, and
I would be confronted by him. I was referred to as the
bishop's son instead of by my given name. I still have
compassion for those other Sons-of-Bishops. I think Dad was well
aware of this. One of his fine attributes was to listen
and then act as he thought was best. He stood by and
listened a great deal. Dad handled a lot of situations by
hardly saying a thing.
Conrad Bell owned about ten acres of side-hill ground above the
Bear River on our Klondike ranch pasture. It was not
fenced and dad owned the surrounding two hundred acres.
The previous owner of Dad's land had been intimidated by Conrad to the
point that Conrad grazed all the pasture. When I was about
fifteen years old he stopped us out on the road in front of his
house and informed Rex, my brother, and I that we had no
business putting cattle up there to graze on that land.
When dad came along in the pick-up, Conrad went back in the
barn. Dad discussed the situation with him several times
but let it ride.
I know at this point in my life why he didn’t resolve it right
there, one way or the other. Dad was the Bishop and Conrad
was the High Priests, Group Leader. The Church was simply
more important than the problem. The Church had been
teaching us all through life how to love and get along with our
neighbors.
Several years later when I came home from the army and couldn't
wait to get into ranching and farming again, a strange thing
happened. One beautiful spring day, I was fixing the
corral fence adjacent to the property in dispute, when down the
road came my dear friend Conrad. He was driving twenty
head of white faced cows to put on his ten acres of rocky
side-hill early spring pasture. I had the corral fence
fixed, so I opened the gate and headed them all into the corral.
When he came around the bend from behind the maple trees his
face said it all. That kid is not fifteen years old any
more! Dad was not fifty feet away fixing the fence in the
maples by the corral. He was unseen and he never came out
and Conrad never knew he was within several feet. I said, "Get
off your horse I want to talk to you," as I jerked the reins out
of his hands. He said, "If I get off this horse you will
over-power me." Ah, revenge is sweet. The term
"overpower" became a new word in our vocabulary for my friends
and I.
I considered pulling the bridle off his horse, and turning it
loose, but he said in a shaky voice he would take the cattle
back home if I would just let him go. I took a quick
glance over at the maple clump and thought, "Dad will probably
stay there if I let him go, if I get too carried away he will
come out and spoil the whole thing." So, I opened the
corral gate and the cows went back up the road the way they
came. Conrad was hurrying them along as fast as they would
go. I expected some kind of a reprimand from Dad when he
came out of the maples. All he said was, "I don't think
he'll be back," and laughed a little. At church Conrad
shook Dad's hand as usual but made sure he didn't shake mine.
When I came home from my Mission, Brother Bell and I were good
friends again.
Dad's compassion and help for the poor and those who had less
went unnoticed by most people including some of his family.
Inside the old granary door on the old home place is still
recorded his gifts of grain to his neighbors. He gave it
out in small amounts of five, ten, fifteen pounds, maybe even a
bucket or two to help feed the neighbor's chickens until the
harvest, several months away. Alex Smout, Dwight Wilde,
Fred Barfus and several others whose names we could not read
were helped as well. Some paid it back in labor or land
and some never paid, but came back again and again. Tracy,
his wife Joni, and I, observed this record like it had been
written only yesterday in 1999 when we opened the granary door.
Sometime in the 1940's Dad bought a new horse drawn mowing
machine with a seven foot cutter bar. The older models
only had a six footer. It had rubber tires, unheard of at
that date, and was brand new. Stanger Implement delivered it
to the yard. It was painted red and yellow with black
tires. Before we even hitched the horses to it, a good
neighbor, Norman Larsen, asked to borrow it to cut some tough
grass hay. Dad said, "Yes," much to mother's dismay. It
was returned in a day or two. Rex and I thought he had gotten
it all dirty and surely had his nerve even to ask to borrow it.
Borrowing was a common thing, simply because people could not
always afford all the things they needed.
The barn Dad built in 1939 to 1940 is pretty much a depiction or
symbol of Dad. It is symbolic of Dad's personality and the way he
did things throughout his life. Dad was as progressive as
his meager funds would allow him to be. He did not want to
live and die in the same house that the previous generation had
built. He did not want to stand still in any sense of the
word. He worked hard to go to the canyon and get the logs,
have them sawed into lumber, and to build buildings that would
reflect his having lived his life there. He wanted a
structure that was bigger and better than the existing barns in
the town. With the hay above the cows and drinking cups with
water by each cow. It was definitely the latest in barns.
The cows were not turned out to water all winter, only
occasionally to exercise.
Hyrum Jepsen had the kind of building Dad wanted, only Dad's
barn would be twice as big. Hyrum became the head man to
do the job. He was paid fifty cents an hour and mother
cooked dinner for him. He ate at our table every day that
he worked. Dad had to have red pine (Douglas Fir) in the frame,
and the cross beams were solid red pine 12"x I2" by 36 ft.,
brought in by the Robinson Lumber Company of Lago, Idaho.
I think all of his boys and son-in-laws had a hand in its
building. I remember the Jepsen boys,
Howard Andersen, Russell, Smout, Bill Bell, Charley
Christensen, and many others helping.
Dad remarked on more than one occasion, "They (people living in
Mink Creek) are living in the same house their grandfather
built, and the outbuildings look like they did when I first came
to Mink Creek fifty years ago. A hundred years from now
nobody will even know they lived here, nothing will have
changed." Making things better for his family and every one in
the town was important to him. He liked recognition.
He liked being the boss. He had leadership ability, and he
enjoyed being a leader in every project he undertook.
I think Dad was smarter than most of the men in town.
He had grown to young manhood in, and around, Salt Lake City, not
in an isolated community as most people of that time did. Dad
had some education, and had served a foreign mission for the
Church. I think that not being born or even related to the
people of Mink Creek helped his position. Politics played an
important role in Mink Creek. The Democrats in the
community were all outspoken and were all related. A
Republican was, any person who didn't like all those relatives
who stuck together no matter what the issue. At a ditch
meeting, one of the fine leaders of the Democratic party, Claude
Keller, made a motion. It was seconded by another fine
Democrat, Grant Dockstader. When asked to restate the
motion, he replied, "Whatever you said."
Deciding where to build a new school house, turned the town upside down. People in the south end of Mink Creek claimed
that the only place to build it was in the south, by the church,
store, blacksmith shop, and creamery. Those living in the
north part of the community claimed, mile wise, the center of the
village was by the existing yellow school house, and it should
be built there. Feelings were so bitter that the ward was
torn apart. People would not sit by each other in church,
depending on where they lived. The present bishop being
from the north, took sides and lost all hold on the members in
the south. There were several men in the town who loved what was
going on and agitated both sides.
Leonard Nelson, of George Glade's store, became the hottest place in
town to hang out any day of the week. The boys at the
blacksmith shop couldn't wait to have one of the northerners
come in to get his horses shod. It was sure to make an
interesting discussion about those folks living up in Keller town
(north Mink Creek).
Eventually a sort of leader emerged from each side of this civil
war and things only got worse. The Stake President, Taylor
Nelson from Riverdale, was at his wits end. The second great
commandment of loving your neighbor, was not being practiced to
its fullest extent in the Mink Creek Ward.
W. E. was on a six month mission in Louisiana at this time,
1936, and I am sure mother kept him informed on the happenings
in the town. He was on a mission being sponsored by the
High Priest's Quorum of Oneida Stake, mainly because they could
not get anyone else to go. He had been the bishop in
the ward for about twenty years before he left that fall.
When he arrived home in the spring, President Nelson persuaded
him to be the bishop again, until things got straightened out.
Dad said, "I reluctantly accepted, because President Nelson was
a fine man and something had to be done." The current bishop,
Jim Baird, was immediately fired. I mean released with
a vote of thanks.
Dad chose the two radicals, Norman Larsen, and Rulon Keller for
his counselors. It took some time, but he finally
convinced them to both come in the Bishop's Room at the same
time! Dad's philosophy was to get people in the Bishop's
Room. He said, "You don't get anywhere fighting over the
fence, about church. In the Bishop's Room with the door
shut, is where you solve the problems of the ward." Dad never
took sides on the school house issue. He pointed out to
Norman and Rulon the fine church house they had united to built.
It could be better utilized near the school. The
gymnasium, stage, kitchen, and all the fine things they had put
into the building were for basketball, drama and parties.
It was better than any church building in the Stake. They
worked together as a ward. Even those who were not members of
the Church, knew the building was for their children too.
Mads Andersen and his boys built all the metal window guards for
the gymnasium, at no cost to the church. Carl Hausner
helped with the wiring of the building as he had been in the
signal corps in the first World War and was most qualified.
No one knows all that was said in their meetings or what went
on, but they came out united in their decision. The counselors
convinced the members of the ward that the school should be
built in the south end of town near the church house. The
crisis was over and the ward was united again, and W. E. was
bishop for four more years.
Dad recalled in his later years,
"The school house disagreement all started because Elmo Keller's
wife Thelma thought Elmo should be able to walk to his job." Elmo
was the principal and teacher at the yellow school near their
home, but the school was built adjacent to the church house, the
store, and the blacksmith shop in the south part of the town.
It is the summer apartments of the Keller offspring at the
present time.
My first memories of Mother were when I was being held be her,
and how comfortable it was to have her hold me. When I
could not sleep and suffered from toothaches, bad dreams, or
childhood sickness, I climbed in bed with her and dad. It
was so warm and comfortable and I went to sleep at once.
I remember
eating homemade bread with light yellow salty homemade butter,
topped with current, choke cherry, or raspberry jelly.
This gourmet snack usually took place under our table before I
started school with Donald Barfus, my best friend. Mother
and Millie Barfus were having a hot drink overhead and laughing
and having a real good morning visit. This event took
place under the Millie and Fred Barfus table also.
I remember
walking up the road to Fred and Millie's house and across Birch
Creek on an old bridge. In the winter, Mother pulled me
behind her on a hand sleigh. The road entered up where the
barn is now situated, and the house was basically a two room
house, made from logs with a "lean-to" attached. It was
located in the same place that Basil and Molly have their house
at the present time. Mother and Millie visited back and
forth during the winter months when the older children were in
school and they enjoyed each other very much.
I remember
Mother and Millie could both understand the Danish language
pretty well. Speaking it had basically come down to just
knowing common words of every day use like; smo/re (butter),
bro/de (bread), sukker (sugar), kaffee (coffee), jorbaer
(strawberry), kirsabaer (raspberry), stickelsbaer (gooseberry),
and a few rhymes and riddles they had learned from their
parents.
I remember
Mother insisting we all sit around the table at meal time.
We had to take turns saying the blessing on the food and were
required to wear a shirt at the dinner table. We could go
all day in the summer months with neither shoes nor shirt, but
to join the family at the dinner table, a shirt was a must.
Mother
believed that married couples should stay married and abortion
was unheard of. She insisted we should have family prayer
kneeling around the table, it became an impossible task as the
family began to go in many different directions as we grew up.
I remember
Mother could milk cow by the hand method as well as any in the
family, including Dad. We all shared in this eternal
ritual that happened twice a day, including Christmas Eve and
all other holidays. Out of necessity, we shared beds both
boys and girls, and we saved our meager funds for the rainy day
that always came sooner than expected.
Dad was big
and important in the community and definitely the final decision
maker at home. He did not intimidate mother the least bit.
She had equal rights if not priority rights. She knew how
to handle Dad and how to get her way with him like most wives
and mothers do.
The first
five acres of Birch Creek land was her inheritance.
Mother's father, Janus Keller, received a little good advice
from W. E., and he divided the property near the house into five
acre parcels. He gave these to his three children who
lived there. Mother, her brother Angus, and a sister Illa,
were the children of the second wife of Janus Keller and would
not have inherited any of the land belonging to Janus otherwise.
I remember
Dad mentioning moving to some other place like the Snake River
country, where his brothers were living on desert land reclaimed
by the government. Dad always believed there were better
places to farm than Mink Creek.
Mother's
answer was, "I guess you will be going alone." Mother was
very contented living on Birch Creek her entire life, and she
loved the hills and the natural surroundings of her home.
The pheasants, grouse, rabbits, deer, and skunks traveling
across the side-hill adjacent to the house were a sight she
never tired of seeing. I think Mother truly "loved life"
and was completely happy in her homemade environment.
She never
left for very many days until Don Niece and Golda took her to
the rest home in Soda Springs. She knew at that time in
her life, she could not care for herself or Dad. I think
Don Niece and Golda felt worse than she did when she had to
leave her home of over eighty years. We visited her in the
extended care facility several times, and I did not enjoy it at
all. It was very depressing to me. Mother seemed so
out of place there, away from her home on Birch Creek with the
other old people, and I could see myself shunning the
inevitable.
I remember
when I received my mission call to Denmark, Mother was
delighted. This being the homeland of her ancestors on
both sides of her family. It was a dream come true for her
to have one of her family going back to the land of her
progenitors.
It was her
mother's desire that her son, Angus, should go to Denmark on a
mission, but he was not called to that mission. Mother had
heard so much about Denmark from her parents and grandparents.
There was no place on this earth she would rather have me go.
She
immediately began teaching me the few words she could remember
from her childhood. Danish had been spoken in her home by
all her family, as well as in the whole town of Mink Creek.
Most of the people living in Mink Creek, in the pioneer times,
at the turn of the century, were Danish converts to the Mormon
Church. Danish was the language spoken in the ward in the
early days of the settlement of Mink Creek. This was long
before my time and before I was born.
The Danish
language was referred to as the Adamic language of the Celestial
tongue by the old Danskers living in Mink Creek. In other
words, the language spoken in the upper realms of the Lord's
Kingdom. Marinus Hansen was the instigator of this idea,
but it was readily agreed to by all who spoke the language.
Most of the older people could understand Danish to a degree and
loved to hear it spoken. I am sure it brought back fond
memories to them.
I remember
Mother always had a sense of humor and saw the humor in her
life, even in times of stress and problems of every day living.
She never took like so seriously as to not see the bright side
or the humorous part of most everything.
Mads
Andersen, the local blacksmith, immigrated from Denmark as a
young man. He could speak better Danish than English and
had a blacksmith shop at the lower end of Birch Creek, at the
junction of Store Hill and Capitol Hill. Mads would recite
little ditties to Mother in Danish that would make her blush,
and she would quickly move away from him. Carl Hausner who
spent a lot of time in the blacksmith shop doing nothing, was a
Danish speaker too. He loved to hear Mads and Mother talk
and would join in with his own brand of humorous sayings.
When I came
home from my mission, I had no idea there were so many people in
Mink Creek who could still understand Danish. To Mads,
Carl, Marinus Hansen, Wilford Nelson, Hedvig Nelson, Valdamer
Christensen, Wilford Hansen, and many others, the sound of
Danish brought back fond as well as sad memories of their
parents, and they loved to hear it spoken. When I asked at
my homecoming how many in the audience could understand Danish,
many hands came up. I was, needless to say, a very popular
person in church, as well as at the blacksmith shop, for a time.
I was complimented many times on my ability to speak Danish so
well. I could not help but consider the source of the
compliment.
I remember
Mother and I had lots of fun with Dad, as she loved to chat as
best she could when he could not understand us. When Dad
was in hearing distance, I would say, "Nu kommer de gamle."
meaning, "Now comes the old one." Dad would answer with,
"Ya Ya tak", meaning, "Yes, thank you." That was all the
Danish he knew or cared to know. He never knew what we
were talking about and Mother loved it.
I remember
Mother was the world's best and most faithful letter writer, and
the rest of her eight children will agree with that fact.
She wrote me a letter every other week for at least five years
and it was usually accompanied with the Preston Citizen, the
local newspaper. When I arrived in Japan in 945, after
eighteen days on the ocean, thee was mail for me at the first
mail call at Atsugi Air Base. When I returned home the
same way, I had mail waiting for me at Fort Lewis, Washington.
When I arrived in Copenhagen, the day before Christmas in 1947,
I had mail at the mission home. The two and a half years I
spent in Denmark, she never failed in her letter writing.
I might add Dad's record was not quite as good - two letters in
five years. One came carrying his violent reaction to my
suggestion I was coming home one the first cattle boat out of
Copenhagen. It worked, I stayed!
I remember
taking her the first wild flower in the spring from up behind
the hill north of the house when we were getting the cows home
for milking. Wild flowers grew profusely among the rocks
in the early spring on the side-hills in the spring sunshine.
She was always so pleased with our little acts of
thoughtfulness. In later years, when my crocuses bloomed
one day before hers, I took her one or two for old times sake.
When Ramona
and I were first married, and lived in the old house behind
their new house, I took RoZann over almost every morning.
I informed them they could have the privilege of seeing my
daughter today if they so desired. They loved it,
especially Mother!
I remember
Mother sitting by the window darning socks, a lost art to people
in this day. Socks with holes were repaired by weaving
with needle and thread. Her sewing was of the best quality
and she could make a new piece of clothing from an old one in
her spare time. She made me an overcoat from one of Dad's
old ones and I wore it proudly for several years. It had a
split tail in back and I really felt grown up when I wore it.
She
influenced my life for good in a hundred ways, no question about
that. To have not finished my mission, and it was not easy
in Denmark in 1947, or to have come home with a dishonorable
discharge from the military, would have broken her heart.
She had so much faith in me and the ability she felt I had,
failing was not an option. She felt this way about all her
children, unconditional love and trust. I could have
handled Dad's reaction if I had failed; but not my Mother's.
We lived on a farm on
Birch Creek in Mink Creek,
Franklin
County, in
Southeastern
Idaho.
The family this story is about consisted of Father William,
Mother Jemima, and eight children, four boys and four girls.
Father was always in command even before we were born. Who
do you know anywhere who has eight children every other one a
boy and every other one a girl? He demanded and received his
children’s respect his entire life.
This episode is
about how I remember life in our home in my growing up years
before we all went our separate ways. This is probably not the
way you perceived things at that time (to my siblings) but it is
the way I did.
Golda was the first
child born to William and Jemima Crane. She is about
twelve years older than I. Knowing my own age of 73, you
don’t have to have a computer to figure out she is pushing
eighty six hard. Golda is a fine featured, good looking
gal. All the boys in the town liked her, and she was the
apple of her father’s eye. She seemed always to be happy
and enjoyed her younger siblings. She helped raise us, and
we loved when she came back home from college or school
teaching. She was full of energy and always had exciting
things to do with us, who excitedly awaited her arrival.
One Thanksgiving, when
there was at least two feet of snow, we drove a team and sleigh
up to the reserve gate (the forest boundary). We then
walked up Graham Hollow to get some green plants for the table.
She thought we needed them for a centerpiece! She took at
least three of us kids with her. The snow was up to our
butts and we loved it. Jack and Anna Swenson, our guests
most every year, would be late anyway. So we picked the
evergreen shoots that were under the snow. The scientific
name of this plant according to B. K. is Mountain Myrtle.
Of course, like any of
us, there were “those times” when we exercised unrighteous
dominion over others. Like for instance the time when in
the absence of both Mother and Father, Golda made her now
infamous “Gronkaal Souppe,” (Danish translation) Green Kale
Soup, exceeded only in infamousness by Eulalia’s “Green Carmel
Pie.”
Brother Rex never liked
soup of any kind. This is very unusual in a family that is half
Danish. Traditional Danes love all kinds of soup. I
can vouch personally for that. Rex did not want to eat
“that soup,” but Golda insisted there was nothing wrong with it.
Karen and I could sense that commanding look in her eye, similar
to our father’s look, so we bowed our heads and ate our soup not
wanting to provoke her wrath!
Not Rex, he exited the
house in a hurry and was gone across the cow pasture, over Birch
Creek, across the road and disappeared into the high sage brush
that covered “The hill”. “The hill” is a fairly large
ridge that is directly north of the Crane home and continues
west through downtown Mink Creek to the creek that the town was
named after. It faces south and is covered with rocks and
sagebrush. It is almost clear of snow most of the year, and is
always dry in the early spring. Many hours of happy times
were spent by all of us, plus all the neighbors, on this hill.
We built bonfires, made concoctions of sage brush seeds, roasted
potatoes, dug holes, and made trails there.
Rex knew every inch of
the hill and much to Golda’s dismay, she could not find him, as
hard as she tried. We watched both of them as they
traversed back and forth like a dog chasing a rabbit. When
Golda returned to the house, she had a red face and was not a
happy person, so we stayed out of her way. Rex appeared as
soon as Dad and Mother returned, in the depth of humility, and
started doing the chores without even being told. Peace
was again restored to the Crane house and the crisis was over.
I have often wondered what Golda would have done if she had
caught him! Would he have been maimed for life?
Golda and Basil went to
what is now
Utah State University, and I was proud of them because no one
went away to college in those days. I looked forward to
their weekends at home. It changed our lifestyle and the
upstairs bedroom would never to be the same again. We were
only two to the bed now, Rex shifted Bill and I together, and he
slept alone.
Golda was in love with
Marvin Nunguesser when she was teaching at Oneida Station; at
least, she talked a lot about him to Dad and Mother. I
know for a fact that they hunted skunks together up around the
Oneida Dam. On weekends, Rex and I rode horses up over the
mountain to her little house across the swinging bridge by the
little school she taught in.
We followed a dirt field
road that started between Harry Jensen’s farm and Hans Jensen’s
place. It was a long way to ride on a saddle horse at our
age. The part I remember the most was having to ride behind Rex
on the way home, because Golda was riding my horse. Dad
would really frown on us kids loping the horses around home, but
Golda was in a hurry to get home, so we loped them all the way.
I could never quite savvy how I was too little to ride in front
on the way home, but I was plenty big enough on the way over.
It definitely had something to do with Rex’s philosophy of how
things should be. Golda rewarded us with dried prunes she
had dried in her “electric stove.” Mr. Langford, the plant
manager told her she could use all the electricity she wanted,
it was free.
It was a toss up between
Paul Condie, and Woodrow Rasmussen, as I recall, from what I
heard in the barn and the house. W. E. seemed to think
they were both pretty good guys. Mother thought Woodrow
was the better choice as his Mother was a shirt-tail relative of
Mother some how. So naturally, Golda did not marry either
one of them. She thought Paul Condie showed off too much,
and Woodrow was too religious. I happened to over hear her
say, “Paul will spend fifteen dollars of his money to show off
for her and Woodrow will spend fifty cents to buy popcorn and
have fun.”
Howard Young was the
brother of Brigham Young, not "The" Brigham Young, but the
Thatcher, Idaho, cowboy variety. He came for Thanksgiving
dinner one year, and we have proof of this because he is on the
family group picture. So this cannot be disputed. My
sensitive ears did not pick up anything of significance on this
occasion. I only remember him standing around looking out
of place and examining the ground a lot. He didn’t talk to
us kids hardly at all.
Leon Bell, and Allen
Christensen, were our Ward Teachers and they came on horse back.
Leon’s horse was a fine horse with a new saddle and his spurs
were tied behind the saddle, so not to dig into the linoleum.
Now Allen’s horse was another story. It should have stayed
under the harness and hooked to the plow. As best as I can
recall, Leon and Allen spent most of their time talking to
Golda. In fact, I doubt if they remembered to give us the
message they came to deliver.
Leon told us about his mission to
Texas,
as Dad was his Bishop, and he gave a glowing report. On
the other hand Allen went to Louisiana and he grinned a lot but
didn’t really get a chance to say that much. The tempo and
speed of the conversation was just too fast for him to get into.
Leslie Keller, and his son Doyle, who had been on a mission to
Germany, came calling just as Golda went down into the root
cellar to get some potatoes. Doyle slipped over, through
the fence, shut the cellar door and sat on it. I don’t
remember for how long he sat there, but they seemed to have a
lot to talk about. When we convened in the house and
visited later, Doyle was a handsome man and spoke German, and I
for one was very impressed. He also sported an admirable
thin black mustache.
Card Christensen was the
man Golda finally married, and we always liked him. He
really liked Mother’s wheat beer. He called it “squaw p---.” I
understand he won Golda’s hand on his new Farmall International
tractor by braking one wheel and making it stay in one place
while spinning around out in front of the Bench Idaho School
house, where she just happened to be teaching at the time.
He drove a Willis Knight car and when they came home from their
honeymoon, Card threw his hat in the door first and then waited
to see if it came back out. I discovered the meaning of
this ritual later in life.
Golda’s attributes and
characteristics are many and good. She is still the life
of the parties, reunions and other get-togethers. She
usually does the unexpected, like Card buying an expensive, good
looking pocket knife at the reunion auction only to find out it
was the one he could not find that morning. She is still a very
special sister in the Crane Family. I know all the family
will agree on this part of the story.
Mink Creek,
Idaho is not a metropolis or a place of great culture, but it is
the place of my birth as well as the birthplace of seven
brothers and sisters in the Crane family. Basil was the
second child born to William Crane and Jemima Keller. Being the
first boy, he was the pride and joy of both father and mother.
Therefore, he was spoiled from the very beginning as we all know
and will so testify.
He was also,
I imagine, doted over by grandmothers and grandfathers of whom
some of us who came later did not have that problem! Aunts
and Uncles, especially on mothers side of the family, were
especially fond of both he and his older sister Golda, who also
received way too much attention in their early years.
Angus and Iliah, mothers brother and sister, contributed to this
overprotective, upbringing in a big way.
Before Molly
captured Basil from the mahogany and juniper thickets of central
Nevada and took over the nurturing process given by his closest
relatives, he was my hero. As a young boy, it was Basil
who taught me how to fish, with a birch willow for a fishing
pole, and hunt rabbits with a very small single shot 22
Winchester, and to squeeze the trigger not pull it when you were
zeroed in on a deer. He taught me more importantly, how to
enjoy what we had around us. We helped him gather plants
and weeds of every kind for the classes he was taking at Utah
State. We pasted them on sheets of cardboard and pressed them
under the old bath tub in our bed room upstairs. The
weight of that old cast iron tub was heavy enough to do the job.
He took me
fishing once when he went with his friends, even though I was
much younger. I remember going fishing for herring on Bear
River down by Wilford Hansen’s place. We were in Basil’s
new red International pickup and I was riding in the cab with
Basil. Paul Hansen, Howard Andersen, and Curtis Keller
were riding in the back having a lot of fun and drinking some
red punch out of a very large bottle! It was apparently
good, as I observed them giving Wilford a taste. He was
milking his cows in the corral by the river. Paul hid in
the bushes a lot when any other cars went up the road, but Curt,
Howard and Basil stayed right by the road cars or not.
Paul Hansen always was of the opinion that any one could catch
fish if he didn’t have to watch for the Game Warden. It
probably had something to do with a two dollar fishing license.
We caught a whole bunch of herring and they all assured me I
caught the larger one of the forty or so. We finished the
afternoon fishing on Mink Creek under the bridge in Emanuel
Keller’s place. Howard Andersen caught a five pound
cutthroat trout, even though the creek was in high gear with the
spring run-off. It was the largest fish I had ever seen in
my life so far.
Basil took me
hunting ducks with aunt Elva's brothers, the Smiths, from
Riverdale, and Uncle Angus. As the Smiths settled into
comfortable positions behind the blind, Basil and I hunted down
the river and shot several mallards. When we returned, the
rest of our party had one fish duck between them and were pretty
well sleeping it off. This was my observation, as I saw
more punch bottles scattered about. With our ducks in
hand, Basil shot a coyote with his pistol on the way back to the
car. I was impressed and a very happy boy.
He gave us
gifts at Christmas that were beyond our wildest dreams.
Maple skis, a hand sleigh with a third runner to steer with, ski
poles, our first bicycle, a forty foot braided raw hide lariat
with a bone Hondo. It was hand made by a real Indian in
Nevada, a pair of “leather” gym shoes that were unheard of in
our area of basket ball playing.
When Basil
came home one Christmas, Mother, Rex and I went shopping with
him at “The American Food Store” in downtown Preston. It
was across the street from the Bank Corner. Rex and I
followed Basil around the store. We had never seen so many
groceries of so many varieties ever before. Who had ever
heard of canned bread, canned carrots, canned whole potatoes and
mushrooms? Like a sheep herder from the Nevada desert a months
supply was needed. We each pushed a basket cart and when
one was full we followed along until we had all three of the
grocery carts full. Basil had not acquired a cook as of
this time, Molly was yet in the future.
Milo Hobbs,
one of Mother and Dad’s flower growing friends, was the store
manager and he checked us out. He gave Basil a discount
and a large box of chocolates. In a family of eight
children, none of us could have asked for a better brother than
Basil. My memories of him are not the same as of my
sisters. His girl friends didn’t come to see him, so I
could not observe and pass judgment on them. He was away
from home working in Nevada most of my formative years, and who
knows what went on in the dark canyons and recesses of the
Toiyabe National Forest. I am sure some good times were
had by this handsome ranger in the lively towns of Austin,
Sparks, Elko, Ely, and Winnemucca. I do however, remember
a few tidbits of some mention of divorcee’s and bar maids he
probably knew pretty well. My information is quite sketchy on
this part as you can tell. I do know for a fact that his
future wife Molly Hansen was being pursued quite vigorously by
none other than Russell Nelson. He was the son of Oscar
and Hedveg Nelsen of Danish extraction. But like the dust
from an alkali flat in a wind storm, Russell was blown away when
Basil appeared.
Basil and
Molly Maurine Hansen were married on December 21, 1938. At the
ward Christmas dance, this fourteen year old was a living
witness of the gathering of all of the Hansen’s and friends of
this newly married couple. There was an ancient custom
practiced in the early days of my youth. It was to
shivaree the newlyweds, and force them to pay for an orchestra
for us all to dance to. Sometimes it was necessary to
chase the couple all over town and threaten them with all kinds
of torment. In most cases they expected it and complied.
Well, at this particular dance Basil and Molly were the main
attraction. With shivaree on their minds, a scuffle in the
middle of the dance floor broke out, and everyone gathered
around. This was nothing out of the ordinary in Mink
Creek. Some people said, “ Mink Creekers went to dances to
fight not to dance.”
Then a lawman
entered the scene, and low and behold, he showed everyone he was
legitimate by producing a law badge complete with a star.
One of the men in the group knocked it out of his hand to the
floor. In among all of those feet, the badge could not be
found for several anxious moments. It finally was found,
unbeknown to her, under Molly’s high heeled shoe! The
crisis was over by then and a date for their wedding dance was
established.
After their
marriage, Molly always made me dance with her. She was a
good dancer and fun to dance with. I was embarrassed, but
I have always been grateful that she did that. Molly was
the choice of the choicest girls in our area, and my hero
brother Basil married her. You can’t beat that. Then
a sad thing happened, I grew up.
Basil and
Molly were honored by their children on their 60th! wedding
anniversary in the Juniper Inn, in Logan, Utah this year, 1998.
Sixty years of wedded bliss, it could not happen to a nicer
couple.
The Crane
Family lived on a small farm on Birch Creek in Mink Creek in
Franklin County, Idaho ("Creek" is pronounced "Crick"). We
should know because we lived there! It is a gate with
rusty hinges that Creaks. We were eight in this family of
well distributed sexes, four boys and four girls. We lived
a very simple life compared to now. We worked the small
fields and side hills entirely by hand. Horses, cows,
pigs, chickens, ducks, and geese were thrown in for our
livelihood. They, and their products, were our only source
of income. This type of past history would be entirely
impossible today, and I stand in awe that it could have happened
then.
William, our
Father, was of English decent. Jemima, our mother, was
from Danish ancestry. They worked well together, and if
they had any serious problems, we children never knew about
them. Dad was the Bishop for twenty five years in our LDS
ward, which translates to most all of our growing up years.
From six years before I was born, until I graduated from high
school in 1943, he was the Bishop. We had all of the
things that money cannot buy.
This is the
way I remember my early years from 1930 to 1940, or from age
seven to seventeen. This might not be the way you remember
those years but it is the way I do.
This story is
about number three in this family of eight, “Eulalia”.
She is a slightly red headed gal and indeed a joy to be around.
She is a happy person with a real sense of humor, and religion
is very important to her. She not only applies it to
herself, she is always in the process of helping and reaching
out to some poor wayfaring soul she happens to know. Well
enough of the good things, lets get down to the real Eulalia.
Eulalia had
a lot of boy friends that hung around as I recall. The
first one she used to pair up with to go horse back riding up
Birch Creek, was none other than Paul Hansen, alias Gunnel and
Gunnick, and also referred to as Gunnel the Terrible Turk by one
Curtis Keller. His horse’s name was Chief. They and
their friends went on “Chickarees” up the canyons to cook
chicken over an open fire. The chickens were usually
lifted from some unsuspecting neighbors’ chicken coop or willow
trees. They had to create their own entertainment in those
days. Basil and Molly could give us more enlightenment on
this important subject now that their children are all grown up
and moved away.
I am not sure
about Kelly Oliverson, but I think if the truth were known Dad
discouraged that one in a hurry. Kelly had black hair and
definitely an evil look in his eye. All of my age group got off
the road and hid when we saw him coming up the road on his
black, bald faced horse. That one ear that was cut off,
did not help his already evil look. Ada, his mother said,
“He fell off the plow and it was cut off by the plow share”.
If so, that would have to be a real freak accident, in my book
.My sources
at that time said, “His older brothers Gene (Blacky) and Willis
( Bill) were playing cowboy, and ear marked the steer they had
roped and tied.” The steer was played by none other than
younger brother Kelly, later referred to as crop-eared Oliverson.
Ole Olsen was
an outsider from some unknown place other than Mink Creek. I can
only remember the car he drove. It was a coup (one seater).
It had a canvas top and plastic windows. I didn’t see him
very many times, but the candy he always had on the seat was
good. While he was in the house trying to impress the
folks, Karen and I ate some of his candy. It was there every
time he came! Apparently he was not too impressive, as I think
the romance failed before it got off the ground.
Felix Smout
was not a suitor, he was a trapper! He had no business trapping
muskrats down in our swamp. I saw his tracks that winter
going through our fence down in the corner by the road.
Some one was snapping off his traps with a stick as fast as he
could set them. According to his brother Russell, he was
plenty mad. Eulalia was definitely right when she took
care of that intrusion on her walk home from school every day.
I well remember, Dad had a big smile on his face when he heard
about it.
The story
goes that it took Eulalia all fore noon to wash the milk
separator over by the barn across the fence from Fred and
Milly’s house, and Golda or Karen could do it in half that time.
It was a bad job but someone had to do it. Eulalia did it
while her sisters were mopping the floor, doing the dishes and
other menial tasks. It was a long walk to the separator
house, that must also be considered.
The Green
Carmel pie alluded to in an earlier episode must not be
forgotten in this story. Actually the filling tasted good
to me. It was only the color that made you want to turn
your head to the side while you were eating it. As best as
I can recall! The crust held the filling in place real
well, but it also had a slightly green tint. Being in the
dairy business, we were quick to associate the color green with
one of its other by-products.
Eulalia
finished school at Utah State and went on a short mission to
Montana before she became a school teacher. She taught in
her hometown for quite a few years, as I was in school there at
the time. She was a good teacher, and the younger kids
really liked her. She is still babying Bill, Claude, Raylo,
and her favorite Orvid, to this day. It was not a good
arrangement for me, because Marlow Woodward stayed at our house,
and it was enough to have one teacher to report on my
activities. Dad did not need a second opinion coming from
the same school. I have been abused in one way or the
other most of my life. One of them told Dad my home room was
the Principal’s office (not true).
Verlo Bowman
was tall dark and handsome, not only did he have the looks that
are vitally important at that time but he also played the
Mandolin. He was from Cub River and drove a rickety old car,
hardly worth looking into. Dad felt he was probably a
couple of corn dogs short of a full picnic (my interpretation).
I overheard Bishop Willard Nelson enquiring of Eulalia, if she
was still stepping that guy from Sweet Mapelton. Soren
Hansen loved to dance. He was good and everyone liked to
dance with him. He was also a good pinochle player at
Christmas, after the ward dance. He enjoyed the Danish Beer and
donuts with the family; but again, he was to be cast aside for
someone better.
Eulalia
taught school in Hansen, Idaho, where she met a desert dwelling
bean farmer with a beautiful baritone voice. John Bennett
came to Mink Creek on one of the annual holidays, and he drove a
brown Buick automobile. I pointed out to my friends that
it was not just a Buick, but a Road Master Buick. In my
opinion it was his rendition of “Going Home” that changed the
romance to marriage. It converted Mother on the spot in
Sacrament Meeting. The thought probably crossed W.E.'s
mind that it might be a good idea, the going home part.
After all, Eulalia was also special in her father’s eyes, as
most daughters are.
When John
stopped Curt Keller from running over us on the basketball
court, with his no move, you bounce off me tactics, I was
impressed. Eulalia is a good sister and a great gal to all of
us who know her. John is a definite added plus to our
family. They have lately been busily engaged in good
causes, helping and reaching out to the less fortunate. We
Magic Valley residents miss them! They are on a mission in
Chile and loving it.
My
sister Karen (alias Cissie) Crane Gudmundson, who was born 21
July, 1921, was number five in our family of eight. She
had two older sisters and two older brothers. Golda and
Eulalia preceded her as did Basil and Rex, in the family of
William and Jemima Keller Crane. This family of five was
not complete yet by any means. Two more brothers, Keith
and Bill, and another sister, Don Niece in between them.
Eight children in perfect order. Only the number is
perfect.
I was three
years younger than Karen. She dominated me most of my
life, as I recall. There was no such thing as competition
in my mind, but survival, yes. My natural instincts took
over at an early age. This story might not be as you
remember those days but it is the way I do.
We lived on a
farm on Birch Creek, in Mink Creek, Franklin County, Idaho.
We were a closely knit family, and we were no poorer or richer
than our neighbors. We were taught the work ethic by our
parents, and helped to make the living. We had milk cows,
chickens, horses, pigs, geese, ducks, dogs, and cats. The
highest compliment we could receive was to be told we were good
workers. We had everything that money cannot buy in our
family.
"Cissie", as
she was called in her younger years, was named after a Cissie
Jones, a convert to the Church who Dad knew while on his first
mission to England 1907. She later wanted to be called
Karen for obvious reasons. No one wanted to be called a
Cissie! Karen is the name of her great grandmother on both
lines on her mother’s side. Janus Keller’s mother was Karen
Valentinsen born in 1821, at Bornholm, Denmark, and his wife
Annie Rasmussen’s mother was Karen Mortensen born 1842, in
Denmark. It is easier to understand some of Karen’s traits
and characteristics when we realize that she descended from the
Danish culture that evolved from the Norsemen, Viking seamen,
and conqueror’s of ancient Scandinavian history. The first
two known Danes (Vikings) on record being Harold Bluetooth and
Eric Bloodaxe.
My first
remembrances of Karen were of helping me in all the things we
had to learn to do in our early childhood years. We played
stick horse, hide and go seek, and all the other games popular
at that time. Work was emphasized in our home much more than
play. We herded cows, gathered eggs, pitched hay, cleaned the
chicken coop, picked all kinds of fruit from the trees and
picked raspberries all summer long. We obeyed Dad and
Mother’s every request in that early time.
Karen was a
worker. She could do everything faster and better than
most of us. She always wanted to surprise Mother and Dad when
they returned home from town, by having all the work done in the
house, as well as outdoors. “Let’s surprise them,” was one
of her favorite come on’s to get the rest of us to pitch in and
help her work, work, work.
Picking
raspberries was her thing, she could pick more quarts than
anyone else in the whole raspberry patch. We were paid 2
cents a quart in the final years of our berry picking, and Karen
made the most money. Did anyone see her money? You
bet they didn’t. Other girls came from the neighborhood to
help for a week or two. Junius Larsen’s daughters and Vonna and
Merle Crane are the ones I remember. Vonna was just like
Karen, a real competitor, and they competed quart by quart
across the raspberry rows.
Karen was so
smart in school, and Dad was always so proud of her. I well
remember the difference in the tone of W.E.’s voice when he
looked at Karen’s report card and when he looked at mine. She
knew how to apple polish the teachers, too. She collected bugs
all summer long for Erving Moore or Marlow Woodward for their
biology class. She graduated with honors in whatever she did.
I used to feel a little sorry for Serge having to keep up with
her.
Karen had a
lot of boy friends. The first one I remember was Chester
Anderson from the blacksmith shop in downtown Mink Creek. He
had the first bicycle I ever saw. It had solid, old hard
tires, and was of ancient vintage. While he talked to
Karen in the house, I pushed it around the yard several times
trying to ride it, but was unsuccessful. He also had an old
Chevrolet rumble seat coup he used to drive up and down Birch
Creek. One day, traveling a little too fast, he tipped it
over in front of Norman Larsen’s chicken coup.
Joe Egley was
really the one she liked in my opinion! He came to take her to
the ward dances along with his cousin Soren Hansen when he came
for Eulalia. They were good dancers, and fun to go with, I
overheard them say. They also liked to play pinochle and
smutt with us kids at Christmas. Mothers wheat beer and home
made donuts were enjoyed by all of us.
Karen’s best
friend was Vilate Ransom from Preston. They roomed
together at school. Paul, a brother to Vilate, was dating
Karen for a time, but alas he was to be cast aside also for some
one better looking and more financially secure.
Karen
went to Twin Falls with her sister Eulalia, who was teaching
school in that area. Karen graduated from Twin Falls High
School. I am not sure if W. E. was breaking up romances between
Bear Hollow and Mink Creek, or if "denaro" was in short supply.
Anyway, the romances changed from Station Creek and Bear Hollow
to this little unknown town of Hansen, Idaho.
John Bennett,
who became the man in Eulalia’s life, had a nephew, Kenneth
McFarland. He touched the life of Karen for a very short time.
He came to Mink Creek with John and Eulalia to see Karen, whom
he had encountered during school days in Twin Falls. Karen
pursued all her activities with great exuberance, even mountain
climbing.
On a certain
Saturday, in the good old summertime, she planned a hike from a
forest camp ground called Willow Flat, over the mountain range
to Bloomington Lake. There were seven or eight of us in this
ill-fated attempt of mountain climbing. The trail winds
back and forth, up a very steep ridge, covered with broken
limestone. The switch-backs are many and steep, to say the
least. Murmuring soon began to be heard in the lower and tale
end of the group. Poor Ken didn’t say he also thought it was
too far to go on an afternoon hike, but he made the fatal
mistake of agreeing with the rest of us.
It was only
three miles to the lake and we were all, except one, sweating
and in extreme agony. We were at least one mile up the
mountain when, by majority vote, we decided to go back to the
cool stream we had left two hours previous. Ken sealed his fate
in the eyes of Karen, forever, by failing the first of many
tests that he would have otherwise encountered if he had passed
this one.
Freeman
Jensen (Sailor), the local milk hauler was another boy friend of
Karen’s. He liked Mother’s wheat beer (and other
beverages, too). I think he was almost ready to haul W.E.s milk
for free at one time, but things did not develop, and Karen went
away to school.
Clyde
Rasmussen sat behind Karen in school for several years, but
Clyde thought school was a joke, and was the bottom of the
bottom of the class, most of the time. He had a hard time
copying Karen’s papers sitting behind her. He always reminded
her how she would never have made it through algebra without his
help! Clyde drank himself through the second World War, he
told everyone. Flights over the Himalayas in the
China-Burma-India theatre took their toll on Clyde. When Clyde
was sober, which was seldom, he was the funniest, comedian I
have ever known! Clyde said, ”I was picked up for being drunk
and disorderly in Los Angeles during a furlough on Wilshire
Boulevard, but the cop couldn’t spell Wilshire and had to take
me over on First Avenue to book me.” While painting in the
Franklin County Courthouse one day, he told Aunt Brucia he had
been painting the town red last night and he was now painting
the court house green.
Karen married
the love of her life, Serge B. Gudmundson. “Isn’t he handsome?”
were her exact words to me as I stepped from the bus arriving
from Military Service in Japan. He was handsome, and he
had the best manners. He was going to become an attorney
besides. Marriage followed the dating, and they were soon
living in marital bliss. Children followed, and their
visits to Mink Creek were anticipated by the whole family.
He even kissed his mother-in-law on the cheek when they arrived
for a visit and again when they left. This was unheard of
to me and other son-in-laws I know of.
Serge and
Karen always made you feel like a guest in their house.
They treated you like -- well like you like to be treated.
Karen was, in my opinion, the stabilizing influence in her
family. She held things together all through her,
sometimes difficult, married life.
Karen would
have made a perfect 1st Sergeant in the military. She knew
how to get things done. In St. George, where she now
resides, she hires the neighbor kids to pull weeds for her, in
her yard, occasionally. When I was there, a year ago, I
recognized that long finger she was using to point with.
Could that be a flash of the past, of my youth?
Karen made me
dance with her at the dances, not only at the ward dances but at
the Persiana in Preston, too. She helped me to learn to
dance, and I have been grateful ever since. Without the
help of Karen and Rex in my growing up years, I would never have
made it. Serge and Karen had seven children, the twin boys
did not survive. The three girls and two boys were and are
the joy and pride of their parents. They are not only
handsome, but they are intelligent men and women. School
has been important in the Gudmundson family from the beginning.
Consequently, they are all involved in doing their own thing,
and doing it well at this time.
In 1947,
I was called on a mission to Denmark, the Mother Country of my
progenitors, on my Mother's side of the family. For two
years I labored on the Peninsula of Jutland, in the town of
Randers, and in Copenhagen (Kobenhavn). During an
interview with President Alma Petersen, when I first arrived in
Denmark, he asked if there were any certain areas I would like
to visit while I was there. I mentioned some of my family
came from the Island of Bornholm. He made a note of this
in my record. Edward H. Sorensen, the new Mission
President, transferred me to the Island in January of 1950.
When I awoke
that January morning, I was in Ronne, Bornholm, having spent the
night on a ferry sailing from Copenhagen. The island of
Bornholm is where I would spend the last six months of my two
and a half year mission for the L. D. S. Church. Ronne is
the Capitol City of the Island. Bornholm is but a dot on
any map that I have ever seen. It is almost in the center
of the Baltic Sea, with Finland and Sweden on the north, Russia
on the east, Germany on the south, and Denmark on the west.
Bornholm had been occupied by the Russians for six years, and
the natives were not happy with them. They did not
appreciate the soldiers walking the streets eating a pound of
butter like an ice cream cone.
The language
is definitely Danish, but the Bornholmers like people to know
they are from the this island by their speech. Many of their
words are pronounced differently. I learned some of the
common differences quickly, and they really liked me for that.
If you throw in a little slang occasionally it helps.
Because my
companion, Ben Malan, was sick for a couple of days, I spent
some time in the local public library reading the History of the
Island. With a lot of help from the Librarian, who seemed to be
very lonely and interested in actually speaking to an American,
I learned some very interesting facts.
The first
people who came to this Island came from Germany. It was a
man and his extended family by the name of Keller or Koller, who
were driven from their native land by the Catholic Church
Officials. This happened sometime in the twelfth century.
His given name was Rasmus, according to the account written in
old Danish script. His wife's name was Birgitta. At
that period of time, the Catholic Church ruled the land with a
heavy hand. They exercised cruel and terrible power over
the people. Leaders were steeped in old tradition and
superstition (my translation of the old Danish writing).
Rasmus
Kjoller opposed the all powerful Pope, and was literally driven
out of the land of Germany, which included all of Northern
Europe at that time. Rasmus obtained a boat of some size,
and together with his family, animals, seeds, building
materials, and all of his other possessions, sailed out into the
Baltic Sea.
This body of
water is surrounded by Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Russia, and
Germany. Almost in the center lies the small round island
of Bornholm. I do not know the square miles. I rode
my bicycle around it in one long day. There were ruins of
previous dwellings in the northern portion of the island dating
back many years. It was uninhabited when this (Noah)
Rasmus Koller arrived.
The Koller
Family found the soil to be good for agriculture, mainly
dairying, but extremely rocky, with large outcroppings of
granite. The Keller's settled here, and farmed, fished,
and quarried granite (they are called stenhuggers) and they
pursue the same occupations today (1950). My father used
to say that Mink Creek, Idaho appealed to them because of all
the rocks in the farm ground here. They were soon followed
by other families from Germany. The Kyrses, Sonnes, Ipsens,
Kofoeds and others.
This small
island was fought over by Denmark, Sweden and other Baltic Sea
countries for many years and changed hands several times.
Bornholm is now a possession of Denmark since early eighteen
hundred. Each country would appoint a Governor to rule and
tax the people for the mother country. Some of these
Governors were harsh and cruel like the country they left.
The history of this island is filled with wars and internal
strife. Life was not good for the common people, and yet
it does parallel the history of Europe as a whole.
The center of
their lives was the Church, and that too changed many times.
Today it falls under the State Church of Denmark, the Lutheran
Protestant Church, supported by taxes, everyone pays. The
old church buildings are built round, and made of stone, with
pointed tops and slots for guns all around the eaves, they were
also used for forts. Many battles were fought from them
with the remaining scars still visible. Some of them were
built in the sixteen hundreds. They are painted white with
black tile roofs, and are still in use today. One of the
modern day Kellers told me, "The reason for them being round was
so the Devil couldn't corner you."
The cemetery
is the church grounds, the headstones are many and there is no
lawn to mow! After 20 years a new grave is dug on the old plot.
The remains are put in the bottom of the new hole and a new
casket is put in. Your last real estate doesn't last any
longer than you do. There are many head-stones with the
Keller name in all of the small town cemeteries on Bornholm.
There is a
metal cross on one of the cobbled streets of the Capitol City of
Ronne marking the spot where a certain individual, who was fed
up with the present Governor and his soldiers took action.
The whippings and abuse of his fellow country men, were more
than he could tolerate. He came out of the (Krow) tavern,
pulled the Governor from his saddle and killed him to the
delight and approval of his fellow citizens. Guess what
his name was. You are right, one of my progenitors, Karl
Keller. I think the date was in 1670. A large
chiseled rock on the side of the street tells the story.
It was
interesting to me that the people were very friendly, and the
same names were still there as in the very early history of the
Island. In the six months I was there, I visited all the
Kellers whose names were in the phone book. The young
people were not at all interested in their progenitors or mine,
but the fact that we were from America and could actually speak
their language was beyond their way of thinking. They loved to
talk and ask questions.
One day we
biked out to Klemensker, where the first Keller farm was, and
according to the abstract deeds in the Court House, this (Gaard)
or Manor was first called the (Kollergaard, Keller Manor) for
many years. The first name to appear as the owner of
number 35 section was Rasmus Koller in 1570 and his wife
Birgitta (a discrepancy from the library history). In 1610, it
was owned by Lauritz Koller, after him the abstract history says
it stayed in the hands of the Kellers for generations, changing
from sons to son-in laws on down to about 1912.
I met a
school teacher, who was married to a Keller girl, who verified
what I had found. He gave me a lot of the names of the
Keller family, but they were not connected to each other in any
way. I wanted to meet his wife, but she would not come in
from the next room. They were quite skeptical about my
being there. They were also well aware of their progenitor
James Morgan Keller and his conversion to the Mormon Church.
This school teacher had collected a lot of material over the
years, and he handed me a large envelope full of bits and pieces
of paper with many names and some information on saying, " I
don't even know why I collected this, but I would like you to
have it." I explained why he had collected it Malachi:
4-6.
There are
four small villages around Klemensker and almost all the people
who are mentioned are from one of these villages, namely Rutsker,
Nyker, Vestemaria, and Ostermaria. The people intermarried
with other families, with the old historic names of Kofoed,
Keller, Mogensen, Ipsen, Svendsen, and Rasmussen etc. An old
headstone leaning against the church fence contained the name of
H. J. Koller 1796-1854. In a nearby field we turned over
another headstone being used as a small bridge with the name
Koller chiseled on it, but the other letters were not visible.
When James
Morgan Keller, my progenitor, left Bornholm in 1850, after
joining the Mormoner, he had become an outcast to the entire
town of Klemensker and his extended family. Two other families
left with him by the name of Ipsen and Kofoed. They sailed
from England the next year. In 1950 Whitney M. Johnsen from
Brigham City, Utah, who was a direct descendant of the Ipsen
family, was my companion. Elder Hansen from Vale, Oregon,
was there, and he was a direct descendant of the Kofoed family.
I was a direct descendant of the Koller-Keller-Kjoller line.
The fact that all three of us were in Bornholm at the same time,
just one-hundred years after these three families immigrated to
America was an interesting discovery.
MY DAD, WILLIAM EARNEST (W.E.) CRANE