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REXBURG. IDAHO 83460-0405 





^Jo ^htannah CS? UUill 

Witk J!c 


A History of Hannah McNeil and 
William Ezra Goodman 


Gloria Goodman Andrus 

Published by 
Goodman Family Organization 

Printed by 


Rexburg, Idaho 83460 


•••■■■'• . • . ■ 


Edward Livingston Goodman and Frances Amelia Church 
Parents of William Ezra Goodman 


John Corlett McNeil and Mary Ann Smith 
Parents of Hannah McNeil 


In Appreciation 

No one could have done this book alone. It is only because we all worked together 
that this book has finally been completed. I certainly want to thank each of you who has 
willing supplied cherished family pictures and biographical information on almost every 
descendant of William and Hannah Goodman. A few are missing from this book — a fact 
which I deeply regret (and I know our grandparents do, also). (Incidentally, in the six 
generations of our Goodman family, we now total 635 descendants — 854 counting spouses. 
That's a large ward, folks. No telling how many we'd be if all Family Group Records had 
been submitted.) All of you have been wonderful in sharing your memories and experiences. 
But we'd have gotten nowhere without the memories of Uncle Donald, Aunt Fern, and Aunt 
Beulah. I had my first oral interview with Uncle Donald in 1990. I asked if I could ask him 
a couple of questions. He tried to put me off by telling me he couldn't remember anything. 
I persisted, and he talked for two hours. He and our aunts have responded to my many phone 
calls over the past five years most graciously and willingly. In fact, they have expressed the 
feeling that Grandpa and Grandma Goodman want this book to be written and published. 
Many wonderful facts and some delightful family folk lore have been shared. 

Bruce Donaldson is archeologist for the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest. After 
helping me with some research and referring me to several books published by the Forest 
Service, he said he would be interested in a copy of a book which told something of the old 
Goodman SawmilL Is he ever going to be impressed! Dale Goodman's verbal and artistic 
sketches of the mill take us right back to the meadow. Bruce also suggested that I contact 
Joseph P. Hereford, Jr., of Albuquerque, who has spent many years researching the Apache 
Railway. Mr. Hereford is to be thanked for his map showing the route of this railroad, and 
the one identifying the logging area reserved for the Goodman Sawmill. 

One great source of information, illustrations, and driving tours was Venla Pernod 
McCleve. Her family history boxes are indeed treasure troves. Gwen Goodman Foster has 
spent many years doing family history research on the Goodman and Church lines, and shared 
that research with us. In fact, Gwen anticipates publishing a book in a couple of years of 
complete documentation on our ancestral lines. Let's help her when we can. 

Several McNeil cousins furnished copies of information on our McNeil and Smith 
ancestors. These are LaVene Thompson Fenn, Jess Thompson, Roy and Vicki Thompson, 
and Steve McNeil. Steve teaches physics at Ricks College, and is a descendant of John 
McNeil's first son, John Edward, by his first wife, Margaret. 

There is no adequate way to express my love and appreciation for Alyn, my husband 
of four decades. He and our cat, Remington Steel, are still patient with me (they also quietly 
suffered through the Rothlisberger Book years). Because he teaches American History and 
Church History at Ricks College, and had earlier taught English, he's an invaluable resource. 


Alyn read the manuscript, made excellent suggestions, and paid the bills. What more could 
an amateur writer desire. 

I appreciate the emphasis which the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints puts 
on this important work. My testimony is that angels do attend us when we write in our 
journals or work on family history. 


You will notice many typesetting goofs in this book . These are mine entirely. Don't 
blame Ricks College Press. However, you're not paying me for putting this book together, 
so don't be too critical. Anyone who criticizes my efforts must write the next book. 

No book is entirely perfect 

For errors will creep in; 

Sometimes wrong information is sent 

By someone's nearest kin. 

And even printers make mistakes 

For which they tear their hair. 

Sometimes two people disagree 

On Who, or When, or Where. 

It might have been the person 
Who wrote the history; 

It might have been the typist, 
Or blame can fall on me. 

So, if you're dead before you're born, 
Or married when you're three, 

Or Pve omitted anyone 
Who sent themselves to me. 

Or your last name is not your own, 

Your picture not too good, 

I ask you — please forgive me, 

I did the best I could. 



Table of Contents 

List of Maps and Selected Illustrations vm 

Preface x 

Introduction xri 

Do You Remember? xiv 

Chapter 1 Our Goodman Ancestors 1 

Chapter 2 Our Church Ancestors 33 

Chapter 3 Our McNeil Ancestors 39 

Chapter 4 Our Smith Ancestors 61 

Chapter 5 William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil: 

Navajo County Years 65 

Chapter 6 William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil: 

Apache County Years 121 

Chapter 7 Frances Ellen Goodman Crandell 211 

Chapter 8 William Edward Goodman 245 

Chapter 9 Ah in Ezra Goodman 285 

Chapter 10 Walter Floyd Goodman 339 

Chapter 1 1 Donald Eugene Goodman 415 

Chapter 12 John McNeil Goodman 429 

Chapter 13 Lloyd Everette Goodman 469 

Chapter 14 Hannah Fern Goodman Penrod 537 

Chapter 15 Beulah Goodman Penrod 563 


•T 1 

Glossary First Cousins by First Names and Nicknames 613 

Appendix A Pedigree Charts Showing the Ancestry of 

Edward Livingston Goodman and 
John Corlett McNeil 617 

Appendix B Family Group Records for the Descendants 

of Edward Livingston Goodman and 
John Corlett McNeil 625 

Appendix C Alphabetical List of all Family Members 

Submitted on Family Group Records 669 

Bibliography 683 

Index 689 


List of Maps and Selected Illustrations 

Map or Illustration Page 

Map of England showing the Shire (County) of Leisester 1 

Early Settlements in the English Colonies 3 

Map of Hartford in 1640 4 

Village of Hadley in 1663 6 

Current Map of Hadley, Massachusetts 7 

Current Map of Bainbridge, New York Area 9 

Sketch of Early Log Cabin 10 

Map of Bainbridge Area 1 1 

Map of Oceana County, Michigan 19 

Outline Map of Jackson County, Illinois 21 

Present Day Map of Chama, New Mexico Area 24 

Santa Fe Railroad Reached Holbrook in 1881 26 

Territorial County Boundaries 27 

Map of England Showing the County of Essex 33 

Map of Vermont 35 

Map of Bainbridge Showing Timothy Church's Lots 37 

Map of England Showing Isle of Man 39 

Mormon Immigration in the Early 1850's 41 

John McNeil Home in Bountiful 43 

Bountiful Area Historic Site Markers 44 

Mormon Corridor Through Arizona 46 

Mormon Settlements in Arizona 48 

Mormon Colonies in Mexico 54 

Map of England Showing County of Cheshire 61 

Map of Porterville, Utah 62 

Towns in Navajo and Apache Counties where the Goodman Family Lived 68 

Major Supply Routes Prior to 1 880 72 

Major Freight Routes in the White Mountains 74 

Map Showing Approximate Site of JumpofTCamp 78 

Map of Pinedale Showing Approximate Location of Goodman House 80 

Walker Farm Public School 90 

Map of Clay Springs Homestead Area 102 

State School Register for September 1922 112 

Map of Linden Area Showing Goodman Ranch 115 

Some of the Brands Used by the Goodman Family 120 

Routes of Spanish Explorers 122 

Suggested Route from Show Low to McKay Springs 123 

W E. Goodman & Sons Letterhead 131 

Map of Wolf Mountain Timber Unit* 132 


Route of the Apache Railway 136 

Old Rice Road to Phoenix 137 

Goodman Sawmill Layout 141 

Hannah Goodman Personal History and Testimony 199 

Hannah Goodman Genealogical Research Letter 200 

Hannah Goodman Genealogical Research Letter 201 

Original Pencil Sketch of Goodman Sawmill 

by Dale Goodman Insert after page 700 




This shall be written for the generation to come. 

(Psalms 102:18) 

Several years ago, as a lark, I paid $12 to have my handwriting analyzed. Among 
other personality traits and characteristics mentioned which hit the nail on the head, so to 
speak, the analyst stated I had a strong sense of family and family unity. That pleased me 
because I do feel that way. I'm proud to be a Goodman; I can't imagine being a part of any 
other family. I'm especially thankful for an historian husband who has supported 
me — emotionally and financially — in this endeavor. 

When Mari (Dale's daughter) attended Northern Arizona University, she took a 
course in womens studies. Her instructor, hopefully tongue in cheek, suggested that Mari 
change her name from Goodman to Goodperson. I was incensed, to say the least. That, in 
my opinion, would negate the importance which the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day 
Saints places on family history and family unity. 

And so, the following story caught my attention in relation to this issue (quoted in 
Brigham Young Magazine, February 1995, p. 29): 

There was a small town afflicted by a mysterious ailment, a kind of a 
contagious Alzheimer's disease where people lose their memory. They forget. They 
forget the names of the people around them They forget the names of everyday 
objects. One young man, unaffected by the disease, tries to forestall its effects. He 
goes around labeling everything. "This is a table. This is a window. This is a cow. 
It has to be milked every day." When he has labeled everything in town, he goes to 
the town center and puts up two signs. The first sign says, "The name of our village 
is Macondo." And the second sign says, "TTiere is a God." 

What is the author trying to say in this strange parable? I think he's trying to 
tell us that as you get older, you will forget a lot of things you once knew. It's 
already started, hasn't it? You've forgotten your high school trigonometry and 
American history. Over the course of time, you'll forget the name of the guy who 
took you to your senior prom You'll forget the phone number of the first house you 
lived in. The author is saying, Don't worry about it. That's all fine, as long as you 
don't forget two things. Never forget the community of which you are a part, 
because God is found in communities. God is found in the way people relate to each 
other, and then, never forget that God exists. 

I think, for our purposes in this book, we can substitute the word "family" in the place 
of "community." Never forget the family of which you are a part, because God is found in 




families. God is found in the way members of a family relate to each other; and then, never 
forget that God exists. 

So, figuratively, go to the center of your life and post two signs: "I am a Goodman, 
and the Goodman name and Goodman family are important to me." And, "There is a 
merciful God in Heaven who loves each of us." 

I cherish my memories of growing up at the Goodman swmill and in Vernon with the 
cousins. Even when Dad's family was "following construction," we were usually with Uncle 
Afvin's family, or Uncle Bill's family, or Uncle Walter's family. It was often difficult to tell 
which kids belonged to which couple. And we occasionally visited Pineyon and Woodruff 
to associate with Aunt Fern's kids, Aunt Beulah's kids, and Uncle John's kids. What joyous 
times we had together! 

And that's what reunions accomplish today — the joy of seeing beloved friends and 
relatives we haven't seen for a year or two. Or meeting a relative for the first time. Let's 
keep our reunions alive. 

And I hope this is not the end of written histories in our family. Please write a more 
detailed personal history for your own descendants. 

I read a quote from one of the General Authorities several years ago which went 
something like this: Being dead is not the problem for our ancestors; being forgotten is the 
problem. I do not want our ancestors — long-past and recent — to be forgotten. And I don't 
want to be forgotten by my posterity. 

Dad, you have not been forgotten. We love you dearly. Are you happy now? 



This is the story of how William Ezra Goodman, born in 1871 in Golden Township, 
Oceana County, Michigan, and Hannah McNeil, born in 1878 in Bountiful, Davis County, 
Utah, met and married in Navajo County, Arizona in 1897. It's also the story of their 
descendants — their children and grandchildren; in other words, US. 

We have so many reasons to be thankful for the prolific children (and their spouses) 
of Will and Hannah Goodman. Most of these children married and had the majority of their 
children during the years of the Great Depression. Work was not always easy to find, and 
the pay was not great when work was available. But as a child, I never felt deprived. I was 
always loved, warm, and well-fed — not only by my parents, but by my grandparents and 
wonderful aunts and uncles. 

We are heirs of the past, but we are also debtors of the past. And we are too apt to 
forget how great is our obligation to the hardy men and women who came before us. 

Our ancestors brought little of wealth with them when they came into the Arizona 
Territory, but they brought what, to the settler in an unbroken wilderness, is of greater 
value — industrious and frugal habits, stout and enduring muscles, and contented and brave 
hearts. We need to emulate these marvelous people. 


The Passing of the Pot 

(Dedicated to Aunt Fern and Aunt Beulah) 

As far back as Ammon, 

As memories may go, 

One household vessel greets me 

That wasn't made for show. 

To bring it in at evening 
Was bad enough, no doubt, 
But heaven help the party 
Who had to take it out. 

Beneath the bed 'twas anchored, 
Where only few could see, 
But served the entire family 
With equal privacy. 

Some called the critter 'Tanny," 
And some the "Thundermug," 
A few called it the "Johnny," 
But I called it the "Jug." 

The special one for company 
Was decorated swell, 
But just the same it rendered 
The old familiar smell. 

At times when things were pressing 
And business extra good, 
Each took his turn at waiting 
Or did the best he could. 

And sometimes in the darkness 
Without benefit of flame, 
We fumbled in the darkness 
And slightly missed our aim 

Now today this modernism 
Relieves me a lot, 
And only in my visions 
Do I see the family pot. 

One was enormous 
And would accommodate 
A watermelon party 
Composed of six or eight 

— Sarah Murdoch 


Do You Remember? 

(For all those born before 1940) 

We were before television, before penicillin, before polio shots, frozen foods, Xerox, 
contact lenses, frisbees, and The Pill. We were before radar, credit cards, split atoms, laser 
beams, and ballpoint pens; before panty hose, dishwashers, clothes dryers, electric blankets, 
air conditioners, drip-dry clothes, and before man walked on the moon. We got married first 
and then lived together. How quaint can you be? In our time, closets were for clothes, not 
for "coming out of" Bunnies were small rabbits, and rabbits were not Volkswagens. Having 
a meaningful relationship meant getting along with our cousins. We thought fast food was 
what you ate during Lent, and outer space was the back of the Roxy Theater. We were 
before house-husbands, gay rights, computer dating, dual careers, and computer marriages. 
We were before day-care centers, group therapy, and nursing homes. We never heard of FM 
radio, tape decks, electric typewriters, artificial hearts, word processors, yogurt, and guys 
wearing earrings. For us, timesharing meant togetherness, not computers or condominiums; 
a chip meant a piece of wood, hardware meant hardware, and software wasn't even a word. 
In 1940, "Made in Japan" meant junk, and the term "making out" referred to how well you 
did on an exam Pizza, McDonalds, and instant coffees were unheard of. We hit the scene 
when there were 5 and 100 stores, where you bought things for five and ten cents. And you 
could buy ice cream cones for a nickel, and could ride a street car, make a phone call, buy a 
Pepsi, or enough stamps to mail one letter and two postcards. You could buy a new Chevy 
coupe for $800, but who could afford one? A pity, too, because gas was only 110 a gallon. 
In our day, GRASS was mowed, COKE was a cold drink, and POT was something you 
cooked in. ROCK MUSIC was a Grandma's lullaby, and AIDS were helpers in the 
principal's office. We were certainly not before the difference between the sexes was 
discovered, but we were surely before sex changes. We made do with what we had. And we 
were the last generation that was so dumb as to think you needed a husband to have a baby. 
No wonder we are so confused, and there is such a generation gap today. 



Chapter 1 
Our Goodman Ancestors 



Map of England showing the Shire (county) of Leicester 

Richard Goodman, the first Goodman ancestor to come to America, was born, 
probably in 1609, in Leicestershire, England. 1 His family belonged to the landed gentry and 
were lords of the manor of Blaston. They were descended from the Goodmans of Cheshire, 
first mentioned in 1450, when Hugh Goodman, of Chester, married Emma, daughter and 
heiress of Richard Warton. 

Richard probably grew up in the "smiling" Leicestershire countryside, with fields, 
woodlands, and spire-crowned hills. Boys his age at that time would have worn a buttoned 
doublet with a falling band similar to an Eton collar, puffed breeches, long hose and rosetted 
shoes. They would have played the time-honored games of boyhood — prisoner's base, 
hoodman blind, hide and seek, swimming, wrestling, sliding on the ice, and practicing with 
the bow and arrow. 

He would learn to read at home from a hornbook and at the age of seven or eight be 
sent to a grammar school where he would study a primer, the Psalms in meter, the Testament 
and a book on precepts of civility, and when he grew older, a little arithmetic and much Latin. 
School began at six o'clock in the morning. 

The Goodmans lived in the region where the Puritanism reform in the Church of 
England rose to its height. Puritanism was the absorbing topic of the day in which Richard's 
formative years were spent, and the impressions he received would have been deepened and 
strengthened by the influence of Thomas Hooker. It soon became obvious that separation 
from the Church of England was inevitable, and that they must soon leave England. Mr. 
Hooker formed a company of men of the "best types," many of whom left homes of affluence 
and positions of rank to join in the migration to New England. 


The colony reached Massachusetts Bay early in the summer of 1632. and came to 
Newtowne, which is now the city of Cambridge (near Boston). A settlement was made on 
lands now occupied by the buildings of Harvard College. Home lots were assigned and 
houses built. The court ordered that "all houses to be covered with slate or board & stand 
just 6 feet from the street." 

Richard Goodman became the holder of six rods of land, rather vaguely described as 
"eastwardry from small-lot Hill, assigned in large lots." As he was unmarried, he did not build 
a house; a single man in the New England colonies was not allowed to live alone, but was 
required to live with some family to which the court assigned him 

'Much of the information on Richard Goodman is taken from The Goodmans of Bolton, New 
York, by Edith Willoughby Goodman West, published at Glenn Falls, N.Y., 1930. FHL call no. 
929.273, G621. 

Soon it became 
obvious that some people in 
Massachusetts did not 
approve of the 

Massachusetts Bay Colony's 
aristocratic and theocratic 
policies, especially the idea 
that only church members 
should vote or hold office. 
Thomas Hooker, of course, 
was one who opposed these 
policies, feeling that "in 
matters concerning the 
common good, a general 
council, chosen by all, shall 
rule." The Reverend John 
Cotton, of Boston, opposed 
Mr. Hooker. It was soon 
claimed that there was not 
enough land for all, and a 
proposal was made that a 
portion of the colony should 
move on to the unsettled 
lands of Connecticut. 

In June, 1636, the 
Newtowne congregation of 
the First Church of Christ, 
numbering a hundred or 
more, made the trek south 
and west to the Connecticut 
Valley. They walked, 

driving 160 cattle; the trip took two weeks. Upon reaching the Connecticut River, rude rafts 
ferried them across, and here on the west bank of the river, in the wilderness, the group 
founded the settlement which was to become the capital of the state of Connecticut, and 
named it Hartford. 

The Goodman family descended from four of the men who made this 
migration — Richard Goodman, John Marsh, John White, and John Webster. 2 All of them 
deserved the identification as "pious, wise and self-respecting men." 

2 John Webster gained further honor as a distinguished magistrate, and later, Governor of the 

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Another prominent member of the group was Richard Church, another of our 
ancestors. Please refer to the enclosed Map of Hartford in 1640 (above) for the close 
proximity of the properties of Richard Goodman and Richard Church. 

Early maps of Hartford show only property, but do not show a house for Richard 
Goodman. As he was still not married, he was Irving with a court-appointed family. He did 
not marry until he was 50 years old. His first recorded public service came in 1639, when he, 
at age 30, was one of a small number of Hartford men who fought in the Pequot War. Other 
items in the records of the colony mention him as a selectman, a juror, a surveyor of common 
lands and fences, a fence viewer (a very important position), and a constable. 

Hinman, an historian, commented, "He was a valuable citizen." Richard must have 
proved his worth, for he was later made a deacon in the church, an office of "much 
responsibility and dignity." 

On December 8, 1659, at age 50, Richard Goodman married Mary Terry of Windsor, 
Connecticut (the daughter of Steven and Elizabeth Terry). She was 24. They ultimately had 
eight children, the last one born when Richard was 66 (just one year before his death). Our 
ancestor is Thomas, the seventh child. 

Upon the death of Thomas Hooker, similar difficulties arose in the church at Hartford 
as those in Newtowne, Massachusetts. Once again, the objectors asked permission to leave, 
this time from Hartford, and form a settlement 50 miles to the north on the Connecticut River 
in Massachusetts. John Webster was one of the leaders of this venture, which was to create 
the frontier settlement of Hadley (near the present city of Amherst). 

Early in 1660, Richard and Mary removed to Hadley, where each proprietor received 
an 8-acre homelot on the main street, and plow- and mowing-land according to the amount 
he had put into the venture. Richard's contribution is recorded as 140 pounds, one of the 
larger contributions. The homelot remained in the Goodman family until 1770. 

There were only 48 householders in Hadley, so all had take part in local government. 
Richard was a selectman in 1662, surveyor of highways in 1665, and constable in 1668. He 
was also selected to run one of the first taverns in the settlement. Apparently, selling liquor 
in a New England community was a most serious and important business, and the tavern- 
keepers were chosen from among the most responsible and respected men. Again, note the 
location of properties owned by Richard Goodman and Richard Church on the map of Hadley 

Children came to Richard and Mary with marching regularity. Between 1661 and 
1675, eight children were born to them. The fifth child, Thomas, died at age two, so the 
seventh child was also named Thomas (our ancestor). 

Hrsr&rytf Hadlq 
VlLl^i or Haduy in 1663- - 

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Joseph Bdltitoin . 6 

Robert. SoitHccC( : oN 

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tftchora Church -5 
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The year 

1675 brought King 
Philip's war, and the 
little frontier villages 
along the 
Connecticut River, 
especially Hadley, 
were repeatedly the 
scenes of Indian 
attacks. On April 3, 

1676 during one of 
these raids, Richard 
was killed by a 
scouting party of 
Indians, while he 
and a group of 
townsmen were 
examining fences at 
a nearby meadow. 
He was buried the 
same day. 

Richard died 
without a will, but 
the inventory of the 
assets of his estate 
totalled 921 Pounds, 
1 1 Shillings, and no 
pence. This 

inventory indicated 
that Richard had an 
ample estate and a 
well- supplied house 
for that period. 

Mary Terry 
Goodman lived on 

in Hadley for a number of years, later moving to Deerfield, further north along the 
Connecticut River. Two of the older boys moved back to Hartford, but Thomas, our 
ancestor, lived on in the area, moving to Hatfield, just across the river from Hadley. Mary 
died in 1692 at age 57. 


Current map of Hadley, Massachusetts 

And Thomas begat Thomas, and Thomas begat Enos (who fought in the 
Revolutionary War), and Enos begat Enos Jr. 

Enos, Jr. moved to Bennettsville, Chenango County, New York in approximately 
1810, and begat Edward Livingston Goodman, the father of William Ezra Goodman, our own 
father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and so on. 


During the Revolutionary War, New York State was still under the domain of the 
British and Indians. After the end of the war, soldiers who had fought in that area widely 


proclaimed the amazing fertility and the beauty and desirability of the lands of the 
Susquehanna valley. It was not very long, therefore, after the end of the war that western 
New York lands were acquired, either by purchase or conquest, from the Indians. 

At one of these treaty conferences between Governor Clinton (of New York) 
and the Indians for the purchase of land in this locality, an interesting occurrence is 
related by Smith in his History of Chenango and Madison Counties. An Oneida 
sachem is represented as portraying his foresight of the inevitable result of these large 
cessions of land in the following manner: at the conclusion of the formalities by which 
the purchase was made, the sachem in question seated himself on a log close beside 
Governor Clinton, who with becoming courtesy, moved to make room Somewhat 
to his embarrassment the sachem again seated himself in uncomfortable proximity to 
the Governor, whereupon, the latter again moved, but only to be followed as before 
by the sachem This was repeated until at last the Governor found himself off the log 
altogether. When he inquired the meaning of this singular conduct, the Oneida 
significantly replied: "Just so white man crowd poor Indian, keep crowding, keep 
crowding; by-and-by crowd him clear off ! Where poor Indian then?" 3 

The early settlers of the area may very properly be divided into two groups of 
people. There were first and most important, the Vermont Sufferers (more about this 
group in Our Church Ancestors chapter), who all came here from the same locality 
in Vermont; for the most part farmers, bringing with them the customs, prejudices and 
above all the established friendships ripened by the storm and stress of the disordered 
days in their previous home. They were all of them owners of the land upon which 
they settled, having been assured of their title by no less a power than the State itself. 
Besides these Vermont Sufferers, was another class of people who had been induced 
to try their fortune in this frontier country for various motives. They were many of 
them families of soldiers who, returning from the war, and filled with the adventurous 
spirit bred of rnilitary life, preferred the perils and labors of the pioneer to the 
comforts of the more settled farmers of New England and eastern New York. 4 

The Yankee Exodus contains an account of the migration from New England: 

Many Yankee veterans of the Revolution received grants of land in Oneida 
County and other parts of New York. These were in lieu of what today would be 
called a cash bonus. Though many of the old soldiers never saw their lands, but sold 

3 Edward Danforth, M.D., Stones from the Walls of Jericho: The Official Bicentennial History 
ofBainbridge, New York, 1987, pp. 33-34. 

^Stones., pp. 35-38. 

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them for whatever they could get, a considerable number migrated. . . . The York 
Fever was long in the air. 5 

Current map of Bainbridge, New York area 



All these pioneers came either in boats down the Susquehanna River from 
Cooperstown, or walked along the Indian trails bordering the river banks, along which they 
drove their cows or oxen, if they had any. 

Many of these early pioneers were our ancestors — Bennetts, Landers, Pratts, Churchs, 
Goodmans, Cooleys. 

The spring of 1786 saw the arrival of the first white settlers in the immediate area. 
Included were the four Bennett brothers of Bennettsville — Caleb, the oldest, was only 24. 


'Stewart Hall Holbrook, The Yankee Exodus, The Macmillan Company: New York, 1950, p. 


The other brothers were Silas, Reuben, and Phineas. Phineas was the first supervisor at the 
first town meeting of Jericho (the name was changed to Bainbridge in 1814) held April 19, 
1791. Caleb built a gristmill on Bennetts Creek — the first in the area. 

A year later, spring of 1787, two members of the Landers family, Ebenezer and 
Joseph, came down the river to investigate their property awarded them by the State. 

Stones contains an excellent description of the cabins of that day: 

Cabin walls were rough and bare and the small windows allowed but little 
light; the furniture uncomfortable, crude and scanty — yet the great fireplace glowed 

Many log cabins started appearing in Bainbridge in the late 1700's. 

and crackled and made one forgetful of the drafty, cold room at one's back. The large 
chimneys were built with an ample open hearth and high above the flames was suspended a 
green pole from which hung the pots and kettles over the burning sticks. The earliest cabin 
homes were very crude in construction. The largest logs were cut and double-notched at the 
ends and were laid in a position to receive two similar logs to form the lowest tier of the front 
and rear. On these smaller notched logs were laid the others; and the intervening cracks 
plastered up with mud once or twice a year, and made reasonably tight. Bark was first used 
for roofing which was frequently kept from blowing away by placing heavy stones upon it. 


for there was not a nail in the whole construction and the only iron was that in the settler's 
guns, in their axes, and undoubtedly in their souls and backbones. Nails were later made by 
the local blacksmiths from any old iron obtainable. Doors and windows were closed with 
leather hinges. The cabin floors were made of split logs or well-hardened clay. 6 

As mentioned above, Caleb and Reuben Bennett built the first grist mill at 
Bennettsville in 1798. The 

millstones and iron were transported from Esopus with great labor and at the expense 
of three weeks' journey by means of oxen and sled. Nails used in the building of the 
Bennettsville mill were brought from the nearest blacksmith shop at Coop erst own. 
Their first dam, a stone structure, was torn out by high water the following spring, 
after which they built one of logs which was used in the memory of this writer sixty 
years ago, and remnants of which are yet apparent. The mill proved a great 
convenience for hitherto the people had been compelled to carry their grist a distance 
of twelve miles to the mill on the Ouleout over roads little better than Indian trails, or 
transport it up the river by boat; an undertaking very laborious owing to the presence 
of innumerable rifts over which the boats and cargoes had to be hauled. 7 


In 1811 a tavern was built at the 
Humphrey Settlement by Abner 
Humphrey. (Humphrey Settle- 
ment was located where Cor bin 
and East River Road meet.) The 
tavern became a place where many 
trials and lawsuits of the whole 
town were enacted. 





Perhaps even the trial of Joseph Smith, Jr. took place here. 

James Pratt opened a store in Humphrey's settlement. He used to take a 
considerable portion of his pay in lumber and then once a year he would raft it down 
to Baltimore. In the spring of 1812, he started in company with his brother-in-law, 
James Humphrey, with a large raft of this lumber down the river and, having passed 

6 Stones, 9 pp. 59-60. 
1 Stones, p. 61. 


the most bothersome of the rapids, Humphrey returned to get in the spring crops, 
leaving Pratt to conduct the raft to the Chesapeake. Arriving near Baltimore, Pratt 
was surprised to be attacked by a British Man-of-war, one of the fleet then in the 
Chesapeake Bay. He was captured, made a prisoner for several weeks, was unable 
to salvage his lumber, and had to walk some 400 miles back to Jericho without any 
profit from the undertaking and thankful for his life. 8 

The Erie Canal would be built between 1817 and 1825 to help the farmers in that area 
get their grain and lumber to the New York markets in the cheapest way possible. 

Bennetts Creek must have been a sizeable creek in those days. Water power was an 
essential factor in the earliest industrial activities of Bainbridge. Danforth wrote 

Most of the early milk supplied faculties for sawing logs and lumber and later for 
producing shingles. . . . The Ezra Church carding mill on the Bennettsville Creek was 
the local center for processing wool and flax fabrics used in the early clothing. This 
industry, too, depended upon water power for its operation. 9 

The first newspaper published in Bainbridge, The Bainbridge Eagle, made its 
appearance in 1845. One of the advertisements in that first issue was placed there by an 
attorney offering for sale: 

"The Carding and Cloth Dressing Works recently built by Ezra P. Church, Esq. on the 
Susquehanna River consisting of a large two- story building, for carding and cloth 
dressing — a small outbuilding for a dyehouse — all built new within two years — 
located about halfway between the villages of Bainbridge and South Bainbridge, and 
fifty-three acres of land. A. K. Maynard" 10 

The fact that Enos, Jr. married Prudence Bennett of Hadley, Massachusetts, and they 
moved to Bennettsville, Chenango County, New York, makes us wonder about the 
relationship between Prudence and the four Bennett brothers responsible for the settlement 
of this small hamlet. Unfortunately, we are unable to locate the name of Prudence's parents 
at this time. Their oldest child, Abel, was born in Bennettsville in 1814. 

In 1994, the population of Bainbridge was approximately 3500, still a rural area by 
today's standards. In 1800, the population of Bainbridge was recorded 932; and in 1814 the 

* Stones, p. 69. 
9 Stones, p. 248. 
l0 Stones, p. 197. 



population of the entire area, including Bainbridge and its hamlets and the adjoining 
community of Afton, was estimated to be 1500. 

Another family from New England to emigrate to Western New York in 1816 was 
that of Joseph Smith, Sr. We have to wonder how much knowledge our ancestors (the 
Goodmans, Churchs, Bennetts, Pratts, Landers, Cooleys) had of the beginnings of 
Mormonism, as restored by the young Prophet Joseph Smith, Jr. As we review the lives of 
the Goodmans of our day, they seem usually to be protective of "under- dogs." If that trait 
and value was handed down through our genes, our ancestors, while not joining the Mormon 
Church in its infancy, were most likely not among the persecutors of the early Mormons. 

The History of the Church — Volume 1 contains references to Bainbridge in the life of 
Joseph Smith, Jr. . 

During the time that I was thus employed, I was put to board with a Mr. Isaac 
Hale, of that place; it was there I first saw my wife (his daughter), Emma Hale. On 
the 18th of January, 1827, we were married, while I was yet employed in the service 
of Mr. StoaL Owing to my continuing to assert that I had seen a vision, persecution 
still followed me, and my wife's father's family was very much opposed to our being 
married. I was, therefore, under the necessity of taking her elsewhere; so we went 
and were married at the house of Squire Tarbill, in South Bainbridge, Chenango 
county, New York. 11 

And later in 1830, 

We had appointed a meeting for this evening, for the purpose of attending to 
the confirmation of those who had been the same morning baptized. The time 
appointed had arrived and our friends had nearly all collected together, when to my 
surprise, I was visited by a constable, and arrested by him on a warrant, on the charge 
of being a disorderly person, of setting the country in an uproar by preaching the 
Book of Mormon, etc. ... He drove on to the town of South Bainbridge, Chenango 
county, where he lodged me for the time being in an upper room of a tavern; . 


Two churches were built in Bennettsville — the Methodist Episcopal, and the Baptist 
Church. We would probably find church records of our ancestors in the Methodist Episcopal. 

1 Joseph Smith, History of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, Salt Lake City, 
Utah: The Deseret Book Company, 1978, p. 17. 

12 Smith, pp. 88-89. 


Edward Livingston Goodman, the sixth child born to Enos and Prudence, was born 
on April 9, 1829 in Bennettsville. It will be easy for Church members to associate this date 
with April 15, 1829 — the date of the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood on the near-by 
banks of the Susquehanna River. 

Frances Amelia Church was the second child of Ezra Pratt Church and Laurilla 
Cooley. She was born on July 23, 1838 in Afton, another small settlement along the banks 
of the Susquehanna, several miles south of Bainbridge. The Church family moved to 
Bainbridge during the early 1840's. 

Our Uncle Bill Goodman relates the following information about his grandfather, 
Edward Livingston Goodman: 

The first I knew about him, my 
grandfather, Edward Livingston Goodman, he 
went by ship to Panama with Uncle Charlie. 
There were three or four of them (Since 
Grandpa William Ezra called him "uncle," he 
may have been an in-law. Grandma Hannah 
received a picture of him that said "Uncle 
Charlie — the champion gold hunter of Maxwell 
Creek." He could have married Grandpa's 

They went to the Isthmus of Panama, 
where they hired natives to carry their 
equipment across to the Pacific Ocean. They 
boarded a ship and sailed to San Francisco. 
From San Francisco, they went to the gold 
fields around 1848 or 1849, staking a claim or 
claims on Maxwell Creek, which is near 
Coulterville, California. They said they got all 
the gold they wanted. After my grandfather, 
Edward Livingston, came back from the gold Actually, the name on the back of 
fields, he established an iron foundry and this picture is "Luther Goodman, 
manufactured machinery. Then something Champion Gold-Hunter of 
happened, an explosion or something, which left Maxwell Creek, California. " 
him partially blinded. He could see to get 
around, but couldn't read. 

Edward had a nephew that he thought a lot of and had him running the 
business. His nephew would bring him papers to sign which he couldn't read. Soon 
he discovered he had signed nearly everything over to his nephew. 


The 1850 census lists Edward as being 21 years of age, single, and a farmer. 
Presumably he was farming with his father, Enos, and his brother, Abel. The foundry may 
have been established after this census was taken. 

On November 25, 1855, Edward Livingston Goodman and Frances Amelia Church 
were married in Bennettsville. 

As we look at the beginnings of the Richard Goodman family and the Richard Church 
family in America, it is fitting that two descendants of these good men who helped settle 
Hartford, Connecticut and Hadley, Massachusetts, and who lived near each other for years 
in these settlements, should find and marry each other over 200 years later in Western New 

For several years, the newlyweds lived with Edward's older brother, Abel. Abel was 
listed in the 1860 census as a farmer and head of the household, age 46, and worth about 
$10,000 in real and personal property. The household contained three families: Abel and his 
wife, Anna, with five children; Enos and Prudence, ages 78 and 71; and Edward and Frances 
with one child, Walter (age 4; he was born January 13, 1857). It is uncertain why Ellen, born 
February 23, 1859, was not listed on the 1860 census. 



Edward and Frances Goodman, with Walter 


Some time later Edward and Frances were able to purchase a parcel of land of then- 
own in Bainbridge. This property was sold on March 26, 1866 to Rufiis Bennett for $4,000, 
and Edward and Frances headed west to Michigan. 

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Signature portion of deed from Edward and Frances Goodman to Rufiis Bennett. Note 
that Ezra P. Church (Frances* father) is the Justice of the Peace. 


Oceana County is located on the eastern banks of Lake Michigan. The region now 
known as Oceana had existed for ages as a portion of the red man's domain, a favorite 
stomping-ground for various tribes. 

Should you ask me, whence these stories? 
Whence these legends and traditions, 
With the odors of the forest 
With the dew and damp of meadows, 
With the curling smoke of wigwams, 


With the rushing of great rivers, 

With their frequent repetitions, 

And their wild reverberations, 

As of thunder in the mountains? 

I should answer, I should tell you, 

"From the forests and the prairies, 

From the great lakes of the Northland, 

From the land of the Ojibways, 

From the land of the Dacotahs, 

From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands 

Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 

Feeds among the reeds and rushes." 


Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, 
Green in Summer, white in Winter, 
Ever sighing, ever singing. 

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big- Sea- Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 13 

Not only the Ojibways and the Dacotahs frequented the great lakes of the northland, 
but the Shawnees and other Native American tribes: 

Thus the brothers had wandered for many moons. They had wandered north 
to the marshes and the white dunes that bordered the great lake called Mis-e-ken, and 
there they had walked along the sands with the roar of the surf and the stinging, sand- 
laden wind blowing away their words as they talked. There Tecumseh had seen tiny 
cliff swallows darting out of little nesting holes in the steep sand banks, nests right in 
the path of the strong winds of the lake. 14 

The region did not attract white men until about 1840, when 

. . . one or two white men took a look at the land along the beach, with a view of 
locating lands, and they chose the position on the clay-banks, on which their farms are 
now situated, for four reasons: First, it was on the beach, where all travel was; 
second, there existed an Indian trail from the head of White Lake into what is now J. 
D. S. Hanson's farm; then the land was a heavy clay loam and remarkably fertile, and 
there were old Indian clearings altogether of 200 or 300 acres in extent, in patches 
from half an acre to two or three acres. Accordingly, in 1849, settlement began, so 
that at the close of that year there were six families and several single men on the 
Claybanks, which formed the nucleus of the settlement of Oceana County. 15 

One history of Oceana County states that the getting out of shingle bolts was an 
inducement for men to come into this country. Shingle bolts refer to the length into which 

13 The Song of Hiawatha, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

14 James Alexander Thorn, Panther in the Sky, New York: Ballantine Books, 1989, p. 245. 

l5 History of Oceana County, Chicago: H. R. Page & Co., 1882, p. 79. 




>l*P of 



logs were cut which would produce shingles of a prescribed length. Also required was a long 
straight grain. After these shingle bolts were cut and gathered, community members would 
unite for a shingle bee— a contest to see who could shape the most shingles out of these bolts. 

The county was divided into 16 townships, one in the second tier which was named 
Golden, north of Claybanks Township mentioned above. (Please refer to the map.) Two- 
thirds of the township of Golden was covered with an excellent quality of pine, and the first 
sawmill was located on the lake shore. 


The list of settlers in Golden in 1867 does not include Edward and Frances Goodman. 
However, there is an entry in Oceana Pioneers and Businessmen of Today, 1890 listing Ed 
Goodman as Golden Township Clerk in 1868. 16 

The 1870 Census of Oceana 
County, Golden Township, enumerated 
on the 5th day of September, 1870, lists 
Edward Goodman, age 41, Frances 31, 
Walter 13, and Ellen 10. Edward 
declared he was a farmer, with real 
estate valued at $3,000 and a personal 
estate at $600. 

On June 24, 1871, when Walter 
was 14 and Ellen 1 1, a new baby arrived 
in the family and was named William 
Ezra. Frances now had three children 
named after her family members — Ezra, 
her father, Walter, a brother, and Ellen, 
a sister. This new baby weighed only 
2 J /2 pounds. To keep him warm, he was 
wrapped and placed in a shoe box and 
kept on the open oven door. Eleven 
days later, tragedy visited this young family when Frances died 

Edward and Frances' house in Michigan 

After his mother's death, young William was cared for by Ellen (Ella) and by neighbors 
as best they could William told his children in later years that at one time during his early 
years, he was placed with a German family. There he learned to speak rudimentary German, 
and for a long time he thought he was German. He also told of how one family he lived with 
would send him upstairs to bed and then scare him to make him go to sleep. 

One day when he was in Ella's care, a knock came on the door, and Will ran to answer 
it. A black man was standing at the door. Never having seen a Black person before, he ran 
back to Ella, saying, "Oh, Ell, come look at the man with a rubber face." He remembered 
that the man just stood there and grinned at him 

Even though no records can be found of an immediate marriage, family legend tells 
us that Ed married a woman who was very cruel to the children, especially baby William Ed 
got rid of wife number two none too soon 

6 The same information is found in the Tri-County history {History of Manistee, Mason & 
Oceana Counties —1882). 



It appears that Edward followed his son, Walter, southwest to Ava, Jackson County, 
Illinois, or that Walter followed his dad. At any rate, Walter married Rebecca Taggart of 
Ava, and Edward married Julia, presumably from the local area. William's beloved sister, 
Ellen, married Mark Pennell, and stayed behind in the vicinity of Hart, Michigan. 

r//s *. 

# 1878. ft 

m —mm— mi Q 



No records have been located for the date of marriage between Edward and 
Julia — wife number three. The 1880 Census of Ava, Jackson County, Illinois, lists Edward, 
47, an engineer, Julia, 27, and William 9. Despite serious attempts, we have been unable to 
identify Julia's maiden name. Where Ed's second wife was harsh and cruel, Julia is 
remembered by those who knew her as a kind, loving person. 

Other Goodmans in Jackson County, according to marriages recorded in that county 
between 1870 and 1875, were Abel Goodman and Enos Goodman. Enos married Mary J. 
Vincent on October 3, 1870; Abel married Mary A. Hanna on February 16, 1875. 17 These 
relatives undoubtedly influenced Edward and Walter to join them in Jackson County. 

Ava, Jackson County, Illinois, is located in the southern tip of the state about 300 
miles south of the Great Lakes, and near the Mississippi River. It began as a single tavern 
and saloon called "The Head Quarters" on the road between Murphysboro and Chester on 
a high ridge between the headwaters of Kinkaid and Rattlesnake Creeks. Ava was organized 
into a township in 1876 (five years after Will was born). An early history of the area notes: 
"The chief occupation of the people is agriculture, and some finely cultivated farms are found 
here. . . . The entire surface was heavily timbered in an early day, and the primeval forests 
in some places yet remain. The people of Ava Township are thrifty, enterprising, and 
moraL" 18 With the coming of the Cairo and St. Louis narrow gauge railroad, the area quickly 
developed. The railroad may explain why Edward is listed on the 1880 Census as an 

Young Will spent most of his gro wing-up years in Ava, most likely attending school 
with other young children. However, he was left-handed, and being left-handed in those days 
was a disadvantage — teachers felt children should not write with their left hands. Will told 
of the many times a teacher spanked his hand with a ruler to make him write with his right 
hand. In spite of all the spankings, he still wrote left-handed, and was a beautiful writer. Will 
told his children he went to school only through the third grade. 

Will's older brother, Walter, was an accomplished carpenter. As he helped Walter 
during his young years, he, too, gained those skills and became a first class carpenter and 
cabinet maker. This trade would be invaluable to him in his later life. 

When he was about 15, Will went southeast to Kentucky (or Tennessee) where he 
worked in a tobacco factory, stripping leaves and making cigars. While he was working in 
this factory, some of the older guys turned him upside down and stuck him head-first in a 
large barrel of tobacco leaves. He thought surely he would suffocate before he got out; that 
was the last of his tobacco work. Years later, he brought some tobacco leaves home on one 

17 FHLFilm# 1,036,114, Item 7. 

^History of Jackson County, Illinois, Philadelphia: Brink, McDonough & Co. 1878, p. 113 


William Ezra Goodman as a child and when he was around 17 years old 

occasion and showed his children the fine art of cigar- making — how the leaves needed to be 
wetted to stick together, and how the leaves needed to be rolled just so in order to allow the 
air to be sucked through evenly. 

Accounts differ on how and with whom Will traveled to Arizona. One account says 
that Ed and Julia came to Linden in about 1890, and that Will and a friend came west 
together. Another account has Will traveling to Denver with his folks and splitting off from 
them there. As Will came through Kansas (whether with his father or a friend), he 
encountered an animal he hadn't seen before. Having a nice rifle, he shot the skunk, picked 
it up by the tail, and carried it five miles to find out what it was. 


Denver, in the early 1890's, was a railroad town. Someone advised Will that he 
should buy land there, because it was liable to be very valuable later on. However, having no 
money for investments, he and his friend dropped straight south to Chama, New Mexico 19 

Present Day Map of Northwestern New Mexico; note Chama 

It was in Chama that Will learned the sawmilling business. He also undoubtedly 
learned a valuable lesson about clear-cutting forests from his Chama experience. 

"Logging has played an important role in the history of Chama almost from the 
beginning. The railroad began service to Chama in February of 1881. Lumber companies 
arrived immediately thereafter and began clear-cutting forests, shipping lumber out on the 
railroad. Seven years later the pine timber in the immediate vicinity was completely 
exhausted." 20 The author continued, "Today (1927) you can see the rotting remains of 
mammoth pines strewn over hundreds of thousands of acres. Before the advent of the 
loggers, hundreds of square miles of land now entirely devoid of cover were studded so 
heavily with big timber that a saddle horse could be ridden among the trees only with great 

19 Chama is located in Rio Arriba County, about 7 miles south of the Colorado state line. Its 
elevation is just shy of 8,000 feet, and it receives more moisture than any other area in New 

20 Margaret Palmer, The Logging History of the Chama Valley, Chama Valley Tattler, Fall 


difficulty." The Forest Service was eventually given jurisdiction over the logging industry, 
but it was too late for them to save most of the local forests. 

In Chama, Will also learned about bear hunting. There were lots of bear around 
Chama, so he got a horse from someone and got him a 38-55 rifle, and offhe went to find a 
bear. He soon ran onto a big bear eating sarvice berries about a quarter mile from the road. 
Will said the old bear raised up on his hind feet and looked at him He thought to himself 
"Gee whiz, there's a lot of fallen timber between here and the road, and if Td happen to miss 
him or wound him, he'd sure get me before I got to that road." So, he just rode off and left 
the bear eating sarvice berries. 

It isn't known how long Will stayed and worked in Chama, but while there, he bought 
a team of oxen and began logging with them He was about 20 years old at this time. When 
he eventually joined his father and stepmother in Linden, Apache/Navajo County, Arizona, 
in 1895, he brought his ox team with him, and worked at the Water Canyon sawmill (later 
called the Standard sawmill) south of Linden and Pinedale. 

The Santa Fe Railroad had reached the Little Colorado River in 1881, and Holbrook 
was established the same year, so it is probable that Ed and Julia rode the train to Holbrook. 
No one seems to know why they ended up in Linden. Just another of those mysteries which 
will have to wait until we meet them on the other side of the veil. 


The Arizona Territory was established in 1863. By the 1890s, Arizona was becoming 
downright civilized, and signs of growth and development were everywhere. Geronimo's 
surrender in 1886 had ended the Apache threat to settlement. However, in those rural areas, 
life was still primitive and the amenities few. The backyard privy and the town water wagon 
were staples of life. Women slaved from dawn to bedtime on household chores and child 
rearing; and most men did manual labor that left little free time for anything beyond a church 
or lodge meeting. 21 

The Mogollon Rim is the southern edge of the Colorado plateau, dropping sharply 
down to the Salt River to create extremely rough country where its edge has been cut by 
many streams. This area, a zone fifty to one hundred miles wide and trending from southeast 
to northwest, was for some centuries the stronghold of the Tonto subtribe of Western Apache 


21 Arizona Highways Album: The Road to Statehood, Ed. Dean Smith, 1987, Arizona 
Department of Transportation, State of Arizona, p. 52. 


Notes from Santa Fe newspaper The Weekly New Mexican: 

June 28. 188U A Baldwin and a Hinkley construction engine have arrived. 

Aug. 2. 1880 Track laying has commenced west of the Rio Grande River. 

Oct. 18. 1880 The track of the A & P Railroad has been laid 47 miles west of Albuquerque. 


\ Nevada ^ 

Arizona Territory 

New Mexico Territory 



Peach Spgs.»— »» 

\ Seligmen 
\s260' Flagstaff 

Jj5°8' >r^*" *ep 
■"^vfort Kingate /N M & * v 


— ^**^ 


) /Kingman 

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Winslow y 


Granls^^^^ fAlbuquerque 
6«60" j uleta 


ALCO Historic Photos 

Atlantic & Pacific Railroad Co. number 83 was completed by Pittsburgh on June 21, 1888, as construction number 1000. 

Bibliography: Poor's 1889, p. 734 

The Santa Fe Railroad reached Holbrook in 1881 

Much of the Arizona part of the Basin and Range Province is the northern portion of 
the Sonoran Desert. Because most of the early travelers who passed through Arizona and 
wrote of their experiences used the southern route, the popular idea of Arizona was, and still 
is, that it is one vast desert. This idea overlooks entirely the region of tall timber and running 
water in the mountainous part of the state — especially the area known as the White 
Mountains of Arizona. 22 

The economy for the White Mountains area was based primarily on cattle ranching 
in those infant, territorial years, and our ancestors were no different than their neighbors. 

Exactly when Ed and Julia Goodman arrived in Arizona is uncertain. They 
homesteaded a piece of property in the Juniper area (later to be called Linden) about 1890, 
and were part of the "outsiders" group. 

Juniper was then a small settlement of but a few families. Most of the 
pioneers were members of the Church, but there were a few families of "outsiders." 
The Goodmans, Lees, Hopens, and the Tom Sauls family, together with my father, 
brother and myself constituted, as I recall it, the principle group of "outsiders." ... 

22 Historical Atlas of Arizona, by Henry P. Walker and Don Bufkin, University of Oklahoma 
Press, Norman, 1986, p. 5. 



Some of these men were Mormons, some were not, but I was never able to see where 
any line of demarcation existed. If anyone within our settlement was in trouble or ill, 
help came from every direction. No one asked what church you did or did not belong 
to, we were isolated from all other communities by several miles of rough country and 
rougher roads. Each shared responsibility for the well being of all in the community. 23 

Edward L. Goodman, at age 58, appeared in the Great Register of Apache County, 
on August 1 1, 1892, with his residence being shown as Linden. That record indicates that 
he owned 200 chickens. His house and implements and household goods were valued at $ 10, 
the value of his improvements was $25, and personal property with a value of $12, for a total 
valuation of $37. In 1893, he added a cow, and in 1894, 2 yearlings, 3 hogs, and poultry. 
The value of his personal property in 1984 was $27.50. 


* : '***?ij???!iiH^? , J^ 

Territorial County Boundaries 

In 1895, Apache County was divided down the middle, and the western part became 
Navajo County, with its seat at Holbrook. This division ended a long struggle between 
Holbrook and St. Johns over the seat of Apache County. Now each could be a county seat, 24 
with each county having slightly over 8,000 residents in 1900. Not that Holbrook was much 
to brag about as a county seat; the 1910 census listed its population at the grand sum of 609. 

™ History of John Reidhead, Jr. and Posterity, by Maurine R. (Perkins) Wight. 
2 * Historical Atlas of Arizona, p. 32. 


The first postmaster appointed at Linden was David E. Adams on August 8, 1891, so 
presumably this was when the post office was first established in that area. Julia Goodman 
was appointed to that position on August 22, 1895. 25 

The Great Register for Navajo County began in 1895; with the creation of the county. 
Edward and his son, William, registered on April 13, 1895. Edward said his age was 62, and 
Will said he was 23. Edward's subtraction was not accurate; he was actually nearer 65. 26 If 
the registration form had called for an occupation, both men would probably have listed 

Julia served as postmistress until her final illness caused her to retire. The following 
notation is found in the Pinedale Ward records 27 under the heading of "Mrs. Edward L. 

Mr. and Mrs. Goodman came to Linden about 1890. She died about 1902 and Mr. 
Goodman went back to his daughter's home in the east. She was the step-mother of 
William E. Goodman. She was a helpful neighbor and a true friend. 

The information about her death date in this notation was not quite accurate. She died 
sometime in mid- 1900 at age 47. 28 Edward last registered to vote on June 4, 1900, and on 
September 25, he sold his homestead to H. H. Clark. This particular property is now owned 
by Ted Smith, and is called the "Willis Place." 

Edward died in 1901 at the age of 71. Family lore is that he died in Dewitt, Clinton 
County, Michigan, presumably at the home of his daughter, Ellen Pennell. Family history 
researchers are still searching for his place of death and burial. 

After Julia's death, her stepson, Will, served as Acting Postmaster from about July 20, 
1900 to December 29, 1900 (when Hiram W. Hopen received his official appointment). 

In the meantime, Will had married Hannah McNeil in 1897. 

25 Arizona Territory Post Offices & Postmasters, by John Theobald and Lillian Theobald, The 
Arizona Historical Foundation, Phoenix, 1961, p. 110. 


FHLFilm# 1,405,040. 

27 Pinedale Ward Records, Church Historians Office, CR375/8, Reel 5394, Number of 
Cemetery Block and Name of Family, Block 19, Grave 1. 


1900 Census of Navajo County, Pinedale District. 


Walter and Rebecca Goodman with their children, 
Ralph and Ruth 


Ellen Goodman Pennell 

Mark Pennell 

Florence and Lora Pennell 

John Pennell 



Marjorie Pennell 


Waiter Edward Goodman 

Was born in New York State January 13th, 1857; died 
at his home in Ava, Illinois, Sunday, January 21st, 1923, at 
7:10 o'clock p. ra.; age 66 years and 8 days. 

Funeral services will be conducted at the Presbyterian 
Church in Ava, Illinois, Tuesday, January 23rd, 1923, at 
2:00 o'clock p. m., by Rev. John L. Hess, under auspices of 
Ava Lodge, No. 672, 1. 0. O. F. and Ava Rebekah Lodge, 
No. 258. 

Interment in Ava Evergreen Cemetery. Friends of the 
family invited. 





}"A "perfect woman — nobly planned'' 
£.' The funeral services for Ellen G. 
Tehnell beloved wife of Mark Pen- 
rnell and devoted mother of John 
Jand Marjorie Pennell, were hHd 
f'from her late residence in Dewitt 
jton the afternoon of Sunday, Sep- 
tember 16th. ; 
,X -She had lived In this vicinity 
•since early childhood and became 
! the wife of Mark Pennell * forty* 
ji three years ago. She was born in 
k*New York state on the 23rd of Feb- 
fruary. 1860 and died in the Spar- 
row hospital. Lansing, Michigan, on 
September 13th, following an -oper- 

The incidents of her birth and 
death' are fraught with signifi- 
cance, chiefly becamse of the beau- 
tiful womanly life s-he lived and the 
Strength and isrweetness of her 
(Character. No eulogy however 
fably expressed can speak with the 
^eloquence that do the tears of sor- 
^rcrw- — rn the ■ eyes' of oodntless 
ifriends— tfriends blessed and cheer- 
Led and helped because her life has 
\ touched , theirs. Never a one in 
fwant or sorrow who came within 
jher sphere lacked the sympathy of 
flier great heart or the help of her 
: loving hands. She loved all tings 
the the Creator made and read his 
-glory in the petals of a flower or 
jChe voice of a little child no less 
dhan in the majesty of a sunset or 
;the constellations of the heaven?, 
t Stability of character, breadth of 
1 intellect, greatness of heart — these 
and more are the foundation stones 
.upon which she "built the noble, 
beauteous structure of her life, 
i Truly it can be said o£ her. she 
brought Heaven >a little, nearer to 
t'all who knew her and left this 
{world a better place becaQse She 

All hearts go out to her bereaved 
ones with deep sympathy in their 
great loss. May the Richness of 
their memories and the promise of 
a glad reunion be their comfort 
through the lonely days to come. < 

Chapter 2 
Our Church Ancestors 

history researchers 
on the Richard 
Church family assert 
that the family can 
be traced, at this 
time, to John At 
Church (1335- 

1396), who lived in 
Great Parndon 

Parish, Manor of 
Geround, County of 
Essex, England. 
The sources cited 
contain interesting 
information which 
will not be copied 
here. This chapter 
will begin with 
Richard Church who 
came to America in 
1633. ' 

Richard and 
his wife, Anne 
Marsh, lived in 
Braintree, Essex, 
northeast of 

London. They were 
married in 1627. 
Part of the Puritan 
movement led by 
Thomas Hooker, as 

described in the Our Goodman Ancestors chapter, Richard came to America in 1633, aboard 
the Griffin. Anne and two children, Edward and Mary, came over two years later, in 1635. 

Map of England showing the County of Essex 

1 Alice M. Church, A Genealogy and History of the Church Family in America: 
Descended from Richard Church of Hartford, Connecticut and South Hadley, Massachusetts, 
FHL Film #0,896,761. 

-J •-> •• , 



In 1636, the Church family joined the approximately one hundred persons who left the 
Newtowne (Boston) area and walked for two weeks to settle Hartford, Connecticut. Also 
included in this group were Richard Goodman and John Marsh, possibly Anne's cousin. 

Richard's home lot in Hartford was on the street which would later become North 
Main. (Please refer to the map in Our Goodman Ancestors chapter.) He held the position 
of Chimney Viewer in 1647/48; chimneys were required to be checked once a month, possibly 
to prevent house fires. This position was held by respected men. He was also a surveyor of 
highways in 1655. 

The Connecticut River, early referred to as the Great River, was a major waterway 
and passageway in those early years. Because of dense vegetation and forestation, rivers and 
Indian paths were major migration and travel routes. After continuing trouble in the church, 
Richard and family left Hartford with other "withdrawers" and traveled north about 50 miles 
through the wilderness surrounding the Connecticut River to help found Hadley, 
Massachusetts. This northern migration took place in 1659-60. Richard's lot was between 
the present railroad track and Cemetery Road on West Street. (Please refer to the map in Our 
Goodman Ancestors chapter.) 

Richard must have anticipated his death on December 16, 1667; his Last Will and 
Testament is dated December 13. In the Inventory taken on December 27, total assets are 
valued at 241 pounds, five shillings, and tuppence — including real property in both Hartford 
and Hadley. Anne died in March 1684. 

Richard and Anne's fifth child, Samuel, was born in 1638 in Hartford. He married 
Mary ChurchilL In Hadley, he was a constable, a surveyor, and a selectman. He died just a 
month after his mother, in April 1684. 

And Samuel and Mary begat SamueL And Samuel and Abigail begat Nathaniel. And 
Nathaniel and Rachel begat Timothy. Nathaniel was the first Church family member on our 
ancestral line to leave the Hadley area, taking his family with him They settled in Brattleboro 
(now Vermont) under the New Hampshire Grants on land west of the Connecticut River. 
Because they all voted with the "York Government" during the Vermont troubles, several of 
his sons later received land from the State of New York, as will be shown in Timothy's history 
which follows. Nathaniel was a weaver by trade, but was rendered a cripple by a fall on the 
ice. He died in 1780 in Brattleboro. 

Since Timothy, Sr. was a colorful character and very involved in the politics of the 
day, a more detailed history will be written about him 

Timothy was bom in 1736 in Hadley. He married Abigail Church, his second cousin, 
from Hardwick, Massachusetts, and moved there. Their first four children were born in 
Hardwick, but Levi (#5) was bom in 1765 in Brattleboro. (Seven more children would follow 


Levi, for a total of twelve.) Again following the Connecticut River, for whatever reason, 
Timothy and his family had left Massachusetts for good prior to 1765 and headed north to 
begin a new life in Brattleboro. 

Vermont lands were 
originally claimed by New 
York and New Hampshire, 
but in 1777, Vermont extra- 
legally declared itself a self- 
governing entity, free from 
both states. It did not 
become the 14th state until 

Meanwhile, in 1768, 
Timothy was chosen an 
Overseer of Highways 
— Constable and Collector, 
and in 1770, was a member 
of a committee to arrange 
for supplying the pulpit for 
the church. In 1770 there 
were 75 "grown men" in 

On January 4, 1776, 
Timothy was appointed 2nd. 
Lieutenant of Lower Regi- 
ment of the Cumberland 
County Militia; this was 
confirmed by the New York 
Provincial Congress on 
March 1. He was 40 years 
old. On August 18, 1778, 
he was appointed Captain. 
We don't know how much 
action he actually saw 
during the Revolutionary 

The Governor and 
Council of Vermont, on June 7, 1779, "Resolved that the Captain General's order of May 
6th, to Col. Ethan Allen ... be published." The proclamation extended a pardon to "all 




• ■ 

..< ; 1- > I f •/•• » 



persons indicted, informed against or complained of. . ." and among the thirty persons is 
found the name of Timothy Church. We're not sure what he was pardoned of, other than 
being loyal to the province of New York. 

At the Windham County Court, held at Marlbrough in December 1781, Timothy was 
licensed to keep a tavern. 

Apparently Timothy and others in Windham County were not supportive of Vermont's 
legal maneuverings and continued to assert their loyalty to New York. The following is a 
quote from Alice M. Church's history: 

August 22, 1782, Jonathan Hunt, Sheriff of Vermont, endeavored to arrest Timothy 
Church of Brattleboro, on an execution, which was successfully resisted. Thereupon 
the special session of the Council of Aug. 29th was called and commission given to 
Gen. Wilson to suppress the tumultuous Insurrection in the County of Windham His 
(Timothy's) estate had been confiscated by the Court and under sentence of 
banishment released from Oct. 4, 1782, taken across the line into New Hampshire by 
Deputy Sheriff Samuel Avery, who warned him and thirty others that they would 
incur the penalty of death if they ever returned to Vermont. 

The Congress of Dec. 6, 1782, on a motion by Mr. McKean, "Resolved, that the 
people inhabiting said district (on the west side of Connecticut river called New 
Hampshire Grants) and claiming to be an independent state, are hereby required to 
make full and ample restitution to TIMOTHY CHURCH and others who have been 
condemned to banishment and confiscation of estate and that they be not molested on 
their return." Evans, Church and Shattuck returned in December, but on learning that 
Vermont on the 18th had re-arrested CoL Church, Shattuck changed his plans, raised 
two companies and attempted to arrest and hold CoL Benjamin Carpenter, former 
Lieut. Governor of Vermont, as a hostage for Church. Failing in this he did seize, on 
the 20th, John Bridgeman, one of the Vermont Judges of the County Court. On Dec. 
28, 1782, Timothy Church addressed a letter to His Ex., The Governor and House of 
Representatives of Vermont, asking for pardon: 

"Humbly showeth, that since your petitioner was sentenced by the Supreme Court 
of this State to be banished therefrom, not to return thereto on pain of death, in 
consequence of said sentence accordingly was banished in the month of September 
last, notwithstanding your petitioner having intelligence that his family were in a low 
state of health, as well as under despicable circumstances in regard to the necessaries 
of life, your Petitioner not on contempt of the authority of the State, but from the 
tender feelings natural from a parent to his children, has imprudently again returned 
unto this state . . . now fully sensible of his error . . . having subscribed to the 
Freeman's Oath . . . having a deep and humbling sense of the vile part he has acted and 
desert of punishment . . . prays for pardon and forgiveness ..." 


Q O 

s < £ 5 s 

•*• 2 5 < z 

"» J o2< 

< m m ib 

Timothy Church was given Lots 35, 47, 60, 71, 84, and 90 

This prayer was granted in Feb. 1783, notwithstanding which the Guilford 
Committee wrote that Church would be hanged, if he returned. (New York) 
Governor Clinton by a letter of June 24, 1783, advised Church to call out his regiment 
and resist the execution of the Vermont laws. Church was again arrested, and on Jan. 
10, 1784 imprisoned at Westminster. Free pardon was granted him October 23, 1784. 



. . 


After the Revolution and the Vermont controversy were over, the State of New York 
granted some wild land to the Vermont "sufferers" to replace that of which they had been 
robbed and for their fidelity. That land was in what is now Chenango County, New York, and 
was granted upon the petition of Colonel Timothy Church and associates in 1786. CoL 
Timothy heads the list of "sufferers." Tlie records show that Timothy received six parcels of 
land of 640 acres each. 

Apparently the family moved to Bainbridge, since Abigail died on April 12, 1821 and 
was buried in the South Bainbridge Baptist Cemetery. Timothy returned to Brattleboro after 
Abigail died to be with some of their children. When he died on November 13, 1823, he was 
buried in Brattleboro; it would have been too great an undertaking to return his body to 

Timothy, Jr. was born in 1769 in Brattleboro, but moved to Chenango County with 
his folks. In 1792 he married Hannah Pratt from Harpersville, Broome County, New York, 
and their five children were born there. Child #4 was named Ezra Pratt Church. 

Ezra was born on February 9, 1805 (which made him a contemporary of Joseph Smith 
when Joseph eventually arrived in the area). He married Laurilla Cooley from Afton, about 
six miles south of Bainbridge, in 1834. By this time, Joseph Smith and his Mormons had left 
New York and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. Ezra and Laura lived first in Afton, and later moved 
to Bainbridge; however, their daughter, Frances Amelia Church, was born in Afton in 1838. 
Frances grew up to be a dark-haired beauty, and at age 17, married Edward Livingston 

The third child of this union was William Ezra Goodman. 

Ezra Pratt Church and Laurilla Cooley 

Chapter 3 
Our McNeil Ancestors 


John Corlett 
McNeil was born in 
Santon Parish, Isle 
of Man, England, on 
January 10, 1823. 
He was the oldest of 
five children born to 
William McNeil 
(McKneale) and 
Ann Corlett. When 
12 years old, John 
bee ame an 

apprentic e 
However, his desire 
was to become a 
sailor, so at age 14, 
he went to sea as a 
cabin boy, visiting 
South and Central 
America, the West 
Indies, the British 
Isles, and other 
countries. After 
sailing the seas for 
eight years, John, at 
age 22, returned 
home to Isle of Man 
in 1845. He become 
a shoemaker and 
give music lessons 
on the side. While 
hired as a tutor, he 
met Margaret Jane Cavendish. Her birth date was January 9, 1827. 

Map of England showing Isle of Man 

John and Margaret were married on October 9, 1847, when he was 24 years old and 
she was 20. A son, John Edward McNeil, was born on December 18, 1848. Several years 
later, John and Margaret were introduced to the gospeL Margaret was baptized first, on April 
4, 1 85 1. John was baptized on May 6 and ordained a Priest on June 8. 


.-■-■■»•■ .;•.,( 

-, ■ ■ .' i, 


The ship Camillas would be similar to the 

above drawing taken from the book Clipper 

Ships and Their Makers. 

In 1852/1853, the McNeils, together 
with John's two brothers, William and 
Richard, left the Isle of Man and boarded a 
small ship for Liverpool. On March 24, 
they sailed from Liverpool to America on 
the ship Camillus. Two hundred twenty 
years after our Goodman and Church 
ancestors arrived in America, the McNeils 
finally got here; they landed in New Orleans 
on June 7. Transferring to a river boat, they 
sailed up the Mississippi River to St. Louis. 

Here John's beloved wife, Margaret, who 
had never enjoyed good health, died on 
June 27, 1854, leaving Edward motherless. 

John hired a young girl, Mary Jane Quinn, 
age 14 or 15, to care for Edward. John and 
Mary Jane were married in September 1854. 
About this same time, John's brothers 
decided they wanted to see more of the 
world; one moved on to Iowa and the other 
to Australia. 

In St. 
Louis, in 1856, 
John was 

naturalized a 
citizen of the 
United States. 

John and 
Mary Jane lived 
in Banum 

Township, a 
suburb of St. 
Louis, where he 
made shoes and 
plated straw hats 
for plantation 
owners and for 
their slaves. 
John was asked by Church leaders to stay in St. Louis for several years to help fit wheels for 

Landing From An Emigrant Ship 
(Courtesy of Library of Congress) 


the wagons of Saints who had come up the Mississippi River. There he developed great skill 
as a wheelwright. He helped the Saints repair their wagons and handcarts, and as a 
blacksmith's assistant, he set and fitted the iron tires. 

Three children were bom to John and Mary Jane in St. Louis. In the spring of 1859, 
John prepared to go to the Salt Lake Valley with a wagon train. Because he had worked so 
hard to help others get their wagons ready to leave, his own needs had been neglected and 
the family was left behind. John supplied the family with a wagon, two yoke of oxen, two 
heifers, and a horse. They finally left several days later, probably thinking they could overtake 
the wagon train, but never did. John, Mary Jane, Edward (now 1 1 years old), and the three 
younger children traveled from St. Louis to the Salt Lake Valley alone — the only known 
family to make the trek across the plains unaccompanied. 


ormon Immigration in. the Early 1850 '4 

of the Utah Pioneers 
library has prepared 
a hand- out of what 
pioneers were 

instructed to collect 
before starting west. 
(In this Bill of 
Particulars, we 

assume do means 
ditto; in this 

instance, probably 
pounds. But what 
would 20 do of do 

This map is taken from Westward Ho!, instructional materials 
produced by the Church Educational System, pp. 18-19. 

Among other 
preparations for the 
long, weary trip, 
John filled his sea-chest with sea-biscuits. Sea-biscuits were very much like soda crackers 
of today, but made without leavening. Besides being very light, they were already prepared. 
One day the family saw a cloud of dust in the distance, which proved to be a party of painted 
Indians. 'Don't be afraid," John told Mary Jane. "We must feed them, but pray as you have 
never prayed before that they won't molest us." As the Indians approached, he took a large 
dishpan and filled it with sea-biscuits. When the Indians came near, he passed some to each. 
It took two large dishpans full to go around. The chief took some of his men aside for a 
discussion, then gave orders and they all rode away. 

The McNeils arrived at Fort .Douglas on August 1, 1859. A few days later, they 
moved north to Woods Crossing and lived in a cabin belonging to Daniel Wood. Daniel 



wr-at -a? 



Wood built a 
molasses mill on his 
place, and John 
operated it. The 
next year John sold 
a yoke of oxen and 
moved to Bountiful, 
where he opened a 
shoe shop in a 
dugout in the hillside 
on the road to 
Enoch Springs in 
North Canyon. He 
made and repaired 
shoes for the next 
seventeen years. 

John and 
Mary Jane received 
their endowments 
on March 1, 1862, 
and were sealed in 
the Endowment 
House in Salt Lake 

Through his 
work, John made 
the acquaintance of 
the William and 
Mary Smith family 
of Porterville, and 
on September 12, 
1868, John, age 45, 
married Mary Ann 
Smith, age 15, in the 
Endowment House. 
Mary Ann moved 
into a one room 
dugout, and here her 
first child was born. 


Each family consisting of five persons to be providdd 

1 good strong wagon well covered with a light box 
2-3 good yoke of oxen between the ages of A — 10 years 

2 or more milch cows 
1 or more good beef 

3 sheeD if they can be obtained 

£00 lbs. flour or bread or other bread stuffs in 
good sacks 

4 lb. tea 

5 lbs. coffee 
100 lbs sugar 

ceyenne pepper 
2 lb. mustard 
20 do rice 
1 do cinnamon 
j do cloves 
1 do nutmeg 
20 lbs. soap 
4-5 fish hooks and line 
25 lb salt 
5 lb saleratus 
DO do dried apples 
1 bush beans 

A few lbs dried beef/bacom 
5 lbs dried peaches 
2) do of do 
5 lbs pumpkin 
25 do seed grain 
1 gal alcohol 

15 lbs iron and steel 

A few lbs of wrought nails 

1 good seine 

Cooking utensils 
kettle, fry pan 
coffee pot, tea kettle 

Tin cups, plates, knives 
& forks, spoons 

A good tent and furniture 

to each 2 families 

Clothing & bedding to 
each family not to 
exceed 500 lbs. 

Ten extra teams for each 
company of 100 families 

1 good musket or rifle 
to each male over the 
age of 12 years 

1 lb. powder 

h lbs. lead 


In 1873 John 
built a new home for 
Mary Jane (his 
second wife) on the 
bank of North 
Canyon Creek. * It 
was a long, low, 
adobe house divided 
into parlor, 

bedrooms, pantry, 
and a large kitchen. 
Outside, a path lined 
with lilac buses and 
mulberry trees led to 
a large veranda. By 
this time, John and 
Mary Jane had nine 
children; two more 
would follow in the 
next four years. 
Mary Ann and her 
four children moved 
into Mary Jane's old 

In addition 

to being a cobbler, 

John did truck 

gardening and grew 

a fine orchard and 

vineyard. These 

products were sold in Salt Lake City. He, with others, hauled logs for the First Ward building 

in Bountiful, and gave some time to hauling materials for the Temple, then under construction 

in Salt Lake City. 

2513 Orchard Drive, Bountiful 

The John McNeil home, on 2513 Orchard Drive, was built in 1873 on 
the bank of the North Canyon Creek. It was a long, low, adobe house 
divided into parlor, bedrooms, pantry and a large kitchen. Outside, a 
path lined with lilac bushes and mulberry trees led to a large veranda. 

John McNeil was born on the Isle of Man, January 10, 1823. He 
sailed to America in 1852, and settled in St. Louis, Missouri. While 
there, John met and married Mary Jane Quinn. They then journeyed 
to Utah, arriving at Fort Douglas. August 1, 1859. In 1860, they 
moved to Bountiful, and John opened a shoe shop in a dugout in 
North Canyon. Until 1904, they also had great success as truck 
farmers, hauling their eggs, butter, cottage cheese, fruits and 
vegetables to Salt Lake City to sell. 

This home has remained in the family and is now occupied by John's 
great-granddaughter and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Gary 


ir nie John McNeil home is located at 25 13 Orchard Drive in Bountiful, and bears a plaque 
identifying it as an Historical Home. The home has remained in the family and is now occupied by 
John's great-granddaughter and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Gary Mugleston. This picture and 
description are from Bountiful Area Historic Sites, courtesy of Davis County Library. 


., ■ ■ 


.!•> i- ' / flJII'l 











"•— ^ 



• — « 








John and his family traveled from Bountiful to Salt Lake City to Conference, picking 
up a friend and his family. In this way, feed for one team was saved. A Mrs. Hunt wrote of 
one such trip: 

I'd send my children to watch for him so as to be sure we'd not keep him waiting. 
When they told me he was coming, Td go to listen and see how much time we still 
had. We could hear the wagon, and he always came singing. His voice carried over 
the air. He'd greet us in song and help us load our things, singing all the while. He 
would sing all the way to Salt Lake City. When we were assembled, the President 
would arise and ask, "Has Brother McNeil from Bountiful arrived? If so, please 
stand. Will you come forward and lead the choir?" He lead the choir for Conference 
and sang all the way back home. The first time this happened to us, I couldn't thank 
him for the ride, I was that hoarse from just hstening. 

When funds were low during the building of the Salt Lake Temple, John organized 
a minstrel show, using and teaching variations of the Negro songs he had learned in St. Louis 
while working around the slaves. He traveled from town to town, all over the southern part 
of the state, sometimes playing a second night by request. 

During October Conference in 1877, President John Taylor called John on a mission 
to help establish settlements in Arizona. He was later set apart by Lorenzo Snow. By this 
time, John's son by his first wife, John Edward, was married and had a small family of his 
own, but promised to follow his father in a couple of years. Mary Jane had 1 1 children, 
ranging in ages from 23 years down to 2 years. She and her children decided to stay in 

To help us understand why John and other men were called to Arizona, a brief 
explanation of Brigham Young's policy on protective and economic expansionism seems in 
order here. 

Charles S. Peterson, in his book Take Up Your Mission 2 discusses the firm belief of 
President Brigham Young in a form of manifest destiny by which the Kingdom of God would 
be spread over both American continents. This vision necessitated securing land for a 
"Mormon Corridor" (similar to the one from Salt Lake through Las Vegas to San 
Bernardino, California) from Kanab, Utah, to a seaport in Guaymas, Mexico. President 
Young was aided in this effort by Thomas L. Kane, a lawyer- friend of the Mormons. Kane 
was to secure the land grant in Mexico while the Mormons established settlements along the 
Little Colorado River in Arizona. The earliest reconnaissance party went south in 1872. A 

Charles S. Peterson, Take Up Your Mission: Colonizing Along the Little Colorado River, 
1870-1900, Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1973, pp. 6, 15, 17. 



■ • i ■ .• ■ 


series of villages 
was subsequently 
established along the 
river from 

Moenkopi to Alpine. 
Brigham died in 
1877, but his plan 
was carried forward 
by his successor, 
John Taylor. 

possible explanation 
for Mormon 

settlements in 

Arizona is contained 
in the Historical 
Atlas of Arizona. 
The authors write 


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"Mormon Corridor" from Kanab, Utah to Guaymas, Mexico 

One of the most troublesome problems that faced the Mormons in Utah was 
the expense of wagon freight from the Missouri River. In 1864, they hoped to reduce 
overland carriage of supplies by using the steamers on the Colorado River to bring 
freight within five hundred miles of Salt Lake City. The town of Calrville was planted 
on the north bank of the Colorado about twenty miles southeast of present-day Las 
Vegas, Nevada. The plan did not work out, because the new town was too far 
upriver for reliable navigation. 

The greatest period of Mormon immigration into Arizona began in 1870 with 
the establishment of Pipe Springs north of the Grand Canyon and Lee's Ferry at a 
crossing point on the Colorado in the canyon. From the ferry, settlements spread 
southeastward. These settlements reached from Fredonia in Coconino County, less 
than five miles below the Utah border, through St. Johns and Springerville to St. 
David in the San Pedro Valley. The largest settlement grew up at Mesa in the Salt 
River Valley. 3 

' Historical Atlas of Arizona, pp. 20 and 28. 


For whatever reason John and Mary Ann were called to strengthen the settlements in 
Arizona, at the time they finally got underway, Mary Ann had 5 children: Sarah, 8, Daniel, 
5, Ephraim, 4, Lillias, 2, and Hannah, 9 months. They left Bountiful on November 18, 1878, 
with one wagon, a team of mules, a team of horses, and two cows. It was a long, tedious 
journey. Mary Ann, already in her sixth pregnancy, walked many miles carrying baby Hannah, 
because the motion of the wagon made Hannah ill. When but a day's travel from Kanab, the 
animals became exhausted and would go no further, so John walked to Kanab to get help. 
That night a storm came up. Two sheepherders were good Samaritans and gathered wood, 
built a fire, cooked supper and gave other assistance. Without this help, Mary Ann and the 
children might have perished in the blizzard. 

Getting fresh teams, the McNeils arrived in Kanab on Christmas Day 1878. They 
were taken in by the kind people of Kanab and stayed there a year. They spent the winter 
with John Standifird. In the spring they rented a house, orchard and garden from Jacob 
Hamblin. Their sixth child, Angus, was bom in Jury. He died within a couple of days and was 
buried in the cemetery in Kanab. John and Mary Ann did some family temple work in the St. 
George Temple while living in Kanab. William McKneale, John's father, was baptized and 
endowed by proxy in April. 

They resumed their journey the next winter and arrived in Snowflake, Arizona in 
December 1879, staying the first night at the home of Aunt Janet Smith. The next day they 
went three miles to Taylor, accepted the hospitality of James Pearce, and stayed there a week. 
The remainder of the winter they lived at the Standifird Ranch above Shumway in a tent with 
a fireplace in one end, using the covered wagon box for a bedroom 

The following spring, 1880, the family moved to Forestdale on the Apache Indian 
Reservation, and planted a crop. They had a hard time that summer with no flour at all. A 
neighbor gave them some mouldy corn which had been outside all winter. This was ground 
on a coffee mill and made into bread, but was not very tasty. When the corn they had planted 
reached the roasting ear stage, they ate corn three times a day. A grater was made by 
punching holes with nails through the bottom of a tin pan, and, when the corn was hard 
enough, it was grated. This meal made appetizing mush. When the corn was ripe, it was 
ground on the coffee mill and made into delicious corn bread. They had little besides corn 
bread to eat. A small amount of milk and greens gathered from the hillside made up the menu 
much of the time. 

There were no stores nearby where they could get food or clothing. The small boys' 
pants wore out and for a time a shirt was all the clothing they had to wear. Some Navajo 
Indians came to Forestdale with blankets and jeans cloth to trade to the Apaches. The 
McNeils traded some caps and gun powder for jeans cloth from which Mary Ann made John 
a coat and pants for the two boys, Dan and Eph. 

■rf ; 



* iv • 


Muddy River 



■» N I shout crcck i JKANAB >» , _ 

COLORADO CITY T, Htn)SCRAaBL£ , \0 Crossing of the Fotherz 

», -7W 




V /' StmorviLLE O ( I ftrwr Springs 

; if | The Arizona Strip^ j \ 

\ Willow Springs 






L«JtZTn LittleXColorado settlements 

P ^ U ^/S^BRISHAM CJTYtaux.vofPS MP) 


Mormon Dairy O suwsfT CTOSS1N ^C_- JOSEPH CjnrfS£%IEr; 

Mormon LokeQ) CrC^>«# HOLBROOK < horsemen cwjssiivg j 

MILLVILLEO TAYL0R/ nRFrr) TAYLOR iWu/oonpi ipf ' ■ 


SNOWFLAKE ^ttUNT (El vaoito s 
£v • u ST.J0HNSs«i.iu4*j 

R _\ 0SHUMWAY • neroirichct) 
WILFORD* \ x ' ©CONCHO (Ei/iSTusj 


woodland! NUIKJOSO tAuiTr) 





Gila settlements\ 


or port of a larger city 
• Community lexisting) 
"~ — — Mormon Trails 



(T\ 1WI dt *>• UfWftity of Ofclanoma Prmi 

Taken from Historical Atlas of Arizona 



The McNeils were very friendly with the Indians, sharing their food and home with 
them. Mary Ann spent hours at her sewing machine making shirts and dresses for them 
During the summer, the disgruntled natives threatened the white settlers and most of them left 
Forestdale. They told John he could stay; however, they were nasty and frightened Mary Ann 
and the children many times. One day when John and Mary Ann were away from home, some 
Indians asked the children for soap and threatened to kill them if they refused. Frightened, 
the children went inside the house. One of the men took their only bar of homemade soap, 
cut it in hal£ took one piece and went on his way. A few days later he came again and asked 


for food. Mary Ann refused, and chided him for threatening her children. He said the 
children had lied. After a few more words, she took the butcher knife and went toward him 
He backed out of the door and disappeared mumbling in broken English, "squaw fight." 

Later that autumn, after the harvest, the family moved to the Ellsworth Ranch on 
Show Low Creek where their seventh child, a son, Benjamin, was born in December 1880. 

In the spring of 188 1, some Apaches camped on a hill near the Ellsworth Ranch. They 
had a drunken brawl and gun fight. Their war chie£ Pitone, was killed, his brother, Alchasay, 
was shot through the lung, and their peace chie£ Padro, was shot through the knee while 
tying in his wickiup. Padro died, but Alchasay recovered and was Chief of the tribe for many 
years. During the fight, a squaw came down the hill and left her baby in the McNeil house. 
During the fracas, some stray bullets came near the homes of the white settlers. As one bullet 
whizzed near httle Eph's head, he ran into the house screaming, "I'm shot! I'm shot!" When 
the fight was over, some of the Indians came and asked Edmund Ellsworth and John if they 
would come up to the camp and bring "Mormon medicine." 

Rumors came to the settlers at Show Low that Geronimo and his renegade band were 
coming to that area. They made a lumber enclosure around C. E. Cooky's home on the hill 
and moved their families inside. John would not move with the others, but went to Reidhead 
Crossing, later called Lone Pine, and spent the winter. The following spring, 1882, they 
settled in Adair, where Althera and James (children numbers eight and nine) were born. The 
httle community was stricken with an epidemic of scarlet fever. The McNeil children took 
the disease and baby James died. 

While living in Lone Pine, the family didn't have much to eat, and no flour at all. John 
caught a beaver in the creek and they ate that. They ran out of soap and had no money to buy 
any, so John killed a coyote, took the fat from him and made soap. 

Some time later, John took up a homestead three miles south of Adair and built a log 
cabin, then added more rooms as the family grew. Jesse, Willie, (who died in infancy), Annie, 
Frederick, and Don Carlos (the last of the 14 children) were born there. A plot of land was 
fenced and farmed. They dug two wells and constructed a small reservoir. They carried 
water and raised a garden. With the help of mature sons and daughters, the family began to 
prosper and accumulated considerable livestock, horses, sheep, and goats, and were able to 
live comfortably. They milked the goats and Mary Ann made butter and cheese and sold it 
to the people in the settlements. 

Hannah (our grandmother), their fifth child, was one of the most popular young ladies 
around the country. Even the notorious Sheriff Commodore Owens was one of her admirers. 
However, a handsome newcomer from the midwest, William Goodman, won her heart and 
hand; they were married on April 12, 1897. 


.(• •; I' !</ -I '/" ■» 


In October of 1898, John and Mary Ann made a trip to Utah to visit relatives and 
work in the Temple. They came home on December 18, 1898 with new clothes and presents 
for the children and grandchildren. 

The railroad routes which existed at that time were not extensive. John and Mary Ann 
would probably have traveled from Holbrook to San Francisco on the Santa Fe Railroad, 
through northern Nevada to Ogden on the Central Pacific Railroad, and from Ogden to Salt 
Lake City on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. 

The next year conditions seemed favorable to prosper financially, but the Forest 
Department put restrictions on the number of livestock each man could graze on the forest 
land. This was discouraging to the livestock owners, so John decided to move to Old 
Mexico. Apparently, John's oldest son by his first wife, John Edward, was already in Old 

In June 1899, John was stricken with paralysis, from which he never fully recovered. 
The following November, they sold their ranch to George Scott, and moved to Colonia 
Oaxaca, Sonora, Mexico, taking a herd of 630 sheep, 820 goats, 45 horses, some burros and 
several wagons loaded with household goods and food supplies. John was 76 years old when 
they left Show Low. 

The McNeil family started for Mexico on November 15, 1899, with four married 
children accompanying them Daniel and Emma with baby, Vego and Althera Petersen, and 
David and Lillias Dalton and three children went as far as Gila Valley. Their son, Benjamin 
and wife, joined them in Mexico later. Hannah, age 21, who had married William Ezra 
Goodman in 1897 did not go with them She did not see her father alive again. 

The journey to Mexico was not a pleasure trip. They encountered many difficulties 
and hardships. Mary Ann, at age 46, related some of these in her diary, as follows: 

November 8. Dan McNeil and Vigo Peterson started with the sheep and goats. They 
had to go by Springerville because the Apache Indian Agent would not allow them to cross 
the reservation unless we paid one and a half cents per head. We are taking the horses with 
us through Fort Apache. The boys have herded them day and night for a week to keep them 

November 15. Wednesday. We started on our journey and got as far as Jens Peter 
Hansen's field about a mile and a half from home. Ephraim drove six horses. One of the 
wheel horses laid down on the wagon tongue and broke the end off. They patched it up and 
at night sent Jesse back to get an iron off Dan Mills' old wagon. 

November 17. The boys were so tired they did not heard the horses last night, and 
this morning a number were gone. They hunted all day, found all but four. 


November 18. Saturday. This morning it was snowing, is cold and bad for the babies. 
Last night they tied the burro's colt up so she would not run off, the little thing wound itself 
up in the oak brush and choked to death. The children milked the jenny for Lilhas' baby. We 
went to Cooky's Draw. It was rocky and muddy. Ephraim's lead mares turned out of the 
road and broke the axle on the trail wagon, so we had to camp and go back to Pinetop to get 
one. It was 4 p.m. when we got going again. We had to carry water in a keg a mile and a 
half. The burro went back to where her colt had died, so Jesse had to go her. 

November 21. Eph buried a bake kettle of beans in the ground last night, when he 
went to uncover them for breakfast he dug the lid off and peppered them with dirt. We ate 
some of the beans, but had to throw the soup away. While at breakfast we had a happy 
surprise. Dan McNeil and Vigo Petersen came riding up. They left the sheep in the Gila 
Valley, and came to see why we were so long; they had expected to meet us there. 

November 25. Drove 10 miles to Black River, grained the horses, filled the water 
barrels and pulled up the rockiest hill I have ever seen, one wagon at a time with 6 horses on 
it. When Pa got part way up, the little black mare he was driving balked and started going 
backward, the buggy ran off the dugway and if it had not been for a live oak bush, he would 
have gone back down to Black River again. They took the mare out and put Topsy to pull 
the buggy, she balked also. I thought the boys would break her ribs but she wouldn't pull, so 
they had to use my team to get up the hilL We camped at the top of the hill no water and the 
poor horses were tired and thirsty. The boys had to take them back to the place we had been 
at noon to get a drink. They took the burros packed with kegs to bring water for us to use. 
It was one o'clock when they got back. 

November 30. About 20 minutes after we left camp, Eph broke the brake and single 
tree on his wagon. The men helped him fix the brake and make a new single tree. When we 
got to the top of the hill, Dan Mills had been up a side canyon and found water good enough 
for the horses so they are taking them all up. We traveled over an awful rough road then 
came to a dangerous dugway. Dan Mills, Dave Dalton's and my wagon got down, but 
Ephraim's two wagons came near slipping off so they had to leave these and Emma's wagon 
on the dugway until morning. We camped in the roughest place I ever saw, it is almost 
impossible to find dirt enough to build a fire. Rocks, rocks, rocks, I am so tired of rocks. 
The poor horses are nearly pulled and choked to death, we have no grain for them It is one 
hill after another. I hope I never see this horrid road again. It is not safe for anyone. I begin 
to feel discouraged and wish I was back home in my old log house. I feel like crying and 
swearing all together, but then I thought the Lord had been merciful to us so far, we had had 
no one hurt, I ought to be thankful for that. Eph was very good, he made bread for supper, 
Vigo fried meat and made gravy, we borrowed flour from Sarah and meat from Dan, ours 
were at the top of the hill. Lilhas has been very sick all day with cramps in her stomach, she 
had to ride in my wagon. 


• . 

I ■ . i •/■■ » 

• I . 


December 1. Friday. The boys had to get up and make road and lift Ephraim's 
wagons onto the road, it took until noon. I can hear the last wagon coming down the dugway 
now. We will have to repair the road before we can get out of here, no water here. Eph and 
Bob had to take the horses back 6 miles to water. We have lost Jesse or else he had gone 
back home. The burro was missing this morning so his father sent him to look for her. We 
traveled about 2 miles, Emma heard the burro bray, so Vigo went and found her. Jesse had 
not caught up with us when we camped at night. Oh! I am nearly beside myself. I am afraid 
the boy is lost, but Pa is mad at him He thinks he has gone back home, but I don't see how 
the boy would have grit enough to go without a canteen, bread, or a quilt. 

December 2. We have to do down, then up again, then down, down to the Gila River. 
We have been two weeks, we ought to have come in one week. About 2 o'clock our lost boy 
came up to us. I can tell you I was glad. He had been lost 18 hours. We finally reached the 
Gila River. No feed for the horses except willows. They drank so much water they looked 
like stuffed toads. We crossed a deep ditch the Indians had made. Eph broke a trailer tongue, 
so we camped at San Carlos that night and he made a tongue and put it in the wagon. 

December 5. Reached Eden (Curtis), Arizona, and stopped at William Oliver's, a 
friend of ours. Washed our clothes and bought hay and grain for the horses and food supplies 
for ourselves and repairs for the wagons. Lost 60 head of our sheep which makes me feel 
rather blue. Lillias and Dave left us and went to Bryce to make their home. Dave's sister 
lives in Bryce. 

December 7. Left Eden and the Gila River coming west with the sheep and goats. 
It blows fit to bristle your hair tonight, and there is plenty of sand, but no water and very little 
brush for wood. 

December 8. Camped about 18 miles from Curtis or Eden. Pulled through heavy 
sand all day and gradually up grade. No cedar or pine trees now but a thorny bush and cactus 
of all kinds, everything has a thorn on it, even what little grass there is. Two of our goats are 
sick or crazy from something they have eaten. Eph had to put them on his wagon to ride. 

December 9. Three more of our goats are sick this morning, one of our best billies, 
so they have put him on the wagon. It is as cold as the Old Nick, and not much wood. The 
children set some tall cactus afire. They look pretty standing up burning, they make such a 
bright light. 

December 10. Sunday. Drove to Eureka Springs, a big cattle ranch, it is a nice place. 
A nice old lady came out and talked with us and gave us some pomegranates. She told us it 
was 36 miles to Wilcox. We got water to fill our barrels but had to pay 5 cents per head for 
the horses. We drove on about 5 miles and camped, there is good grass for the animals, but 
no wood. We had to make a fire with cow chips. Eph went a mile to find wood and got a 
cedar fence post, so I baked light bread. I am writing this sitting in the spring seat in my 


wagon, while the bread is baking. My back is nearly freezing. Everybody in camp has gone 
to bed. 

December 13. Drove into Wilcox this morning and bought some food and clothing. 
We had to pump water for the horses. It took Dan quite a long time to find a place to water 
the sheep, they came nearly getting run over by the train. 

December 15. Drove 6 miles to Pierce, a mining town with a great big mill. Went to 
a great big pump to water the horses, had to pay 5 cents per head, we watered 8 head, drove 
on 5 miles. Pa and Jesse are left behind every day to drive the sheep. I cannot see how Jesse 
can walk so far every day. The billy goat got no better so we left him by the roadside. We 
lost a buck sheep and 4 goats with loco. I have been sick all day with a sick headache and 
stiff neck. 

December 19. Pa and I went to Bisbee, it is 2 miles up a side canyon. In the center 
of town is a large two story store, lit up with electric lights and has anything you can ask for. 
We bought a new range with 6 holes and a reservoir for $36.00, some furniture and food 
supplies and a new washing machine. 

December 21. Went up town again today. I had to unload part of my wagon to make 
room for the stove. Althera, Emma and the children went to see the sights. 

December 23. Drove to Naco. Dan McNeil and Dan Mills went 9 miles to the 
custom house to see if our pass had come. They said it had. Pa is having a serious time with 
his lame hand. It is swollen and pains him very bad, he can hardly sleep. It is 10 o'clock and 
very cold. I guess I'll go to bed. 

End of Diary 

Life in Colonia Oaxaca (pronounced Wa-ha-ka) was not what the McNeil family 
expected. On account of poor range conditions, steep hillsides, predatory animals and high 
duty tax on wool and sheep which had to be shipped to the United States market, it was not 
a profitable business. The McNeils sold their diminished herd and bought a small farm and 
settled in Colonia Morelos where they lived about 4 years. 

To improve their financial conditions, Mary Ann left an ailing John with their son, 
Benjamin, and went to Douglas to work. Taking Jesse, Fred, and Don Carlos with her, she 
lived there about three years. Jesse learned to be a machinist, which has been his life's work. 

John McNeil died August 20, 1909, at the home of his son, John Edward, and was 
buried in Colonia Morelos. Mary Ann was at the bedside of a sick daughter in Douglas, 



• 5 

■ i i*n » 


making it impossible for her to be with her husband. A daughter, Althera McNeil Peterson 
Evans died in Douglas on November 24, 1912. 



In about 1912, Mary Ann went to Porterville, Utah, and took care of her aged parents 
for two years. She returned to Arizona and homesteaded a claim about a mile and a half 
southwest of Show Low. Her unmarried sons — Eph, Fred, and Don — built a log house, a 
reservoir, dug a well, cleared land, and did some farming on the place. 

Then came World War I. Fred and Don were called into military service. Fred was 
in the infantry and saw action in France. Don served in the Navy. Both boys were married 
shortly after their return from the service. Fred married Dora Hansen and was employed at 
McNary in a logging camp where he met with a terrible accident. He was crushed under a 
set of logging wheels and died in the hospital in McNary on January 17, 1921. It was a 
terrible sorrow to his aged mother. 

Now she was lonely, unhappy and not strong enough to walk to town any longer. 
Eph bought a lot with a log cabin on it in Show Low so she would be near enough to walk 


to the post office, visit with neighbors, and attend church services and recreational programs. 
She and Eph lived in the cabin for a number of years, raised fine gardens, and sold vegetables 
and strawberries. Beautiful flowers adorned the yard. Eph built a new and larger house 
among the flowers and trees near the cabin where she spent the last years of her life. She 
said, "This is the best home I have ever had." 

A party held the day she was 83 years old brought 73 of her 178 living descendants 
together. In the group were nine sons and daughters who met for the first time in 20 years. 
At another party held on her 90th birthday, she and two sons step- danced. In the spring of 
1937 she became seriously ill with pneumonia. Three of her daughters — Lillias, Hannah, and 
Annie — came to her home and nursed her back to health. 

Mary Ann had little school training. However, she had a fine mind and sought 
learning through extensive reading, observation of nature and people she met. Therefore, she 
became a fairly well educated woman and an informative and interesting conversationalist. 

"Grandma" McNeil, as she was known in her later life to many relatives and friends, 
was a lover of beauty. From her flower garden, she adorned the church pulpit each Sunday 
and cheered the sick, aged and homebound with beautiful bouquets. 

An apt needle-woman, she trimmed her babies' clothes with yards of crochet, knit, hair 
pin and tatted lace. Her home displayed doilies, cushions, pillows, rugs, spreads, and quilts 
made by her hands. She was also generous with friends and neighbors. 

During her life she devoted much time to church work. She was Relief Society 
President for many years, and when the people lived on ranches, they had to travel miles on 
horseback to attend meetings and aid the poor and distressed. She was secretary of the first 
Relief Society in this area in 1883. She was secretary of the Y.L.M.I.A. in 1887. In 1893, 
the General Board of Education of the Church issued to Mary Ann McNeil a license as 
Instructor of Religion Classes in the Show Low Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- 
day Saints. This license was signed by President Wilford Woodruff and Dr. Karl G. Maeser. 
This was a distinct honor which came to her because of her knowledge of the gospel, her 
loyalty to its teachings, and her selfless service to her fellowmen. 

After her return from Old Mexico, she was Theology class leader and a faithful 
visiting teacher. Interested in genealogy, she spent considerable means for research. She 
spent two winters in Mesa doing vicarious work for her kindred dead in the temple. 

During World War H, local magazines and newspapers carried articles stating that the 
large number of descendants of Mary Ann McNeil in the armed services was some kind of 
record. In uniform were seven grandsons — John Mills, Donald Goodman, Lee Thompson, 
Emery McNeil, Warren McNeil, Angus Thompson, and Vigo McNeil — and eighteen great- 
grandsons — Waldo Willis, Kenneth Willis, Leland Nikolaus, Garth Nikolaus, Fred Freeman, 


-jr mi* 


..■ .I'li' ' . J '/" • 


Scott Freeman, James Freeman, Eugene Mills, Ray Mills, Ronald Mills, Otto Mills, Dan 
Warner, Del Ray McNeil, Robert Gillespie, Frank Gillespie, John Evans, Shirley McComas, 
and Eugene Goodman. 

Three great-grandsons and the husband of a great-granddaughter gave their lives in 
defense of their country — Frank Gillespie, Ray Mills, Waldo Willis, and Marion West. 

When Mary Ann died on May 30, 1944, at age 91, she had been a widow for 35 years. 
As her long, active, and useful life came to an end, a pall of sadness spread over the 


>*:Showlow Pioneer Died Tuesday, May 3(VAt Her 'f % 

,-Navajo County Home; Was Native Of England 2 t¥. 

.**■'• • ■ ».- ^> * . — i 

iFuneral services were held last se ii r to Bishop LeRoy Ellsworth." 

Thursday in Sh'owloW. for Mary 
Ann -Smith McNeil, a pioneer of 
that community, who passed away 
at her home -Tuesday, May 30th. 
She had been ill about a month. 
* Mrs. McNeil would have cele- 
brated her 91st birthday July 2. 

She is survived by nine children, 
55 grandchildren, 208 great-grand- 
children and 30 great-great-grand- 
chilren. Six of her grandsons and 
18 great-grandsons are in the arm- 
ed services; one great-grandson 
lost his life . in training, and one 
wears the Purple Heart . for 
wounds received in battle. 

The funeral services were, con- 
ducted by Almon D. Owens, coun- 

The speakers were John L. Willis 
and Mr. Owens. Y '.: _ - 

A sketch of her life was given 
by Sarah M Willis, a granddaugh- 
ter. Music was directed by Pho- 
sia Smith, and the song, "Whis- 
pering Hope," was sung '. by a 
group of granddaughters. Open- 
ing prayer was by Whittie Ells- 
worth, the benediction by Wm. Ni- 
kolaus. Interment was "in the 
Showlow cemetery, at the side of 
a son, Frederick. Louis E. John- 
son, of Lakeside, dedicated the 
grave. '■ » ' \-0 r \>y >•?£ s ' 

Grandma McNeil, as she - was 

(Please Turn To Page 8); 


The following picture was sent to Hannah by Grandma McNeil. Grandma wrote a 
message on the back of the picture which has faded terribly over the years. A word or two 
are not readable. It says: This was taken last August. I didn't send it then because I thought 
it was too ugly. I was so tired and black. Jess called me an old squaw. I was scrubbing the 
floor when a man came in and insisted I come out on the porch. I want to take a picture of 
your place. I said, oh I can't, I'm too dirty, I'm scrubbing. He said, oh it won't show at all. 
Came out, it was taken under the shed just over the front door. Annie's baby buggy is just 
behind me, and the old piece of carpet is looped up that I let down to keep out the sun in the 


afternoon, and the ice (word not readable) hangs up in the corner by the strings. He wanted 
Annie to set out but she wouldn't. From Mother to Hannah. 


Great-Grandmother Mary Ann Smith McNeil 


•> • • 

.»•»)• ' 



C"992B- Kmarm wc 
Oc byCoHtvs Synd Inc. 

Tor the school play we 

hafta dress like our 

aunt's sisters." 

Mary Ann Smith McNeil and daughter, Annie 
McNeil Thompson 



■ - 


L to R: Hannah McNeil Goodman and 
Lillias McNeil Dalton 

Ephriam McNeil 
'OJncle" Eph 


.«•; I- • ■ ( , ■ 


' : 

"July 2nd 1936. First time all the family had been together for more than 36 years." 

L to R: Sisters: Annie Thompson, Hannah Goodman, Mary Ann McNeil (Grandma), 

Sarah Mills, Lillias Dalton. Brothers: Jesse, Dan, Eph, Ben, with Don in front. 



Chapter 4 
Our Smith Ancestors 

William Smith was 
born April 12, 1824, in 
Macclessfield, Cheshire, 
England, to William Smith 
and Mary Etchels. When he 
was 14 years old, he was 
apprenticed to a silk weaver 
for four years. He joined 
the Church of Jesus Christ 
of Latter-Day Saints on 
April 28, 1840. William 
married Ann Ormandy, and 
they had two young boys at 
the time of her death. The 
youngest child died about 
four months following his 
mother's death. The 

surviving son was named 
Thomas Garside Smith. 

In the spring of 
1852, William became 
acquainted with Mary 
Hibbert, and they were 
married on June 27 of that 
year. William was 28 and 
Mary, 20. Mary Hibbert 
was born July 20, 1831, in 
Newton Heath, Lancashire, 
England, to James Hibbert 
and Hannah Brown. 

Map of England showing the County of Cheshire 

William was especially skilled as a jacquard weaver and went from place to place preparing 
the looms for this particular brocade weaving. 

William and Mary were blessed by the birth of their first daughter, Mary Ann, on July 2, 1 853. 
On February 5, 1856, Mary delivered a son, Alma Walker Smith. Thomas, William's son by his first 
wife, was also a part of their family. 

• • I 


Soon the family began planning to move to Zion. Mary Ann was three and baby Alma four 
months old when they set sail for America on the ship Well Fleet, on June 2, 1856. They were on 
the ocean about six weeks, landed in Boston July 1 1, 1856, and went on to New York. A Brother 
Beulen came and took their things to Brooklyn, New York, where they rented a small upstairs room 
in a building in the poorer part of the city. 

They were in a strange land, friendless and without means. William set out to find work as 
soon as they were settled. Day after day he tramped over the city, starting at daybreak and continuing 
until dark or until hunger and exhaustion drove him home to the bleak, empty little room that held 
his famished family. They had been there about two weeks when Alma became sick with Cholera 
Infantum and died on July 3 1, 1856. Having only seven cents, they bought a five cent loaf of bread 
and a candle the night the baby died. The little spirit passed on just a few minutes before the candle 
flickered and went out. A few minutes later, William, feeling his way around in the dark, found his 
coat and hat and not daring to be late for the desperately needed job he had found the day before, 
started on the long walk to the docks. 



Before leaving, he told Mary he would send someone to take care of the baby. He reported 
the death to the city authorities. The broken-hearted mother, weak from hunger, emotion, and long 
days and nights caring for the sick child, selected the best she had and prepared her baby for burial. 
Some time later, two strange men came with the hearse to take the body away. Two Sisters of 
Charity came with a box made of rough lumber which they lined and padded nicely. Mary held the 
baby to her heart, kissed him and laid him in the casket. She watched the men carry Alma's body 
away to an unknown grave in a cemetery called Flat Bush on Long Island. Soon after this, Thomas, 
age 1 1, ran away and they never saw him again. 


— « 


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.'[ page 183 


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The Smiths moved to St. Louis. 
Missouri, the next year, July 1857, where 
they lived for six years. They crossed the 
plains with a company of emigrants led by 
Hansel Harmon, arriving in Salt Lake City, 
Utah, October 5, 1862. Mary Ann was nine 
years old at the time. They lived first at 
Bountiful, moved to Kaysville, and finally 
settled in Porterville northeast of Salt Lake 


Heber Ci 

Map showing Porterville in relation 
to Salt Lake City 

On September 12, 1868, in the 

Endowment House in Salt Lake City, Mary 

Ann, at age 15, became the third plural wife 

of John McNeil, a man 30 years her senior. 

(His first wife was dead, so Mary Ann had only one "sister wife") Family lore is that Mary Ann did 

not want to marry such an old man, but her father insisted. John didn't even come for her; but 

arranged to meet her at the Endowment House in Salt Lake City on a specified day. Mary Ann 


placed her meager belongings in a square dish towel, tied the bundle to the end of a stick, and started 
walking the 25 miles to Salt Lake City. During at least part of her trek, she was given a ride by a 
farmer, and rode in the back of the wagon with his garden produce. We can only wonder what her 
thoughts and fears were on that day. 

John and Mary Ann Smith McNeil moved from Bountiful to Arizona in 1878 after a call was 
issued by President John Taylor. The McNeils visited their families in Utah in 1 898; after that visit, 
Mary Ann did not see her parents again until 1912, when she spent several years in Porterville helping 
take care of them William Smith died September 10, 1915 at Porterville, and Mary died July 25, 
1921, in Coltman, Idaho. 

Our Smith ancestors had many trials during their lives, but their faith and their testimonies 
of the tmliifulness of the restored Gospel never faltered. 

Mary Hibbert and William Smith 




Chapter 5 

William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil 

Navajo County Years 

Grandpa ('Will" or 'Bill") was living with his father and stepmother (Edward L. and 
"Aunt" Julia Goodman) in Linden and working at the Water Canyon sawmill (it was also 
called Standard, and was a subsidiary of the McNary sawmilling operation) when he and 
Grandma (Hannah) met. She was living at home with her parents in Show Low. Her 
children tell the family story that Grandma didn't go to the dance the first time Grandpa did 
after he arrived in the area. After the dance, her brothers told her she missed meeting this 
handsome newcomer, and that she should set her cap for him. She asked his name, and when 
they told her it was "Goodman," she retorted that she wouldn't be caught dead in bed with 
a man with a name like that. Apparently, he was most persuasive when they finally met. They 
were married on April 12, 1897 in Linden; he was 26, and she was 19. Bishop Niels 
Peterson performed the ceremony; witnesses were Orven Webb and Lillias Dalton. Lillias, 
of course, was Grandma's sister, married to David Dalton. 

Grandma was an active Mormon, but Grandpa was a non-member. During 1897, the 
year of their marriage, the Mormons had been in the Salt Lake Valley for 50 years and were 
celebrating the Church's Jubilee Anniversary. Wilford Woodruff was the current president 
of the church. The Church was still young enough that he was only the fourth president. 

After their marriage, Grandpa and Grandma lived with Grandfather Edward and Aunt 
Julia on their homestead at Linden. Andrew Jenson, Church Historian, wrote this short 
history about Linden after one of his trips to the Little Colorado River "Mission" settlements: 

A few families of Latter-day Saints who were looking for homesteads settled 
on the north slopes of the Mogollon (Muggy-own) Mountains about 23 miles 
southwest of Snowflake and engaged in dry farming and cattle-raising. The first 
settlers located there in 1878. . . . The place was originally known as Juniper, but five 
years later settled on the name of Linden (named after the species of tree known for 
its large cordate leaves). 

A daughter, Frances Ellen, was born to Grandpa and Grandma on November 22, 
1897. She was named after Grandpa's mother, Frances, and his sister, Ellen, who had played 
a prominent role in his care and raising after his mother died. 

In the following year, 1898, the Spanish- American War began. President Woodruff 
died, and Lorenzo Snow became the 5th Church president. President Snow began 
emphasizing the payment of tithing; the Saints had deliberately neglected to pay tithing 

mf ** 

ml m* -/ -# 





during the years following the confiscation of church property and funds by the Government 
after the Edmunds- Tucker Act (an anti-polygamy bill) was passed in 1882. 1 

Grandpa and Grandma's second child, William (Willie) Edward, was born on April 12, 
1 899 — their second wedding anniversary. 


— Of Co ill! Srrt. tic 


"I wish Granddad was here 

lookin' at these pictures with us 

instead of way up there 

The Year of Our Lord Nineteen 
Hundred— 1900— A NEW CENTURY. The 
population of the United States was 76 million 
people; 14,000 automobiles were registered and 
there were 144 miles of hard- surfaced roads. Other 
transportation was by horse-drawn vehicles 
— buggies, surreys, cabs, delivery- wagons and fire 
engines; bicycles were also popular. The average 
wage was about $400 to $500 per year, and the 
average working day 10 hours, six days a week; 
26% of boys ages 10 to 15 were employed. 
William McKinley was re-elected President and 
Theodore Roosevelt elected VP on the Republican 
ticket; within the year McKinley would be shot and 
TR would become President. Anti- saloon agitator 
Carry Nation began attacking bars with her hatchet. 

in heaven." 

John and Mary Ann McNeil, Grandma's parents, left for Old Mexico, but not Grandma 
and Grandpa. Aunt Annie Thompson remembered: 

All of the McNeil kids went to Mexico but Bill and Hannah Goodman. Bill 
wouldn't move. They had a draught at the same time and would have had to move 
anyway because there was no water for the cattle. Bill went down into the bottom 
of the crick and dug wells to water his cattle. 2 

Grandpa continued to work at the Standard sawmilL After his stepmother, Aunt Julia, 
died, he was appointed the Acting Post Master at Linden on August 27, 1900 and served until 
December when Hiram Hopen received his appointment. After Aunt Julia's death. 
Grandfather Edward returned to Michigan to live with his daughter, Ellen. 

! Many of these historical dates were taken from The Century Book: A Family Record and 
U.S. History Chronology, by Joan Potter Loveless, Century Press, LaPrada, NM., 1933. Many of 
the Church historical dates were taken from The 1993-94 Church Almanac, published by Deseret 
News, Salt Lake City, Utah. 

2 Interview with Annie McNeil Thompson, January 25, 1981, taped by Ruth Goodman 
Stohl. Transcription in possession of Gloria G. Andrus; original tape sent to LaVene T. Fenn. 


In the Church in 1901, 
President Lorenzo Snow died 
and Joseph F. Smith became the 
6th President of the Church. In 
the nation, Surgeon Walter 
Reed discovered that yellow 
fever was caused by a virus and 
spread by mosquitos, helping 
make possible the building of 
the Panama Canal Prior to this, 
the crossing of the Isthmus of 
Panama was from the Caribbean 
Sea on the north to the Pacific 
Ocean on the south with the 
help of local inhabitants and 
donkeys. Some of our 

Goodman ancestors may have 
made such a crossing. 

In the Goodman family 
at Linden, another boy was 
bom — Alvin arrived on January 
9, 1901. Sometime between 

Alvin's birth and Walter's birth, the family moved to Pinetop, where Grandpa and a man by 
the name of Evans built a sawmill. Mr. Evans started stealing things and hiding them in the 
sawdust pile. Grandpa was afraid someone would find out and think he was involved in 
stealing. In those days, those who stole were dealt with pretty harshly, so he sold out. He 
had registered to vote in Pinetop on June 14, 1902. 3 Walter was born there on May 30, 
1903. 4 In that same year, Orville and Wilbur Wright made their historic 59-second flight in 
the airplane they built at Kitty Hawk, NC. 

Frances and Baby Willie 

3 James R. Jennings, The Freight Rolled, p. 28, wrote: "Pinetop, the home of the Penrods. 
Except for the beautiful forests and the delectable mountain air, the only thing of prominence was 
the Penrod Saloon — the only saloon south of Holbrook. This was a favorite wayside stop for 
soldiers." As a child, Gloria always watched for the Dew Drop Inn as the family drove through 
Pinetop. For some reason, that name intrigued her. 

4 Merintha Altheria Penrod, later to become Beulah's mother-in-law, was the midwife 
attending Grandma when Walter was born. 

-J -? r > 


1 / I '>»<•» 


Towns in Navajo and Apache Counties where the Goodman Family 

lived and worked 

Leaving Grandma and their children Pinetop, Grandpa and Uncle Eph McNeil began 
working together in White River and Fort Apache; in late summer 1904, they both registered 
and listed White River as their place of residence. 

Grandma and the kids soon followed Grandpa, and Donald, child number 5, was born 
on November 16, 1905 in Fort Apache. Willie started the First Grade in Fort Apache, and 
presumably Frances was in the Second or Third Grade. Grandpa worked for the Army as a 
carpenter at the Fort. He was a First Class Carpenter, having been taught at an early age by 
his brother, Walter, in Ava, Illinois. His specialty was cabinet finishing. At Fort Apache, he 
also helped build officers quarters, a dormitory for officers' children, and horse barns. 5 A less 
pleasant task at Fort Apache was the making of caskets. One winter while the family was 

5 Grandpa's carpenter tools still exist and are in the possession of Donald Goodman. 


Horse Barns at Fort Apache which Grandpa may have built 
(or would this be a later barn?) 

there, a terrible epidemic of diphtheria hit the area. One soldier after another died. Grandpa 
would just get one casket finished in the daytime and someone else would die and he'd have 
to build another casket even if he had to work all night. 

Bill told of being thrown in the guard house at age 5 or 6 while living at Fort Apache. 
For that story, refer to his chapter. 

While working at Fort Apache, Grandpa applied for a grazing permit on the White 
Mountain Apache Reservation. Charlie Pettis had a permit to run cattle on the reservation. 
He had married the daughter of Colonel Cooley. 6 In 1906 or early 1907, Grandpa bought 
cattle, and Charlie ran Grandpa's cattle along with his own in Carrizo Canyon. After about 
a year, Grandpa applied for his own permit to run cattle on the reservation. The Indian 
Agent, Mr. Crouse, told him if he'd put in a trading post at Cibecue for the convenience of 
the Indians, he'd give Grandpa a permit. Other than Charlie, who had married into the tribe, 
Grandpa was the first white man granted a grazing permit on the reservation. 

So he built the trading post — a one-room house with a counter across the front about 
ten feet from the front door. The counter was quite high — just under a man's arms so the 

6 Corydon Cooley was the owner of Cooley 1 s Ranch which was located just south of the 
junction at Hon-Dah. He had been a scout for General Crook during the Apache Wars, and had 
several Indian wives. 

' I ('/••» 


Indians couldn't jump over it easily. There was a gate in the counter out to the front with a 
latch on the inside. The family lived on the backside of the counter. Most of the supplies 
were kept underneath and behind the counter. 

The Indians raised a little corn and received a small government allowance of about 
$9 per month. They would bring the corn and what money they had to trade for saddles, 
bridles, and the like to the trading post. The Indians would also bring in small gold nuggets 
in empty .30-. 30 shell casings. The only groceries they would buy were coffee, sugar, flour, 
and sometimes potatoes. Grandpa hauled the corn to Fort Apache to sell to the military to 
feed their horses, and hauled supplies for the trading post back to Cibecue. All this hauling 
was done by wagon, of course. 

On one occasion, Grandpa and Grandma decided to go to Holbrook for supplies for 
the trading post. Grandma put all their money in a horse's nose bag. When she got out to the 
wagon, she remembered something she had forgotten in the house, so she hung the nose bag 
on the gate post and promptly forgot it. They were gone for 4 or 5 days, and she was sure 
the money would be gone when she got back, but it still hung, untouched, on the gate post. 

Grandma actually ran the trading post and cared for the family while Grandpa ran the 
cattle and hauled freight. 

When the government placed the Indians on the reservation, they assigned each Indian 
a letter and a number in order to identify them. Two Indians especially familiar to the family 
were dubbed 1-2 and M-84; another family favorite was Natson. 

Grandma had many interesting and trying experiences while running the trading post. 
As she and the children were there alone so much of the time, Grandpa bought her a pearl- 
handled .45 Colt revolver to keep under the counter. One day M-84 and two or three 
women came into the trading post to buy sugar and coffee. He said something smart or 
threatened her, so she pulled out the pistol and told him to get out, but she didn't have the 
pistol cocked yet. He didn't move. He looked mean and acted like he would come over the 
counter after her. She pulled back on the hammer right quick. He heard the click and got out 
of there. As he ran out of the trading post, he told the Indians outside, "Bad squaw in there, 
got gun." The rest of that story is told in Uncle Bill's chapter. 


always kept the screen 
door on their house 
locked because she 
never knew when she 
would turn around 
and have an Indian 
standing there. One 
day when Grandma 
was cooking a large 
roast, 1-2 happened to 
be riding by on his 
donkey. He smelled 
the roast, got off his 
donkey, walked up to 
the screen and put his 
face against it so he 
could see where that 
delicious smell was 
coming from . 

Grandma walked out of the kitchen with her hands behind her back and threw a 
dipper of water into his face. He got out of there, but he was mad. He would probably have 
come right through the screen if he hadn't been afraid of the soldiers. Grandma said later that 
she wished she had fed him as he was undoubtedly hungry. 


Actually Grandma and Grandpa were good friends to all the Indians. One day 
Grandma saw an Indian woman pick up her axe and start off with it. She went outside and 
called to the woman and her companions and told them to bring it back. They just dropped 
it where they were and went off laughing. 

An old Indian chie£ John Daisy, lived on Oak Creek, southwest of Cibecue. One day 
a squaw, claiming to be John Daisy's sister, came to the trading post and wanted 
credit — which Grandma honored. It wasn't long until all the squaws on Oak Creek showed 
up claiming to be John Daisy's sister. 

Prior to 1880, the major freight supply routes into Arizona began with the Colorado 
River ports of Yuma and Ehrenberg. Freight unloaded in these ports went overland by wagon 
via Tucson and Prescott to Santa Fe. 

It was a great day in the White Mountains of Arizona when the Santa Fe Railroad 
from Albuquerque reached the Little Colorado River in 1881; Holbrook was established the 



• . 


• ■ < 







Taken from Historical Atlas of Arizona 

same year. 7 Thereafter, supplies for Fort Apache came into Holbrook by rail, whereas 
previously they had been freighted in by wagon from Albuquerque to the Fort. 
Transportation and communication between Holbrook and Fort Apache, 90 miles to the 

7 Holbrook was not an instant metropolis. According to the Historical Atlas of Arizona, 
1986, p. 60, the population in 1910 was only 609. 

south, came immediately. The round trip of 180 miles took 8 days in good weather, 
weather meant bad roads and several additional days to make the trip. 8 



Freight ran the entire gamut of human needs on the frontier. One load might be 
barbed wire, another rock salt, others sacks of flour, sugar, oats, barley, Timothy hay from 
New York State, boxes of clothing, sacks of walnuts, boxes of canned goods, a 
piano — everything and anything needed in a community. 

Although Fort 
Apache was the 
primary destination 
for most of the freight 
from Holbrook, other 
areas were served. 
These included 

Cibecue, about 45 
miles west of Fort 
Apache; Young, in 
Pleasant Valley south 

of the rim; and Keams ^g?^ 
Canyon on the ** 
reservation north of 


Six horse freight teams were tvoicai of the ISSC's and 1890's when much of the livelihood of the early settlers was earned 
by freighting supplies from the Railroad at Holbrook to Fort Apache. 

Picture taken from The Freight Rolled 

There were no roads as we know them today. The roads were actually trails made 
by the wagons. In dry weather they were mostly rough, in wet weather they were ruts and 
mud holes. 

At day's end the freighters camped, watered and fed the horses and hobbled them for 
grazing. The bedroll consisted of several heavy quilts rolled up in heavy canvas, sometimes 
called a tarpaulin, which was watertight when new. This roll was pulled down from the top 
of the load and laid out under the wagon. During stormy weather a little mud might drip from 
the underside of the wagon onto the bed. There was usually a little dry hay to spread under 
the bed to keep it off the wet ground; a bed under the wagon seemed like a haven. 9 

Like Grandma and the kids at the trading post, Grandpa was having his own 
challenging experiences as he hauled freight from Fort Apache to Cibecue for the trading 
post. On one such trip he had a wagon loaded with corn headed for Fort Apache in a heavy 

8 James R. Jennings, The Freight Rolled, Naylor Company, San Antonio, TX, 1969, p 25. 
9 Jennings, p. 13. 


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Major Freight Routes in the White Mountains 
Taken from The Freight Rolled 


rain storm As he attempted to cross Beaver Creek, the horses balked and wouldn't pull. He 
decided he'd have to unload all the freight to lighten the load so they could go on. He had 
placed a bear hide on top of the wagon before he left Fort Apache, so that was the first thing 
he grabbed. As he threw that hide ofZ the horses caught the bear scent and both of them hit 
their collars at the same time. That's all it took — he picked up the bear hide and he was on 
his way again. 

The family has often wondered where or how Grandpa got that bear hide. 
McCleve found the following story in the history of Jim Peterson. 



On June 16 (1906-07), I treed a bear at the head of what we call Scarecrow 
Canyon, and is a fork of Mud Spring and heads a little Northeast of the Goodman 
camp in JumpofI That day we were holding the day herd in the head of Trail Canyon, 
near the Reservation line, and I made a ride down Jumpoffto the Goodman Camp and 
then rode up a trail to the east. I intended to follow the main ridge out to the 
Reservation Boundary. But as I got on top, I saw the back of something bobbing up 
and down as it ran thru the manzanita brush, which I felt sure was a bear, and I started 
in hot pursuit. I kept gaining on him in spite of the brush and rough country until he 
decided to go up a tree. In his hurry he made a miss when up six or eight feet, and 
fell backwards lighting with all four feet in the air right under my horse's neck, but he 
was not slow in getting up and of£ but he did not run far until he went up another 
tree, and he did not stop until he reached the top. I got down and threw rocks at him 
until I threw my arm out so bad that I never could throw with any speed or accuracy 
again. He would not come down altho I hit him ; but he was about beyond my reach, 
as I was never a strong thrower. And why I wanted him to come down I really do not 
know, as I would probably have lost him 

When I could throw no longer I began to study out a scheme to keep him in 
the tree until I could get a gun. I tied one end of my rope around the tree, and then 
dressed up a forked limb about six feet long in my hat, jumper, and overalls, and set 
it up as far from the tree as my rope would reach, so it was in plain sight of the bear 
and tied my rope to it. I then started for the day herd to find Ammon Hancock, as he 
was the only man that carried a gun. But he was on circle when I arrived, so I told 
Jode where I had the bear treed and for him to get Amnion's gun and come down. I 
would ride back and watch the bear until he came, if he was still there. The 
concoction worked, the bear was lying on the same limb near the top of the tree that 
he was on when I left. And it was not very long until I heard the clanking of the steel 
on the rocks and I knew someone was coming. 

Ammon would not let Jode have the gun, but wanted to come with him, and 
as soon as they got there Ammon did not say a word but stepped off his horse and 
shot the bear. We skinned it and took the meat and hide to camp and we had bear 
meat for supper. Some of them did go for the bear meat, but it never did take much 
bear to do me. If I had not known what it was, it may have been different. The next 
day I killed a young wolf in Dear Spring Canyon, for which I get $20 in bounty. On 
the 18th we got home and let Hancocks have what bear meat there is left as nearly 
everyone else seemed to have about their fill of bear. On the way in Ammon met Will 
Goodman and sold him the bear hide, but Goodman was a little suspicious and did not 
pay him for it and came to see me. I told Will that I would sell him the hide, and if 
Ammon said anything about it, to tell him to come up and we would straighten up the 
matter, but Ammon did not show up. I would probably have shared with him on the 





hide, if he had acted different, but as it was, I did not think him entitled to any 
consideration. 10 

Peterson also mentions in his history a trait about Grandpa which was well known and 
documented for the rest of his life. We also find out in Peterson's history why Grandpa 
eventually quit ranning cows on the reservation. Peterson's narrative continued concerning 
the year 1907: 

On July 10, I load my bed and a little chuck on a pack horse and start for 
Goodman's camp in Jumpoff^ as we had arranged to make a trip to Whiteriver to see 
the Indian agent Mr. Crouse about fencing our allotment on the Indian Reservation. 
We realize the big outfits are going to get us out if we do not do something about it. 
They have the advantage in bidding on the range in the first place, and added to that 
the Indian Department is in favor of them, as they have fewer to deal with. So it 
makes it an easy matter for the big outfits to outbid us and get us off, as they can bid 
anything on our little range, and the department can make it up to them on their 
range. So it does not look good for us. It seems to be the lot of the small producer. 
The big guy looks upon him as a thorn in his side, and public officials regard him as 
a nuisance. 



Bill is not excited at all about our trip the next morning, and we do not get 
away until about noon and get no farther than Cariso that night. The next morning 
I wrangle the horses as I have a vague inkling that Bill will not be ready for breakfast 
for some time. And when I return he is still in Utopian dreams. However, we are 
near White River by the time we pitch camp at night. And the next day we present 
ourselves at the Office of Indian Affairs, but the agent is not there, and C.H. Jordan 
is in charge. So we do not get much satisfaction only that they are not in favor of 
leasing to small cowmen and prefer to deal with large outfits. When we get thru at 
White River, Bill proposes that we go around by the Post. Bill never knew when to 
stop talking when he met a man he was acquainted with, and here he ran into a bunch 
of women who had been neighbors when he and his family lived at the Fort, where he 
did carpenter work. You can imagine what time of day we got out of that Post and 
what time we left camp the next morning. But on the evening of the 10th we reach 
the mouth of Mud Spring where I take off for home. And for all, Bill is a mighty nice 
fellow in spite of his easy ways. We never got any satisfaction from the Indian 
Department, and finally Bill sold out to Jim Scott, and the boys figured we had no 
chance to stay there, so when we were notified that the W's had out bid us, we moved 
offin 1914. 11 


- ■ 

1 ° Jim Peterson, Sixty Years in the Saddle, pp. 123-125. Jim and Grandpa Goodman were 
good friends. Jim also wrote a poem in tribute to Frances quoted in her chapter. 

"Peterson, pp. 125-126. 


More will be said about Grandpa's visiting later in this history. 

1906 in Cibecue behind the Trading Post 

People are Grandpa, Bill, Alvin, and Walter 

Horses are Prince, Nob, and Chart 

Dogs are Bounce and Pup (the one who saved Bill) 

Grandpa and Grandma didn't have the trading post very long until they discovered it 
wasn't profitable. They kept the trading post open only about eight to twelve months. They 
then moved to Carrizo where Charles Pettis was located. When the family left the trading 
post in Cibecue, they had to pack 12 miles across to the Pettis cabin in Carrizo by pack horse, 
including the cook stove. 

After their move to Carrizo, Charlie and Grandpa went to Tonto Basin for more 
cattle. Bud Jones, who ran the Flying V Cattle Company, had a bunch of longhorn cows. 
Those longhoms were so mean that if they were ever corralled, they'd put everyone up on the 
fence. Some of those longhoms were purchased and herded back to Carrizo to join the herd. 

After the family left Cibecue and the trading post, Mr. Crouse told Grandpa that he 
could move anywhere he wanted on the west end of the reservation. After a short while in 
Carrizo, he moved up into Mud Springs Canyon which ran into Carrizo Canyon. 

The family moved to Mud Springs Canyon, and then on to Jumpoff Canyon. During 
a bear chase, Grandpa had seen JumporTCanyon with its broad flats, lots of walnut trees, and 
gramma grass about 18 to 20 inches high waving in the breeze. He said that was where he 
was going to move his cattle, so they went back to camp and the next morning started moving 

rw V? -r mt 






the cattle to Jumpoff Canyon. Jumpoff is about halfway between Mud Springs Canyon and 
Deer Springs Canyon. 


•» 5 

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Map showing approdmate site of Jumpofif Camp 


With grass as thick as it was in Jumpof£ the cows didn't have to move far to eat. 
Animal experts claim cattle get blackleg because they don't get enough exercise. The cattle 
began to get blackleg right away, and Grandpa and the boys had to start vaccinating them 

They stayed in Jumpoff about 7 years. It was necessary at the appropriate time to 
establish a base off the reservation in order for the children — Frances, Willie, and Alvin — to 
go to school, church, and to conduct other necessary family business. The family moved to 
Pinedale and settled down, but Grandpa continued to run cattle on the reservation for those 
7 years. 

Church Historian, Andrew Jenson, still on the move, wrote the following about 

The village of Pinedale is situated in an opening in the timber, or in a dale, 
which is about a mile wide and about 5 miles long from southwest to northeast, and 
is about 7 miles from the dividing ridge or reservation line or the top of the Mogollon 
Mountains. The timber belt in which Pinedale is situated extends from northwest to 
southeast for a distance of about 300 miles, covering the summits of the Mogollon 
Mountains, having an average width of 50 miles. The Mogollon Mountains extend 
from the San Francisco Mountains on the northwest to the so-called White 
Mountains, inclusive. ... In the winter of 1879-80, Thomas Jessup and Thomas 
Willis brought a sawmill from Fort Apache and placed it in the timber about 1 Vi miles 
south of the East Pinedale location. This was the first sawmill built in that part of the 
country. Lumber was first sawed there in 1880. 

In February 1894, Elder Jensen visited the Snowflake Stake in the interest of Church 
History and, after vising the different settlements in the Stake, he wrote the following to the 
Deseret News about Pinedale: 

Situated away up in the pine timbers near the top of the Mogollon Mountains 
is the little settlement of Pinedale, where the people raise grain without irrigation and 
obtain water for culinary purposes from wells. This is a most romantic place, and 
though the settlers have struggled hard to make a living in times past, the prospects 
ahead now seem to be better, and the people are determined to stick to it. Twenty- 
one families of 115 souls, presided over by Bishop Niels Peterson, constitute the 
membership of the ward (News, 48:393). 





HsoSt O 

fl Lett Hand Canyon 

£Pi» idalcPog t Office 

^v K— v gPWdale Ranger Station 

Map of Pinedale showing approximate location of Goodman house 

The first house Grandpa, Grandma, and the family occupied in Pinedale was rented. 
They lived in that house about a year. Then Grandpa bought a lot and built a house, across 
the wash from Charley Bryant's in the northwest corner of Pinedale. The house today bears 
a sign saying '"Probst," the name of a daughter to Charley Bryant. Also of note to our family 
is that the first house on the right after crossing the bridge has an addition on the east end 
which was built by Grandpa. 

An historic site in the village honors the Pinedale School Bell: 

For seventy-five years this bell tolled throughout Pinedale Valley as 
of unity, calling the settlers to school, 
church, and socials, and warning of 
disaster. Purchased in 1892, it hung for 
many years in a log school house near this 
site. Later it was moved to a rock school 
house between Pinedale and Mortensen, 
where it served both cornmunities. In 1922, 
another school was built on the site of the 
original log building. The bell was 
returned to its original location where it 
remained until a heavy snow fall destroyed 
the building in 1967. 

The Goodman children, Frances, Willie, 
Arvin, and Walter, would have attended school in 

a symbol 

Pinedale School Bell 


that old log school house; this bell would have called them and the entire Goodman family 
to their meetings. 

The Goodman family continued to live in Pinedale during the school months and in 
Jumpoff Canyon during the summer months. The camp in Jumpoff was about 16 miles from 
Pinedale. At that time, they had a little cabin at head of Jumpoff. They'd drive a team and 
buggy to the cabin, and then get on horseback and go on down to the camp. There were no 
roads, only trails, so they had to pack everything in on horses and the family burro, Jenny. 
Jenny was a good pack burro, but if she decided her load was too heavy, she'd go by a tree 

Alyn Andrus on Rim Road, 1994 

and rub it off. However, she didn't have to be led; after Grandpa got her loaded, she'd fall 
into line behind his horse and follow him anywhere. They packed in large crock jars, and even 
Grandma's treadle sewing machine. According to Don, 

Mama rode a horse with the rest of us. We had one picture of the whole family on 
horses. Dad, Frances, Bill, Afvin, and Walter were all on their own horses. Mama 

•> -/ -v 



.'• > » ■ « ( 


was on a horse with me behind, and John in the saddle in front of her. We were 
getting ready to go down to the reservation. 12 

It was only 5 or 6 miles from the head of Jumpoff to their camp. Once in camp, the 
Goodmans lived in army "wall tents." These consisted of a wooden floor and a wall up 3 or 
4 feet; a tent was attached to the tops of the walls. These were probably 12 feet by 14 feet. 
The family usually had 2 or 3 of them Corrals had been built down in the canyon and the 
boys would milk a bunch of cows. This was their permanent camp for the seven or so years 
they had their cows there. 

As the cows were milked, Grandma would separate the cream from the milk and make 
butter and cheese. Enough would be packed in large crock jars to last all winter. She'd pour 
salt water over the butter and cheese, and when the family later removed an item from a 
crock, they had to rinse the salt water off. 

As mentioned, the pack burro was named Jenny. All the boys, and girls, learned to 
ride her, but she got so she'd buck them off One day Grandpa was getting ready to go to the 
reservation, and even had his chaps and spurs on, when Jenny bucked one of the boys off. 
Grandpa decided to teach her a lesson and break her of bucking. He crawled on her, but she 
ducked her head and bucked him off also. He got up, and without saying a word, brushed 
himself off^ got on his horse and rode off. He never tried riding her again. (Fern says Jenny 
never bucked with her when she started riding her, but when Jenny wanted Fern off she'd go 
under a juniper tree and simply scrape her off) 

Shep, Pup, and Bounce were good dogs. Grandpa used to say he could take those 
dogs and do more with them with the cattle than he could with a man. He also had a white 
horse, Prince, which he had bought from the Indians. When he corralled a herd of cattle, all 
he had to do was ride Prince into the gate and get off; there wasn't a cow that got out of the 
gate by Prince. 

Another horse he bought from the Indians didn't turn out so well. Grandpa had 
questioned the seller about the the riding habits of the horse, but was assured that he had been 
on him Later, when Grandpa tried to ride him he found him to be a "pretty bad horse." 
One day the seller and some friends came by the corral there in Jump off so Grandpa told the 
Indian he'd give him a dollar to get on the horse. The Indian agreed. He caught the horse 
and tied him up real tight right close to the fence post, and put the saddle on him and 
blindfolded him He cautiously put his foot up in the stirrup and got on real easy, and then 
climbed right back off Then he held out his hand to Grandpa and said, "Okay, give me the 
dollar." Laughing, Grandpa said, "I just had to give him the dollar." 

I2 Even though in their memories for this book, the children address Grandma and Grandpa 
as Mama or Mom and Papa or Dad, in reality the boys called them Ma and Pa, while the girls 
called them Mama and Papa. 


John made his appearance at Pinedale on February 6, 1908 — the sixth child and fifth 
boy. Grandma give him the middle name of "McNeil." Also in 1908, Henry Ford's famous 
4-cylinder Model T was on the market at $850. General Electric patented the electric iron 
and the toaster; however, it would be several decades before electricity arrived in rural 
Arizona (through the Rural Electrification Authority — the REA 13 ). 

Each child was priceless in the Goodman family. It was a great sorrow when a 
precious baby boy, Ray, was born on Jury 3 1, 1910, but lived only 4 days. He was diagnosed 
as a "blue" baby with a defective heart; he was buried in the Pinedale Cemetery. 14 

In 1910 or early in 1911, Grandpa homesteaded 160 acres of land along Cottonwood 
Wash. One historian wrote: 

The first permanent settlement of Cottonwood Wash was made in 1908 by C. 
C. Bryant. ... In 1910-11 William E. Goodman, Jesse Jackson, Jens P. Hansen, E. 
J. Smith, and David Dalton settled near the Cross I L Ranch and a school known as 
Walker was maintained until 1922 when it was consolidated with the Clay Springs 
District. 15 

Cottonwood Wash runs in an irregular north-south direction several miles west of today's 
Clay Springs. It would run full during the spring run-ofl^ but was usually dry by early 

The clay springs, after which Clay Springs would be named, were the source of 
drinking water for the area. However, there was no organized community yet, just a 
collection of families living on their homesteads. 

The Homestead Act, signed in 1862 by President Abraham Lincoln, was designed to 
open western lands to settlers. The initial filing fee was $ 1 0, but was later raised to $ 1 8. The 
land could be permanently obtained in one of two ways: (1) after Irving on the land for six 
months, the settler could commute his claim and obtain immediate ownership by paying $1.25 
per acre, or $200; or (2) by living on the land continuously for five years and making certain 

13 Historian David A. Shannon wrote that: ". . . the REA did perhaps more than any other 
New Deal measure to raise the living standard and ease the physical work burden on a large 
number of people." 

14 Family members buried in the Pinedale Cemetery are: Aunt Julia, Ray, Frances, 
Grandpa, and Grandma. 

15 This quote is taken from a small booklet entitled Navajo County Semi-Centenmal 
Homecoming — to be held June 17, 18, 19, 1929. The booklet is in Venla McCleve's possession. 

■ ..... 



• ■ • i .• 


specified improvements. Grandpa and Grandma chose the latter option, and the land would 
become theirs in 1916. 

Homesteading was not always profitable. In many instances the land was marginal 
and unproductive. One homestead, preserved near the Badlands National Park in South 
Dakota, complete with sod dugout, displays a sign near the entry which reads: 

A common remark by homesteaders was "The government bets you 160 acres of land 
against $18.00 that you will starve to death before you five on the land 5 years." 

Literature distributed at the South Dakota site explains: 

The sodbuster in this area had a very difficult time surviving poverty, and many of 
them did not. It has now been determined that 160 acres in this area will produce 
grazing enough for only eight cows. 

Donald and John 
Approximately 1912 

We don't know how the area around Clay Springs 
compared to the South Dakota area in 1911, but 
homesteading was definitely not the pathway to riches. 

When the Goodmans moved to the homestead, 
Grandpa was 40 and Grandma was 33. The children 
were: Frances 13, Willie 12, Arvin 10, Walter 7, Don 
5, and John 3. A site was selected for the house and 
barn. Grandpa put up the wall tent for sleeping. As 
previously explained, a wall tent consisted of a wooden 
floor with side walls up about 4 feet and then a tent 
positioned over that. Grandma's cookstove was set up 
outside under a large juniper tree. Don remembers 
John and him sitting under that big tree, watching 
Grandma cook. 

A barn was built before the house, so Lloyd 
was born in the wall tent on September 26, 191 1, the 
last child of the family born in the Arizona Territory. 
(Arizona became a state on February 14, 1912 — the 
"Baby State" for many years.) Because of Ray's death 
as an infant, Lloyd's arrival was a delight to the family. 
Frances and Grandma were probably wishing for a 
girl. Maybe that's why Grandma kept the boys in 
ringlets for their first several years. 


The barn Grandpa built was a big one like they built in Iowa. The bam was so big that 
all the feed they could raise on the 80 acres they tried to farm would just fill one corner of the 
barn. The braces on the enormous barn doors were nailed on so they created a large "M." 

As soon as he could, Grandpa built a two-room house, but the older boys continued 
to sleep in the tent. They also slept in the barn, and later in a lean-to attached to the house. 
Don remembers the two rooms in the house as "pretty big rooms. " Fern and Beulah, as well 
as Frances' daughter, Beth, would be born in that house. 

There was no water on the homestead so they hauled their drinking water from the 
clay springs in large barrels. The springs, about 4 miles from the homestead, were much 
larger then than they are today; families would back their wagons up to the springs and fill 
their 50-gallon barrels with buckets. (These springs are located on the property now owned 
by Venla and Jay McCleve, and they irrigate their property each summer with spring water.) 
Those barrels would stay in the wagon, and when the family needed water, they'd take a 
bucket out to the wagon and dip a bucketful out of one of the barrels. 

Goodman home on Clay Springs homestead 
(also called Walker or Cottonwood ) 

The rest of the water for the family's needs was hauled from a stock tank about a 
quarter mile below the clay springs or one located on the Cross I L Ranch. The weather at 
that time was more moist than it is now, and the area had ample moisture the year around. 
The snow would be so deep the kids could walk over the fences. The stock tanks were 
usually natural depressions in the ground, but were made larger and deeper by the local 


■ ■ . 





Bill (?) plowing with Joe, Blue and Nickel 

fanners/ranchers. These were always filled from natural precipitation. One stock tank was 
located to the northwest of the house, but within viewing distance. Grandpa had a huge 
galvanized tank in a wagon, but it was longer than the wagon bed. Fern thinks it held 500 
gallons. La the summertime when they were raising the garden, they'd drive out into the tank 
far enough that they could go out and dip the water by bucket and fill the tank in the wagon. 
The wagon would then be pulled back to the house and parked near the gate to the garden. 
The tank had a spigot in the end and the kids would draw water out in buckets and carry it 
to the thirsty plants. Water hoses were unknown in those days. During the cold winter 
months, snow could usually be melted when water was needed by the family. 

The stock tank was also the site for many family activities — some pleasant and some 
not so pleasant. To Don, the stock tank was a place to swim The family never went fishing, 
but neighbors would get together and have picnics. He and his friends would go out to the 
stock tank and swim their horses around in the water. Sometimes they'd slip off and as the 
horses went by, the boys would grab their tails and be pulled along for a nice ride. However, 
this was also the stock tank where Don broke his leg when he was about 9 years old. Lloyd 
and Fern were baptized in the same stock tank. 

Willie was 12 years old in 191 1. He plowed the 80 acres with a single-turning plow 
pulled by horses. Then he planted sugar cane, corn, and beans with a single-seed corn 
planter — the kind that is jabbed into the ground and spread to open it up. Arvin was helping 
round up cattle on the reservation with Grandpa, so Willie had to stay out of school in the 
spring to put in the crops and again in the fall to harvest them 


,- : '■-,;"' 

3a . 


Lloyd helping with the spring plowing 

Crops grown on the Clay Springs property were corn, oats, and sugar cane. Don's 
comment about raising corn was, "Most of the time in the summers we were hoeing the 
damned weeds out of the corn patch." They milked cows and fed much of the milk to the 
pigs. Grandma made butter and homemade cottage cheese. 

Grandpa was the first man to bring a binder into the valley. A binder resembles a 
mower, except it is bigger and wider. Four horses pulled the machine, and it would gather 
up corn (or grain) stalks, bind them, and tie them together in a bundle. These would be 
stacked in the fields until moved to barns for storage. 

Then the farmers in that area said they would have Grandpa thrash the grain they 
raised every year if he would buy the equipment, so he bought a thrashing machine for $3,000 
and a big tractor to pull it. He thrashed all the grain that first year, but the next year they all 
got together and bought their own equipment. Grandpa never used the thrashing machine 

Arizona became the 48th state on February 14, 1912, and Arizona's constitution gave 
women the right to vote. Amendment 19 to the U.S. Constitution, ratified in August 1920, 



gave all women in the United States the right to vote — but the Western states were quicker 
to recognize women and their rights. Grandma McNeil and her daughters were swift to 
register; the forms asked for their height and weight, but not their age. 

McNeil, Mary Ann, 
Mills, Sarah, 
Dalton, Lillias, 
Goodman, Hannah, 

over 21, 5'4" tall, 118 lbs 
over 21, 5'4", 107 lbs 
over 21, 5*3", 136 lbs 
over 21, WW, 148 lbs 

Willie registered for the first time in 1916. 

Goodman, William S^ 1 /?, 145 lbs 
Goodman, Willie 5'5", 148 lbs. 

Also beginning in 1916, voters registered by political party. All the Goodmans and McNeils 
(except Uncle Fred) registered as Democrats. 16 

Popular dances in 1912 were the ragtime, fox trot, turkey trot and bunny hop. 
Woodrow Wilson was elected President of the United States on the Democratic ticket. 


And we each need to know this historical tidbit: In 1913, the 16th Amendment was 
ratified by all states and became the law, creating the income tax and the IRS. Also, the 
Panama Canal was completed in that year. 

Grandma was faithful to her religious up-bringing, so on May 19, 1913, she took the 
three oldest boys — Willie, Arvin, and Walter — to Snowflake to have them baptized. There 
was not an organized branch at that time in the Clay Springs area, and Snowflake was the 
Stake center. One wonders why Frances was not baptized at the same time. 

During the early years on the Walker homestead, Grandpa continued to run cattle on 
the reservation. He also ran cattle on the homestead, and operated the Ellsworth sawmill in 
Show Low. This sawmill was located on the east side of the road just before you go up the 
hill toward Lakeside. Grandpa would stay over there all week and come home on weekends. 
Donald thinks this is where Grandpa got the lumber to build the house and barn, and later the 
Walker School House which was located on his property. 

After the Goodman family moved to Walker, the school enrollment increased 
dramatically. School was being held in the Bryant home, so Grandpa and Uncle Eph McNeil 
decided to build a school on the Goodman homestead. Bill told about that construction job: 

16 Great Register of Navajo County, FHL film # 1,405,040,. Grandpa last registered in 
Navajo County early in 1924 — just prior to moving to Vernon. 


Dad and Uncle Eph were building the school house over there at the ranch 
at Cottonwood and we were putting shingles on it. We had a scaffold around it we'd 
been building it with, and when we got nearly to the top of the house with shingles, 
I could see the shingles starting to break loose, and the 2 X 4 that was holding us up 
started to sway down. And so I told them that thing was coming loose and they didn't 
believe me. Arvin was up there with us and so I said, 'Tm going to reach and get up 
on the top of it." I reached up there to catch hold of the top of the ridge on the house 
and the thing swung. And him and Eph both rolled down there and fell into this 
scaffold and tore it down. And when they hit the ground, he rolled up on his back and 
his face was bloody all over, and his hand, but he laughed until he could hardly get his 
breath. He said Uncle Eph looked so funny as he was falling. That's the way Dad 
was. Anything happened that way, he always had to laugh about it. 

After Frances and Willie graduated from the Woodrow school, they both attended a 
year or so at the LDS Academy in Snowflake. 

Emma Hansen Adams wrote about her memories of the Goodman family. 

Tnat summer (1910) Jess and Anna Jackson and children Edna, Margret, and 
Don homesteaded to the east adjoining our fence. Soon Will and Hannah McNeil 
Goodman and children Frances, Willie, Alvin, Walter, Donald and John homesteaded 
to the northeast among the cedars living in a white top box tent it was so clean and 
cozy. Oftimes I think I would like to live as they did. They built a large home. 

September 191 1. My first day of school was a big thrill. The new log house 
was about 20 x 16 feet. In the northwest corner was a heating stove. The teachers 
fold away bed in the north east corner and teachers desk between them New desks 
filled the room a window in the south and east door. We were one half block from 
Bryant's home. Our teacher Arvin Decker from Taylor his hair was red, he played Tag 
with us at recess. There was Victoria, Roy Bryant, Frances, Willie, Arvin, Walter, 
Donald Goodman. Edna, Margret Jackson. Richard, Christina, Emma Hansen. Large 
cottonwood trees grew by the school house, Bryants put up a rope swing on the limb. 
We could go up in the air so high. 

Christina and I didn't ask mamma if we could play with Callie Bryant after 
school. But we did, it was dark when we got home. We felt guilty and had this story 
to tell, the Goodman boys had taken our lunch pail and wouldn't give it to us until 
now. Yes, we thought our parents would believe this. We were questioned a few 
times, but firm to our story. That day grandfather Hansen had come from Show Low 
for a visit. He had worked at Fort Apache with Mr. Goodman. He said 'Til go speak 
with Mr. Goodman about this," and away he went. Well stubborn girls never said a 
word to one another. Back came grandpa with the report that Mr. Goodman said, "It 
wasn't their boys as they had been with him after school." We wouldn't give in but 







stayed with our story. How exasperating can kids be? Unknowing to me Christina 
broke down and told mamma the truth. No wonder it quieted down. 17 

o-.v-i^^r-' ■; ■■■■■ ■.-r^:-'^' 


<£: .*«: ; >^L . • Lea rn i n.g b y 5 tu d g £ . 
^^%'?--- Must be Won 



"" " . 


-.f •" 



District No, ii 

\;ivu;u (. it.. Ara/uita 

. RUTH X. S.W \CI'.. Teacher 


"<tli ( 
Willie Goodman l-'rainv> Goodman 

I'.tluii hirk.xni 

•I th Grade 

Victoria liryailt 

» :trd Grade 
;\\\ ill t i ■•••llliail 
2nd Grade 
Kuima Hansen Kny Itryaui 

Walter (iiuidiuan 

l»l ( t t .llil 

- Chrintiiia llatisfii N.m.ild Goodman 

Margaret l.'irkaoil 

School Officers 

VV. Ii. Goodman J. C. Jackson' 

C. G. Kryam. Clerk 


w\5^f^ t~\ jafc. *.c< 

Walker Farm Public School 
(The five oldest Goodman kids went to school and Grandpa was an "Officer) 

This seems as good a place as any to write about Grandpa and his visiting. He loved 
to visit and to talk, and he could talk on any subject, and he could talk with a woman as good 
as he could talk with a man. And just about any subject brought up, he could elaborate on 
it. He read constantly and was very intelligent. But he never knew when to quit talking and 
move on. John related this incident: 

Roy Pace was a good friend and good talker of my father. We had a little team of 
grey horses he always drove, and wagon. And he drove up there one day and he 
talked to Roy. Roy was out in front there, and they talked a little while and he said, 
"Bill, come on in and stay awhile." And he said, "No, no, Tm in a hurry, I can't do it." 
"Well, come in and have a cup of coffee," Roy said. So Pa went in. The next day at 
noon he left to go on to Linden, 1 5 miles away. 


Emma Adams, Memories of Emma Mylisa Hansen Adams, pp. 1 1-12. 


Don Jackson remembered a similar happening: 

Bill Goodman came out here one time about sun-up one morning, our gate 
was about 100 or 150 yards from the house. About the time Bill Goodman drove 
through the gate in his buggy, Lars Peterson's wife came riding up on horseback and 
she had a girl about my age tied to the saddle of a big bay horse. Now, this was early, 
about sun-up or shortly after. And at sun- down that night, they were still there 
talking, and he still had to go on to Linden. That's the way he was; if he got to talking 
with somebody, time didn't mean a thing in the world, he'd talk. 

In a visit with Venla McCleve, Estelle Thomas related this story about Grandpa 
coming to their home. She said that one time a bank robber had escaped from jail in 
Holbrook, so word was sent to all the ranches to be on the lookout for him, that he was very 
dangerous and they were afraid he'd come into one of the ranches and kill someone. Sure 
enough, one morning when she and the kids were home alone, she looked out the window 
and saw a lone horseman crossing the field. She just knew it was that escapee, so she checked 
the boiling water in the tea kettle, thinking maybe she could throw that on him, and gathered 
up what knives she had, and everything she thought she could protect herself with. When the 
knock came on the door, she didn't know which knife to pick up, but before she could get to 
the door, Grandpa called out, "Stell, have you got a cup of coffee?" She said she threw open 
the door and grabbed him and pulled him into the house. She said he couldn't imagine what 
was going on, but she could have kissed him, she was so glad to see him. 





Venla also told of meeting Herman Thomas for the first time in Pinedale. 

The first time I ever met that man, I was visiting teaching and went into his 
home over there in Pinedale. When he walked in, he looked at me and said, "You're 
a Goodman. They named those people well. They were good men." He continued 
to talk about Grandpa. There was a store right there in Pinedale and Grandpa would 
bring his little kids in there and would tell them they could have any kind of candy 
they wanted. Herman said he thought what a good daddy Bill Goodman was because 
his own dad wouldn't let them have candy like that. He decided that they probably 
lived out on that ranch and didn't come to town for months and that's why Grandpa 
did that. 

Merva Parker was asked to write down her memories of the Goodmans. 

You bet I remember the Goodman family. They were one of the first pioneer 
families in this vicinity, tho there were quite a few families before they came. They 
lived on a ranch this side of the old Cross I L Ranch. The way I remember there were 
Francis & two little girls, Fem & Beulah & six boys, Willie, Alvin, Walter, Donald & 
John. I believe Donald & John are still alive. I don't know about the other boys. 
There was also a younger one, Loyd. 



. i ■ •. • . . 


Mr. Goodman was just a jolly good natured, go easy sort of a fellow, always 
ready to stop and pass the time of day with most anyone he met up with. As a young 
girl, I had a good impression of him We lived on a ranch just north of the Tall 
Petersen ranch, and those days the main road went around the west of our place. 
Sometimes we'd hear someone go by late at night or in the wee hours of morning. My 
father would say 'That must be Bill Goodman going home." But I don't remember 
of hearing any one say anything bad about him I think when the neighbors came to 
help us when my father was so sick with cancer, that Uncle Bill Goodman was right 
there with his teams and machinery to help out. 

I might be mistaken but I always understood that Uncle Bill made a little 
school house between his place and Uncle Jack Smith's, that was known as the 

Walker school. Before that the school was held in a room at the TIL which was 
furnished by Bill Bryant. We also held our Church & Sunday school in the little 
school house Mr. Goodman made. 

My sister & I were young teen agers. We, along with some of the other girls, 
would some times slip away between Sunday School & Church. Somehow, as girls 
will, we'd end up down at the Goodman home. We thot the Goodman boys were 
quite special. They liked to tease us & I suppose we loved to be teased. 

That is where I got my first & almost my only taste of coffee. I didn't like it 
& I never have but I surely do love the smell of it, along with good old bacon. Bill, 
or (Willie) was never home very much, but we remember the other boys & girls very 
well. They were all good dancers. 

I remember Fern, Beulah & Loyd singing "I washed my hands this morning 
so very clean & bright & loaned them both to Jesus to work for him tonight" & etc. 
It was so impressive to me. Francis was such a nice girl. I remember Horace & her 
after they were married. They went every where hold of hands. 

I think Sr. Goodman must have been a wonderful wife & mother. I think she 
tried to teach her family to do what was right. 

One time Alvin & some other boys came up to the ranch where we lived. He 
wanted to take my sisters to a dance at Pinedale. Everyone (young folks) rode horses 
in those days. My parents were not at home. Our brother, Wilford, had been left in 
charge of the family. He didn't much want the girls to go. Alvin said kind of 
sarcastically "Won't let 'em go 'cause he's not along to take care of em" I can 
understand now how both of them felt. My niece liked Walter & Donald both. She 
loved to dance with them and went a time or two with one or the other. Any way, the 
Goodmans helped make history & played quite a part in this vicinity's development 


One of young Bill's close friends was Ivan Brewer. Ivan related an incident which 
happened when Bill and he were out riding with Grandpa and it began to rain really hard. 


*Mehva Parker, The Goodmans (Bill & Hannah), 4 pages handwritten. Original in the 
possession of Venla Penrod McCleve. Undated. 


They found a large pine tree to get under where they could be nice and dry. They were 
enjoying themselves until Grandpa took off running and called for the boys to get out from 
under that tree. Ivan said they didn't want to leave the protection of that tree, but Grandpa 
hollered, '1 said come on, right now!" So they followed him, and had gotten out just a little 
ways when lightening struck the tree. Ivan said he didn't know how Grandpa knew it was 
going to strike that tree, but they had barely gotten out before the hghtening flashed. 

Ivan also recalled a time that he and Bill were climbing up a hill; Bill was going up the 
face of a rocky cliff in head of Ivan. Bill raised up and just as he did, a rattlesnake started to 
strike him right in the face. In those days Ivan could throw a rock just like a bullet, so he 
threw a rock and hit the snake so hard it flew back up the hill. Bill always credited Ivan with 
saving his life that day. 

The older boys remember Lloyd as a cute little tyke. One morning when he was still 
a little guy, Grandma made her usual baking powder biscuits for breakfast, but they hadn't 
browned on top. Lloyd wasn't accustomed to unbrowned biscuits, so while they were sitting 
at the breakfast table, he said, "Please pass the bailie-headed biscuits." 

The family always had one or more dogs. At Walker, the dog was a hound dog with 
big floppy ears named Bounce. Don and John would tie Bounce's front legs together and set 
him on Jenny or a horse just to see his big ears flap up and down as the animal ran. 

After seven 
brothers, Frances 
finally got a baby 
sister on September 
13, 1913. Fern was 
born in the family 
home on the 

Fern' s 
earliest memory 

. . . when I was 
probably 2 or 3 
years old. I can 
remember the 

house we lived in. 

and Mama getting us ready for Sunday School one morning. She had made me a new 
dress, and I had some white shoes with black tops. We went in a wagon or a buggy. 

Lloyd on Jenny at Clay Springs ranch 


• 1 

' . 


I can remember things that went on at the ranch, like how we used to feed 
pigs and cows. We had a lot of horses, and just did things that kids did on the 
homestead. We always had lots of fun then. Lloyd always had lots of fun playing 
horses and cows. We'd take an old horse shoe — lots of times we'd just ride a stick 
horse — but if we could gather up an old horse shoe and tie a rope to it, oh, about 3 
or 4 feet long, then we'd ride that thing. Our cows were old cow horns. When we 
were on our round-ups, we'd pick up these old cow horns and give them a throw, and 
then we'd ride on up to where they were with our "horses" and throw them again. 

Donald, Fern, and Beulah 
remember birthdays as just another day in 
the Goodman family. Birthdays were not 
celebrated like they are today; it was 
simply too hard to make a living to think 
of something frivolous like that. 

Christmases were a little better 
because Grandma cooked a large 
dinner — turkey, pumpkin pies, suet 
puddings, and things like that. Sugar 
came in cotton bags. Grandma would stir 
up her suet puddings and take 5 or 10 
pound sugar bags, flour them down on 
the inside, and then pour her batter or 
dough inside them This would be put it 
in water and boiled for an hour or so. 
When it was done, she'd dip the sack out 
of the kettle. She also made a delicious 
sauce to serve on this pudding. 

For Christmas, the boys would get 
a pocket knife or something they 
needed — like a pair of shoes. Fern 
remembers receiving an orange and black 
sweater with an orange belt that came 

around and tied in front. They always had a Christmas tree, and they'd decorate it with chains 
made at school. About the last Christmas before they moved to the mill Grandpa bought 
some little candle holders which clipped to the ends of the branches. Candles were placed in 
the holders and seemed very festive. 


Lloyd with pet lamb 


However, Don does remember one of his birthdays while they were living at Clay 


We had quit using the old root cellar to the east of the house and it had caved 
in. Roy Pettis and I had a birthday on the same day so they were having a big 
birthday party for us. We had just got through eating, and Charlie Pettis said 
something about tanning us. He said to my dad, "Bill, you get Roy and I'll get Don." 
Boy, I ran out the front door and around the house. It was way after dark, and there 
were only about 3 or 4 feet between the house and that old root cellar. I went 
between the house and the cellar, but old Charlie dove right into the root cellar. I 
knew then that if they ever did get hold of me, Id get a real good lickin'. 

Grandpa apparently left most of the disciplining to Grandma. Beulah could remember 
him whipping her only once, but said she deserved it. Don recalls: 

I don't think Mama whipped us as much as she got older, but when we were young 
\ms, we got it. I remember one time out there at Clay Springs, she had John and me 
working on a big hot bed at the side of the walled tent. This was quite awhile after 
we had the house. But anyway, she sent John and me out to get the hot bed ready for 
planting, and I guess we played around, and she came out and was telling us what to 
do. John got kinda sassy, and Mama picked up a cedar stick and started tanning him 
I thought she was hurting him too bad so I grabbed at the stick; that was the wrong 
thing to do. She took a shot at me and hit me across the butt. We got right out of 
range after that. I don't remember her whipping any of us after that, but she sure 
worked us over that day. 

In that hot bed, they raised tomatoes and peas and watermelon, and so on. Grandpa 
loved watermelon, and Grandma would make wonderful watermelon preserves out of the 

Grandma also made jam and jelly out of wild grapes. Gathering these grapes was an 
all-day affair. Don and John would harness the team and hook them to the wagon and away 
Grandma and the kids would go. They'd roam all over the hills and down in canyons, 
wherever Grandma thought grapes were growing that year. They had to gather several 
washtubs full of grapes to make it worth their time. The Cottonwood Wash which ran west 
of the ranch was one place where the grape vines grew. Grape vines still growing along the 
banks of the Wash may be off-shoots of vines picked by Grandma and her kids 75 years ago. 

Grandma made the jam, but Grandpa made the molasses the family loved and 
depended on as a sweetener. He raised sugar cane and bought (or made) a machine to extract 
the juice out of the cane. When the sugar cane was ripe, it was cut, stripped of the outer 
leaves, and cut into lengths which would be fed through the machine. The machine consisted 
of two tall cylinders which turned in opposite directions. The power to operate the machine 
was truly horse power. A horse was hooked onto a pole like a wagon tongue and walked 
around in a circle while the cane was fed through these turning cylinders. As the juice was 

r - 

IS, - 



pressed out of the cane, it ran into a large vat which rested on a platform of rocks. When the 
vat was full, a fire was built under it. The juice was boiled down until it was a syrup. 

Grandpa usually filled two 50-gallon wooden barrels with molasses each fall. In the 
shed attached to the barn, he built a platform where he could lay these barrels on their sides; 
the barrels were fixed up with a spigot. When Grandma needed molasses, one of the kids 
would take a bucket and head for the shed. They used this molasses as a sweetener for cakes 
and cookies, and in other cooking. They also made molasses taffy. 

Grandpa also had honey bees. After he got the honeycombs out of the hives, he and 
Grandma would heat them to get all the honey out. As can be seen from all this industry, 
they had to be quite self-sufficient. There was no mnning to Holbrook each morning for a 
bag of sugar. 

On August 1, 1914, Frances and Donald were baptized in a stock tank north of 
Pinedale and east of Clay Springs. Don remembers that Frances had a camera — one of those 
old box Brownie cameras, and that she did her own film developing. Several of the following 
pictures were most likely taken with Frances' camera. 

Standing: Bill, Alvin 
Sitting on Jenny: John, Don, Lloyd 


■ ...-;' ■•■'-.- 

Alvin (or John?) on Jenny 

When Jenny wanted to get rid of Fern, 
she'd run under a tree and scrape Fern off 

-> ... 

•' • ■■ 


.-fr.'-V •:. 


One of the boys on one of the horses 

Bill on Gyp 



'■<, s* 

&-.— •--■" 




In that same year, 
the United States declared 
its neutrality in the 
European conflict which 
came to be known as World 
War I. This conflict would 
directly affect the Goodman 
family several years later. 

On June 8, 1915, 
Grandpa sold to James 
Scott, a big cattle man in 
Heber, the E Bar W brand 
and ear marks, together with 
all cattle bearing that brand, 
together with his range 
rights on the Fort Apache 
Indian Reservation. The 
language of the Bill of Sale 
is interesting 

I , ^D I 


L to R: Bill, Walter, Donald, John, Lloyd 

Bill of Sale from William E. Goodman to James Scott, dated this 8th day of 
June, 1915. Know all men by these presents: that William E. Goodman, of 
Pinedale, Navajo County, Arizona, the party of the first part, for and in consideration 
of the sum often thousand and no/ 100 dollars, lawful money of the United States of 
America, to me in hand paid by James Scott, of Pinedale, Navajo County, Arizona, 
the party of the second part, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged, do by these 
presents grant, bargain, sell and convey unto the said party of the second part, his 
heirs, executors, administrators and assigns, the following personal property, to-wit: 
The brand E Bar W on left ribs, and ear marks, together with any and all cattle 
bearing said brand, as well as all unbranded calves, following cows bearing aforesaid 

All right, title, interest, and claim of said party of the first part in and to the 
range rights on Fort Apache Indian Reservation, No. 1, Jump-Off Canyon, on grazing 
tract No. 12, under and by virtue of grazing permit already issued to said party of the 
first part; all right, title, interest, and claim of said party of the first part in and to said 
grazing permit; and all rights, title, interest, and claim of said party of the first part in 


and to the buildings, fences, corrals, and improvements now situate and being in and 
on grazing tract just mentioned. 19 

Up to this time, Grandpa had continued to run cattle on the reservation, with the older 
boys going down the canyon during the summer months. Don recalled a dangerous situation 
involving the cattle and Walter: 

IVe got into two or three little messes with a horse, but none of them really 
serious. But I remember Walter being in one that I would have hated to have been 
in. We were gathering cattle over on the Cibecue, and there were a couple of 
canyons. One was called Saul's Canyon and one called Hell's Canyon, and they ran 
off into the Cibecue. It would take us two days to drive the cattle to Hop Canyon 
which was the central part of it. We had gathered this bunch along Saul's Canyon and 
were taking them to a trail that went off into Cibecue Canyon. Some old Indian cows 
were in with the bunch, and one broke out and started back. It was on this steep hill 
side, and Walter roped that old cow and she jerked his horse down. It threw her, too, 
and she started rolling. There she was, dragging Walter and his horse. Til bet she 
rolled within two feet of that bluff. If she'd gone any further, she would have taken 
him, horse and all, over the cliff. I'm telling you, that scared the hell out of me. 

A more humorous situation involved Grandpa and a colt. It seems they were branding 
some colts down in Jumpoff Bill had a little bald-faced mare with a colt, which they branded 
and were going to put a bell on him to keep the lions from getting him So they threw the colt 
and put a bell on him. When the colt got up, Grandpa ended up on his neck backwards. The 
colt took off running across the flat and jumped off into the creek with Grandpa still on him 

Grandpa used some of the proceeds from the sale of the reservation cattle to James 
Scott to buy a cattle herd from his brother-in-law, Dan Mills. These cows were called the 
Rafter D Bar herd. Even though they were young, Bill, Ah/in, Walter, and Don hired out to 
James Scott, helping to round up and drive cattle to Holbrook for sale. 

In about 1915 or 1916, Grandpa bought the family's first car. Don recalls that it was 
a 1914 Buick touring car with a cloth top. Grandpa parked the car under a big pinion tree 
near the house. Grandpa and Bill went out to the car to go someplace. Grandpa got in the 
car and called to Bill that he'd better move as Grandpa was going to back it up. Instead, he 
put it in a forward gear and ran right into the tree. 

Grandpa received a patent for the homestead on February 3, 1916; that means an 
application for homestead had been filed at least five years previous (1910-11). The "patent" 

19 Photocopy of the Bill of Sale from William E. Goodman to James Scott was obtained 
from the Navajo County Courthouse, Holbrook. 

J a.) -•' 

Mi . .. . 




i ' t • 


is a type of warranty deed, but is used when public lands are conveyed to private citizens (this 
patent was signed by President Woodrow Wilson). The family had stayed on the land for the 
requisite five years and had "proved up" on it. It was now theirs. The legal description was 
as follows: 

The north half of the southeast quarter (NV2 SEVi), the southwest quarter of the 
southeast quarter (SWVi SEV4), the east half of the northeast quarter of the southwest 
quarter (EV2 NE% SW!4), and the north half of the southeast quarter of the southeast 
quarter (N 1 ^ SEV4 SEtt) of Section 4, Township 11 N, Range 19 E, Gila and Salt 
River Meridian, Arizona, containing one hundred sixty acres. 20 

Dry Tank 

Winter Tank 

Section Twenty-Seven Tank // 



Middle Tank 



Dalloti Tank 

Cottonwood Xumbt'T 7 wo Tank ^ \y 

Hols Oak Tank 


J _pf oyer Spring Canyon 

Map of Clay Springs homestead area 
with approximate locations of neighbors' ranches 


On the following July 29, John and Don Jackson were baptized. Don Jackson 
remembers that: 

20 PATENT, United States to Wm E. Goodman, Dated: Feb. 3, 1916. Recorded: Patent 
Number 51 1337. 


... we were baptized the same day over at Pinedale. We had an old mare and 
a one-horse buggy. Mother took John and me and Kelly Bryant over there to get 
baptized. Kelly was about 2 years older than we were. About 150 yards from Jerry 
Brewer's house was a dirt tank. We were baptized in that. Hyrum McCleve had 
started a little building right on the high spot there by Jerry's house, and the lightening 
hit that the day we were baptized and tore the shingles all off on one side. We were 
over at Aunt Marion Hancock's eating dinner when the lightening hit that building. 

Don Jackson also tells of incidents involving Walter and Alvin. 

We used to go down to the wash in the springtime to water our horses. One 
time when I was about 6 or 7, we were just coming back from the wash and coming 
up that hill there about 200 yards from the wash. Walter was coming to water their 
horses, riding that old buckskin they called Tom The horse ran away with him. I 
don't remember if the horse bucked or what, but he threw Walter off just going off 
that rocky hill and broke his arm In those days if you broke your arm, somebody 
who'd had experience with arms would set it. My dad set mine; Walter's dad probably 
set his. 

Another time it was raining and Walter was fooling with an automatic .22 that 
they had. I think Willie had got it and left it there. Walter got to fooling around with 
that thing and held it above his head and just peppered the ceiling. He'd got excited 
and just held the trigger down and the ceiling was like a sieve. 

I also remember when Bill Goodman was freighting and he was coming up 
from Holbrook or somewhere with a load of stuff. When he got down there about 
a mile or two below the ranch, the ruts were quite deep. It was in the spring of the 
year and the ground was froze. Alvin had gotten off to walk and to help keep warm. 
I guess. Anyway, he started to get back on the wagon and he slipped off the holster 
and fell with his head under the wheeL It almost scalped him I remember seeing him 
with his head all bandaged up. It didn't crush his skull or anything, because it was 
kinda icy and slick, but it sure took hide and hair. 

Alvin used to have a little white albino horse — pink eyes and all. Til bet that 
pony threw Alvin 150 times, plus Joe Brimhall and Ford Adair. Ford weighed about 
325 pounds, but that little horse would bust them every night after school. We'd go 
down there and watch as they'd try to ride that horse, and he'd throw them off I don't 
remember that they ever broke him 

I remember one time John and I were playing down there in the barn — your 
family had a big bam down there. I mean it was a big barn for this area. There was 
a double door built kinda like an "M". We were playing back in about halfway, and 
near the door was an axle off an old wagon. There came up a rain storm and the 

f -r 

-7 ~Y -7 


lightening hit and that old axle bounced about a foot high and the fire was just a 
flying. Seemed like a minute or two. I don't know what it did to John, but it scared 
me so bad that I just stood there and watched it. It was about 10 feet inside the 
doorway, probably 40 feet from where we were at. 

One more thing about Johnny, he was about my age. It was about 3/4 mile 
from Cottonwood Wash. Bill Bryant's old house sat right on the banks of the wash, 
just on a hill this side of the wash. We got a good rain storm in July or August. 
Johnny went down to the wash to play in the water. He was throwing sticks and stuff 
in, and got too close and the bank caved off with him. The wash made a kind of a 
bend right there. Anyway, he floated across and finally got out on his own. He could 
have been drowned. He was probably 5 or 6 at the time. Don't th ink he had started 
school yet. 

Don Jackson also talked about Grandma. 

She was one of my first Sunday School teachers, well, just like a second 
mother to me then. Pve eaten a number of meals in their home and she always treated 
me just like one of her kids. 

As mentioned earlier, Grandpa had built a shed or garage onto the barn, where the 
molasses was kept. Don Jackson also talked about Grandpa and his white hair. 

Two school teachers lived in a little old garage that they (the Goodmans) had 
down there, I wouldn't say it was a garage because I don't even know if they had a car 
at that time. This was on their property just south of the house a little bit. Anyway, 
the teachers hired me for 25 cents a week to keep them in wood, and I had a little 
wagon, and Td go down there with wood all the time. I remember going down there 
one time and there was a sheet of white hair around there. I wondered what in the 
world had taken place, so I asked John when I got to see him and he said, "Oh, Willie 
and Alvin decided to give Dad a haircut." His hair was long and was white as long 
as I remembered. They must have sheared him 

The year 1916 brought a big change in the religious life of the Goodmans. The 
Walker Pastorate was organized on May 21, 1916 at the Walker School house. After the 
organization was effected, meetings were held in the Walker School House, and later in the 
Woodrow School House, which was situated about 3!/ 2 miles SE of the Walker School. 21 
The family was now right next door to the church, so to speak. 

21 Andrew Jenson, Church Historian, wrote that the Walker Pastorate was later called 
Walker Branch, with the name changed to Clay Springs Dependent Branch in June 1917. It was 
re-organized as Clay Springs Independent Branch in November 1919, from Pinedale and Taylor 
Wards. Organized as a ward on May 7, 1922. 


Grandma was always busy in the Church. Remember, Grandma and Grandpa were 
married in 1897. On March 28, 1897, there was a reorganization of the Linden Sunday 
School, and Grandma was called as secretary. She held that position for at least the next 
three years. Many of the priesthood ordinations for the children are listed in the Pinedale 
Ward records, either while they were living there, or because there was no organized branch 
or ward in Clay Springs until 1916. 

The first minutes which were kept of meetings held in the Walker school house were 
on June 25, 1916. After the Sacrament, Grandma was one of the speakers. From then on, 
she frequently prayed, bore her testimony, and taught lessons. Apparently, at this time Relief 
Society meetings were held in the members' homes. On April 6, 1920, the meeting was held 
in her home, she bore her testimony and gave the benediction. In December 1921, the 
minutes contained a note that on account of cold weather and mud, the meetings were 
discontinued for the rest of the winter. "We are living in a very scattered condition," wrote 
Amanda Brewer, President. In 1922, Grandma was assigned to Visiting Teaching Beat #1, 
and gave a lesson in August on "Forgiveness." 

In August 1922, the family memberships were "removed" to Linden; these 
memberships went back and forth between Linden and Clay Springs until the family moved 
to Vernon in 1924. 

On April 6, 1917, President Wilson asked for a declaration of war against Germany; 
his request passed and war was declared; Congress also passed the Selective Service Act for 
draft registration. (And George Cohan wrote the song Over There.) Because of the war, 
Day Light Savings time was instituted. 

In the midst of all this turmoil over the war, Beulah arrived on July 23, 1917, the 
youngest often children, with seven brothers and two sisters. Grandma had a rough time 
with Beulah's birth and almost hemorrhaged to death. She never mentioned this to her 
children, but after Venla (Beulah's daughter) married Jay McCleve, his father, Hyrurn, told 
Beulah about it. He said he was in his field plowing when he saw Grandpa riding in a high 
lope toward him When he reached Hyrurn, he said, "Hyrurn, get someone and come quick. 
Hannah needs help." So Hyrurn got Ed Brewer and they adrninistered to Grandma. And the 
Lord, looking down with compassion on Grandma and her large family, saw fit to spare her 
life, and blessed her with good health to take care of this family. Even though Grandpa was 
not a member of the Church, he recognized the power of the Priesthood and knew that at that 
time it would take the hand of the Lord to heal his wife. 

According to Don, it was about this time that: 

One of Dad's sister's sons, my cousin, came and stayed with us one winter out 
at Clay Springs — Mark PennelL There was another family that came and stayed with 
us one time. They came into Holbrook on the train, and rented a team and wagon 

-€ - 


from the livery stable there and came up and visited. We never did go back to visit 
any of them back there. It seems like Ma and Pa did go back one time, but I can't say 
for sure. Just a vague memory there. 

" ; ■ ' 

"* 4C" 


L to R: Frances Goodman, Maggie Mills, Stella Mills 


Frances now was 19 years old. On Friday, October 5, 1917, she married Horace 
Crandell, 23, at the family home in Walker. Minutes of the Walker Pastorate indicate that 
no meetings were held on October 7 and 14 because of typhoid fever in the community. 
Luckily, no Goodmans were affected. The community-wide disease may have had an 
influence on who and how many attended Frances' wedding. 

Almost as soon as they were married, Horace was called up in the draft, and while he 
was gone, Frances stayed with Grandma and Grandpa; Beth was born in the family home just 
one year after Beulah's birth. 

At age 18, Bill (formerly called "Willie") was drafted, but the war ended before he 
was called up. Bill stayed with the family on the ranch until about 1919, when he went to 
Blythe, California to work. 

In the shed attached to the barn where the molasses barrels rested, Grandpa also 
parked the family car. In the summer of 1918, a photographer came out to the homestead and 
took a family picture. The family is sitting on the back of the car. 


William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil Goodman Family 

1918, Children L to R: 

Back Row: John, Arvin, Walter, Bill, Donald 

Front Row: Lloyd, Beulah, Fern, Frances 

Is that Grandpa's hat on the top of the car behind Arvin? 

Didn't Grandma notice that Donald had not buttoned his shirt sleeve? 

The nation was feeding its troops, as well as sending food to the Allied nations. Food 
shortages became critical, and sugar rationing went into effect; each person was allowed 2 
pounds per month. Herbert Hoover, Food Administrator, asked for voluntary observance of 
wheatless Mondays and Wednesdays, meatless Tuesdays, porkless Thursdays and Saturdays. 
In July, four lightless nights per week were ordered by the Fuel Administration. How this 
food shortage affected the Goodman family can be read in Frances 1 chapter as she wrote to 
Horace about a cake. 

Armistice Day — November 11, 1918 — World War I ended, and Horace returned 
home to Frances and baby Beth. In the Church, President Joseph F. Smith died and Heber 
J. Grant was sustained as president. An influenza epidemic spread across the country; about 
500,000 people died before it ended in 1919. In fact, the April 1919 conference of the 
Church was postponed until June because of the flu epidemic. 

' V* -3P -? 


i ,- » » 

• i \>f 


John remembered a family situation connected with that flu epidemic of 1918. 
^Walter was working over at the Linden ranch and got the flu. Generally when kids get sick, 
you take them to their mother; Moms know how to doctor. But my dad didn't do that. Of 
course, we didn't have doctors in those days — too far to go and too slow transportation. So 
he stayed right there (at Linden) with Walter, and nursed him back to health rather than take 
him home. You know if he'd brought him over home, we might all have gotten sick; he was 
afraid of the rest of us getting the flu. 

Grandpa in the foreground, about 1919 

L to R: Joseph Hancock, Wilford Perkins, Hazel Hancock Adams 

Edward Brewer behind Grandpa 

Grandpa and Lars Peterson had each loaned German H. Reidhead $5,000, and the 
interest kept growing. Mr. Reidhead was not able to repay the money, so Grandpa and Lars 
took over the ranch and cattle. A Warranty Deed was signed by Mr. Reidhead on January 
10, 1918. The brand on the cattle was AT or AV. Here's the legal description: 

The southeast quarter of the northwest quarter (SEVa NWV4), the northeast quarter 
of the southwest quarter (NEVi SW%), Lots three (3) and five (5), in Section 18, 
Jownship 10 N, Range 21 E., Gila and Salt River Meridian, Navajo County, Arizona. 


A photocopy of this Warranty Deed was obtained from the Recorder, Navajo County 
Courthouse, Holbrook. An interesting note on the deed reads: Filed and Recorded at the request 
of Bank of Winslow on December 27, 1920. 


Beulah and Fem at Clay Springs 

Baby Beulah with Bunny 

This began the family's moves between Clay Springs and Linden during the next 
several years. Don stayed at the Walker property alone during the summer of 19 18 to herd 
the cattle. He was about 13 and had never cooked. Just before Grandma left, she tried to 
teach him how to make biscuits. With tongue in cheek, he brags, 'Til tell you, the first 
biscuits I made, they was good ones." During one of those winters, the family burro, Jenny, 
was left at Clay Springs. She most likely died of old age; they found her when they returned 
in the spring. 

Also in 1919, the Grand Canyon National Park was established by Congress, and the 
first municipal airport opened in Tucson. 

Another Constitutional Amendment — the Prohibition Amendment — went into effect 
in January of 1920. LDS Church leaders supported the movement toward nationwide 
prohibition, and opposed the amendment's repeal in 1933. Warren G. Harding and Calvin 
Coolidge were elected President and Vice President on the Republican ticket. 

Prohibition and the flapper era are almost synonymous. Knee-length skirts became 
the fashion. Women bobbed their hair, wore short dresses, smoked and drank in public, and 
danced the Charleston. The Readers Digest was first published, and the World Series was 
broadcast on radio for the first time. In 1922, Philo T. Farnsworth, a 15 year-old Idaho 

'••/ ' ' ' 


schoolboy, designed an image dissector system that would develop into television (but that, 
too, was decades away from being available in rural Arizona). 

One invention of this period would have a profound effect on the later lives of the 
Goodman boys. The "bulldozer" was invented in 1923. In response to labor movements, U. 
S. Steel replaced the 12-hour work day with an 8-hour day. 

Times had never been easy for the Goodman family, but were especially hard after 
World War I ended. The nation had geared up to supply war materials and food to the Allies 
and to its own fighting machine during the war. The farmers and ranchers in the west were 
about to experience a 20-year depression. Historian David A. Shannon wrote: 

The boom created by war orders sustained itself on reconstruction loans and 
pent-up consumer demand until mid- 1920. Then the economy went into a sudden 
decline that was as sharp a drop as any America had ever before experienced. The 
postwar depression was at its worst in 1921, when unemployment reached 4,750,000 
and national income was off roughly 28 per cent from the previous year. . . . 
agriculture did not regain its normal level. 23 

Shannon continued: 

Farming never truly recovered until World War n. Although farm prices 
subsequently rose, they did not go up as much as the prices farmers had to pay for 
manufactured goods nor as much as local taxes on their land. 
. . . Farm tenancy and mortgage indebtedness became increasingly serious. 24 

Grandpa and Grandma were caught in this depression. Donald remembers that after 
the First World War, this depression hit and all the banks went broke, and a lot of cattlemen 
went out of business, but Grandpa didn't owe enough to where he had to go out of business. 
The family still had quite a few cattle there. The cattle business was going downhill, with 
ranchers getting about 3 cents a pound for their beef. Nevertheless, he also remembers that 
the Clay Springs property was lost because of taxes. Legal documents filed in Navajo County 
substantiate that a financial problem did exist for the Goodman family. 

► February 20, 1920: Writ of Attachment, Holbrook State Bank vs. Wm E. Goodman, 

for the sum of $1300, interest and attorney fees. The Clay Springs property was 

23 David A. Shannon, Twentieth Century America: The United States Since the J890's, 
Chicago: Rand McNally & Company, 1963, p. 217. 


Shannon, pp. 212-213. 


► March 9, 1920: Writ of Attachment, Arizona Cooperative Mercantile Co., vs. Wm 
E. Goodman, for the sum of $539.27, and probable costs of suit. Cattle bearing four 
brands were seized near Pinedale. 

► August 10, 1920: Writ of Attachment, Holbrook State Bank vs. William E. Goodman 
and Hannah Goodman, for the sum of $1,904.50, interests and probable costs of suit. 

► September 21, 1921: Execution of Judgment, First Savings Bank & Trust Company 
vs. William E. Goodman and Hannah Goodman for $2,095. This time the Linden 
property was seized on January 12, 1922. 

A Satisfaction of Judgment was filed on May 24, 1920 by the Holbrook State Bank 
in favor of C. E. Anderson and Wm E. Goodman. Somehow Grandpa came up with 
$606.89. The Satisfaction says "to us paid by Wm E. Goodman, one of the defendants in the 
above-entitled action, ..." No record is found of the nature of the involvement between 
Grandpa and C. E. Anderson. 

The 1920 Census of the Pinedale District lists Grandpa's age at 48, Grandma at 42, 
Alvin at 19, Walter at 16, Don at 14, John at 1 1, Lloyd at 8, Fern at 6, and Beulah at 2 and 
5/12 (meaning 2 years and 5 months old). The enumerator, Louie Brewer, stated that the 
Goodman property was 3 miles North on the County Road; their neighbors were the Charles 
Pettis family and Steve McComas, and that Grandpa was a farmer working on his own 
account. We know that Frances was married; Bill was also living away from home. 

In the midst of all the financial strife mentioned above, Lloyd and Fern were baptized 
on June 23, 1922, in the Cross I L stock tank to the northwest of their house. 

Not all the times were bad. Donald's memories include: 

... a lot of community picnics and dances. We used to go to what we called 
"Woodrow" to dances. It was about halfway between Clay Springs and Pinedale. 
Usually when they had the dances, they lasted most of the night. It seemed like old 
Levi Hancock built the dance hall. They had church in that same building. That was 
before they built the Clay Springs school. Old Levi Hancock lived there on this one 
place, and they got a player piano, so one of them Hancock gals (Ethel) played this 
player piano all night for the dances. Then they had dances at Pinedale, too; they'd 
go back and forth. 





Usually 2 or 3 of us would get together and go around and pick up the girls 
on horses. I went with Olive Butler for years. If anyone had a horse that hadn't had 
a girl on him, they'd usually make me and Olive ride that horse, 'cause she was such 
a good sport. 


State School Register 

WjttU^..^---Cit*t£<^*L4J- -.Taach.r 

Racard of attandaaca ia School D^trict No J. &.. , Couaty of.. 

for taa montb tonmncbf . ^^Jd&b-rL, L*-&L..J±i , !•«££., aad aneUng 


. 19.2.2. 

State School Register for month of September 1922 

Note that John attended 8 days, Lloyd 13, and Fern 15 

At age 14, John undoubtedly was helping with the harvest or round-up 


i " 1 WL Li ^ 
Walker School, 1921 

Goodman kids are: Back row: Donald 4th boy from the left 

Middle row: John 2nd boy from the right 

Front row: Lloyd 3rd boy from right, Fern 4th girl from left 

During this time, Bill and Ah/in worked for a cow outfit. Because they were such 
good riders, they always got stuck with that they called the "rough string." These were the 
horses that bucked and were hard to handle. Hyrum McCleve had a horse named Little Blue; 
no one could ride him Hyrum had hired a couple of pokes to break Little Blue, but they 
always brought him back Finally, he brought the horse to Alvin. Arvin got on him and Little 
Blue started bucking; he bucked and bucked, and finally gave out and laid down. Hyrum said 
he had never seen anything like that — the horse might as well have tried to throw his own skin 
as to throw Arvin. Arvin could ride anything. Arvin' s success with horses would be a great 
benefit to the future logging efforts of the family. 

Also, while the family was still living at Walker, Fern remembers that the older 
boys — Bill, Arvin, Walter, and Donald — went to California to work on road construction. 
Bill worked for a water company, but Afvin and Walter worked for Rogers Brothers as 
mechanics and operating the heavy equipment 


i -? -r -7 

•? -/ -# 

. . . 

-•'■.;>••.' ,■ ■ ; . ■,).,»•» 


Lloyd and Fern were the 
youngest Goodman kids to go to 
school at Walker. They used to 
stand up on the teacher's desk at 
various programs and sing songs 
that Grandma had taught them 
Lloyd told his kids he loved to sit 
behind his cousin, Rosalie Dalton, 
and dip the tips of her braids in his 

When the family moved back 
to Linden, Grandpa bought some 
cattle from Lars Peterson and Germ 
Reidhead, and a variety of other 
ranchers. He had previously bought 
cattle from Dan Mills. When they 
moved to the sawmill, Grandpa 
leased his cattle to some trusted 
neighbors. When they branded 
calves each fall, they were supposed 
to brand two for Grandpa and one 
for themselves. Because Grandpa 
was so honest himseu; he trusted 
people completely, but it seemed he 
always came out on the losing end. 
In this instance, before he realized 
it, he had no cattle left. All the 
calves had been branded with their brand 

Fern in front with some of her classmates 

In the tradition of the wild, wild West, Grandpa should have taken his rifle and settled 
the score, but that wasn't in his nature. He was more of a peacemaker. This is indicated by 
Don Jackson's opinion of Grandpa. 

Bill Goodman was quite a character. One time (back in Clay Springs) he 
butchered a beef, and one of his neighbors said, "Bill, if you'll let me take a quarter 
of that, I'll take it back to the folks, and then Til catch you later." Bill said, "You 
know damned well you won't, but you can take a quarter." So the man took a quarter 
of beef, but I don't know if he ever paid Bill or not. 

Actually, the family moved back and forth between Clay Springs and Linden for 
several years. Donald remembers going to the 6th grade at Clay Springs, the 7th grade at 
Linden, and back to Clay Springs for the 8th grade. He missed the last several weeks of 


school because Grandpa needed him to help with the cattle, so he didn't graduate from the 8th 







Map of Linden area showing Goodman ranch 

Life was better for Grandma in Linden. This property had a well — no more hauling 
water from a stock tank, or the clay springs. In fact, they had two wells: the one closest to 
the house was used for culinary purposes, and the one further away was used to water the 
livestock and the garden. The setting was also much more attractive — grass, linden trees, 
and a small wash nearby. Grandma raised large gardens here, also, especially a big 
watermelon patch. The kids would take a bucket and a rope; fill the bucket in the well and 
pull it up. Then they'd walk around and pour the water on each plant. Grandma made sure 
they gave each plant enough water; of course, they were careful themselves because they 
knew all they had to eat was growing in Grandma's garden. 

• . . , .. . 


Here the family also had chickens, turkeys, pigs, and cattle. To Fern, turkey eggs 
were the perfect eggs to have at Eastertime. Since these eggs were naturally speckled, 
sometimes they wouldn't even color them, just make sure they were hard-boiled. A wash ran 
down in back of the house where Lloyd, Fern, and Beulah would roll their Easter eggs down 
the banks of the wash. The death of baby Ray left a 3Vz year gap between John and 
Lloyd — John was too grown up to play with the "young-uns," and probably too young to be 
taken seriously by the older brothers. He doesn't seem to have been the cowboy that his older 
siblings were. 

While in Linden, Donald had a horse called PeeWee. While working for a rancher in 
Heber, Bill caught a little two-year old out of a wild bunch and took him home to Don, who 
broke him During the first winter in Linden, PeeWee fell in the larger of the two wells, the 
one farthest away from the house. While trying to get a drink, he slipped in. Fortunately, 
there were only about four feet of water in it, so not enough to drown him The boys spent 
all one day lifting him out. They built a tripod over the well, and then Bill got down in the 
well and laced PeeWee up in a leather sling; they were then able to hoist him out. 

It was the responsibility of Fern and Beulah to keep the house supplied with water. 
The well for the kitchen had had a wooden curb around it, but the curb had fallen off so there 
was just a little square wooden platform around the well opening. Grandma would send the 
girls down there with an empty lard bucket for water. Fern would stand there and put her 
foot over the well opening and say, 'Tm going to fall in. Oh, Pm going to fall in." Beulah 
would scream and beg her to get back. Then all the way to the house, Fern would threaten 
Beulah, "Don't you tell Mama or Til beat your little butt." 

During this time, Lloyd wore a coonskin cap with a little tail on it. One night Beulah 
dreamed Lloyd had fallen into the well — she could see his coonskin cap floating on top of the 
water. She woke up crying and refused to be comforted even when Grandma showed her that 
he was sleeping on the floor right next to her. 

The remains of the house in Linden show it to be more of a cabin, probably 12 feet 
by 14 feet. It held only the necessities; the kitchen was in a lean-to which was about 12 feet 
wide and as long as the house. There was plenty of room in the lean-to for several beds. 
These beds were used by Don and John, and by the other boys — Afvin and Walter — when 
they were home. Frequently, they were away working for ranchers herding cows, working 
at a sawmill, or working with the construction crew building the "rim road." 

In the house, Grandma and Grandpa had a bedstead, but the three youngest 
kids. — Lloyd, Fern, and Beulah — slept on the floor. First, large tarps were spread on the floor 
with individual beds "made" on these tarps. During the daytime, tarps and beds were rolled 
up together in one operation and placed against a wall. At night, they were rolled back out, 
and the kids went to bed. 


While living on the Linden place, the family's dog was named Watch. Watch couldn't 
resist messing it up with porcupines. As a result, his mouth and face would occasionally be 
full of quills. The boys would lay him on his back and place a stick between his teeth so they 
could pull out the quills. Don remembers this happened so often that Watch would come 
home, roll over on his back and start to whine. One day Grandpa went to Holbrook and by 
mistake took the pliers with him (riding on a horse, mind you!) Watch again engaged a 
porcupine and came out the loser, but the boys had no pliers with which to pull out the quills. 
Grandma knew he would starve to death before Grandpa got home, so she had to tell one of 
the boys to take him away from the house and shoot him She said later she had not known 
what a good dog he was until he was gone. As cows and pigs would be butchered, they were 
just left hanging in a tree and nothing bothered the meat as long as Watch was there. After 
Watch was gone, so was the meat. 

Lloyd came home one day scared. The Thorntons had cows with big long horns. 
Lloyd had thrown a rock and hit one of these cows on one of her long horns. The blow 
knocked her down with her back downhill; she couldn't get up. He just knew he had killed 
her. A couple of the boys went back with him and turned her over so she could get up. 

One of the local boys that Lloyd played with a lot was from a black family who lived 
near the Smiths. The dad's name was Lewis Smaldine, and Lloyd's friend was Richard. One 
day, Lloyd and Richard were jumping on Grandpa and Grandma's bed, while Grandpa sat 
reading nearby. Richard took one exuberant jump, and as he came down, he missed the bed 
and landed on his head on the floor. He got up, rubbed his head, and went back to playing. 
Grandpa was surprised he wasn't hurt worse, so rubbed his own hand over Richard's head. 
Then he said he knew why Richard got right back up, that "his hair was just like springs." 

John once related an incident which took place in Linden which helped him know how 
much Grandma loved him 

Mama was a hard worker. She was a farmer and taught me how to farm. My 
father was a cow man at the time so wasn't around the place too much, so she and we 
boys did the farming. Well, this was when I was kinda taking over because my older 
brothers had gone off on jobs, so I was kinda the man around the ranch, doing the 
farming. We had a little bay mare we called PeeWee. Mama had her to ride quite a 
lot. Mama was over on the west side of the ranch at Linden, and she was doing 
something there. That's where her vegetable garden was. I was back over a hill down 
in a little draw, plowing. I was a riding disk plow, and the trail wheel that ran along 
in the furrow, somehow I got my foot down in there and it pulled it right back under 
the frame along the side of the wheel. The team was quite a gentle team, but if they 
got excited, the one horse we called Blue would run away. If he got scared, he ran. 
Well, there I was with my leg bent back there and couldn't get it out. It was caught 
at a right angle and I was down on my knee there. I had had to slide down off the 
seat. I held onto the reins tight because I knew maybe if I could hold onto the lines 

f • 



. .# 



real tight, it wouldn't excite the horses, or at least maybe I could hold them back. 
There I was. I couldn't get up, no way. I knew if I shouted loud enough, my mother 
would hear me. I yelled, Til tell you. Real loud, because I knew if those horses ran 
away, I'd be hamburger. So I yelled a couple of times, and here Mother came, over 
the hill in a high run on PeeWee. She came and saved me. She got around and was 
able to pry the wheel up enough where I could get my leg out. 

About this time Arvin was working at the sawmill in McNary. He came down with 
the black measles and almost died in the hospital there. The only transportation the family 
had at that time was by team and wagon, so weren't able to go visit him They only knew 
how he was doing from people who were passing through. He went home to Linden to 
recuperate, and the younger children were amazed to see him with no hair. 

The kids rode PeeWee to school in Linden when it was snowy — Beulah's first year in 
schooL Until it snowed, they walked to school. John and Lloyd generally walked in all 
weather, but Beulah was too small to walk so she and Fern rode PeeWee. The boys put both 
girls in the saddle and then took off for the school house. By the time the girls arrived, John 
and Lloyd were there to help the girls off the horse and tie it up for the day. The same thing 
would happen at the end of the school day. 

Some kids will do anything for a day out of school. Don and John were doing janitor 
work at the Linden school house for $5 a month. A hole developed under the school house 
and a skunk had taken up residence there. Finally, the boys decided enough was enough, and 
they set a trap. These seasoned trappers were successful, but not everyone was happy. When 
Mrs. Murphy, the teacher, opened the door the next morning, the odor overwhelmed her. 
She turned on her heel, mounted her little white horse, and rode straight to Grandpa and 
Grandma's place to complain. However, since it was a one- room building, it was easy to 
open all doors and windows and air the place out. School was out only a couple of days. 

Grandma's sister, Sarah, had married Dan Mills. Their son, Gilbur, or Gib, was just 
younger than Lloyd. These two were called the cousin twins. Gib recalls pleasant times with 
Lloyd on the ranch near Linden. 

Uncle Bill's ranch was just above Ted Smith's. I never did go to the ranch in 
Clay Springs that I remember. It was always in Linden, back toward the reservation 
line. I went to Jump Off Canyon with them several times — down to the cow camp. 
At one time my dad and Uncle Bill were partners on the cows. Uncle Bill told us that 
he rode into a trapper's camp one evening just in time for supper. The trapper had a 
roast and it was pretty white meat. After Uncle Bill got through eating, he asked 
what the meat was, and the trapper replied, "It's lion." Uncle Bill said, "I sure hope 
you're lyin'." But said it was pretty good eatin'. 


Any time of day anyone got to the Goodman house, Uncle Bill would ask, 
"Have you had anything to eat?" 

They had a big stock tank up at the ranch, and Lloyd and I had some BB guns, 
and I guess we killed all the bullfrogs out of that tank. 

The Goodmans would usually come over to our house from Linden at 
Christmas time because they would have dances here in Show Low. If there wasn't 
room enough in the house to sleep, the boys would sleep in the barn in the hay. One 
Fourth of July they came over here to stay a couple of days. Dad had a truck with a 
canvas over the bed where Lloyd and I were going to sleep that night. The canvas 
must have had a little hole in it, because the rain ran down the canvas and soaked us. 
In the middle of the night I said to Lloyd, "Hell, Lloyd, get up and go pee; don't pee 
on me!" And he said, "I ain't peeing on you; you're peeing on me." Finally we were 
both so wet we had to get up and go into the house. 25 

Another favorite wintertime activity for the Goodman family in Linden was ice 
skating. The tank that was best for skating was the Forest tank, located on the National 
Forest. Afvin is remembered as being the best skater in the family. He was agile and well- 

One day in the fall of 1923, Grandpa was in a bank in Holbrook and heard about a 
sawmill near Wolf Mountain in Apache County being repossessed by a bank in Albuquerque 
from John Anderson, the original owner. Maybe he thought the family could make a better 
living at a sawmill than running cattle during this particular time. Anyway, for whatever 
reason, Grandpa saddled his big bay horse and rode to Albuquerque to see about buying it. 
It's approximately 300 miles one-way between Linden and Albuquerque. Depending on the 
terrain, a man could ride between 30 and 50 miles per day. Grandpa probably made the ride 
in eight days. We don't know why he didn't take the train; maybe they had no spare cash. 

His efforts were successful Donald remembers a purchase price of $3,500. The mill 
was located on the Sitgreaves National Forest, so the purchase price included only the mill 
equipment, buildings, and logging permit from the Forest Service. The bank continued to 
hold the mortgage on the mill. 

So, in the spring and summer of 1924, the William and Hannah Goodman family left 
Navajo County forever and moved east to Apache County. Their destination — the Wolf 
Mountain sawmill — was about 7 miles south of Vernon, on the Bannon-McNary road. 


Oral interview with Gilbur Mills in May 1991 by Dale Goodman and Gloria Andrus. 


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-> -i -•# 




Here is a recap of the family moves from the time Grandma and Grandpa got married 
up to the time they moved to the sawmill: Linden, Pinetop, Fort Apache, Cibecue and 
Carrizo, Jumpoff Canyon, Pinedale, Clay Springs, Linden, Clay Springs, Linden, and then to 

Brands Used by the Goodman Family 

Navajo County Brands 

HE fa T~ -S 


Apache County Brands 

RL FB Jz_ $ ^ DG- <W 

Some of the brands used by the Goodman family 

Chapter 6 

William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil 

Apache County Years 

The year 1924 witnessed several varied and interesting events in our nation. 
Woodrow Wilson died in Washington, D.C. ;* Calvin Coolidge was elected President on the 
Republican Ticket; Johnny Weissmuller set a world swimming record for 100 meters at the 
Olympic Games in Paris; the comic strip "Little Orphan Annie" began in the New York Dairy 
News; and Clarence Birdseye invented a method for the quick-freezing of foods. And the 
Goodman family moved from Navajo County to Apache County, Arizona. In 1920, the 
population of Apache County was 13, 196; Navajo County was slightly more populated with 
16,077 persons. 2 

The area in the White Mountains of Arizona to which Grandpa brought his family in 
the summer of 1924 is an historically famous area. Stewart Udall and archeologist Dr. Emil 
Haury, with the backing of the Southwest Parks and Monuments Association, have studied 
Coronado's trail through Arizona, both indoors and in the field. The conquistadors, after 
leaving the San Carlos area, crossed the Black River and then the White River in late June 
1540. Udall wrote: 

The trail beyond today's White River is easy to trace. The horsemen rode on 
the benchland on the west side of the North Fork of the White River to Post Office 
Canyon. After detouring west around this natural obstacle, they veered northeast to 
the vicinity of McNary where the route probably parallels the present dirt road from 
McNary to Vernon, through the ponderosa forest on the roof of the Mogollon Rim, 
and thence to a bivouac at a spring in the area of Lookout Mountain. 

This site would achieve a place in history as "The Camp of Death," where the 
first soldier and several native allies perished after eating a wild plant (water 

The path from the Camp of Death descended to open, rolling country 
featuring volcanic cones and vistas of a vast plateau. . . . From high knolls near 
Vernon, on a clear day one can see the outline of Towayalene, the sacred Corn 
Mountain in the heart of Zuni country, so it is likely the old trail ran straight toward 
Hawikuh. 3 

'Many of these historical dates were taken from The Century Book: A Family Record and 
U.S. History Chronology, by Joan Potter Loveless, Century Press, La Prada, NM., 1993. 

historical Atlas of Arizona, p. 61. 

3 Stewart Udall, In Coronado's Footsteps, Southwest Parks and Monuments Association, 
Tucson, Arizona, 1991, pp 15-16. 



• • 


The Goodman family was 
not hoping to find anything near so 
splendid as the Seven Cities of Gold 
in that move 71 years ago, but did 
hope to begin a new life with some 
financial security. The sawmill 
which Grandpa had purchased 
helped to keep most of the family 
together most of the time for the 
next 20 years or so. 

The family began its trek 
from the homestead in Linden to 
Wolf Mountain. Their route ran 
from Show Low east and slightly 
south. The meadow to which they 
were headed is identified on current 
maps as McKay Springs. 

What Grandpa had bought 
for $3,500 at the bank in 
Albuquerque was the sawmilling 
equipment, a Forest Service lease, 
and a logging permit of an existing 
sawmill. John Anderson, of 
Vernon, had originally built the mill but it had been repossessed by the bank. Since the 
sawmill was on the Sitgreaves National Forest, no purchase of land was involved. Grandpa 
had had years of sawmilling experience starting in Chama, New Mexico, and felt sure he and 
his sons could make a living at Wolf Mountain. 

The wagon tracks to the sawmill skirted Wolf Mountain on the south, and the family 
entered the meadow from the west (on the opposite side from the present road between 
Vernon and McNary). Grandpa had a team of horses which pulled the wagons when the 
family moved. These horses were Blue and Nickel; other horses coming with them were Pee 
Wee, and Don's horse, Lad. Three trips were required to move everything over to the Wolf 
Mountain sawmill site. 

At ages 53 and 46, Grandpa and Grandma were essentially starting over once again, 
and most of their nine living children came with them Frances, 26 years of age and married, 
stayed in the Pinedale area with her husband, Horace. Bill, at 25, was away from home more 
than he was at home; he and Mary Gholson would be married in December 1924. The other 
children moved to the sawmill with the family: 


Alvin, 23; Walter, 21; Donald, 18; John, 16; Lloyd, 12 
Fern, 10; Beulah, 7 

* , Standard I /|F ffi - 

' } I ' I f!*r v '' r " - 



(Big Mm 

* I •• • • Mln J '0% 

Suggested route from Show Low to McKay Springs 

Grandpa knew he had to depend on Alvin and Walter to help him get the mill up and 
running. John and Lloyd would be more help later on, but Donald never took to sawmilling. 
In fact, he was the one exception as the family moved to the sawmill. He elected to stay in 
Linden and herd cows for Grandpa until the herd could be disposed of. 

Beulah was so excited to finally arrive at their new home, that, as soon as they reached 
the "old" barn, she jumped off the wagon and went running to see the house. Before she 
knew it, she was knee deep in the sticky black mud of the cienaga, and Fern had to help 
extract her from the mud. 

Included with the household mrnishings and other items which the family moved were 
a flock of white turkeys which would nest in the trees around the mill site. It wasn't long 
before mill workers in McNary heard about these tame turkeys; soon there were no white 
turkeys to be found. 




The house into which the family moved was a two-room house, with a long porch 
facing north toward the mill and the sawdust pile. A small spring off the northeast corner of 
the porch provided the drinking water. In this 'little" spring, the cold, clear water ran out of 
cracks in the rocks. When the family arrived, the water off the northwest corner tended to 
pool up. So Grandpa and the boys dug out a large hole so the water could collect and run 
into a ditch which ran north past the sawmill and provided the water for the steam boiler. It 
was also Grandma's "cooler." This was always referred to as the ''big" spring. 

In the large kitchen and dining room of the main house, the most obvious feature was 
the cookstove. It was a large stove, which boasted a 15 gallon reservoir — when there was 
a fire in the stove, the family had lots of hot water. This was filled, of course, from one of 
the springs. There was never running water piped into that house, or any of the houses 
(shacks, really) built then or later. 

The kitchen and dining room took up the entire north half of the house; there was an 
opening between the two rooms, but no door to shut. The south half (or back half) of the 
house was divided about % and Vz. The smaller room had a double wall which had been 
packed with sawdust for insulation and was apparently used as a storage room before the 
Goodmans arrived. This was the room in which Grandpa and Grandma and Fern and Beulah 
slept. The larger room was used as a bedroom for the boys. It was plenty large for several 

When the Goodmans moved into the Main house (as it came to be called), it was pitch 
dark They found there were no window panes in the window openings. The previous family 
had made hinged shutters which could be opened during the day and closed at night. Car 
windshields came in two flat pieces of glass in those days (not curved like our are today), so 
Grandpa put one of those halves in the opening in the northeast corner of the living room 

In those mill houses, where there were beds, there were bedbugs. (Actually, bedbugs 
plagued people in most homes of that time.) This probably accounts for the little ditty 
repeated in many homes of an evening: Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite. 
And when Lloyd's and Ruth's house burned, one of Lloyd's first comments was "That's one 
good way to get rid of the bedbugs." Grandma even set the legs of the beds in cans filled 
with kerosene, but the little varmints always found a way to get into bed with everyone and 
get their daily dose of blood. 

Except for the smaller of the two bedrooms which was double- walled, the rest of the 
house had only one layer of boards. A narrow strip of lumber had been nailed over each 
"seam" (where two boards fitted together), so the house was tight and no wind blew through 
the cracks. However, when asked how they kept warm during winter nights, both Donald 
and Beulah said it was dam hard to keep warm Grandma would pile mountains of quilts on 
each bed, but on many mornings there would be ice on the bed covers where the sleeper had 


breathed during the night. Beulah remembers that the kitcheri/dining room had a ceiling, but 
in the sleeping area, the room extended clear on up to the roof. 

The floors were wood floors, made with tongue and groove lumber. They were nicely 
planed, but still had to be scrubbed on hands and knees with a scrub brush. 

Grandma was an excellent cook, but the crew at the sawmill would test her (and 
other's) abilities over the next 20 years. She cooked for the men who worked there (unless 
they had families living at the mill), plus her own large family. Her own boys were mostly 
grown with adult appetites. All she had to look forward to was cooking three large meals and 
baking a big batch of bread each day, with only two adolescent girls to help. There wasn't 
much to cook with in those days, and no conveniences to help her, but her children remember 
the delicious meals she prepared. In the summer when the mill was running, it wasn't unusual 
to have 16 to 21 people around the long dining room table at mealtime. 

Fern recalls that "Mama cooked for everyone, and our days started at four o'clock in 
the mornings in the summer. In the wintertime they couldn't run the mill because of too much 
snow — and it really snowed in those days. The men couldn't log until it thawed in the spring. 
They'd wait until the snow melted, but the ground was still frozen. But when they started 
logging, it was three meals a day, and they were hungry! . Mama baked bread almost every 
day. She always made baking powder biscuits for breakfast. Sometimes she'd make biscuits 
for dinner (the noon meal in those days), and big batches of cornbread at night for supper. 
But it wasn't just bread and milk; the men had to have something else, a real he-man's meal. 
But we had very little meat, because there was no way to keep it from spoiling in the 
summertime. (A decade or so later, Lloyd would built the icehouse. ) Mama had her garden 
down by Pancho Springs, but didn't really raise enough vegetables out there to feed these 
men. Meals were mostly potatoes and beans, potatoes and gravy, and fried potatoes. We'd 
use hundreds and hundreds of pounds of potatoes; Papa would bring them up from Holbrook. 
We didn't have fresh fruit around here, but at that time we could get dried fruit in big 
boxes — apples, peaches, apricots, raisins and stuff like that, so Mama used to cook those. 
I can also remember her macaroni and cheese. We'd get cheese in the big horns; we'd have 
a couple of those a year. 

"Mama didn't always fix dessert, but occasionally she'd make dumplings or a cake. 
But she couldn't do that every day for two meals, so we just ate lots of bread. We didn't use 
as much butter then. We didn't think we had to have butter on our bread like we do now. 
Generally, if we had hot biscuits, sometimes we'd have butter. We did have one little cow up 
there named Pet, and sometimes Mama would make buttennilk or sour milk biscuits. But 
I never heard even one man complain about her cooking. In fact, they ate until you'd have 
thought they'd burst wide open. 

"Now, in the wintertime, we'd have some meat because it was so cold then, they could 
butcher a beef or go out and get a deer. They'd hang it on the north side of the house and 

mm* » . 

«* J* -7 

• • . 


wrap a sheet around it. It would freeze and never thaw out. We'd bring those quarters of 
meat in and slice off what we wanted to use and take it back out and hang it up again. It was 
just like cutting a piece of ice. This was always used as steaks. But Mama would make some 
stews out of the bones. Then in the spring when the meat would start to thaw, and she knew 
she wasn't going to be able to keep it, she'd cut it all into steaks and fry them just enough to 
brown 'em good and put them in 2-quart bottles. She had a pressure cooker by that time, and 
she'd pressure that meat, m tell you what, that was the most delicious stuff when we opened 
it up — all that rich gravy. I can taste it yet." 

The ikmiry also butchered a couple of pigs each fall. Those provided meat during the 
winter, as well as lard for Grandma's soap. 

Even though Grandma's boys 
didn't help cook during the summer, 
they had to learn to cook. There were 
no girls in the family between Frances 
and Fern, so all the boys became good 
cooks (a fact much appreciated by their 
future wives and children). In fact, one 
summer when Grandma was ill, Donald 
took over the kitchen. He tells the 
amusing story of how he stewed raisins 
and the mill hands just wrinkled up their 
noses. The next night he poured those 
raisins in a crust, and everyone ate raisin 

At one time Grandpa decided to 

grow a big bunch of potatoes up at 

Cecil Naegle's on the old Kraft place. 

He and John went up there and plowed 

up a big area where they were going to 

plant those potatoes. When it was all 

plowed, Grandpa wouldn't plant the 

potatoes. He told John that the moon 

wasn't right. John wanted to get the 

potatoes planted, so he said, "I don't plant my potatoes in the moonlight anyway; I plant them 

in the ground." But Grandpa made him wait until the moon was just right. Beulah said she 

never saw so many potatoes or such huge ones. 

Grandpa always had to have something to drink with his meals, even if it was just a 
cup of warm water. Once, as he got up to get a cup of coffee, the diners heard a terrible 

Grandpa and Pet 


racket. Grandma asked what the matter was. "Oh," he replied, "the damn cat got mixed up 
between my teeth." He meant to say 'feet," and this became a lasting family joke. 

It was up to Fern and Beulah to do the dishes, and, as they got older, to help cook. 
But, on one day when they were still little, Beulah rebelled and climbed a tree to get out of 
helping with the dishes. She didn't think Fern would climb up after her. To her amazement, 
however, Fern climbed right up there and then spanked her all the way down that tree. 

Grandma made all the girls' clothes, and was an excellent seamstress. She was 
undoubtedly taught to sew by Grandma McNeil. And as she had to make clothes for herself 
and the kids, she perfected her skills. There were no unfinished seams in the clothes she 
made — they were either double- seamed, or she turned the raw edges under and finished them 
off Someone once said that, "all those McNeil girls liked to get gussied up." It's wonderful 
that they had personal pride in spite of the trouble it took. 

Fern also talked about her clothes as a young girl. "We never wore pants then. We 
wore dresses and we wore stockings. We kept them up with supporters. It was a deal that 
came up over your shoulders, sort of like suspenders, with a strip of cloth that went between 
them in the front and in the back to keep them from sliding off your shoulders. They came 
clear down the fronts and backs of your legs and had sort of a rubber button on them with a 
hook that went over the button. We had both cotton and wool stockings — wool in the winter 
and cotton in the summer. We also had to wear long-handled underwear then. How I hated 
those as a little girl! We didn't have underclothes that we could change into every day. If we 
had two suits, we bathed once a week. If we were lucky, we had three suits — long legs and 
long sleeves, even in the summer. Lots of times in the summer, we might go bare-footed and 
not wear stockings. But when we got old enough that we didn't want to go bare-footed, we 
had to wear those stockings. 

'Tinally, silk stockings became available, but I don't remember Mama ever wearing 
any. She'd always buy cotton stockings, and she'd wear them for everything. She'd have 
maybe a couple of pair that she'd save for Sunday best. I guess I was about 14 when I got 
my first silk stockings." (And, it wasn't until World War II that nylon stockings became 

Unfortunately, all those clothes had to be washed. According to Fern: "It was a long 
day on the washboards for a long time. Shirts by the dozens, and the men wore long-handled 
underwear all the time then — woolen ones in the winter and cotton in the summer. Then it 
got to where they started wearing what they called B VD's. The laundry would take all day 
long to wash for that many people. It was hard, and it was outside during the summers and 
inside during the winter months. Mama had a big old black cast iron kettle outside the house. 
She also had a big copper wash boiler on the stove in the house. The cast iron kettle had 
three legs and was put on big rocks and a fire built under it. That's where we'd wash on the 
washboards. After everything had been washed, we'd also use it to boil the white clothes in 



so as to take out all the stains. Of course, we didn't have bleaches, but we used lye. The lye 
was a powder and it would help bring the stains out, but it was different from bleach. It didn't 
take the color out of clothes like the bleach does. Her white clothes had to be white as snow. 
She took a lot of pride in her white clothes." (And everyone used bluing in their rinse water 
in those days.) 

This copper wash boiler held 
about 20 gallon of water. Although 
the cookstove had a 15 gallon 
reservoir, that was not enough hot 
water for wash days. 

The black cast iron kettle 
outside sitting on the rocks was 
what Grandma used to make her 
soap in. She made most of her own 
soap from grease rendered from 
pigs slaughtered by the family. 
Game animals usually didn't have 
enough fat on them to help with 
Grandma's collection of grease. But 
she'd save bacon drippings and 

every other little bit of grease she could collect for her summer soap-making project. The 

recipe for homemade soap is really quite simple: Lots of lard, some water, and some lye. 

Those women who had some sort of scent, like rosemary, would also add some of that; 

Grandma never had anything that fancy. 

Grandma would mix her lard, water, and lye in the kettle and bring it to a slow boil. 
She had a large wooden paddle with which she stirred the mixture. This had to boil slowly 
for several hours, and she kept testing it by lifting her paddle out of the mixture to test its 
consistency. When most of the water had been boiled out, and it looked sort of stringy like 
taffy candy, she declared it done. This would then cool for awhile in the kettle, probably until 
she could handle the kettle without getting burned. The thick mixture would then be poured 
out on a board, and sort of shaped up with the paddle. When fully cooL, Grandma would cut 
it into small bars or cubes — nothing fancy, just so she could hold it in her hand and cut off 
little shavings to be dissolved in the wash water. 

Fern and Beulah remember that the boys didn't like their Levis washed; they didn't 
want them to shrink or fade. So, they'd wear them until they were so stiff with grease and 
pitch and dirt that they'd stand by themselves in the corner of the bedroom But not so with 
shirts. Both girls remember the endless ironings for their five brothers and their dad. 

Grandma's cast iron kettle 



It was not possible in those days to buy clothes that didn't wrinkle; there were no 
blends or permanent-press clothes. All those shirts worn by all those brothers and Grandpa 
had to be ironed. The ironing was done with stove irons (sometimes called "sad" irons). The 
family had four or five of these to keep heating on the stove because they cooled off so 
quickly. Whoever was ironing would unlatch the handle from the cool iron and click it onto 
a hot one and go right on ironing. (Sometimes a pan would be placed over the irons on the 
stove to help them heat up faster.) After clicking onto a fresh iron, however, it was best to 
run it first over another piece of fabric to make sure there was nothing on the bottom of the 
iron which would stain the clean article being ironed. 

The family didn't have a lot of time for family outings, but Fern remembers a couple. 
""There was just a big flatbed on the back of the truck, and we all piled on that thing and 
went way up on Gooseberry and Black River and went fishing. Mama fried the fish in a dutch 
oven. Another time, we went down to Floy to a big lake there that had a lot of carp in it. 
They used a seine (like they used in the days of the Savior when they were fishing). It was 
a net attached to sticks; one would hang on to each end, and wade out into that old muddy 
water and bring those fish out of there. Lloyd was too young, but the older boys did that. 
Then we all piled back on the truck and came home on that flatbed, with the wind whipping 
around us. We could almost go 25 miles an hour, but more like 15 to 20. All we had in those 
days were dirt roads, really just wagon tracks, not graded or anything. 

"That was about all our family outings. People worked so hard. They worked six 
days a week on the mill, and would go to work at 6 o'clock in the morning and work until 
noon. They'd have an hour off for lunch and then work until 6 that evening. So we didn't 
have too many outings. Oh, sometimes, we'd take Saturdays off and go do something. 






« ■ 

"I started going to dances when I was about 15. I'm not going to tell you who my 
first boy friend was — that's getting too personal. My first dances were in the old Vernon 
school house. But my brothers were good brothers. They took good care of us girls. After 
I got old enough to go to dances, Td go with them in to Show Low to dances and things. 
They were always happy to take me. They never said they didn't want to be bothered with 
me. We'd leave the mill and go up through McNary and down to Show Low. There'd be lots 
of snow and no graded roads. We'd push snow in front of the radiator, and my feet would 
be so cold. Depending on how much snow there was, it could take a couple of hours to get 
to McNary. We'd try to leave like 6 o'clock and maybe sometimes earlier than that if the 
snow was bad. Sometimes, we'd stay in Show Low at Aunt Sarah Mills', and sometimes I'd 
go to Grandma McNeil's to stay. And the boys would go over there and stay with Aunt 
Sarah's boys. When it wasn't bad weather, we'd go back home. Sometimes it would be 3 
o'clock in the morning when we got home. And sometimes the boys had to get up at 6 
o'clock and go to work during the summer if the mill was nirining. But we all had good 

"HBP -- ■■ 



Cecil Naegle (who was John's age) talked about going to the dances with the 
Goodman boys. "We used to gang up and go to the dances — the Naegle boys and the 
Goodman boys — and we were at the mill one night waiting for the Goodmans to get ready, 
and directly Brother Goodman came out of the bedroom, threw up his hands and said, 'What 
do you know, kicked out of my own bedroom. ' He'd been drinking a little, and your 
Grandma had kicked him out. But he was a great person; he'd give his last dime to someone 
in need. 

"One night we were all at a dance in Vemon, and Walter shook hands with a kid. 
They jerked each other and fell, and the kid fell across Walter's leg and broke it. Brother 
Goodman set his leg right there. After he got through, George Wilhelm was commenting on 
it, and said, 'Ceasars, but I wouldn't want to take a chance on it; Td take him to a doctor.' 
Walter looked up at him and said, 'Yeah, but look who the hell you are, George. ' Walter had 
great faith in his dad's skills and ability." 4 

Another favorite, and essential, activity for the Goodman boys was hunting. The deer 
and turkeys they shot provided much of the meat the family ate. Cecil continued: "I had 
several experiences with Alvin, mostly hunting. One day we went out and picked up turkey 
tracks and tracked them from the old mill site there over to just east of Pineyon, and there we 
found them going to roost. It got evening on us, and we got a couple of them and headed 
back. There were about 14 inches of snow on the ground. Before we got back to the mill, 
Alvin was carrying the turkey I shot and my gun; I was doing well to put one foot in front of 
the other. We left the turkeys there at the mill for Sister Goodman to cook for Thanksgiving. 
This was two days before Thanksgiving. The next day we'd come off the mountain and were 
going back up when we got stuck right there going up that hill to the mill. Walter came down 
and got us and took us in for dinner. Sister Goodman had the turkeys all cooked for 
Thanksgiving dinner, and the Naegles had been invited down for dinner. Walter went over 
to the big house and got one of those turkeys and brought it over to his house. I think your 
grandparents had gone to Holbrook that morning. We ate one of the turkeys there that night. 
They got back from Holbrook about twelve o'clock and found one of the turkeys had been 
eaten, so she went to work and cooked another one. I was about 28 at the time. This was 
just after Walter was married." 

Cecil also mentioned that Walter stayed up at the Naegle place and farmed a farm for 
them for about two years — lived right there on the farm 

Gib Mills remembered his time at the sawmill: "Lloyd and I were about 12 years old 
when they moved to Vernon. But I went over to the mill quite a little bit. Lloyd had a little 

4 Oral interview between Cecil Naegle and Gloria Andrus, January 1993. Transcription in 
possession of Gloria Andrus. While Cecil Naegle is no blood relation to us, we grandkids always 
refer to him and his wife as Uncle Cecil and Aunt Mildred out of deep respect for them; the same 
respect we have for our own aunts and uncles. How we love them! 


wagon to ride. We'd pull it out into the woods with a chuck box on it. We loved to catch 
chipmunks. They sure would bite you. I think they had teeth on both ends." 

Lloyd also had rabbits when they first moved to the mill. The rabbit pens were in the 
"old" barn. It was about this time that crews were constructing the present road from Vernon 
to McNary 5 , and were using dynamite to break up some of the larger rocks. During one such 
blast, a large piece of rock flew through the air from the road site clear across the meadow. 
It fell through the roof of the barn, hit the rabbit pens, and killed several of Lloyd's rabbits. 

Manufacturers of Arizona Pine Lumber 

Rourli anil Surfaced Grades 




W. E. Goodman & Sons letterhead 

Let's now talk about the sawmill and answers questions relating to it and its operation. 
First, there had to be trees. One publication noted that: 

There are more than a hundred different species of trees in Arizona, but the 
saw timber stand consists mainly of four — ponderosa or western yellow pine, Douglas 
fir, white fire, and Engelmann spruce. Of these, about 90 per cent is ponderosa pine, 
a soft fine-grained inexpensive wood in demand for sashes and doors, flooring, and 
general milrwork. The largest forest of this pine, about three hundred miles long and 
between twenty and sixty miles wide, begins north of the Grand Canyon and extends 
through the central part of the state into New Mexico. The most important logging 
operations are concentrated in this area, with the biggest lumber mills located at 
Williams, Flagstaff and McNary. 6 

Grandpa's cutting allotment from the Forest Service was known as the Wolf Mountain 
Logging Unit, and was part of the Black River Working Circle. Joseph Hereford wrote: 

5 When the Goodmans first moved to the sawmill, the road to Vernon ran straight north 
from the mill, past Willow Springs and connected with the Lakehole/Vernon road near Ojo 
Bonito Springs. Uncle Donald mentioned many trips to the Bannon store. 

6 Arizona, A State Guide, Compiled by Workers of the Writers' Program of the Work 
Projects Administration in the State of Arizona. New York: Hastings House, MCMXLI, p. 94. 




I have very little information about any of the sawmill operations other than 
the one at McNary, which has been the focus of my research (on the Apache 
Railroad). Occasionally, IVe run across some incidental information concerning some 
of the small mills which operated in the area. For example, a summary of the timber 
management plan for the Black River Working Circle as of January 1936, mentions 
the Wolf Mountain Logging Unit as one of the logging units on that part of the 
Sitgreaves National Forest within the Working Circle. The Wolf Mountain Unit was 
identified as being "Reserved for local mill." The estimated gross volume of timber 
on the unit was 12,399,000 board feet. 

IVe marked the apparent location of the Wolf Mountain Unit on the enclosed 
map, which is a copy of part of a 1940 map of the Sitgreaves National Forest. I don't 
know whether the Wolf Mountain Unit occupied the entire two sections indicated on 
the map, or whether it was limited to those two sections. The blue line on the map 
shows the boundaries of the 1917 timber sale to the Apache Lumber Co., so the 
exclusion of the two sections indicated suggests that the Wolf Mountain Unit was 
comprised more or less of that area. 7 

Map of Wolf Mountain Unit 

7 Joseph P. Hereford, Jr., letter dated October 12, 1994 to Gloria Andrus. 


Larger operators such as the mill at McNary didn't especially like small independent 
sawmills. However, Forest Service policy was that everyone should be allowed to make a 
living, so was fair about reserving an allotment for independent operators. 

To ensure that timber stands would be perpetuated and not overcut (as, unfortunately, 
had happened in the Chama, New Mexico area where Grandpa learned sawmilling), Forest 
Service officers marked each tree that could be cut. 8 The timber in this area consisted of 
those wonderful yellow Ponderosa pines. (Its pitch makes the most incredible pine gum. 
Better than "store-bought" gum, any day.) 

Grandpa paid so much per thousand board feet for the permit to cut trees. Forest 
Service officers would first just estimate how much they had marked, but would later do an 
accurate scaling (measuring) and make any adjustments needed — either in favor of Grandpa 
or the Forest Service. Donald remembers the cost at about $2.50 per thousand board-feet. 
The Forest Service also paid 250 for snag. Snags were the dead trees which they wanted out 
of the forest. 

The profit at the sawmill came from whatever Grandpa could make over what he paid 
the Forest Service, what he paid the men who worked for him, and what he had to pay on the 
mortgage for the mill equipment. Don remembers that it was a very slim margin. 

Donald recalled that 'The mill was built when we bought it, but Afvin and Walter and 
Dad, they re-done the whole thing. The first truck at the sawmill was just a chassis, steering 
wheel, and an engine. Didn't even have a seat nor a bed. We built the bed. I may have even 
built a cab over the damn thing out of lumber." 

S : 
> • 

Don also mentioned that "All our payments and everything were mailed to New 
Mexico. I don't remember what bank, but I remember one time, they came up there to the 
mill, to see how the mill was going, I guess. Alvin and Laura and I were standing there when 
they came up in their big car, and Arvin says, 'There's the fellows you're working for.' We 
didn't have the damn thing paid off" 

The family never shut down just to take a vacation like we do now — there was usually 
something to be done around the place. But they never, ever worked on Sunday. 

^Timeless Heritage: A History of the Forest Service in the Southwest, United States 
Department of Agriculture, Forest Service Publication, FS-409, p. 80. Several of the pictures 
used herein are taken from this non-copyrighted publication. 


-J -< -7 



.• " • ' 



Over the years, to keep things afloat, Grandpa had to take out chattel mortgages on 
various items of personal property. Here are some dates of mortgage and items mortgaged 9 : 

March 31, 1926, from Wm E. Goodman and W. F. Goodman, and A. E. Goodman, 
to Southwestern Sash and Door Company, in the sum of $600.00, to be paid by June 
30, 1926. Property mortgaged was "60,000 board feet of Arizona Pine lumber 
stacked and piled in the Sitgreaves National Forest." (This mortgage was released on 
January 21, 1927.) 

August 27, 1926, from Wm Goodman to The Round Valley Bank, in the sum of 
$400.00, to be paid by October 27, 1926. Property mortgaged was "One Chevrolet 
Truck (gives ID numbers), one work horse branded RL, one work horse branded FB, 
one work horse branded G, one work horse branded RL." (This mortgage was 
released on September 3, 1929.) 

March 12, 1928, from Wm E. Goodman to Round Valley Bank, in the sum of 
$350.00, to be paid by September 10, 1928. Property mortgaged was (the same 
property as the August 27 note, but with One Planer added). (This mortgage was 
released on September 10, 1929.) 

The economic collapse which resulted in the Great Depression occurred on October 
17, 1929. Money became tight and the dollar's value increased as noted by the following 
transactions. Whereas in 1926 Grandpa mortgaged 60,000 board feet of lumber and received 
$600, he would now be required to mortgage the entire mill and receive only $200, as noted 
in the following transactions: 

March 27, 1930, from W. E. Goodman to First National Bank of Holbrook, in the 
sum of $200.00, to be paid by May 23, 1930. Property mortgaged was "One saw mill 
consisting of engine, boiler, planer, and edger, together with all equipment, utensils 
and tools used in connection with and being a part of said sawmill." 

December 6, 1930, from Wm E. Goodman, to The First National Bank of Holbrook, 
in the sum of $300.00, to be paid by March 6, 193 1. Property mortgaged was "One 
saw- mill consisting of one engine, fifty H.P. - steam, one boiler — sixty H.P.; saw 
husk complete consisting of carriage, saw frame, saw; planer and all other 

Jury 22, 193 1, from William E. Goodman, to The First National Bank of Holbrook, 
in the sum of $200.00, to be paid by July 22, 193 1. Property mortgaged was "The 

9 These are all documents from the office of the County Recorder, Apache County, in St. 
Johns, researched by Dale and Norma Goodman. Photocopies are in the possession of Gloria 
Goodman Andrus. 


Goodman Saw Mill located on Section Seven, Township 9N, Range 25E, Apache 
County, Arizona, located seven miles South of Vernon, Arizona. Said saw mill 
consisting of: engine, boiler, planes, saw carriage, saws, and other equipment used 
in connection with the mill." 

September 18, 1937, from W. E. Goodman, to First National Bank, in the sum of 
$125.00, to be paid by December 17, 1937. Property mortgaged was "All cattle 
branded as follows, which consist of three cows branded on the left side: one branded 
on the left side, one branded on the left side; and one branded AVon the left side, and 
two horses branded on the left side as follows DG, and also one horse unbranded 
known as Rowdy, together with said brands and the right to use thereof and together 
with all increase therefrom of the cattle and the horses." 

Two of the boys also filed chattel mortgages as they purchased cars: 

April 19, 1928, Walter F. Goodman to Joy B. Patterson, in the sum of $600.00 to be 
paid by September 19, 1928. Property mortgaged was "One new 1928 Chevrolet 
Carbrolet (with ID numbers)." 

June 9, 1934, John Goodman to James M. Buckelew, in the sum of $100.00, to be 
paid by December 9, 1934. Property mortgaged was "One Plymouth Sedan (with ED 
numbers)." (The mortgage was released on December 8, 1934.) 


Now, they all had to go to work to pay off these chattel mortgages, 
income was sawing railroad ties. 

One source of 

Dolf Treat was the tie inspector for the Santa Fe Railroad. The railroad ties couldn't 
have a spot of rot anywhere on them, or they'd be rejected. One day Mr. Treat and John 
were visiting about Grandpa, and he told John that, "There's just no man like him. They 
broke the mold when they made Bill Goodman." (We suspect Mr. Treat meant that Grandpa 
was so honest and caring about other people.) Grandpa's contract with the Santa Fe Railroad 
stipulated that they'd take all the ties the mill could produce; at least, all that Dolf Treat would 
approve during his inspection. (In addition to railroad ties, Lloyd would also cut mining ties 
later on during World War n.) 

The railroad spur from Holbrook to Maverick was called the Apache Railroad. This 
railroad was designed primarily to haul lumber out of the forests of the Mogollon Rim 
country. Joseph P. Hereford, of Albuquerque, has spent much of his life researching the 
Apache Railway. He has drawn a map for a book he will publish in the future, showing the 
location of Bell Siding. He has given his permission for us to use this map. 

At Bell Siding, these heavy ties were unloaded from the truck by hand and loaded 
onto a waiting railroad car. 

mi -r -T . 

r aa * — W 



R. 20 E. 



R. 22 E. 

T. 17 N. 



Navajo County, Arizona 

T. 9 N. 


Drawn by Joseph P. Hereford, Jr., Copyright, 1995. 


The smaller trees were used for railroad ties if they could be squared up 6 x 8 inches, 
which was what the tie specifications were. The rest would all go into 1-inch, 2-inch, 
anything up to 12 inches. The clear stuff would be cut as wide as it would go, but common 
lumber would be 1 x 12, or 2 x 12's. 

Cut lumber was taken out onto the yard and separated there. It would be categorized 
and stacked into first class on one area, then second class, and so on down to number 5. 
Number 5 was all the rotten stuff. Lumber was also stacked by size — 1 xl 2, 1x10, 1x8 
and so on. 

Much of the other cut lumber went to the Pierce and O'Malley Lumber Company in 
Phoenix. Some of it went to Concho or Holbrook to be traded for groceries and other 
necessary goods. 


■■» Highways 

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Forest Boundaries 

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Old Rice Road route to Phoenix 

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When Grandpa hauled lumber to Phoenix, he took the Old Rice Road. This was well 
before the Salt River Canyon Road was completed. Lloyd used to tell his kids about going 
to the valley (Phoenix) over the Rice Road. He bought groceries while down there, and 
loaded them on the back of the truck. By the time he'd made the trip over those bumpy 
washboard roads, white flour covered everything, and the flour sack was empty. 

Back at the mill, whoever fired the boiler on a given day had to be up at 4 am to get 
up a good head of steam ready for the crew who came a couple of hours later. John Perkins 
(Beth's husband) told of working for Grandpa as a boilerman. In his opinion, the cold water 
from the spring was more advantageous in producing steam than warmer water used by 
sawmills which didn't have a cold spring. He said it was faster to reach the correct pressure 
and easier to control the pressure because of the cold water. 

The minimum number of workers in the sawmill was 7; in fact, if they had just 7, they 
felt they were a little short-handed. The best number for the crew was 10 men. Apparently, 
a lot of people from Vernon over the years would go up to the mill to work: Ed 
Rothlisberger, Charley Gillespie, Teb Whiting, Guy Gillespie, Elmer Whiting, an occasional 
Apache, and a lot of others. According to Don, the normal wage in those days was 35 cents 
an hour if the man was a good worker. 

One man, passing through the area during the depression days , stopped to get work. 
Kent remembers that he didn't have any laces in his shoes. About that time, they needed to 
move a cookstove, so they put a guy on each corner, and this newcomer was on one of the 
comers. As they approached the other house, this man stepped in a mud puddle and walked 
right out of his shoes. They stayed in that old black sticky mud. It was really pitiful, but 
funny at the same time. He didn't say a word, just kept walking; apparently he felt he had to 
work for his dinner, and he wanted to keep his part of the bargain. This was the same man 
who kept saying he wanted to see "those Mormons with horns." Finally, Lloyd had enough, 
and told him that he was right among those Mormons, and that they had no horns, and then 
jerked off his hat to prove it. 

The actual mill crew consisted roughly of the following workers: 

One man on the skidway 

The sawyer 

The boilerman 

One that tailed the saw and ran the edger 

One that ran the cut-off 

One that tailed the edger 

Several yardmen 

As long as we're making lists, here's a listing of the smaller equipment and tools 
needed to successfully operate a sawmill: 


Two-man crosscut saw 

One-man crosscut saw 

Double-bit felling ax 

Cant hook 

Skidding tongs 

Chains and hooks 


Harnesses and double-trees 

Log scales 

The skidding tongs were clamped onto a log. A chain would be attached to the 
shackle on top, and when pulled would cause the points of the tongs to set themselves into 
the log. The tongs could also be used for lifting the logs. The skidding tongs fastened with 
a chain or cable onto the double-tree attached to the horses' collars. 

The felling ax (or 
axe) had a sharp knife-edge 
to chop into a tree. These 
could be single-bit or 
double-bit tools. 

The two-man 

crosscut saw had a pattern 
of four cutting teeth and 
two raker teeth, to shave 
the wood out of the cut. 
The one-man saw had a 
pattern of four cutting teeth 
and one raker tooth. 


Two-man Crosscut Saw 

>f /rr ^ 

Cant Hook 

Circular Saw 

Various sawmilling tools 

A log scaler helped determine the board feet in a log. This was a wooden instrument 
with one stationary leg at the bottom and one adjustable leg which slid along a calibrated rod. 
The scaler measured diameter inside the bark. This dimension and log length were the two 
most important variables used to determine the board feet (or volume) of a log. 

The cant hook was used to roll logs or to pry logs out of a jam 



Now, back at the Goodman sawmilL The large circular saw was 60 inches in diameter 
and had replaceable teeth. (We don't know if the Goodmans always had two circular saws, 
but at the time of Grandpa's passing, the estate inventory included one 60 inch saw and one 
56 inch saw.) Grandpa had the reputation of being an excellent millwright. It took a good 
millwright to keep the saws in line. Grandpa would take the flat side of a ballpeen hammer, 
and go around and around tapping on the saw to get it back in line. The main saw was the 



,i • * . > . i ■/ • 


Forest Service Officer scaling a log. 
Photo from Timeless Heritage 

The circular saw at the Goodman sawmill ran 
east and west, and created all that wonderful sawdust 
which was blown through a pipe out to the sawdust 
pile. The sawdust which came from the cut-off saw 
and edger had to be taken out in wheel barrows and 
dumped on the pile. 

In addition to being an excellent millwright, 
Grandpa had many other abilities when it came to 
running a sawmill. One was his mathematical skills. 
Individual people would come up to the mill to buy 
lumber for barns or homes, and so on. Fern 
remembered that when someone would come up to the 
mill to buy lumber, they'd tell Grandpa they wanted to 
build a house or a barn such and such a size and ask 
him how much lumber it would take. Grandpa would 
sit there working it out in his mind, never picking up 
a pencil, and in 10 or 15 minutes, could tell them 
almost exactly to the board- foot how many feet it 
would take to build that house. 

only one with replaceable teeth; the 
remainder of the saws used in the 
milling operation had to be 
sharpened by hand. The invention 
of replaceable teeth greatly 
increased the saw's life expectancy, 
since teeth break when striking large 
spikes or other hard objects 
embedded in a log. 

A worker sharpens the replaceable 

teeth of a circular saw. Forest 

History Society Photo 

The next saw was the cut-off saw which ran north- south, and was used to cut the 16- 
foot boards into 8-foot boards, and to square off the ends of the boards. 

The edger was the last set of saws, and ran east and west. A board would be run 
through the edgers to get rid of the bark and still make it as wide as it could be. The edger 
really consisted of three saws — one permanent, stationary saw, and two adjustable saws. The 
man who ran the edger would set one edge of the board where it would go through the solid 


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Sawmill Layout 

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saw, and set one adjustable saw if they wanted a 12 inch board, and the second adjustable saw 
if they wanted an 8 inch board (or whatever combination of sizes they could get out of a 
particular board). Two boards could be cut at the same time this way. 

The man who "tailed" the edger, grabbed the piece of cut lumber and put it on a small 
cart which ran on narrow rails out to the stacks where the yard crew would pile them 
according to different widths. 

There was a difference between the "green" rough lumber and the planed, kiln-dried 
lumber. The latter was Grandpa's pride and joy. About six years after the family moved to 
the mill, Grandpa hear that Pierce and O'Malley Lumber Company, in Phoenix, were up- 
grading their planer. He bought the used planer from them Planed, or finished, lumber sold 
for twice the amount of unfinish ed lumber When lumber was planed at the Goodman sawmill, 
it received first class treatment — there could no rough handling of those boards. Grandpa 
wanted no nicks or scratches in the planed lumber. The kiln was located just outside the mill 
proper, and the planer sat between the two. When the kiln was filled with lumber to be dried, 
the mill was shut down, and steam from the boiler was forced into the kiln shack. It took a 
couple of days to completely dry the lumber, so the boiler had to be kept up to the right 
temperature and pressure around the clock. When the lumber was completely dried, each 
board was then planed, and declared "finished." More than once, Grandpa handed Don (or 
someone else) a shovel, and instructed him to go shovel the snow off the precious planed 

But before trees could be milled, they had to be cut and brought to the mill area. This 
involved log cutters and those who hauled the cut trees to the mill. 

^" ^V- 

At work in the log woods 


Photos taken from Timlesss Heritage 


A good crosscut sawing team was hard to come by. On one occasion, Alvin was 
cutting logs with somebody who kept dragging back on the saw. Finally, Alvin stopped and 
stood up and said, "You know, I don't mind carrying you, but for hell sakes, lift up your feet!" 

And Don remembers cutting with Uncle Dan McNeil one winter. "Dan told our 
mother one day, 'Just watch, I'm going to work that old kid (Don) into the ground today.' 
During the day, he was really riding the saw, and I'd keep jumping on him, saying, 'Quit 
a'riding that damn saw all the time.' Anyway, when we got home that night, Dan went to bed 
and didn't get up the next morning. So when I came in for breakfast, my mother came in 
a'giggling, and she told me what he had said the day before." 

Actually, the operation in the log woods was more than just cutting down a tree. 
Each tree had to be "bucked up" (meaning that the limbs were all trimmed off and the tree 
was cut into approximately 16-foot lengths — this would result in boards which were 8 feet 
in length, the standard at the time). The brush would be piled and burned at a later time. 

One excellent tree cutting team consisted of Alma and Laurel Bigler, of Heber. These 
two men would begin at 4 o'clock in the morning and cut until 1 1 o'clock at night. Each man 
had his own crosscut saw; he used a strip of rubber innertube as his partner. He tied one end 
of this excellent, springy rubber (not like the synthetic rubber we have today) to the saw, 
while the other end was tied to a pole which was propped against the tree in sort of a pyramid 
shape. Their reputation was that they were "tough" guys. 

At first the family brought the logs in on horse-drawn wagons, and then trucks; but 
the horses were still needed to skid the logs around. Later still, the skidding was done with 
small caterpillar tractors and loaded with a small crane. But that was after Grandpa's time. 
As has been mentioned, the horses were Arvin's domain. No one could work with the horses 
as well as Alvin. He was extremely kind and patient with them, and they responded. When 

he asked them to lean into 
their collars and pull, they 
did — either the log moved 
or something on the harness 

Horses mentioned in 
connection with the sawmill 
are Dick, Rowdy, Don, 
Dutch, Silver, Rock, Clyde, 
and Mollie. (Rowdy and 
Silver weighed about 2200 
pounds each. Dutch was 
not as large as Rowdy, but 
could out-pull him any day 



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Uncle Chet skidding logs with Rowdy and Don 
from the log yard to the skidway to feed the mill 


'!> ■' «■ ' 


of the week — unless the person working with the team happened to pick up a small branch 
and slap the side of his leg with it; Rowdy responded with vigor when that happened.) Chet's 
team were called Woodrow and Brownie, and Alvin's personal team were Maude and Bess. 

The ideal situation was for the logging wagon (or later, logging trucks) to dump the 
logs right on the skidway. However, if they got ahead of the sawmill, they'd dump their logs 
out in the logging yard — maybe 50 to 100 yards from the skidway. Then, on those times 
when the mill ran out of logs on the skidway, the logging crew, when they came in with 
another load, would take their lead team and skid a bunch of logs up onto the skidway. 
(When the family eventually went to using logging trucks, a team of horses was kept at the 
mill for skidding logs around the log yard and onto the skidway.) 

At first it was easy 
to cut trees rather close to 
the sawmill, After several 
years, however, it was 
necessary to cut further 
away. They cut all the 
knolls (such an Antelope 
Knoll), around Wolf 
Mountain, and even cut 
some on the side of Wolf 
Mountain. Don thinks 
about the farthest away they 
got and remained in then- 
allotment was 2 or 3 miles. 

Usually two teams of horses were used when skidding logs. 
Photo taken from Timeless Heritage 


Hauling logs on the log wagon at the Goodman Sawmill 

This brings to mind 
another odd job that had to 
be done. As mentioned 
earlier, when the mill hands 
had nothing else to do, they 
had to stack brush. All 
brush from the log woods 
had to be stacked out in a 
clearing where it could be 
burned without burning any 
other trees. Don hated 
stacking brush, and was glad 
when the 'little buttons" like 
Dale and Kent were old 
enough to do that chore. 


Here is a brief recap the sawmilling operation: 

Logs were cut, skidded, brought to the mill area and unloaded on the skidway 

or in the log yard. 
Logs were controlled on the skidway by blocks. 

The sawyer controlled the sawing of logs into boards or ties on the carriage. 
Boards were run through the cut-off saw. 
Boards were run thorough the edger. 
Boards were stacked in the lumber yard or taken to the kiln. 
Kiln-dried boards were planed. 

In the early days of 
the sawmill, it was mainly 
Alvin and Walter who 
helped Grandpa run the mill. 
As Lloyd got older, he fell 
right into line. Over the 
years, one or more of these 
three boys seemed always to 
be at the mill. Don said it 
seemed that if one of them 
left, the other seemed to 
come in and take over. It 
just seemed to work that 
way, but probably most of 
the time it was done on 
purpose just to have 
someone there to help the 
folks. Chet Penrod was the 
good old stand-by. Bill, 
John, and Don were in and 
out of the operation as they 
found other things to do to 
make a living. 

Don's first love, of 
course, was cows. Cecil 
Naegle mentioned that c T)on 
didn't come with the family 
when they first moved up 
there (Wolf Mountain). He 
was working for a ranch 
down there around Clay 

Chet with the horses and logs 

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Lloyd on Lad 

Notice the stacks of lumber in the right background and 

Grandma's cast iron kettle in the clearing 

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Springs or somewhere. When he came up there, he decided he didn't like sawmilling, So he'd 
get up in the morning and walk from the mill to the ranch. We'd be putting up hay or 
something; he'd pitch in and pitch hay all morning, and we'd go in for dinner, but he wouldn't 
eat with us. He'd walk back down to the mill, eat dinner, and then walk back to the ranch." 

Walter was usually the ramrodder of the sawmill part of the operation, and Alvin 
worked in the woods. Alvin could run the mill, but he drove the horses; he was better with 
the horses than anyone else in the family. 

Sometimes they did stop working during the winter, but if they could get logs in, they 
would. They hauled on a dray (a double sled) during the winter. The snow would be a 
couple of feet deep . One year when Alvin and Don were cutting logs, they'd have to shovel 
the snow out from around the tree before they could get the crosscut saws down low enough. 
To haul them in, they used the dray, which was just a double sled, "made out of railroad ties 
as runners, with a bunk on — a part of it in back and a part of it in front, just kinda like an old 

They sawed logs in 
the winter only when they 
needed to replenish their 
groceries. Otherwise, they 
stockpiled logs so they 
could get an early start in 
the spring. It was easier to 
haul the logs when the 
ground was frozen than 
when it was soft and muddy. 


L to R: Dorothy Jean, Sonny, Wayne and Don 
on Uncle Chet's horse 

Leone Gillespie and 
Nellie Rothlisberger (Ruth's 
and Bert's sister) were 
married in the fall of 1938. 
They spent that winter living 
with Lloyd and Ruth at the sawmilL Leone and his brother, Guy, helped Walter in his shingle 
mill, part of their pay being shingles for their own homes in Vernon. During those months 
when the mill was shut down, Leone and Nell and Lloyd and Ruth played a lot of rummy. 
And when they got hungry, Lloyd and Leone would get John Stewart and another person, 
and, with Don and Rowdy, cut down trees, which they sawed into lumber. 

"Old Man" Parring had a grocery store in Concho and would take cut lumber in 
exchange for groceries. But to actually get to Concho during the winter months when snow 
was deep was an exercise in patience and endurance. During the winter months, the old red 
truck was parked on the north side of Vernon Creek. (Vernon Creek is the creek which 


meanders from east to west about halfway between Vernon and Midway Crossroads. It 
eventually feeds into Little Ortega Lake.) The sawed lumber would be loaded on the sled at 
the mill and pulled by Don and Rowdy to the south bank of Vernon Creek. The men would 
unload the lumber from the sled, cross the creek, and load it onto the truck. The Old County 
Road ran directly north from Midway Crossroads, on the east side of Floy/Plenty, and joined 
Highway 61 south of Concho. After making the lumber- for- food exchange in Concho, the 
exercise was repeated again at Vernon Creek. Usually, the men would tie up Don and 
Rowdy, leaving them enough hay to last until the men got back from Concho. One time, 
however, when the men had to stay overnight in Concho, the horses managed to get free and 
headed for the sawmill and their warm barn. 

Goodman sawmill. The smokestack is 
to the left in front of a tall tree. The 
kiln and planer shed is to the right and 
back of mill behind the shorter tree. 
Jordan truck is in the foreground. 

When Ruth saw them there, she knew what had to 
be done. She simply hopped on Don and took both 
of them back down to Vernon Creek so they'd be 
there when the men returned from Concho. 

Walter was one of the first that started 
working out as a mechanic. He worked for Rogers 
Brothers Construction on the Lone Pine Dam, 
between Show Low and Shumway. At that time, 
construction was still being done with mules and 
horses. Bill was also an excellent mechanic. Later, 
but while his kids were still young, he was repairing 
a cat for Tanner Brothers; the cat fell on him and 
broke his back. 

Alvin's wife, Bertha (Bert), recalls with 
pride the boys working for Tanners. "They were all 
told that any time they wanted a job with Tanners, 
they had it. Walter and Atvin had the reputation of 
being the best welders in the State of Arizona. 
They didn't ever go out of the state, but they'd have 
been the best welders there, too." Actually, Walter 
did leave the state when he went to California to 
work in the shipyards during Second World War. 

The one thing we Goodman descendants 

need to remember about the sawmill is that it more 

or less kept the family together and fed during the 

Depression. Even when lumber wasn't selling during those years, Grandpa could always 

take a load of lumber to Concho or Holbrook and trade it for groceries. That and a deer, or 

an elk, or several turkeys kept the family fed and going. 




Even when no one had money to buy lumber, no one ever came to the mill for lumber 
and went away with an empty truck. Grandpa always trusted them to pay him for it later. 
Bishop Charlie Whiting said at Grandpa's funeral that he would have been a rich man if 
everyone had paid him what they owed him. Beulah remembers when John Rothlisberger 
came up and got a load of lumber and said to Grandpa, "Now, Brother Goodman, if I don't 
pay you in dis world, I'll pay you double in da next." But he was one who always paid his 

Dale has written an excellent narrative of life at the mill — full of memories, history, 
and emotions. Here it is in its entirety: 


Logs on the skidway at the Goodman Sawmill 

The Meadow and The Mill 

I've always loved that little green meadow, with its robins singing out over by the 
trees, spring frogs croaking, and golden-yellow dandelions and blue-purple flags so bright and 
cheery, waving in the cool mountain breeze. Woven in and out of the dandelions and lilies, 
like asymmetrical pick-up sticks, were walkways of bleached- out boards, gleaming in the sun, 
that connected the 2 two-room houses east of Grandma's house and all its residents. 
Butterflies of every color flitted across the walkways, across the spring and along the porch 
of Grandma's house and out across the meadow: a little meadow with good rich black earth 
that would grow most anything. Of course, a meadow is a meadow because it is sub- 
irrigated, and this meadow had its springs. One of several bubbled and flowed, like a 
meadowlark's song, out of the ground from under a small group of rocks — water so clear and 
cold it seemed you just couldnt drink enough of it, and sometimes so cold you couldn't drink 
any. Another seeped out of the ground for a hundred yards before it formed the big spring, 
then went on to join the watercress-lined stream that supplied water for the mill. This spring 
also served as a refrigerator for the butter and a ten-pound lard bucket or two, full of milk. 


These were secured by a wire to the big weathered 3"x 12" board plank that spanned the 
spring. Occasionally a watermelon or cantaloupe graced the spring. One time we even had 
a honeydew melon; we thought it was scrumptious. When Dad first opened that thing and 
handed us each a piece, we looked at him a little wild-eyed — after all we had eaten green 
cantaloupe before and it didn't taste too good! But he and Mom laughingly took a bite and 
said, "No, go on, try it." We used to like to play on the board and bounce the bobbing 
melons up and down in the water to see if we could push them clear to the bottom of the five 
foot deep spring. We used to have some good fights on that board; the adults, too, would 
splash all the water out of the spring as they threw each other in. Someone asked who all had 
been thrown into the spring and the retort was, "I don't know that there was any one at the 
mill who didn't have their turn," although it was mildly forbidden. 

At the center of this meadow, and right 
between the above-mentioned springs, both 
geographically and socially, was Grandma and 
Grandpa's house. It was a two-room house that 
faced north. It had a full length porch with four 
steps on the west end and three steps on the east 
end down to the ground. On the back of the house 
were two add-on bedrooms or storerooms, 
whatever was needed. 

When Grandpa bought pants, he'd always 
buy them about six inches too long, and he wanted 
Grandma to cut them off and then use the extra for 
patching. One day he bought a pair of pants and 
had to go some place real quick. Instead of saying, 
"Hem them up," he'd say, 'Take a tuck in these." 
Well, this day he told her to take a tuck in them, 
and she did. When he put them on, he said, "Well, 
look at this, Hannah." She had gathered each leg 
up just below the knee in a three-inch tuck, and run 
a seam around it. cc You said to take a tuck in 
them," she replied, with a grin. Occasionally, 
Grandma's sense of humor would come through. 

Beulah, Don, and Fern in front of the 
boiler shed. The whistle and pop-off 
are just to the right of Don's head. 

Fem and Beulah remember that at the west 
side of Grandma's house were four or five ponderosa pines. Between two of the pines was 
a swing that, when at its highest arc, allowed them to see over the rooftops. 



Close to this and by the spring and under one pine was a big cast-iron cauldron that 
served double duty. Grandma and the girls used it not only to make the soap, but to boil 
water and wash clothes in it, with the aid of a laundry stick and scrub-board. Beulah said they 

m* -f Wl . 



I / I .^ •» 


later had a more modern washing machine that belonged to Frances before she died. Her and 
Horace's children came to the mill to live for a while in 1926-27, and he brought the washer 
for them to use. This washer, as everyone described it, had a wooden tub with straight 
wooden stays and a light- weight rod around them to keep them in place. (In fact, when the 
washer was not in use, it still had to be filled with water, to keep the wood from drying out 
and shrinking.) It had an agitator that was controlled with a lever which oscillated the 
agitator one way, and a foot pedal that oscillated it the other. So, pull the lever and step on 
the pedal, pull the lever and step on the pedal, and away we go. Chet asked Fern if she 
remembered running the oil can spout into her foot by another washer. "Oh, yes I do," she 
said with wide-eyed pleasure. '1 took the oil can and oiled the agitator and around under the 
washer. I didn't realize, when I set the oil can down, it was so close to the cranking pedal; 
so I stepped hard on it, to start the motor on that Maytag. 

The can spout went through 
my shoe and into my foot. 
It was sore for two or three 
days. Bill and Mary came 
for a visit about then and 
asked me what was wrong. 
I told them what had 
happened and that I was 
sure it would get better, but 
Bill put me in his car and 
took me to the doctor 
anyhow. When the doctor 
cleaned out the wound, 
there was a piece of my 
shoe the oil spout had cut 
out and deposited in my 
foot. After that, by soaking 
it every three hours or so, it 
got better." 

Interior of the Goodman SawmilL The boiler is to the left and 
the kiln to the right. The spidery-looking lever to the right of 
the log was used to ratchet the log forward to make a 1", 2", 
3" or whatever size board was wanted or 6" for mine timbers 
or ties for the railroad. Tlie handle sticking straight out to the 
right of the log controlled the dog that held the log in place. 
The cable in the bottom center of the picture is the one Dale 
got his fingers smashed in. 




In about 1929 or 1930, Grandpa was able to buy Grandma a washing machine with 
a gas engine. What a marvelous day for the women of the family. Beulah remembers this 
washing machine well — it tried to scalp her. At one time, it sat behind the door in the large 
dining room As she was helping with the wash one day, her long hair got caught in the 
wringer, and she was fast being pulled toward disaster. She tried to find the switch to stop 
or reverse the wringer action, or to turn the engine off completely, but couldn't maneuver just 
right. Finally, she started hollering. Grandpa had been sitting in a chair reading his book or 
newspaper, not paying a lot of attention to the drama in the room, but when he heard Beulah 



Grandpa is reaching across the log and 
carriage to pull the lever to adjust the 
size or cut he wants to make. It's a 
nice size log so he'll probably make 
lxl2's or 2xll2's out of it. Notice 
that this log may have been cut in two, 
the other part is seen in the center of 
the picture. Gene is watching. 


scream, he sprang out of the chair, jumped over a 
small heater in the center of the room, and reached 
the washer just in time to allow Aunt Beulah to 
keep her tresses. (This same, or another, washing 

SKJS^jJS machine would play the same trick on Alvena in 
later years.) 

Oh, the joys of modern inventions: namely, 
the Coleman lantern. Besides its giving off more 
light than a kerosene lamp, Dad was so tickled 
when he could turn it off and get in bed before the 
light went out. Aunt Beulah said, "He got so 
familiar with it, that one evening he adjusted it, slid 
into bed, adjusted his pillows and settled down to 
read, and that's when the light went out." 

As long as the light is out, and it's dark, let 
me tell how pleasant the evenings were in that little 
meadow with everything so still. The crickets and 
frogs quietly sang out their songs, there was an 
occasional sound of Pet's bell as she moved her 
horned head, while standing and chewing her cud, 
and a thump of a horse hoof on the side of the barn. 
As you can see, I'm trying to set up an ambience. 

Log yard with railroad tracks in 

There might be a light intruding into the quiet as a door was opened momentarily to throw 
out some dish water. And then between me and the millions of stars so bright and shiny, 'like 
diamonds in the sky" were the night hawks darting around. Now throw in the metallic sounds 
of someone down at the blacksmith shop fixing a part, in the glow of a lantern, so the mill 




-ri -* -*? -7 
t - 




' ' ' » '■» 


would run the next day; and you have one pleasant summer evening. Very, very nice. Oops, 
don't close this scene yet. There are quiet voices on over at the mill; Aunts Fern and Beulah 
are between the boiler and the skidway where the big tank — reservoir — of water is which the 
boiler draws from to maintain its water level. They have turned steam into it to warm up the 
water and they are taking baths. 

When I was a boy, Dad told me that when he was young, 10 or there about, Grandpa 
took them to an Apache gathering. (I don't know if it was ceremonial or not). Dad said he 
would go up to Chief Alchesey over and over again and ask him what time it was. The Chief 
would look up at the stars and tell him, then Dad would run and find Grandpa or someone 
with a watch and listen in amazement as they agreed with the chief. I myself wondered all my 
life how he did it. It wasn't until I was fifty or so, and was running in the early mornings and 
watching the Big Dipper, that I caught on. 

One more night story. Dad said, he, Aunt Fern and Aunt Beulah were riding their 
little mare, Peewee, home. It was just after dark when of a sudden the scream of a black 
panther filled the night air. 

It sounded just like a woman's high-pitched scream, 
as the panther followed them through the forest. 
They were quite young and it was scary in the dark 
wondering what he was going to do. 

Uncle Chet said they didn't know where the 

goat came from, what he had been, or what he had 

done in life. (Aunt Beulah remembered that 

Grandpa brought it home — he was always dragging 

ss^'^! . ^y^L c , ^P^^- home some lost animal or lost person.) Perhaps as 

he got older and wiser and waxed stronger, he 
began to exercise unrighteous dominion and had 
been exiled to a foreign land. In any case, he 
wound up at the Goodman Sawmill situated under 
Wolf Mountain — perhaps the name "wolf' had 
something to do with where he was cast. Be that as 
it may, time, as it heals all wounds, magnifies also 
other traits. O how brave he got. He, as goats will, 
would eat anything, and was looking for something 
when Uncle Walter arrived in his brand new 
roadster. The goat scrambled up the shiny new paint of the trunk and into the rumble seat 
with its spanking new upholstery, then on up to the convertible's rag top roof. According to 
Aunt Beulah, "Someone hollered to Uncle Walter, 'The goat's on top of your car! ' When 
we looked out from Grandma's window, the darned old thing was going around in circles. 

L to R: Grandma, Grandpa, Fern, 
Beulah, and Donald 


Before Walter could get out there, the goat with his sharp feet had fallen through." That was 
very nearly, and should have been, the end of the goat. However, he survived that one. 

As time went on, he would glare at us dourly, or 
simply lower his arrogant head — which he did with 
increased frequency — and put us to flight. He trapped 
Grandma in the outhouse one day, and every time she'd 
try to come out he'd hit the door with his head. 
According to Uncle Don, he kept her in there half the 
day. He survived that one, too. 

• v.- 



— ~^g*- ,;^** i -* £&jfi ~' x '* $m**~*"* 


But the crowning blow came when, towards 
noon one day, the men at the mill heard a commotion 
from Grandma's house — which served as cook shack 
and dining hall — and screams for help. As they all 
rushed up the steps and on to the porch, they could see, 
through the door, Grandma and Mom (pregnant as 
usual) on the big, long table, and the goat circling 
around. Grandma and Mom had been fixing dinner for 
the mill crew — all sixteen of them — when the goat came up on the porch and into the kitchen. 
As they tried to shoo him back out the door, he just shook his big horned head, lowered it, 
and with clattering hooves chased them round and finally up on to the table. It didn't do any 
good for the men to come to the rescue, it seemed, for the goat put them all back out the 
door as fast as they came in. Finally, enough was enough; Dad got his gun, and I suppose 
they had goat stew for supper. 

From the sawmill to the main road, ruts like black ribbons were mute evidence of the 
instability of the good rich earth, especially in rainy season, when trucks and cars alike were 
stuck from one end of the beautiful little meadow to the other. After we reached the main 
road it was a different story, however. Now we were only stuck from the mill to Vernon. 
In the dry season and in the white frozen dead of winter, the road was great. 









The little black '36 four-door Chevy, with its heavy load, was swaying like a drunken 
cowboy as it made its way through the darkening forest. Snow was clinging to the trees, and 
was two feet deep on the level. With an overcast sky, it looked and felt like it might snow 
more any minute. 

In the road ahead could be seen the trail where the rear differential ran between the 
deep, icy ruts. The car, Tm sure, had the steering wheel been turned loose, would have driven 
itself on to the sawmill and probably right up to the door of one of our houses. Certainly no 
one could have come from McNary to make frozen tracks that would lead it astray. 

ml » € mt . 

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• »■■.■ 



More log sitting 

Gene and Bill in log yard 

Also in this exact setting, in my mind's eye I can look up the road and see the draft 
horses, Dick and Rock, pulling the big heavy sleigh we kids used to play on, coming around 
the bend, with Grandpa flipping the reins to urge them on. He probably had a load of lumber 
or ties for the Santa Fe Railroad on the sleigh. At Vernon he would load it by hand onto the 
truck — in the winter they often left their cars and trucks at Vernon and used the sleigh — and 
take it to one of the towns around, or to Holbrook to ship on the railroad. Then again, one 
of the boys might have all the folks from the mill on board, taking them to Vernon for church 
or the Saturday night dance. 

I almost forget I was traveling up the frozen road in this drunken Chevy. Well, in the 
car with its frosted-up side windows were more bodies than you could shake a stick at. Mom 
was driving and she had all her kids along. Aunt Mary was in the middle. I think she just had 
Jimmy and maybe Edward with her. Aunt Bert was by the passenger side door. All of her 
children were in the back seat, with all of the rest of us kids. You don't think the Chevy's 
differential wasn't making new tracks in the snow as it bumped and swayed along those frozen 
ruts with 10 or 12 of us in the car? 

Five miles after leaving Vernon, the noise level had reached new heights, with us kids 
playing around, and everyone talking a little louder so they could be heard. Kent, sitting by 
the driver's side door during all the laughing and playing, had his arm on the door's arm rest 
and was maybe unconsciously playing with the door handle. Suddenly, the door opened and 
the air caught it. We were only going 25 or 30 mph so maybe all those little bodies — not too 
little, Kent was probably 7 and maybe that was an average age — had some influence on it. 

As the 




Kent out. 


was open 

snow caught the 
of the forward- 
door, it really 
open and threw 
I mean he literally 
Now the door 
and channeling 

- _ 


snow in on us. All the kids 
began shouting at once, 
trying to get Mamma 
stopped. However, they in 
the front seat, trying to 
laugh and talk over the din 
in the back, didn't 
distinguish between panic 
shouting and fooling around shouting, and on we went 

Grandma and winter at the mill 

I had been sitting by Kent so the snow was really peppering me good; I couldn't see 
a thing. I don't remember if it was Arvena or Gwen who got a chance, through the flying 
snow, to see Kent, and IVe never figured out how it came about, but there he was hanging 
on to the outside door handle. Then we really set up a clamor! It still didn't faze those in the 
front seat. Between the snow coming in and the snow being kicked up by the door and Kent's 
legs and feet, there was quite a snow storm going on. Then I remembered all those big rocks 
along the bar ditch on that stretch of road. I could see the door catching one, and Kent... well, 
so much for the imagination. 

I don't know how long that went on with Kent bouncing, flailing like a rag doll. But 
he would not turn loose. It seemed forever before we got Mom stopped. In the movies, 
Kent, as we stopped, would have fallen limp in the snow, and we would have lifted him up 
with every one weeping and wailing, and put him in the back seat. Not Kent. He jumped up, 
brushed himself ofij and got back in the car before Mom could even get out, and away we 
went. When Kent read this, he said he did, indeed, get into the gravel and he had shoes worn 
out on the toes and sore shin bones and knees. He swears he picked gravel out of them for 
a month. 



..i j 

c - • 







It was cold one frosty morning — the kind of morning where, when you take your nose 
out from under the covers and breathe, your breath frosts up. When we lived in the big house 
where Grandma and daughters cooked for the men, sleeping in an add-on portion of the 
house, we kids would wake up with snow on our beds. Would we ever make a run for the 
living room and the nice warm fire! 

Dad jumped out of bed, lit the fire and dove back under the covers again. As the two- 
room house warmed a little, we kids got up to stand by the fire. Kent was standing at the 


front of the little pot-belly stove when the wind 
caused it to puff backwards. Flames shot out of the 
damper control and caught the seat end of his 
pajamas on fire. Boy, he started jumping up and 
down and then took off. I don't know where he 
thought he was going! Fortunately, the route he 
chose took him by Dad and Mom's bed. Dad 
reached out with one big hand (his hand wasn't all 
that big, it did, however, cover the seat of Kent's 
PJs), and swatted that little seat and, "whoosh," out 
went the fire. 

Besides Kent, Dad caught on fire one time 

when he, Uncle Arvin, and Uncle Bill worked in 

Texas Canyon. He was using a cutting torch. He 

was working on equipment, with maybe a little gas 

and oil on his clothes, and they flared up. He also 

started dancing around and started to run. One of 

The mill is snow-covered but the the other mechanics tackled him, rolling him over 

smoke stack is visible. The log yard and over in the sand, smothering the flames. Other 

and lumber yard are beyond the trees, than needing a new set of clothes, he was all right. 

The blacksmith shop is on theright. 

Some of the most pleasant memories of my childhood are of Mom and Dad singing 
together at home, but mostly while we were traveling along. We kids would lean, with arms 
folded on the back of the front seat, and they would happily sing Blue Moon or perhaps 
Silvery Moon. My particular favorite though, was That Silver Haired Daddy of Mine. It 
didn't matter whether it was summer with the windows all down, whipping along at a grand 
45 mph, or in winter in competition with the heater that was keeping the snow's cold at bay, 
they would sing church songs, cowboy songs (we could usually con them into Home on the 
Range), any song; boy, they could really harmonize. 

We were coming home from a movie in McNary. (I don't think we still had to go 
clear to White River to go to the movies at this time. One time going to a movie down there, 
we had seven flats on the way down and back There was no singing that night.) At any rate, 
on this particular night, Dad and Mom were singing, and even though it was 10:30 at night 
and the thick forest left and right was dark, the car was warm and it was fun. All of a sudden, 
near the reservation line, we rounded a bend and there were about thirty horses standing in 
the road. There was absolutely nowhere to go! I don't remember what Dad did at that 
moment but, whatever it was , it wasn't enough for Mom For that matter, I don't know what 
she did. All I know is she gave a scream, the lights went out, the car's engine revved up, its 
wheels spun on the graveled road, and we took off in the dark. I guess except for hitting the 
gas pedal as she reached for the brake, 'cause Dad's foot was already there, the best thing she 


did in her effort to stop the car was in reaching for the ignition switch. She missed, and 
turned off the lights. Both switches were side by side in front of her in those days. Even at 
my young age I realized we had missed the horses, because we traveled in the dark too fast 
and too far. 

m never know how Dad kept us in one piece but when he finally got us slowed down 
and the lights turned back on, the car was in the middle of the road, traveling along as if 
nothing had taken place. Then everyone started talking at once. What happened? Where did 
the horses go? Why did we speed up? We knew why Mom screamed! How did we keep 
from hitting the trees? All this amidst happy laughter and, after the fact, tears. Dad 
speculated that when the lights went out the horses could see this little, black, '36 Chevrolet 
coming at them at high velocity, and had made good their escape. Mom and Dad didn't sing 
anymore that night as we made our way home to the sawmill. All of us were, however, 
extremely happy. 

• •• ••• 

9 9 w w w w mi 

### ••• 

mm #• 

Boiler in a small Georgia sawmill 
similar to the Goodman sawmill 

Steam engine in Georgia mill. Note 
the governor with 4 steel balls in the 
upper-left corner. 





Circular saw in Georgia mill 

Planer in Georgia mill 

One morning, Dad woke us kids up with, ''Let's go fishing!" Boy, that brought us out 
of bed. After catching some grasshoppers and digging worms, we were off. As we drove 
up past the sawmill site, on past the reservation line, and through McNary towards Snake 
Creek, Dad told us this story: 

It seems when Dad was 15 or 16, Grandpa Goodman and a family named Johnson 
heard of some Spanish gold buried up in Smith's Park under Baldy — Mt. Ord to be precise. 
After a little investigation and a lot of imagination, the two families loaded up their horses 
and mules and set out after this fortune in treasure. As the story went, the Spanish had had 
trouble with the Apache and had to abandon this gold — whether it was a whole pack train 
or some gold on a couple of horses was not clear to me. Anyway, up on the side of Mt. Ord 
was an arrow blazoned on a fir tree, said arrow pointing down into a meadow right at the spot 


where the gold was purported to be. Dad said they found the arrow — or an arrow pointing 
down into a meadow; however, all their searching and digging proved futile, and after three 
weeks or so their coffee and tobacco ran out, leaving frayed nerves and short tempers. After 
a few days of this, Grandpa threw back the covers of his bedroll one morning to find the 
Johnsons gone, and so were all the horses and mules. It didn't take much assessing to see 
that a long walk was ahead of them So they hid everything they didn't need or couldn't carry 
and headed down Ord Creek 'till it turned west; then they kept going north for home. 

As we, some 20-25 years later, left Snake Creek and started up the trail — a trail 
covered with leaves and carpeted with large patches of moss, shadowed by spruce, fir and 
quakie — and down into Ord Creek, Dad rehearsed the story over and over again for our many 
questions. By the time we reached Ord, we knew the story by heart and wanted to find some 
treasure of our own, so Dad just kind of fished and walked us through a couple of meadows, 
then said, 'This is it." With a flourish of his hand, he pointed up along the grass-covered crest 
of a long, low ridge and said, "We buried everything up there." Well, we set out like a covey 
of flushed grouse, turning over the light gray rocks here and there till it looked like a hungry 
Grizzly had hit that slope. 

Every time we would scour a clump of rocks and holler at Dad that there wasn't 
anything up there, he would wave his arm and point at another place, "Not there? Try over 
there." Next time, "How about back over there," then, 'Try closer to those trees." All the 
time he was pulling out one fish after another, and we were beginning to suspect him of 
keeping us off the stream and hollered to tell him so. He just laughed and said, "No, try that 
group of rocks right over there," and pulled out another fish. 

Well, we couldn't believe it when we came to one big flat rock with a few smaller 
rocks stuck around the sides. With a concerted effort on our part, we lifted the rock up and 
over and there was our treasure. Cans of flour and rancid grease, dutch ovens full of different 
things — knives, forks and spoons, salt and pepper. As the excitement of our initial find 
subsided, we then looked around and found more treasure — pots, pans, cups, a piece of 
canvas or two under different rocks. 

I think Dad and Mom were just as astonished and excited as we were. Astonished 
because of the excellent condition everything was in, and excited that we found it at all. 

>• J 

c: • 

:s. ! 


We left that little park that spring day with memories few families get to carry for a 
life time. Also, we left, just as Grandpa and family had years before, with only what we could 
carry. The rest is still there. Even though weVe been back this half century later, we can't 
for the life of us find that long, low ridge of light gray rock where we carefully put the rocks 
back, protecting everything for who knows how long now, apparently for longer than we 

> •/ —J 
.1 -Y -? 


I I i ./•'» 


Lloyd and Gene with red '32 
Chevy truck loaded with logs 

Lloyd and Grant getting ready 

to move Ed Rothlisberger's 

house from Bannon to 

Vernon, same red Chevy 

Mayhap s Til quit telling stories and get back to the meadow. In the meadow just north 
of the main house and the springs, on an outcropping of rocks, stood the icehouse, chucked full 
of game in the fall and filled to the rafters with ice by spring. I don't remember much about the 
bee£ deer, elk or turkey that came out of it, through the collective efforts of everyone. But the 
pork; the pork they cured was so good. I could hardly wait for breakfast, or the pork out of a 
big pot of pinto beans. Just inside of the icehouse was a bag of pork cure. I learned real quick 
that I couldn't take much of it in my mouth; it was too strong. Just a grain or two was enough 
to get the flavor and taste. And the aroma of it and a box of apples or two as I opened the heavy 
door was wonderful. 

Down past this and a little east was Dad and Mom's house; on north and into the trees 
was a bunk house for men to stay in. One day Dad and Mom (heavily pregnant with Gloria) went 
hunting over to Porter Springs and then back towards Lake Mountain. From the Lake Mountain 
fire look-out station, they could see smoke, and the man in the tower said it looked like it was at 
the mill. Sure enough it was; in fact, it was their home. Mom said, 'Tm sure glad I didn't do 
those dishes." Dad spoke up, "That's one way to get rid of bedbugs." 


it sou 




to stab: 

tone, o 



Ruth by red Chevy carrying 

Dale and Johnny 

The blacksmith shop was situated on the bank of the little creek, between our (burnt) 
house and the sawmill. Uncle Afvin would lead the log horses across the creek and up to the 
blacksmith where he would heat and shape the horse shoes for the horses. On the northwest side 
of this little meadow was the sawmill itself. I was telling Norma Lee how it worked and she said 
it sounded like perpetual motion. It very nearly was, I guess. On the very first day of its 
existence, they had to scurry out and around for wood to start the fire, and build up a head of 
steam to get the mill going. After that, an interminable line of green slabs from the logs was used 
to fuel the boiler. Speaking of which, they also had, on the first day, to fill the boiler with 1,000 
gallons of water from the spring — by hand. 


c J; 


< . 

Every time I think of the mill, the first things I can see in my mind's eye are two little steel 
balls, whirling around and around. They were part of the governor, which sat on top of the steam 
engine. Tney hung down on six inch rods. As steam was sent to the engine and it started to rev 
up, it turned the governor and the gravitational forces started to act on the two balls — weights — 
throwing them outward. As the steam engine gained RPM, the weight of the whirling balls forced 
them to stand straight out, at that point governing the amount of steam to the engine, forcing it 
to stabilize at a pre- set RPM. Consequently, the whole mill would speed up or slow down 
according to the desire of those two little whirling steel balls. Idella says that's also what she sees 
first in her mind when she thinks of the mill — the two little whirling balls. 

Gwennie remembers the whistle they blew at noon, and I suppose at starting and quitting 
time. One time, as the whistle had blown, Dad and Mom had been fighting. As Dad left to walk 
back over to the mill, she threw a rock at him She thought, to her horror, that the rock was 


' * > >• < 


going to hit him She called out, "Lloyd, watch out!" He turned around to see what was the 
matter, and the rock hit him right between the eyes. She said, 'If I hadn't called out, the rock 
would probably have missed!" 

Then there was the big belt, driven by the steam engine's four-foot drive wheel. It, in turn, 
drove a foot-and-a-half wheel that drove the whole mill. This belt and wheel were about seven 
inches wide and the belt must have been tlurty-five or forty feet long. Of course, when they 
doubled it back and laced it together, it was then in the neighborhood of sixteen feet. I remember 
one belt ripped apart; it had six or seven sections of belting spliced in with metal lacing where it 
had broken before, and each splice had to be perfectly square. If they were, then the belt ran true. 
(Each of those twelve or fourteen sets of metal lacing, as they contacted the metal drive wheels, 
really set up a clicking sound. Add to this the sound of the trimmer saws, the cut-off saw, the big 
saw as it sat whining or as it bit into a log, and the carriage as it carried its log back and forth on 
its miniature train track. Besides all this and the small sounds of steam escaping, if the fireman 
let the boiler pressure get too high, the safety pop-off would turn loose, and then a blast of steam 
as it escaped would tear our ears off Aunt Beulah mentioned this the other day. I suppose more 
than one woman dropped a bowl or cut herself when that blast went off. Noisy, but I loved it. 
John Perkins told me that Grandpa didn't allow any steam leaks. If any broke out, they would fix 
it then and there, or at the end of the day if the mill ran that long.) 

Anyway, back to the belt, Uncle Alvin and Dad and a couple of helpers wrestled the new 
belt up against the smaller wheel, and as Uncle Chet or Donald — I can't quite picture which — 
engaged the drive wheel, the belt went on nicely and ran as pretty as you please. 

Let's follow a day's operation of the mill for a while. Uncle Donald said he had to get up 
at four o'clock every morning to get that (a few descriptive grimaces left out here) boiler steam 
up in time for work. As in Robert Service's Cremation of Sam McGee, "such a blaze you seldom 
see." There should be logs on the skidway already, but let's take the truck and go get a load of 
logs and follow a ponderosa pine log through the mill 

Grandpa and the boys had this nice Chevy log truck, at least I sure thought it was great. 
Maybe Td better tell about the wagon before I begin on the truck. Uncle Don and Aunt Beulah 
and Aunt Fern confirmed that, yes, they logged with a wagon in the early days of the mill. They 
used two teams of horses on this four-axle, eight-wheeled, low-to-the-ground wagon. It had four 
wheels on the rear and four on the front. Uncle Don said the wheels were only about four feet 
high, and wider than average for more purchase on the ground. They would use the front team 
to load the wagon. They could haul an average of 6 logs to the rnill. Uncle Chet said they used 
to log with a sleigh in the winter time. The sleigh had a bunk with short, sharp pins sticking up 
across it. They'd get the logs up on there and then boom them down with a chain, and to the mill 
they went. 

Back to the Chevy truck. It had a single axle on the rear, and mechanical brakes. It was 
a pole trailer, in that the trailer didnt ever load onto the truck. It was some years before Dad and 


Uncle Alvin fixed the trailer so it would slide on the tongue — the connecting pipe. They dug a 
hole in the ground just right, with the dirt from the hole thrown back up so the truck could drive 
up over the hump and down into the hole and on out until the trailer was on the hump and 
blocked. They would pull the trailer pin, and then back the truck up, with the tongue sliding 
through the trailer body, until the truck was at the bottom of the hole. Then, everything being 
equal, they would simply pin the trailer and drive off with it all loaded up. Of course, the tongue 
was then sticking out the back about ten feet, and up in the air the same amount, so watch out 
when backing up. 

Anyway, that was later on. This day, as with other days, Fred Raybal was driving, pulling 
the pole trailer. He made a wide swing, and pulled up to the log landing. Everyone heard him 
coming and they were ready. When he stopped, they all fell to work. Uncle Chet put skids at the 
bunks on the truck and trailer. Then he hooked one end of the bottom chain to the truck bunk 
and the other end hooked onto the trailer bunk. Then the middle of the chain was pulled towards 
the log landing and a log was rolled over the middle of the chain and against the skids. Uncle 
Alvin took the skid horses to the off side of the truck and stretched a chain over the trailer 
tongue. Uncle Chet passed it on over the log to Dad, and he hooked it to the apex of the bottom 
chain. With a slight flip of the reins and a click of the tongue, Uncle Alvin moved the horses 
forward. (Boy, right now, even as I write this, I can smell the forest, the cut logs, the cut brush 
nearby, and the team I can still hear the horses as they move forward; the grunting kind of sound 
they make as they lean into their traces. I hear the chain as it bites into the bark of the ponderosa 
log when it starts to roll, first up against, then on up the skids, with bark falling and pitch drip- 
ping.) With magnificent strength, the horses — Don and Rowdy, Dutch or Dick — pulled, and the 
changing arc of the chain bit into the log, forcing it at last onto the bunks of the truck. After the 
first bunk of logs was full, then the chain was moved up to the second and third tier; sometimes 
they could go to a forth tier if the logs weren't too big. This was when the horses really had to 
work. They had to work especially hard if it was a one-log load, first to skid it, then load it. 


>■ : 




On this particular day, after the truck was loaded and tied down, Dad sent Kent and me 
to help Fred over the little hill that was just before the sawmill. Fred ground up the hill as far as 
he could go. When the truck powered out, he slammed on the brakes, and Kent and I each put 
a big rock under each back wheeL Then Fred wound the engine up and let out the clutch and 
went charging up the hill 8 or 10 feet, and we ran with the rocks and crammed them under the 
tires when the truck came to rest. About halfway up the hill, Kent was on the driver's side wheel, 
and when the truck came to rest on the rocks, he let out a howL I went charging around the other 
side of the truck, and there was Kent's gloved hand between the rock and the loaded truck's 
wheeL Fred threw open his door and hit the ground running, his face full of anguish. By the time 
Fred reached him, Kent couldn't hold it any longer. He started laughing and pulled his hand out 
of his glove. Kent always was quick on his feet (hands). As the truck settled down, it was 
coming back on his hand. He yelped and jerked his hand back, leaving the glove stuck. In that 
moment he could see he was free, and he had already squalled, so he stuck his fist back in the 
glove. It was a good joke — after we quit beating on him. 



Under cut and back cut 


I forgot to say that the trees were cut down with a crosscut saw. The two guys felling 
the trees would walk up to a mature tree that the Forest Service had marked for harvest, carrying 
their lunches, files, hammer, wedges (to force the tree to fall if it rocked back on their saw, or if 
it was too balanced to fall) and a gallon jug of kerosene. From this big bottle of kerosene, they 
would fill a 5th of whiskey bottle. They also had a double-bit axe. As they walked up to the tree, 
they'd look to see which way it was leaning (wanting to fall), then they'd look down the path it 
was going to fall. If it were going to hit another tree or trees, they'd try to pull it around to a 
better, softer path. Finding the path they wanted, a notch (a V-shaped under-cut) would be made 
about 9 or 10 inches deep and at 90 degrees to the path they had chosen for the tree. Then they'd 
start cutting 4 inches higher around on the back side (a back-cut). 

Pulling the crosscut saw back and forth took a good 
marriage of partners to keep it sawing smoothly. Now the 
whisky bottle of kerosene came into play. The bottle had 
a bunch of pine needles pushed down its throat, and as the 
pitch-sap of the tree bound up the crosscut, they would 
throw a spray of kerosene along both sides of the saw to 
cut the pitch. Kent and I finally reached the age where we 
wanted to try crosscutting. Boy, I would be pushing when 
he was supposed be pulling, or he would be helping me 
when I was supposed to be pulling. One day, Kent and I 
were cutting a log, and were getting pretty good. When he worked he always had his tongue 
sticking out the corner of his mouth a little. We were really getting with it, and I pulled and 
pushed down on the handle of the saw at the same time, to be more productive I guess. Surely 
I didn't do it on purpose. You're right, the handle of the saw came up and hit Kent under the chin 
and the blood flew! 

Sometimes the men in the woods were busy at other things, then Kent and I in our small 
way could skid with the horses. We'd take the horses out into the brush and swing them up to 
the end of a log and set the tongs and drag the log back to the landing. At times we had to back 
them up to the end of a log. This backing was not easy; we had to grab the tongs and drag them 
backwards along with the double-trees and traces, at the same time holding onto the reins and 
backing the horses. If there was a stump involved we would set the tongs, putting one tong back 
under the log and on the ground so that when we slammed the other tong into the top side of the 
log they both bit deep, and didn't pull out when Dutch and Rowdy laid into their harnesses. Kent 
had the reins this time, and the twist we put in the tongs rolled the log out and away from the 
stump. In throwing some brush out of the way one time, we learned that Rowdy got a little 
white-eyed and took notice of what was going on. So one of us would stand where he could see 
us and gently slapped the side of our britches with a pine branch. Then he would really get down 
and pulled with Dutch. Aunt Beulah said when she would ride the horses as Uncle Alvin worked, 
that Rowdy was a little lazy and had to be urged on now and then. Aunt's Beulah, Fern and Uncle 
Donald cant seem to stress enough Uncle Arvin's skill and ability— and gentleness — with horses. 





Dad of 
ran in! 

and thui 

flew— Jin 



amount of 
sawdust o; 



The kids at the mill earned 5 or 6 cents a day piling brush — limbs that were left after the 
trees had been limbed. Grandpa Rothlisberger, or whoever contracted it, did it for 25 cents a pile; 
we kids got a penny. 

At the mill, the skidway is made up of 3 or 4 sets of two logs acting as runners and at a 
slight angle, so when logs are skidded up on to them with a team of horses, or are dropped off 
the truck, they can then be rolled down into the mill by hand. As the truck pulls up to the end of 
the skidway, the driver and the person at the skidway run back to the belly chains on the logs and 
knock the hooks off the chains, and let each chain slide through its ringed end. With big dust- 
raising thumps, the logs roll — all trying to get off at once — off the truck and drop onto the 
skidway. As Grandma Goodman and Arlo Wayne go out across the meadow to feed the 
chickens, the morning sun comes through and over the trees, hitting the meadow and the skidway; 
dust and bark fill the air and turn it golden amber. Men with cant hooks move in this golden aura 
to straighten out the logs and move them on down toward the carriage. 

The sawyer pulls on his lever to shoot the carriage back on its tracks, and the big saw 
quits cutting and settles down to a steady whine. As the carriage comes to a stop at the skidway, 
the carriage operator undoes the "dogs" and the man on the skidway, with cant hook in hand, 
turns the log to its flat side. The dogs are set once more and the log is ratcheted forward for 
"squaring up," with as little waste as possible. 

One day, Kent and I got a little bored and finally wound up at the mill at the off-side of 
the carriage to be more correct. We played in the sawdust for a while; maybe this is what threw 
Dad off He didn't see our attraction to the cable that the sawyer controls to move the carriage 
back and forth. We moved over to it and were letting it run back and forth through our fingers. 
I guess I was mesmerized by the cable and didn't notice how close my fingers were to the cable 
sheave. Into the sheave they went. Boy, it was pulling me down into the trough that the cable 
ran in! Dad either saw what was happening or heard me yell. He threw the carriage lever 
forward; the sudden reverse thrust almost threw the carriage operator off. Dad jumped over the 
carriage cables, grabbed me up, and to the doctor we went. I still don't know why we went on 
through McNary and on to Lakeside, but that is where the doctor fixed up my smashed fingers 
and thumb. On the way home, right in the middle of the road was this — it looked brand 
new — little rubber-band driven balsa airplane. Oh, how it could fly — good medicine for a sick 





. . .. 


The carriage moves forward, and the saw bites into the log as the sawyer controls the 
amount of feed so as not to bog the saw down. A blower was built in under the saw to blow the 
sawdust out to the sawdust pile. 

Uncle Alvin grabbed Alvena by an arm and Gwen by a leg and threw them over the cliff. 
Don jumped onto Uncle Alvin's back, and what with Kent and me holding on to each leg and 
Gloria and Wayne pushing, one would think we could push him over the cliffy too. Not so, not 
Uncle Alvin. With a few muscular shakes, turns and twists, he sent us all sailing out and over the 


- ;i _-< -t -> 


I ■ : • 


ledge and down to join Allie and Gwennie at the bottom of the sawdust pile. Disappearing into 
the soft sawdust, we came up spitting and sputtering. Wiping sawdust out of our mouths and 
eyes (it's not easy keeping sawdust out of your mouth when you're laughing so hard), we crawled 
back up the slope to the bottom of the 10 foot cliff. We just had to live with sawdust down our 
clothes and in our shoes. Anytime anyone mentions the sawdust pile, they talk of losing shoes. 
We must have lost a bodacious amount of them in that loose sawdust. 

As Uncle Alvin stood laughing, with hands on his hips up on top, we all huddled 
together — still spitting and coughing — for just a minute to make more serious and devious plans 
on how to topple the "King of the Mountain." Then, dividing our group in two, we charged up 
and around both ends of the ledge and hit him all at the same time, only to find ourselves back 
at the bottom, laughing and sputtering all over again. 

The cliff we were thrown over was cut by the wind, and was hard packed. The kids of 
the mill considered it one of their favorite playgrounds. We had caves in it you wouldn't believe. 
Not big enough for our little bodies for sure, but for our occasional store-bought cars and trucks 
and sawmill-generated vehicles — pounded together with nails, or carved out of cut-off ends — the 
caves were wonderful. We did try to make caves big enough to crawl into once in a while, but 
we sensed it was a little dangerous. Especially when the other kids tried to cave them in on us. 
Aunt Fern mentioned standing in front of the sawdust pipe as sawdust was being blown up to the 
pile. It brought back memories of us doing it in my generation. We couldn't stand very close or 
it would really pepper us. 

As the carriage clears the saw and zips back to repeat its process, the slab off the log is 
thrown to the floor beside the boiler to feed it. Two more slabs come by, and then a nice square 
piece of lumber comes through for the cut- off man/fireman to cut the ends square, or to cut out 
any waste and send it on. While a log is being put onto the carriage, the fireman grabs a slab, 
throws open the doors of the boiler and throws it into the coals and intense heat, then slams the 
doors and stands back, red faced. If he still has time, he'll pack the slabs he doesn't need outside 
to throw on a waste (surge) pile. Few of the slabs were wasted. People from around would get 
them to build sheds and different things with, or to use for fire wood. 

There was a big steam gauge on the side of the boiler and the steam pressure had to be 
kept at 1 80 lbs. I don't know how hot the fire was— 1 000 or 1 5 00 degrees? All I know is when 
I looked into that scarlet-red, white-hot, yellow fire box under the boiler I sure had to throw up 
my arm to protect my face and eyes. I enjoyed looking in just as we are mesmerized by a 
fireplace or campfire. There was also a sight glass on the side of the boiler where the water level 
had to be kept constant. Years later, Dad worked as a fireman on the railroad out of Winslow 
for a spelL The engineer on the train told Dad he held the steam pressure more steady than any 
other fireman he had known. I suppose Dad told of his apprenticeship at their steam-driven mill 
in the White Mountains. 




in the 


oi the 

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a\ fee, 



Lumber, too, has been moving, down along the length of the green chain (as in green 
lumber) where the guys pull it off and stack it according to size and length. 

About Grandpa's Jordan truck that Uncles Arvin, Walter and Donald built up out of an 
old touring car, Uncle Don said, "We bought that old Jordan touring car. It was as long as this 
room I guess, a big old thing. It had six cylinders. Arvin and Walter and I worked most all of one 
winter building that dang thing. We never had a cutting torch or anything. On all the things we 
put together, we used a little old hand drill. I did most of the hand drilling on that old frame. 
Walter and Arvin did the laying out. We got a worm drive out of a ton-and-a-half Chevrolet truck 
for a rear drive. The differential was pretty big, and then up on top, it had that worm drive. After 
it was finished, it made a pulling son of a gun." After that, they put log bunks on the '25 Chevy 
and used it to log with. 

Anyway, the Jordan truck was sitting at the green chain, and had been loaded from the 
khn drying shed with clear-planed lumber by this time, and the load was tied down. Grandpa 
looked it over — Uncle Don said Grandpa was really jealous of his planed lumber; he didn't want 
any marks or scratches on it. He opened the door to the truck and pushed all his paper and tally 
sheets over and got in. He started the engine (for a week or so he has been irritable since he 
doesn't have any tobacco and tobacco papers. Grandson Wayne had, in an effort to force him to 
quit smoking, thrown all his makin's down the outhouse) and drove away from the lumber trolley 
rails at the end of the green chain, and out through the log yard. The truck bounced and swayed 
in the soft, black earth, as he went on out past the big skid wheels, and across the little green 
meadow. Then he hit the main road and headed for Holbrook. As he drove down the little slope 
east of the sawmill, dust trailing, he waved to the laughing, shouting kids and all their mothers 
(who were on their way down under the hill to work in the family garden located at Pancho 
Springs), and disappeared in a cloud of dust. 

As our gentle, silver-haired, 
white-moustached Grandpa with his 
elastic arm band drove out, he passed, 
on the west side of the meadow, two 
cabins, a chicken coop, and the granary. 
The house on the north was 
where — when I was about eight or 
so — Henry Trueax lived for a season. 
IVe heard some historians say the 
Apaches were a scrawny little people. 
They've got to be kidding! Henry 
Trueax was the finest example of 
manhood Pve ever seen. He was about 
six feet tall, nice-looking, wide of 
shoulder and narrow at the hips. I used 
to follow him around when he wasn't 



Lloyd by Bill's Ford touring car bought in California. 
Notice the outhouse to the right. 

-* -r --? . 


working. One morning as I came out of our house, I looked over to see if I could see Henry. He 
was outside alright, he and two other men, and they were building something this seven-year- old 
had never seen before. It turned out to be a sweat bath. They bent and lashed the saplings they 
had gathered into a small sort of wickiup and covered it with blankets, and to say that as I sat by 
the big spring and watched — I was enthralled, enchanted, mesmerized — was an understatement. 
Especially when one of them, Til say Henry, now stripped down to a loin cloth, (they each took 
a turn), lifted a corner of a blanket and crawled in. Then, wonder of wonders, his two Apache 
friends, using sticks, took from the fire — and I had seen the tire off to the side and wondered 
curiously why they needed a fire in the summer time — rocks, hot rocks, very hot rocks, four or 
five, and placed them just inside the sweat bath. Then a jug of water was passed in to him It 
took me a while to figure out that he was pouring water over the hot rocks to work up a steam, 
but when he came out after twenty minutes or so he was sweaty, shiny clean. Tm not sure 
whether a sweat bath is just to clean the body or whether it is to purify the soul, too, under other 

South of Henry's house was the house Uncle Bill 
and Aunt Mary stayed in for a while. Then further south 

~yj$ was the chicken coop. One day a wail was heard out across 
the meadow. Faces appeared at windows and doors, and 

sfS the men at the mill looked around at the sound. Out at the 
chicken coop, the sound increased to a high pitch. A 
bobcat had been getting into the hen house, so Uncle Arvin 
had set a trap at the door of the chicken run, never ex- 
pecting to catch anything but that chicken-loving bobcat. 
Mom, wanting to bake a cake for the noon meal, sent me 
out to get a couple of eggs. The latch to the door was a 
little high for me to get open, or maybe it was stuck. 
Whichever, I still couldn't get the door open. That's when 
I decided to slip through the chicken-run door. Was I 
surprised when that trap snapped on my wrist! 

Grandpa stuck in the snow 

The granary was next to the chicken coop. Gene said he could remember it because he 
was with Uncle Bill when he skinned out one of the king's deer. I don't remember the granary, 
and I sure don't remember the big barn, with big doors and stalls down each side, 
that Uncle Donald said used to be next in line — close to the road to Wolf Mountain. The only 
bam I remember was the one over on the east side of our little meadow. Gene said that one, the 
new one, used to be a bunk house and I believe it. Let me tell another of my life stories. 

I was born about six years of age. If that were the case, I was born on a wagon load of 
hay right in the midst of Dad, my brother. Kent, Uncle Chet Pernod, and Uncle Cecil, who was 
not really our uncle at all, but we consider him such. Maybe he wasn't there at all and we were 

tie hi 

the hi 
were i 
tetter 1 

and sd 




just using his wagon, delivering hay to Grandpa's barn for the skid horses and milk cow. All of 
a sudden, the beautiful world around burst upon me, and I was here, and that's as far back as my 
memory will go. 

Don on Uncle Afvin's Willis 

The forked hay we were riding 
on was from Uncle Cecil's. The wagon 
was being pulled by Silver and Rowdy, 
our big logging horses. What splendid 
horses they were, with their shiny sorrel 
coats; Rowdy's mane and tail were on 
the dark side, guess what color Silver's 
were? My younger years seem to be 
measured in horses: Silver and Rowdy, 
Don and Rowdy, Dutch and 
Rowdy — their big legs and feet that 
flashed up and down; their manes 
flashing in the sun as they pulled the 
wagon on down to the barn. 

As you can guess, I was impressed with those horses. The barn was just big enough for 
the horses and milk cow, and enough hay to feed them for the winter. There were no corrals at 
the m3L When the horses weren't working, they were locked in the barn. One time, out in the 
woods at the end of the day, Dad told me to take the horses back home to the barn. So I grabbed 
the harness on old Rowdy — we didn't have escalators in those days — and climbed up, and we 
were off. I remember a story told to me by Norma Lee's Uncle Dale. When he was young, his 
father told him to take the team home. He said, 'But I don't know the way home." Grandpa 
Bigler told him, "The horses know the way home. You're just going along to open the gates." 
That's the way I was that day. At one point, I wanted to stop and watch a squirrel in an old oak 
tree — not on your life. They were going to the barn, and I knew if I wanted the same thing Td 
better hang on. When they entered the meadow where the sawmill was, they broke into a lope. 
Now I really had to hang on! I grabbed the haines and cinched down tight. The harness, traces 
included, was flopping and flaying the air. Their great hooves pounding the grassy sod, the ring 
and snap-hook on the harness, sent out steel-against-steel sounds ringing out over the 
meadow — and the robins made way. As we closed in on the barn, I had a horrible thought: that 
door is just big enough for Rowdy. Right then I wished for a real barn like Uncle Cecil's, with 
big double doors. I don't know if I figured that if the haines would clear then so would I, or if 
there simply wasn't anything else to do but throw myself backwards, flat along Rowdy's back and 
hope for the best. I never have figured out how my legs and feet cleared. Well, he thundered up 
to the barn, made a right turn even as he entered the door, past that little door frame, on into the 
darkness of good-smelling hay and the nice smell of livestock, and up to his stall, with Silver 
crowding right behind him When all the muscles, hooves, harnesses and manes of both horses 

; J ( 




.' ■ 




.!■• J /■ I / f >/)■} 


settled down, they turned and looked at me as if to say, "Well, where is our hay?" I guess that's 
what I was along for. 

Uncle John told us about when the train hit him 
and his dog, Jigs, at the crossing on the road past 
McCormick Springs, as he went coon hunting. It hit 
the convertible right behind the front seat. According 
to Aunts Fern and Beulah, the train was traveling 
backwards and whether Uncle John thought he could 
beat it, or if he didn't even see it, they don't know. It 
hit him and carried him up the track 150 yards or so 
before kicking Him off to the side. When the engine 
went by, the engineer saw him and stopped. They 
lifted the car off him, and he walked back down to the 
mill. Uncle Don said for years as he worked for 
Naegles, every time he rode by the wreck he wondered 
with amazement how in the world Uncle John came 
out of it alive — that thing was really beat up — let alone 
receiving nothing more than a scratch on the nose. I 
forgot to say Jigs wasn't so lucky. 




% ' * • JTzJ*-* ■ 

More snow at the mill. Grandpa on 

right with shovel. Probably Don in 

back of car 

"Grandpa Goodman was a fine old 
man." Lonnie and Geneva Gillam left Arkansas 
in '30 during the Great Depression; they had all 
their earthly possessions in and on a Model A 
Ford pickup. Her uncle and brother were 
Dale and Kent in front of the old Jordan workmg for me mill in McNary— actually they 
touring car which was turned into a truck to were engineers on the railroad— and had written 
haul lumber. Parked next to Lloyd's and ^em, saying there might be a job for them if 
Ruths' s house. 1938 me y would come to Arizona. They arrived just 

as the sawmill in McNary went on strike and 
shut down. Not knowing what else to do, they 
drove the eleven miles down to Grandpa's sawmill and asked him for a job. He said, "You bet," 
and everyone set to and built them a house on the south side of the little meadow by the McNary 
road. Geneva said, 'The house was all built and 'Grandpa' (as they always called him) was in St. 
Johns getting tar paper for the roo£ when a May shower hit, and water poured through the roof, 
soaking everything we owned except for baby Doris. I put her under the oilcloth-covered table 
and that kept her dry." 


' -v 

L to K Back row: Kent, Dale, Alvena 

Front row: Don, Gloria, Gwen 

Main house in background 

One day Geneva was sitting outside 
nursing Doris when all of a sudden the baby let 
out a scream, and blood shot out and began to 
run down her face from a cut above her right 
eyebrow. Lonnie said, "The saw down at the 
mill hit a nail or a spike that had previously been 
driven into the log. Teeth from the saw shelled 
off, and one flew through the air clear across 
the meadow, flashed by Doris, nicking her, and 
the blood flew." Lonnie said, "Lloyd would 
have us all go out to the woods and log for a 
while until we had enough logs, then we would 
fire up the mill and cut them into lumber." 

After delivering his load of lumber and picking 
up Grandma's grocery order for the whole mill, Grandpa was coming home from Holbrook one 
night and the lights on the truck went out. Not being able to fix them, he went on. In the faint 
glow of light, a pile of white rocks led him astray, and out through the grass and rocks he went, 
with the truck bouncing and twisting. When he finally got it stopped and everything settled 
down, he opened the door and got out to find groceries strung around everywhere. With a 
twinkle in his eye he said, "Humm, looks like someone else had a wreck here, too." 

Grandpa, Grandma, and Lloyd 

Smokestack between Grandpa and Grandma 

The Chevy Bill gave to Grandpa if he'd shave his moustache 

:..■ .<• >t • , i >* ••» 


I remember Gib Mills saying that he and my Dad used to hunt wild horses. Uncle Don 
said he used to chase them once in a while, and had caught one. But this little ole horse he had 
called Lad, was one Uncle Bill had caught over on Chevelon. He was a good little ole horse. He 
was a two-year-old when Bill caught him and he brought him over to Linden. Uncle Don said, 
'Uncle Bill told me if I would take care of him, and break him, I could have him. I had him all 
the time until someway or another I traded him to John after I went to work for Neagles. Then 
John and J.T. Smith were out chasing wild horses out by Clay Springs, and he ran this little ole 
horse over, and started to jump, kind of a little juniper tree. The little horse hit the juniper and 
flipped and broke his neck. Beulah has a picture of Lloyd on him. He rode him to Vernon to 
school all one winter from the sawmilL Fern and Beulah rode a little horse named Peewee till the 
weather got too bad." 

So many good times, so many good memories happened in connection with that beautiful 
little meadow. It will be in our hearts and minds for a long, long time. The sawmill and houses 
are gone now. Removed to restore the meadow to its natural setting. Only a few artifacts are 
there to whisper our story if you listen close. "A bunk off one of the log wagons, a heavy 
cable — too heavy for the carriage cable, the pipe rising out of the ground that supplied feed water 
for the mill. . . . Hard times. Good times." 

End of Dale's narrative 

c *-,»**#' iwW -^w.^H 

Memories: Bunk off the log wagon, 1994 



.-c % ' 


Sawmill site, 1994 





..i 5 

: < 



Piece of belt, chain and hook, 1994 





-i>:< : • 


Remains of Graham Paige auto; found north of 
remains of workers' cabins 


Little Spring, 1994 


Big Spring, 1994 

The gospel and the Church were always important to Grandma. However, after the move 
to the mill, they didn't get to attend church meetings very often. Nevertheless, she saw that her 
children were taught the gospel, how to pray, and that each was baptized. 

In the fall of 1924, four of the kids went to school in Vernon — John, Lloyd, Fern, and 
Beulah. As long as the weather was good, they rode horses from the mill to the school. When 
the weather turned cold and the snow became too deep, Grandpa rented a house on the western 
edge of Vernon from Lee Wilhelm Grandma and the kids moved down there until spring 
returned to the White Mountains. That was the last year John attended school. 

The next fall (1925), Lloyd was 
the only Goodman boy to attend school. 
Fern and Beulah agree it was a good 
thing John wasn't there when Mr. 
LaRue whipped Lloyd. One of the 
other students wrote a dirty note in 
class. When he got caught, he blamed 
in on Lloyd, and Lloyd wouldn't "rat" 
on him Mr. LaRue whipped Lloyd with 
a double rope until his legs were 'just 
jelly." He couldn't even get out of bed. 
Grandpa didn't do anything, even 
though Grandma wanted him to. Lloyd 
said, "When I grow to be a man, and if 
I see him, Tm going to give him the 

same thing he gave me." (The post script to this story is that during a much later Vernon Day 
celebration, LaRue came back to visit and Lloyd walked up to him and shook hands with him.) 

Old Vernon School House 


-i>>' -,■. ^ 

.<■;;• i / I • »•■■» 


That year, 1925, brought a special sorrow to the family. Frances died of acute nephritis 
in Gallup on December 6. When she became ill enough that Horace felt he had to get her to a 
hospital, Grandpa and Grandma went to Clay Springs to get the three children — Beth, 6*/2, Reece, 
5, and Rose, 4. Frances died the day after Rose's fourth birthday. These children stayed with 
the Goodman family for about a year. That's when Horace brought the washing machine over 
to the sawmilL Again that winter, Grandma was in Vernon with her three youngest children, and 
Frances's children joined them in the Wilhelm house. 

We don't know what the Goodmans were driving in 1925, probably a truck of some sort 
(an maybe they were still using nothing but their wagons), but Henry Ford's roadster was selling 
for $260, and the Charleston dance and crossword puzzles became very popular. 

Grandpa, Grandma, and Arvin registered to vote in Apache County in 1926. They wrote 
that they were sawmill men, and a housewife, and Democrats. Grandma alone had registered in 

Ward clerks apparently were not so concerned with percentages in those days — it took 
the Goodman membership records a year and a half to get from Pinedale to Vernon. Sacrament 
Meeting minutes of January 3 1, 1926 show that the family was presented for recommendation: 
Hannah McNeil Goodman, William Edward, Arvin, Walter, Don, John, Lloyd, Fern, and Beulah. 

On July 3, 1926, Beulah and Grandpa were baptized; she was 9 and he was 55. They 
were confirmed on Jury 4. That must have been a great joy for Grandma. Grandpa first bore his 
testimony on October 24; he said he knew that other churches do good, but believed this was the 
true Church. Subsequently, on September 25, 1927, Grandpa and Grandma went to Taylor and 
received their Patriarchal Blessings from John Hatch, Patriarch. 

family: 1 

Here are several other entries in the Vernon Ward records which pertain to the Goodman 

Apr. 26, 1931: 
Oct. 4, 1931: 
Nov. 6, 1932: 
Aug. 6, 1933: 

Aug. 5, 1934: 
Jul. 8, 1934: 

Nov. 11, 1934: 

Ella Goodman was blessed. 

John LeRoy Goodman was blessed. 

Afvin Goodman was ordained a Priest 

(Banner Day) Lucy Arvena Goodman, Lloyd Dale Goodman, and 

Walter Ray Goodman were blessed. 

Baby of Lloyd Goodman was blessed. (Kent?) 

Sister Hannah Goodman was set apart as Chairman of the 

Genealogical Work of Vernon Ward. 

William E. Goodman, Hannah M. Goodman, and John M. 

Goodman all gave reports on Quarterly Conference. 

'Church Historian's Office, LR 9751, Series 11-20, Reel 8051. 


Sep. 15, 1935: 

Jim. 13, 1937: 

Dec. 5, 1937 
Jun. 4, 1939: 

Jul. 7, 1940: 

William E. Goodman was set apart as a member of the 

genealogical committee, and Sister Hannah Goodman told of her 

trip to California. 

Sister Lahoma Goodman told of her gladness at meeting with the 

Vemon people again. 

Baby of Alvin Goodman blessed (Wayne?) 

Loretta Idella Pernod was confirmed; Sister Hannah Goodman 

spoke of the promises of the Lord. 

Thomas Eugene Goodman was ordained a Deacon. 

A note was added to the records on December 3 1, 1940: 'To date we have had 
exceptionally warm weather with an unusual amount of rain and sleet, causing the 
creeks to run full, which is unusual for this time of year. The ground is full of 
water, and the lakes and reservoirs are filling up fast. The prospects for the new 
year in regard to the water situation are the best we have had for several years. 
Inasmuch as the people have prayed to the Lord for moisture, it looks as though 
the Lord has been good and our prayers have been answered." 

May 25, 1941: 

Apr. 26, 1942: 
Jul. 5, 1942: 

Aug. 23, 1942: 

Oct. 3, 1942: 

Mar. 28, 1943: 

May 30, 1943: 

Ward Conference: Hannah Goodman was sustained as First 

Counselor in the Relief Society Presidency. 

Sister Hannah Goodman gave the closing prayer. 

(Another Banner Day) Gwen Goodman, James Lloyd Goodman, 

Kent Goodman, and Westfynn Riggs were confirmed. A note was 

added which stated that "These four children were the first to be 

confirmed in the new Church building." Sister Hannah Goodman 

bore her testimony. 

Dedication of the Vernon Ward chapel in connection with Stake 

Quarterly Conference. (This would be the meeting where 

Grandma gave the closing prayer prematurely.) 

(Bishopric Council Meeting). It was suggest that they appoint 

Brother Alvin Goodman as Chairman of a committee for building 

of house for light plant. 

Elder Lloyd Goodman helped administer the Sacrament. The next 

part on the program was a quartet by Sisters Nellie and Maxine 

Gillespie, Brothers Leone Gillespie and Lloyd Goodman, 

accompanied by Ruth Goodman, Redeemer of Israel. 

Brother Willliam Edward Goodman's name was presented before 

the congregation for ordination to the Aaronic Priesthood, and 

was accepted. Brother William E. Goodman spoke a few words 

of appreciation for the kindness extended to his family during his 

father's sickness. Brother William E. Goodman was ordained to 

the office of a Deacon by Bishop Cecil C. Naegle. 



< ■ 

4 • 

. ! ' 

i ,i. 


Mar. 5, 1944: 

Testimonies were borne by Dale Goodman, Kent Goodman, 
Gloria Goodman, Venla Pernod, Dorothy Penrod, and Hannah 

These are just a few entries involving our family — there are many others documenting 
family church activity from 1926 until Grandma died. It appears, however, that the records are 
only as good as the current Ward Clerk. Many of our family members were born, blessed, 
baptized, and ordained, but not recorded here. 

Now, back to 1926: These were the years of prohibition. Bootleg trade in the U.S. was 
estimated at $3,600,000,000 for 1926 alone. Tne Word of Wisdom was not a commandment 
at the time, but simply a "word of wisdom" Grandpa continued to drink coffee and alcohol for 
several years. 

On October 23, 1927 the Arizona Temple was dedicated by President Heber J. Grant. 2 
This was a wonderful blessing for those Saints Irving on the south side of the Colorado River. 
Up until this time, couples wanting to be sealed in the temple had to take the train to San 
Francisco, then to Ogden, Utah, and down to Salt Lake. The other alternative was to go by 
wagon to St. George, Utah. This route was called "The Honeymoon Trail." This trail had been 
used for several decades by couples making the journey from the Little Colorado River 
settlements to the nearest temple. This difficult trip could take weeks, but hundreds of couples, 
understanding the significance of temple sealings, made the journey willingly. 

f\ St. George 


«^ Navajo Wells 

Pipe Spring w 


House Rock , ™•^.^• 
Rachel's Pool 

Honeymoon Trail 
crossing barren plateaus, and passing by rivers and pools of undrinkable water. At Lee's Ferry 

The major preparation for 
the trip came in procuring a hardy 
team and wagon. The couple also 
had to decide if they should be 
married civilly and then be sealed 
upon reaching the temple, or if they 
should invite chaperons to 
accompany them and be married in 
St. George. 

The St. George Temple was 
completed in 1877, and the first trip 
made by Little Colorado Saints took 
place in 1881. The trail was over 
400 miles through the desert, 
winding through steep canyons, 

2 Many of the Church historical dates were taken from "The 1993-1994 Church Almanac; 
published by Deseret News, Salt Lake City, Utah. 


the trail crossed the Colorado River near the mouth of the Grand Canyon. Ironically, the worst 
problem in traveling the trail was water — lack of water, muddy water, salty water, or too much 
water. The "too much water" came when the couples crossed the Colorado at Lee's Ferry. 

Also in 1927, the Mount Rushmore Memorial in Black Hills, South Dakota was begun 
by sculptor Gutzon Borghim, bom in Paris, Idaho, and a member of the LDS church. It was also 
the year that Gene Tunny defeated Jack Dempsey for the heavyweight championship, and Babe 
Ruth set a home run record with 60 hits for the season. 

On February 14, 1928 — Valentine's Day (a bit of the romantic there) — Walter married 
Inez McNeil. Inez and Walter were first cousins — her father was Daniel McNeil, Grandma's 
brother, whose wife had died and left three daughters — Inez, Leah, and Esther. One or more of 
these girls occasionally stayed with the Goodmans earlier in Clay Springs and Linden, and again 
at the sawmilL The newly-weds continued to live and work at the sawmill with other family 

Life went on at the mill: cutting, skidding, and sawing logs, trirmning cut lumber, 
stacking, selling, and delivering lumber. Grandpa delivered a lot of that lumber himself. Gib told 
this experience involving Grandpa: 

Uncle Bill came (to their house in Show Low) one day about ten o'clock in the 
morning, on his way home from Holbrook. When I went out to meet him, he said, 'Hell 
fire, gosh damn, geemanently!" (This was Grandpa's favorite expression.) "I've lost my 
trailer." So he asked me if I would go back with him and find his trailer. We went back 
down the road about 13 miles, and found it on a kind of a rocky hill. It was empty and 
had just bounced off the hitch. It was down about where the Willis Ranch is located. We 
got it hooked back on and came home. He had a Chevrolet truck, but it just had a cab 
and chassis. It was probably a four cylinder engine, too. I remember it had real small 
wheels on the front and bigger ones on the back. That's just the way trucks were made 
in those days; that's the way my dad had our truck, too. 




Gib continued about Grandpa's trips to Holbrook with a load of lumber: 

I worked at the Goodman sawmill for about three summers while I was a kid. 
One summer when I was working there, Uncle Bill went to Holbrook with a load of 
lumber to get some groceries, and was gone two weeks. Aunt Hannah was over here 
(Show Low) the night Uncle Bill stopped on his way back from Holbrook. Uncle Jess 
and Alvin had made some B-wine, but Aunt Hannah made Uncle Bill go to bed without 
any. Pretty soon he came out of the bedroom and said, "Gosh damn, geemanently, 
Hannah, fve got to go to the bathroom" 

' ) v ■■». 


And about a McNeil reunion held at the sawmill: 

One summer we had a reunion up to the sawmill. Uncle Jess figured he was 
back down in Old Mexico so he barbecued a beef. He just dug a big hole, got plenty 
of coals in it, and put the beef in there, hide and alL That meat sure was tender. They 
had just planed some lumber, so we built a dance pavilion. They had some orchestra 
from Vernon come up there and play. It rained a little just after dark, and when 
people got on the floor with a little mud on their shoes, it would come off on those 
slick boards, and down they'd go. 

Another cousin, LaVene Thompson Fenn (daughter of Aunt Annie McNeil 
Thompson), remembered that particular reunion: 

We had gone up there from El Freda. I think Mom and Dad just decided on 
the spur of the moment that they were going to go, but it was a reunion or something. 
When we got up there, we stayed at Aunt Hannah's, in the old log cabin. Their being 
built out of logs fascinated me, too. I hadn't ever seen that, up there in the pines, pine 
gum on the pine trees. Uncle Will showed me how to get that. But mainly I played 
with Laura and Bud, because they lived there, too. I can remember Bud telling 
somebody that they had shot a deer which was out of season, but it didn't seem to 
bother anybody. Those mountain people had to live off the mountain and it wasn't 
anybody's business, I suppose. And then Beulah was old enough to play with me, and 
Bud, and Laura, and we'd bury ourselves in the sawdust. I guess Bud was the only 
boy we had there. Anyhow, when we'd go up there, that pile seemed like a mountain 
to me. 

To decorate, Aunt Hannah told us to go get some ferns. So Uncle Will took 
all us kids — Fern, Beulah, Bud, Laura, and me — and we went down in a little gully. 
We carved our names on those white-barked trees. There was a whole area and the 
ferns were all over, so thick and beautiful under those quaken aspens. It was just like 
a fairy land. Of course, I was raised on the desert with mesquite trees and cactus. 

I don't remember who was playing for the dance, but later what I can 
remember is Donald sitting there with his hat and whistling in his hat and then with 
his saw. I thought that saw music was the most beautiful thing in the world. I never 
did figure out how he did it. 

On December 28, 1928, Horace Crandell had Frances' endowment work done by 
proxy in the Mesa Temple; they were then sealed, and their three children — Beth, Reece, and 
Rose — were sealed to them for time and eternity. She was the first member of the family to 
be endowed; others would soon follow. 


Also in 1928, the nation's postwar prosperity approached its crest, and stocks were 
dangerously high. In fact, people were unwisely borrowing money to invest in stocks. The 
federal government committed itself to future participation in hydroelectric power production 
with the approval of the Boulder Dam (Hoover Dam) project. Herbert Hoover was elected 
President on the Republican ticket, and Walt Disney released the first Mickey Mouse cartoon, 
"Steamboat Willie." 

An event in August of 1929 sent shock waves through the Goodman family — Fern 
eloped with Chet Pernod! She was the fourth child to be married, and wouldn't be 16 for 
another month. They were married in Holbrook on the 26th. Fern confided in Beulah what 
her plans were, then she surreptitiously removed clothing and other personal items and hid 
them near the Vernon-McNary road and waited for Chet to pick her up. It was left to Beulah 
to tell Grandma and Grandpa after Fern and Chet had left for Holbrook. Family members 
remember that Grandpa was "madder than hell." Being the loving, forgiving father he was, 
he undoubtedly got over his anger quickly. Chet and Fern settled in Pineyon where the 
Penrods had homesteaded. 

October 29, 1929 was the blackest day in stock market history, and a black day for 
the Country. On this day, the market collapsed and then continued to decline until November 
13 when 30 billion dollars in capital values had been swept away. The country slipped into 
the greatest economic depression in its history. For many Americans, their way of life would 
be permanently altered. This is not to say that all Americans suffered during the Great 
Depression. Many wealthy families continued their annual trips to Europe, and life went on 
as usual for them However, it was estimated that 60% of Americans had a yearly income 
under $2,000; at one point unemployment climbed to 24% of the labor force. 

In Arizona in 1930, the Coolidge Dam (southeast of Globe on the Gila River) was 
dedicated; and Pluto, the ninth planet, was discovered by scientists at the Lowell Observatory, 
in Flagstaff Nationally, sliced bread was introduced. Now, toasters could be invented. 




<:: : . 


In the Church, the Centennial of the Church's organization was celebrated at April 
Conference in Salt Lake City. Heber J. Grant was still President of the Church. 

John Goodman started the year of 193 1 out right when he married Lahoma Bennett 
on January 28, 1931 in Holbrook. The marriage must have had Grandpa's and Grandma's 
blessings as Grandpa served as a witness at the ceremony. 

The Depression deepened during 193 1; unemployment was estimated between 4 and 
5 million. Bank panic spread and hundreds of banks closed their doors after thousands of 
people across the nation rushed to close out their checking and savings accounts. Still, as 
Will Rogers commented, "We're the first nation to go to the poorhouse in an automobile." 

» — / _'# _* - 



Also in 1931, Grandpa celebrated his 60th birthday, the Empire State building was 
completed, and The Star Spangled Banner became the official national anthem by act of 

The depth of the Depression was reached in 1932; unemployment reached 15 million 
by year's end. Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was elected President on the Democratic ticket, 
said, 'T pledge you, I pledge myseu; to a new deal for the American people." 

Historian David A. Shannon wrote: 

The first significant New Deal relief measure, and the one that evoked 
relatively little opposition, was the act of March 31, 1933, creating the Civilian 
Conservation Corps (CCC). The CCC quickly took 250,000 young men from relief 
families and put them to work under direction of the War Department at soil 
conservation and reforestation projects. The young men in "the C's" received board 
and room at the work camps and $30 a month, of which $25 automatically went home 
to their families. By 1940, when the CCC came to an end, more than 2,225,000 
young men had worked in the program, and their labors had significantly improved 
the condition of the countryside. 1 

And about the WPA: 

The Works Progress Administration (WPA — created by Executive Order in 
May 1935) was the biggest, most ambitious, and generally most successful relief 
program the federal government has ever undertaken. The average monthly 
wage of all classifications was $52 in 1936. When one considers that, because of their 
poverty, the receivers of this money spent it quickly, the stimulation to the economy 
in general can be realized. Most of the money went for construction and conservation 
projects — highways, streets, levees, airports, schools, hospitals, and other public 
buildings. 2 

Apparently, no Goodman boys went to the CCC camps, even though there were C's 
in the area. However, Walter and John were both employed on adult WPA projects at 
various times. Other area boys on WPA were Johnnie, Cecil, and Alma Naegle. Each man 
was allowed to work approximately one year before he was released and another person 
signed up in his place. 

Shannon, p. 330 
2 Shannon, p. 343. 


One of these projects was 
opening a cinderpit between 
Vernon and the sawmill 
(below Willow Springs). 
The crews cindered the road 
from the reservation fence 
to Vernon and all the little 
side roads. Actually, they 
eventually cindered all the 
roads in Navajo and Apache 
Counties, but that involved 
other crews. 

Grandpa with Timberline girls' bed rolls going on their trip 
to Old Baldy. He's driving Slim Cambren's team of horses 

This work was pick 
and shovel power. The 
object was to create jobs for 

people. There were no trucks used on these projects, just teams and about 22 to 28 wagons. 

These were provided by the Gillespies, Goodmans, Naegles, and Wilhelms, among others. 

The pay wasn't much for manpower, teams, and wagons, but it was better than nothing. 

Another project was the construction of WPA (humorously interpreted cc We Piddle 
Around") outhouses. These were one-seaters with a cement floor, and were actually quite 
sturdy. Individual families were the beneficiaries of these. 

The most telling effect of the Depression on the Goodman family at the sawmill was 
that people simply did not have money to buy lumber. There were long intervals in which no 
lumber was cut because no lumber was being sold. The boys of the family looked for work 
wherever and whenever they could away from the mill Life was not easy and food was not 
always plentiful, but they were able to survive. 


? : 



Nature was not kind to farmers in the mid-west during the Depression decade. 
Beginning in 1931, western farmers were plagued with a succession of droughts. David 
Shannon, historian, wrote about the Dust Bowl: 

Successive droughts and the steady winds that are characteristic on the Great 
Plains resulted in dust storms. The first serious dust storms began in 1933. A 
particularly hard-hit area in western Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, and eastern New 
Mexico and Colorado came to be known as the "Dust Bowl," but wind erosion was 
a serious problem as far north as North Dakota. One of the worst dust storms came 
in May 1934. The vital top soil of hundreds of farms was literally gone with the wind. 
Huge clouds of dust obscured the sun as far east as the Appalachians; nearer to the 



Great Plains, the flying grit made breathing difficult, worked its way into automobile 
engines and other machinery, and was the despair of house-cleaning wives. 3 

More than 350,000 farm migrants from the Dust Bowl area trekked to California — the 
Golden State. A number of those migrating to California found their way to the Goodman 
sawmill Family members remember that these unfortunate families were never sent on with 
empty stomachs. Grandpa and Grandma always shared with them what the family had to eat. 
Dale mentioned the Gillams and how Grandpa provided for them. 

Evidently romance and love were not affected by a mere Depression. In July of 1932, 
Lloyd (age 20) married Ruth Rothlisberger, and Arvin (age 31) married Bertha Rothlisberger. 
Lloyd and Ruth eloped to Gallup on the 1 1th on Lloyd's motorcycle; Arvin and Bertha were 
married five days later (July 16) in Vernon. 

Later that same year, on October 27 and 28, Grandpa and Grandma were endowed 
and sealed; Lloyd and Ruth were endowed and sealed; and Frances, Ray, Lloyd, and Beulah 

were sealed to their parents — Frances and Ray 
by proxy. What a grand day that must have 
been on earth and in heaven. 

The year 1932 was a great year for 
travelers and for young boys; Route 66 opened 
from Chicago to Los Angeles — entering Arizona 
at Sanders and exiting at Needles, and the '"Buck 
Rogers" radio show began on CBS. 

In 1933, the last Goodman chick left the 
nest — Beulah married Len Penrod on November 
30; she was 16. They were married in a double 
ceremony with Len's sister, in Vernon. Beulah, 
however, was not the last Goodman child to be 
married. Donald and Evelyn were not married 
until 1942 when he was 36, but he had been 
gone from home most of the time for many 

4 * 

Double Wedding, 1933 

L: Teb Whiting and Mildred Penrod 

R: Len Penrod and Beulah Goodman 

The 21st Amendment to the Constitution 
was ratified on December 5, 1933, thereby 
eliminating the 18th Amendment — Prohibition. 
Thus, that "Noble Experiment" was repealed 
after 14 years. Americans were finding out, as 

5 Shannon, p. 372. 

-J^'-J 1 ^ » 


had their European cousins years before, that it's difficult to legislate morality. Statistics 
compiled on the effect of prohibition reveal interesting figures: 

Before Prohibition, the average amount of alcohol consumed in the U.S. was 1.8 
gallons per person per year. During Prohibition, that average jumped to 1.95 gallons 
per person per year. In the years following Prohibition, the average dropped to 1.7 
gallons per person per year. 4 

Ending prohibition by repealing the 18th Amendment affected the Word of Wisdom 
as taught by the Church. Though the revelation on the Word of Wisdom was given to Joseph 
Smith in 1833, and good members were expected to live its principles, members of the Church 
had never voted it binding upon themselves. One hundred years after the revelation, in 1933, 
prohibition was rescinded. The Church, of course, had supported prohibition, so in General 
Conference in that same year, members voted unanimously to strictly adhere to the Word of 
Wisdom. The Church also held a 6-day commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the 
Word of Wisdom revelation with special observances in every ward throughout the Church. 
A campaign against the use of tobacco had been launched by the Church a year earlier. 

What the repeal of the prohibition 
amendment did locally was to put Mr. Stewart, of 
Plenty, out of the bootlegging business. Plenty was 
the little ranching/tarming area between Vernon and 
Concho. It had originally been named "Floy," but 
because of confusion on the part of the Post Office 
with Eloy, Floy was asked to select another name. ^K^ : 
With tongue in cheek because the bootlegging - *^v* W 

business flourished there, it was called "Plenty." _ 

There's an interesting family story told about Lloyd L 

and his famous ride to Plenty. \^ 

It seems that the community had gathered at 
Lakehole for a dance one night. Lloyd and Ruth 
had a little spat, so Lloyd gathered up all the money 
he could from his fellow male dancers. He then got 
on his horse and rode the 10-plus miles to Plenty, 
got a gallon of "shine" and rode back to the dance. 
The pleasure of drinking that gallon was not to be, 
for, as Lloyd slid off the horse, he dropped the jug 
and it broke apart, spilling the contents on the 
ground. His popularity slipped somewhat that night. 


L to R: Fern, Beulah, Grandma 
McNeil, Arvin, Mary (Bill's wife) 

>" * 


: : ■ 



4 This quote is taken from Alyn Andrus' class notes from a history course taken at Idaho 
State University, 1965. 


Lakehole was a favorite recreational spot for the people of the area. Situated at the 
foot of Timber Knoll west of Vernon, it was the site of many rodeos and other community 
celebrations, such as the 4th of July. The catfish were good eating and the kids could swim 
People would come in their Model A's or T's, as well as wagons and buggies. Many fun, all- 
night dances were held at Lakehole and in Pineyon. The Goodman kids frequently attended 
these festivities. 

In 1934, Walter and Inez divorced, and he married Laura Brownfield. Laura and 
Buddie were stepchildren of Uncle Jesse McNeil. Inez later married LeRoy Marble. 

As the Depression began to ease during the mid-1930's, and with Grandpa's and 
Grandma's children gone from home and on their own, one would think that life became easier 
for Grandpa, but not so. Idella recalls the situation: "My fondest memories of Grandpa 
Goodman are when I was about 4 or 5 years old, and would go up there early in the morning 
to Grandpa and Grandma's. We just lived a few yards down the way from them there at the 
sawmill, and Grandpa would still be asleep. He would read most of the night, so he'd sleep 
in late every morning. Of course, he was semi-retired at that time. (In 1935, Grandpa would 
have been 64 years old.) I'd crawl up there in bed by him and snuggle down for awhile, and 
then Td get tired of that, and Td get out of bed and pound on the piano, and he'd never, ever 
tell me to get out of there and keep still or anything. Td pound on that piano until he probably 
thought the keys were going to come off. For awhile he'd just cover his head up and let me 
go on. Then he'd finally get out of bed and meander out to the outhouse, taking his book with 
him Td follow him and sit on a rock and throw sticks and rocks at the outhouse until he'd 

Grandma McNeil, Don, Beulah, Uncle Eph McNeil, Grandma 


finally come out. Then we'd go back in and Grandma was mad at him for not getting up any 
earlier, but she'd have hot cereal and biscuits ready for him 

(Incidentally, bathroom tissue, as we know it today, did not exist in great quantities 
out West. People made do with what they had access to — in the outhouses, it was usually 
a Sears or 'Monkey' Wards catalog. Nor was there Kleenex. As one cousin so aptly put it, 
"we just picked our noses a lot.") 

Idella continued: "The big thing I remember is Grandma harping at him all the time, 
and I would get so aggravated. Now I can see why she did, when I know a few more things. 

"Grandpa read any book he could get his hands on. He was really a learned man. He 
would read everything. His comprehension was great, and he could talk about any subject 
at any time. 

"In the family you hear people talk about Grandpa going off visiting and being gone 
for days. I know that had to be hard on Grandma and the family. On the other hand, around 
here (Show Low) where people have known him so 
much, Pve never heard anybody say anything but 
good about him — only what a great man "Uncle 
Bill" was. IVe heard so many people say he was as 
honest as the day is long; that he wouldn't cheat 
anyone out of anything, and that he would do 
anything for anybody, or give them anything he had. 

"I know I just idolized him, and that's all 
there is to it. I was much closer to him than I was 
to Grandma. He was just a barrel of fun. Never *•»* 
would get out of patience with you. And he liked 
everybody. I don't think there was anyone he didn't 
like. He was so kind to everybody. He loved kids, 
and would babysit not only his grandkids, but others 
also. He might be there with his book, but he was 
there. We would climb all over him. He'd sit there 
with a book in one hand while we grandkids would 
be climbing on him and pulling his moustache and 
combing his white hair. He'd just sit there and read. 

"I remember one time we were living in 
Vernon. The Old Blue Moon was out here in Show 
Low and we used to come in here roller-skating, 
and I wanted to come in roller-skating one night. 
Of course, Mom wouldn't let me come by myself on 

L to R: Grandma McNeil, Aunt 

Sarah Mills, Aunt Bess McNeil, 

Grandma, Fern 



the school bus, so Grandpa volunteered to come with me. Well, he came, but he got with one 
of his buddies in here, and they started drinking. He didn't make it home on the bus with me. 
So he was in trouble with Grandma again." 

- '**. £' 

."r> ■ 

ft ''■■ m 

ram i 

Five Generations: R to L: Grandma McNeil, Grandma 
Goodman, Fern, Beth Crandell Perkins, Frances Beth 




L to R: Bert, Mary, Ruth 

Laura at Dragoon, 194; 

Grandpa's kid-tending was verified by Paul Rothlisberger, Ruth's young brother. 'Td 
like to tell you something about Grandpa Goodman, Lloyd's dad. It seems like he was always 
tending the kids on New Year's Eve while everyone else went to the dance. And he'd let us 
do pretty much what we wanted to do, and we always stayed up until midnight because we 

k ■ . mm ■ m*\ t> * m .. ■»• 


Ruth, Lloyd, Gloria, Dale 
Old barn in background 

Dale and Kent at the mill shack 

wanted to see the New Year in." Nellie 
Rothlisberger Gillespie continued: "I might tell 
you about Grandpa Goodman, too. He taught me 
how to drive. He had an old white short-bed 
truck. He'd let me drive that old thing. We'd go 
over to Lakehole and all around. I th ink he let a 
lot of kids learn how to drive on that old truck. He was so patient." 

Grandpa often defended the time he spent visiting with other people by telling his 
critics that if a man couldn't sit and visit awhile, life just wasn't worth living. He lived by that 

.•J « 

While we're still talking about Grandpa, here's what Gwen remembers: "Grandpa had 
that old car with the rumble seat in the back 
end, and when he'd leave the sawmill, he'd 
stuff all us kids in the rumble seat and some 
of us up in front and he'd let us take turns 
steering down the lane to Vernon. And I 
don't know if they made their own brew at 
the time or not, but Grandpa used to drink 
homemade brew, and he'd let us drink the 
foam off the top, but he wouldn't let us 
drink the rest of it." 

Grandpa is also remembered as 
sleeping with his socks on, and his shirt, 
too, if Grandma would let him He also 
liked the covers up over his head. 

L to R: Kent, Wayne covered with rich, 

black mud, Bert, Gwen, Dale, part of Allie. 

Red Chevy truck, east end of Main house, 

and ice house behind Dale's head. 

•• •-! 



Most of his children and grandchildren mention Grandpa's love of reading. He had 
only a third grade education, so was a self-educated person. At the mill one day, while he 
was reading a newspaper, someone asked him if he read everything in the paper. He said, 
"Yes, I read everything in here from cover to cover. Why do you buy them if you aren't going 
to read them?" 

Between 1935 and 1937, several 
New Deal benefits became available. In 
1935, the REA (Rural Electrification 
Administration) was established; however, 
it would be a decade before it brought 
electricity to rural Apache County. The 
Social Security Act provided a system of 
old-age annuity and unemployment 
insurance, and the first Social Security 
payment in the U.S. was made in 1937. 

■ r — - 


Grandkids eating watermelon 

In its early years, the Church urged its members to ignore Social Security and, in the 
event help was needed, to get that help from the Bishop. This was all well and good until 
actual cash was needed — the Church gave only commodities. If an elderly person needed 
money to pay the rent or an electricity bill, he or she was out of luck. So, many of these 
people felt better about taking Social Security than they did about taking Church welfare. 

In 1936, Margaret Mitchell's novel, Gone with the Wind, sold 1 million copies in 6 
months. And Benny Goodman (no known relationship) organized one of the first swing 
bands in America. 

In 1938, Grandma celebrated her 60th birthday, and Grandpa was 67. Afvin and 
Bertha were endowed and sealed in the Mesa Temple on March 15; and on June 24, Walter 
was endowed. Two years later, on January 30, 1940, John and Lahoma were endowed and 
sealed, with Walter and Laura being sealed two days later, on February 1. 

Even though the nation was slowly coming out of the Depression, the income at the 
mill must have still been rather marginal; on May 21, 1938 Grandpa filed a Declaration of 
Homestead at the court house in St. Johns. The Declaration read: 

Know all Men by These Presents: 

That I, Wm Goodman, of Vernon, Apache County, State of Arizona, do 
hereby certify that I am a married man and the head of a family- that my family and 


I reside within the State of Arizona; I do hereby declare and claim the exemption 
provided by law upon the following described lands: 

The NE J /4 of Section 7, Twp. 9 North of Range 28 East of the G & S.R.M., 
Arizona, and within the Wolf Mt, Unit #2, and all improvements thereon and 
all appurtenances and fixtures thereto belonging, including One Fairbanks- 
Morse steam engine of 40 HP.; One Henry and Balthoff boiler of 60 H.P.; 
one saw husk complete; one small Curtiss planer; One Curtiss pony edger; one 
Sturtevant sawdust blower; One Curtiss Carriage; one Hall & Brown Planer 
#156; two Hoe & Company Circular saws; 100 feet of 10-inch blower pipe; 
belts & Pulleys; 4 lumber dwelling houses. 

That I do by these presents claim the above described premises and the 
improvements thereon and the appurtenances thereto belonging under and by virtue 
of a permit now in force with the United States Forest Service; that the above- 
described lands are in one compact body, and that the value thereof does not exceed 
the sum of $4,000.00. 

In Witness Whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal this 21st. day of 
May 1938. I si Wm E. Goodman. 

No record can be found that they ever filed for bankruptcy, but this may have been 
a 'just in case" declaration. 

It was about this time that Grandpa and Grandma, already semi-retired from the active 
running of the sawmill, moved to Vernon to a little home owned by Teb Whiting. It was 
located on the same property where Fern's and Chet's home is now located, but the house ran 
east- west with the front door on the south. The structure was a small trailer house with a 
built-on room As a child, Gloria remembers the steps up to the little porch at the front door, 
and the climbing vines; to her, it was an enchanting little place. 

For some time, America had kept out of World War 
II, with a policy of non-intervention and isolation. The 
Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, 
however, brought America and Americans into full 
participation in the war. In the Goodman family, Donald 
enlisted in the Army, Gene enlisted in the Navy, and Walter 
and Laura moved to the West Coast to work in the 
shipyards — both as welders. Laura joined that cadre of 
women known as "Rosie, the Riveter." Rosie starred in a 
World War II poster to encourage women to support the 
war by working in factories. 



Sitting on rock, L to R: Venla, Ludean, Don, Fern holding Sonny 
Standing in front: Idella, Gwen, Arvena 

Grandpa and 1 1 grandkids 

L to R, Back row: Ludean, Arvena bending over, Idella, 

Dale and Don. Middle row: Gloria, Gwen, and Kent. 

Front row: Grant, Wayne, Sonny 

■ ■ 


L to R, Back row: Edward, 
Donald, Jimmy, Gene. Front 
row: Don, Wayne, Alvena 

Walter and Bill 

L to R: Alvin, Grandpa, Lloyd, Bill, Ed 

Bill and Alvin 

Lloyd stayed on at the mill, and, in partnership with Gib Mills, produced mine timbers 
for the copper mines in Globe and elsewhere. For all of the family, better days were dawning. 
The general economy of the nation was improving, and the production needed to provide war 


materials created many well-paying jobs. The war also brought women out of the home and 
in to the factories and shipyards. They bobbed their hair to make it easier to care for, wore 

pants to work, and shortened their skirts. 
Women leaving the home to take up the 
slack caused by the absence of the fighting 
men would have an impact on future family 
life in America undreamed of at that time. 
But, at the time, they just knew there was a 
job to do and wanted to do their part. 

Just before he reported for active 
duty, Donald married Evelyn Rostberg in 
Wickenburg on April 27, 1942. Evelyn 
went to stay with her people in North 
Dakota while Donald was overseas. 

Bill, Don, Beulah, Arvin 

When asked about the effects of the war on their personal, every day Hves, Fern, Chet 
and Beulah indicated that rationing was a nuisance, but overall they were not much affected 
by it. Of course, it was much different and trying for Donald and Evelyn, who were separated 
while Don served in the Army. It was also difficult for Bill and Mary, while Gene served in 

the Navy. 

Cecil Naegle told a cute story about Grandma. When the first church house in Vernon 
was completed in 1942, it was decided to hold stake conference there in conjunction with the 
dedication. Albert Anderson was Stake President, and Clifford E. Young, Assistant to the 
Council of the Twelve Apostles, dedicated the building. It was not the local custom at that 
time to have a rest song between speakers, so on this day, before Elder Young was to give 
the last talk and dedication, it was announced that the congregation would sing a certain song. 
Grandma had been asked to give the closing prayer, so when the song was finished, she 
walked up to the pulpit and gave the closing prayer. Elder Young got up and thanked 
Grandma for the beautiful prayer, but said they had better continue with the dedication. 

Incidentally, it was mentioned earlier that Walter had a shingle mill. Grandpa and his 
sons brought the shingle mill down to Vernon and set it up on the building site of the new 
church. All the shingles for the roof were made right there. 

In the late winter of 1943, Grandpa and Teb Whiting were coming home from St. 
Johns. It had been snowing hard so all the windows were rolled up. When they were about 
three miles from Vernon, Teb said Grandpa started weaving from one side of the road to the 
other. Finally Teb asked him what was the matter. Grandpa replied that he couldn't see. He 
stopped the truck and as he got out, his knees buckled under him and he fell. As Teb got out 
to help Grandpa, he found he could hardly stand up. They realized then that they had been 

-\r*> - 


gassed. Teb knew they needed help quickly, so he drove on to his dad's house (Uncle Charlie 
Whiting). He opened the door and fell on the floor and told his dad that Mr. Goodman 
needed help. 

Singing Mothers of Vernon Ward. L to R, Back row: Mildred 

Naegle, Hannah Goodman, Luella Rothlisberger, Chloe 

Rothlisberger Harris (?). Middle row: Nell Gillespie, Rhet 

Gillespie, Ruth Goodman. Front row: Marvene Gillespie, Georgia 

Austen, Caddy Whiting. 

Grandpa was never well after that, and that may have contributed to his stroke. Fern 
recalls a certain church meeting in February of that year: "I think I had to speak in church 
that day because I happened to be up on the stand. We were standing up singing the last 
song. Papa and Mama were on the first row of chairs, and I saw Papa kinda go over to the 
side, and Mama reached out and got hold of his arm and helped nim steady himself then he 
sat down. As soon as we had the closing prayer, I went down there and asked him what was 
the matter. He said he didn't know, that he just felt dizzy. The rest of the day he just didn't 
act right, but he wouldn't say much. We took him to McNary to the doctor the next morning. 
They said he'd had a stroke, but they didn't think it was very bad, that he'd gradually get 
better. But he didn't, he just gradually got worse, and passed away in May." 

Grandpa died in Vernon on May 26, 1943, and was buried in the Pinedale Cemetery 
with his two children — Frances and Ray — previously buried there. 

Alvin was appointed Administrator of Grandpa's estate. The Inventory and 
Appraisement listed the following property: 


What is known as the "Goodman Sawmill" located southwest of Vernon Arizona, 
consisting of the following: One Boiler, One engine Fairbanks-Morse #35 14, One 60 
inch Circular Saw R. Hoe & Co., One 56 inch Circular saw, Hoe & Co., One Pony 
Edger, One Dixie Saw Mandril, One Sawdust Blower, and other various tools and 

Appraised Value $2,200. 

One four- sided Planer: 

Appraised Value $1,000. 

Our Truly Beloved 

Grandma and Grandpa 

On August 13, 1943, all of Grandpa's estate was assigned to Grandma. In the 
meantime, Grandma had sold the mill to Joe Adams and Lloyd Rhoton. That was done on 
June 17, 1943, for $2,200. Each of the children also signed the Bill of Sale. 


Next, on August 28, Lloyd Rhoton sold his interest to Joe Adams; and then, on 
October 13, Joe Adams sold his interest to A. Louis Petersen and Foch Petersen. 

Grandma, at age 65, apparently using the proceeds of the sale of the mill , bought the 
Clyde Wilhelm house in Vernon. The warranty deed was dated September 7, 1943. She lived 
there until just before her death in 1960, with the granddaughters taking turns staying with 
her at night as she got older. Water was piped into the kitchen, but the house did not have 
a bathroom, so Grandma never lived in a home with a flush toilet or a shower. 

Bill and Mary had given Grandpa and Grandma a little roadster on condition that he 
shave his mustache. After Grandpa's death, Grandma moved back up to the sawmill for the 
summer; she used that little car to go back and forth to Vernon and Pineyon, and occasionally 
to Show Low. Beulah recalls that: 

Mama probably hadn't driven a car much before Papa died, even though they 
had the car that Bill and Mary gave them for the price of Papa's mustache. After his 
death, she'd get in that car and go sputtering down the road. One day she was on her 
way home from Show Low and the engine died by the old railroad tracks. She 
hitched a ride to Pineyon, and Len got her car and fixed it for her. Venla decided to 
go back up to the sawmill with her. Eveiything went okay until they reached the little 
hill just below the mill, and Mama killed the engine. Back down the hill they rolled, 
with Mama stomping on the brakes and reaching for anything that might help slow 
them down. She did manage to keep it on the road until it stopped. Then she was 
able to get it started again, and up the hill they went. Venla was glad to finally see the 

On October 26, 1943, Fern and Chet were endowed and sealed in the Mesa Temple. 

In May 1945, President Heber J. Grant died after serving as President of the Church 
for 27 years. George Albert Smith was sustained as the 8th president of the Church. 

September 2, 1945 was a great day around the world as Japan formally surrendered. 
Germany had surrendered four months earlier. The soldiers were now free to return to their 
homes. After his discharge, Donald and Evelyn dropped by Vernon for a visit before 
returning to a job he had in Phoenix. They never left the Vernon area. Gene, in the Navy, 
had to serve another year after the war ended before his enlistment was completed. 

Walter did not return to Arizona after the shipyards closed down. He and Laura were 
divorced, and he married Geraldine (Jerry) Scruggs. They settled in Dallas, Texas, and had 
a family of eleven children — ten girls and one son. 

When FDR suddenly and unexpectedly died in April 1945, Harry Truman became 
President. He was re-elected in 1948 in a race not even his friends thought he could win. 


In 1950, popular radio shows were The Lone Ranger, Jack Armstrong, The All 
American Boy, Stella Dallis, Dragnet and You Bet Your Life. Also, in July 1950, President 
Truman sent troops to Korea to help protect South Korea from a Communist take-over by 
North Korea. This war provided excellent material for the popular television show, 
M*A *S*H, for the next four decades. A number of Grandpa's and Grandma's grandsons 
served in the Korean Police Action. 

Grandma continued faithful in her church attendance; she felt it was a blessing to be 
able to attend meetings regularly. She was an avid genealogist, and used most of her meager 
Social Security check to hire researchers; in those days, that was about the only way to get 
any information. (Regional family history centers would come later.) She left her testimony 
and copies of some of these letters. She also continued to bake cookies for the grandkids 
as they dropped by. 

The popular new TV program in 195 1 was / Love Lucy with Lucille Ball and Desi 
Arnaz. And CBS began commercial color tv programs. 

President George Albert Smith died on April 4, 195 1 after a short presidency of only 
six years, and David O. McKay was sustained as the 9th President of the Church. The 
Primary Children's Hospital was dedicated in Salt Lake City. Several members of our family 
have been treated in this facility: 

Lloyd's son, Tevis 

Arvin's grandson, Roy 

Fern's great-granddaughter, Alysa 

In 1952, Dwight D. Eisenhower, the hero of World War II, was elected President, 
with Richard M. Nixon as Vice-President, on the Republican ticket. Also in this year, the first 
U.S. atomic submarine, the Nautilus, was dedicated, and nuclear power became the wave of 
the future. 

On May 28, 1953, Bill and Mary were endowed and sealed in the Mesa Temple. 
Later in that year, clerks at McDonalds began flipping hamburgers and those Golden Arches 
would become a familiar sight all over the world. 

In the elections of 1956, Eisenhower and Nixon were re-elected, and Congress 
increased the minimum wage from 750 to $1 per hour. American Express introduced credit 
cards in 1958; 500,000 were in use by the end of the year. The age of plastic money had 

In 1959, after almost 50 years of having only 48 stars on the flag, Alaska and Hawaii 
were admitted as states to the Union. Also, the Barbie doll was introduced, and the hula 
hoop was the new rage. 



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In 1959, Grandma sold the Vernon property to Bill and Mary. She had begun to 
spend time staying with various children. In the winter, she expressed a desire to move to 
Mesa and live with Aunt Annie and Uncle Eph, her sister and brother, so she could attend the 
temple with Aunt Annie. But her health did not permit this, and she passed away on January 


26, 1960, at age 81. Her funeral was held in Show Low and she was buried in the Pinedale 
Cemetery with Grandpa, Frances, Ray, and Aunt Julia (great-grandfather Edward's wife). 

Nearly two years after Grandma's death, Beulah and Len were endowed and sealed 
in the Mesa Temple. That was on November 22, 1961. 

Perhaps a fitting close to this chapter would be a tribute Lloyd composed to his 
beloved mother, and our grandmother. 


I was sitting in the therapy room in Dr. Always office at 1313 North 2nd, 
when a nurse in a neat, crisp uniform came in, and handing me a slip of paper said, 
"Mr. Goodman, will you call this number a soon as possible." The therapist said, 
"Use the phone in my office." Quickly I dialed the number. A quivering voice asked, 


'Your mother just passed away!" 

It struck like a bombshell, everything blank, the spinning room collided with 
my reeling senses. I mumbled something inaudible to the therapist about Mother, and 
he said that I might go. Dazedly, I left the building. Insensible, we threaded our way 
through the heavy traffic to Mesa where the rest of the children were gathered, sitting 
quietly as if in a trance. 

There were many decisions to make but no one seemed to be able to think 
clearly, the silence was broken by someone suggesting we go to the mortuary. There 
were funeral arrangements to be made, casket to pick out, relatives to call; tasks that 
at the moment seemed innumerable. 

Somehow I found myself in the mortuary, answering questions to the 
mortician, wandering aimlessly among the caskets. All the while telling myself trying 
to convince myself that it wasn't Mother — it just couldn't be! It was beyond the pale 
of realization — but what was I doing here if it wasn't? 

As we started to leave, the mortician asked if we would like to see her before 
she was fixed up. He led us in to where she was lying on the bier. She looked so 
angelic lying there with snow white hair adorning a seemingly sleeping face, but to me 
it was a halo, a crown encircling her head, and she was a Queen among Queens. 

I looked closer, at her finely chiseled features, a touch of grey in the lashes, 
the lines in her face; each one representing some deed, a daily task, a sacrifice made 
in my behalf Suddenly they were pointing an accusing finger at me! I drooped my 
head, reliving my life in the next few minutes, because I knew the reason why. 

I saw her young and strong; and me with chubby fists clenched tight around 
her out- stretched fingers, teaching my wobbly legs to walk. I saw her kneeling at my 
bedside teaching my infant lips to pray. I awoke at night from some horrible 


nightmare to find myself held tightly in her arms, petting me and reassuring me 
everything was alright. The nights she sat up when sickness came. The lonely vigils 
she must have spent caring for me. The hurts from bumped heads and bruised shins 
kissed away. It didn't make any difference how many dishes there were to do, how 
many clothes to wash and iron, buttons to sew on, rips to mend, there was always 
time to bind up a cut and bleeding finger or bandage a skinned toe. The hours she 
spent in my youth teaching me, as I grew up, to be the kind of man I'm sure the Lord 
intended me to be. 

Then the panorama changed. I was strong and she, after years of strife and 
toil, had become weak and feeble, but when she needed me most I wasn't there. I'll 
never realize the hours of pain and suffering she must have endured alone, the nights 
she hated to face — nights that turned into eternities, too sick and weak to get up for 
a glass of water to cool her parched lips. I wasn't there to lay my hand on her fevered 
brow and reassure her everything would be alright, and trying to make her 
comfortable. I wasn't there to gently put my arms around her shoulders, shoulders 
that were sagging under the weight of many yesterdays, or to guide her faltering steps 
to the emergency room 

It was I who was sleeping peacefully, while she, with her face enshrouded in 
an oxygen mask, lay fighting for the tiny spark of life that was left. Only those angels 
of mercy, the nurses in their neat, crisp uniforms, hovered hopefully and helpfully 

I reached out for the last time and laid my hand on her once fevered brow, 
now cold, with no hope for recalescence. I stood there with a prayer in my heart, 
petitioning God in her behah; and murmuring, "Mother, forgive me, forgive me." 

Maybe it was just an optical illusion, maybe because I was looking through 
tear-dimmed eyes, trying to hold taut those quivering lips that were trying to choke 
back a heart-breaking sob. But that thin hand seemed to tremble as if to reach out 
with that reassuring pat, those once red lips seemed to part and say, "It's quite alright, 
Son. I forgive." 




Our Truly Beloved Grandmother 

Hannah Goodman 
Show Low Rites. 
In Church Sar? 

SHOW LOW — <t*anedfe %p f- 

vices for Mm. Hannah "}&.*!&otfdb* 
man, $2, will be at 11 *je^ t|§iur- 
day in the Show Low fMMl : p 
Church of Jesus <air*st of 1fc*|tt*ir- 
day Saints. * . ^. 

Mrs. Goodman, a native of 
Bountiful, Utah, died yesterday ixl 
Mesa Southside District Hoy£ital. 
A resident of the $ho,w Law area 
80 years, she ha<f been arc a«&v% 
member of the LDS Church all 
her Hfe. . '\ i ?*$ % 'j9't% V, 

Sh$ is survived by she son£, Wil- 
liam E and Donald B., both of 
Vernon; AJvin E., Show Low; 
Walter T„ /Dallas, Ttx,.; Jol»vM„ 
Woodruff; and Lloyd E.. "King- 
man; two daughters. M*St*Anna 
Penrod, Show Low, and Mrs. 
Beulah Penrod, Vernon; two "bro- 
thers, two sisters, 53 * graridchiid- 
ren, 57 grreat-gT»iMiqhiWreav and 
four great-gre«t<>«randclhhtren. 
Burial will T* in Pl&*l»Je # ; 

Hannah Goodman 
funeral Services 

FNin*r»i services were held in 
the Show Low Second Ward 
pei at 11 a.m. on January 30 
Hannah McNeil Goodman. She 
born FebAtary 18, 187S at 
Bountiful, Utah, and passed away 
January 26. 1960 in Mesa, Ari- 
TSR&. Bishop Elbert Lewis offici- 
ated at the services. The Ward 
Choir sang "I Know "Hiat My 
Redeemer Uvea," the Invocation 
by Ocil Neagle. followed by a 
Biography by Gilber Mills. Mit- 
fchau Bushman and Elizabeth 
Nlkalaus sang a duet "Shall We 
Meet." The first speaker was 
Bryant Whiting. 'Whispering 
Hope" was sung by Milton Gilles- 
pie and Maxine Frost after which 
the next speaker was Bishop 
iT^ewts. Tb* choir sang "Sometime 
We*}l Understand" and Benedic- 
tion followed by Ray Webb. 

The Pail Bearers were John 

Goodman, Donovan Goodman, Eu- 

jgene Penrod, Joe Goodman. Eu- 

*'F«ne • Goodman, Dale Goodman. 

Floyd Penrod and Ray Goodman. 

Burial followed at the Pinedale 

jCeTnetery, the Dedication was 

, given by James L. Goodman, 

Mr*. Goodman i s survived b v 
ajgfet living children, Bill Arvin, 
Walter, Donald, John, Lloyd, Mrs 
Penrod and Be\ilah Penrod. 
was also survived by 53 
efcOdren, 5 7 great grand 
and 4 great great grand 




FEB. IB, 1878 




SERVICES 11 OO A.M. JAN. 30. I960 



















H I 




Goodman children 
Fern, John, Walter, Bill, Alvin, Beulah, Donald, Lloyd 




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4 - - 

Chapter 7 
Frances Ellen Goodman Crandell 

Frances was born on November 22, 1897 — the first child of William and Hannah 
Goodman. She was named Frances after her grandmother, Frances Amelia Church Goodman, 
and Ellen after her father's sister. 

Grandpa and Grandma were living with Grandpa's father and step-mother (Edward 
and Julia Goodman) in Linden at the time of her birth. We can only imagine the joy which 
the birth of this beautiful daughter brought to her parents, especially Grandpa, who had been 
deprived of the love and affection of his own mother. He was undoubtedly a very permissive 
and loving dad. 

Frances would have seven brothers before another girl, Fern, was born; Beulah was 
only a few months old when Frances married Horace. Frances seemed more like a second 
mother than a sister to these young girls. 

By the time she was old enough to start school, the family was living in Pinetop, 
where Grandpa ran a sawmill. She attended school in Fort Apache, Cibecue, Pinedale, and, 
finally, in Clay Springs (Walker School). She graduated from the eighth grade; Beth has her 
diploma. She and Bill also attended a year of high school at the Snowflake Academy. 

Frances and Donald were baptized in Pinedale on the same day — August 1, 1914, at 
ages 16 and 8 — by W. R. Brewer. 

Frances fell in love with Horace Crandell. They were married at Walker on October 
5, 1917; this could indicate they were married at the family home on the homestead near Clay 
Springs. She was 19 and he was 23. 

Even though Europe had been embroiled in a war since 1914, the United States did 
not enter World War I until April 6, 1917. The Selective Service Act was passed in May of 
that year, and eventually about 4 milli on Americans entered the armed services, half of them 
being sent overseas. 1 The estimated number of American casualties was 125,000. 

Within just a few months of their marriage, Horace was drafted to serve in the Army, 
leaving Frances, expecting their first baby, to live with her parents in Clay Springs. 

The separation for these two during that time was difficult. Horace left for the service 
May 26, 1918. Beth has some of the letters they wrote to each other, and has extracted some 
of the interesting thoughts they exchanged. 

1 Encyclopedia International: Grolier Press, New York, 1963, pp. 472- 



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In one of his first letters home, Horace told Frances about the temptations which were 
present but affirmed that if he couldn't come home to her as clean and pure as he was when 
he left, he wouldn't be home at all. 

June 19, 1918. Frances to Horace. "Sweetheart, when temptation comes, remember 
the one you left at home, who loves you and will always love you, is praying every day that 
you will be strong enough, with the help of the Lord, to overcome all temptations. Also 
remember the little one that will soon come to us. Besides, doesn't your patriarchal blessing 
tell you, 'if you continue to be humble and prayerful that you will be enabled to escape all 
snares and temptations that are laid at your feet and that you will be an honored father in 
IsraeL' I have no doubt but that you will be strong enough to overcome all temptations and 
I know that some day you will be coming back to me as true and pure as you were when you 

June 20, 1918, Frances wrote to Horace that the family went to church in Clay 
Springs, and as there were only three men present, Brother Perkins called on the women to 
do the preaching. She said that Grandma had to talk, but she hadn't. She also told Horace 
that her feet were swollen so badly, probably because of her advancing pregnancy, that she 
was wearing Alvin's shoes. It tells something of the crowded situation in the family home 
when she mentioned that if there was room, she would like a soft bed to lay her tired body 
on. In a return letter from Horace, he said he was going to see if his father would go to 
Snowflake and get a cot from Uncle Rufus Crandell for her to use, since it folded up and 
wouldn't take up too much room 

June 30, 1918, Horace to Frances. "It was one year ago tonight that I decided to try 
to get you to be my wife." For some reason he had to wait until the 4th of July before he 
could see her. He said he could hardly wait, and that he had been afraid she'd say "no." 
Apparently Frances had asked him in an earlier letter about her joining the Red Cross. He 
told her it was absolutely against his will, that the war might be over at any time and he 
wanted her home when he got there. 

On Jury 26, Frances wrote that she hadn't been feeling very well, and had been having 
pains for two days. She didn't have all the sewing done for the baby's arrival, but she could 
only sit at the sewing machine for a little while at a time. She had just got some material for 
two quilts and she was going to make them in the next week. 

As they were living on the dry farm at Clay Springs, it was hard to raise many 
vegetables, but Frances was hungry for something fresh. Grandma brought in a few radishes 
for her, and she wrote how good they tasted; that there were two tomatoes on the vine, but 
they were only as big as hens' eggs so she'd have to wait awhile. She mentioned to Horace 
that Lawrence Peterson hadn't passed his physical for the Army, he was too lightweight. 
When she told Grandpa that Horace was three pounds too light when he took his physical. 
Grandpa remarked that Horace was built more in proportion and that he wasn't split two- 


thirds of the way up like Lawrence was. She also mentioned that Mr. Fillerup, the county 
farm agent, had come to look at the crops. 

In her July 3 1 letter, Frances indicated that she had sent Horace a cake earlier and 
wanted to send him another, but they hadn't had any sugar for two weeks. Grandpa had gone 
to Pinedale, Linden, and to Hancock's store and couldn't get any. The stores had no idea 
when they would be receiving any. It was also impossible to get anything at those stores. 
Peas and com were 20 cents a can, and salmon was 35 cents at Levi's and Hancock's stores. 
And, further, that some of the kids were sick and Grandma sent one of the older boys after 
some caster oil, and that a two ounce bottle was 25 cents. 

Apparently, Horace's father hadn't been able to get to Snowflake to get the cot from 
his Uncle Rums, so Grandpa and Grandma decided to go there to buy groceries and to bring 
the bed back. Frances also mentioned that she was making the new baby some nainsook 
dresses and all she had to trim them with was to crochet the trim on them So she made a 
couple and crocheted yokes for them 

Her August 1 letter concerns money. It appears that Horace had a fence contract 
when he was drafted and he had put Ed Brewer in charge to finish it. Apparently Ed wasn't 
getting it done, so Grandpa Goodman wanted Horace to give him authority to take over the 
contract so he could finish the fence and provide Frances with a little money. 

In her August 7 letter, Frances writes that she was making a baby quilt, but she 
couldn't finish it that day because her hips and legs hurt so bad. It seems she hadn't been very 
well for some time. (Horace later commented that she must have had rheumatism or maybe 
rheumatic fever and that they just didn't know what it was at that time.) 

*• J. 

All this time Horace had been trying to get a furlough so he could be home when the 
baby was born, but it was denied. He told Frances when she started in labor to send a 
telegram and say that she was dangerously ill, then they might let him have a furlough. 
Apparently that didn't work either, so when Beth did arrive, he went AWOL for a few days 
to see her. He was afraid if he didn't, he might never see her. He went to Holbrook and then 
walked to Clay Springs, where he stayed a day and one night. He then walked back to 
Holbrook and got on the train to return to his unit. Something went wrong with the train or 
the track and there was a lay-over in New Mexico. When he finally arrived back at the base, 
his unit was getting on the train to go to New York to be sent overseas. As punishment, he 
was confined to the train for the trip and for several days after they arrived at Camp Upton 
in New York. 

Horace wrote on the 26th of August and told Frances to take care of herself and to 
get well He also told her he had signed papers so she would get a $5 allotment for Beth, and 
that the Government would match it. . 


Apparently Horace went "across" in September. 

November 29, 1918, Frances wrote that they had enjoyed a white Thanksgiving. 
Grandpa had killed two pigs and was going to cut them up the next day, but it was so cold 
they were frozen solid. She was trying to crochet, but it was hard to do with Beth in her 
arms. In fact, she and Grandma hadn't done much but sit by the heater and tend Beulah and 
Beth and try to keep warm; and that Donald had stayed in bed all day because it was too cold 
to get up. She told Horace that when he got home to build them a house, she didn't want a 
north kitchen. (Beth recalls that the house where they later lived in Clay Springs when her 
mother got sick did have a north kitchen.) Seemingly, Frances read to the family quite often 
in the evenings. At that time she was reading Rolf in the Woods. When she finished reading, 
Grandpa read the newspaper. 



Frances and Baby Beth 

Horace Crandell 

In her December 8 letter, Frances mentioned a well-known quirk of Grandpa's. 
Grandma and Grandpa walked from their place over to see the Jacksons. When they came 
out of the Jackson's house, Grandpa was turned around. Grandma said she didn't know 
where he might have gone if she hadn't been with him. The whole family got a big bang out 
of his getting lost on his own ranch where he had lived for seven years. At four months, Beth 
was getting so cute and playing with everything, and that she was so fat, her arms and legs 
were hard. Frances also said that if the rain quit, she was going to walk over and visit with 
Edna Jackson the next day (a girl about her own age). 


Even though Horace did go overseas, he probably did not remain there long as the 
armistice was signed on November 11, 1918; he was probably home for Christmas. 

In a letter from Ellen Goodman Pennell, Grandpa's sister, written February 16, 1919, 
she wrote how pleased she was that Horace had gone through the war and was at home again. 
She also commented on Frances's position as eldest child. "You have been such a little 
mother to your mother's children, I suppose it was perfectly easy for you to care for a baby 
of your own. How I would like to see all of you again." She was delighted that the family 
had a War Baby (Beth) of their own that she could brag about. 

Frances first registered to vote in 1920. She declared that she was a housewife and 
a Democrat, that she was 5 feet, 4 inches tall and weighed 119 pounds. The same records 
indicate that Horace did not register until 1922. He wrote down that he was a Republican, 
6 feet tall, and weighed 155 pounds. 

The family moved to Pinedale when they were reunited. Reece was born there on 
April 26, 1920, and Rose on December 5, 1921. 

Frances and Horace were both active in the Church. Even before their marriage, on 
May 27, 1917, Horace spoke in a Sacrament Meeting of the Walker Pastorate. The ward 
clerk recorded, "Horace Crandell spoke of his religious talks with people not of our faith. 
Translation of the Book of Mormon; stick of Judah and of Ephraim." 2 

In the Pinedale Ward record of officers as of December 31, 1919, Frances Goodman 
Crandell is listed as First Counselor in the Young Ladies Mutual Improvement Association; 
Horace as First Assistant to the Young Mens Mutual Improvement Association, and as 
chorister of the ward choir. 

Back in Clay Springs in the summer of 1921, Horace gave the Sacrament thought, and 
led the singing practice. Beth wrote, "After Daddy got out of the service, they homesteaded 
160 acres north of Clay Springs. I remember when we lived there. I don't remember when 
Daddy moved the house to town, but I remember when we lived in it." 

There seems to be a lot of movement between Pinedale and Clay Springs for this little 
family. The Pinedale Ward sent their membership records to Clay Springs in 1924. 

Under the Clay Spring Ward records, under "Records of Members Removed," the 
clerk entered the fact that Frances died on December 6, 1925 following an operation for a 
tumor. The death certificate indicates she had been under the care of a doctor at the St. 

2 Church Historian's Office Film LR-1759#1, Series 11. 





Mary's Hospital in Gallup from December 2 to December 6, and that death came at 8:00 pm 
The cause of death listed on the certificate was "acute nephritis." 3 

Nephritis is simply the inflammation of the kidneys, and can be acute or chronic. 
Medical books indicate that nephritis is usually preceded by a strep infection elsewhere in the 
body, and can be successfully treated by penicillin or other antibiotics. The only problem for 
Frances was that at the time of her death, sulfa was the only known drug; penicillin would not 
be discovered until 1929 by Alexander Fleming. 

The symptoms of nephritis may be mild or severe, and include headache, loss of 
appetite, nausea, and fever. The eyes and face may look puffy, and the ankles and other parts 
of the body may be swollen with accumulated fluid. 4 

Frances was buried in the Pinedale Cemetery beside her younger brother, Ray. She 
was dearly beloved by all who knew her. A neighbor, James Petersen, wrote the following 
poem and dedicated it to her memory. 


Flowers of fair and fragrant hues 

Gladden the heart and the wide world thru 

And grow with care in rich profusion. 

But the rare and delicate kind 

That fill the soul with love divine 

Often in some ravine we find 
In the mountain's wild seclusion. 

And, as upon life's rugged trail, 

In some obscure and frontier vale, 
The sweetest spirit has often grown, 

Struggling with the stubborn wild 

By decaying pleasures unbeguiled, 

But yielding with a pleasant smile 
Passes unapplauded and unknown. 5 

3 Frances' death certificate describes the cause of death: "Acute Nephritis. Abdominal section 
tender, ether anaesthesia for retroverted uterus." I spoke to a medical doctor friend and he said it 
sounds like she died of kidney failure caused by a massive infection following an operation for a 
tumor or an abscess in her uterus. 

4 Benjamin E. Miller, M.D., Family Health Guide, Readers Digest, New York, 1976, p. 495. 

5 Petersen, Sixty Years in the Saddle 



Beth has written about her memories 
of her mother. 

I remember when we lived on the 
ranch below Clay Springs. One time Daddy 
was gone, and Mamma had to go to town 
after water. One of the horses just wouldn't 
let Mamma catch her until Mamma was give 
out from chasing it, then it stopped and let 
Mamma walk right up to it. I can't 
remember if was Jip or Daisy. 

After we moved up to town, I 
remember Uncle Donald coming to see us 
and laying on the bed with us kids whistling 
down in his throat while he fanned his face 
with his hat. Jack Smith came with him. 

Frances' hair was cut before they left for 
Gallup. Her crocheted purse 

We had the only washer in town. It 
had a wooden tub and was run by pulling a 
handle back and forth with your hand and 

foot. Aunt Beulah also remembers it. She said Daddy gave it to Grandma Goodman after 
Mamma got sick and she was taking care of us kids. I remember Mamma sitting on the 
comer of the table running it. Thinking back, I'm sure it was after she got to sick she couldn't 

I remember we would have company in the evenings and Mamma standing behind 
Daddy's chair with her arms around his neck while he played the violin. Daddy taught me to 
make Boston Cream candy for them 

One time I asked Mamma if we could go play, but she said, "No." I waited until I 
could hear her in the house singing and washing dishes, and I took Reece and Rose by the 
hand and away we went to play Indians. We all got seated in our little tepee, around a little 
fire, and the door went dark. I looked up and there was Mamma with a willow, and I got my 
legs switched every step of the way home. I don't remember if I was put to bed or not, but 
that was usually part of my punishment. 

One day she put me to bed for going too close to a flooded wash. She had told me 
not to, but I got my hands dirty, and being a girl I had to wash them The running water 
made me dizzy, and I fell in. I would have been long gone, but Reece had a rope around my 
waist playing like I was his horse. He and my cousin pulled me out. We were living in 
Standard at that time. 




Reese and Beth with Rose in front 

.. ^,,.../.._ 






Rose, Reese and Beth 


After Mamma got so sick that she couldn't go to church with us, she usually had 
dinner ready. She usually had vinegar dumplings. I can still see how round they were and 
how neatly they were placed in the pan. 

In the spring when there was a warm rain, she would go for a walk. She loved to 
walk in the rain. 

For the Fourth of Jury before she died, Mamma bought some pink, blue, and lavender 
cloth. It was cotton with a rayon thread running through it to form half inch squares. She 
made us all dresses. Mine was pink. The night before the celebration, I could hear the rodeo 
cattle bawling, and I was so excited. Mamma had her dress and Rose's done. I just knew 
mine wouldn't be ready the next day, but it was. I guess she stayed up part of the night to 
finish it. 

Mamma always went with Daddy to play for the dances, and I nearly always got to 
go. I felt so big. One night the moon was shining and I thought it made me look like I was 
all dressed in white. It was a real special feeling to think I was all in white. 


I remember when Grandma and Grandpa moved from Linden to the sawmill above 
Vernon. We went up to see them one day, and Uncle John knew we were coming. He 
walked out toward McNary to meet us, and hid behind a big pine tree until we drove by. 
Then he jumped out and scared us kids. 

Daddy took Mamma to the hospital the last of November. I remember Grandma and 
Grandpa came and got us in a big truck. I remember them standing with their arms around 
each other as we drove away in the truck. I'm sure they told us what was happening, but I 
don't remember. We were just excited to be going with Grandma and Grandpa. 

Mamma passed away the 6th of December, 1925, one day after Rose's 4th birthday. 
I was 7, and Reece was almost 5. We stayed with our Goodman grandparents the rest of the 
winter. Daddy told Grandma to have my pretty long hair cut. Mamma always kept it in 
ringlets, but Grandma didn't have time to do it with all she had to do. Uncle John sat me in 
the door facing east, put something around me and proceeded to cut my hair. I will never 
forget the knot in my throat; it was so big it hurt and I couldn't swallow it, but I don't think 
I cried. 

Uncle John turned 19 that spring. We kids chased him all day trying to catch him so 
we could spank him. He would almost let us catch him, then he would run and jump the 
fence. By the time we crawled under, he was gone. 

One night we were all sitting around the heater when something went "POP" and 
liquid started running down the stove pipe. Uncle John was making corn liquor and had it 
stored in the ceiling. 

When I was 14, 1 again went up and stayed awhile with Grandma and Grandpa. After 
Daddy married again, we didn't get to do much with either side of the family. I always felt 

Anyway, the summer I did stay up there, I enjoyed it. Uncle Walter was doing chores 
for the Naegles. He had a motorcycle with a side car on it, and he took Aunt Beulah and me 
up there with him We were going down the road and the side car came off and left us sitting 
in the middle of the road. 

I don't remember this, but Aunt Beulah told me that Uncle Walter was just getting 
over a broken leg. It had been raining and was muddy and he was having trouble getting 
around, so I told him Td milk the cow. I took the bucket and started milking with both hands 
when she kicked me over and almost buried me in the mucky corral. 

All I remember about Uncle Lloyd is what a tease he was. He threw water from the 
spring on us where we were asleep and, man, it was cold. Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Ruth had 
the cutest nicknames for each other. He called her "Button," and she called him "Two Bits." 


I don't remember much about Aunt Fern, only the day she ran away to get married. 
Grandma and Grandpa usually went to the outdoor toilet to talk over their problems. The 
way I remember it, that's where they were when Aunt Fern left. Aunt Beulah went to the 
bedroom and came back to tell Grandma that Fern's clothes were all gone. 

We used to have tea parties. We would cut Fleishman's Yeast in squares for cake and 
dissolve it in water for tea. 

After we were married, John 
and I went to Vernon for Vernon 
Day. They were having a rodeo. 
Grandpa was drinking beer, and 
everything that came out of the 
chute, Grandpa would holler, 'Let 
Bud Butler have it, he can ride it.' 
Grandma got so embarrassed, she 
went and got him and was going to 
make him take her home, but just as 
they got to the truck, he pulled 
away from her and got in the judge's 
stand where she couldn't get him. 

Aunt Beulah came down to 

see us one day. I looked out the 

window to see who it was. I told 

John it was Aunt Beulah, but I 

didn't know who the man was. It 

was Grandpa, but he had shaved his 

mustache off. He sure looked funny — all top Up. I guess the story behind it was Uncle Bill 

and Aunt Mary had a car they told him he could have, but he had to shave his mustache off 


Rose, Horace, Beth, Reese 

Our mother passed away in 1925. It doesn't seem quite fair, but who are we to judge. 
I have often wondered what mission she had more important than raising her family, but we 
aren't the only children left without a mother. I often wonder how much different our lives 
would have been." 

Frances's endowment was given by proxy, and she was sealed to Horace and the 
children on December 28, 1928, and then sealed to her parents in 1932. 

Horace was the Old Time Fiddlers Champion in Arizona for several years, and played 
at many Goodman reunions. His second wife, Linda, died in 1968. Then, when he was 78, 


he met and married Norma Shupe Clarkson. They 
were very happy for 17 years. Everyone 
commented that Norma was so much like Frances. 

Old Time Fiddlers Champion 


Rose, Reese, Horace, Beth 

... ... . . 


Frances Beth Crandell Perkins 

I was born August 11, 1918 in Walker, now Clay Springs, on the old Goodman ranch. 
Mamma was living with her parents while my Dad was in the service. John Perkins and I 
were married October 5, 1934, in the Arizona Temple — the same day my parents would have 
been married 17 years. 

We have been happily married for 59 years. We had 9 children and raised them all to 
maturity. Our oldest son passed away at the age of 28, just as my mother did, and left 3 
children, the same ages as hers. I had them for 13 years. We have 53 grandchildren (another 
on the way), and 47 great-grandchildren (with 2 on the way), for a total of 100. The Lord 
told us to multiply and replenish the earth, but not for John and Beth Perkins to do it all. 

I am the oldest grandchild on both sides of the family, and the oldest living Crandell 
on our line. 

I went to school the first year and a half in Clay Springs. Laura Hunt was my teacher. 
The last half of the second year, I went in Vernon, and Mrs. Cardon was my teacher. My 
third year in Pinedale, Gilmor Jackson was my teacher. We were living with Daddy's sister, 
Etta Rogers, and those were the happiest years I can remember after Mamma died. My fifth 
grade was in Airpine, sixth grade in Snowflake with Mrs. Hill. Then back to Clay Springs for 
seventh and eighth grades, with Brown Capps as teacher. My graduating class included 
Gerald Pace and myself. We had lots of fun. Mr. Capps played the saxaphone and his wife 
played the piano for our school dances. 

I remember for years what a rough time I had going to Church on Mother's Day, 
seeing all the girls there with their mothers. 


John and Beth Perkins family: L to R, Back row: Keith, Roy, Curt. Middle row: 
Wendell, Shauana, Joan. Front row: John with Sanza, Clella, Beth, and Frances 



John and Beth' s 50th Wedding Anniversary 
Wendell, Frances, Joan, Sanza, Clella, Roy 

Jim and Bobbie Mendell family 



Clinton and Frances Kartchner 

Monte and Sherylee 

Kartchner, with Brad, Brett, 

and Karson 

Trent and Lucy Kartchner i 
and Cameron 


,*. * 


John Curtis Perkins EI 


Grandson Curtis 

Granddaughter Dianne 



Curt's son: John and Craig 


John' children, L to R: Paige, Paighton, Janelle 


Craig' children: Christopher and Rigle 

Boyd and Joan Gardner, and C.J. 



Tommy and Connie Richards 
Mary Beth, Sara, Amy 



Amy, 1992 

Sara, 1992 


Mary, 1992 

William Ezra, 1992 


■■ «i » 

Clint and Marsha Gardner family 
Arinda, Russell, Tyler, and Baby Megan 



Shanna's wedding. L to R: Kevin, Curt, Kerry Ray, Kerry, 
Shanna, Shauana, Jennie, Lorna, Cassie 

-. -r- 


Shauana's daughter, Jennie and Frank 




Roy and Nadean Perkins family 

Wendell and Barbara Perkins 
Stephanie and Daylan 


Stephanie's daughter, Korey 



Mamie, 1984 

Mamie's children: 
Meghan and Brandon 


Stacey and Jolene Perkins 

Shasta, 1989 



T - 


Keith and Jackie Perkins 

Keith's children, 
Standing: A. J., Keith. 
Sitting: Norman, Mandi, Curtis 


Lee and Clella Sinclair, 
with Shannon and Rebecca 



Horace Reece Crandell 

(Written by Beth Crandell Perkins) 

(Reece is also spelled Reese at times) 

After Sunday School one day, Reece told Mamma that he wasn't going to Sunday 
School any more. She asked him why not, and he said they lied there. Mamma tried to tell 
him they didn't, but he said, "They said there was a pup up in the sky and I looked and there 
wasn't." (They had been singing "Up, up in the sky, the little birds fly; down, down in their 
nests, the little birds rest.") 

He married Penelope (Penny) Schwab, and they had one son, Ronald Reece. After 
their divorce, Reece wasn't around Arizona much. He worked for the Government putting 
in roads and power lines in Africa, using heavy equipment. He said if the killer bees came by, 
you sat in front of the cat in the wind of the fan. He worked for the State Highway in 
California and had a boat repair service. He worked in Saudi Arabia in the gas fields. He 
often told us what a difference there was between pure gas and what we use. He finally 

settled in the Philippines. 

Reece passed away November 26, 1992 in the Philippines. He requested that his 
remains be cremated and his ashes thrown in the ocean. 



Gladia Rose Crandell Turner 

I was bom on a cold, snowy morning about 5:00 am on December 5, 1921, the third 
child to Horace Crandell and Frances Ellen Goodman Crandell in Pinedale, Navajo County, 
Arizona. My recollections seem few, but for one so young, I suppose they are as many as one 
could expect. 

I remember my mother and I walking from where we lived in Clay Springs over to 
Sister Amanda Brewer's. I had not been feeling well, and began to break out with small 
blisters. Sister Brewer said I was breaking out with chicken pox. 

On the way home, we found a bird egg in a nest. I asked her to take it home and cook 
it for me, but don't remember if she did or not. 

I remember being outside with her while she washed the clothes on the wash board. 
I was stung by red ants and remember her putting blueing on them 

It was around the time Uncle Donald came to visit us. 


I remember Beth having a dream that Reece was lost. We were all looking for him 
She looked in the well and saw his blue cap floating on the water. She woke us all up crying. 

The last Christmas my mother was with us, she made corn meal mush for supper. 
How excited we were because Santa was coming. 

It must have been the next summer we went to Vemon to visit Mother's folks. I 
remember going wading in the water that came from under a huge rock and ran down by the 
mill. It — the water — was so cold. 

Grandma and Grandpa came to get us three children to take us to Vernon while 
Daddy took Mother to Gallup, New Mexico, to be operated on for a tumor. It was there I 
celebrated my fourth birthday. The next day, December 6, 1925, Grandpa Goodman came 
home and told us our Mother had died. I don't know if I really knew what had happened, but 
when we got to Pinedale and she was lying in her casket, I'm sure I knew. 

At her funeral, I remember Belle Brewer singing, Count Your Many Blessings, and 
poor Daddy sitting so still and white with three little kids to care for — Beth 7, Reece 5, and 
myself 4. 

I remember taking a broken sugar bowl Beth was playing house with and running 
away with her chasing me, resulting in my falling down and cutting my head. I still have the 

:. < 


We stayed a few months in Vernon with Grandma and Grandpa Goodman. Then went 
to Pinedale and stayed probably 2 years with Grandma and Grandpa Crandell. Then to 
Linden for a year with Aunt Etta and Uncle Bill Rogers. Then in 1928, Dad married Melinda 
Cheney ("Aunt" Linda) and we moved to Airpine where Dad had his sawmill. We had about 
five miles to go to school. Aunt Linda would drive the three of us and Uncle George's four 
children in a Model "A" car Daddy had. 


The next school term we spent in Snowflake. Uncle Rums Crandell had built a new 
house and we spent the winter in his old one. Daddy stayed in Airpine and came to see us on 
weekends or when the weather was bad and he couldn't work. That was my first knowledge 
of an inside bathroom On occasion, Aunt La Verne would ask Aunt Linda to bring us over 
to use the bath tub. How nice it was. 

Next spring we went back to Airpine for the summer and in the fall went to Clay 
Springs. Dad had started a house for us there, but didn't have it finished so we rented a house 
from Bea Smith where we lived until spring. We moved into the new house only shortly 
before Hope was born on June 8, 1933. 

Daddy, in those days, was a jack-of-all trades. He owned and ran the sawmill, was 
town barber, farmed, had a mill that ground wheat and corn and chopped corn for silage, had 
a sorghum mill, did shoe repair, sharpened saws, and also played for the dances. 

I went from fourth grade to the eighth grade in Clay Springs with Brown Capps as 
teacher. I was late for school every day, missing math and spelling the first two classes of the 
day. My eighth grade consisted of Lawrence McNeil, Joy Peterson, and myself. There were 
only about 40 children in the school, 1st through 8th grades. 

That Fall when school started, I didn't go. I remember Ben Perkins who was the bus 
driver coming over and asking Aunt Linda why. I don't remember her answer but after a few 
weeks I did start high school, only to go one or two days and eventually not going at all. 

In April of 1937, 1 met Lazelle Perkins from Mesa. I don't remember what I told him 
other than the fact I didn't love him He went home and I wrote him a letter telling him I 
didn't want to get married. The next thing I knew he and his brother came up to Clay Springs 
to get me. We were married on June 16, 1937. 

His folks got very upset with me because I didn't become pregnant, but finally on May 
13, 1939, Larry Lazelle was born. When I first saw him I was in shock! Such an ugly kid! 
How could I have given birth to something that looked like that? But, of course, he improved 
hourly and soon I had a beautiful son. Bald but beautiful. At about a year and a hal£ he lots 
of golden curls. 



Then on May 31, 194 1 Kathleen was bom. She was a beautiful round, rosy baby from 
the moment she was bom. 

I didn't have a sewing machine but enjoyed making her dresses by hand. And she had 
lots of them I took pride in keeping my children clean and well dressed. 

In 1942, I went to work at Goodyear making airplanes for the Navy. It was hard 
because it was so far to drove and a home and children to care for. 

Ernest Reese was bom on January 5, 1945. 

On June 21, 1947, just 10 years after marrying Lazelle, I was granted a divorce. I 
married Alton Lever Turner on July 26, 1947 in Lordsburg, New Mexico by Justice of the 
Peace Gale, who was an Elder in the church. 

We lived in Texas for three months and hunting season came, so we came back to 
Arizona so Lee could go deer hunting with his dad. Roland Kent was bom September 16, 

Carpenter work got slow here in Arizona so Lee and his brother, Calvin, decided to 
put in their applications as cattle inspectors for the U.S. Government, for the hoof and mouth 
disease in Mexico, so we were off to Mexico. 

Ruba and I lived in a beautiful home in Mexico City for three months. Lee got hit in 
the head by a pack mule and had a severe nose bleed. We finally had to fly him out to El 
Paso. About 3 o'clock one morning they told me he was dying; they had done all they could 
for him. But he didn't and still lives on. 

j • 

Rosa Linda was bom in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico, October 1 1, 1950. When Linda 
was three months old, we got our first full time, live-in maid. Her name was Cuca; she was 
a little woman, about 45 years old. She was a good worker and taught me about all the 
Spanish I learned while living in Mexico. I call it "kitchen Spanish." 

Rocky Levere was bom on September 27, 1952. 

Rose and Lee had been called to serve for 2 years at the Bishop's storehouse. On 
Thursday morning, Rose got up and didn't feel well. She started to call and tell them she 
didn't feel like coming in to work, but decided that was silly so she worked all day. Friday 
morning she felt very ill so she went to the doctor, and he put her right in the hospital. She 
had been there only an hour or so when she threw up 3 quarts of straight blood. They never 


determined where it came from, but she died about 5 days later. Six years or so ago, she had 
a 5-way by-pass. She was a bleeder and they hadn't checked, I guess, but they didn't know 
it. They gave her bad blood and she developed serum hepatitis and cirrhosis of the liver and 
spleen. She also had diabetes. 

Rose passed away on October 15, 1993. 

Lee and Rose Turner 

_.- -1- - 


Chapter 8 
William Edward Goodman 

(As Told by Himself) 

William Edward Goodman (Bill) was born in Linden, Arizona on April 12, 1899 on 
a place my grandiather, Edward Livingston Goodman, had homesteaded. ITie homestead was 
patented 25 September 1900. 

When I was about four years old, we were living in Pinetop, Arizona. While living 
there, my father (William Ezra) and a man by the name of Jack Evans built a sawmill. Mr. 
Evans started stealing things and hiding them in the sawdust pile. Dad was afraid someone 
would find out and think he was involved in the stealing. They dealt pretty harshly with 
stealing in those days, so he sold out. We still lived there in Pinetop for some time. 

We lived about half a block from a saloon owned by a man named McCoy. There was 
a bunch of tough guys (outlaws) that had come out of Texas, and they were hid out all over 
the country. They claimed to have run the sheriff out of Texas, but Til bet they were in front 
of him They'd come to the saloon to celebrate. They would get drunk and twist up a lock 
of hair and hold it up from their head, then the good shots would try to shoot it off with a 
pistol. We could hear shots going off all the time. Walter was born in Pinetop in 1903. 

When Dad sold out in Pinetop, he went to work in Fort Apache as a carpenter and 
cabinet maker. He built a lot of the houses there, including some of the houses in the officer's 
quarters. Dad commuted from Pinetop to Fort Apache until we moved. I was five years old 
when I started school in Fort Apache. I wasn't very big when I started to school there and 
those ornery soldiers boys would pick on me. A girl about 12 years old was my protector. 
When they jumped on me, they had to account to her. Her name was Jannete Smith. 
Donald was born at Fort Apache on November 16, 1905. 

One day, while living at Fort Apache, I went down by the barracks where the soldiers 
were. It was late in the day, almost dark. The guard on duty saw me and said, "Halt! who 
goes there?" When he said that, I ran. The guard caught me and put me in the guardhouse. 
There were several mean-looking soldiers in the guard house. They wouldn't talk to me, they 
just ignored me. After about a half hour, I began to get worried, then I heard Dad outside 
talking to the guard and laughing. It wasn't long until he came in and said, "What are you 
doing in there?" I don't remember what I told him , but I was glad he rescued me. I didn't 
go down there anymore. 

Charlie Pettis had a permit to run cattle on the reservation. He had married the 
daughter of Colonel Cooley, who was married to an Apache woman. While my father was 
working at Fort Apache, about 1906, he bought cattle, and Charlie ran Dad's cattle along with 



his own in Carrizo Canyon. I don't know how long Charlie ran the cattle for my father, about 
a year I think. 


Dad then applied for his own permit to run cattle on the reservation. Mr. Crouse, the 
Indian agent, said "If you'll put a trading post at Cibecue for the convenience of the Indians, 
ni give you a permit." So Dad built a small building at Cibecue and started the trading post. 
He didn't have the trading post very long until he discovered it was not profitable. The 
Indians raised a little corn, and received a small allowance of about $9.00 per month from the 
government. They would bring the corn and what money they had to trade for saddles, 
bridles, etc. The only groceries they would buy were coffee, sugar and flour, and sometimes 
potatoes. Dad hauled the com to Fort Apache to sell to the military to feed their horses. He 
transported, by wagon, all the supplies for the trading post from Fort Apache. One day he 
loaded up the wagon with corn and other things, including a grizzly bear hide that someone 
had killed, to haul to Fort Apache. When he got to Beaver Creek, he got stuck and the horses 
balked and wouldn't pull the wagon out. He decided he'd have to unload the wagon. The 
first thing he threw out was the bear hide. When the horses smelled that bear, both horses hit 
the their collars and out of the creek they went, wagon and all. All Dad had to do was go 
back and retrieve the bear hide. 

Several exciting things happened at the trading post in Cibecue. When the government 
placed the Indians on the reservation, they assigned a number to each Indian in order to 
identify them One day, Mom was cooking a big roast, as an old Indian identified as 1-2 
happened to be riding by on his donkey. He smelled the roast, got ofFhis donkey, walked up 
to the screen and put his face against it so he could see where that delicious smell was coming 
from Mom walked out of the kitchen with her hands behind her back and threw a dipper of 
water into his face. He got out of there, but he was mad. He would probably have come 
right through the screen if he hadn't been afraid of the soldiers. Years later I asked Mom if 
she remembered. She said, "Yes and he (1-2) raised a rumpus around about it. If I had it to 
do over, I would have fed him He was just hungry." 

One time I went with my father down on Carrizo Creek to an Indian camp. We hadn't 
had anything to eat, but my father had fed this family of Indians before, so they decided to 
feed us. ITie Indian told a young squaw, about 20 years old, to fix us something to eat. She 
mixed up some dough for tortillas, lifted up her skirt, exposing her dirty thigh and patted out 
the tortillas. She didn't bother to wash her thigh first either, so we ate those tortillas and some 
kind of meat. 

Another time my love of peaches got Afvin and me into trouble. We were told there 
was a residence just below where Carrizo Canyon boxes up and there is a bluff on each side 
with a really narrow canyon there. I had been there one day with Pa about a half mile below 
the narrows and had seen a peach tree, but Pa and Charley Pettis told us never to go below 
that narrow place. So, I got to thinking about them peaches; I don't know whether Arvin 
knew anything about the peaches or not. But we went down thereto see if they were ripe. 



The gate was open, so we rode on down there. Before we found the peach tree, here came 
about eight mounted Indians and they cornered us. This was right about the time that old 
Pancho Villa was raising heck down in Mexico, looting and killing people. Anyway, this old 
Indian identified as M-84 says, "What you guys doing down here?" I told him we had seen 
our cow tracks coming down there and we were just coming down to see if we could find the 
cow. I lied about it. Alvin never opened his mouth. He was younger than I was and I was 
only about six and a half or seven. I wasn't seven yet. I figured they were going to kill us. 
And he says, "Well, you have no business down here. Haven't you been told not to come 
down here?" "Anyway," he says, "we don't like you white men, you take all our land." I 
don't remember all he said, but then he said, "We're going to join old Pancho Villa and help 
kill all the white men. We just as well start on you now. Then we'll go to Mexico and help 
old Pancho Villa." So I says, "You can't get away with it. There are too many white men. 
They'll come after us." They talked among themselves for awhile and I don't know what all 
they said. Finally they decided to kill us, and I said, "Well, Charley Pettis knows we came 
down here and my father knows we came down here. If we don't come back pretty quick, 
they'll come looking for us." They knew Pa had this old long-reaching gun; they were really 
scared of that old gun. He'd use the old special bullets and the Indians knew it didn't do no 
good to hide behind pine trees. Those bullets'd go through a big tree when they were shot 
about 400 yards away. Of course, the word passes around. Anyway, when I told them this, 
they let us go. Boy, we got past them and past that fence, and Pa never did hear about that. 
We damn sure didn't tell him about it. We'd a sure got our fannies tanned if we'd told him we 
went down there to try and get some peaches, but I never lost my nerve. I knew if I couldn't 
talk them out of it, they'd kill us. I looked at it like this: we were told not to come down 
there, but we did it anyway, and by golly, we'd have to suffer the consequences. Alvin didn't 
say a word either then or later on. 

When Dad built the trading post, he built a one-room building with a counter across 
the front, about ten feet from the front door. The counter was quite high just under your 
arms so they couldn't jump over it easily. There was a gate in the counter out to the front 
with a latch on the inside. The family lived on the backside of the counter. Most of the 
supplies were kept behind the counter. My father had a pearl-handled 45 revolver that he 
kept behind the counter. One day there were three or four squaws and this old buck, M-84, 
buying coffee and sugar. Mom was waiting on them The buck said something smart or 
threatened her, so she pulled out the pistol and told him to get out of there, but she didn't 
have the pistol cocked yet, he didn't move! He looked mean and acted like he would come 
over the counter after her. She pulled back on the hammer right quick; he heard it click and 
got out of there. We didn't see him for about ten days. 

One day he came riding by from up river. He saw me out behind the trading post, 
jumped off his horse and grabbed me around the waist. I screamed and our old dog heard me. 
We had a big shepherd dog named Pup. The Indian ran to his horse, stuck his foot in the 
stirrup, and started to swing up. I saw the dog stick his head around the corner, so I 
screamed again. The dog bounded around the corner grabbed the Indian by the heel and 


pulled him back off the horse. He landed on top of me. The dog was right on top of him, 
probably biting him If he had succeeded in getting away with me, I think he would have 
killed me. Several days later I saw the dog in convulsions. He would shake, fall over, stiffen 
up, then get up again I told Mom about it and she said he had been poisoned. She got a 
hand full of salt and poured it in the dog's mouth, followed by some water or milk, and made 
him swallow which made him vomit. He laid under the old school house for three or four 
days and recovered. The Indian had evidently come back and poisoned the dog. 

About a week later, as the Indian and a couple of his companions came riding by the 
trading post, they were laughing and talking. When the dog heard them, he came around the 
trading post all bristled up growling at them You could see they were afraid — that dog 
should have been dead. The Indians were very superstitious. They probably thought that the 
dog had died and come back to life; they left on a run. 


There were some mean old Indians at Cibecue then; the Indian wars had just ended 
a few years before. Many of the old scouts and raiders that helped the military defeat 
Geronimo were still alive. The last big battle with the military was the Battle of Cibecue 
which happened in the early 1880's. 

There was an old Indian Chie£ John Daisy, who lived on Oak Creek, southwest of 
Cibecue. One day a squaw, claiming to be John Daisy's sister, came to the trading post and 
wanted credit — which Mom honored. It wasn't long until more of the squaws on Oak Creek 
showed up, all clarming to be John Daisy's sister. 

In 1906, the Carrizo area was lush country. There were hundreds of beavers on the 
streams in the canyons. There were lots of beaver dams that spread out the water and 
controlled the flow of streams. The soil had been built up until it was 10 to 20 feet deep in 
the canyons. There were no washes. The cattle then came in and grazed off the grass which 
caused erosion to start. In the Spring of 1906, heavy rains started and continued all summer 
long. When one of those rains came you could hear a wall of water coming down the canyon 
four or five feet deep. The flash floods washed out the beaver dams and created deep 
channels through the top soil. 

Our folks kept the trading post open only about eight to twelve months. Then they 
moved to Carrizo where Charlie Pettis was. After they moved to Carrizo, Charlie and Dad 
went to Tonto Basin for more cattle. Bud Jones, who ran the Flying V Cattle Company, had 
a bunch of longhorn cattle. Those longhorns were so mean that when you corralled them, if 
you could get them in a corral, they would put everyone on the fence. They bought some of 
those longhorns and drove them back to Carrizo. When they were about a mile from home 
on top of Carrizo Ridge, one of the carves got tired and laid down. Dad and Charlie got off 
their horses to get the calf up. About that time, the mamma cow showed up and chased both 
of them up a pine tree. Every time they'd try to get down, she'd run them back up the tree. 



The calf laid there all night, and they had to stay up that pine tree all night. They finally got 
down and brought the longhorns down to Carrizo. 

A week or two after they got back, they decided to kill a beef. Charlie had a big 
three-year old steer that he had crippled when he was young, but he was nice and fat so they 
killed him Charlie gave Dad a hind quarter and he hung it up in a pine tree about 50 yards 
from our tent. The next morning when we went out to look at the meat, it was gone. We 
went down in the flat and found the meat. Something had dragged it around and eaten part 
of it. Dad was cussing the dogs, thinking they were responsible, but it wasn't the dogs. I saw 
a big Hon track in a gopher pile; it was a Hon that got the meat and dragged it down in the flat. 
The wind was blowing in the wrong direction for the dogs to smell the Hon — it was blowing 
from the tent toward the tree. The next night when he hung the meat back in the tree, the 
wind had changed and the dogs smelled the Hon when he came after the meat. We had a 
hound that the sheriff from Globe left with us. The sheriff was trailing a guy that had killed 
someone in Globe, and didn't want to take the dog. I think we had three dogs then, that old 
hound was one of them They went after the Hon and treed him just a little ways down the 
canyon and across the creek, about a quarter of a mile from camp. I remember laying awake 
until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning with those old hounds barking at the Hon up a tree. My 
father wouldn't go and kill him because I guess he didn't have a flashlight, and he didn't know 
whether it would jump on him or what would happen. The next night the Hon went up the 
canyon about a half mile above our tent and killed a big colt that Dad was real fond of. Along 
about sundown a night or two after that, the horses were feeding up near where the Hon was. 
Mom was afraid the Hon would kiU another one of the horses. My father had gone 
somewhere, so she put me on a horse bareback, and told me to go get the horses. I was 
about six or seven years old then. I was holding on to the horse's mane to keep from falling 
off The horses were hobbled but they would run anyway and they ran up within about 100 
feet of where the Hon had killed the colt. I was able to get around them and get them headed 
back. As I rode by, I could see that old Hon laying there eating on the colt and he just kind 
of hid behind the carcass and laid his head down on his paws. I could see those old marks 
down his face, but he just laid there and never moved as I got the horses headed back to 


■ r; 

After we left the trading post in Cibecue, we had to pack everything 12 miles across a high 
ridge to the Pettis cabin in Carrizo, by pack horse. We even packed in a cook stove. 

After we left Cibecue and the trading post, Mr. Crouse told Dad that he could move 
anywhere he wanted on the west end of the reservation. After a short while in Carrizo, Dad 
moved up into Mud Springs Canyon which runs into Carrizo Canyon. 

When we moved into Mud Springs Canyon, we pitched a httle old sheepherder tent. 
Dad left me and Alvin down there two nights alone. I was about seven years old and Alvin 
was about five. 


I didn't know how to cook but I made some biscuits which didn't raise; they were so 
hard, you could hardly bite them There was a lot of poison oak where we camped, so Dad 
told me to dig it up and burn it. Well, I got it all over me, and when Dad got back, my eyes 
were swollen shut and the only thing we had to put on it was mentholatum. 

About a month later, one morning before daylight, the Indian, M-84, came by our 
camp in the dark, about a half hour later he came back and woke us up. He said, "Big bear 
crossed canyon — HI trail him, you shoot him!'' Dad had a 7.65 M.M. Mouser rifle. The 
Indians had seen him shoot through pine trees, with steel-jacketed bullets, and they were 
really impressed. When we got down where the bear had crossed Mud Creek Canyon, he had 
knocked the dew off the grass, so we knew it was a fresh track. When the Indian came to 
a dry rocky ridge, trailing the bear, he got off his horse and walked, where there was grass 
he would trot. He trailed him across a big high ridge between Mud Creek Canyon and 
Jumpoff Canyon, and down the other side into a side canyon that ran off into Jumpoff 
Canyon. In the bottom of the canyon, the bear got a drink and then went up onto a mound 
of dirt where another short canyon ran into the one we were in. The mound was about 100 
feet high and about 300 feet long. The Indian pointed at the mound and said to Dad, "Maybe 
so, sit down," meaning he thought the bear had laid down up on the mound. He wanted us 
to be quiet so we wouldn't scare the bear. We had an old spotted hound that was trained to 
trail cattle and horses, but he wouldn't trail the bear. Dad's horse stepped on the foot of that 
old hound. He let out a yowl that could be heard for a mile. That noise scared the bear and 
he ran. They rode up on the mound quickly to see if they could get a shot at him, but the bear 
doubled back through the manzanita brush and got away. 


When Dad saw Jumpoff Canyon with broad flats, a lot of walnut trees, and gamma 
grass about 18" to 20" high waving in the breeze, he said that was where he was going to 
move his cattle. We went back to camp and the next morning we started moving the cattle 
to Jumpoff Canyon. Jumpoff Canyon is about halfway between Mud Creek Canyon and 
Deer Springs Canyon. When we moved into Jumpoff there were lots of walnut trees and lots 
of squirrels. The grass was so thick that the squirrels had to cut paths between the trees in 
order to move from tree to tree. If you made the squirrels jump out of the trees into the 
grass, their feet wouldn't touch the ground and you could walk up to them and pick them up. 
With the grass that thick, the cattle didn't have to move much to eat. They claim cattle get 
blackleg because they don't get enough exercise. Our cattle began to get blackleg and we had 
to start vaccinating them right away. 

During the time we were in Jumpoff Canyon, we had 18 mares, most of them had 
colts every year, but the lions were so bad we never did in all those years raise but two colts. 
Dad put bells on the first two cohs and that kept the lions away. The next year Dad put bells 
on the first two colts and some old lion caught the colts and it never worked again. If 
someone wasn't staying in the canyon, the wolves, bears and lions would scare the horses, 
trying to catch them One time when no one had been down to the camp for about two 
weeks, they scared the horses so bad they all left the reservation and came clear out 16 miles 


to Cottonwood Wash. The horses arrived at Cottonwood Wash just afternoon. We didn't 
want them to graze off all the grass we had for the stock, out there on the ranch, so Mom sent 
Walter and me back down with the horses. I was 12 years old at that time and Walter was 
four years younger. We took the horses down that afternoon. While we were riding toward 
camp, the sun was going down. We were in a hurry to get there before dark. The wolves 
were howling up CC Canyon and down below in the main canyon. I rode under a tree and 
knocked my hat off. I was afraid if I tried to get of£ the wolves would scare my horse and 
if it broke away from me, I would be afoot. I left my hat there overnight. When we got to 
camp it was almost dark and we didn't have any wood, so we started looking for some. There 
was usually a lot of old Cottonwood logs laying around which showed up white in the dark. 
When we found one we'd put a rope on it and drag it in with the horses. We rode up the 
canyon, two or three hundred yards from camp. We didn't see any wood so we rode back 
toward camp when I saw something white. I said to Walter, "I didn't see that cottonwood 
log laying there when we came up, did you?" He said, "No, it wasn't there!" It occurred to 
me about that time that it was a wolf Walter was riding a mare with a colt and the wolf was 
after that colt. My horse saw the wolf and snorted. I pulled my 30-30 rifle from the scabbard 
and shot at the wolf. It scared him and he jumped up and ran into the brush. I saw him go 
over the hill and shot at him again to give him a good scare. We rode in close to camp, found 
a little wood and built a fire. I said to Walter, "You go down and get a bucket of water while 
I peel some spuds and get things ready to cook." I didn't think he'd do it, he was only 8 years 
old. He picked the bucket up and went down to the creek. I soon heard him come back kind 
of whistling with about two-thirds of a bucket of water. There was a thicket along the creek 
which made it even more scary to an eight year old. I never did say anything to him until 
years later (about 1918) and I said, "Do you remember when I sent you after that bucket of 
water that night?" He said, "Yeah, and I never expected to get back alive — every step I took, 
I was afraid a wolf or Hon would jump on top of me." 


Dad had moved our big army tent from the flat up on the slope of the canyon so the 
snow would melt off fast and it wouldn't be so muddy. It was so steep we couldn't stay in 
bed. By the time morning came, we had slid out of our bed and were sleeping on the ground 
with our blankets over us. That night our dogs kept growling. We could hear some 
disturbance across the canyon from camp where a side canyon came in. The next morning 
we went to investigate. A grizzly bear had killed a three-year old heifer and he had been 
eating it. We had a couple of bear traps up the canyon so we went to get one to catch the 
bear. Bear traps are huge and hard to set. We used "C" clamps to compress the springs on 
each side to set the trap but we couldn't find the clamps. I cut a couple of oak poles about 
seven or eight feet long. I had Walter holding the ends of the poles down over the springs 
compressing them so I could set the trap. Just as I started to reach down between the jaws 
of the trap to lift the pan, Walter let the poles slip and the trap snapped shut. It's a wonder 
I didn't get both hands caught in the trap. But I didn't give up; I piled logs and timbers on top 
of the poles until I got enough weight on the poles so Walter could hold them down. I didn't 
have enough brains to raise the loose jaw on the trap so I wouldn't have to reach between the 
jaws. After we got the trap set, we put it by the heifer the bear had killed. The next morning 


the bear hadn't come back, probably wasn't hungry yet. It started raining and rained for 
several days. The third day, the bear still hadn't come in because it rained so hard, and was 
still raining, so we went home to the ranch. My father was back at the ranch when we got 
there. When it stopped raining, he went back to the camp with us; we had caught the bear. 
The bear had broken the chain that tied the trap to the drag, a small log, and got away with 
the trap. We could see where the bear had beat the trap against the trees, and knocked the 
bark on; and tore up the brush. We trailed it up on top of the ridge and it went into a thicket 
of high manzanita brush. There was about an acre of brush with sandy ground all around it. 
We knew he hadn't come out of the thicket — he was in there. For some reason, Dad wouldn't 
go in after the bear. We never did even go find the trap. 

When our folks moved from Fort Apache to Cibecue, they stayed there about eight 
to 12 months at the trading post. Then we moved to Carrizo, stayed there a short time, then 
moved to Mud Creek Canyon for about 30 days. We then moved to Jump off Canyon and 
stayed there about seven years. 

It was necessary at the appropriate time to establish a base off the reservation in order 
for the children to go to school, church, and take care of other necessary family business. The 
first residence established for this purpose was at Pinedale. We rented a house in Pinedale, 
and stayed in that house about a year. Then my father bought a lot and built a house in 
Pinedale; we stayed there a year or so. About 1910 Dad took up a homestead on 
Cottonwood Wash, about four miles west of Clay Springs. We were living on the homestead 
on Cottonwood Wash, when Dad sold the cattle in 1915. There was no water on the ranch 
and we had to haul water from Clay Springs which was three or four miles away. He built 
a big barn like they build in Iowa. The bam was so big that all the feed we could raise on the 
80 acres we tried to farm would just fill one little corner of the barn. 

In 191 1, when I was 12 years old, I plowed the 80 acres with a single-turning plow 
with horses pulling it. Then I planted cane, corn, and beans with an old single-seed corn 
planter, the kind you jab in the ground and spread it, to open it up, to let the seed out. Arvin 
was helping Dad round up cattle on the reservation. I had to stay out of school in the spring 
to put in the crop and again in the fall to harvest the crop. I lived on the ranch until I went 
to Blythe, California, about 1919. 

The farmers in that area said they would have Dad thresh the grain they raised every 
year, if he would buy the equipment. He bought a threshing machine and a big tractor to pull 
it, which cost him about $3,000 dollars. He thrashed all the grain that first year. The next 
year, they all got together and bought their own equipment. He never used the threshing 
machine again. 

When I was 12 years old, I went to work down on Grasshopper (which was south and 
west of Cibecue), helping build a drift fence for a man named Sandy Jaques. I worked there 
about six months. While working there, I had a birthday and was now 13 years old. When 


the job was finished, Ray Butler and I started back from Grasshopper, to go home. We cut 
across country for twenty-five or thirty miles to where Salt Creek and Cibecue Creek came 
together at the bottom of Chedesky Ridge near White Springs. It was low there and we didn't 
have to climb the high ridge. Down in the bottom it was real thick and brushy, with willows 
as high as a rider's head, and lots of Box Elders, Tag Elders, and Cottonwoods. We came to 
a little opening about thirty feet across, with several big Cottonwood trees in it. As I rode 
past one of the trees, an Indian stepped out from behind it. He grabbed my horse's bridle 
reins. I had a 35 Remington automatic in my saddle scabbard, but I didn't have time to get 
it out. It was a good thing I didn't, because seven more Indians stepped out of the brush. 
They each had a big knife — either a butcher knife or a dagger. The Indian who grabbed my 
reins was dressed in pants and a shirt. The other seven were dressed with only G-strings. A 
G- string consisted of a belt with a cloth about 4 ft long and about a foot wide, they'd hang 
it over the belt in front between their legs and over the belt in back, leaving the excess 
hanging front and back. They were all painted up like a war party, with streaks across their 
foreheads and stripes along their nose and cheeks, as well as paint on their wrists and bellies. 
The paints were red, blue, black, and white, and other colors. They made us get off our 
horses. The Indians sat in a semicircle in front of us, with their knives on their laps, looking 
mean at us. The Indian with the pants and shirt, the one who grabbed my reins and stopped 
us, asked us questions, then interpreted the answers in Spanish or Apache. They discussed 
our answers at great length. They wanted to know where we came from, what we were 
doing there, and where we were going? They were drinking rulapai and they were afraid we 
would report them to the soldiers. It was against the law for them to make or drink rulapai. 
After they discussed it a while, they decided if we would drink tulapai with them, we would 
be as guilty as they were and wouldn't tell the soldiers, so they'd let us go. They made us sit 
in the circle with them, cross-legged in the tall grass, and gave us some to drink. Ray thought 
it tasted all right, but I could hardly drink it. I had some Prince Albeit tobacco and cigarette 
papers, so I passed those around, and each one rolled a cigarette. When you passed tobacco 
to an Indian, they smoked with you, whether they ordinarily smoked or not. While they were 
occupied with the tobacco, I put my cup down between my legs and spilled most of it in the 
tall grass. I didn't have to drink very much. When they tried to give us more, I told them I 
was too full, but Ray drank another. Then they let us go, and we left there in a hurry. 

While living at Cottonwood Wash, we had an old sow that got overheated and died. 
A bear found the old sow right away and started eating her. Dad set a bear trap by the pig. 
When he went to check the trap, he took the shepherd dog, Ole Pup, that rescued me from 
the Indian at Cibecue. When they rode up, they discovered they had caught the bear. The 
dog attacked the bear, so Dad shot the bear before he could kill the dog. He skinned him and 
brought him down to the ranch. When the bear's front paws were skinned, they looked 
almost like a human hand. When Mom saw that, she wouldn't cook any of it. 

Our ranch was about ten miles from the reservation line. We could get up early and 
ride the trail and see the tracks of numerous wolves, bears or lions who had crossed at night 



in the dust. The camp in Jump off Canyon was about five or six miles from the reservation 

In 1915 when I was 15 years old, Dad sold the cattle. I went to work for Jim Scott, 
the man who bought the cattle, so I could show him the range. He didn't know how to get 
around that rough country or where the springs and waterholes were. I rode for him for two 
or three months showing him where all the trails, waterholes and so forth, were. 

The folks moved to Linden in 1922. There was a ranch near Linden that Dad and Lars 
Petersen had to take over. They had each loaned Germ Reidhead $5,000 but he couldn't pay 
it back, so they took over the ranch and cattle. The brand on the cattle was W Bar H. 

In 1918, Ray Butler and I were drafted into the Army during World War I. Frances' 
husband, Horace, was already serving. We caught the train in Holbrook and rode it to 
Phoenix, were given our physical exams, and sworn in. However, before they could send us 
out, the war ended, so we went home. 

From 1915 to 1919, I worked for various ranches in the area. I went to Blythe, 
California in 1919. When I went to Blythe the first time, I ran a suction dredge cleaning 
irrigation canals. I worked all winter on the dredge and went home in the summer. I worked 
in Blythe from 1919 to 1928, in the winters mostly, going back to Arizona in the summers. 
I worked on dredges, and draglines of various sizes, including huge Monegan draglines. I 
worked most of the time in the field on the machines. When they would take one to the repair 
shop, they'd take me in to work on it. They thought I was a better mechanic than most of the 
other guys. When the Colorado River would flood in the spring, it would overflow its banks 
about 15 feet deep out to huge banks, or levies, about one half mile on each side of the river. 
The work we were doing was to control those huge overflows as well as clean the irrigation 

I met Mary Gholson in Blythe, I saw her occasionally for several years around town. 
Mary and her mother, Lula Gholson, worked for Neut Smith, cooking for the men that 
worked for him One night at a dance, I asked her sister to dance, but she refused, so Mary 
said, 'Til dance with you!" Then I went to work for Neut Smith. Eventually Mary and I got 
married. Neut Smith married Lula Gholson, Mary's mother. 

In the spring after we were married (on December 24, 1924), we went to the sawmill 
in Vemon. Gene was born August 3, 1925., We stayed at the sawmill until about February 
1926, then my folks took us to Ripley, California. Ruth and Clarence Nelson, Mary's sister, 
lived in Ripley, and Grandma Richardson, Mary's grandmother, lived there also. I went to 
work for Riverside County operating a caterpillar tractor. When the weather got warm, Mary 
took Gene and went to Modesto. I went back to work for the water company working on 
a dragline. We stayed in Blythe the rest of the summer and winter. We bought a new 1927 
Model-T Ford touring car and went to Vernon. 


The next summer, 1927, 1 worked at the 
Goodman sawmill all summer. In the fall, we I 
went back to Blythe. The next spring we went to 
Vemon and I cut logs all summer with Henry 
Mills. Henry was my cousin, the son of Dan and 
Sarah (McNeil) Mills. That fall we went to 
Phoenix. I got a job operating a dragline building 
a canal west of Phoenix, but they weren't ready to 
start the job so we went on to California. I got a 
job with a company that had a bunch of diesel 
and gas engines, pumping water for irrigation 30 
miles south of the border at a place called 
Volcano. They had run the American workers 
out of Mexico because of some trouble with the * 
Mexicans. After running the Americans out, they 
couldn't keep the engines running. They wouldn't 
let me take my family and Mary wouldn't let me 
go without them, so we went to Blythe. 

Bill and Mary 
1924 in Blythe 

I went to work for W.E. Callihan hauling 
a dismantled Monegan dragline out to the 
railroad for shipment. Then I went back to work 

for the water company building barges and installing a power plant to power a suction dredge. 
They were going to create a 40-acre lake to settle the muddy Colorado River water. We 
worked all winter building the dredge and I installed most of the machinery on it. They 
wanted me to operate the dredge on a night shift. I didn't want to work the night shift, so I 





We went to Modesto and I got a job cooking the fruit in the Sun Garden Cannery. 
I cooked nine box carloads of peaches in the first 24 hours. I worked there until fall, quit and 
went to Vernon. When we arrived back in Vernon, I went to work for McNary Lumber 
Company, cutting logs with Walter, my brother. I built a house at the sawmill site while we 
were cutting logs. I went to work in New Mexico, worked a couple of months driving a big 
truck for a construction company north of Albuquerque, quit and came back to Vernon. 
Edward was born August 15, 1930. The Depression was going strong, and I couldn't get a 
job at McNary, so we went to California — this was January 193 1. I went to work for an old 
Texas oil driller pumping the gravel out of artesian wells. The wells were 1800 feet deep 
when I got finished. I took a job on the desert at the Hayfields Ranch, 40 miles east of Indio. 
We stayed there a little over a year. While working at the Hayfields Ranch, the work 
consisted of cleaning and improving several springs and mamtaining several miles of pipe line 
from the springs. 




While living at the ranch, I did a lot of prospecting in the canyons around the ranch. 
I discovered a vein of gold-bearing ore, and staked a claim there. The claim was called the 
Shooting Star. We worked the claim from time to time during the next few years. Finally I 
decided I would seriously work the mine, so Donald came out to help with the work. We dug 
a shaft 45 feet deep and an 18 foot drift. We didn't get rich, but had some interesting 
experiences. The shaft we dug was through solid rock. We would drill the rock with a hand 
drill and hammer, pack the holes with dynamite, insert a dynamite cap, and light the fuse and 
get out of the hole. After the hole got so deep we couldn't climb out, we had a windless with 
a cable and a bucket to remove the rock, and transport tools and materials in and out of the 
shaft. We didn't have a ladder so we had to climb the cable, hand over hand, to get in and out 
of the shaft. We would drill the holes, and get everything ready to light the fuses. Then Td 
climb out. Donald would light the fuses, jump in the bucket and I'd pull him out with the 
windless. That system worked great until the day we decided I should light the fuses, and 
Donald would pull me out. I lit the fuses, jumped in the bucket, and yelled "Pull me out!" 
Donald grabbed the crank handle on the windlass and started winding it up, but when he got 
to the top, he couldn't push it over. He dropped me back and started up again, but straining 
as hard as he would, he could not turn the crank over the top. Meanwhile, at the bottom of 
the shaft, with an extra heavy charge of dynamite, fuses sputtering, I started getting a little 
concerned. I yelled "Hold the handle!" That was probably the fastest 45 foot climb in history. 
When I got on the windless platform, we both ran to get away from the explosion. We were 
able to run about 10 feet before the charge went off. The explosion, being a little heavy, 
picked the windless platform up and threw it about 10 feet off the hole. Within the next few 
days we got some good clear lumber and built a nice 45 ft. ladder. We installed it as soon as 
we started the drift so we could get the ladder out of the blast area. 

Jim was bom in the Indio hospital, October 15, 1932, while we were still living at the 
Hayfields ranch. When the job on the ranch, at the hay fields, ran out, I went to Los 
Angeles, bought a 1929 Chevy sedan and spent the next two months looking up and down 
the Pacific Coast for a job. I did not find a job. I went to the Coachella Valley, got a job on 
a road and worked two months. I next got a job in Cabazon, moved to Beaumont, California, 
and worked for road contractors until 1937. The depression was improving somewhat, so 
I decided it was time to go back to Arizona. I got a job at McNary, trimming and topping 
100 foot pine trees. We rigged the trees with cables and pulleys to load logs northwest style, 
so they could load the logs on trucks instead of railroad cars. Then they took me into 
McNary and I operated a pile driver, drove the piling for a 400 foot bridge so the trucks could 
come into the mill pond to unload logs. That done, I operated a gas electric power shovel for 
nine months loading cinders on dump trucks to cinder logging truck roads. 

In Jury 1938, Walter was working for Tanner Construction Company at Wickenburg, 
welding and repairing road construction equipment. They needed another mechanic and 
welder, so I applied for the job and got it. I needed some instructions in welding technique, 
so they sent me to Wickenburg to work with Walter for two weeks so he could teach me. 
After the two weeks in Wickenburg were finished, they sent me to San Simon. From that 


point on, we moved about every three months. When the job in San Simon finished, we 
moved to McNeal, near Douglas, to work on a road job. While living in McNeaL, we bought 
a new 1939 Chevrolet. One day when Mary drove in to Douglas to shop, Jim got separated 
from the group in the store. He thought he had been abandoned, so he hitch-hiked out to the 
job where I was working. I had to call the sheriff in Douglas, to find Mary so she would stop 
looking for him 

When the job finished, we moved to Springerville. When we got to Springerville, 
Lloyd and Ruth were there, Lloyd was working on the same job. I believe Arvin and Bertha 
were there on that job, also. We spent a nice summer there, and did lots of fishing. There 
was a big adobe duplex on the main street in Springerville. We moved into the west side, and 
Ruth and Lloyd moved into the east side. The adobe walls were about two feet thick, with 
ten foot ceilings. Across the street was a Mexican Bar, the El Rancho Grande. They had a 
juke box and a piano, both of which they played long, late, and loud. The songs they played 
most, were Roll Out The Barrel, and Alia En El Rancho Grande. We went to sleep every 
night to those lullabies. 

While living at 
Springerville we heated with 
wood; Kent and Dale had to 
help gather the wood and 
they really got into the spirit 
of the project. One day 
Ruth went out to the job to 
see Lloyd. Kent and Dale 
saw some nice stakes stuck 
in the ground that would 
burn real good. They didn't 
want to pass up a bargain 
like that so they gathered a 
big box full. The engineers 
were very upset when they 
had to reset all those stakes. 

When the summer was over and the kids started school, it was time to move again. We left 
Springerville in October, and moved to Bowie, which is about fifteen miles from San Simon. 
We stayed in Bowie almost 9 months, then moved to Duncan, still working for Tanner 
Construction Co. We took Gene to the sawmill for the summer to stay with Mom and Dad. 
We stayed in Duncan for most of the summer, then moved to Phoenix for about a month. 
Two weeks after school started, we moved to Texas Canyon near Benson. At Texas Canyon, 
we were joined by Lloyd and Ruth, and Walter and Laura. Ed and Jim attended a one-room 
school there, all the grades met in one room. We were able to live there about seven months 
before moving to Yuma to work on the airport. We stayed there about two and one half 

L to R: Edward, Gene, Mary, Bill, and Jim 

<.i - 



months, then moved to Mormon Lake. Gene stayed in Yuma about three weeks, to finish his 
freshman year in high school. 

At Mormon Lake, we lived in some cabins on Bass Point at the lake. At one time Bass 
Point had been a popular vacation spot with a store, a gas pump and four or five cabins. We 
lived in the store building and rented the other cabins. Lloyd and Ruth, and Afvin and Bertha, 
and Hugh and Zona Huet, each lived in one of the cabins. There were a bunch of old boats 
left at Bass Point so we fixed some of them, and Gene rented them We spent a lot of time 
fishing for catfish and yellow perch, boating, and swimming. The ladies — Mary, Ruth, 
Bertha, and Zona — all learned to float on their backs in the water with very little effort. They 
would float and gossip for hours. The kids love to tell the story of Bertha's foam-rubber 
"falsies" floating out of her bathing suit and bobbing around on the surface of the 
lake — eventually being rescued by Jim 

On this job, we were working for Packard Construction Co. When the job at Mormon 
Lake finished, Mr. Packard got a job adjacent to the Mormon Lake job. The new job was 
nearer to town, toward Lake Mary, so we all moved into the cabins at Lake Mary. I had 
given my old 1929 Chevrolet to Dad, and it needed an overhaul, so the folks came to stay 
with us while we overhauled the car. That was when the daughters-in-law talked Dad into 
shaving offhis mustache. He had worn a mustache for so long he didn't look like the same 
person without it. We stayed at Lake Mary until after Christmas. 

On December the 7th, 1941, we were at the Grand Canyon when the Japanese 
bombed Pearl Harbor. We didn't find out about the bombing until we stopped at Wheelers 
Grocery, now Ruffs Liquors, late in the evening. 

In about the end of February, we moved to Williams. I spent the winter overhauling 
equipment at the Wagon Wheel Lodge in Pitman Valley, for Packard Construction Co., 
getting the equipment ready for the job we were going to do there. In the spring ( 1942) when 
the job started up, Lloyd came to work there, running a shovel in the cinder pit and loading 
trucks. After school was out, we moved into a little house in Pitman Valley. 

While we were living there in Pitman Valley, the detour for the road job ran right in 
front of our house. One day a rain storm came up and put out the flares which had been put 
there to warn of a sharp corner. Jim got some gasoline and went out to re-light the flares. 
When he struck a match, the can of gas he had in his hand caught fire. He dropped the can 
and splashed burning gasoline all over his pants. As he ran toward the house, a man who was 
driving by saw him and jumped out of his car, caught him and put the fire out. Jim had a 
little spotted dog that bit the man who was trying to put out the fire. Both the man and the 
dog got a story in the Arizona Republic. Jim was very badly burned, and spent several weeks 
in the hospital in Williams. When that job finished, I went to work for Basich Brothers 
Construction Co. They were helping to build the Navajo Army Depot at Belmont. About 
the first of October, I quit and we went to Vernon; Gene stayed there to go to school. Then 



we went to Phoenix for a month. I was soon able to get a job down near Tombstone, so we 
moved to Tombstone. While we lived there, we got to see all the famous landmarks like the 
Bird Cage Theater, and Boot Hill cemetery, and the old abandoned mines. 

When the job was 
completed at Tombstone, 
we went to Phoenix, bought 
a trailer, and moved to 
Chandler. Next we moved 
to Flagstaff and lived in 
Barker Village, next to the 
Museum Club, then back to 
Douglas. Then back to 
Flagstaff again. 

Jim, Gene, Mary, and Edward 

About this time it 
was necessary to take Jim to 
get skin grafts on his burned 
legs, so we took him to St. 
Louis, Missouri, to the 

Children's Hospital. We spent several months in St. Louis. When we left St. Louis — on our 
way home to Phoenix — we went by Little Rock Arkansas to visit with Walter and his family. 
In Texas, we jack-knifed the trailer going down a hill and the car turned over, but none of us 
got hurt. When we got back to Phoenix, the union sent me to a job at Clifton. When we 
finished the job at Clifton, they sent us to a job near Thermal, California, where I worked on 
a flood control project near the Sahon Sea. While we were at Thermal, Gene was discharged 
from the Navy so he came to Thermal Tom Gholson, Mary's brother, also came to stay with 
us. When we left Thermal, we returned to Flagstaff and I went to work for Fisher 
Contracting Co. Gene and Tom Gholson were both able to get a job working for Fisher. We 
worked all summer in Flagstaff When the job was finished in Flagstaff Tom Gholson went 
back to California, I went to Phoenix on a job for Fisher, and Gene went to Welton to work 
for Fisher. We stayed in Phoenix until May of 1946, then I went to Williams on a job for 
Bowen McLaughlin. I continued to work for Bowen McLaughlin on jobs at Winslow, 
Sanders, Payson, Winslow, and back to Flagstaff. 

After Flagstaff I went to work for W.J. Henson Contracting Co. in Prescott. Mr. 
Henson took me out to his shop to show me what he wanted me to do. He had two 
Caterpillar tractors that someone had disassembled; they were in two piles on the floor. I was 
to re-assemble them and make them work. It took a while but I was able to accomplish it, 
and they ran for several years. I continued working for Henson in Topock, Kingman, 
Prescott, and back to Flagstaff. 



In 1955 I bought a D-8 Caterpillar tractor with a dozer and rented it to Lloyd on the 
job he had at Payson. I worked for him as a mechanic on that job. Then I went to work with 
the "cat" on the Navajo Indian Reservation, building stocktanks and dikes for flood control 

We bought Mom's house just before she died in 1960, so moved to Vernon and spent 
several years doing bulldozer work on ranches around Vernon and in western New Mexico 
around Quemado. I built stock tanks, levees, roads and whatever else I could find to do. I 
also built pioneering roads for Interstate 40, near Seligman. 

I finally decided to semi-retire, so we sold our house in Vernon and moved to 
Flagstaff where the boys were living. I did several jobs there clearing trees and excavating 
for buildings, stripping cinder pits, and feeding crushers. I sold my tractor in 1973. A few 
months after I sold it, the new owner asked me to operate the tractor for a month, so I 
worked for him on and off for the next five years. 

•• ..i 

In Flagstaff I did a lot of hunting with my boys. We had some hounds and horses and 
had a lot of fun chasing those hounds. We went back to the reservation hunting — in Jumpoff 
and the other canyons where we had run the cattle when I was a boy. It was fun but the bears 
and lions weren't as numerous as they were 50 years earlier. Mary and I spent a lot of time 
walking in the woods and cutting wood. 

When Jim was ready to leave for his mission to Central America, Mary and I went 
with him to the Arizona Temple. We received our Endowments and Jim was sealed to us; 
this was May 28, 1953. Gene and Ed were sealed to us on November 19, 1961. During my 
life, I didn't have the opportunity to serve in many callings in the Church. When we moved 
to Vernon, I served as Ward Clerk until we moved to Flagstaff. In Flagstaff I served as a 
Home Teacher. 

Lula Mary Gholson Goodman 

Mary was born in Corona, New Mexico, May 26, 1905. She was the third child of 
a family of four girls and five boys. During the early part of her life, they moved often. The 
Gholsons traveled all over the west in a covered wagon pulled by four horses. They stayed 
in towns and on ranches in New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Nevada, and California. Her father 
worked wherever he could find work on the ranches and farms. They carried water in a barrel 
with a spigot in the bottom They stored pots, pans and cast iron skillets in a cowhide cooney 
under the bed of the wagon. They had no money to speak o£ but had enough food most of 
the time. They ate pink beans, potatoes, and sometimes rabbit, and an occasional can of corn. 
When they passed a farm or ranch, they could get eggs and vegetables. They carried a can 
of flour and a lard bucket for dutch oven biscuits. The family didn't encounter any wild 
Indians, outlaws, or any gunfighters during their travels. 


Finally, they arrived in Blythe, California where they traded the horses for a Model 
T Ford. It wasn't large enough for the family, so they had to buy a second one. The family 
stayed in the Palo Verde Valley area for awhile working at various jobs. They cut grapes, 
picked cotton, and grew cotton one year. Mary and her mother were cooking for a 
construction crew when she met BilL Mary first met Bill at a Fourth of July dance. Mary and 
her sister, Sammie, had gone to the dance together, and Bill was there. They were married 
December 24, 1924, in Blythe. 

Mary loved the outdoors; she loved to camp and go on hunting and fishing trips. It 
didn't matter what the weather was like, whether it was sunshine, rain, or snow — wherever 
we went, she was there with us. Where Bill was, Mary was never far away. 





Bill and Mary Goodman 




Gene, Edward, Jim 
Mary, Bill 

Bill and Mary, 60th Wedding Anniversary 



Bill, Fern, Beulah, Donald 

Thomas Eugene Goodman 

I was born 3 August 1925 at the Goodman sawmill. I don't remember much about 
that; the first I do remember, I had a little chain I used to drag around in the mud. Aunt 
Beulah said that I said, "I sure will be glad when the mud gets off from the dust." I remember 
spooky things hanging from the ceiling in bags at night, in the dark. I remember a big police 
dog at the mill that I played with. One day I tied him to the old Graham Paige car that was 
parked in front of our house by the road into the mill. When I came back to get him, he was 
sick I called someone but it was to late to save him I thought I had done something to kill 
him, but they said he had been poisoned. 

There was a little girl who lived in the Honeymoon House on the south side of the mill 
by the road. One day when we were playing by the 1 927 Ford Touring Car in a little lean-to 
carport on the north side of the house, we decided to take all our clothes off, I'm not sure 
why, but we did. I remember getting paddled for that by Mom, which I didn't think was very 

I remember the tent caterpillars on the trees on the southwest corner of the mill by the 
road; I was afraid to go past them by myself. I remember going out to the granary behind 
Grandma's house one night when Dad was skinning a deer he had killed. He told me I 
shouldn't tell anyone about the deer because he would get in trouble. I remember when Uncle 


Don came home from somewhere with a girl friend, and she kept saying, "Don, when are you 
going to many me?" I remember when he came, he had his guitar with him I'd beg him to 
play and sing, but when he did, I'd cry. 




Beulah and Gene 
about 1929 

Edward, Idella, and Ella 

When I was five years and twelve days old I had to go to Grandma's house because 
I was to get a little brother, they said. When I was finally allowed to go see him, I came back 
to Grandma's and told them I didn't want him he was too ugly. 

The picture above left was taken looking east from Grandma's house to the house we 
lived in by Walter and Inez, Chet and Fern, and Lloyd and Ruth. The little building in the 
back became a bam. I might have been bom in it. This was taken sometime in 1930, 1 think. 

In January 193 1, Mom and Dad decided to go back to California. Mom had been 
converted to the Church, and decided she wanted to be baptized before we left. I remember 
going down to Bob Francy^ Lake. They took an axe and chopped a hole in the ice which was 
about six inches thick. Then Uncle Arvin and Mom got down in the water and she was 
baptized. I took a dim view of the whole affair and said," I don't want you to baptize my 
mamma!" so they told me. When they got out of the water, they wrapped Mom in a red wool 
blanket, to keep her from freezing. Ed and I had not been blessed so that was done before 


we left also. After the baptisms and blessings were finished, we left for California at the end 
of January. We went to Coachella to stay with Ruth and Clarence Nelson, Moms sister and 
brother-in-law, at their home. I fell in love with the little neighbor girl, and when it was time 
to go, I cried. I knew Td never see her again, sure enough I was right. Then we moved to 
the Hayfields Ranch about 15 miles west of Desert Center. There were so many snakes there, 
a concrete wall had been built around the yard to keep them out of the house. I went out side 
the fence one morning and a big snake was coiled up under the car in the lean to beside the 
house, he stuck out his tongue at me. I almost stepped on one up by the water storage tank. 

One day Dad had to go to town in a hurry; he came in the house, put on his dress 
pants, jumped in the Ford, and started for town. About a quarter mile down the road he 
suddenly stopped, jumped out of the car, pulled off his pants, and shook out two scorpions. 
I can remember walking up through the canyon to the mine, about six miles, and riding 
horseback several times. Sometimes we'd see snakes, or mountain sheep, and once we saw 
a tame sheep some one had lost. Dad killed it, and we ate it. Another time when we were 
returning from town we found a car turned over and burning with a big column of black 
smoke rising into the air. The man who was in the car had his ear cut about half off. That 
night I dreamed about a big smokie man with that column of smoke rising up from him. I 
could see him coming across the desert toward me, just as he was about to get me I would 
wake up. The night mare continued for a several days, until I was afraid to go to bed. 

While we lived at the Hayfields, Dad ran a trap line. He trapped coyotes, foxes, and 
an occasional badger. I remember all of us going with him to check the traps in an old 
stripped-down Ford truck. 

Toward the end of our stay at Hayfields, one of the construction crews, for the 
aqueduct bringing water from the Colorado River to Los Angeles, camped near us. One of 
our horses was poisoned on their garbage dump. They also built a power line through near 
the ranch. Suddenly we were no longer isolated. Our stay at the Hayfields was coming to a 

While we lived at Hayfields, I was old enough to go to school but couldn't go, so 
Mom taught me to read and spell, add and subtract. She taught me well enough that when 
I started school the next year, I was able to start in the second grade, and I was equal to or 
ahead of the other kids. I was eight years old when I started to school in Mecca. We stayed 
there about a month, and moved to Thermal. At Thermal, we lived in a little house behind 
a bar called the Desert Tavern, which was closed. We didn't have a bathroom when we lived 
there. The back of the lot was covered, thickly, with arrow weed about four feet tall. We 
dug a hole in the arrow weed and used that for a toilet. When one hole filled up we dug 
another one. One day I was waiting for the school bus behind the tavern with several other 
kids, most of whom were black, next to a fence. Ed, who was three, walked up on the other 
side of the fence behind us. He looked at that little kid through the fence, reached through 
the fence, patted him on the head and said, "You're a nigger Mexican, aren't you?" 


The next year we moved to Beaumont, near where Ruth and Clarence had moved. 
We lived for a short while up in the foothills north of Beaumont, by an apple orchard. We 
lived there about a month and moved closer to town in Cherry Valley, next to a peach 
orchard. While living there, I trapped gophers out of the orchard for ten cents apiece. We 
lived in an old frame house in Cherry Valley. We didn't have electricity there, we used a 
gasoline lantern hung in the center of the room I remember several earthquakes we had 
while living there, and the lantern would sway back and forth; they were fun. 

I started the third grade at Beaumont. Aunt Ruth took me to school the first morning. 
I didn't want to go to school there; it was a big school and I knew all the kids were smarter 
than I was. She finally talked me into going, so I said, "All right, Til go, but I'm gonna hang 
back" One morning in Cherry Valley, I got on the school bus, sat down and looked out the 
window, here came Ed running out to the bus without a stitch on. All the kids laughed, I 
was embarrassed again. Aunt Ruth took me down and got me a library card. I read all kinds 
of books; I especially liked to read Zane Grey's novels, I read nearly all of them We lived at 
Beaumont for several years; I attended the third, fourth, and fifth grades there. 



In 1937 after school was out, we moved back to Arizona, into one of the little houses 
on the west side of the sawmilL Dad got a job topping trees for the Cady Lumber Company 
at McNary. We moved to a little house at Horseshoe Cienaga, about 15 miles east of 
McNary, for the summer. I spent the summer fi shing in the little stream that ran through the 
cienaga. In the fall we moved into McNary so we could go to school. No houses were 
available so we moved into a boxcar temporarily. The boxcar had bed bugs in it; they almost 
ate us up. We finally got a house on the back row, the second house from the road out to 
Vernon. Norville Holiday lived in the first house. It was in the sixth grade in McNary, that 
I first met Thelma Mineer. Thelma lived on the corner one block south of our house. I fell 
in love with Thelma and her mini skirt. The teacher. Miss Bodily, would crack your knuckles 
with the edge of a ruler when you misbehaved. Thelma was the teacher's pet — she didn't get 
her knuckles cracked. It was in McNary I almost got arrested by my future brother-in-law 
for shooting fire crackers. We had a lot of fun fishing in the streams around McNary. Norval 
and I made stilts and walked on them, some were about four feet tall. While I was there, the 
town had a spinal meningitis epidemic, the whole town was quarantined for about three 
weeks, and several children died. 

We left McNary in July 1938. I started the seventh grade in San Simon, moved to 
McNeal, and finished the year in Springerville. At McNeal, we caught some donkeys and 
rode them until the owners came and got them At Springerville, we lived next to Uncle 
Lloyd and Aunt Ruth. Mom had a big, copper, double boiler which held about fifteen gallons 
of water. I had to build a fire under it outside, to heat water for Mom to wash. She had a 
wringer type washer with a gasoline engine. In Springerville we swam in the Little Colorado 
River, and fished in the streams around the area. One day, Dad met Uncle Lloyd driving 
down off the mountain to Eagar, and they stopped to talk. Dad noticed a turkey feather in 
his beard, so he walked around behind Lloyd's car. There was a turkey's tail sticking out 


from under the trunk lid. When the Lord said we wouldn't be tempted more than we could 
bear, surely he wasn't talking about turkeys or fishing. Ed and I were baptized in Francys 
Lake 9 September 1939, before we left Springerville. I started the eighth grade in 
Springerville then moved to Bowie to finish the year. I graduated from the eighth grade at 
Bowie on the 3rd of May 1940. 

After I graduated from the eighth grade, I went to the mill to stay with Grandpa and 
Grandma Goodman for the summer. I had fun riding Uncle Chet's little mare who had a colt. 
I worked for Cecil Naegle cutting sunflowers out of his grainfield. We went to the rodeo at 
Vernon, where Uncle Lloyd broke his wrist riding a bronc, and Uncle Chet roped a cal£ but 
wasn't fast enough to get in the money. 

Uncle Afvin was runmng the mill that summer, I helped fire the boiler and anything 
else I could do to get in the way. When I drove the horses skidding a log, Uncle Afvin said 
"Don't get on the downhill side of the log," so that's the first thing I did, and rolled a log over 
myseh; but it wasn't very big. 

When I left the mill at the end of the summer I started the ninth grade at Phoenix 
Union High SchooL After two weeks at school, we moved to Texas Canyon, and I went to 
school in Benson. With about three months of the school year left, we moved to Yuma. Two 
or three weeks before school was out, Mom and Dad moved to Mormon Lake (near 
Flagstaff). I stayed in Yuma to finish the school year. When school was out, I caught a bus 
to Flagstaff and Mom met me at the bus depot. At Mormon Lake we lived at Bass Point, 
and did lots of swimming, boating and fishing. There were several old row boats there which 
we repaired, and I rented during the summer. In the fall we moved to Lake Mary, and I 
started my sophomore year at Flagstaff After Christmas, in February, we moved to Williams. 
After school was out that year, we moved to Pitman valley. Shortly after World War II 
started, construction began on the Navajo Ordnance Depot. I was able to get a job there 
helping build bases for the igloos where they would store the ammunition. I received 87V# 
an hour; I was sixteen years old. 

When the summer was over, I went to Vernon to stay with Grandma and Grandpa 
Goodman. I started my junior year of school in St Johns. After Christmas, I decided to join 
the Navy, but since I was only seventeen I had to get my parents' permission. In February, 
I went to Tombstone where they were living to get them to sign my papers. After much 
persuasion, they finally signed the papers. I was sworn in 22 March 1943, in Phoenix. I was 
sent to San Diego for boot camp. They cut all our hair off and issued us our new clothes. 
It didn't take long for me to figure out I wasn't where I really wanted to be. They gave us a 
series of tests to see what we were not qualified to do, so they could assign us to do that. 
Toward the end of my stay in San Diego, Grandpa Goodman died, but they wouldn't let me 
go home. After our six weeks boot camp was over, they put us on a train and sent us to The 
University of Minnesota for four months of electrical school. I finished number twenty seven 
in a class of one hundred fifty. I could have done better if I had finished high school, but I 





was a little weak in math. When I finished at the University, I volunteered for Submarine 
School, which was about three months long, at New London, Connecticut. Then I went to 
six weeks of Battery and Gyro School, at New London. When the schools were all over, they 
put us on a train to Mare Island Navy yard at Vallejo, California. At Mare Island, we were 
put on a destroyer and sent to Pearl Harbor. At Pearl Harbor, I was placed in Relief Crew 
42. The relief crews worked on the submarines when they came back from war patrols, while 
the crew went on two weeks rest and recuperation. The members of the relief crews would 
be assigned to the submarines as needed. After five months in the relief I was assigned to the 
USS Tautog. We left Pearl Harbor, stopped at Midway, then headed for the south coast of 
Japan. We cruised on the surface for six or seven days, until we got near Japan. We could 
tell we were near when a plane dropped a bomb on us. We saw it in time to dive but they 
dropped the bomb anyway. After we got a little closer we cruised on the surface at night and 
charged batteries. During the day we were submerged about 18 hours watching for ships. If 
the fog was thick enough, we would stay on the surface. One night we were on the surface 
when the Executive Officer woke up, went up to the bridge and said," It's about time we 
changed course." He gave a 90 degree course change, we turned between two torpedoes. 
They went by about sixty feet on each side of us. We never knew where they came from We 
sank several ships, and nearly every time we sank a ship we'd get depth-charged. One day we 
were on the surface in the fog; all of a sudden we were out of the fog and only a half mile 
from shore off Tokyo Bay. They didn't see us, so we turned right back into the fog. We 
stayed out on patrol for 60 days, then came back to Midway for two weeks' R&R. We were 
then sent back to San Francisco for a six month general overhaul. After the overhaul we went 
back to Pearl Harbor, stopped at Midway, this time our destination was the South China Sea. 
We started our patrol right off the northern coast of Japan, at the entrance to the harbor at 
Nagasaki, where the second atomic bomb would be dropped a few months later. We sighted 
a Japanese submarine coming out of the harbor, but we were too far away to fire torpedoes 
at it. Several nights later, we sank a small fishing boat. We picked up a prisoner who was 
a cook on the fishing boat, so we put him to work helping the cooks. We sank several other 
small ships including a small troop ship. The captain wanted to pick up another prisoner, but 
they were afraid to take the rope, even though the water was near freezing. The captain 
asked for the other prisoner to be sent up; he talked for a couple of minutes, and then both 
of them wanted to come aboard. The new prisoners were surly, and the captain decided after 
a couple of weeks they were too dangerous for us to keep. We had no facilities to lock them 
up, and they had to be guarded constantly. We kept the first prisoner, since we didn't have to 
guard him The other two prisoners were turned loose near an island in our life raft. 

Near the end of our patrol run we found an oil tanker, and fired three torpedoes. We 
hit it but it didn't sink. We fired all the torpedoes we had left, and hit it ten times, but when 
we left it was still floating. It turned out to be an empty tanker — had it been filled it would 
probably have exploded with the first three. With no torpedoes left, we were instructed to 
go home; we had been out 66 days. During the last two patrols on the Tautog, we sank 13 
ships. In total, the Tautog made 13 patrol runs, had 65 battle flags, including one plane shot 
down at Pearl Harbor, and one Japanese submarine sunk. Before we got back to Midway, 


seven days later, we were informed that the oil tanker had sunk. I guess we had spies in 

When we arrived back at Midway, the Tautog was 
assigned to return to the States to be used as a school boat. 
Since I had less time overseas than some of the other crew 
members, I was transferred to Relief Crew 242 on Midway, 
which was stationed on a submarine tender, the USS 
Sperry. I was still on Midway about 30 days later when 
the first atomic bomb was dropped. With the war over, I 
was 20 years old, I still had a year to serve, until I was 21. 
Several weeks later, the Sperry was sent back to Pearl 
Harbor. When we arrived in Pearl Harbor I was assigned 
to the USS Rock, a submarine that was to be sent back to 
New London, Connecticut, to be decommissioned. We 
went through the Panama Canal and up to New Orleans. 
We stayed at New Orleans for thirty days, then went to 
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for a couple of weeks, and 
finally to New London. After arriving at New London, we 
started preparing the submarines to be decommissioned. 
We worked on the USS Rock, USS Flounder, and USS 
Piranha. Then I was transferred to the West Coast where 

we worked on the USS Lizardfish, for decommissioning. Then I was transferred to the USS 
Scabbardfish for permanent duty. I remained there until I was sent to Treasure Island Naval 
Base at San Pedro, California for discharge. I was discharged August 8, 1946, after serving 
three years, four months, and seventeen days. 

Gene home on leave, 1944, 
with Dutch and Silver 

When I was discharged, Mom and Dad were living at Thermal, California. On the 
way home, I stopped by Grandma Smith's home in Modesto. Tom Gholson, Mom's brother, 
and I left Modesto and traveled to Thermal. We looked for work around Thermal, but didn't 
find any. When Dad's job was over at Thermal, he went back to Flagstaffto work for Fisher 
Contracting Co. Tom and I went with them and were able to both get work on the road job 
Dad was working on. We worked all summer for Fisher; I drove a truck hauling concrete 
from a box car to the batch plant. In the fall when the job was finished, Tom went back to 
California, and I was sent to Wehon to work on another job for Fisher. After about a month, 
they asked me to come back to Phoenix to work at the batch plant driving a dumpster hauling 
gravel from the pit to a grizzley. The dumpster didn't have any brakes, and after I dumped the 
gravel, I had to back down a steep hill (in reverse gear) to get back in the pit. Going down 
that hill without any brakes was real exciting. I didn't have to do that very long until they 
sent me to work on a street job on Seventh Ave. 

While working on that job, Thelma and I were married on April 5, 1947. We lived 
in a little one room apartment, with a swamp cooler. When we ran the cooler it would vibrate 


the shelf over the toilet, and everything on the shelf would fall in the toilet. In May 1947 Dad 
went to Williams to work on a road job for Bowen and McLaughlin. In June it started getting 
hot, on about the 12th, it was 113 degrees , so I quit, and Thelma and I left the valley and 
moved to Williams, where I started working for Bowen and McLaughlin with Dad as a 
mechanic's helper. Then I was sent to Winslow for same company. When the job finished at 
Winslow they didn't have any work so I was laid off 


Gene and Thelma 

I started work as an apprentice electrician 
for Smithie's Electric, at Winslow. While living 
there, we lived in a small apartment just a little bit 
larger than the one in Phoenix. Ed and Jim were 
living in another apartment next to us while going 
to school. One day they got in a fight and the 
neighbors called the cops. Thelma just about 
whipped the neighbors, the cops, and Ed and Jim, 
too. Jim said that was their last big fight. After that 
they ganged up on me. 

While living there, Barbara was born. When she was about four months old, she got 
the whooping cough, and the doctor didn't know what she had. If Thelma hadn't known what 
to do, we'd have lost her. We finally took her to the hospital in Cottonwood, and Thelma 
stayed with her night and day until she was all right. Tom and Virginia were also born there 
in Winslow. We lived in Winslow for four years until I finished my apprenticeship. After my 
apprenticeship was finished, I went to work for Tissaw Electric in Flagstaff and worked there 
for four years. Tissaws ran out of work, so I went to work for Shaum Electric also in 
Flagstaff. I worked for Shaum four years, then I got a contractor's license, and Jim and I 
started Goodman Electric in 1960. Then we invited Ed to come over from Albuquerque and 
work with us. We continued in business until 1965. We decided we were not doing as well 
as we could, so we dissolved the business and went to work. I went to work at the paper 
mill running a crew hooking up the controls on all the equipment. When the paper mill job 
was near the end, I was asked to take over wiring the high-rise dorm at N. A.U. for Industrial 
Electric. The dorm was to be nine stories high, and was partially built and completed to the 
second floor. Before that job was completed, the company was low bidder on a job, another 
dorm, across the street, so I worked both together. After one job finished, but before the 
other was completed, they got another job on campus, The Creative Arts Building, So I again 
had to work both jobs together. Work was scarce in Flagstaff so I went to Tucson, where 
work was plentiful. I worked a small job at the airport, then went to the Anaconda copper 
mine, where they were building a plant to process copper ore. After a few months work 
picked up at home and I was able to come back and do another job on campus at N.A.U. 
This time I did the Liberal Arts Building for Shaum Electric. When that job was finished in 
1969, Jim and I decided to try contracting again. I took the test and acquired a license again. 
We continued in business until the mid seventies. Then economic conditions changed again 
making conditions incompatible for union contractors. We acquired a general contractor's 


license and built houses and small commercial buildings for awhile. Tom began taking over 
the electrical contracting business. Jim and I gradually retired, divided most of our assets, 
and lived off the rentals we had acquired over the years. 

Gene and Thelma 

Gene and Thelma 



Tom, Virginia, Barbara 
Thelma, Gene 

Tom and Carolyn Goodman 
with Jeremy, Derick, and Kristi 



Steve and Virginia West 
with Cara 

Cara West 

Fred and Barbara Klug, with Ron 




Ron and Kristy Klug 

GaryKlug, 1994 

- -* 

•• — — — — 

William Edward Goodman, Jr. 

(Submitted by Gene and Jim) 

Ed was born August 15, 1930, in the house that Dad had built a few months before 
at the Goodman sawmill south of Vernon. In January, 193 1 the family wanted to go back 
to California. Mom decided to be baptized, and Ed and Gene needed to be blessed before we 
left. Ed was five months old when we went back to California. This was during the 
Depression when jobs were hard to find. We had to live wherever Dad could find work. We 
lived in southern California at several places including Coachella, the Hayfields Ranch, 
Thermal, and finally at Beaumont where Ed started to school. Dad had a gold mine which 
was located in the Eagle Mountains about six miles north of the Hayfields Ranch. While 
working the mine, which was named the Shooting Star, we camped in the big sand wash with 
the snakes and the scorpions. Ed, Jim and Gene had fun playing in the big sandwash and 
being chased by the Chuckawalla lizards that were numerous around the mine. We lived in 
California for about six years before we returned to Arizona in 1937. 

Back in Arizona, we lived at the sawmill, Horseshoe Cienaga, and McNary, where Ed 
started the second grade. When we left McNary in July 1938, Dad worked on road 
construction jobs which required frequent moves. Over the next 10 years the family moved 
about thirty-six times before Ed graduated from high school. We moved to many towns in 
all parts of Arizona. During this time, the family made trips to Vernon as often as possible, 
to visit and to fish in the streams in the White Mountains. Several times Uncle Lloyd and 
Aunt Ruth, and Uncle Afvin and Aunt Bertha and their families moved to the same towns that 
we did. Then there were the deer hunting trips that our family made every year in October. 
Most of the time we hunted around Flagstaff. Our favorite hunting spot was in Barney 
Pasture on the Woody Mountain Road. One time we spotted a nice buck. Ed said "Stand 
back! Til blow him off the face of the map." He missed! It took a long time for him to live 
that one down. 

Ed seemed to have no fear of anything. There was an old railroad bridge across a 
canyon at Lake Mary. The railroad ties had been removed, leaving two steel beams 12 inches 
wide, about 30 feet long, and about 20 feet in the air, spanning the canyon about eight feet 
apart. The kids who were brave enough crawled across or walked slowly and carefully. Ed 
walked across once and then ran back; then he ran over it several more times. When we lived 
at Tombstone there were lots of abandoned mine tunnels. The kids were told to stay out of 
them because they were not safe, but Ed explored most of them He had quite a few fights 
as he was going to school. He didn't pick fights, nor was he looking for them, but he never 
backed away from one. If there was ever a bully around, Ed usually managed to get into a 
fight with him, even though he might be older or larger, and Ed usually won. When he was 
around you never had to worry about any one bothering you. Jim, who was two years 
younger, said Ed used to beat him up, but he wouldn't tolerate anyone else doing it. One time 
on a construction job where Ed was working as an electrician, he made up some boxes and 



conduits to go in a block wall and gave them to the bricklayer, with instructions, to lay them 
in the wall at the proper time. As the block layer built the wall he ignored the boxes and built 
the wall without them. When Ed came back and saw what had been done he took a big 
hammer and started tearing down the wall. He told the bricklayer, "You knew these boxes 
were supposed to go in the wall; next time you'd better do it right!" And he did. 

When we lived at McNary, Ed was about six years old. The older boys were shooting 
firecrackers which was against the law. Someone yelled, "Here comes the Sheriff! " Everyone 
ran except Ed. He went home crying to Mom "Everyone else ran but I stayed there and took 
it like a man. " 

Ed had a lot of mechanical ability. As a young boy, he loved to fix things that didn't 
work. He would tear up a clock or whatever and put it back together and make it work. 

While growing up, Ed attended many different schools. He graduated from high 
school at Winslow, Arizona. During most of the school year he had been dating Shirley 
Morgan, and after graduation he asked her to marry him They were married July 11 1950. 
At that time Winslow was a major railroad division point, and Ed got a job as a brakeman 
with the Santa Fe railroad. 

Before long Ed decided he didn't want a railroad career, so he quit and went to work 
with Gene, who was Irving in Winslow at that time. Gene was working as an apprentice 
electrician in a local shop. After getting some electrical experience, Ed and Shirley moved 
to Albuquerque, New Mexico. They lived in New Mexico until 1960, when Gene and Jim 
asked him to move to Flagstaff and help start an electrical contracting business. That 
seemed to be a good idea so Ed and Shirley sold their home in Albuquerque, and moved to 

Ed served in various callings in the church in Albuquerque and Flagstaff. At one time, 
Ed and Shirley were dance directors in their stake at Albuquerque. In Flagstaff he served as 
a stake Missionary, and as a counselor to Grant Holyoak, who was president of the Lamanite 
Branch in Flagstaff. Ed was killed in an automobile accident on October 16, 1978 just east 
of Holbrook. He was buried in Flagstaff. 

Ed and Shirley have three sons: Danny Ray, bom 27 September 195 1 ; James Edward, 
bom 29 Oct 1955; and William Timothy 20 July 1959. Dan lives in Showlow and has four 
children and four grandchildren. Jim lfves in Flagstaff and has two children. Tim lfves in 
Federal Way, Washington, and has two children 


Edward and Shirley Goodman 

Edward, Shirley, Dan, and Baby James 




Jim and Norma with Melanie 

Melanie and Albert Jason 


Tim and Robert 

Vicky with Aaron Cole 


James Lloyd Goodman 

I was born October 15, 1932 in Indio, California. Indio is located in the Coachella 
Valley, not too far from the Sarton Sea. It is a desert valley with large groves of date palms 
and orange trees. I was bom there during the time Dad was working in California. We lived 
in California until I was about five years old. I can remember living in several desert 
locations. Most of all I remember driving up the long sand wash in Dad's 1929 Chevrolet on 
the way to his ruining claim in the Eagle Mountains. It was located a few miles northwest of 
Desert Center. We went there often. My Dad, and for awhile Uncle Don, dug a tunnel and 
a deep shaft along a vein of gold ore looking for a rich pocket of ore. 


When I was about six years old, we moved back to Arizona. Dad began working as 
a mechanic on road construction jobs. This was our life until after I finished high school. We 
lived in most of the town in Arizona. For several years we lived in rental houses. Then we 
bought a 27 foot trailer house, and moving was easier after that. We usually attended two 
or more schools each year. Sometimes we hated to move to a new town, but each move 
brought new friends and new places to explore. Several cousins, mostly Uncle Arvin's and 
Uncle Lloyd's children, lived in the same places that we did when their dads worked on the 
same jobs. That was a great experience for all of us. My children have all lived in the same 
town and some of them in the same house as they were growing up. 

One of the highlights of growing up was the frequent trips to Vernon and my 
Grandfather's sawmill. There was a spring where you could always get a cold drink. My 
Grandmother kept milk from the milk cow in tin lard buckets. She would keep them cold by 
hanging them from a plank into a deep well of cold spring water. All of the kids there would 
spend many hours playing king of the mountain on the big sawdust pile at the sawmill. 
Several times a year we would go fishing in the White Mountains. That was back when the 
fishing was good and the people were not so numerous. 

When I graduated from high school at Winslow, Arizona, I started working on road 
construction. Then, along came the Korean War. At that time, most of the 18 year old men 
were being drafted into the Army. I decided Td prefer to be in the Navy, so I enlisted. After 
boot camp in San Diego, I attended an electrical school where I received the honorman award 
for having the highest grade in the class. I was assigned to the USS Saint Paul, a heavy 
cruiser. We spent most of the time cruising in the Sea of Japan long the coast of Korea. 

When I was discharged from the Navy, I returned to Arizona and went back to road 
construction. I learned to be a grease monkey; the Union called us lubricating engineers. I 
greased and fueled the equipment every day. 

I received a call from the Church to serve a mission in the Central American Mission. 
Most of the time I was in El Salvador and Guatamala. When I arrived there, the mission was 
only about a year old and there were only about 500 members in all of Central America. I 

•» mt — 


had to learn Spanish to be able to teach. During the 2Vi years I was there, I had many great 
experiences and baptized a number of good people 

After my mission, I worked with my Dad building cattle tanks with his bulldozer 
around Vernon and Quemado, New Mexico. My mother and I always hated to help Dad 
repair the Caterpillar tractor. We had to hold the long punch to remove the track pins, while 
Dad hit the end of the punch with a sledge hammer. He'd say, "Don't flinch or I might hit 
you." We usually closed our eyes so we couldn't see the hammer coming; otherwise, it was 
hard not to flinch. He didn't ever hit us. From his years of hand drilling at the mine, he 
developed an accurate swing. 

Then I decided it was time to strike out on my own. I attended the University of 
Arizona for one semester. When school was out, I went to Flagstaff to work on road 
construction for the summer. I learned to operate the big rubber tire Euclid scrapers. While 
I was there, I began dating Janet Langston, so I stayed there. We were married in the 
Arizona Temple May 29, 1958. We have five children, Diana, Bill, Sherrie, Dave, and Rick. 

We believed in the American dream so we bought a gas station business along with 
Gene. We soon found that it was a hard way to make a Irving, so we sold it to another 
dreamer. Gene and Ed were electricians so we decided to start an electrical contracting 
business. This was almost as hard as the service station, but over a period of time we were 
able to build a successful business. I spent most of my working years as an electrician. Later 
on we decided to do some building contracting. My sons, Bill, Dave, and Rick have all 
worked with me building houses until they decided to do other things or finished school. 

I have served in various callings in the Church over the years. Among these were 
Ward Clerk, Young Mens Adviser, Young Mens Presidency, Ward and Stake Financial 
Clerks, Scoutmaster, counselor in the Stake Mission Presidency, Bishop's counselor two 
times, and Bishop of the Flagstaff Second Ward. I hope my children will always remember 
and try to follow the principles and standards taught in our home and in the Church. 

As of this writing, Diana has two children and lives in Flagstaff. Bill lives in Mesa. 
Sherrie has two children and lives in Flagstaff. Dave has two children and lives in Flagstaff. 
Rick lfves in Flagstaff. And Janet and I still live in Flagstaff. 


L to R: Rick, Jim, Janet, and Bill Goodman 



Mark and Diana Doss, with Mark and Charlie 

- - ? 

- - - 


Chris and Shawna Michels, with Mehsssa and Sherrie 





David and Sally Goodman, with Savana and Shelby 


Chapter 9 
Alvin Ezra Goodman 

Memories and Happenings in the 

Life of Alvin Ezra Goodman 
(Recorded by him in July 1975) 

My Dad, William (everyone called him Uncle Will or Will), came from Michigan as 
a young man about 17 or 18, to the area of Alamosa, Colorado and Chama, New Mexico and 
worked at Taos, New Mexico for several years in the sawmills, before coming to Linden, 
Arizona. He didn't like Mexicans, so he came to Arizona to run cows. 

During the time he was in New Mexico, Dad went hunting bear. He got out about 
a mile from camp and went through a thicket, and about 20 to 30 yards away a bear raised 
up. Dad looked at the bear, looked at his 45-70, looked at the bear, and decided that one 
bullet wasn't enough to do the job, so he took off for camp. 

My mother, Hannah McNeil, lived in Show Low area and her brothers got to telling 
her about this good-looking guy that had moved in to Linden. They got her to go to a dance 
one evening as everyone from miles around went to every dance that was held in the area, so 
I think they met at a dance. 

I think most of us first kids were born in Linden; I was born there in 1901. I 
remember my grandpa (Edward Livingston Goodman) lived with us in the house in Linden 
for a winter or two. I don't know where he went from there nor where he died. 

From Linden we moved to Pinetop, I was about 2 or 3 (1902-1903), and Dad built 
a home. Dad was a carpenter and a lot of things. We didn't stay long in Pinetop, but Walter 
was born there. 

We went to live at Fort Apache, this was when Walter was a baby. Dad worked as 
a carpenter building soldiers quarters when the U.S. Cavalry was stationed there at White 
River. We lived there from 1903 to 1906, and now had Donald. 

From there we moved to Cibecue in 1906 and Dad operated a Trading Post and began 
to build up a herd of cows; we ran them on the Carrizo. He also did carpentry work in 
Cibecue, building a lunch room at the school for the Indian children. Dad ran cows on the 
reservation, one of the first white men with a permit to run cows on an Indian reservation 
(Apache). Dad and Charlie Pettis ran cows together and built up quite a herd. After two 
years they split the blanket and Dad took his to Jumpoff Canyon. Bill and Frances went to 
school in Cibecue. We lived there a few years and I did my first year of school there. 



We had a school teacher, Old Man Benafield, who went with Dad and an Indian 
hunting bear. An old she-bear with some cubs ran into a Manzanita patch, so Dad and the 
Indian went into the patch in front of Old Man Benafield. They shot and hit the she-bear and 
wounded a cub which let out a scare- squall. When a mole raised up out of the underbrush, 
the Indian got scared and took of£ so Grandpa and Old Man Benafield followed. The next 
day they went back; the female was dead and the rest were gone. 

Then we moved to Jumpoff Canyon on the reservation. This was after my first year 
in school (1908-1909 ). We lived there in the summer and moved into Pinedale for school in 
the winter. We was doing this when John and Ray was born. Ray died and was buried in 


While we were living at Jump off Canyon, there were quite a few bears in the area. 
They were smart bears, and when they killed a 2 year old bull, we set a trap right between the 
bull's legs about 4 or 5 feet from the wash. When that bear came back, he stepped right over 
that trap and laid down on it. The trap grabbed him by the belly; he landed in the wash, 
leaving the trap. We set that trap in a different spot for the next three nights. On the third 
morning, the trap was on the bull's nose, but there was no bear! 

We tied a trap to a cow's leg and set it, and a bear ran away with that thing right up 
the mountain, breaking limbs as big as my arm offtrees as she passed. We caught up with her 
at the top in a Manzanita thicket, but Dad didn't want to go in after the trap and we never did 
see the bear. 



At Deer Spring Canyon, at head of Jumpoff Canyon, we had three bear cubs up a tree. 
While one of us ran to get Pa, we tried to keep those cubs up there, but we couldn't make 
them stay. 

When I was about 3rd or 4th grade and still wore those damn ringlets (1910-191 1), 
Dad homesteaded a place in Cottonwood Creek, about two miles out of Clay Springs. We 
had a ranch of 160 acres. I was about 1 1 or 13 — somewhere in there by now. 

Aunt Ella (Ellen) Pennell came to visit with a couple of her kids — a boy, John, and 
one of her girls, Ruth. (This would have been her niece, the daughter of Walter and Rebecca 
Goodman, as Ellen did not have a daughter named Ruth.) Aunt Ella was Pa's sister who had 
taken care of him after his mother died when he was a baby. I remember this story Aunt Ella 
told about Dad when they were living in Illinois: The first colored man he had ever seen 
knocked at the door, and when he opened it, he hollered, "Oh El, come see this man with the 
rubber face!" 

I was over 13 in 1914 when Dad sold 425 head of cows to Tun Scott, for $ 19,000, and 
we drove 70 to 80 head to Holbrook to ship. That was a seven to eight day trip. We camped 
one night about 12 miles out of Holbrook on Cottonwood Wash. The herd was in an 

' — r " 


enclosure with poles on two sides, and two men were left to watch them. During the night, 
the herd stampeded. Those guys on watch were fast asleep and didn't even know it until we 
woke them in the morning; they were probably damn drunk. 

After Dad sold his cows, there was a circus man from New York convinced Pa to 
invest $5,000 in stock in steel ties, which he never saw again. He invested in some insurance 
and bought some machinery to dry-farm with to the tune of $5,000. In about 4 or 5 years he 
lost most of this. 

That winter — 1914 — John Pennell, from back east came to stay with us; he was about 
Frances and Bill's ages. 

In 1916, Dad bought 30 head of Bar X-L cows and ran them on the canyon head, 
mortgaged the ranch and bought more cows. By the winter of 1 9 1 8, cows were dying by the 
thousands, with 3 inches of snow and no feed. We lost a lot of cows and lost the ranch. 

In 1919 Dad and Lars Petersen bought cows to run on shares. Dad ran them for two 
years, then Lars was to run them for two years. After Lars' two years of running, he and his 
son-in-law, Germ Reidhead, took the cows to Winslow and sold them. And there were no 
cows left. Not long after this, Lars Petersen died. 

Dad bought 100 acres of land in Linden and we worked it for a couple of years, then 
Dad heard about a sawmill in Vernon being sold by a bank in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He 
hopped on his horse and rode all the way to Albuquerque and bought that mill from John 
"Bull" Anderson. We moved to the mill the last of 1923 and began running in the spring of 
1924. That was home until Ma sold the mill after Pa died in 1943. 

During the Depression years some of us boys had to find work; I cooked on the 
reservation for the Indians, so we ate well. 

After Ma sold the mill, I worked construction, first at Dragoon then at Pierce Ferry 
(now Lake Mead). That damn job was supposed to last two months, but it was so hot a man 
couldn't breathe, so I quit after the first week. I went to Mormon Lake for one summer, and 
then to Lake Mary's south of Flagstaff. We were there when the Second World War began 
on December 7, 1941. 

We moved the family to St. Johns for the kids to go to school and were there when 
the war ended in 1945. 

Now, in 1975, 1 live in Show Low. 



and Alvena 

Bert, Alvena, Gwen, Don and 
baby Wayne 


Bert and Alvin, 
Alvena, Gwen, Don, and Wayne 


The Bear 
Told by Gwen Goodman Foster 



Dad was in the 
woods one day and captured 
a bear cub. He brought him 
home, and he became 
Bruno, our pet. He chased 
and played with us like a 
puppy until he became so 
big he wrecked the 
household, so Dad built him 
a pen on the north side of 
the house. Kids, being 
kids, would tease him as 
they passed on their way 
home from school. One 
day, Bruno snapped and bit 
a boy's finger. Until then, 
every time we went anywhere, Bruno went with us. Dad would put him in the trunk of the 
old Chevy. This picture is of Dad and Bruno at the wall in Salt River Canyon coming or 
going from the valley. We kept Bruno until, when standing on his hind legs, he was much 
taller than Dad. It was a sad day for our family when Dad decided we needed to take him to 
Payson to the zoo. The zoo was run by the local tavern keeper who gave Dad $50 for Bruno. 

My Dad 
By Twila Goodman Hall 

Arvin and Bruno 


Alvin Ezra Goodman was bom January 9, 1901. Since I wasn't around until his 53rd 
birthday, that's where I will begin my recollections of his life. In 1954, he was living in St. 
Johns with Mom and 5 of their 7 children — Alvena and Gwen were married — Don, Wayne, 
Patsy, Lana, and me (Twila, the youngest). 


Don says he bought a new 1955 Chevy. It was probably the only new car he ever 

In about 1958, Dad moved his family to Show Low. The first house I remember was 
a log cabin-style house in the forest on the southwest edge of town. The next house we 
rented from the Ellsworths was kitty-corner, southwest from the downtown LDS chapel. 
While we were living in the latter, Patsy and Kathy Mills "borrowed" Don's car and wrapped 
it around a ponderosa pine. Dad and Mom spent many days at the hospital with Patsy. 



About 1961 Dad built a home for us on the old Linden Road, northwest of the Baptist 
Church. This was the house Dad lived in until he left this frail existence. 

Dad loved to plow up the ground and plant his seeds and make things grow. He loved 
gardening and camping and fishing with a zest. He always did everything with determination 
and thought. There was the wrong way to do things and HIS way — Period. 

Dad was a competitor in cards, horseshoes, croquet, pool, or anything like that. He 
hated to lose! One year at the Goodman reunion, Dad and Chon won the horseshoe 
tournament. He was so pleased about that! On Sunday afternoons, Dad and I would set up 
the croquet game on the front lawn and play for hours. His understanding of angles and 
rebounds made it next to impossible to beat him but the few times I did, the victory was 
SWEET. His understanding of physics also made him an excellent pool player. He was 
evidently the best competition in town judging by the endless phone calls requesting his 
presence at the pool hall. 

When Dad came home from a hard day's work, he'd go in to the living room and he 
on the floor in front of the hearth; there he'd rest his legs and feet up on the hearth. I 
remember going in and lying down beside him and throwing my arm over his chest and being 
amazed at the depth and breadth of his chest. 

Dad loved to take us all camping and fishing, and to take pictures everywhere he 
went. Mom says he loved pictures of scenery the best. He loved to haul wood, and could 
fell a tree, slice it up, and have it stacked in the truck by noon, while Mom and I enjoyed the 
aroma. His energy level was very high — until it came to the back yard. One day I said, "Dad, 
let's get the backyard cleaned up and get all the tools and boards and everything put up or 
hauled off." "Why?" he said. "The wind will have it all buried before long." 

Dad milked a cow (number 7) for many years. Td follow him down to the lower acre 
(where the corral/shed was) and enjoy his company. One day I took the lid off the grain 
barrel and a dozen mice jumped up in my face. As I ran screaming from the shed, Dad 
laughed himself silly. 

Dad and Wayne were great debaters. Wayne was "Union" and Dad was "Non- 
Union." They'd debate for hours about the curse of inequality in wages and benefits as Wayne 
tried to talk Dad into joining a union. Then they'd move on to pohtics. Dad would curse 
about the Democrats ruining our republic, and Wayne would choose the opposite position. 
The rest of the family would relocate to various other rooms of the house and close the doors. 

Dad growled about a lot of things, but his "bark" was worse than his bite. I didn't 
really learn to appreciate that about Dad until I went to Ricks and studied Anatomy and 
Physiology with Dr. Lyle Lowder whose bark was also worse than his bite. A number of 
students left that class because they hadn't had the previous experience with such "barkers." 

- - > - 


My husband, Chris, remembers going to Dad's and Mom's home as a young man with 
his own dad as a Home Teaching companion. He said our dads would enjoy talking forever 
it seemed. 

Dad's favorite color was BLUE. He tiled the bathroom in blue and painted the 
cupboards bhie. His bedroom carpet and walls were blue; but none of those blues could ever 
hold a candle to his BLUE eyes! 

Dad trimmed in between his eyebrows with the scissors. I always thought that was 
the most vain thing he ever did. His clothes were WORK clothes — UPS- driver- style shirts 
and pants of heavy fabric. He wore those same clothes fishing, wood hauling, gardening, and 
playing pooL He very seldom wore Sunday clothes, and I don't think he had anything in 

Dad liked to pay cash for everything. He had a lock box where he saved his hard- 
earned money. I found several thousand dollars in it one day. I think he used that to buy the 
last car he owned. He liked to stash a few bills under the carpet in the closet, too. Dad was 
never one to try to keep up with the Joneses. Whenever I would remark about someone's 
new vehicle or some other luxurious item, Dad would simply say, "I sleep well at night." 
meaning he didn't have debts hanging over his head that kept him awake. 

Dad's favorite cake (that I knew how to bake) was Betty Crocker's Bonnie Butter 
(vanilla). His favorite Christmas candy was divinity. He and Mom would fight about who 
was pouring too fast and who was stirring too slow, so I started calling it the "fight candy." 
Dad loved to buy me candy bars — whenever I asked for a horse, candy was the substitute: 
Bit O'Honey, Butterfinger, Chicken Legs, orange slices. Whenever we went to Vernon to 
visit Uncle Don and Aunt Evelyn, it was orange slices for sure. 

Visiting was especially important to him He'd take Mom and me to Concho to see 
folks there and we'd go visit Ah and Allen in Gallup. There were a lot of older people we 
visited around Vernon and Show Low whose names I can't recall, but Dad liked to GO! He 
also liked to drive FAST whenever he went down the Salt River Canyon. Mom would 
scream, "Slow down, you crazy fool; you're going to kill us all! " and Dad would speed on all 
the faster. 

Dad said he took Gwen with him on a construction job once, but between her burning 
all the food and him giving away his labor, they came home empty-handed. 

Dad didn't own a television until sometime after he retired — probably about 1967 or 
68. He enjoyed watching t.v. in the evenings after a game of cribbage or rummy with Mom 
He also liked to play dominoes. 


When Dad had his own garage in Show Low, about 1965, Td ride from the elementary 
school down to the comer and wait for him to finish his work. Then he'd say I should get 
started for home, so Td take off riding and he'd catch up to me about the bottom of Butler 
Hill, the highest, longest hill on the old Linden Road. When Td see him coming, IM pull to 
the left of the lane and he'd pull up beside me and put his arm out the window. Td get a free 
ride up that dreaded hill by holding onto his extended arm. 

One year I got a new bike for Christmas and Dad was anxious to try it out. He invited 
me along "for the ride." He rode that bike like he was going down Salt River Canyon. I 
panicked and tried to slow us down with the old "feet on the cinders" trick , but I ended up 
knees down in blood and dirt. 

In 1972, Dad took me to Ricks College. We had a deal — I paid for the first semester 
and he paid for the second semester. Thanks to him I had two wonderful years at Ricks. 


After Lacy was bom in 1976, Dad was feeding her the usual mashed breakfast stuff 
and found her first tooth when he bumped it with a spoon. 

Dad was always generous toward me and my little family. Many times I moved back 
in with him and Mom; even though he was suffering with cancer, he offered us hospitality and 
love. The last time I remember seeing Dad was the day he came to Snowflake to visit us. I 
fixed him some scrambled eggs because he couldn't fit his false teeth in to his remodeled 
mouth. He was always grateful for any little thing anyone did for him 

ITie first time I saw Dad cry, really break down and cry like a baby, was the day a little 
boy ran out in front of him Dad was driving Jim McCartys truck and the brakes didn't stop 
him before he hit the little fellow. The boy survived with only a few broken bones, but Dad 
was sure torn up about it. The only other times I remember seeing him cry was at funerals. 
He was a steady sort, never disappeared, was always there day after day doing the same old 
mundane things season after season, and never complaining about his lot in life. 

Dad taught me to work by his example, and taught me to take life one blow at a time, 
without complaining. Dad wasn't a church-going sort, but he had a testimony of the Book 
of Mormon that he shared with me once. IVe had a dream about Dad since he died., I 
dreamed I was sitting in a foyer, like the one outside the Bishop's Office, when Dad walked 
into the room I was surprised to see him dressed in Sunday clothes, and asked if I could hug 
him; he said I could. I asked him what he had been doing and he said he had been 
busy — teaching. I believe that is what Dad is busy doing now. I love you, Dad; thank you 
for everything you did for me. 



Ezra and The Bear 

by Brent Mowrer 

(This poem was one of my Grandfather Goodman's favorite stories. I set it to verse, because 
I want it to last, to be heard, and to be enjoyed by many. This is for my mother and my 
children, and for the whole Goodman family, especially Arvin Ezra's brothers, sisters, and 
parents. In memory of Arvin Ezra, my Grandfather) 

Seems there was this Cowboy, a right handsome young lad. 

I reckon got 'es good looks, from 'es mama and 'es dad. 

His name was Ezra Goodman, an' out 'e rode one day. 

Lookin' fer cow critters, that 'ad gone astray. 

Well, Ezra took to singin' to the mountain flowers. 

He sang as 'e rode along, to pass away the hours. 

Soon 'es voice grew silent, his songs was all used up. 

Now, Ezra, he's a figurin' his life was in a rut. 

He rode on through the pine trees, an' comes upon a glen. 

An' what he saw transpirin' made 'im fairly grin. 

For there in that grassy meadow, this is what 'e spied: 

An ol' black bear a sunnin', warmin' its backside. 

Well, Ezra says to 'es horse, "I 'lows we'll have some run." 
So's 'e shakes 'im out a loop, an' they took 'er on the run. 
That ol' black bear was half asleep, an' far from any trees. 
An' Ezra's loop fell o'er its head, as pretty as you please. 

The ol' black bear it bellered, an' put up quite a fight. 
Now Ezra'd tied 'is rope down fast, that weren't none too bright. 

Well, Ezra an' 'es horse, they took off pretty fast, 
An' drug that poor ol' bear along, a bouncin' through the grass. 

The ol' bear it weren't obliged, and' wasn't havin' none. 

Seems it dug all four in, an' ended Ezra's fun. 

An' with some pawin' an' scratching got its claws entwined. 

Then paw over paw, it come up Ezra's line. 

Now, Ezra 'es a figurin' its time to cut an' run. 

An' he is just a cussin' the fool thing he done. 
But when 'e grabs fer 'es knife, he finds it was long gone! 
An' untiein' that knot 'e knowed 'id take 'im way too long. 





Well, Ezra left 'es saddle an 1 stirred up quite a breeze. 

Hit the ground a runnin', a headed fer the trees. 

Left behind 'es faithful mount, to be the bear's main course. 

He was makin' fer the woods, a feelin' no remorse. 

Then Ezra heard the poundin' hooves, of 'es faithful friend. 

But when 'e turned around to look, he knowed it was the end. 

for there upon 'es saddle, the bear was ridin' high! 

An' with a cocky smirk, was actin' mighty sly. 

That bear was swingin' Ezra's rope, in a nice round ring. 

Young Ezra he's in trouble, if the bear can make the fling. 

Ezra climbed the first pine tree, an' only just in time. 

'Twas the branch down below 'in, that stopped 'es of gut line. 

Well, 'es horse an' that bear, they circled 'round an' 'round. 
Just lookin' fer a way to knock poor Ezra down. 
Now after a good long spell, they laughed an' then was gone. 
An' left poor Ezra perched up high, a ponderin' what went wrong. 

You may think it's funny, Ezra sittin' on a branch. 
But poor ol' Ezra had to walk twelve miles to the ranch. 

Now the moral to this story, I guess I could say, 
Is "When you see an ol' black bear, go the other way!" 

Alvena Goodman Mowrer 

My real name is Lucy Arvena and I was born May 24, 1933, in St. Johns. I'm one of 
five girls and two boys. We lived at the Goodman Sawmill until I was almost six, I guess, 
because I started school at McNary. It was also at McNary that Gwennie had spinal 
meningitis, and we were all quarantined for a period of time. We also had a bear cub that we 
took with us when we moved to Ashfork. 

Ashfork was the first place we lived when Dad started to work as a mechanic on road 
construction jobs. He did that for a couple of years. Before my 3rd grade year. Dad and 
Mom bought a home in St. Johns. My 3rd grade teacher was Mrs. Thurber, the first of many 
good and caring teachers in both school and in church. 

I was blessed to grow up knowing four living grandparents, one great-grandmother 
(Grandma McNeil), and a flock of aunts, uncles, and cousins. 


I met Allen Mowrer one summer while I was staying with Jane and Wendy Merrill. 
We were married March 27, 1954, at what was then the LDS mission home in Gallup. Allen 
was still in the Navy stationed at Port Hueneme, California. Brent was born there in 
December, and in March of 1955, we moved to Kingsville, Texas. Allen was discharged in 
July. When we got home to Gallup, we sold our little trailer for $600 of the $900 down 
payment on our home. We borrowed Mom and Dad's Maverick furniture, and Mom and Dad 
Mowrer gave us a pretty chrome-top kitchen stove. 

Now, thanks to our five sons, we have five daughters who have given us seven 
grandsons and seven granddaughters. It has evened up, at least for now. 

Besides all of the above-mentioned, some of my favorite things are Christmas, 
reunions, red rocks, clouds down on the ground, a breeze in the pine trees, the perfect double 
rainbow I once saw over Ute Mountain, a day by the fireplace when it's snowing or blowing 
outside, and whistles. 

Yes, whistles. When we were in California, the whistle of the tugboats bringing 

Allen's ship into the harbor; after we moved to Gallup, the sound of train whistles. 




1995 Up-date: Our mission is monopolizing our time. If we're not on the road 
headed for somewhere — almost 40,000 miles last year — we're rounding up stuff for the next 
trip. o 

On Monday, January 30, Allen left around 8 o'clock am with the mission truck and 
trailer loaded to the hilt with furnishings for the new duplex at Kayenta. Don and I waited 
for Sears to open so we could buy a washer/dryer stack. This we added to the refrigerators 
and ranges already on our truck. The ranges and fridges had been bought several days before 
at Sam's Club in Farmington. By the time we got to Kayenta, Allen and Elder Norton had his 
load all off They unloaded the appliances and spent 'til cold and nearly dark doing odds and 
ends. I had reserved rooms at the Weatherill Inn, but couldn't get "non- smoking." So the 
next day, we all smelled like we'd been on a party. 

The guys started Tuesday morning taking off skirting and disconnecting utilities so 
they could move the two old trailers out to make room for the donated fifth wheel. Don (my 
brother) used our truck to put the fifth wheel in place. Then about 4 o'clock pm with the old 
trailer hitched to the mission truck and the mission trailer hooked to ours, loaded with 
skirting, plumbing and cinder blocks, we finally headed for home by way of Round Rock 
where we left the trailers. This is the biggest job weVe done so far on this mission. Hope we 
don't have any bigger between now and our release in September. Thanks for your help, 

I need to go back to 1955 for a few minutes. Awhile after we bought our home in 
Gallup, I met the neighbor up the street on the northeast corner. We visited back and forth 


with never a thought of being related. After Grandma Goodman's funeral in 1960, 1 was at 
her house one day, and she asked, "Have you guys been on a trip?" I told her we'd been to 
Arizona for my grandmother's funeral. She said, "Dad and Mom had talked about going to 
Arizona for Aunt Hannah's funeral, but a bad storm around Farmington kept them home." 

Can you imagine our surprise when we put the pieces all together? Elaine is the 
daughter of Jesse Evans who was raised by Jay McCleave's (Venla's husband) parents. At 
that time, she was married to Bill Ruple from Aztec who also worked for Santa Fe R.R. She 
left Gallup years ago after they divorced, but it's always special to see her again, as we did at 
a recent funeral for Mory Christensen. 

In October 1988, we moved to Joseph City for Allen's work (on the Santa Fe). We 
bought a double-wide trailer which we sold to Tod and Toni Adair when we moved home in 
January 1990. We enjoyed that year with the good people of Joseph City. Also, it was nice 
to run to Taylor when we took the notion, and to jaunt around with Gwennie to gather 
information for the Rothlisberger family history book. 


But when Atchison- Top eka- Santa Fe offered a buy-out, we made a beeline for home, 
kids and grandkids (10 girls and 7 boys; two sets of twin girls). Speaking of twins, the Afvin 
Goodman tribe surely has the record for twins. Don and Kay had twin girls who both died. 
Wayne and Addie had twin girls, both living. Brent and Debbie had a boy and a girl, both 
deceased. Kevin and Mel have twin girls, both living. And Mayann and Alex had twin girls, 
with one still living. Of the five surviving twins, all are girls. 

P.S. My real name is Lucy Arvena, but am called Ah or Allie by a lot of the family. 
Was called Mickey as a baby, and am still called Lucy by Uncle Don and Kent, and Lucy 
Alswena by Uncle Leone Gillespie. 


It runs and jumps and skips along, 

Sometimes cries .... 

Then walks slowly back into the sunshine. 


Allen and Alvena Mowrer 



Brent and Debbie Mowrer, with Yondelle, Jacob 
Front row: Lucas, Lacie, Chantry, Aislinn 


Ruy and Jeanne Mowrer, with Shad 
Lance and Marsha 




Stacy and Cynthia Mowrer, 
with Dylan, Skylar, and Ciara 


Jared and Ann Marie Mowrer 
Quinn and twins Paige and Hannah 


Gwen Goodman Adair Foster 

My time on this earth has been one of continuous learning and experiencing new 
avenues. It seems I remember coming to this earth to a little spot in the White Mountains of 

It was not a choice time to be born during the Depression years of the 1930's, but 
come I did on 9 June 1934 to a spot that was called the "Goodman Sawmill," nestled among 
the wonderful singing Ponderosa pines a few miles south of Vernon. 

I had a wonderful beginning, as my father, Alvin, went to get the mid- wife and did not 
get back over the dirt roads in time. Grandma Goodman helped Mom bring me into the 
world, where I already had a sister waiting for me, just 13 months newer to this world than 
I. Mom called the home the "honeymoon cottage," so Tm sure I wasn't the first baby born 
on that spot. This little home of much love was later turned into a barn for the logging 
horses. In later years when we'd get "Old Dutch" from Grandpa Rothlisberger for slamming 
the screen door, or for leaving a door open, and he would holler "Were you born in a barn?" 
I could truthfully say, "Yes." 

Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Ruth were married a few days before Mom and Dad, so it was 
almost like twins coming to the mill, for the first eight children came in pairs. In fact, we 
grew up sometimes wondering who was the boss, and loving every bit of it. 

In the winters at the mill, the snow would get so deep that when Dad dug a path to 
the outhouse, it was impossible for a little girl with short legs to ever see anything but down 
the path. The summers were wonderful and full of fun, like falling in the "big" spring, and 
Grandma Goodman running down the plank that ran across the center of the spring, reaching 
down as we'd come to the top, grabbing a handful of hair, and pulling us out. 

Grandpa Goodman kept pigs at the mill which were allowed to run loose. He had one 
big sow that seemed to always have a Utter of little ones. They were our dolls, and we 
dressed them and played with them every day. We had so many funerals and little graves in 
the sawdust pile, we wonder now if any piglets ever survived. 

Wash days at the mill were a lot of work, as water was drawn from the big spring, 
poured into number three tubs, and heated over the fire. Grandma and all the 
women — daughters and daughters-in-law — would scrub the clothes on a washboard. As we 
grew a little older, they bought a new-fangled wringer washer that ran with a gas motor. One 
day when we were washing, Allie was sloshing the clothes in the rinse tub, and the mountain 
breeze blew her long hair into the wringer and wound it up pretty good before Mom could 
get it stopped and reversed. 


The large pile of sawdust below the mill grew every day the mill was running. Our 
favorite thing to do was to dig tunnels in the sawdust. We had large rooms dug out and 
tunnels leading in and out. We did lose a few articles of clothing in an occasional cave-in, but 
never a cousin. 

I don't remember our ages with Dad and his brothers left the mill to work for Tanner 
Construction, but we moved all over Arizona for several years. These brothers, with no 
formal education, were very talented in mechanics and heavy equipment operations, and were 
builders of some of the first highways in Arizona. 



The year Arvena started first grade, she went to eleven different schools. We were 
living at Mormon Lake and Lake Mary my first year of school in 1914. At the age of five, 
I remember the families of Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Ruth, Uncle Bill and Aunt Mary, Uncle 
Walter and Aunt Laura, and our family all lived at Mormon Lake. We kids played in the lake 
a lot and used the row boats to go out into the water. Of course, Gene, Edward, and Jimmie 
were older than most of us. One day they were home from school, and had some friends with 
them They tied a raft on behind the rowboat, and all us kids piled on. We had always been 
told never to go around the point of the lake, but this day we did. As the older kids were 
diving from the raft and swimming around, some of us smaller kids were sitting on the 
opposite side of the raft. Suddenly, one of the kids jumped up on the diving side of the raft, 
gave a bug lurch, and off I went down into the deep water and clear down to the sandy 
bottom. It seemed forever before they missed me and dove down to pull me out, half- 
drowned. That ended the fun that day. 


There has been a guardian angel with me most of my life, for reasons beyond my 
understanding. We lived McNary the year of the spinal meningitis outbreak, which I 
contacted. The entire town was under quarantine. The grocery man was allowed to bring 
food to the house and set it on the doorstep, but no one was allowed to go out. However, 
it seems the men were still allowed to go to work. I was paralyzed from the neck down. 
Mom and Dad took turns keeping the fire going and sleeping by my bed every night for I 
don't know how long. When the crisis was over, and people were allowed to come to town, 
Grandpa and Grandma Rothlisberger and Uncle Paul came to see me. But they couldn't come 
in the house, so Mom visited with them through the window. I had to learn to crawl and walk 
all over again. Some time during those months, my friend from across the street died from 
this terrible disease. 

On one of my first days out of bed, Don and I were playing under the kitchen table 
while Mom made a cake. She gave me the bowl to scrape, so I gave Don a generous 
spoonful. Dad grabbed Don and ran to the cupboard, took out a bottle of some sort of 
alcohol, and gave Don a liberal dose. I was devastated because I was not allowed to share. 

I went to school in Texas Canyon most of my first year. It was a one-room school 
with a big stove in the middle of the room While we worked at Texas Canyon, we walked 


from the construction yard to school. This route took us on a path through the trees, a field, 
and down across the river. Not to mention the big bulls that haunted the place and the 
quicksand in the river, which we usually managed to find. 

We also found a big rock some 100 to 200 feet high where the community at one time 
had a dance hall on the flat top which stairs leading up to the top. One night a man got drunk 
and feh oS, so the stairway had been taken down. Being true Goodman kids, we found a way 
up through a slide area. We loved to go up there and play, which we did one particular day 
when Mom decided to come looking for us. We heard her calling, but all decided not to 
answer. She couldn't see the top from below, so we were very quiet. She must have known 
we were up there, as she searched until she found a way up. When we heard her coming 
close, we scampered down our way and then hollered to her from the bottom She couldn't 
get back down, so Dale, Kent, and Don went back up and helped her down. I don't ever 
remember Mom spanking us — she saved that for Dad. 

Dad bought a home in St. Johns in about 1940-41 on Water Street (near the Little 
Colorado River). He remodeled it and added a bathroom, the only house I remember, besides 
the one in McNary. with an in-door bathroom We lived there and went to school while Dad 
followed construction for some time. Most of us graduated from high school in St. Johns. 

Mom and Dad started their second family here in St. Johns, when Patsy, Lana, and 
Twila were bom (between 1944 and 1954). It was during this time that Mom was frequently 
sick, and we spent a lot of time with our Aunt/mother Ruth. Dad and Mom moved back to 
Vernon from time to time while Dad worked at the Crossroads mill 

We were also living at the mill the summer I met Aunt Trudy McNeil — a mail-order 
bride of Uncle Ben McNeil, who was also working at the mill. I worked that summer at the 

dude ranch in Vernon, and also for Aunt Mildred Naegle, helping with her baby son, Ronney. 
That fall I went with Aunt Trudy to visit her family in West Virginia. She had cataracts on 
her eyes and couldn't read the names on the buses to make changes, so she selected me to go 
with her. I paid my own way with the money I had earned that summer. We spent a month 
with her children, went up to the Cincinnati, Ohio Zoo, and saw the Liberty Bell which was 
on tour on a ship on the Ohio River. 

During the summer of 195 1, Allie and I went to New Mexico to stay with Mary Jane 
and Wendle Merrill. Here I met Wendle's cousin, Albert Adair. Albert and I were married 
in the falL Allie finished her Senior year, and went to stay with Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Ruth 
in Mesa, where she attended a business school. 

My first child, Teri, was bom in the fall of 1952 — a year and five months before my 
youngest sister, Twila. They often tease each other about Twi being an aunt before she was 


Allie came back to Gallup and stayed with us often. I think she missed some of the 
clothes we had divided when I got married. She married Albert's cousin, Allen Mower, in 
March of 1954, just a few days after Twila was born, so Mom and Dad did not come to her 
wedding. Alhe and Allen were married in the LDS mission home in Gallup. 

All of my children were bom in Gallup — one girl and four boys. In 1967, Albert and 
I were divorced. At this time, our baby, Clate, was nine months old, and our oldest, Teri, had 
been in school in Alamogordo, New Mexico, for several years. My desire at this time was 
to have all my children and to not leave Teri in the school at Alamogordo. I began to search 
for a place to move where we could accomplish this, and still be able to have the help Teri 
needed, as she had congenital cataracts and had to have several corrective operations. 




About this time, I decided to go to Show Low to visit Mom and Dad. On the way, 
I stopped at Aunt Ruth's in St. Johns to visit. Rita was home from Idaho where she had been 
attending Ricks College, and told us how much she enjoyed it and how beautiful the country 
was. As I went on to Show Low, I gave some thought to Rita's comments, and a voice so 
loud and clear said to me, "Why not you?" I thought about this on the way to Mom's, not 
knowing what it meant. When I arrived there, Mom told me that the B YU Education Week 
was on in Snowflake, and she offered to watch the kids if I wanted to attend the next several 
days. On the last day of the conference, a Brother Lund was speaking. In the middle of his 
talk, he began to talk about a program for the visually-impaired in Utah. He said he didn't 
know why he got off on that topic, but maybe it was to help someone in the audience. I knew 
when he started talking, it was an answer to my prayers. (In the weeks ahead, Brother Lund 
helped me get things arranged for Teri's schooling.) I went home elated. The Lord continued 
to bless us, and by fall we were in Orem, Utah. 

We lived in Orem until Teri graduated from the nurses aid school, and then we moved 
to Logan so she could work in the hospital. Grant and Wayno came up and moved us to 
Logan. Wayne would not let me unload the deep freeze, and they moved it full of food; that 
probably contributed to their back problems. During those days of moving, Teri decided she 
didn't want to work in Logan, so Wayno took her home with him and helped her get a job in 
St. George. But the boys and I stayed. 

In 1977-78, we helped with much of the work on a new home we were building in 
Cove. This was the first home of our own since leaving New Mexico. 

Tm grateful for my husband, Lee, who the Lord has seen fit to give me. 


Lee and Gwen Foster 








.1 »*•• 

L to R, Back row: Shayle, Clate, Rod Crook, Tod 
Gwen, Stephanie, Ten, and Toni 




Rod and Ten Crook Family. Boys in back are William, Justin, and Daniel. Girls in 
middle are Sabrina and Felicia. Front row includes Kristie, Teri, Rod, and Christopher 



Dirk and Connie Adair 


Amber and Shera 






Tod and Toni Adair 

Back row: Chet and Cody 

On laps: Cassie and Chelsie 

J - / ': • S*zJ* . t 

Clate and Stephanie Adair 
Shayla and Nicole 



Donovan Ezra Goodman 

Don at the Goodman Sawmill 

I was born at Standard, Arizona on November 11, 1935. Standard was just an old 
logging camp, and eventually became a ghost town. There is nothing left there at all today. 

I spent my first few years living all over Arizona with my family as Dad worked road 
construction; we went where the jobs were, from McNary, to Flagstaff Texas Canyon, and 
parts of Nevada. Also we spent some time at Lake Mary by Flagstaff. Alvena, Gwen, Wayne 
and I were always getting into trouble with the owner of the store there. We felt that 
everything in the store was our private property, as we had discovered a way to enter the 
store after hours and help ourselves to whatever we wanted. (We would boost one of us 
through the transom over the back door, drop down and unlock the door, and let the others 
in.) It didn't take the owner long to discover who was ripping him off, but he never went to 
the law. He'd just tell our folks what was missing, and Dad would make us come up with it. 
We had a real problem there one time. A lot of stuff was missing from the store — watches, 
jewelry, etc. — and we had been told to return all of it. The problem was, we didn't know 
where the stuff had gone! We had hidden it all in one of the old, unused shacks near where 
we lived, and when we went to get it and return it to the store owner, it was gone! We 
accused each other of taking all of it, but everyone denied it, and we were really getting 
worried, because we knew that if we didn't return the property, Dad would use his belt on us. 






After some frantic detective work, we discovered that a huge packrat had ripped us ofX and 
hidden all of the shiny objects in her nest. After killing the rat, we were able to return the 
goods. I remember another time when we took a can of ground coffee and decided we were 
going to make some coffee. The problem was, none of us knew how to make coffee, so we 
just mixed the ground coffee with water and drank it down. Boy, talk about getting sick! 

After moving back to the Goodman sawmill for the third time, there were many 
interesting things to do and see. Dad kept everyone supplied with wild game, and I usually 
went with him I remember going to Cecil Naegle's ranch, and as we would approach the big 
field to the south of the ranchhouse, turkeys would start leaving the field and crossing the 
road in front of us. There would be many hundreds in one flock. As they crossed the road, 
the column of turkeys would be about fifty feet wide and would take 4 or 5 minutes to cross 
the road. Dad would simply point his old .35 1 in their general direction and pull the trigger. 
He usually killed two or three with one shot. He would be disappointed if he only got one. 
as bullets were pretty expensive. 


One time Dad left an old truck parked on a little hill so he could let it roll down the 
hill to start. One day I somehow managed to release the brake and down the hill we rolled. 
I think I got my first spanking over that. 

Another time, all of us kids were playing on the sawdust pile, when we heard what we 
thought was a baby crying in the trees. We started toward the sound, but Grandpa Goodman 
yelled at us to get back He said the sound was made by a mountain lion. Boy, did we move! 

The logs at the sawmill were skidded with huge Percheron horses, and we kids loved 
to go to the area being skidded about quitting time and ride the horses back to the mill. Dale 
and I were on one of the huge animals when it decided to run home. Its back was so broad 
there wasn't much to hang on to, so I started to fall off. As I fell, I got a tighter grip on Dale 
and pulled him of£ too. Wouldn't you know it, we landed in a huge cactus patch. It seemed 
like hours were spent pulling the thorns out of our backs and rears. 

We loved to go to the Mineral and explore the many nooks and crannies of the rock 
formations there. We found a cave that was only one big room that would hold about 20 kids 
easily, but had a very narrow opening into it. That was about the end of some of us. There 
was an old deserted farmhouse near the highway and we found a 30-gallon trash can there full 
of book matches. We lugged it all the way to the cave and inside. I don't know who set fire 
to it, but the next thing we knew, the entire can of matches caught fire and filled the cave with 
sulphur, which made it almost impossible to get any air into our lungs. Needless to say, there 
was a stampede getting out of there. 

We moved to St. Johns when I was in the second or third grade. I loved sports, and 
played a lot of football and basketball. I made letters in both my first three years of high 

* — T * m 


school, but due to a back injury playing football, I was unable to play my senior years. I 
guess that's one of the reasons I went into the Marines during my senior year. 

While walking along the edge of the Little Colorado River east of St. Johns one day, 
I fell into a beaver lodge, and the beaver was home. I had never seen a beaver up so close and 
personal; those huge teeth looked about a foot long. Fortunately for me, the beaver was more 
frightened of me than I was of him I took off my belt and lassoed his tail with it, and handed 
the end of my belt to David and Tommy Neal, who pulled him out of the lodge. They kept 
him in a rabbit pen for a couple of weeks, then made a beaver hat out of him 

I entered the Marines on January 27, 1954. I served for four years, somehow 
managing to come out as a Sergeant with an honorable discharge. I was a teletype operator 
in the Corps, and I thoroughly enjoyed it after boot camp. I spent two years in Hawaii, up 
the hill a ways from Pearl Harbor called Camp Smith. That's where I started bowling and 
skin-drving at Haunama Bay, east of Honolulu. I went to Formosa with 29 other jar-heads 
for three months. That was great duty as there were no bases there, so we rented a brand 
new apartment building for the enlisted men; the officers with us, a Major and Captain, also 
rented an apartment. We had two house boys who came in every day and made-up our beds 
and washed our clothes, at a cost to us of four or five dollars per month each!. We were 
there for three months, but it seemed like three weeks. 

After the military, I cut logs for about 
three years, then started driving truck on road 
construction. That lasted about six years, and 
took me all over Arizona and some of New 
Mexico. During those years, my wife, Kay, and 
I had three fine sons: Dwayland Don, Richard 
Lynn, and Donovan Craig. Dwayland is now 
living in Honolulu with his beautiful wife, 
Cherrylin. I worked in the power plant at 
McNary for 2V£ years, then went back to driving 
truck. I got on with UPS in 1976 and worked 
for them for 18 years, when I had to take a 
medical retirement. It's now February of 1995 
and Tm enjoying doing nothing that I don't want 
to do, like work all night long, as I did when I 
was working! 

A smiling, retired Don 


Arlo Wayne Goodman 

(Written by Adeline Udall Goodman Romoser) 

Arlo Wayne Goodman was born on April 8, 1937 near Vernon in a place called 
Plenty. He spent part of his early boyhood in Vernon, then with his family followed his father, 
a heavy equipment mechanic, from job to job. During these years he lived closely with 
various Goodman cousins who made their activities the stuff of legend and myth — near 
drownings, a wicked judge who beheaded ducks while delivering sentences, hijacked outdoor 
toilets, and school bells rigged to toll all night. His family eventually settled in St. Johns, 
where Wayne went to grammar and high school. 

When I met Wayne he was a junior in high school. Wayne was a young man who 
worked hard and played that way, too. He used to say, 'Tm going to live fast, love hard, die 
young, and leave a beautiful corpse behind." We didn't know he was telling the fixture. 


Working hard was a defining characteristic of Wayne. He held a variety of part-time 
jobs during school, cowboying and forming. He also worked at a local box factory and during 
one summer learned to operate heavy equipment. After we were married, he was a heavy 
equipment operator, frequently working in the summer heat of Phoenix or Gila Bend. In the 
winter he might be in Flagstaff or out on the reservation. Many mornings he left for work at 
3 a.m., but no matter how unpleasant his working conditions, he never complained. 

In high school, Wayne was a good student, and when he graduated in May of 1956 
he was given the Math Award and made plans to attend the University of Arizona to study 
engineering. He did enroll, but overwhelmed by the large student body and the bureaucratic 
nature of the institution, he did not stay long. Instead, he found work as a brake man for the 
Santa Fe. Later, he attended a year at Eastern Arizona Junior College in Thatcher. 

Wayne was a popular student at St. Johns High School. His physical attractiveness 
commanded attention, and his zest for work and fun made him good company. When he was 
a senior he was elected the most popular boy in school, and was also known for his skill and 
tenacity on the football field. Years later, when his son played on the State Championship 
football team at St. Johns High, Wayne had just about as much fun as Jordan. 

Wayne and I were married on August 23, 1958 at the Arizona Temple in Mesa. After 
a brief trip to California, where we both ate strawberry pie for the first time, we moved to 
Gallup, New Mexico where Wayne, along with his brother-in-law, Albert Adair, worked for 
a firm constructing roads on the Navajo Reservation. Wayne's sisters, Allie and Gwen, whose 
backyards we lived in, kindly and graciously helped us adjust to adulthood. 


Just before we were married, Wayne purchased a mobile home for us. It was 
-8 feet wide and 25 feet long — but it was almost new and seemed like a little doll 



house. It was a good place for us to live and fortunately it was a house that could expand, 
for on May 23, 1959, Dora Lucinda, was born. Wayne was a loving father. Cindy had colic 
and I found it amazing that when Wayne held her, she seemed comfortable and was quiet. 
Wayne took pleasure in Cindy's precocious physical and verbal development. 

After a year in Gallup, Wayne decided to move to Arizona to work construction, so 
we went to Flagstaff thus beginning a few years of migration, often in tandem with Kent and 
Chon Goodman. During these years, I learned to appreciate Wayne's skill at keeping things 
in order and making home and car repairs. 

While living in Willcox, our second child, Jordan Wayne, was born on June 4, 1960. 
Our small house expanded further. In 1962, we decided it would be a good idea for me to 
return to school. I enjoyed going to school, but ever practical, Wayne thought it would be 
wise for me to have a profession in the event he died. He felt strong responsibility for the 
security of his family. Wayne began working for Tanner Brothers in Tempe, and I enrolled 
at Arizona State. The next year we bought a house in Tempe, just in time for the birth of our 
third child, Nicole Marie, on Jury 17, 1963. Two years later came the birth of twin daughters, 
Julie Ann and Kelly Lynn on November 25, 1965, Thanksgiving Day. How thankful we were 
to have them, but Wayne and I were so surprised by two children, we had difficulty coming 
up with names. Finally we agreed on Julie and Kelly; however, we didn't know which name 
to give to which child, so we drew from a hat. 


During the years we lived in Tempe, Wayne would frequently have to take work out 
of town, so when a big road job in St. George was bid, it seemed a good idea to move. We 
loved Irving in St. George, finding it an ideal place for raising young children. 

hi all of our homes, Wayne created good times for the kids. He was a firm father and 
his children obeyed him and loved him Along with teaching the children to work, try hard, 
and mind their manners, he also taught them to have fun. He'd use the kitchen floor for a 
stage and perform his famous Cossack dance. Down in a squat, arms folded across chest, 
he'd fling one leg out in front and then the other. All the kids tried to imitate him and when 
they would finally master the technique, there was celebration. When Wayne was a kid, he 
broke the little finger on his right hand. The break left a crooked, but very strong finger, and 
the goal of every child was to, hanging on his bent finger with all their might, pull Wayne's 
arm down. I don't think one of them ever succeeded. 

Our Easter picnics were great affairs with Wayne often picking the location, 
somewhere out in the wilds, and then hiding the eggs so they could be found but only with 
clever looking. We all loved these outings. For any mundane affair, Wayne could find a way 
to make it memorable. Once at Pine Valley, Utah, on an overnight camping trip, Wayne 
dammed up a small stream to make a pond of waist high water. The stream water was melted 
snow and so cold it immobilized, so Wayne dreamed up a contest to see who could stay in 



the water the longest. Such whooping and hollering rilled the air that all the forest creatures 
fled. Then Wayne proceeded to take a leisurely bath in the 33 degree water. 

Wayne and I were divorced in 1975. Eventually I moved to Oregon and for Christmas 
of 1978, Wayne and Jordan, who was living with his father, came to visit Nicole, Julie and 
Kelly. They have always cherished this visit for it was the last time the girls saw him alive. 
Wayne was killed in a car accident on January 1, 1979. It was hard to get past the sorrow 
of Wayne's premature death, but two years later when Cindy, her two little girls, and Jordan 
died in a cruel, early morning truck/car accident, we were grateful to know he would be just 
beyond the veil to welcome them with his familiar and loving, "How about a hug, Lu Babe?" 
and "How ya' doing, Wart?" 


Wayne was not an orthodox Mormon, but he was a believer, frequently bearing his 
testimony of the gospel. He had an unfailing belief in the principle of tithing and even when 
money was scarce, he tithed. Wayne found it difficult to express himself in a public setting, 
so the only church talk he gave in our years together was a talk on the advisability of paying 
tithing. How well I remember that. Also, when Cindy had her two little girls, Jennifer and 
Amber, Wayne drove the several hundred miles from St. Johns, where he then lived, to St. 
George for their blessings. He would have been proud of his daughters who have served 
missions and married in the temple. I know were he alive today, he would encourage each 
of his children and grandchildren to embrace the gospel whole-heartedly and commit 
themselves to living its principles and finding the peace it brings. I know, too, he looks 
forward to a great reunion with all of them: a reunion filled with hugging, whooping, 
laughing, shouting, Cossack dancing, finger pulling, and joy. 


Wayne and Addie Goodman 
Jordan, Kelly, Cindy, Julie, and Nicole 








Cindy Goodman Hafen 

Amber and Jennifer Hafen 

Jordan Wayne 

— * - 


Julie, Kelly, Nicole 





Patsy Sue Goodman Seymore 

In the natural course of time I arrived on the 24th of September 1944, to Alvin and 
Bertha Rothlisberger Goodman. Into a family of four children. Father Stork saw reason to 
drop me. He later saw fit to come to my aid, and added two more girls to the family, Lana 
Lue and Twila, too. 

My earliest recollections are of fishing trips. One trip cost Dad over $100 in fines. 
Oh, he tried hard enough to hid a couple sacks offish, but that old game warden had a good 
nose on him 

During my grade school years, our family took a trip practically every summer. The 
places I remember going to are Yellowstone, Balboa Park, Camp Pendleton (Don's marine 
base), Grand Canyon, Boulder Dam, Carlsbad Caverns, Bryce Canyon, Old Mexico, Painted 
Desert, Petrified Forest, Redwood Forest in California, and swimming in the ocean. I love 
traveling and seeing new places. 


We lived in St. Johns until 1957 when we moved to Show Low where I graduated 
from Show Low Elementary in 1958. Dad wouldn't sign a form the school wanted him to, 
so my diploma was unsigned. During the summer, Mr. Whipple came to the house and signed 
it. Although I worked several nights a week at the ShoLo Theatre, I rarely missed the "A" 
or "B" honor roll. 

Dad worked in Show Low as a heavy equipment mechanic for Butlers and Reidheads. 
We moved into a log cabin style house in the west part of town. We were living there when 
Grandma Rothlisberger passed away. 

Dad and Mom bought some land from Howard Whipple and built a three bedroom 
house out of cinder block. It was so nice because no one else had lived in it. Show Low 
High School is now west of the old house. Paul and Buena Seymore were our only 
neighbors for years. They were always good to us. I babysat their kids, Dany, Julie, and 
Daryl. Paul loaned me a horse for the rodeo queen contest. 

Grandma Goodman lived with Aunt Fern and Joycelen in the house across the street 
from Neola and Gib Mills and next to Laura Harris (Uncle Walter's second wife). Grandma 
used a lot of garlic for medicinal purposes and we kids would croak because of the smell. 
Joycelen was my first cousin and best friend. Some of my distant cousins were my best 
friends, too — Marian West Willis, Norene Mills Ellsworth, and Kathy Mills Tippetts. One 
of my favorite places to visit was Aunt Sarah Mills, Grandma's sister. I loved sitting and 
listening to her stories about the Indian who wanted her for his squaw. She was a delightful 



When I was a MiaMaid, my teacher, Billie Peterson, was a very choice, special person. 
She did so many neat things for us and I knew she loved me. June Hatch is another person 
who loved me unconditionally. June and Jocie Tenney started my training for my current 
calling as Relief Society President of Taylor Second Ward. 

After graduation and the rodeo queen contest, I went to work as a clerk-typist in the 
PHS Hospital in Gallup. I lived with Gwen and Arvena's families. Allen (Allie's husband) 
always called me "fumble fingers" for obvious reasons and teased me about my foo-foo juice. 
Veldon would always come over on his days of£ so when we were married, Allie lost not one, 
but two kids. 

Since May 3, 1963 weVe started seven more life stories and they've started eleven 
more life stories. This is called having a posterity and now we are beginning to get an inkling 
of what eternity is. Carolyn Rae was born February 27, 1964. We named her after Aunt 
Caroline (my mother's sister), and weeks later I was told that she was born on Aunt Caroline's 
birthday. Carolyn married Todd Gillespie. Mayann was born February 15, 1965, and was 
named after Veldon's mother, Annie Isabelle, and grandmother, Maybelle Stock Seymore. 
She married Alex Stradling. On February 22, 1966, Roy was born and we named him after 
his dad. Roy and Shellie were married in 1987. Gaynell was born May 26, 1969, and she 
married Boyd Sanders. Brandon Trent (aka T-bone, and T) was born November 15, 1970, 
and he married Tricia Foote. Cyndee was born in 1976 on T's birthday, and Randa was born 
on January 25, 1981. In May 1995 Cyndee will graduate from Snowflake High School and 
Randa graduates from Eighth Grade. 

Brandon served in the Florida Tallahassee Mission and we were able to go and meet 
some of the people he'd grown to love. We spent 16 days preparing for and being in the Hill 
Cumorah Pageant. It was an indescribable experience. Veldon fell asleep on Pensacola 
Beach and sunburned so badly, T pushed him around Mt. Vernon in a wheelchair. In D.C., 
Cyndee, Randa, T, and I ran from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial in a 
downpour. It was awesome. We had the whole place to ourselves. The feelings we had 
while reading the names on the Vietnam memorial and at Arlington Cemetery were 
overwhelming. We enjoy the blessings of living in this choice land because of the sacrifice 
of others. 




Hill Cumorah Pageant, 1994 
Brandon Trent, Randa Joy, Cynee Jolene, Patsy and Veldon Seymore 



Back row: Brandon, Alex holding Shantae, Veldon, Todd, Roy. Middle row: Tricia holding 
Trent, Mayann holding Raenell, Patsy, Carolyn holding Chantz, Shellie holding Quint. Front 
row: Cyndee, Cambria, Garrett, Logan, Charde', J.T., and Randa (Boyd and Gaynell 


i :::i 





Todd and Carolyn Gillespie 
J. T., Logan, Charde', Chantz 



Alex and Mayann Stradling, 
with Shantae, Jody Raenell, Cambria 







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Roy and Shellie, with Garrett and Quint 

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Boyd and Gaynell Sanders 










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Brandon and Tricia, with Trent 



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Veldon and Patsy, with Randa and Cyndee 








Lana Lue Goodman Willis 



I was born June 8, 1946 in St. Johns. This picture on Water Street is the house in St. 
Johns where I grew up being a tomboy, climbing trees, building forts, and almost drowning 
in the abandoned outhouse tank playing hide and seek with my other tomboy friends. I was 
sick for a week and Mom made me some homemade bread I was craving. Mom always made 
the best bread. We were in the kitchen of this house one day when Mom told Patsy and me 
she was having a baby. What joy we felt. Then Patsy and I had a baby sister to play 
with — Twila. 

Arvin and Bert Goodman home on Water Street 

Growing up Patsy and I always did the wash on the wringer washer. Mom told us we 
could keep any money we found. Wayne-0 left his wallet in his pockets one time and we 
were rich for a few hours until Mom made us give it back. 

Dad was an exceptional automobile- diesel engine mechanic. We moved to Maverick 
in 1954 and he worked on log trucks. Twila v/as our baby doll, what tun we had tending her. 

One time we just missed the fish stocking truck and were able to catch fish by the tub- 
full with our hands. The whole town had a fish fry that night. 

When I was around 12 years old, we moved to Show Low, where Dad worked for 
Butler Trucking. I graduated 8th grade from Show Low Grade School, but only after Janice 
Barton and I broke out all the windows in a building they were supposed to tear down, or so 


we had heard. Turned out they were only moving it and needed those windows in it. I spent 
that summer working in Vernon at the dude ranch for Emily and Joyce to pay for those darn 
windows. Gwen also worked there when she was young, I found out later. 

I worked at the Show Low movie theater while going to Snowflake High School. 

On July 11, 1963 I 
married "Shotgun," a name he 
acquired as a child with his little 
red wagon. We were blessed 
with four children in 20-plus 
years of marriage. We were 
divorced in November 1983. 

I have a dozen 
grandchildren and hope to have 
more. I love my family even 
though I don't see them often. 
The boys and their families live 
in Taylor. Shannon recently 
married and lives in Waco, 
Texas; I live in Bloomfield, New 

Playing croquet with Dad in Show Low 

I believe in God and his son, Jesus Christ, and I know Jesus had great love for us all 
to die for us. I believe God knows our hearts, good and bad, and will judge accordingly. 

Canyun Willis 
(Written by Lisa Willis) 

Canyun is the oldest son of Lana Goodman and Shotgun Willis. We met in February 
of 1983. We were married in September of the same year at a chapel inside of Circus Circus 
in Las Vegas. It was a fun experience. WeVe been married 1 1 years since then and have had 
four children. Our oldest is Crysta. She was born in April of 1984. She was quite sick the 
first four years with respiratory problems and different things, but she's been going strong 
since. This year she's in the 5th grade. Our next is Tyler Jordan (named after Canyun's 
favorite cousin that he admired very much). Tyler was born in October of 1987 — the biggest 
of our four kids and my easiest to deliver. He's in the 1 st grade this year. He and Crysta are 
full of energy and love sports, both do well in what they do. 









Our next daughter, Courtney, came long on February 8, 1990. She has been a 
livewire since the day she was bom. She has been going to preschool for two years and loves 




every minute of it 'cause she thinks she's as big as her older sister and brother. This next year 
she will be starting kindergarten, and is so excited about that. Our last child was another son, 
Landen, born on St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1992. Til always remember that day because 
when I was in labor, I wanted something for the pain. The doctor said he was afraid to give 
me anything because when he broke my water, it was green, and that was a sign of some 
complication, so I had to tough it out. After it was all over, the doctor said, "Now I know 
why the water was green. It's St. Patrick's Day." We all got a kick out of that. Landen is our 
little cowboy, loves horses and everything to do with them His favorite toys are plastic 
cowboys, Indians, and horses. He keeps very busy pretending with them Both of our boys 
have a lot of cowboy nature to them; it's fun to watch them. 

We have lived in Taylor all 1 1 years we have 
been married. The kids have many friends and 
enjoy doing the many things our White Mountains 
have to offer. We camp a lot and do many fun 
things. Canyun is still driving a semi-truck, but for 
a local outfit in Snowflake. He gets home more 
now and gets to spend more time with the kids. I 
started working in August of 1994 as a cashier at 
Bashas here in Taylor. Pve never worked before 
and I'm really enjoying it. It's a break for me and 
for the kids. 

We all enjoy going to the family reunions 
and getting to see all the relatives we don't get to 
see very often. It's fun to sit around and visit and 
hear stories about the family history. We can't wait 
to see this book when it's done. We sit for hours 
looking at the two family history books we now 
have. Canyun loves to read all about the family and 
figure out who everyone is. 

Shotgun and Lana Willis 

All our love to all the family. 

™ T - 


Canyun and Lisa, with Crysta, Tyler, Courtney, and Landen 




Trever with Tyson 






Lana, with Trever, Shannon, Canyun, and John 

Some Grandchildren: Standing: Tyler, Dustin, Clint, Casey 
Front row: Crysta with Tyson, Courtney 


Ronald and Shannon Shumate, 1994 










Lana Lue Goodman Willis 


Twila Goodman Hall 

They say I was bom March 5, 1954, in St. Johns. They also say my older sisters were 
so anxious to see me they stood outside the bedroom window peeking in. Personally, I find 
that difficult to believe because I remember being stuffed, by those same sisters, into the dirty 
clothes hamper and having them sit on the closed lid for what seemed an eternity. 

After Patsy and Lana flew the coop, I had the best of both worlds — Mom and Dad's 
undivided attention 99% of the time, and lots of company (nieces and nephews) the other 1%. 
Some of my most tun evenings were spent babysitting for Patsy and Lana when their families 
moved to the acre below Mom's and Dad's in Show Low. Holidays were always special when 
Ali, Allen and their boys; Gwen, Albert and their gang; or some other branch of our tree came 
to celebrate. I was always the one picked to make the mashed potatoes. I probably made my 
first pie when I was 30 years old and my first gravy 5 years after that. (Shilling and SaraLee 
made a killing off me for too long.) 

I have many wonderful memories of our wood hauling/fishing expeditions. In my 
mind's eye I can see Dad landing a big one, and Mom breathing in the aroma of pine, pinon, 
cedar, and oak for all she was worth. 

The clearest memory I have of St. Johns is going to the Elm Motel to get an ice cream 
cone from Sister Udall. At the age of four, we moved to Show Low and I began to 
experience many things like getting my hands caught in the washing machine wringer, making 
friends with Chinese neighbors, and finding out what it's like to be really sorry. 

learning to be sorry started when Don returned from the Marines. He brought a lot 
of gambling money which he stashed under his pillow, which the nieces and nephews and I 
found while bouncing on the bed, which we divided amongst ourselves, and which we spent 
at the corner market. For this we were given a true military beating. I personally decided 
(after hearing the screams of my co-conspirators who had been caught) to jump from the barn 
hayloft to whatever fate awaited me when the long arm of Don's justice pulled me back for 
my just punishment. 

Dad built us a new home in Show Low where I lived through my school years 1-12. 
At the age of seventeen I began to long for new adventures. My first inclination was to attend 
Dixie College where I hoped to become a trained airline stewardess. That dream faded into 
obscurity when I first heard the New Freedom Singers from Ricks College perform in 
Snowflake. That's when I knew I would go to Ricks and stay there until my dream to be a 
Freedom Singer was realized. 

After graduation from high school in 1972, 1 did go to Ricks. My first tryout for NFS 
was not successful. However, in the Spring of 1973, 1 became an NFS performer. We went 
on tour to Oregon and California that summer. The next summer we toured the Northwest 




states to Missouri and the Great Lakes. We saw Mount Rushmore and many LDS historical 
sites. I love Ricks! I wish everyone could experience it as I did. 

I married Wallace L. Wendel on February 1,1975. Lacy was born in 1976, Joseph 
Cory in 1977, and Michael Christopher in 1982. From 1975 to 1985, we moved 15 times 
between Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and round and round again. In the spring of 1987, 
that marriage was dissolved, and I planned to attend Northern Arizona University to patch 
our lives together again. 

Once again my plans changed dramatically. Brian Christopher Hall and I were married 
January 9, 1988 (Dad's birthday) and sealed August 23, 1988 (Mom's birthday) in the Mesa 
Temple. I immediately became the stepmother to five more children, gained weight, grew 
massive grey hairs, and lost all my brains, except the one square rmllimeter with which I 
expound this history. 

On July 28, 1994, Chris adopted my three children; now we really can be an eternal 
family. Tm so thankful for Chris. 


I'm thankful for my family, my testimony, and the many blessings that are mine. I 
know our Father hears and answers our prayers. I know Joseph Smith was the first prophet 
in this dispensation. I saw President Harold B. Lee and felt the spiritual bonfire which 
surrounded him I know the Gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored to the earth and is ours 
for the asking. We can snack once or twice a year, or we can feast upon it! I pray we will 
all feast upon it. 



Chris and Twila Hall 

L to R, Back row: Wid, Cory, Heber, Michael 

Front row: Jamie, Twi, Chris, Lacy 










Chapter 10 
Walter Floyd Goodman, Sr. 

(Written by Eline Goodman Rodriguez Tynes) 

Walter Floyd Goodman, Sr., was born on May 30, 1903, in Pinetop, Arizona, to 
William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil Goodman. He was the fourth often children. 
We realty don't know too much about our father's early years because he was never much of 
a talker. We will try to share such as we do know. 

When attending a family reunion, I learned from Uncle Bill that Daddy could ride 
before he could walk — that he was riding when his little legs stuck straight forward because 
they couldn't go down. Having had occasion to see Daddy on a horse, I don't believe I have 
ever seen someone ride more fluidly. 

Daddy told us that, as a youngster, one of his jobs was to go for water for their family. 
Apparently, this was a pretty rigorous trip and involved some uphill struggles to fill the water 
barrel. Once when one of his brothers was wasting the hard gotten water, Daddy held his 
brother's head under the water. The only way Grandmother Goodman could get him to let 
go was to knock him out with the broom 


Mother said Daddy had told her that he and his brothers once were watching a sacred 
Indian dancing ceremony. After a while, the boys began to get scared because they knew they 
should not be watching the ceremony so they abruptly decided to leave. In their flight, Daddy 
lost his new pocket knife. He returned later to look for it but never found it. 


Daddy told Mother that he had seen Indians "wrap their children around a tree" to end 
the life of a child that was born handicapped, and I remember him telling us how the Indian 
women would be working in the field when the time would come for them to have their 
children. He said they would just dig a hole and squat over it to have a baby, deliver the baby, 
wrap it up, put it on their back, and go on working in the field. This was amazing to us city 

Speaking of city slickers, Daddy always referred to the men he saw in Dallas driving 
pickup trucks and wearing fancy cowboy hats and boots as drugstore cowboys — the fancier 
the duds, the more you could be sure that's what they were. Real cowboys didn't wear either 
pointed-toe or high-heeled boots. He thought these wannabe's were very funny. Another 
thing he often laughed at was when we kids called a small "hill" a mountain. He always told 
us we didn't know what a mountain was. He was right; we'd never seen one. 

Daddy told Mother that, during the nighttime on one of their cattle drives, a bear had 
gotten into the cattle and had knocked the hip off a steer with his powerful paw. I guess they 
had a barbecue after that. Apparently, they didn't get the bear. 


Daddy told us that during his youth the school teachers used to stay with the families 
of the students. He said that one teacher who stayed with them taught him to play the piano, 
and he learned to play the guitar and fiddle or, depending on how its tuned, the violin. Uncle 
Bill told me that once, when Daddy was sent for a long stay to watch some cattle, Daddy 
made himself a guitar from a square syrup can and some wires. I forgot just how Uncle Bill 
said Daddy made the rest, but he saw it and was impressed that Daddy could have made it. 
He said Daddy played it well and it helped pass lots of lonely time for him. Daddy had a 
guitar when we were young. To us, he played beautifully but he said he didn't play as well 
as he did in the past because he had almost completely cut off his two smaller fingers on his 
left hand in a saw mill accident. They were stiff now and it was hard for him to finger the 
frets. I don't know how true this is, but he also told us that he wrapped those fingers in snow 
in his handkerchief and rode his horse three days to get to a doctor. He said the doctor didn't 
want to sew the almost severed fingers back on so Daddy told the doctor, "Either you do or 
I do." We all know that Daddy would have done so. 




Once when he was at a dentist in Dallas, the dentist hit a nerve, and Daddy hit the 
dentist. For dental problems on the range, Mother tells us that Daddy said they used to heat 
up a piece of wire and put the red hot wire on the nerve in a tooth to kill it. Even a dentist 
sounds better than that. 

Daddy had a mischievous grin than sort of spread over his face like spilled water 
running slowly across a table, and he loved a good joke, especially if it was not on him. He 
used to tell us about when some Boston-type city folk had stayed with them at the 
sawmill — there were no Howard Johnson's then. When they all sit down to dinner and the 
reaching and grabbing commenced, the woman put her glasses on a stick up to her eyes and 
said, "Well, I never! !" So Daddy stabbed a donut with his fork and looked at her through the 
hole and said, "Well, I never!!" 

From time to time, though, someone got him He told us that once he got on a bus 
and sat up at the front near the driveT. Later another fellow got on and, right after paying his 
fare and turning to walk toward the rear of the bus, the fellow really let one rip. He turned 
and look at Daddy and said, "I begggg your pardon!" as though Daddy had been the offender. 
It worked, and Daddy was so embarrassed he got off at the next stop. 

Uncle Bill told me than when Daddy worked at the saw mill he made a governor for 
the saw mill motor from scratch using blacksmith tools. I believe a governor has something 
to do with how fast or slow a motor runs. He told me how Daddy could do anything he set 
his mind to, and how he had a reputation all over Arizona for being clever with his mind and 
hands. Uncle Bill further said that when Daddy worked on the large road equipment for 
Tanner, he made quite a few improvement modifications to the Caterpillar equipment, 
modifications which the Caterpillar company included on their later models. 


For most of our life, we didn't realize that Daddy was married before he and Mother 
were married. He was married twice, both times to cousins. His first wife was Inez McNeil, 
and they had three children. He and Inez were divorced, and he married Laura Brownfield. 
They had four children, two of whom died in their youth and two of whom died in a trailer 
fire. He always had pictures over his bed of his two little children who burned to death. Prior 
to their death, the little boy had been in a fire which burned off his little fingers, and we could 
see that in the picture. Daddy told us he used to smoked a cigar when he was younger, and 
when his children were burned, he was unable to donate skin needed for grafting because of 
the nicotine in his body. Apparently, nicotine inhibits successful skin grafting. He felt so bad 
that he quit smoking and never smoked again. All of this was a great sadness to him, and I 
can remember him crying when he talked about these little children. 

I met our half-brother, Ray Marble, from Daddy's marriage to Inez McNeil, when I 
took out my endowments around age 35 at the Mesa Temple. Aunt Beulah knew I was 
coming and phoned all the motels in Mesa until she found where Ray and Sharon were 
staying. They were in Mesa because one of their daughters had been married in the Temple 
the day before. Aunt Beulah found them and they found me, and they went through the 
endowment ceremony with me. Then Ray and Sharon took me and my two boys to lunch, 
and we all planned to meet that evening at the Goodman Family Reunion. It was the first time 
for either Ray or me to attend the Reunion. Two incredibly special things happened when I 
got my endowments, one was meeting Ray and his family. Since then, Ray and Sharon have 
come to Dallas to meet most of his other sisters and brother, and he met another while he and 
Sharon were in Seattle. He sure looks like Daddy, only taller, and has his mannerisms and 
temperament — mild and deliberate. 


The other special event during my Temple trip was meeting an elderly lady who lived 
in Snowflake and remembered the William Ezra Goodman family. She said Grandmother 
McNeil was a tall, good looking woman who was known for the beautiful flowers she grew 
and that she loved to wear big hats. I wish I could have had more time to spend with her; she 
knew Daddy and his brothers and sisters while they were growing up. 

Daddy told Mother about his sister Frances who became very ill. While she was still 
living, Frances had a spiritual experience wherein it was revealed to her that her life, if she 
chose to continue living, would be plagued with sickness. However, if she chose not to live, 
she would not need to worry about her children because they would be well cared for. This 
was another experience that I recall Daddy talking about and becoming misty-eyed. I believe 
he also told us that Frances chose the person her husband should marry after her death. 

Daddy was an attentive listener. Most of the time when he was listening to someone, 
he would cock his head to one side — maybe because he couldn't hear too well — and look 
forward in a very contemplative manner. I always felt he was considering my every word. 
If he wanted to emphasize something when he spoke, he would use his big, rough hands in 
a unique way to illustrate what he said. When I met Uncle Bill fifteen years after Daddy died. 


I noticed that he did exactly the same thing. Not ever having met a relative before, it was 
really an uncanny experience. Daddy often stood with his thumbs hooked in his two back 
pockets while he listened, and I saw both Uncle Bill and Uncle Don do this, too. 


The one person who really has Daddy's mannerisms in our family is Sherril. She has 
the same slow and deliberate way of speaking and listening. You know she is paying 
attention to what you say. If there is humor in the situation, a smile comes over her face 
starting at one side of her mouth — just like Daddy's, and she makes exactly the same kind of 
joke that he would have made, usually catching you in some kind of irony in your own story. 

Mother said she and Daddy worked 
for Consolidated Steel in Wilmington, 
California, which is close to both San Pedro 
and Long Beach, California. That is where 
they met. She had just started working in 
the shipyard on the ways tack welding 
together the bulkhead of the ship. Then the 
bulkhead would be lifted by a crane to the 
ship structure. Daddy's job was to circulate 
and teach the greenhorns how to weld. 
Once some hot welding slag went down the 
front of Mother's work shirt while Daddy 
was present. She said he sure laughed as 
she worked frantically to remove it. 

Mother's own mother had died when 
she was ten years old. It was during the 
depression and their father had a hard time 
getting work. After a couple of years, she 
and her brothers and sisters went to a 
children's home. Most of the family was 
raised in foster homes except her younger 
brother, who was adopted. The State of 
California let Mother move in with her older 
sister, Pearl, because Mother would be turn 

1 8 in a few months. After her birthday in January, she got a job in the shipyard where she 
later met Daddy. Mother had met a young LDS fellow from a military base near the last 
foster home in which she lived. When she went to live with her sister at their aunt's house, 
she was still engaged to this young man who had since been shipped overseas. At some point 
she must have felt the engagement was over, and Daddy and she began to go out together. 
She said she never knew he had been married before and probably wasn't too quick to figure 
it out — her being 18 and his being 40 — and he didn't tell. Mother said there were lots of men 
working in the shipyards but they were all older since the younger men were in the service. 

Geraldine Scruggs 


The young women, of course, felt very flattered by the attention they got from these mature 

Mother said Daddy took 
her out to eat but not to the 
show because he never really 
was a show or television person. 
They went to Knott's Berry 
Farm which was a sort of 
tourist-type place where you 
could eat fried chicken and visit 
an old western town. The Farm 
was also famous for its jellies, 
pies, and cobblers. Sometimes 
they would lay off work and 
picnic at the beach while they 
talked and watched the sea 
gulls. Sometimes they went to 
the amusement park at the 
beaches where they could buy 
souvenirs and walk on the 
boardwalk. Sometimes they 
would go to visit her family, 
especially her older sister. 

When they became a 
couple, Daddy owned the two- 
tone green Airfloat trailer. 
Mother became pregnant with 
Elaine, who was born in San 
Pedro, California, and three 
months later, they hitched up 

the trailer and started toward Camden, Arkansas, pulled by his 1939 Ford. Naval Ordinance 
sent him there to instruct the locals in defense production work. On the way, they stopped 
in Las Vegas and he helped someone there weld together a frame to build a garage since his 
transfer was at his own expense. Mother said, when they lived in Las Vegas, the weather was 
so dry that as she hung out diapers on the line — a regular size line — by the time she came to 
the end of the row, the clothes hung at the beginning were dry. 

The ship Walter and Jerry worked on 






Either during this trip or at some other time, Daddy and Mother went to Phoenix, 
Arizona, where she met Uncle Bill. Uncle Bill, two of his boys, his wife, and Daddy went 
hunting and Mother and Elaine went with them They were driving down the road in the 
black *39 Ford, when they saw some deer. They got out of the car, and Daddy rested his 30- 




30 Winchester on the car window and took aim Uncle Bill said, "Get him," and Daddy said, 
"Got him" They saw another deer and repeated this same dialogue. Now, at the time, there 
were regulations about hunting and does were out of season, so the only hunting you were 
allowed to do was for a buck. From a distance, both Uncle Bill and Daddy had thought these 
were bucks. When they got closer to the kill, they were really surprised to discover both were 
does. They drug the does into the brush and hightailed it out of there. On this trip, Uncle 
Bill's boys gave Mother some long hairs from a cow's tail and told her that it was hair from 
a bear. Being a city girl, she was suitably impressed and reverently held on to it during most 
of the trip. When the boys couldn't hold their mirth any longer, they told her the truth. 


A job well done — it floated! 

When Mother and Daddy got to Arkansas, he worked the swing shift. Mother said 
the people there were very clannish and unfriendly. It was a very small town and the people 
never accepted outsiders nor their children. When you went into a drug store, they would not 
even sell outsiders the magazines like Time and Life that were sitting on the rack — these 
were saved for local town folk. When Mother became pregnant with her second child, me, 
the local doctors didn't feel that pregnancy was something for which someone needed a 
doctor as people had babies everyday. So Daddy and Mother moved to Little Rock and 
began looking for a doctor. When they moved, he changed jobs and was no longer working 
for Naval Ordinance. I was bom in Little Rock and so was Walter Floyd Goodman, Jr. (Pete 
or Petie Boy, as he was known when he was young). 



While Mother was pregnant with Pete and I was about six months old, she left the 
trailer one winter day to take out the trash. Thinking to come right back, she didn't take a 
sweater. Elaine locked her out and she couldn't be persuaded to unlock the door even for a 
cookie. Mother said I was scared and crying and Elaine was slapping me because she wanted 
me to stop crying, then Elaine got some soap flakes and poured them on the floor. 
Meanwhile, Mother and some of the neighbor women were continuing to implore Elaine to 
unlock the door but to no avail — to break in Mother would have had to break the glass, cut 
the screen, and ruin the door. She finally called Daddy at work and they said he had been sent 
to a cemetery to work on a Caterpillar. She told them that if they didn't get him home, she 
would be in a cemetery. I guess it was pretty scary for her knowing that two of Daddy's other 
children had burned to death in a trailer with fires on inside. He came home and climbed up 
on the roof of the trailer and opened a vent which he was slim enough to go through. Mother 
said he wouldn't let her in until he had cleaned up the mess because she was so mad — and 
cold, too, m bet. 

After Pete was born, Mother and Daddy moved to Texas. During their migration to 
Dallas, they lived for a time in McKinney, just north of Dallas. Then they moved to Dallas, 
first to White Rock Trailer Park up on the hill at the intersection where Gaston, East Grand 
and Garland Road all come together. While we were living there, our family became friends 
with the Carroll family, with whom we are still friends. Mr. Carroll worked in the railroad 
yard, and they had two boys just slightly older than our oldest children. Later Mr. Carroll had 
a yard accident at the RR and both of his legs were severed. Their two boys both grew up 
to be Dallas Policemen. Sometimes we would go out to eat Sunday dinner with them at El 
Fenix Mexican Restaurant. These people were important because they were the only couple 
with whom I remember my parents associating. They moved to a house and we moved to a 
new trailer park on Fort Worth Avenue in Dallas. Sherril, Nancy, and Carol were born while 
we lived there. Elaine and I both began school while we were living there. We attended 
Sidney Lanier Elementary School. 

At this trailer park, Daddy built a white picket fence around our lot, with an arched 
trellis over the gate from scraps he got at a lumber yard. He also built a full-length screened- 
in porch on our trailer where some of us slept at night and he also put up swings for us. 
Mother said he planted Zinnias down the fence that were as tall as he was and she planted 
Morning Glories that grew over the trellis. Mother sprinkled sulphur on our lawn each 
spring so that we kids wouldn't get eaten up by the Texas-sized chiggers. 

Mother and Daddy used to take us pecan picking. Pecans trees are native to Texas 
and they grow wild in lots of places especially at the back of the trailer park, where there were 
lots of pecan trees. She said we would all go and pick up the fallen pecans and store them 
in boxes, sacks, and buckets under the bed and sofa and anywhere else we could. All of us 
love pecans, especially Mother's pecan pies. 



• VI 




*» ^ I 

H * 

We have always had cats — always — and 
always had lots and lots of them. Once one of our 
cats must have killed a rat in our trailer yard, or 
nearly killed it anyway. Elaine and I were toddlers 
then. She picked up the rat by its tail to examine it 
and it came to life just long enough to turn around 
and bite her. It clamped down tight on her finger 
and Mother had to pry its teeth open to get it off 
Elaine's finger. When we moved to our new house 
later, we took our cats with us, except for one we 
couldn't find. We went back to look for it but it 
never showed up. 

While our family lived on Fort Worth 
Avenue, Daddy bought the lot for our house and 
began working in the evenings to clear the land. It 
was very overgrown. (I think we counted once after 
the house was built and there were still something 
like 29 trees in our yard, and we made good use of 
them) Sometimes we would pack a picnic lunch 
and go with Daddy, but I don't think we helped him much. A lot of the construction was 
contracted, but Daddy painted the inside of the house, and finished the oak hardwood floors 
till they were smooth as glass. Mother kept those floors that way, too. I remember her 
polishing those floors on her hands and knees with paste wax. Then we kids would slide 
across them in our socks. Daddy bought all new furniture for the house, and Mother 
decorated the living room with pale grey walls, a deep green sofa and chair, Chinese red 
draperies with deep green foliage and arched oriental bridges printed on them, and white 
sheers underneath. From the Sears catalog, she ordered shadow boxes that interlocked 
together and painted them the same red, then she hung these over the sofa and filled them 
with graceful and colorful porcelain-like birds. I remember thinking how beautiful that room 
was, and I still remember it that way. All the rest of the children were born while we were 
living in this house. Of course, it didn't stay this beautiful because, when you put lots of wear 
and tear on something, the wear begins to show so all my younger sisters may not remember 
this the way I do. 

Fence and arched trellis Walter built 

When we first moved there, the area was pretty rural and we had no neighbors on 
either side of us. Daddy cleared a little round spot on the right side of our lot (where Bertha's 
house was later built) but he kept the entrance to it sort of secluded. He hung several bird 
feeders inside the clearing. Lots of song birds came, and I remember robins, cardinals, and 
orioles, and, of course, bobwhites. I also saw my first hurrrmingbird in there. Later someone 
bought this lot to build on and we lost this small treasured spot. Frankly, I don't know how 
it ever existed with all our cats. 

-:-. - 


Speaking of birds, when Nancy was small, Daddy always loved to hear her sing. 
Nancy had a little vibrato to her voice that he loved to hear — he called her his "little 
songbird." Nancy was always so small — she was much smaller framed than the rest of the 
girls. Mother said that Nancy always liked flowers and especially the very small ones, and she 
often brought Mother a flower she had picked. Once when Nancy was little, someone 
accidentally poked her in the eye with the scissors and her eye began to water very badly. 
Daddy was very scared that the eyeball had been punctured, that the fluid was draining from 
the eyeball itself and that she might never see again from that eye. His genuine concern really 
frightened us for her but she was okay. 

When we moved in, Daddy went farther out into the country and dug up Bermuda 
grass that grew over the side of the road and into the ditches, and he planted it in our yard, 
and that is how we got our first lawn. I can remember him with this long, heavy pointed 
metal bar — where it came from, no one knows — but during the rain he would go out and 
poke holes in the ground with it to aerate the soil so the grass would grow better, then 
fertilize it. Later Mother planted St. Augustine grass in with the bermuda and the St. 
Augustine finally won the ground war. It did much better under all the trees on our lot. 




On his way to work one day, Daddy came out of the house and started his Mercury. 
Mother was leaning over kissing him goodbye when she saw a copperhead snake crawling out 
from under the car. Apparently, it had come from the pond across the street and wound itself 
around the crankshaft to spend a warm night then crawled out on the lawn when the car 
started. Mother spied it and excitedly pointed it out to Daddy, both being concerned about 
all the little kids that would soon be roaming that front yard. Daddy got out of the car and 
began circling the snake, doing what Mother called some kind of an "Indian war dance," to 
keep the snake there until he could kill it. He hit it with a concrete foundation block which 
was lying nearby. After he killed the snake, he hung it over a limb in one of the trees in the 
front yard so that we could see it when we awoke. Later, Mother came out and the snake 
was gone. She was frantic because she thought it must still be alive, but, actually, the cats 
had drug it off and ate it. These were the days of table scraps — you know, before Friskies 
Cat Food — so cats were more adaptive. 

Our cats were indoor/outdoor cats. At one time, we had over twenty cats. Each of 
us had our own and then there were some to spare. Mama Skinny and Uncle Tiny Wiener 
were two of our cats (I don't know how he got that name — I never realized its implications 
until I said it to someone when I was in my thirties and they repeated it back to me with a 
look that was full of question marks). Sherril had an orange cat named Herkamer. The cats 
would come and hang on the screen doors which we were always going in and out. We 
usually were moving pretty fast as we came through but they managed to renegotiate the 
situation anyway and get inside. We lost several cats due to the refrigerator door closing on 
them. Since they were fed table scraps, they always came ninning whenever they heard the 
fridge opened. Old refrigerators didn't have the soft magnetic closing doors we have today. 
The door was heavy and it latched, and more than one little kitty got his neck broken when 




it accidentally stuck its head in the fridge as the door closed. Of course, we all mourned like 

We used to dress our cats up like our dolls, tie hats on them, and push them in our 
baby buggies. If they were fleet-footed enough to escape, you could probably kiss that dress 
and hat good-bye as you saw them bobbing up and down the street. From time to time, we 
also took the cats to the pond across the street and threw them in just to watch them swim. 
We weren't really trying to be cruel, it was just a curiosity to us to see cats swim without 

One day just after we moved, a black dog with a white spot on its throat followed 
Daddy home when he turned from the main street toward our house. This dog just fit us 
perfectly and he stayed. We named him Friskie. Daddy taught Friskie to protect us, and if 
any of us children began to scream Friskie would run to see what was happening. Once one 
of our neighbors was just horsing around with us and we were screaming, so Friskie bit him 
on the butt. Daddy loved the kids and he wanted Friskie to protect us. He loved to come 
home and have us run up the street to meet his car. He would let us climb all over the hood 
and trunk then drive us slowly home the last block or so. Then he would get out and wrestle 
with us while Friskie barked a warning to him not to go too far. 

Daddy put up a cable for us in the back yard and attached a pulley with a handle. We 
could climb a tree, grab the handle and jump, and slide down across most of the width of the 
yard. Of course, you had to "bail out" before you hit the tree supporting the cable at the other 
end. He also put up a swing and a tire swing for us. Pete and his friends built a triangular 
club house in the back yard which we used as a base from which to pelt each other with horse 
apples gathered from the Bois d' Arc tree. Sometimes we spent the night up there, and we 
would often take naps in it. 

Since we didn't get an allowance, we had to earn money in whatever manner we 
could. One way we earned money was to bite into a jalapeno pepper. For some reason, it 
was worth fifty cents to Daddy to see us do that. Most of us remember Daddy in his green 
khaki work clothes. He liked his clothes ironed, and when we were teenagers, he used to pay 
us to iron them This gave us another way to earn money. Of course, Mother would do the 
starching. Sometimes, we would use pants stretchers inside the starched clothes as they 
dried. This sure made ironing the pants easier but it always took me a long time to figure out 
the pants stretchers. 

Daddy also paid us to pick cutworms out of the annual garden he planted. We got 
a nickel for each. Mother says. Today's store-bought tomatoes sure don't taste like those did. 
He usually planted varieties of peppers, tomatoes, onions, corn, and sometimes a few other 
vegetables. One time we had gotten a truck load of sand for the garden, I guess, because it 
was sitting near that spot. Mother had gone to a scout meeting at the school and Daddy was 
in the house. We kids were raking the sand up into a pile then playing king on the hill. 

-:-. ■ 


Whoever used the rake last didn't turn it over. When Pete ran toward the hiM, he stepped on 
it barefoot and it went completely through his foot. You never heard such howling, but I 
think we girls were howling worse than Pete. It was so gruesome. Daddy was used to 
solving problems like this on the range, so he took Pete in the house, put his foot in the 
bathtub thoroughly washing out all the punctures, then he poured methylate through the 
holes. We all were crying and telling him how mean he was and how he should take Pete to 
the doctor, but Pete got well in spite of our fears. 

Occasionally, Daddy and Mother would take all of us to the dime store and turn us 
loose with a quarter each. While this was really a treat, it was also hard to decide just how 
to spend that quarter. I usually got paper dolls. Speaking of paper dolls, Mother used to 
draw quite well as she had taken drawing in school and learned body proportioning. She was 
very good. Mother's paper dolls always looked like Betty Grable from her famous swimsuit 
pose; they faced forward but they had her hairstyle. Then she would draw us a page full of 
very imaginative clothes which we got to color and cut out. These were my favorite paper 
dolls; I wish I still had one as a keepsake. Actually when I think back about the dolls and 
clothes she drew, and the rooms she decorated, I realize that Mother had a lot of creative 



Mother and Daddy used to play cards with us when we were younger — we played Old 
Maid and Gin Rummy with the cards that had pictures of little foxes on them. I don't ever 
remember our parents letting us win. If we won, we were just hicky. Mother was good at 
cards. We also played dominoes, checkers, and Monopoly. Daddy was good at checkers and 
dominoes. Monopoly was just took too long to me. I couldn't sustain my interest in the game 
unless, of course, I was winning which wasn't too often. 

Each year at Christmas, Mother decorated our living room with red and green 
garlands, draping them over each other, sometimes hanging an ornament in the middle of each 
drape. I can remember her up on a chair with a ruler measuring the garland so that it hung 
evenly all around the room. She made our living room beautiful, and she never wanted our 
help. (She told us that her father had decorated their home for Christmas when she was 
young, and he didn't want his children's help either. It seems to be a family tradition. At one 
time, when her own family had very little, her father worked for a bakery where he could get 
lots of different cookies. That year, he completely covered the top of their dining table with 
various types and colors of cookies working them into an intricate design.) Daddy usually 
picked out the Christmas tree and often bought it on his way home from work. He would 
saw off the bottom and trim the top to make it fit the room Back in those days, he 
sometimes had to make a stand as all these metal ones we have now weren't around. Then 
he would put on the lights, the bubble lights, and the white plastic star outlined with red with 
a light inside it, and we children would put the ornaments and tinsel on the tree. Mother 
would make popcorn, fudge, and maybe hot chocolate while we children finished decorating 
the tree. 


When we were small we put white cotton, which you could buy in rolls like polyester 
quilt batting, under the tree to resemble snow. On top of that we put little houses that had 
colored cellophane windows and small trees around the houses. We would fix the tree lights 
so that a light would show through the windows. Mother told us her uncle who was in the 
Navy often had a small model train running around his tree and that she would have always 
liked to have had one for us. I don't remember Daddy ever telling us about one of his family's 
Christmases, but he told Mother they often got fresh fruit for Christmas and how great a treat 
he and his brothers and sisters felt that was. Mother and Daddy never put out our presents 
until Christmas night after we went to bed. We left fresh chocolate chip cookies out for 
Santa. We figured he came because the cookies were gone the next morning and presents 
were arranged under the tree. We left a Coca Cola with the cookies too until we joined the 
LDS Church, then we left a glass of milk with the cookies. Nothing is worse to me than milk 
that has gotten warm from sitting out. I was surprised Santa left us anything after that. 




Mother helped us make colored eggs for Easter. Seems like we had to hard boil about 
six dozen eggs in order for everyone to dye about six each. We would sometimes put a few 
drops of oil in the dye to get a pretty mottled effect. Mother made our Easter baskets herself 
from what she would buy at the grocery store, then she would hide them out in the yard to 
be found after we got home from church. We also used to have Easter egg hunts with both 
real eggs and those awful marshmallow filled eggs which no one but the ants liked — but they 
look so much like Easter you feel compelled to buy some. After Easter, we would have lots 
of egg salad, potato salad, and deviled eggs. 

Mother, like Uncle Bill, said Daddy could do anything he set his mind to and do it 
well. He refinished the trailer after we moved into the house in order to sell it. It was 
beautifiiL When he finished, he traded it for a white 195 1 Mercury which I now realize was 
almost a new car. When we had lived in Arkansas, he had reupholstered the trailer sofa with 
cording and alL Mother said the women in the neighborhood used to come down every night 
to check on his progress because they all thought that he would make a big mess. To do the 
sofa, he used a small black Singer sewing machine that he had when they got together. 
Mother said Daddy taught her how to use the sewing machine and all the decorative 
attachments, and he helped her sew Elaine's baby clothes. 

Once he refinished an antique crank-type wood telephone for one of his bosses. I 
remember watching him painstakingly work on this in the back yard. When he finished it, he 
wasn't satisfied so he stripped it again and started over. I will never forget that. It taught me 
that I didn't have to live with something I had done if my efforts didn't satisfy me the first 

Daddy could draw Indians and horses very well. His horses looked like real with all 
the right shadowing, he even caught the look in their eye. I can especially remember one 
picture he drew, the face of an old Indian who looked especially weathered and wise, like he 
had seen many summers. 


Daddy took the large porch we had left over after he traded the trailer and moved it 
to the side of the lot behind the house. Whether it had four sides when he built it or he 
enclosed the fourth side at this time, I don't know, I just remember it was enclosed. Then he 
installed Mother's wringer washing machine and two rinse tubs inside the porch. No matter 
how hot or cold Dallas was, Mother was out there washing. It took lots of work to wash the 
clothes of so many children and babies — this was before disposable diapers and we usually 
had two or three in diapers. I don't ever remember Mother having a coat back then nor do 
I remember her complaining about it. She usually had a sweatshirt that she had cut up the 
middle and made into a jacket. She always talked about trimming the edge with rickrack but 
I don't think she ever did it. Our clothes were always clean and starched. Mother's starch 
was cooked starch, too, and it was never lumpy or streaked on our clothes. Our whites were 
white and our colors were bright. She rinsed and rinsed the clothes. Both Mother and Daddy 
both took great pride in what they did. Often we helped hang out the clothes but I'm sure she 
did most of this when we were in school. In the winter, the clothes would freeze instead of 
drying on the line, and when we brought them in, they would thaw and be wet again. Then 
we had to hang them over the space heater to dry them 

We never looked like orphan children except perhaps in the summer when it was really 
hot — over 100 degrees — then we would run around in our little white cotton panties. Of 
course, this was when we were younger. Once I remember Sherril being upset about 
something, I don't remember what it was, but she decided to run away from home. She had 
a little doll's suitcase that was round like a hat box and about four inches deep and eight 
inches in diameter. She took off up the street wearing nothing but her white cotton panties 
and carrying her little doll suitcase. 




Old broom handles always made great stick horses. Westerns were popular then and 
we knew our own Dad had been a cowboy, so we loved to play cowboys and Indians. There 
were never enough sticks to go around because our horses didn't foal, so we were frequently 
guilty of "horse" stealing. When we girls wanted to play "ladies", we would take these same 
sticks and poke them through paper plates to make a parasol, then wrap ourselves in 
tablecloths for our long skirts. There was always potential for a war if someone rode off on 
your parasol. 

When Carol Lynn was young, she earned the substitute name "Care Less" because she 
had several accidents while playing. Once she stood up on the bottom of an upturned garbage 
can which gave way. She fell through and cut the top of her nose in a "V" shape. Another 
time, she was playing Den Mother and demonstrating how to make kindling with a hand axe. 
She had her index finger, which she was using to hold the wood, running in the same direction 
as she was chopping. She hit the deadly blow and split the end of her finger in two. Until she 
went to the doctor, she could point in two directions with the same finger. 

We played outside a lot because we had no air conditioning. In Texas you just 
couldn't comfortably be in a house in the summer. We used to rake up dirt to make dividing 


lines for houses and streets. We didn't have that many toys but never felt handicapped 
because of it. We just invented things — sometimes imagined them — but if you're all in 
agreement, then it doesn't matter, does it? We played mostly with each other. Sometimes a 
neighbor, Steve Piatt, or his sister, Mary, would come down. We had enough sisters that we 
had built in friends, but it was harder for Pete who was the only boy. 


Steve used to come to play with Pete. Pete was small and thin. He didn't really get 
his height until he was about 18 and now he's over six feet. Steve was my age, a year older 
than Pete, and he was very self-centered and spoiled. If Pete didn't play his way, Steve would 
beat up on Pete and run home. This used to make all of us really mad. Daddy often told us 
when you're facing someone larger than you, pick up something and even the odds. One day 
Steve started to beat Pete up, and I was standing nearby. While I was about the same height 
as Steve, I was not nearly as filled out. It didn't matter. I saw a length of green rubber hose 
on the ground about five feet long and picked it up then commenced to beat old Steve. I got 
in several good blows before he got away. He stayed away for a while, but to my knowledge, 
when he came back he never bothered Pete again. While Steve and I were in the same grade, 
this incident was never a problem until later when we were teenagers. Then, he was 
desperately cute, played a guitar, sang with a group, and he wouldn't look at me. 

During the fifties and after the atom bomb, the discovery of uranium became a very 
talked about thing. There were documentary type TV shows and many articles written about 
uranium If you could discover some, you would become very rich. One time Daddy felt sure 
that he knew a place in Arizona where there was uranium, and he went back there for about 
a week to look for it but, alas, he didn't find it. Mother says, if he really knew where uranium 
was, he wasn't gone long enough to find it since the natural vegetation growth over the years 
changed the appearance of the land. Daddy also told us that he was sure he knew where the 
Lost Dutchman's Gold Mine was in Arizona, and if he had enough time, he could find it. It 
all sounded romantically adventurous. 

For a lot of years, Daddy subscribed to "Arizona Highways." I think he missed 
Arizona very much. He told us that Zane Grey was his favorite author, and he had read most 
or all of Zane Gray's books. Daddy said he had been to most of the places where the stories 
were set. I remember when he went back for his mother's funeral. He bought a new grey suit 
from J.C. Pauley's and a new Stetson hat from the Stetson store in downtown Dallas. I recall 
that he took the train to Arizona but Mother thinks it was the bus, so we don't know which 
it was. He was gone about a week. Mother said that he brought home some pictures which 
one of his relatives later borrowed to have copied. While they were returned, they were never 
shown to us. I don't remember even seeing a picture of any of our four grandparents until I 
was about 35 years old. While that didn't seem too unusual at the time, now I know that our 
family was like orphans, and that you can be an orphan and still have parents. My husband, 
Travis, has a wonderful family who have taught me what a great support group aunts, uncles, 
and cousins represent to children. The lessons of the tolerance and the continuity of life are 
present when children know their relatives and can see the relatives' weaknesses and 


strengths, yet see that each is still accepted and loved. We did not have these things in our 
life from either side of our family. 

Mother's father died some time in the fifties, too, and she rarely talked about her 
family to us either. As a matter of fact, she never even told us when he died. Because of the 
circumstances that surrounded her father's death and the fact that he was dead and buried 
before she knew about it, she did not go home to California to visit. For some reason, both 
of our parents held everything inside of themselves never sharing either their feelings or 
experiences with us, their own children. Whether that was common to the times or not, I 
don't know; I don't have any other reality to relate it to. Since neither of our parents talked 
about their families that much, we had no idea what our heritage was. Our whole existence 
was what went on within our own home. If a person's home life is not as strong as it could 
be, sometimes knowing their relatives can be what strengthens them I can really see that in 
my husband's family who lived close to each other, knew all their extended family members, 
and knew their ancestral history. 

Mother said that when we moved to the new house, we went to a Baptist church 
which was held in the B. H. Macon Elementary School cafeteria. I don't remember us going 
to any church myself except that I do remember going to Vacation Bible School each 
summer, and sometimes we went to more than one — the denomination didn't matter. When 
I was nine, a couple from the LDS Church, a Brother and Sister Hill from Utah, began 
teaching us the Gospel lessons. We had gone to church a couple of times with Daddy. He 
met this missionary couple who said they were looking for someone to teach, and he told 
them he knew a whole family they could teach. We took the lessons, and Mother, Elaine, 
Pete, and I were baptized on the same day. Daddy baptized us all at the LDS Church on 
Turtle Creek Boulevard. The font was on the stage. We didn't have all the nice white 
baptismal clothes that we now have, so I wore a white skirt Mother had made with bright 
colored peacocks on it. 

After that we began attending the LDS Church regularly. Mother would take us to 
Primary on the bus back when Primary used to be during the middle of the week. We would 
get all scrubbed up like the little girls in Madelaine Goes to Paris, or whatever other 
adventure she had, and follow in a neat little row; Pete, too. Poor fellow, he was so 
outnumbered. We'd catch the bus a couple of blocks from the house and ride downtown and 
transfer to another bus. We all sat together quietly and were well-behaved. Mother said she 
often got compliments on how well-behaved we were, especially for such a large group. 
Then we would get off the bus and walk a couple of blocks to the Church. This was an all 
day affair — to prepare all the clothes that had to be starched and ironed, to bath all the kids, 
then to take this long bus trip, which probably took at least an hour and a half each way not 
counting the walking. This makes me really appreciate Mother for her dedication. 

I remember us kneeling and praying nightly around the three open sides of a bed for 
years. We took turns saying the family prayer. We also always blessed our food. These 








things have been easy for me to teach my own family because of those early memories. On 
Saturday night, Daddy and Mother would polish our shoes, and Sunday morning the shoes 
would be lined up on the kitchen cabinet from the largest pair to the smallest. Daddy had 
bought a Book of Mormon Stories for Children which he read to us some evenings. 


est Jb 


Shoes all polished ready for Sunday morning 

When we went to church together, I used to try to hold Daddy's hand. His hands 
were big, and rough, and his nails always had a residue of grease under them which is 
characteristic of a mechanic. When grease gets into the bed of the nail, the only thing you can 
do is let it grow out. Janie says she can remember him trying to clean his nails with his pocket 
knife. I was proud of his hands, and proud, too, when we sang songs and I could hear his 
strong voice. I don't know if it was a good voice or a bad voice but it was good to me. His 
favorite song was Ere Your Left Your Room This Morning, and he used to tell us his mother's 
favorite song, but I don't remember it. I idolized Daddy and he must have known it. It is easy 
for all of us to like someone who thinks we're great. I used to think he was like Abraham 
Lincoln or someone else with unusually fine character. When you idolize someone, you 
usually project them as larger than life, so it is sometimes difficult when you leam that your 
idol is a human being. 

On our way home from church, Mother often sang to us. She had sung in the glee 
club at school and has a very lovely voice. Two songs that we especially loved to hear her 
sing were Little Brown Church (I think this was one of her mother's favorites) and Old 


Rugged Cross. She knew all the great ballads of the forties, too, but our favorite, bar none, 
was When Jack Was a Lonely Cowboy. We requested this song over and over. It was always 
nice to have our Mother sing to us. 

We usually went to church in the 1939 black Ford which had no air conditioning, piled 
two deep in the back, so we would wet a diaper at church before we left for home and hold 
it in the window. Until it dried out, it would cool off the air that blew into the car. Of course, 
this potential advantage made a window seat a prime location. Mother and Daddy would sit 
in the front seat, and she would always held the smallest baby in her lap, with the toddlers 
sitting between the two of them We would sit in the back with the largest kids on the seat 
and the smaller kids on our laps. The law would never allow this today but times were 
different then. In the summer, this double-deckering made it especially hot. I often got car 
sick when I was young and quite often got a bloody nose when we rode in the car — I wonder 
if we were going too fast? With all the kids we had, it was really convenient to have two car 
doors that opened facing each other — sort of forming a privacy stall. We often had to stop 
on the side of the road while little bottoms squatted down and tinkled. There was no real 
privacy — not once you squatted — you just couldn't see the other person seeing you, that's all. 
For a while, we carried a small portable potty in the car, but once someone stepped in it, and 
that was the end of that. 

After Daddy got the 1951 Mercury, we would often stop on the way home from 
church at Ashburn's Ice Cream Shoppe in the Casa Linda Shopping Center, and all get a 
chocolate ice cream cone. That was a great treat when you had such a large family. 




Frequently, Daddy would bring home a gallon of A&W Root Beer. Now there is no 
root beer better than A&W draft root beer. It was soooo creamy. Sometimes he would take 
us to A&W, and we would get our own frosted mug of root beer, and from time to time, we 
could even get a root beer float. A&W had curb service, and they gave free baby- sized mugs 
of root beer to all the little children. They must have never made money when we came. For 
you grandchildren who read this and think too much is being made of this, you have to realize 
that people didn't go out to eat then like they do now. Not only did we not go out, but there 
weren't the many places to go without going to a full- service restaurant. That alone kept 
most folks home. While there were A&Ws, Dairy Queen's, Sonic's and Pig Stand's, none of 
these were inexpensive in relationship to today's fast food places. 

Janie remembers that when Daddy would take the younger kids to the Velmar Root 
Beer Stand, the kids would order a green drink called a "Wildcat". Rebecca said Daddy used 
to tell them, "Those Wildcats are going to tear your rummies up." Both Janie and Rebecca 
agreed the drinks weren't very good, but they had a swizzle in them with a little monkey 
whose tail hooked over the rim of the glass. The kids ordered them for the "prize". I guess 
this was a forerunner of McDonald's kid's meal. 


Often Daddy would come home with a large box of two dozen doughnuts. We had 
a Southern Maid Doughnut store not too far from our home and you could buy two dozen 
for about $1.50 then. (None of the current donut shops make donuts as good as Southern 
Maid's used to be. They cut too many corners today, so they can't get the same quality.) 
We'd get about two donuts apiece, and Mother would make hot chocolate to go with them 
The infrequency with which these things happened in our lives made each of them very special 
and memorable. 





Speaking of food, another fond memory that I have is how good we ate — at least 
when I was at home. When I was young, Mother was at home all the time, and she prepared 
great meals for us, in spite of Daddy's assertions that he was a better cook. Not one of my 
friends with smaller families ate as well as we did. We had roast or fried chicken on most 
Sunday's and other good things each night of the week. Dinner was something you could 
really look forward to! Daddy saw to it that our kitchen was full of fresh fruit. He went to 
the Farmer's Market and would sometimes buy several bushels at a time. I think we were 
often wasteful because he made fruit was so plentiful to us. When he went to the store each 
night, he bought six half-gallon cartons of milk and two large loaves of bread — each and 
every night. When we first started to school, Mother made our lunches for several years. 
Each morning, she got up and baked fresh cookies for our lunch that day, usually chocolate 
chip, but sometimes peanut butter (yum!) or oatmeal. At Christmas, she would put pecans 
and maraschino cherries in the chocolate chip cookies — now those were great cookies. She 
told me that sometimes on Saturday night when we were young, we would have cookie night 
where we just had cookies and milk for dinner. I don't remember that, but I'm sure we all 
loved it. Cathy reminded me about how we used to crumble fried bacon into our Cream of 
Wheat, top it with brown sugar and milk and eat up. When she told me that, I remembered 
how great those tasted together. 

At Thanksgiving we would have a great big ham or turkey with all the trimmings, and 
Mother wouldn't make just a couple of pies, she always made a variety including most of the 
following: cherry, apple, pecan, pumpkin, mincemeat, and lemon meringue — oh, wow! I still 
love pies more than cakes. She made most of the refreshments for the Pete's Cut Scout 
meetings, too. She was his Den Mother. Everyone knew her baked cookies and cakes were 
the best. She even made cakes with cooked icing which always turned out right. At night, 
she often told us if we would pick the nuts from some of our stored pecans, she would make 
us a pan of fudge. We're all fudge- a-holics. 

Daddy told us that he often cooked for the chuck wagon when they were on the 
range, and that it was his job to make bread for the family. He was a very good cook, but he 
always cooked quantities like he was still cooking for a cattle drive. He was proud of his 
cooking and often wasn't tolerant of other "schools of learning." Once after being especially 
haughty to Mother about his prowess, he proceeded to "show her" how to bake a pie. We 
all listened to him brag and watched the pie through the glass in the oven door. It was a 
beautiful pie — right up until the time he began to take it from the oven. Then, as he pulled 

- -i- 

- s 


the rack out, the pie just slipped right out of the back of the pan and into the bottom of the 
oven. He had forgotten and greased the pie tin, so Mother had the last laugh. We waited till 
the oven cooled, got spoons, and ate the pie from the bottom of the oven. The true moral to 
this must have been that God prefers humility, but ours was waste not, want not. 

One time Daddy made some tomato preserves in Mother's 18 quart pressure cooker. 
He scorched them just ever so slightly so none of us would eat them Mother said she doesn't 
remember what ever happened to them When they got this large pressure cooker, it was not 
what Mother wanted. She had wanted a small Mhro pressure cooker but Daddy felt that it 
wasn't large enough to be practical. When it arrived from Sears, she said it was big enough 
to bath a kid in. Sometimes he would use this to make soup for the family. While his soup 
was good, soup made in this size pan lasted too long. Now I know that my own propensity 
for cooking large quantities is genetic. Another thing that Daddy used to make were "wind 
cakes" which Mother thinks is about the same thing as sopaipillas — fried bread. We all liked 
these. Daddy was the one who taught Mother to whip the white Karo syrup with cold butter 
to make a spread which we all loved for our pancakes. 

Our family experience was different from the first child to the last child since the child- 
rearing period was almost 40 years from beginning to end. When you consider this, you can 

see that there was enough time for our reality to be very different. When Rebecca was three 

month's old, Mother went to work nights as a nurse's aid, so she was often tired and they had 
more "left-over" nights. Also, after Daddy died there just wasn't the same amount of money 
for food. Barbara remembers eating lots of beans, but said they didn't mind because Mother 
was so good at preparing them 

When Elaine, Pete and I were younger, Daddy used to take us on bike rides. We 
would ride with him to this little store just past the park on Elam and Old Seagoville Road, 
and he would buy us a soda and some Lik-M-Ade which we put in our sodas to make them 
fizz out the bottle top. This was pretty neat for us especially when you consider that Daddy 
was around fifty at the time. 

Sometimes Daddy would come home from work and say, "Who wants to go 
swimming?" Of course, we all did. Mother packed up the babies and we all changed and 
double- deckered ourself in the car and went to the pool. We swan for several hours with 
Daddy, while Mother sat outside the fence on a blanket with the babies — you know, you have 
to become a parent yourself to appreciate these sacrifices. Daddy taught us the basic strokes 
at the pooL He was a good swimmer, although once he jumped off the high board and hit his 
head on the bottom of the pooL On the way home from the pool Daddy would stop and buy 
an ice cold watermelon. When we got home, he would slice it into moon shaped slices, and 
we'd eat it outside like little pickaninnies, spitting the seeds at each other. Then we'd wash 
off with the hose before we came in the house. 


This brings to mind the time Daddy took Elaine, Pete and me to Lake Whitney to fish 
and camp overnight. Pete and Daddy were fishing from the boat not very far away, and 
Elaine and I had on life vests and were playing just inside the water's edge. Elaine got out 
where her feet wouldn't touch the bottom and began screaming, Tm drowning, I'm 
drowning." Of course, she wasn't drowning at all, but she thought she was. Daddy jumped 
in the water from the boat and pulled her ashore. In the process, he lost his wallet which had 
all his money in it. He was usually a cash type of person; I really don't remember him using 
a checkbook too much. Well, the wallet began to sink to the bottom and, then, we really did 
have a crisis. Pete remembers that Daddy dove and dove searching the bottom of that murky 
lake until he found it. 



C :. 

As long as we're talking 
about water, we may as well 
add the stories about the 
bathrooms and baths. When we 
first moved to our house, we 
hooked into a neighbor's water 
line and split the water bill with 
him We didn't have our 
plumbing hooked up yet so, for 
a several of years, we had an 
outhouse. Daddy built it. He 
dug the pit and built the building 
over it and made it with both 
adult and child sized "potholes." 
He used lap siding and red 
shingles just like our house, then 
he painted it with white exterior 
enamel on the inside so you 
could hose it down. He even 
put linoleum on the floor and 
trimmed it out and made lid 
coverings with handles to fit 
both holes. While he was 
setting on the toilet putting 
linoleum on the kick face of the 
seats, a neighbor who lived in 
back of us (Ollie) passed on her 
way to visit Mother. When she 
saw the door open with Daddy sitting there working, she went back home and got her camera 
and caught him in that pose. You have to look twiceat this picture to see that he has all his 
clothes on and that he is bent over working with the hammer. 

Walter building the outhouse 




While we got our sewers hooked up a couple of years later, we continued to use this 
little facility because it was so convenient when you were out in the backyard playing. Daddy 
always put lime down the holes to keep the natural order (or odor) in balance. Once a 
neighbor turned in a complaint to the City that someone's outhouse was smelling up the area. 
At the time, the City was discouraging outhouses because the sewers had been installed them 
The City Inspector came to our house — we were probably the target of the complaint 
knowing this crabby old neighbor. When he looked at our outhouse with all its fancy 
finishings, he told Mother it was like looking at the Taj Mahal compared to some he'd look 
at. He gave us a clean bill of health. What he didn't know was that Mother even used to wax 
the floor in our outhouse! 

For several years, we had to take our baths in a galvanized tub before we got our 
plumbing. We had two sizes, a regular round one and a longer oval one. We would fill them 
up in our large kitchen and just bathe away. Bathing went from the smallest person to the 
largest because, most of the time, the smaller kids were the cleanest. When we first lived 
there, Daddy built a shower in the woods on the Crow's lot next to our house. We used it 
during the summer. Once when Mother was showering, someone drove up and turned 
around in our driveway. Even though she was showering in a cotton dress, she was scared 
that she would be caught. Later on when a house was built on this lot, we would shower in 
our swim suits in the summer with the hose in the fork of a tree in the back yard. 




Sometimes on the weekend, Daddy would take us to the drive-in. When we were 
growing up, drive-in theaters were popular in Texas because of the lack of air conditioning 
and the record heat. Daddy especially loved westerns and war movies, and both he and 
Mother loved John Wayne. Mother would pop two large grocery bags full of salted and 
buttered popcorn and make Kool-ade. We would stop at the store on the way to get a couple 
of large sacks of candy, usually chocolate malted milk balls and french burnt peanuts, which 
Mother would divide equally among us. Daddy would park up front near the swing sets for 
intermission time. When the show began we were back at the car sitting all over it — you 
couldn't do to a car today what we could do then, the hood would cave in. In the fall, it was 
always a treat to sit on the hood because the motor was warm This was the way we went 
to the show. We looked like Ma & Pa Kettle's family with the kids hanging all over the car. 

While Daddy didn't watch too much TV, there were a couple of shows that he liked 
very much. He loved What's My Line? and Twenty Mule Team Borax presents the Old 
Ranger and Death Valley Days. Another favorite of his was The $64,000 Question. He 
especially liked to watch people answer the difficult questions. I remember how disappointed 
he was in mankind when he found out the show was rigged. I don't think he ever watched 
another program of its type. 

One of my memories was how smart Daddy was and how intelligent he looked. I 
know that I was prejudiced, but perhaps it was the set of his eyes or his broad high forehead. 
I was amazed, as a young person, watching him read something from his footlocker full of 






technical mechanical manuals which told how to grind crankshafts to a precise measurement 
using a micrometer. It seemed the same as reading the very technical computer magazines 
today. When we were young, he used to be able to diagnose a needed car repair by listening 
to the motor through a wrench with one end touching the motor and the other by his ear — of 
like listening to the railroad tracks for the train. After I married my first husband and we 
headed to Washington State, he tuned up and repaired my husband's Renault Dauphine. We 
only had four days to get there so Daddy's repair time was limited but he told us that if we 
had any trouble at all, it would be with the water pump as everything else was fine. In 
Lubbock, Texas, the water pump went out but we didn't have any other trouble all the way 
to Seattle. 

When I was around twelve and was experimenting with makeup, I had some pretty 
red — meaning bright — lipstick and other goodies. I caught Daddy napping on the sofa in the 
living room one day, and I made his face up. I put red circular rouge on his cheeks and 
applied the red lip stick, then I took his gray hairs and pulled them up on the top of his head 
so that they stood straight up and tied them with a red ribbon. Just then someone knocked 
on the door. Daddy woke up and, not knowing how he looked, went to answer the door. 
I watched him talk to them completely unaware of how he looked. As he closed the door and 
turned back toward the room he caught his reflection in a mirror by the door. He looked at 
me and said, "Damn sister, why*d you do that!" I loved it! 

He had to have some Irish blood because as he got older, he frequently partook of the 
spirits. Even so, he went to the grocery store every night for milk and bread, and I often went 
with him. Once we were shopping together after he had been drinking. He pulled a jar from 
the bottom of a pyramid display of quart jars of pickles, and they all tumbled down. He still 
had the wits to hand me the jar, and I was holding it when everyone came running. 

Personal things always embarrassed Daddy and he just couldn't seem to handle them 
I remember when I was dating asking him to stay and meet my dates and he always said he 
would be there, but when I went to get ready, he would slip out of the house, get in his car, 
and disappear. I felt bad then, but I have forgiven him because it doesn't seem like it was such 
a big deal now. 

When Elaine graduated from junior high school, Mother and Elaine went shopping 
downtown for a dress for her. Mother said they found a white formal at Titche's that looked 
wonderful on Elaine but it fit so nicely that Mother was afraid for Elaine's health — she had 
rheumatic fever when she was young which had left her with a heart murmur. Mother told 
me that she probably was overly worried because the dress wasn't really too tight. Later, 
Daddy and Elaine went shopping together, and they came home with the most beautiful pale 
yellow organza dress for her junior prom that I have ever seen. He paid $65 dollars for it 
back in 1960, and it was from Margo's, a chic shop here in Dallas. I remember how lovely 
Elaine looked with her dark hair and skin in that pale yellow dress. It was classic and without 
lots of frills, just the type of thing Elaine would pick out — she always had excellent taste. I 


envied that solitary shopping trip. Elaine was very generous to me and let me wear her dress 
later to several dances. 

When I moved out, Daddy 
would frequently drop by in the 
evening to see me at my apartment. 
He never came with empty arms; he 
usually brought me two mil bags of 
groceries. Those groceries were 
especially appreciated since my 
roommate and I had no car and our 
rent took half of both of our 
salaries, before taxes. 

Daddy was a real hard 
worker and, for the most part, 
Walter working on a crankshaft at National Welding usually had more than one 

job — sometimes more than two. I 
remember him working at National Welding and Grinding Company at 2929 Canton Street 
in Dallas. Then he would often come home and go to work for someone else, and on 
weekends he would work for Jimmy Albright, a millionaire with a ranch in Rockwall, Texas. 
Mr. Albright had Daddy drive his grader on the ranch and move earth around to contour the 
land more to his liking. Daddy took Elaine, Pete and me with him then. This was a real treat 
for us city slickers, because there were little pigs, chickens, cows and bulls to see on the 
ranch. A Brahma bull chased Pete once, and Elaine took a picture of me being chased by a 
baby pig. We could ride the horses and row on the small lake. The horses names were Whirl- 
a-way and Chigger. Whirl-a-way was a big chestnut horse, and Chigger was a white and 
chestnut pinto who would turn around and bite your leg if you weren't cautious. This is 
where we got to see Daddy ride. On the way, Daddy would stop and buy vienna sausages 
and other special things to take to the ranch with us, things we rarely got to eat. At the end 
of the day when Mr. Albright paid Daddy, he usually gave each of us a dollar also. It was like 
being paid to have to go to Disneyland. 







Daddy also worked for Lane Plating in Dallas, and for Crown Brick in Mesquite. He 
was working for Lane Plating when he had his first stroke and Mr. Lane regrettably laid him 
off for fear he would fall into a vat of acid. When funds were short after his death. Mother 
sent Carol with some of Daddy's tools to see Mr. Lane and he bought them for his shop, but 
Mother sold his smaller tools to Jesse Mills who would later become Nancy's husband. 

When Daddy worked for Crown Brick, he often drove their large flat bed brick 
delivery truck home. He was teaching me how to drive then so he let me drive this truck 
home from the store one night. I turned too wide into the driveway and gouged Mother's car 
from back to front with the bumper. Nothing in the truck was automatic and it was very 






heavy and hard to handle. Daddy just looked at me and said, "Damn, sister, whyd you do 
that!" I said I didn't mean to, but — there it was. When he was teaching Elaine to drive, she 
ran into the coiner of our house before stopping. We were all inside watching the television 
which was in that corner of the house. This scared the heck out of us! The TV almost fell 
off the stand from the impact. He probably said the same thing to her. 

Our" creek. L to R: Pete, Sherril, Elaine, Eline, Nancy and Carol 

Mother and Daddy were divorced on July 6, 1964. Daddy had a stroke during this 
period of time. When he told the family about his stroke, Mother recognized the symptoms 
of his stroke from her experience in the nursing home. His walk was unsteady and his speech 
was not quite the same. They remarried on November 1 1, 1967. Around August of the next 
year, Daddy had a heart attack and was hospitalized in serious condition. He had just eaten 
an pear and had thought it must have been a little too green so was giving him indigestion. 
When the chest pain kept up, Mother recognized that he was having more serious problems 
than that. Paul, Carol's boyfriend, was there, and they all managed to get Daddy into the car 
to take him to the fire department, which immediately transported him to the hospital. (You'll 
hear about Paul a lot in the following stories.) I remember visiting Daddy in intensive care 
and seeing all the tubes. I didn't realize how serious his health problems were. I wish I had 
spent more time with him before he died. I believe that these visits were the last time I saw 
him alive. He was hospitalized for a while, then he was released. 


Mother said he was home for only a couple of days before he had his fatal heart 
attack, about two weeks after his first one. Mother and Nancy were home when he had his 
final heart attack. He was in the bathroom and fell into the bathtub. Nancy heard him and 
got Mother who lifted him out of the tub. She felt that the Lord helped her because it was 
as though he weighed nothing. Nancy had called the emergency number while Mother gave 
him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but he was probably dead by the time they came. He was 
pronounced DOA at the hospital. 

When Daddy died, our 
oldest sister, Elaine, was 24 
years old and our youngest 
sister, Rebecca, born in 1961, 
was seven years old. Daddy 
died Thursday, September 5, 
1968. It was a school day for 
most of the kids. Elaine and I 
were at work in Dallas. All of 
us except Sherril lived in Dallas, 
she lived in Chicago. Daddy 
was buried on Saturday, 
September 7, 1968, at Laurel 
Oaks Memorial Park in 
Mesquite, Texas. 

On the day Daddy died, 
everyone was running late for 
school. Mother was in the car 
honking for the kids to come. 
Barbara said she got to the front 
door, then remembered she 
hadn't kissed Daddy goodbye. 
Even though it would take more 
time, she ran back and kissed 
him and told him she loved him 
before she went to school. She 
said later than she was really 
grateful she went back even 

though it made Mother more upset. Paul, who was at our home when Daddy had his first 
heart attack, was the one who went to the children's schools to tell them Daddy died and 
bring them home. Janie said she knew Daddy died when she heard the ambulance go by her 

Walter in Arizona 






We had the funeral home put Daddy's glasses on him so he would look "right" to us. 
He always wore wire- framed glasses. We don't remember him any other way. He looked 
very much like himseh; very natural. He was dressed in his temple garments. Some of his 
family came from Arizona for his funeral. As I remember, they only stayed about twenty 
minutes afterward before having to begin the return trip home. It was unfortunate that we 
were not able to visit longer. To my knowledge, this was the first time we children had ever 
seen any of our extended family. Daddy was buried in Laurel Oaks Memorial Park in 
Mesquite, Texas. The grave diggers had agreed to work on Saturday so everyone could be 
home for the funeraL Daddy didn't have any insurance when he died. When his employer let 
him go after his earlier stroke, Daddy's insurance had ended shortly thereafter. We children 
all chipped in to purchase a double cemetery lot for him now and for Mother to use later. 
Mother paid for the casket with the social security, her own funds, and some outside help. 
The funeral was held at our LDS ward, and one of the songs we sung was / Know That My 
Redeemer Lives. Mother said that there were lots of flowers from friends and from the 
people for whom Daddy had worked. We buried him in the only casket we could afford, and 
Al and I bought a spray of red roses for the top of the casket. 




Jerry, around 1957 

worked in California as an executive 
had to travel to Germany for them 
to get reacquainted with her. 

Elaine had already finished college 
and had gone to work for Hartford 
Insurance Company. Eventually she 
transferred from Dallas to Connecticut, then 
to Washington D.C. While she was in 
Washington, she met and married Colin M. 
Warnes who was an attache in the State 
Department. They were married in an LDS 
Chapel in Washington D.C. and Mother 
came from Dallas for the wedding, and Al 
and I came from Connecticut. Colin was 
assigned to the Embassy in Germany for 
several years, then to the Embassy in 
Newfoundland. When they came back to 
the United States, they ended up in 
California where they eventually divorced. 
Elaine speaks fluent Spanish, French, 
German, English and limited Texan. She 
for an insurance company for quite a few years and often 
Recently, she moved back to Dallas where we all hope 

When my husband, Al, graduated from college, he got a job with Hartford Insurance 
with Elaine's help. We also moved to Connecticut, then back and forth between Connecticut 
and Washington D.C. before settling in St. Louis and having two boys, Nicholas and 
Jonathan. We tried to come home for Christmas with our vacation as often as we could. 

■ -1- 


Sherril and her husband, Rene Rendon, moved back to Dallas from Chicago. Terry 
Hill was her son from her first marriage, and she and Rene had four girls, Juanita, Estella, 
DeeDee and Rosa. Sherril is divorced and the children are all grown now. 

Nancy got married after Daddy died, and she and her husband Jesse got into the 
natural life and even bought a 25 acre farm south of Dallas. While they are now divorced, 
they have two children, Jesse, Jr. and Rebecca. Both children are in college, and Jesse attends 
Texas A&M on a scholastic scholarship. 

The rest of the family was still at home was continuing to be a family and doing some 
of the same things we older children had always done. During the few years that Mother and 
Daddy were divorced, the LDS Church came and built a nice long room on the back of our 
square house giving it an I^shape. For the first time in their lives, each girl had her own bed 
and dresser. Brother Atkerson got the dressers from a hotel which was being demolished by 
his insurance company and he purchased the beds himself When we older kids were growing 
up, we had only one dresser drawer apiece and slept three to a bed so this was very up-town. 
Sherril made the curtains for their new room, and Mother decorated the room very 
attractively. The kids were proud of their "girls' dormitory wing." 


Some of these goodies for this room were purchased with green stamps. Mother used 
to shop on Wednesday because it was double green stamp day. Trading stamps represented 
a great deal of their shopping ability. Lots of time was spent pouring over the Green stamp 
book deciding what you could "afford." For a while when the family was making these 
Wednesday trips to the grocery store, Mother's car would not go into reverse. We tried not 
to forget and park by the store because it was very embarrassing to have the store clerks, who 
went to school with us, see us pushing the car off. We tried to park where we could drive 
forward but sometimes we forgot. When this happened, we would just line up on the car and 
sing, Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel, Push Along. Since money was scarce, a common form 
of entertainment was to take a long country drive on Sundays. One Sunday drive ended 
abruptly when the a long narrow road country road came to a dead end without enough room 
to turn around. This time, the family could sing all the verses. 

When Daddy died, he had a red truck which Mother traded for a Fairlane Ford. Paul 
went with her to make the trade. This is the same Ford Fairlane Mother totalled when she 
fell asleep at the wheel and hit another car on the way home from her all night job at the 
nursing home. While no one was seriously injured, the woman driving the other car refused 
to get behind the wheel again for at least a year. Before they traded the truck, Janie said the 
family would go to the drive-in with it and he in the bed to watch the show. To me that 
would have always been ideal, almost like watching big screen TV from the sofa. Sometimes 
they would take popcorn and sometimes they would take fried okra (a very popular southern 
food). Sometimes they made their own drive-in. Paul came over on Friday nights and they 
would make some popcorn or something else to munch on. Then they would take the TV 


outside and put blankets on the ground and pretend they had all gone to the drive-in movies. 
I wonder how Carol felt about having her date in the back yard with her younger sisters in 



L to R, Standing: Barbara, Elaine, Marcia, Nancy, Carol, Cathy. Seated: Sherrill with her 

son, Terry, Janie, Jerry, and Rebecca. About 1968. 

Mother worked nights at a nursing home so the girls were now at home all by 
themselves at night. They always had trouble with peeping toms. One guy who lived behind 
them was especially a problem He watched for Mother's headlights when she left, then he 
would come and climb up on one leg of the house and peer over the curtains on the other. 
Once he even tried to get in the house while Marcia was in the kitchen talking on the phone. 
The girls called the police quite a few times but they didn't know who he was then so they 
never caught him. One neighbor offered to sit on top of the house with his shotgun but the 
police advised against. They said he would be charged with murder for shooting someone 
on their property. They suggested Mother get a gun because, for the girls to shot someone 
would be self-defense. Feeling protective, Paul, and Marcia's boyfriend, Herbie, decided to 
spend the night on top the house with their guns to catch the guy. (They knew what the 
police told the neighbor but they were young and undaunted.) 

- * - 


Paul and Herbie tied their ankles together with a length of rope in case one of them 
went to sleep and started to fall from the house. Looking back, they were a dangerous 
twosome — especially to themselves — two kids with loaded guns, tied together at the ankle. 
Well, the fellow did come, and they gave chase, but not before they almost killed themselves. 
They had forgotten their legs were tied together and hadn't jumped off the house in unison. 
When they recovered sufficiently from this leg- splitting experience, they were just able to 
catch the peeper in the beam of Paul's flashlight as he went in the back door of the house 
behind our home. The police came and the kids told them what had happened. The police 
talked to boy's family, and, shortly after that they moved away. Ironically enough, the boy's 
grandfather was a patient in the nursing home where Mother worked. This wasn't the only 
incident of peepers they had, but he was the worst, certainly the most humorous. 

Since Marcia and Carol are so close in age, they did a lot together. Once when they 
were on the softball team at the Church, they each bought themselves a brightly colored short 
set with a white blouse. The shorts fabric had a Mexican motif and the white shirt had a 
sombrero applique made from the same bright fabric as the shorts. They called themselves 
"Speedy Gonzales" while playing on the team. When the house was being painted, Mother 
sent Carol and Marcia out to paint the back porch. They had on their Speedy Gonzales 
outfits. Carol swears Marcia dripped paint on her on purpose so she retaliated by dripping 
paint on Marcia. It end up with the two of them chasing each other up and down the street 
with their paint brushes doing each other in with this oil-based paint. Not only did they ruin 
their Speedy Gonzales outfits but they practically had to have a bath in gasoline to get the 
paint off their bodies. Carol said that Marcia's perspective is different about who started this 
whole event but since she is donating the story, she insisted we use hers. 


Marcia was still in high school when Daddy died and was on the drill team. She was 
sponsored by Jackson Hardware Store who paid for her uniform She married the next year 
and had four blonde boys, Billy, Bradley, Benjamin, and Brent and, later, a daughter, Rachael. 

Carol was a senior in high school when Daddy died, and she went to Ricks for two 
years before she married. One summer, she talked Mother into taking their first vacation. 
If you have never done such a thing in your life, to make this decision is a big undertaking. 
I remember buying a color TV after I got divorced. This event seemed like a major step 
toward independence in my life — a declaration that I could provide the things for my children 
the same as my ex-husband. It was a very confidence-promoting event. Well, their first 
vacation was the same thing. It was to the beach at Galveston, Texas, via Austin and San 
Antonio. Barbara remembers that, during their outing at the ocean, she was terrified to go 
into the water over her knees for fear of sharks. She had even asked Mother for $ 1 to go to 
the pool near the beach. Since Mother grew up by the Pacific Ocean in California and had 
been in it often during her youth, she really thought that Barbara had lost it. 

While Carol was in college she met and married Larry Jensen. After their marriage, 
they moved to the Dallas area and have three boys, Gary, Steven, and David. Their first child. 









a daughter, passed away shortly after it was born. Both Gary and Steven have graduated 
from high school and David will in a couple of years. 

Mother became inspired by Nancy's prowess as a farmer and she decided to raise some 
chickens. Nancy had told them what type to buy, and Mother bought 50 baby chicks and 
Bflry, Marcia's husband, bought 25 baby chicks. They fenced off a portion of Mother's back 
yard for a chicken pen. These chickens were supposed to lay all the eggs the two families 
needed but their city chicks didn't have the knack for it. Mother and Billy never got one darn 
egg. When it was determined that this was not a profitable venture — the chickens were eating 
better than anyone else — Mother had a chicken-killing party and invited everyone. They 
killed all of her chickens in two days. Billy took his to their home. Larry, Carol's husband, 
and Bill did all the head chopping and Carol and the kids plucked the feathers, then they fried 
up a mess of chicken. Reports are that this was the toughest chicken dinner they ever had. 

Mother and the four younger kids saved their change for a while. With that and a 
credit card, they took the second family vacation, this time a trip to Arizona to meet Daddy's 
family, then to California to meet Mother's family. They picnicked on the side of the road on 
potted meats and canned tomatoes, and slept in the car. When they got to a New Mexico 
roadside park, Janie ran out barefoot into the dark expecting grass but found cactus. Barbara 
came to her rescue and piggy-backed her back to the campsite where they put Janie on the 
picnic table to pull out the stickers. 

At another rest stop, Barbara was using the facility. As she was doing her business, 
she was contemplating this shiny reg bug with a long curly tail which was crawling on her 
foot. When she left, she told the woman next in line about the bug. The woman went in and 
screamed, "Arggh! A scorpion!." Barbara started screaming with her not knowing what she 
was screaming about. She ran back to the car to yelling, "What's a scorpion? What's a 

One of the stories the kids told me about their trip is when Janie and Rebecca went 
down to Uncle Don's Midway store. They had some beef jerky and an ice cream sandwich. 
He told them they could have all they wanted. Well, this was a treat to them, and it made 
them feel rich and important to have a store owner for a relative. Except for three pieces left 
for Miss Manners, they ate his whole new jar of beef jerky. Then had lots of ice cream 
sandwiches. Janie said she got so sick from too much luxury that she tossed her cookies and 
her jerky. She says she still doesn't eat beef jerky. Mother said Uncle Donald sent them home 
with a big sack of goodies from their store. 

One night Aunt Beulah's boys took them to see the Milky Way from the mountain 
tops. They thought that they had seen stars before but never anything like that. It was 
amazing to them Janie said it looked like a piece of black velvet with jewels thrown across 
h. Since we had never met any of our family before, the kids told me how good it made them 
feel to have Aunt Beulah's boys introduce them to other people as "their cousins." It felt 

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great to have family! Since Aunt Beulah's boys ages were just about the same as the girls, 
they had lots in common. The girls said Aunt Beulah's family was so nice to them, they 
couldn't get a wish out of their mouth before it was being filled. They thoroughly enjoyed 
their trip ! 

Maybe we were poorer than we thought, or just ignorant, but we played with bugs 
a lot. Janie told of how they used to try to catch hghtening bugs at night in jars and make 
rings out of them On a summer night, they would catch June bugs under the street light and 
tie a string around them to make a "live" kite. Barbara said she killed a lot of bugs before she 
got the knack of this. She always pulled the string too tight and cut the poor bugs in half. 
One time Janie made herself a "kite" which she took into the house. She said her "kite" began 
attacking her so she went into the closet with the string and shut the bug outside. Then she 
realized that she was the prisoner so she pulled the bug tight to the closet door and ended her 
imprisonment and the bug's career as a kite. 

In the summer in Texas, it would get so hot that the asphalt would bubble on the 
street in front of our house. They younger kids said they used to go out in the street and play 
in it, popping the bubbles, or writing their names in the really liquid areas. For some reason, 
they said, we were never smart enough to wear shoes then because we would dance up and 
down in the street until we couldn't stand it, then run into the yard to cool ofT and start all 
over again. I guess this answers the query in one of the previous paragraphs — we were 

Rebecca broke the growth bone in her elbow when she was young. She and Terry, 
Sherril's son and oldest child, had piled all the pillows on the edge of the bed and were 
jumping on the bed together. Terry saw that Rebecca was about to hit the pillows so he j 

decided to pull them out from underneath her. When she hit the bed, the springs catapulted 
her into the air and off the bed. She hit on the floor on her elbow. 

Rebecca and Janie were a real pair of cards. One time they covered themselves with 
mud and sang "an ethnically incorrect song." The lyrics were, "Mama wants a nigger baby, 
nigger baby, nigger baby, Mama wants a nigger baby" which they performed with an Al Jolsen 
type dance. Janie said she especially remembers that her underwear never got white again 
after this. Mother was over at the neighbor's house so they went over there to serenade her 
and the neighbors. The neighbor's boy, Bruce Julian, ran after them with a water hose trying 
to wash them off but he had limited range. 

Grover Tyler, another neighbor, had made a big board game out of plywood and 
placed it in his front yard. It was sort of like a Parchesi board but they called it "Wahoo." 
When it was your turn, you would throw the dice and move your marble the appropriate 
number of spaces trying, at the same time, to knock your opponents off the board. The kids 
said they used to go over there and play it for hours at a time. 





L to R, Back semi- circle: Rebecca, Nancy, Eline, Janie, Elaine, Sherril. Front row: 

Carol, Jerry, and Barbara. Around 1983. 

Janie and Rebecca remember going to work with Mother when she worked the night 
shift at the nursing homes. They would get bedding from the home and sleep on the sofas in 
the setting area. They said it was very eerie when they woke up in the morning and all these 
old people would be standing over them, staring admiringly. Even so — to wake up and see 
all those unfamiliar feces peering down on you! After they awoke the next day, the old folks 
would play cards and checkers with them 

One year Sherril made doll clothes for the dolls her younger sisters were going to get 
for Christmas. Her own daughters asked who she was making them for and she told them 
some little poor children. Barbara said that on Christmas morning, they got Barbie dolls with 
some very elaborate and beautiful doll clothes. Sherril also made a formal for Barbara to 
wear to her Rose Prom Barbara said she thought that she was going to be the only one 
without a new dress but she actually ended up having the prettiest dress there, one with hand 
sewn bead work! Sewing is an art form to Sherril and it has been a way that she has 
expressed herself over the years. She even made my wedding dress with appliqued lace for 
my marriage in the Temple to Travis. 




up with her quick wit. When she finished high school, she went on to college at Ricks and 
met and married Ramon Haderlie. They have three children, Brian, Kelly and Lisa, and live 
in Kent, Washington. 

Barbara finished high school and had the shortest term at B YU anyone ever had. The 
girl she had gone out there with was so homesick and complaining about wanting to come 
home that Barbara finally said, "Okay, let's go." They were home in two days. She married 
Jeffrey Melbourne and they have had three children, Christi Jo, Jeffrey Jr., and Jason. Barbara 
has had some college since her two day "seminar" at BYU, and writes beautiful poetry, some 
of which has been published. 

Janie married Calvin Goodrich and they had a daughter, Jennifer. Shortly after they 
divorced. Janie has always worked and had managed the MIS department at some of the 
largest law firms in Dallas. She is now married to Bob Williams who is an executive for the 
Federal Reserve Bank in Dallas. 

Rebecca married Mike Palo and had two children, Michael Jr. and Gina Palo, two 
great soccer players. Rebecca is divorced, works for a CPA firm in Dallas, and goes to 
school at night. 

Pete was hit by a car when he was in his early teens. It was a bad accident and did a 
lot of damage to his coordination and vision and has limited his ability to work at most things. 
He was married for a brief time. He currently lives in a boarding house in Dallas and enjoys 
visiting with all his sisters at frequent family get togethers. 


One by one the kids left, then it was just Mother. Yet Mother has spent most of her 
"retirement" still involved with their lives. While so many of her daughters have worked, she 
has been the baby sitter, the rescuer of stranded kids and parents, the one who took grandkids 
to doctors, tumbling, school, etc. Actually she has spent a lot of time serving her family. She 
has an interest in ceramics. She has taken some lessons and paints very well. Just about all 
of her children have something in their home that she has made for them Some of her 
grandchildren have taken lessons with her and made some of their own things. 

Mother loves to read and has read every book, most, more than once, written by 
Louis LaMour — she loves the western stories. It is really interesting that Daddy and she had 
such similar reading taste. His favorite author was Zane Grey. Currently, she is interested 
in life-after-life type books. 

Mother has always had a beautiful yard. She really likes flowers and would often 
spend her extra money buying things for the yard or a new plant for inside the house. Maybe 
she got that from her own father who had a prize rose garden. Now that she is older and has 
a hard time getting up and down, she is not as able to do her yard work. Carol and her boys 
have done the fertilizing and mowing for years. On Mother's Day, we usually gather at 





a hard time getting up and down, she is not as able to do her yard work. Carol and her boys 
have done the fertilizing and mowing for years. On Mother's Day, we usually gather at 
Mother's home and bring several flats of flowers and plant them so Mother can still have the 
flowers she loves. We come and have a "Pot Luck" dinner and spend the day. It doesn't take 
long to do the flowers because there are so many helpers, so we just visit. Having a large 
family to visit with is lots of fun. 

L to R: Standing: Marcia, Eline, Carol. Seated: Elaine, Cathy, Jerry, Barbara, Janie, 

with Rebecca in front. June 1993. 

Last year, Mother had a facial cancer removed from on the side of her nose next to 
her eye. Because they needed some skin to graft over the area where they cancer was 
removed, they did an eye-lift job on Mother's eye lids and used the skin to patch the area 
where the cancer was removed. I thought that was efficient of them and down right friendly 
to make a woman's eyes look better at no extra cost. Mother has made a complete recovery 
and is working hard to help with the family histories. Her children have gotten together twice 
to do two videos of various parts of her life. It will probably taken two more to finish. She 
and Eline are currently working on genealogical information about her family. 

Each of the children, as they have grown, has reached back to help the others still at 
home. I think that has been something about our family that has been very special. 

Walter's Children while married to Inez McNeil 

Ella Goodman-Marble Green 

(Written by Ray Marble) 

Walter Floyd Goodman and Inez McNeil (first cousins) were married in Gallup, New 
Mexico on February 14, 1928. Their first child, Ella, was born in Vernon on November 5, 
1930. Both parents worked at the Goodman sawmill While living at the sawmill, Ella came 
in contact with a two-man buck saw and cut her wrist severely. With no car or doctor 
available, Mother held Ella in her lap while holding a large button over the cut, applying 
pressure for many hours before the bleeding stopped. 

When Ella was almost 3, 1 was bom; she became my personal bodyguard and keeper. 
She had gotten a doll and doll stroller for Christmas, and I became her doll. 

Living in a small lumber cabin made from rough lumber sawed at the mill, we were 
crowded when Mother's sister, Leah, and four of her children came to live with us during the 
winter of 1933-34. Being in the front room with 6 children wanting to play, share toys, and 
not being able to go outside because of the deep snow put a big burden on Ella to fight for 
my rights to play with our toys. She was still fighting my battles until I was almost 8 years 


Spring finally arrived, and the snow started to melt on the south side of our house. 
Mother and Aunt Leah decided to let us go outside to play in the sun, if we would stay out 
of the snow. Well, that snow was just too inviting, and we ended up getting wet. Mother and 
Aunt Leah had had all they could take of us being in that one room together, so they took 
their scissors and cut strips of rubber innerrube the length of the truck tires. They nailed one 
end to the cabin wall where we couldn't get together, and tied the other end to the boys' bib 
overalls and to the girls' wrists. I think it only took being tied to the wall for one day for us 
to get the message to stay out of the snow. 

Father and Mother were divorced with Ella was about 3Vi. After the divorce, Mother 
went to stay with one of her sisters in the area. While there, Ella was dancing around with 
her favorite doll one day and lost her balance by tripping over the fireplace hearth edge. Her 
doll fell into the fire and she fell with her palms and forearms into the hot coals as she reached 
to rescue her doll. Mother didn't have the finances to take Ella to a doctor, so they poured 
karo syrup over arms and wrapped them in clean white dish towels. Mother had to hold and 
rock Ella because she was in so much pain from the bums. However, her arms healed without 
any scarring at all. 

Mother began cooking for the Fem and Claude Phipps family ranch hands at Vernon., 
and our sister, Dierdre Floy (Dee) was born in St. Johns. 


Ella started the 1st grade in Vemon. Aunt Ongeline Marble was her teacher. While 
living at Vernon, Mother met Lee Roy Marble and they were married. Between Christmas 
and New Years of 1936, the family moved to Graham where Ella continued in the 2nd grade. 
We lived by Uncle Andrew and Aunt LaVerna Skinner while Daddy and Uncle George 
constructed a home. During this time, Daddy was employed by Uncle Frank Skinner as a 
farm hand. 

In March, our first Marble brother, Lee Roy, was born in SafTord. When the family 
moved to the Red Knolls/Ashurst area, Ella and I became pig herders. Daddy had a sizeable 
herd of pigs (between 30 and 40) pastured in an alfalfa field with an electric fence around it. 
When one would get out, Ella was quick to recognize that one was missing, and she'd say, 
"Ray, there's one out over there, go get him " She was afraid of the electric fence. During 
this time, Ella attended school at Ft. Thomas. 




One of our chores was to wash and dry the dishes; this continued our close 
relationship of working together. 

In 1940, Ella was baptized by Daddy at Ft. Thomas, and Mother and Daddy were 
sealed in the Arizona Temple. Ella, Dee, L.R., and I were sealed to them as a family. 

The family moved back to Hubbard when Ella was in the 6th grade and we attended 
school for a year in Thatcher. Daddy started farming at John Nulton's place. A second 
brother, Elmer, was born in 1942, and a third brother, Koyte, was born in 1943. 

Mother, Ella, Dee, L.R., and I worked in the fields together, chopping and picking 
cotton. When our fields were completed, we'd hire out to other farmers. Ella continued to 
work in the fields until she graduated from high school. Being the oldest girl, she still had 
other responsibilities to help with the cooking, taking care of the younger children, and 

Daddy invited his blind, porygamist grandmother to come stay with the family. It was 
Ella's duty to help her to the outhouse if she needed to go during the night. Ella always 
disliked this job because the family had a mean old turkey. This turkey would always run up 
and peck your legs to pieces. Ella began carrying a big stick with her any time she went out 
of the house. The turkey came at her one day when she was assisting the grandmother; she 
took a good swing at the turkey and hit it right in the middle of the neck, that old bird had 
a permanent bend in his neck from then on. 

In May of 1949, Ella graduated from Safford High School and went to work for Long 
Enterprises. In the fall of that year, she went on a date with R.B. Patterson. While returning 
home, RB. stopped to talk to one of his friends who was crossing the Gila River. R.B.'s car 
had a real bad muffler. We think this is where they started becoming poisoned by carbon 
monoxide. When they pulled up in front of our house, they visited for just a few minutes. 

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KB. cracked his window and the fresh air rendered them both unable to control their motor 
skills. They were thus unable to open the window any further and the car was still running. 
Dee was up early in the morning to get a drink of water and noticed that Ella was still not in 
from the car. She told Mother, and I was asked to go check on them I couldn't wake them 
up. I pulled KB. out and put him across the seat of Mom's '48 Nash. I then pulled Ella out 
and laid her across the floorboard of the car. (Remember that these old cars had about a six 
inch rise from the drive shaft that ran the length of the car.) We raced for the hospital in 
Safford. Ella was under oxygen in the hospital for about 3 days while she recovered. 

Our last sister, Sharon, was bom in 195 1. It was about this time that Ella met Brooks 
Green. Ella liked to dance and would attend the local dances with Mother and Daddy. They 
met at one of these dances. Brooks tells of how much Ella liked to dance; he thought she was 
one of the best dancers in the valley, and most of their dates consisted of dancing. They were 
married in Lordsburg New Mexico, on June 29, 1952. 

During their early married years, Brooks worked at a Chevron service station, and Ella 
continued to work for Long Enterprises until February 1953. A daughter, Debra Ellen, was 
bom in Safford on April 22, 1953. When Debra was two weeks old, they moved to Ft. Grant 
where Brooks was employed with the State Industrial School for Boys. 

While Irving at Ft. Grant, Ella was fixing lunch one day when two boys, working 
unsupervised on a work detail, stole some guns and entered Brooks and Ella's home, pointing 
the guns at Ella and taking her hostage. Ella would not go with the boys unless Debra was 
left with the neighbor. They left in Ella's car with Ella driving slowly out the gate. Debra was 
four years old at this time, and anxiously awaited the time when Brooks came home for lunch. 
Mrs. Gebler let her run down the sidewalk to meet her dad when he was at the end of the 
walk. Debra told her dad that her mom had gone off with two Indians. Brooks immediately 
knew Ella had been kidnapped. Brooks went back to the kitchen to tell Monroe Bull what 
had happened and to get his jeep to follow Ella and the boys. The boys had Ella stop twice 
on the dirt road going to the Wilcox highway. The first time they stopped they wanted Ella 
to get out of the car and lean across the trunk of the car. She refused; she felt they would kill 
her if she did. The boys finally agreed to let her just crawl across the front seat into the back 
of the car. The second time they stopped, the boys thought someone was following them, so 
they pulled offto watch for dust on the road. When they didn't see anything, they pulled back 
onto the road and started toward the junction. 

In the meantime, the Safford Sheriffs Office had been contacted and three men started 
out to intercept them. County Attorney Ruskin Lines, Deputy Larry Peck, and Under Sheriff 
Frank Chesley arrived at the junction just before the boys and Ella got there. The boys 
panicked, let go of the steering wheel and the car swerved off into a sand bank and high- 
centered diagonally. One of the guns discharged through the right floorboard of the car. This 
was the first time the law officers realized the boys were armed. Frank Chesley came up to 
the left side of the car to apprehend the boys. One of the boys took aim and was going to 


shoot him at point blank range. Ella reached up over the front seat and raised the barrel of 
the gun so that the gun discharged off through the roof of the car. Frank then shot down 
through the window and the bullet hit the boy in the ribs. The bullet followed the rib and 
came on the back. Larry Peck kept the other boy pinned down from the back right fender by 
shooting at him every time he stuck his head out of the car. When he realized his companion 
had been shot, he decided to give up. Brooks drove up shortly after this and was ready to 
haul these two boys off for a good working over, but Steve Vucevich said he'd better let them 
be taken to Safford to be tried as adults. Ella had to testify in court against these boys. She 
received a plaque from the American Legion for her bravery. 

In 1960, Ella attended and graduated from the Sanford College of Beauty, working 
as a beautician for a short time. She was very meticulous in her work, she later went to work 
for me at Vumore until early 1964. 

i •, 


Their son, Steven Brooks was born at Safford in 1965, and Ella had surgery for 
thyroid in 1966. 

In December of 1991, Ella was operated on for cancer. After the surgery and biopsy 
of surrounding tissue, she was given a clean bill of health. When surgery was scheduled to 
reverse the colostomy in March of 1993, the doctors told her they couldn't do it then and sent 
her to Tucson. After tests were performed, she was told that she had cancer of the lower 
extremities. Ella and Brooks came to stay with Debra. With the tender loving care of her 
daughter and her husband, Ella survived almost 9 months. She passed away on December 4, 

Ella was active in the LDS Church all her life; she served in the Primary, Sunday 
School, and Relief Society organizations. 



Walter Ray Goodman-Marble 

I was born July 3, 1933 in St. Johns, Arizona, the second child of Walter Floyd and 
Inez McNeil Goodman. Mother named me Walter Alma, but Father would not accept this 
name, and I was blessed as Walter Ray. My parents were living and both of them working 
at the Goodman Family Sawmill just south of Vernon, where Daddy was doing the sawing 
and mill repairs and Mother helping with the cooking. Mother had been cooking at the 
sawmill since she was 14 years old. Because of Mother's cooking responsibilities, it became 
Ella's responsibility to take care of me, she being two and a half years older than I. She had 
received a doll and stroller for Christmas, but when I came along I became the doll that rode 
in her stroller for many years. She was my personal body guard, even when I started to 

My parents divorced when I was 7 months old so I never really had the chance to 
know my Father. Mother told me that I was always embarrassing her when I started to walk 
because I was looking for my Father; at Church and any place I saw a man, I'd go up and grab 
him by the leg and ask, "Are you my Daddy?" 

Mother remarried when I was 3 years of age to Lee Roy Marble, and in December of 
1936 after school had let out for Ella, we moved from Vernon to Graham, just north of 
Safford where Roy started farming with his uncle, Frank Skinner. This move cut off all family 
ties with the Goodman and McNeil families, and when Ella started back to school, she was 
Ella Marble, and the name Goodman was never mentioned again. 

Because I was always going to work with Daddy (Roy), I learned to work at an early 
age. In those days, they were still farming with horses. We came in at noon this one 
Saturday, unharnessed the horses, and as I removed the bridle from the last horse, he wheeled 
around and as his front feet hit the ground, he kicked out with both back feet, hitting me in 
the stomach and sending me across the corral. 

One day Daddy, Albert Skinner, and I saddled the saddle horse and rode about a half 
mile to where Daddy's sister lived; we tied the horse and walked across a narrow foot bridge 
where we visited with Aunt LaVerna and her family. Well, Albert and I finished our visit 
before Dad did, so we decided we'd walk home. As we crossed the canal which was full of 
muddy water just a few inches from the bridge, we both fell in; the water was moving under 
the bridge so fast the bridge seemed to be moving. Albert, being 6 years old, and I only 4, 
were being swept under and down at a fast pace. Albert was doing his best to keep our heads 
out of the water but could not keep us up. If he had ever let go of me, I would never have 
been found. Finally the adults missed us; we were found and pulled out of the canal. From 
this experience Mother could not wash my face or hair for many years, other than with a 
damp wash cloth. To this day, I do not enjoy swimming. 









The family moved that fall from the Skinner place to Ashurst near Ft. Thomas where 
Daddy continued to hire out working on farms, and I attended the 1st grade. It was while 
living in this area that Mother and Roy were sealed in the Arizona Temple; Ella, Floy, and I 
were sealed to them without being adopted. 

I was baptized on my 8th birthday by Daddy, and it was at this time I found out I was 
not a Marble because I was baptized and confirmed by the name of Walter Ray Goodman. 
It was about a month later that Walter and Laura came by our home and wanted Mother to 
let them take me for awhile, but Mother would not allow this without Ella going with us. We 
went to Safford and spent one night in a motel; for some reason I developed a toothache for 
most of the night. I don't think I let anyone get too much sleep. We spent the next day with 
Laura shopping and Walter telling us that they had lost their children in a fire. That evening 
they took us home. Walter came by again about a month later, but Mother would not let him 
take us anywhere again. These were the only two times I ever remember seeing or visiting 
with my natural Father until Grandma Hannah Goodman's funeral, where I saw Walter again 
for the final time. We visited while eating dinner, and he told us about his family in Texas. 
I was about 27 at this time. 

We moved back to Graham about 5 miles north of Safford where I started the 3rd 
grade. My parents purchased a home and Daddy started farming by leasing several local 
farms; with the war still going on, it required the entire family to work to make a living. I 
started milking from 6 to 10 cows morning and evening, and taking care of the 
milk — separating the cream from the milk that was not being used by the family. I also fed 
the cows, calves, and horses. After we completed the work on our farm, the family was hired 
out to other farmers in the valley. 

Just a couple of weeks before school started for the 6th grade, I did a foolish thing 
which almost cost me my life. While my parents were in town shopping for school clothing, 
a boy a couple of years older than I came by and we started burning ants with gas. I got too 
close to a spot that was already burning and poured gas on another ant bed, when the fumes 
ignited. I jumped back, pouring gas all over my upper body, setting myself on fire. I fell 
down, and rolled over and over until the fire was out, but I still received 1st, 2nd, and 3rd 
degree burns over 50% of my upper body. 

In 1947, when I was 14, 1 had an appendectomy early one morning, so Daddy had to 
milk our 9 cows. Eight cows had been sold by noon, and that was the end of my cow milking 

On August 21, 195 1 Ella, Floy, and I had our names legally changed from Goodman 
to Marble because I had to register for the draft with Uncle Sam 

In my senior year of high school I joined an Army reserve unit in Safford with two 
cousins — Henry Jesse and James J. Marble — and with Donald E. Hancock. I received my 


service No. ER 19390424, and in May of 1952 I graduated from Safford High School In 
July while leaving for my second two-week reserve training, Donald Hancock's sister, Sharon, 
caught sight of me as I arrived with duffle bag and dressed in Army fatigues for travel to 
Camp Cook, California. I got in trouble before I ever met her for not writing to her during 
the two weeks at camp. It was on the bus coming back that Donald mentioned that his sister 
would like to hear from me. Sharon had made the comment to the girls standing with her that 
evening, 'Tm going to marry that man." I finally met her about 4 weeks later, and we started 
dating. We enjoyed dancing together (she being a great dancer), and we enjoyed being 
together. We became engaged on her brother's birthday — November 21, 1952. 

With the Korean War (or police action) going hot and heavy and the reserve unit we 
had joined being discontinued, the four of us were eligible for the draft, so all of us 
volunteered for active duty. We entered the Army on February 9, 1953 and received 16 
weeks basic training at Camp Roberts where we received orders to serve in Korea. We were 
given 7 days delay in route to report to Camp Stoneman. We drove all night and arrived 
home the next day. Sharon and I were married that evening by her uncle, Edwin Hancock. 
Sharon had taken a job as a switchboard operator with the telephone company and had only 
2 days left on her week off before she had to go back to work. After 6 days of married life, 
I had to report at Camp Stoneman, California where we shipped overseas on the General 

I served 13 months in Korea, becoming communication chief in my company, then the 
25th Division was pulled out of Korea and sent to Hawaii in preparation for the Indo-China 
uprising. We left Inchon Harbor and 4 days later were caught in Typhoon June with waves 
in excess of 100 feet, which threatened to break our ship apart for 4 days. During these 4 
days, no meals were served and everyone had to remain below deck. With over 5,000 men 
on board, we were stacked in hammocks 5 or 6 men above another. This was the worst 
experience of my life. 

While arriving in Hawaii, we were stationed at Schofield Barracks. While serving 
there, Sharon came over for three weeks and we were sealed in the Hawaiian Temple on 
November 10, 1954. I served 1 year, 4 months, and 27 days overseas, received an honorable 
release from the service, and returned home. 

Knowing that I didn't have the finances to go into farming, and after working several 
jobs, I started work with Antenna Vision, Inc. in December of 1955 in cable construction, 
becoming Construction Foreman. I transferred from construction to Cable Television 
Technician in February 1957 in the Globe-Miami area; in September 1957 I transferred back 
to Safford where I became manager of the Safford Cable System While working here, I 
enrolled in an electronic correspondence course with National Radio Institute which I 
completed in the evenings. This prepared me to pass the Federal Communication 
Commissions test for a First Class Radio Telephone License, and I became a Microwave Field 
Engineer for Antenna Vision's microwave company known as American Television Relay 


(ATR). I have gone through three sales with ATR, and we are now owned by MCI. I have 
worked for MCI 12 years now. This December 1995, I will have completed 40 years of 
service in this work. 



Sharon and I have been blessed with four 
children — one boy and three girls.. Michael Ray 
Marble and Cyndi have two boys, Sean and 
Jameson. They live in Mesa where he works as a 
Probation Officer for Maricopa County. Marsha and 
Rick Hansen live in Thatcher, and have three 
daughters, Mellani Jo, Melissa Rae Stegall, and 
Micah Hansen, and a son Rick Hansen. Mellani is 
now married to Emery Whitmire and they live in 
Pima. LaDawn and Rick Setser live in Mesa, and 
have one daughter, Jordan Lee. Our last child, 
Ralene, is now deceased after living only 17 days. 

I have been an active member of the Church 
of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints from the day I 
was baptized, holding the office of Deacon, 
Teacher, Priest, Elder, Seventy, and High Priest. I 
have served as a Stake Missionary for 4 years, First 
Counselor in a Bishopric for 4 years. Bishop for 5 
years (my call as a Bishop came from President 
Spencer W. Kimball, another Gila Valley boy), a member of a High Council for 7 years from 
an alternate to Senior Member, Thatcher Regional Welfare Agent for 5 years, Sunday School 
President, High Priest Group Leader, Stake Missionary again, and at the present time I'm First 
Counselor in the Safford Arizona Stake Mission Presidency as of April 1995. 

Ray and Sharon Marble 


Mike and Cyndi Marble with Sean and Jameson 





Rick and Marsha Hansen Family. Children R to L: Ricky, Micah, 

Mellani Stegall. 

Rick and LaDawn Setser, with Jordan Lee 


Granddaughters Micah, Mellani, Melissa 








Walter's Children while married to Laura Brownfield 


>. u.) 


Lloyd, Laura, Walter 
Dragoon, 1941 

After Walter and Inez were divorced, he married 
Laura Brownfield, a stepdaughter to Uncle Jess McNeiL 
They had two still-born children — Walter James (born 
November 24, 1934) and Angus (born January 3, 1935). 
After these two heart-wrenching experiences, they were 
blessed with two healthy children. Laura Elane was born 
on December 6, 1935 in Holbrook, and Walter Floyd, Jr. on 
March 24, 1937 in Miami. Tragedy was to strike this 
couple once again. On April 29, 1938, both children were 
burned to death in a trailer house fire. Details are contained 
in the newspaper article included below. 

When America began preparing for World War II, 
ship-building on the West Coast boomed. Walter and 
Laura moved to the Los Angeles area where both worked 
as welders in the shipyards; Laura was one of that cadre of 
so-called "Rosie the Riveters." 


House On Wheels Becomes Flaming Coffin 

This automobile house trailer became a flaming coffin for two Infant children when It was swept r>> 
fire at JMorrlstow n, 38 miles northwest of Phoenix, early yesterday afternoon. The hla/.e apparentl.v was 
started by a kerosene stove while the mother was absent obtaining a bucket of watei. The children wire 
asleep, and the trailer interior was a mass nf flam "s \ih"ii the hlaie w as discovered. First of tliosr to 
Arrive on the scene carried buckets of water 1 no yards but could not halt the fin in time to save the, 
children, one nin<- months and the other - ' _• years old. This photo, snapped by Thoma.s Parks of M<>r- 
ristowii, shows efforts beim; made to quench, the. /lames. 






Trailer Fire 
Claims Lives 
Of Two Tots 

Stove Is Believed 

Cause Of Fatal 


fFxclusixe Republic Dispatch) 

MORR1STOWN. Afi '.'!)• Two 
[triples." fh-'Hr»»" hnm^i to r}r;> ,u 
ruin 'arly i hi.- aitcrnoi n i tl.i»n 'ire 
stsrlinj; Imm a l-.rmsi n^ st \r 
sv.opl the p ni nmrimlr house Irail- 
i»T' of Wnilet F. Goodman a me- 
chanic for i he TannM Gnn«truc- 
t ion ( '"m i>a n ^ 

The vic'lms \« mp \V;i|it Klu\d 
Goodman n . rune rn<>nih> nid and 
Elain»- Goodman J . ><'n:s, nni\ 

Neighbors light Klames 
Thomas Parks, Mnrnstnwn post- 
al f-mploycr said the rlooi of thr 
Irailei stood <M»f*n. mil a scrppnod 
pa i in ion u as m pine* 1 

Npighiv>rs carried water in huck- 
pts foi at«. ml l^<i yards, hut could 
noi hall the hla/P. 

The fire was extinguished 
when h tank truck with a hose 
line whs hurried from the Tan- 
ner compniij \s must rurt inn 
project north of here. I. R. 
Thoinan of the Arizona High- 
wax 1'atrnl reported. 
F.iu; months ap«>, while Hie lair. 
il\ was residing at Ta\lor, the son 
uas severely rtufllfd on hi- hand- 
rind face when h*» crawled >n' ri * 
lircpla.i' Splints placed on hi* 
hands had jusi iPcontl> been re- 

The bodies w»mp lakon to VVirk- 
pnhurg after Konort C Storns. 
justice of ihr peace and ex -of- 
ficio coioner there, camp here to 
invest ipai p. 

children of 

M i <. i ;. w>r!n,,m 

'.i ■ d the s i n \ n 
■ - a s 
v>. Ili-n 



a I a i m 

\\8tpi M ;v nr ,. 

plnd'-d nf flared 
The si rue' in i 
mass of f lamps 
was sounded 

Mr*, (iiiodman, hysterical, 
had to hp restrained h\ neigh- 
bor* a* she attempted to rush 
Into the horning trader when 
RC.ream.S r.f nnr ••! S.ilh nf tl.r 
chllrlrcn iMiuIrl i><^ heard Her 
husband was at uurk on a 
nearhv road construction jiih, 
and did not rem h .he mciip 
until about the tune ihe (i'.v 
had been e vt inguished 
The biiv \wis ;i> ( '^i, ,|, ||,,. , o,\ i 
pmt of the irailei. and lhr> ,|.n._-r- 
tpr slepi in llif fin w nt ■'! j»» ■ 1 1 on. the rjooi The stove was 
ftill nearer the door, huwr\oi. and 
when the flames nroke nut the 
^girl« i"i aoe prohanlx was cut off 

Mot h \N ere Asleep 

Both w ' ; " asi»'cp m ih>> tradei 
;hnme \ «. 1 1 r • 1 1 fi;c hrnkn out snon 
Jaftei thei: mother. Mrs [.auia 
Goodman had uoiiP a short dis- 
tance nvvav in imi.nn a buckel nf 


Walter's children while married to Geraldine Scrubbs 

Kline Goodman Rodriguez Tynes 

(Travis T. Tynes, Jr. Family) 

I was born in Little Rock, Arkansas, on April 10, 1945. My mother tells me her labor 
with me began while she and my dad were watching Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo at a theater 
in Little Rock. Maybe that is why I am so interested in WWII history. I am the second oldest 
of eleven children, and am the tallest of all the girls. 

After my brother, Pete, was born, we moved to Texas — just like the bumper stickers 
say, "We weren't bom in Texas, but we got here just as soon as we could. " All the rest of the 
children were born in Texas, and we're all Texas proud. 

My family lived in a mobile home when I started school in the first grade. At 
Christmas time of that year, we moved into the home my parents built and it has been our 
family home ever since. When we first moved to our new home, very few people lived near 
us, but we were surrounded by lots of trees and nearby there was a very deep and wide chalk 
creek I remember spending lots of time in the trees and down at the creek. Once Pete killed 
a water moccasin in the creek right next to my foot when our whole family had gone there 
to wade. That was the first of two times in my life that my brother came to my rescue. He 
also became my defender when I was physically assaulted by an older girl in school. He split 
her slip and broke a front tooth. 

I went to work when I was twelve cleaning house every Saturday for a lady across the 
street who had had heart surgery. I worked at that job for four years, and added a second 
house to my Saturday cleaning routine. I also mowed a lawn and babysat almost every night 
of the week, all until I was sixteen and old enough to get work in a dimestore. I either bought 
or made all the clothes I wore after I went to work. I taught myself to sew when I was 
twelve, and wore the first thing I made. Barely seventeen, I quit school while in the 1 1th 
grade and got my first full-time office job. With my first paycheck, I purchased a brand new 
Singer Zigzag sewing machine. Just a few months later, I moved out on my own into an 
apartment with a girl who worked in the same office. I went to business college at night on 
a loan which Daddy co-signed for me. 

At age 18, 1 married my first husband, Albert P. Rodriguez, who had just been drafted 
into the Army. After his basic training was over we moved to Tacoma, Washington and lived 
there a year until he was shipped to Viet Nam I returned to Dallas where he finished college 
after his return from Viet Nam. Then we moved to Hartford, Connecticut, Washington, D.C. 
and St. Louis, Missouri, with his job. We had two boys, seven years apart; Nicholas Anthony 






was bom October 10, 1969, and Jonathan Daniel was born August 14, 1976. Both were born 
in St. Louis, Missouri. 

Nick and I read lots of story books together. We went swimming and ice skating and 
took lots of factory tours with other mothers and children. We built a race track table for his 
slot cars and learned how to repair them ourselves. I was his Cub Scout Den Mother. I never 
got to help Jon with his Cub program, but I did make up and sing many songs to him when 
he was little and have attended lots of Jon's baseball games as his biggest fan. Both boys and 
I made lots of fancy pinewood derby cars. They were never really fast but always won the 
best looking award. Our cars were the best I'd seen until Jon and his step-father built him a 
pinewood derby car that was a duplicate of a red Lambourghini complete with air- scoop and 
tinted windows. Being a mother has been the most important thing in my life. I have never 
done anything that was more fulfilling. 

After Nick's birth, I decided to read the scriptures all the way through. It seemed to 
me that a good parent should know what she believed. It took me a year to finish all the 
Standard Works. It was a profound experience that has had a significant impact on my 
religious life and formed the foundation of my testimony. I have been active in the LDS 
Church ever since that year. 

Before Al and I moved to Connecticut, I attended and taught at Patricia Stevens 
Modeling School. I entered the Eileen Ford "Model of the Year" contest and had to get a 
GED in order to compete. I was second in the local competition. I free-lance modeled in 
Dallas and St. Louis, and worked as a house model for a major department store in Hartford, 
Connecticut, and for Elizabeth Arden's Red Door Salon in Washington, D.C. I also taught 
modeling in St. Louis for several years. I always modeled expensive designer clothes, and got 
to model for very important people, yet it never bothered me that I went home in a 
J.C.Penneys dress. For the most part, it was usually the same one — it rarely got dirty just 
wearing it back and forth to work. 

One other achievement that I am proud of is my involvement in the Stop ERA/pro- 
family movement after we moved to Missouri. My first knowledge of the so-called Equal 
Rights Amendment came from a radio interview of Phyllis Schlafly to which I had listened. 
While I feh the problems set forth by the opposition were real, I simply didn't agree with their 
solutions. I worked closely with Mrs. Schlafly who spearhead the movement against the 
ERA. She invited me to teach the women selected from each state to attend annual pro- 
family leadership training. I taught them how to use makeup, and to dress for and appear on 
television. In addition, I headed several organizations that made frequent trips to the state 
capitol, and I have spoken before both the Missouri Senate and House Committees on this 
bill. During this period, I was elected by the State of Missouri as one of about twenty- four 
statewide delegates for the International Women's Year Conference held in Houston, Texas, 
for which $5 milhon had been funded by the federal government. Later, I was also chosen 
as one of two persons to represent Missouri at a pro-family lobbying effort in Washington, 



D.C. I became involved in this movement long before the LDS church became involved 
because of the impact I feared passage could have on my younger sisters' lives. I was also 
appointed by Governor Kit Bond of Missouri to serve on a group studying the problems of 

As these events were winding down for me, we moved back to Texas, to the Piano 
area. Nick was in the third grade and Jon was a toddler. About a year later, I filed for 
divorce, and we three were on our own for about five years. At the end of this period of time, 
my best friend, Judy Rugg, introduced me to my future husband, Travis T. Tynes, Jr. Her 
husband and his brothers had grown up with Travis and his brothers in Monroe, Louisiana. 

Travis was born on June 16, 1948, in Monroe, where he was raised. He was the 
second of five children. His forbearers were pioneers to the northern Louisiana area, some 
of whom came down the Mississippi River on rafts from Canada. (It is a very interesting 
irony that his family worked in the sawmill business in Louisiana.) While he was young, 
Travis played the piano, played in violin in the Monroe Youth Symphony and became an 
Eagle Scout. He served a two-year Spanish- speaking mission for the LDS church in Los 
Angeles, California. 

When he returned, he attended Ricks College where he met and married Robyn 
LaWayne Gibby of Burley, Idaho, who, like me, was also one of eleven children. He finished 
school at BYU with a degree in accounting and moved back to Monroe where he went to 
work for an accounting firm and got his CPA. Travis and Robyn had a daughter, Megan 
Schellece Tynes, on June 29, 1976. Robyn died of cancer in 1984. 

Travis and his family have been very active in the LDS church. They were some of 
the original members in Louisiana. His grandfather served a mission that he paid for by 
growing a plot of cotton, when the cotton money ran out, he had to come home. Both his 
father and grandfather were Branch Presidents, and his father was a Bishop. Travis himself 
was called to be Bishop in his ward when he was 28 years old, and he served for two years, 
when he was called to the Stake Presidency for four years, and then as District President for 
three years. 

Travis and I met February 2, 1985, and were sealed to each other in the Dallas Temple 
March 2, 1985 — one month later and the fourth time we saw each other. We felt very much 
like God had brought us together. Even when the Lord moves in your life, it doesn't mean 
all his paths are easy. It is not easy to bring two different families together, but it has been 
good for all of us. There were times when we thought that Jon and Megan, who were two 
months apart in age, would never be friends, and there were times that Travis and I thought 
we would never be friends. It takes a lot of work to come together in heart. Now Travis is 
my best friend, and Megan and Jon are best friends. 


Nick was 15 when we got married. He had a little over three years of school to finish. 
He played the violin in the school symphony orchestra for about six years. He earned his 
Eagle Scout, and was a very active body builder before his LDS mission call to Italy. He is 
now married and has his own story in this chapter. 

> ui 



Jon and Megan began as worst 
enemies and ended as best friends. We 
didn't know how they would ever come 
together, the baby and the only child — what 
a combo, but they did. They both played 
and lettered in Piano Senior High's 
Symphony Orchestra, which has received 
national recognition. Jon played the violin 
and Megan, the viola. Both of them attende 
Ricks College this past year. In high 
school, they learned to cooperate really well 
and, most of the time, worked on their 
homework together — you know — "you 
answer the odds, and Til do the evens." 
and Jon and their dates even double-dated for Homecoming and Senior Prom! 

Megan and Jon 
in their orchestra letter jackets 

Jon loves baseball with his whole heart and always has, and he has played every year 
since his first eligibility — even most seasons. Now he loves hoops just as much. Jon received 
his Eagle Scout award last summer. He enjoyed college at Ricks and the friends he made, and 
is looking very much forward to his mission call late this summer. Last year, he started a 
lawn mowing business with a friend. It was so successful that he sold the business for a profit 
at the end of the year. This year he plans to do the same to help finance his mission. After 
his mission, he plans to return to Ricks, then go to BYU. Jon has received his mission call 
to the Argentina, Buenes Aires Mission, and will report at the Mission Training Center on 
August 30, 1995. He desired a Spanish- speaking mission, so is delighted with his call. 

Megan wants to be a teacher and always has since we became a family, and she is 
working toward that end now. Megan received her Young Women's Award her senior year 
of high school. She will attend Rick's one more year before transferring to BYU. Megan 
looks forward to getting married but is in no huny — and Dad really feels good about that. 
She is very artistic and creative, and loves to make posters and do art projects. For the last 
two summers, she has worked with me in the law office I managed. She couldn't have 
worked any harder if we weren't related. This summer, she probably will also do office work. 
Megan and I have become very close, and we enjoy talking together about the psychology 
courses we've both taken. 

Travis had his own CPA practice in Louisiana which he sold when Robyn became ill. 
When we met, he worked as the controller for a S&L. We lived in Louisiana for one year 



!*■***« P*kf*< 

I have worked almost continually from the time I 
was twelve years old. In my adulthood, most of my work 
has been in office work, except for several years modeling 
and my community involvement, most of which took place 
either before Nick was born or when he was young. A lot 
of the time, I have gone to school at night while working 
full-time. Now, I'm going for the first time during the day. 
I love school and am very excited about learning. My 
plans are to keep going. I'm only 49 so I don't know what 
I want to "be" yet, but I'm looking at creative areas — I'm 
tired of business. Maybe I'll get to play all the mothers and 
grandmothers in college thespian productions. I'm also 
taking ballet — for the first time — what fun for me. I had 
some in modeling school. 

One thing I am certain about, God has been very 
good to me in my life and to my family. I am very glad to 
be a member of this family. The more I learn about both 

my parents' heritage, the more I love my relatives — some of whom I have never met and the 
others of whom I met only during the last few years. Learning about my strong, determined 
pioneer heritage helps me understand myself more. I know that there is purpose in life and 
that families are very important. I love both my parents and am grateful to them for my life, 
my sisters and my brother. I love Travis who has been so kind to me, to my family and to 
our children, and I especially love our children. I look forward very much to the time when 
I am able to share in my grandchildren's lives. 

Jon at baseball 


Jon's Court of Honor — Three Eagle Scouts, 1994 
Travis, Eline, Megan, Jon, Nick 

Personal History of Nicholas Anthony Rodriguez 

I was born 
St. Louis, Missouri, 
Rodriguez and Eline 
known as Nicky as a 
known as Nick. We 
until I was seven, 
Piano, Texas. I 
Jon, and thanks to 
remarriage, a sister, 
mom's marriage to 
15, we moved to 
where he lived. We 
Piano, and I lived 

Nick and Tara Rodriguez 

October 10, 1969 in 
to Albert P. 
Goodman. I was 
child, but now Tm 
lived in St. Louis 
and then moved to 
have one brother, 
my mom's 

Megan. After my 
Travis when I was 
Monroe, Louisiana 
soon moved back to 
there until I was 19. 

On January 4, 1989, I left to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day 
Saints in the Italy, Catania Mission. I served two years in the Puglia (southern Italy) and on 
the island of Malta. My mission was a wonderful two years and a great learning experience 
and prepared me for my adult life. 



Three days after my return home, 
I met my sweetheart wife, Tara Annette 
Durden, the second time. We first met at 
a church youth conference when she was 
14 and I was almost 17. Because she was 
too young to date, we just saw each other 
periodically at church youth dances. A 
few years sure can change things, though. 
Three days home and at church again, I 
met her. This time she could date and I 
asked her for an "appointment" 
(missionary lingo); she accepted and two 
weeks after that date we were engaged. 
On Jury 13, 1991, we were married in the 
Dallas Texas Temple. Tara was born 
June 11, 1972 to Vincent Edwin Durden, 
Jr. and Billie Marian Bell, the youngest of 
seven children. She was born and raised 
in Sherman until she went to college in 
Denton where she lived when we married. 

We have stayed in the Piano- 
Dallas area ever since, and not too long 
after we married, we found that we were 
expecting our first child. On April 16, 
1992, we were blessed with a beautiful 

baby girl with dark curly hair, Ashton Elizabeth, born in Piano. Closely following, we have 
a friendly, smiley son, Dallin Anthony (he goes by Dallin and "D.D."), born August 3 1, 1993, 
also in Piano. Even more closely following, we have another beautiful daughter, Taylor 
Charming, born September 2, 1994 in Piano. She is a special blessing to our family, even 
though she lived only about an hour and then passed away. She had a genetic disorder called 
Trisomy 18 that prevented her life; that was nothing that could be done to stop her death. 
She was buried on September 5, 1994 in Holloway Cemetery in Luella, Texas. All of our 
children are blessings to Tara and me, and we love them and are grateful to have all of them 
As Taylor's headstone reads, "Farnilies can be together forever." It is this knowledge that 
makes our lfves easier to live and take things as they come. 

Nick, Tara, Ashton, and Dallin 

We currently live in Dallas. Tara stays at home with the children and I work in sales 
and continue to pursue my education also. I enjoy cooking, especially Italian food. Tara 
enjoys doing crafts and decorating. Together (the children, too) we enjoy reading, studying 
the scriptures, and spending time together as a family and serving in the Church. We look 
forward to the years ahead, raising our family together. 




Carol Lynn Goodman Jensen 

I was born November 30, 1950; my birth marked the half-way point of the eleven 
children bom to Walter Floyd Goodman and Geraldine Flora Scruggs. Because of my birth 
order, I was fortunate to witness and participate with the family through a lot of evolution and 

Situations in our home demanded that the children grow up quickly and take on 
responsibility early. During my years of growing up, I tended a great deal to my younger 
sisters. I enjoyed very much caring for them and have had the reward of having close 
relationships with each of them through out my life. 

I have some very fond memories of our home and most especially with my sisters. 
They were my good friends, companions, and strength when I needed them We had many 
hours of joy and fun playing in a yard that had wonderful trees, lots of frogs and horned 
toads, delicious dirt for mud pies (we know it was delicious because we sampled each other's 
cooking), and great beauty because of our mother's love for flowers. Our mud pies were 
often decorated with the flowers, leaves and berries that were so abundant in our yard. 

Mother was always complimented by friends and strangers on the beauty of her yard, 
and I spent many hours helping her plant and care for her flowers. Hence, I developed a great 
love for nature and gardening myself and continue to indulge in it when time permits to this 
day. Nature spoke a great deal of peace and comfort to me in those days, and my first desire 
when going on any trip is to spend time with nature. IVe often felt I was somewhat of a 
country girl trapped in the city. 

Because of problem that remained unresolved in our home, I never got to know my 
father very well. Daddy was quiet, withdrawn, and troubled as far as I could understand as 
a child, and he continued to worsen until my Mother and Daddy divorced when I was around 
12 years old. After the divorce, I don't remember seeing Daddy much until he became ill and 
Mother remarried him when I was 17. The following year Daddy died when I began my 
senior year in high school. I do remember that Daddy was a hard worker who rarely missed 
work (he was a heavy duty mechanic) and was very gifted with his hands. I would like to 
have known him better. 

After graduating from high school, I was fortunate to be able to attend Ricks College 
(1970-71). It was my first time to ever leave Texas. I then came home for the summer and 
met my future husband at a church activity before going to Brigham Young University that 
fall. We dated the year I attended BYU, and were married the following November after 
Larry graduated with a Political Science degree from BYU. 


- m 


Texas became our home; after seven months of marriage we were informed that there 
would be an addition to our family in about eight months. Bonnie Lee surprised all of us by 
coming into the world a mil two months early. She was born December 5, 1973. Because 
she was premature, she quickly developed other complications and for the next 28 days her 
condition was very unstable. After I relinquished her life to God in prayer on the 28th, she 
passed away the following day. I was blessed by God with incredible comfort and love 
throughout her death and burial, and have since always felt very peaceful about the whole 

Gary Allen was in a rush to be bom also and rushed into life five weeks before his time 
on Jury 6, 1975. Thankfully, he was healthy and strong and continues to be so. Gary is our 
strong-willed extrovert who, since graduating from high school in 1994, has used those 
strengths to do well in his job of selling new trucks and vans for Nissan. He worked hard in 
Scouting (earned his Eagle) and loves the outdoors and all Irving creatures, and has pretty 
much kept a steady zoo around here of one kind or animal or another. He is very gifted in 
photography and made great contributions to his high school yearbook for two years. He will 
be attending a local junior college in the fall and working part time. Gary is a good thinker 
with a good memory and is willing to take on the responsibilities and risks that one needs to 
accept in order to grow. 

Steven Craig was the only guy we had that cooperated a little better with the schedule 
of being bom. He was bom on January 16, 1978, and is our quieter one but likes to have lots 
of friends around. Steven was very laid back and cooperative as a child and was very caring 
of his brother, David. He is a very intelligent and bright young man. He loves a variety of 
music and is especially gifted in drawing and has won several ribbons with his various art 
work. He played lots of soccer and basketball when he was younger, and frequently scared , 

his mother to death with his skateboard tricks. He has also earned the rank of Eagle in 
Scouting. Steven also loves animals, especially his cat, Petter. Steven will be graduating one 
year early from high school because he was willing to attend summer school one year to be 
able to do so. He also will be attending a junior college this fall and working part time. 

David Martin joined the family on November 2, 1979, jumping the gun by about three 
weeks. He was a very good natured and easy going baby (as was Steven), and to this day 
continues to be sensitive and caring to others. David is our more serious person who puts 
a lot of thinking into his spiritual walk with God. He has excelled at school and is very gifted 
in playing the piano. He especially likes playing classical and jazz. He enjoyed sports when 
he was younger, but now spends his time on school, piano and participating in youth activities 
at our church. He is in his first year of high school (9th) and is very talented at writing. He 
writes poetry, stories and articles for the school newspaper and any special publications. 
David also is an Eagle Scout. 

As a mother of three boys, you can pretty well guess what I have been doing since our 
marriage. For eight years, I was a den mother and helped all my boys earn their Cub Scouting 



ranks. I have attended school off and on during our marriage and finally graduated with an 
Associates Degree in 1994. I love school and would like to continue at some future time. 
The most significant event in my life was when I desperately looked for God, and, true to his 
word, "If ye seek me, ye shall surely find me," I found Him and accepted Jesus Christ as my 
savior in 1986. I am finishing in May 1995, a wonderful, intense Bible study that has 
nourished me and fed me through a lot of tough times, and has helped me to come to know 
my Savior, practice faith in Him, and seek His strength, mercy and courage to live life no 
matter what the challenges. I'm now coming close to have an empty nest and have no idea 
which direction my life will take, but I look forward to whatever it might be with hope, 
enthusiasm, and expectancy. I'm now working parttime at the junior college from which I 
graduated, doing computer work and at times helping in the office and classrooms of the 
Garland Independent School District. One of my greatest blessing has been my delightful 
sisters and our ongoing love and relationships^ — sharing with one another, crying with and for 
each other, rejoicing in our victories, fighting about our difference, supporting each other in 
the challenges of life, and just being there for one another. 

Larry and Carol Jensen Family. Standing, L to R: David, Carol, Gary, 

and Larry. Steve is seated. 

During all this family "development," Larry returned to school earned his Masters of 
Business Administration in 1980, and then passed the CPA exam in 1982. He has since 
worked for the IRS, an accounting firm, and Mobil Oil where he is presently employed as a 
tax accountant. Larry has always worked hard for our family to provide for our needs, 
sometimes holding down two jobs to do so. During all these years, weVe lived in various 
places in Texas — Dallas, Denton, San Antonio, Houston, Austin, and presently in Garland. 


After I spent several years helping our boys through Cub Scouting, Larry took over and 
really gave of himself to help our boys and others earn their Eagle ranks. He was 
Scoutmaster for several years, and when not Scoutmaster was still working hard in other 
scouting capacities to help the Scouts in our troop. He not only was there to help with his 
own boys' growth, but was responsible for greatly contributing to the advancement of eight 
boys to the Eagle rank, also. 

Having never had the opportunity to live around other Goodmans, we are very much 
looking forward to the pubhshing of this book to get to know our extended family. I realize 
we are all deeply indebted to Alyn and Gloria Andrus for a zillion hours of time and effort to 
make this possible. Our family thanks you for giving to us something we cannot possibly 
compensate you for. 


As I see the red blood spout 

And trickle down his trembling arm, 

I turn away and fall to my knees, 

Hiding my quivering lip, 

For I know this pain deep in my chest 

Is caused by the fact 

That this was meant for me. 

And it is then that I remember 

The time I first saw 

That blood. , 

In the crowded street, 

Outside the courthouse, 

The angry mob had struck him down 

And spit upon his gentle face, 

As the tender flesh on his sun-beaten back 

Was torn by the lash of a menacing whip. 

Beads of blood forming, 


Dripping down this splintered cross 

To which I weep below. 

Not blood but love coming from those wounds, 

Cleansing and freeing all who are willing 

To discover the love of one man, one God. 

Yet, still, he waits for an open heart. 

David Jensen, Age 1 5 
Spring 1995 



Marcia Sue Goodman Harding 

(Geoffrey T. Harding Family) 

My name is Marcia Sue Goodman Harding. I am the seventh child of Geraldine Flora 
Scruggs and Walter Floyd Goodman. I was born on September 19, 1952, in Dallas, Texas. 
I am married to Geoffrey Taylor Harding and we currently reside in Garland, Texas. I am the 
mother of five children and the grandmother of two precious grandchildren. 

Marcia and Rachael, 1995 

Billy, Bradley, Benjamin, 
and Brent Denham, 1982 

Geoffrey was born in Fr anklin Massachusetts on June 20, 195 1. He is a convert to 
the LDS Church and served a two year mission in West Virginia. He received his Master's 
Degree in Social Work from Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio, Texas. 

My children are as follows: 

Billy Ray Denham, Jr., who was born September 22, 1970, at Dallas, Texas. He is 
married to Rebecca Alligood Denham They currently reside in California. 

Bradley Lynn Denham, who was born on December 31, 1972, at Dallas, Texas. His 
wife is Cheryl Mellot Zuniga Denham Cheryl is the mother of my two grandchildren, 
Christina and Bradley Jr. They currently reside in Arizona. 



Benjamin Wayne Denham, who was 
born June 3, 1976, at Piano, Texas. Benjamin 
graduated from high school last year and is 
currently living with my husband and me and 
saving money for college. Benjamin is an 
Eagle Scout. 

Brent Allen Denham, who was born 
January 1, 1978, at Piano, Texas. Brent chose 
to live with his father in January 1994. They 
currently reside in Arizona. 

Rachael Leigh Ann Barnes, who was 
born August 13, 1981, at Dallas, Texas. 
Rachael currently resides with Geoffrey and me 
and will attend Lakeview High School this 
year. She is active in the Young Women's 
Program at church. Rachael is artistically 
talented and plays the guitar. 

I am currently enrolled as a junior at the 

University of Texas at Dallas and am 

completing a bachelor's degree in American 

Studies. Geoffrey and I are active in the Dallas 

14th Asian Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I consider my family 

and my testimony of the restored gospel to be my most valuable possessions. 

Benjamin, Eagle Scout, 1993 

Geoffrey and Marcia, with Benjamin, Brent and 




tL 1 

i ■ 1 

u J 


'J™ ^ 

1 11 I 




1 ■ 1 
1 II 1 




114 *: 

-- 4 

Christina and Bradley, Jr. 


Marcia with diploma and her Mother 


Personal History of Billy Ray Denham, Jr. 

There might be some dispute as to whether my being born into this world was a 
blessing or a curse. Everyone I came into contact with while growing up in my youth either 
thought I was a saint, or a little less than such. I'm sure the majority would agree to the latter. 
Nevertheless, this is some of my story. 

I was bom September 22, 1970 in Dallas, Texas to Billy Ray Denham, Sr. and Marcia 
Sue Goodman. Not only did God grace me with goodly parents and Texas blood, but I was 
later given four brothers and a sister to torment. They are in respective order of birth from 
oldest to youngest under me: Bradley Lynn, Benjamin Wayne, Brent Allen, Travis, and 
Rachel Leanne. 

I don't recall much of my childhood. Nor do I really have many fond memories to 
share. My parents were divorced when I was very young. After that, the rest of my youth 
was pretty much difficult to bear for me and everyone around me. 

I do have one story I want to tell that I have always remembered. I was told my 
Grandpa Denham was somewhat of a rancher and cattleman. Anyways, when I was younger, 
I mustVe mentioned that I wanted a pony for my birthday, cause he bought me one. Grandpa 
bought me a Shetland pony, complete with saddle and all. Now, I don't know if all Shetland 
ponies are the same, but this one was a bugger. All he wanted to do was be brushed and fed. 
But that was okay, cause he was my pony. Then it came time to ride him. 

Daddy saddled him up for me, and I was so excited. I was only 6 or 7 then, and, 
because I was so small, my feet couldn't reach the stirrups on my saddle. But I didn't care. 
Dad put me in the saddle. He and Mom were on either side of me. Dad said to tell the pony 
"giddy-up," and nudge his sides with my heels. Nothing happened. This mule wasn't movin'. 
Dad tried a little coaxing, but to no avail. Then my mother took the reins and said, "All you 
have to do is give him a little slap on the rump like this." Whap! 

Next thing I knew I was holding on for dear life. That pony was off and running! I 
remember holding on to the saddle hom screaming, "Whoa, horsey, whoa!" and "Daddy, help 
me!" all in one breath. Because my little legs were too short for the stirrups, with each 
bounce in the saddle I was a little more sideways and bouncin' off. Before long, I was 
underneath the pony holding on to the girth, looking back between the horse's legs, seeing 
Daddy running after us, yellin', "Hold on, Billy. Hold on, son!" 

The good Lord was watching over me then. Cause next thing I recall was my little 
arms couldn't hold on anymore, and I' fell. The horse's hooves landed on either side of me, 
but not a blow was feh. Dad said he and Mom were so mad, they each took turns getting on 



the pony trying to teach him a lesson. However, he taught them lessons instead. He bucked 
'em both off time and again, till they were too sore to try any more. I never saw that pony 
again. But, to this day, I still love to ride horses when I get a chance. IVe had my fair share 
of falls, kicks, and bites; but I still get back on and love to ride. 

I graduated high school in San Antonio, class of 89. Shortly, thereafter I joined the 
Marine Corps and graduated boot camp in San Diego recruit depot the day before 
Thanksgiving, 1989. What a new world I was now living in. My career in the Marine Corps 
would prove to be highly successful. In just six short years, IVe served 19 months stationed 
in Guam with Security Forces, Pacific; the rest of the time in Camp Pendleton, CA. While 
with my unit (1st Battalion, 4th Marines), in California, IVe made two deployments overseas 
with memories galore. IVe served my country in Somalia, the Persian Gul£ and anywhere 
else Uncle Sam's seen fit to send me. I was given the Navy Achievement Medal in November 
'94 by the commander of Naval Forces, Central Command (Southwest Asia Area), he being 
a three- star Admiral. I was also meritoriously promoted to Sergeant by my Division 
Commander (1st Marine Division), in May '94; he being a two-star General. 

Billy on a military training mission in Jordan, 1994 

There are many more highlights in my service to this country to write, but let's just 
suffice it to say that has been quite an experience, and it will come to an end this coming 
August 28, 1995. I'm somewhat sorrowful to leave, but ready to move on in life. 

The story of how Rebecca and I met is a book in itself. So let me tell the short, short 
version. I went on a date with her older sister, Susan. She took me home to meet the family; 
I saw Rebecca, and the rest is history. Six years later we were married in the Dallas 



Temple — December 29, 1992. WeVe been happily married ever since. Rebecca is my best 
friend. We are exactly alike in so many things. Shall I say, we were a match made in heaven. 

Today we live in Mission Viejo, sunny southern California. Rebecca is a 
pharmaceutical assistant and she is studying for her medical assistant's certification. She'll 
graduate in June of 1995. Tm finishin g out my last few months in the Marine Corps and 
preparing for my return to civilian life. 

We'll move to GHendale/Phoenix this August. There Becky will put to use her medical 
assistant skills, and I hope to pursue an education in Medicine as well at Arizona State, 
starting next year. We're setting our sights high! 

Through it all, so far I can say one thing has been for sure. My Father in Heaven and 
Savior have been with me always. For that I am forever grateful. 

Billy and Becky at their wedding reception 
with Grandma Goodman, 1992 


Cathy Ann Goodman Haderlie 

I was born in Dallas, Texas on March 31, 1955. I am the eighth of eleven children 
born to Geraldine Flora Scruggs Goodman and Walter Floyd Goodman, Sr. My Mother was 
from California and my Daddy was from Arizona. Mother told me that I was born in the car 
on the way to the hospital. 


We lived in a nice but very small home (only 2 bedrooms and 1 bath for the whole 
tribe). I remember two double beds to each bedroom and dovetail sleeping arrangements. 
Two older sisters would sleep with a younger child. The older sisters would sleep on the 
outside edges of the bed with their heads at the top of the bed. Then a scrawny little kid 
would sleep in the middle with their head at the bottom of the bed. The poor older sisters 
usually got pee-peed on by the younger one. Thus, the little kid always had the nickname of 
pee-tail. We had great times in those beds before sleep overtook us. We loved to tell each 
other stories. We frequently played "When I got to California Tm going to take. . ." Guess 
who taught us that one. 

My sisters and I played for hours with the neighbor kids outside in our yard. I used 
to think that Mother let us play outside so we could be kids and have fun. Now I know it was 
a combination of survival for her and fun for us. The neighbors wouldn't let us play very 
often in their yards. I was told by one of them that there were too many of us. We would kill 
their grass, and pretty soon their yard would look like ours. I take some resentment to their 
statement because Mother had a beautiful front yard. She wouldn't allow us to "trash up the 
front yard. " She loved beautiful flower gardens and received many compliments on hers. 
Even strangers driving by would stop to comment on how lovely her yard was. I remember 
being sent out in the front yard often with a brown grocery sack to pick up "ALL" the trash, 
even popsicle sticks for heaven sakes. Your job wasn't over until she or an older sister 
inspected the yard. The older sisters loved to exert their authority during this inspection. We 
younger kids called them Hitler. Tm glad they got pee-peed on by us in the bed at night. 

We had many different varieties of trees in our yard, and we loved to climb them We 
had Pecan, Oak, Cedar, Horseapple (Bodark, I think), Persimmon, Mulberry, Memosa. Plum, 
and others I don't remember the names of. The Persimmon fruit was especially good for 
pelting someone that annoyed you. I ought to know; I was on the receiving end of many 
pehings. I loved to climb the trees and hide in them for privacy. The trees outside were more 
private than the bathroom in the house. Someone was always knocking on the bathroom 
door. They were also great to hide in from chores. If mother couldn't see you, well, you 
didn't hear her, right? At least, my hearing was directly related to her line of vision. 

Most of my memories are with Mother as Daddy died when I was in junior high 
school. I remember going to the drive-in movies to see westerns with the family in Daddy's 
red pickup truck. Mother would pop two grocery bags full of popcorn with loads of butter 


and salt, and Daddy would buy candy "to rot our teeth out with" as he would say. In my 
case, he succeeded. 

I also remember Daddy helping to feed the little kids. When he wanted you to eat 
something you didn't like, he would say, "ummm nun-na" meaning good. I still use that 
saying even though I was teased when I used it in the high school lunchroom to encourage 
a friend who wouldn't eat some of her lunch. They published it in the Senior Pub book as the 
funniest saying. 

When my older sisters started wearing makeup, Daddy told them "you look like a 
bunch of Indians with war paint on." He liked the natural look. He also told us that "a 
woman's hair was her shining crown of glory," and if we dyed it, "you'll go bald. " I was thirty 
before I did my first dye job. Some of my older sisters weren't afraid of going bald even in 
junior high. 

When the older sisters came home from a date and lingered in the car too long, 
Mother would flick the porch light off and on fast. You had to tell your date that was your 
mother, and you had to come in or she was coming out. The whole neighborhood knew 
Mother's signal. 

I loved Christmas time at home. Mother decorated the living room beautifully with 
drapes of red and green crepe paper and lights around the mirror by the front door. We loved 
it when Daddy brought the tree home to decorate. We never got that tree to stand up 
straight; too many people giving directions. One year we fastened the tree to the wall with 
string and tacks to keep it from falling over. I remember decorating the tree with bubble 
lights. I burnt my fingers on the bubble light each year by touching them I couldn't resist 
them; they were so pretty. 

One Christmas, Mother and Daddy let us sleep in the living room with all the 
Christmas tree lights on. I'm sure they couldn't wait for us to fall to sleep so they could 
unplug the tree "so the damn house wouldn't burn down," as Mother would say. 

Mother would take us Christmas-light looking every year. We would layer ourselves 
in the four-door Chevrolet and drive to the rich part of Dallas to oooh and ahhh. We looked 
for hours and sang Christmas carols. Then Mother would sing to us on the way home. We 
loved to hear her beautiful voice singing. Our favorite song was Cowboy Jack. To this day, 
I love to travel at night. It feels safe and peaceful. Sometimes I can hear my mother singing 
Cowboy Jack. I sing along with her to my kids. 

We got new dolls every Christmas. The old dolls didn't like the hair cuts we gave 
them One Christmas, we got up to a couch full of identical dolls sitting in a row. Mother 
had made a different colored dress for each doll of small gingham check. She let us go over 
and choose our own doll. I chose the purple gingham. I wish I still had one of those dolls. 


I loved to pretend that I was playing the piano on the windowsill in front of our big 
swamp cooler when it was on. You got a natural vibrato in your voice from the wind blowing 
in your face. One day I decided to have a concert, so I turned on the swamp cooler and sat 
down in front of it to play. As I opened my mouth to sing, a Texas-size cockroach was 
hurled out of the swamp cooler into my face. You get a natural vibrato with a screen too. 
After that, I always let the piano warm up before I sat down to play. 

I attended B.H. Macon Elementary just two blocks up the street from our home. In 
the fourth grade, I caught my dress on fire in class. We were sitting on the floor in groups 
and I leaned against an electrical outlet that had a bare prong hanging out of it. I didn't feel 
the shock through my clothes, but it caught the sailor collar of my favorite dress on fire. The 
teacher saw smoke coming off my back and threw a coat over me and began to beat on m e. 
I thought I had really messed something up for her to hit on me like that. Then she sent me 
to the principal's office. That's when I found out I had been a burning bush, I was on fire but 
not consumed, and she was just putting me out., 


I went to junior high school at Fred F. Florence. I joined the pep club at school and 
sang in the school choir. I graduated from H. Grady Spruce High School in 1973. My 
fondest memories of high school and junior high were with my girlfriends in the pep club and 
attending all those football games. I still enjoy high school football. I also attended Skyline 
High School for one year, for their career development classes. I took industrial sewing and 
pattern making. Later in life, I helped support my husband and myself through college by 
sewing in a clothing factory in Provo, Utah. 

After I graduated from high school, Mother took us to visit our relatives in Arizona 
and California. It was so strange to see people that look like you. I had never met any of 
our Arizona relatives except briefly at Daddy's funeral. We loved Arizona and the freedom 
to run around at Aunt Beulah's. We felt rich because Uncle Donald owned a store down the 
road from Aunt Beulah's, and he let us eat ice-cream from his store for free. California was 
also fun. We liked the beaches and the beautiful flowers. We met Aunt Margie and Uncle 
Bozo, Mother's sister and brother. I really enjoyed Aunt Margie. She was a spit fire. Uncle 
Bozo's boys were fresh with us girls, and we were glad to get away from them I wish we had 
been bold like Aunt Margie's girl. When they pinched her on the boob under the water, she 
screamed out loud, and Aunt Margie jumped into the pool, clothes and all, and held the 
pervert under the water until we thought he would drown. We girls hooted and hollered. 
Aunt Margie didn't take crap off of anyone. I admired her for that. 

I went to Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho the summer of 1973. There I met my 
husband, RaMon R. Haderlie. We were married January 5, 1974, in the Idaho Falls Temple. 
Ray, as I call him, graduated from Brigham Young University in December of 1977 with an 
Electronics Technology degree. We then moved to Seattle, Washington to work for Boeing 
Company and have been here ever since. We would love to move closer to family, but 
employment has not permitted that yet. We have three children — Brian Ray born November 


11, 1975, Kelley Rae born August 1 1, 1977, and Lisa Ann born June 3, 1982. Each child is 
different and each is loved. 

Brian is almost 6'3" and loves 
the outdoors like his father does. At 
age 15, he climbed Mr. Rainier 
(14,410 feet) for the first time with 
his dad. Many other climbs followed. 
He loves to ride mountain bikes. He 
played the trombone in junior high 
jazz band. Brian graduated from 
Kentridge High School in 1994, and 
was listed in Who's Who in American 
High School Students his last two 
years. Brian attends Green River 
Community College now and is 
working on his AA. 

Miss Puss 


Brian Ray 

Kelley and Lisa, 1994 

Kelley loves to run. She's on the school cross country and the track team She's an 
exceptional student and a member of the National Honor Society at Kentridge High School. 
She will graduate in 1996. She played the piano, trumpet and French horn in grade school 
and junior high. Kelley loves animals, especially African animals. She is very pro- 
environment. She would love to write and take photographs for National Geographic. 


Lisa is almost 13 and is just beginning to define who she is. She has always loved to 
be around people and will talk your ear off Lisa is an honor student at Meridian Junior High. 
She plays the flute and made the 7th grade basketball team. And if her sister has her way, 
Lisa will be a track and field lover, too. 

Miss Puss, our cat, is like a member of the family. Actually she thinks she owns the 
house. She acts just like our kids. She doesn't listen to anything you say either. The kids are 
so attached to this cat that for years they tried to get me to add her name to our family group 

Ray and Cathy Haderlie Family, 1992 

When the kids got a little older, a little wiser, and a lot more smart-mouthed, I 
returned to college to obtain a degree. I graduated from Green River Community College 
with highest honors in June of 1992 with a two-year degree (Computer Applications 
Specialist). I now support a Vice President of an engineering department and manage an 
office of 16 engineers for him 

In October 1986, after much soul searching, I left the Mormon church. I am very 
happy I chose to do so. I now attend the First Church of the Nazarene with people who are 
very loving and supportive to me. The Lord has been good to our family through the years, 
and we praise him for that. 


Barbara Jo Goodman Melbourne 

My mother, Geraldine Goodman, says I entered this world as tenaciously as I have 
lived in it. Did I consider waiting until we arrived at the hospital and received the appropriate 
medical assistance, no, I obviously decided to arrive at my time, my place with or without the 
help of a doctor. Thus, on March 7, 1956, 1 swung into life as we were coming through the 
swinging door of the hospital, and have been making my own decisions ever since. Evidently 
that strong headedness was my inheritance from the Goodman gene pool — a quality that 
probably did not make for good relations with Mom I think she had had all the strong- 
headed relationships she wanted. It seems quite a few of us girls inherited this characteristic, 
and Tm sure living with that many independent decision-makers wasn't easy. You know, too 
many chiefs and not enough Indians. 

I have very few specific memories of myself as a young child. I do remember how 
much pleasure came from simple things, like a huge candy cane broken up in pieces and 
shared on a Friday night as we watched TV together. Or going to Griffs for their 10 
hamburgers for $L00 special. Lying in a bed in the middle of four other people and getting 
your back scratched either way you faced. (But you also had to scratch either way.) And, 
of course, the companionship that came from having so many siblings, along with the 
frustrations that were equally a part of a large family. 

Daddy was a very quiet and deliberate person, who shared very little of his life or his 
emotions. Like all of us, he had his good point and his points of struggle. By the time I was 
born, he had a pretty consistent struggle with alcohol, a vice that unfortunately caused a lot 
of pain in our family life. In reflection, I find it quite sad that Daddy allowed alcohol to rob 
him and his family of so much. The good and strong qualities he possessed as a person, a 
father, and a husband were clouded by his altered personality once he had given in to his 
weakness. A statement to each of us about how sin can rob us of the blessings God had 
intended for us to have. 

Being the ninth of eleven children (seven of which were girls) had its advantages and 
disadvantages. You had a lot of Moms to look after you when you were in need or in danger, 
and yet you had the same amount of them telling you what to do and when to do it. Likewise, 
you had plenty of closets to borrow from, but alas plenty of hand-me-downs to inherit. 

Since we lived in a sparsely populated area, my sisters and brother became my 
playmates and friends. Not so bad since I had plenty to choose from. I remember hours and 
hours of sun-filled afternoons of creative play that my children would probably think was 
boring. But it wasn't to us; we had everything from racetracks to dirt mansions and 
occasional war excursions (some make believe and others a result of heightened differences 
of opinions.) There were also plenty of picnics (with mustard and Mayonnaise sandwiches) 
and countless nights of catching fire flies. We built some pretty awesome club houses 
together during the day, and enjoyed some exciting, but harmless, evenings of skinny dipping 


together in our 2-foot swimming pool in the back yard. (After Mother went to work, of 

As the years went by, it became increasingly difficult to be so close to the bottom of 
the pile of so many talented sisters. Anything I would be interested in trying to do or develop 
in, had been done by someone above me, and quite well, I might add. All of the girls had 
inherited both Mom's and Dad's creative abilities. I think I kind of decided, as the old adage 
says, "It's too hard an act to follow!" (With a small revision!) The only thing I found I really 
topped anyone in was getting to the top of trees. So I spent a considerable amount of time 
climbing trees, house tops, rock ledges, etc. Thus was born a "tom-boy!" It proved to be a 
valuable addition to my personality when things were tough. But because I was more blow 
than go, I could have been easily exposed for the frightened little girl I was if anyone had 
challenged my assertive exterior. 


At 16, and for the first time in my life, Mother took the last four of us girls to meet 
our relatives, both Goodman and Scruggs. There was no doubt which side of the family I 
received my looks from When we arrived In Arizona, I went into Uncle Donald's and Aunt 
Evelyn's store and asked them if they could tell us how to get to Vernon. They both took one 
look at me and said, "You're one of Walter Goodman's girls, aren't you?" What a shock that 
was to me, I had no idea my dad was famous! Meeting all our cousins, especially Aunt 
Beulah's boys, who took really good care of us city girls, was a wonderful and enjoyable 
experience. We later went to Uncle Bills' and Aunt Mary's in Flagstaff. When we got out of 
the car and walked up to their trailer, Aunt Mary came running out, yelling, "Walter, Walter, 
Walter, she looks just like Walter!" It had never really occurred to me before that my 
Goodman heritage was so dominant. 

While the Goodman name is a proud inheritance, it also offered its drawbacks. I 
remember vividly a skinny, buck-toothed boy by the name of Billy Burdick, with coke bottle 
thick glasses, who danced around me daily in the Fifth Grade singing, "Barbara B adman, 
Barbara Badman!" I gave Billy ample warnings that his life was in danger, but his 
overwhelming crush on me caused him to ignore those warnings and persist with his taunting 
song. Eventually it cost Billy his front teeth! And it cost me my fantasy that my handsome 
teacher would think I was a real woman and fall madly in love with me. Instead, he 
threatened to make me wear pants the rest of the year and line up with the boys for recess, 
since I was acting like one. I would rather have lost my front teeth! 

I did, however, recover from my shattering experience and manage to become a young 
woman after alL On September 13, 1974, four months after graduation, I chose to exchange 
the Goodman name for Melbourne. Jeff and I had dated through our Senior year and I was 
convinced that I could not survive going off to BYU without him We have now been 
married 20 years, and have 3 children — one blue eyed, one brown-eyed, and one green-eyed. 
Their personalities are as varied as their eye colors. Our daughter, Christy Jo, was born May 
5, 1975. She is an interesting blend of her dad and her mother. She has a kind heart and a 


gentle spirit and a very good head on her shoulders when she wants to use it. Christy has 
always been one to try and help others with their struggles, and her wisdom has often 
exceeded her years. She now works and cares for her almost 2 years old son, Cameron Cory 
Smith, bom June 20, 1993. He is a beautiful independent little guy. There's no doubt he has 
Goodman in him. He's the apple of our eye and the terror of our home. His energy is as 
endless as his charm But truly, he is a joy and a treasure to us alL 

Our second child, Jeffrey Jr. was born May 3, 1979, and is a Sophomore in high 
school. The day Jeffrey was born (as a matter of fact, a couple of hours afterward) several 
tornadoes touched down all around the hospital. I prayed it wasn't an omen. It must have 
had something to do with his torrential little aggravations he poured out on his little brother 
later. But those event were scattered among may witty and humorous little events an antics. 
He has "somewhat" outgrown the aggravation, but continues to be quite good for a laugh. 
Jeffrey just started his first job at Albertsons Food Stores and is learning that money goes a 
lot faster than it comes. He is very much like his dad. He is very gifted with his hands and 
can fix things really well. I appreciate having two fix-it men around the house. He enjoys, 
and is very knowledgeable about computers. He is interested in pursuing a vocation that will 
enable him to use those gifts and skills. 

Our third child, Jason Michael, was bom December 30, 1981. He is the spitting image 
of his Mom, and is Goodman through and through. He has an opinion about everything, and 
loves to talk and converse about life. He says what he means and means what he says! He 
and I can enjoy the best of conversations and also have the strongest of disagreements. He 
is very creative and loves to try new (daring) things. He is only in the seventh grade, and yet 
very perceptive about people. He is interested in pursuing a vocation in the law enforcement 
field, with a law degree to boot. Whatever Jason does, he will have to be the boss! 

My husband, Jefi^ has enjoyed an 18 year career in the graphic arts field, and has 
always worked hard to provide for our family. His years of hard work and devotion allowed 
me to stay home with our children as they were growing up. I have only recently (in the last 
3 years), gone to work. He is a considerate husband who has tried hard to give me my heart's 
desires. Jeff encourages me constantly, and has always been extremely supportive in 
whatever ways he could. If we could afford it, he would love to let me go back to school full 
time and get my degree. Like all couples, we have had our challenges, but I appreciate the 
love God has shown me through my devoted husband. 

The years I spent home with my children were good years, filled with growth and fun. 
I acquired some college credits during those years, but mostly stayed busy with my children 
and church activities. I enjoy writing, especially poetry and would like some day to publish 
a book of poetry. For whatever it's worth, if I won the lottery, I would travel for a couple 
of years, then go back to school full time and get my degree in Industrial Psychology. I feel 
a little behind in my professional life, but am still grateful for those years with my children. 
I am now employed in an office doing secretarial work, and am trying to balance all the 


different aspects of being a working mom and wife. I am enjoying seeing my children grow 
and develop, and am anxious to see what they do with their lives. 


Life has been an interesting adventure, sometimes negative, sometimes positive. Of 
everything that has occurred in my life from beginning to end, one thing stands out above all 
else. At 30 years of age, I met and accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Savior in a way in 
which I had never known Him even after a life time of activity in the church. He became as 
real and as personal to me as anyone had ever been, and I have enjoyed many years of 
fellowship with Him ever since. He has taken my life and literally transformed me from the 
inside out. I am forever grateful to Him for His guidance in my life and know that apart from 
Him, life holds no real meaning. It is my firm conviction that none of us need ever wonder 
about our position with God after we die, if we have come to Him through the Cross of 
Christ. Through the cross we have been given total forgiveness and redemption and need 
never have to fear standing before Him What a gracious and loving Father we have, to have 
given his perfect Son for our salvation. "This is love, not that we loved God, but that He 
loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." (1 John 4: 10) "For God so 
loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not 
perish, but have eternal life." (John 3:16) May we all believe and receive is my prayer! 



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Rebecca, Michael, and Gina 

L to R, Top: Marcia. Middle row: Carol, Ray, Pete, Sherril. 
Front row: Janie, Rebecca, Barbara, Eline. July 3, 1993 



Pete, 9, and Waggles 

Janie, Barbara, Cathy, Becky, with Marcia in the door 

Chapter 1 1 
Donald Eugene Goodman 

(This chapter is a compilation of interviews between Uncle Donald and James 
E. Cook of The Arizona Republic in 1981, and between Uncle Donald and 
Gloria Andrus in 1990, and a short history written by Aunt Evelyn in 1994.) 

Grandpa Goodman was making cabinets for the U.S. Army at Fort Apache when 
Donald was born there on November 16, 1905, the fifth of the ten Goodman kids. At the 
time of his birth, Frances was 8, Willie 6, Alvin 4, and Walter 1- 1/2. The family soon moved 
to Cibecue, where Grandma ran a trading post. His first memory is when he was about 4, and 
the family was camped for the summer in Jumpoff Canyon, south of Show Low, during the 
time Grandpa run cattle on the Fort Apache Reservation. 

Soon the older children were getting old enough to attend school, so Grandpa rented 
then built a house in Pinedale. Grandma and the children stayed in Pinedale during the winter, 
but when school let out, it was off to Jumpoff Canyon. Supplies were loaded onto a 
buckboard and taken to the head of Jumpoff. But the buckboard had to stay up on the rim; 
the entire family would get on their horses and go down to camp. They lived in Army wall- 
tents while in Jumpoff Canyon. These were about 12 x 14 feet, with a floor and sides built 
up about 4 feet with a tent on top of that. Several of these clustered together — one for 
cooking and eating and a couple for sleeping — made up their living complex. 

Frances, 16, and Donald, 8, were baptized on August 1, 1914. They were both 
baptized by W. R Brewer. On the following day, Donald was confirmed by John Lewis, and 
Frances, by E. Thomas, Jr. 

Don recalls the time when he was about 9, that he and John had to take some horses 
to water in Clay Springs. One of the horses cut in front of Don's horse, causing them to fall. 
When he was able to get off the horse, his broken right foot stuck out crossways of his leg. 
Grandpa was getting ready to ride back to the Reservation, so Don told John, "You go get 
Pa, he's just ready to leave." Grandpa came and took Don home and put him to bed. He 
worked on that leg for an hour before he finally got it set. The nearest doctor at the time was 
in Winslow, about 80 miles away, with a horse and buggy the only way to travel there. 

After the leg was set, because they had no materials to cast the leg, Grandpa built a 
three-sided box to set on the bed to hold Don's leg immobile. At first the leg didn't pain him 
at all; but soon John and Lloyd were running around and playing near the bed. One of them 
accidentally hit the box and broke the leg again. By the time Grandpa was able to work on 
it, the leg was quite swollen and very painful. Don felt that it did not heal as straight as it 
would have had the last accident not occurred. 


After Grandpa sold out on the reservation, he bought another herd north of the 
Mogollon Rim. "The country was all open then, so they ran wagons," Don remembers. "Pa 
was hardly ever home, just as he went by." "Open" meant unfenced, and a "wagon" was a 
crew of ranchers and cowboys that teamed up to work a whole district. Wherever the chuck 
wagon stopped served as home for the night. 

On the dry farm at Clay Springs, water was hauled from three or four miles away. 
When Don was about 12 (around 1917), Grandpa bought a place at Linden that had a little 
open well on it, and the family moved there. Don remembers, "They left me there at the ranch 
in Clay Springs. Ma showed me how to make up a batch of biscuits before they left. I made 
some, but they were pretty damn rough to get by on." 


The next year, when he joined the family at Linden, a Holbrook dairy was sending a 
representative into the area to buy cream Grandma had a cream separator, so Don and John 
gathered up 15 or 20 old range cows and milked them Some of the cows were pretty 
"waspy." For most of them, the boys had to sit on the fence and rope them, tie them to the 
fence, and get in the corral and milk them. Milk from about 15 of them would only amount 
to about five gallons of milk 

Don attended the little country schools wherever the family lived. "I never did get my 
eighth grade diploma," he said. "I went through the eighth grade, but Pa pulled me out of 
school about two weeks before we had the final tests. I had to do some riding for him We 
had had a bad winter and the cows were dying and bogging down out in the flats. " It appears 
that Don attended the Walker School for his first five grades, went to the 6th grade at Clay 
Springs, the 7th grade at Linden, and the 8th grade back in Clay Springs. 

The summer he was 14, Don rode into the camp of the Hopen Land and Cattle 
Company, a big outfit on the Fort Apache Reservation. He was hunting and it was late in the 
day, so he decided to spend the night with some of the cowboys he knew. The big boss out 
of Phoenix, Cleve Cavness, offered him a job. 

When the cattle were gathered to ship in the fall, they were put in a holding pasture, 
estimated to have six or eight sections in it. Cavness told Don they needed somebody to ride 
the holding pasture fence every day. It took all day to go around it, but he was to ride around 
it each day, throw the cattle back away from the fence and fix any holes that might be made. 

Don told Cavness he'd do it. He went home the next day and fixed up "a little old hot 
roll that wasn't too much of a bed." Grandma suggested that he'd better take more bed than 
that because it could get pretty cold down there. Don said, "No, I haven't got any way to 
carry it, only up on my horse behind me." 

"They took me on some drives before they put me on the fence. This just kept going 
on. Old Cavness was gone for a couple of weeks. He came back and I was still riding with 


them. He told the foreman, 'I thought you were going to put Goodman riding that fence.' 
The foreman said, 'Hell, he's a better cowboy than what we got riding that fence. He don't 
get lost half as much."' Don laughs at the memory. "So I kept riding with them I shivered 
myself to sleep quite a number of nights. I never did tell anybody." 

He worked three years for Hopen. Each fall he rode on the five-day drive to 
Holbrook, where the cattle were loaded into railroad cars and shipped east. It was dawn-to- 
midnight work, unless the cattle were restless and decided to move all night. 

Grandpa bought the sawmill south of Vernon in 1924, and left Don with the cattle at 
Clay Springs. "My dad tried to give me that outfit, what few cows we had left. I said no, I 
guess we'd better sell the damn things and pay them on that sawmill. I stayed there about two 
years, gathered the balance and sold them 

In 1924 , when the recession which followed World War I finally reached Arizona, 
the banks began to close and called in loans to cattlemen. Grandpa had satisfied the banks, 
but Don had to ride with the big bank roundup to sort out the family's cattle. 

"I think as big a bunch as I ever saw throwed together was down there at Day Lakes, 
right where that pulp mill stuff (effluent) runs in," Don remembers. "I think there was 
something over five thousand head of cattle in the Dry Lakes. We moved them cattle to 
Holbrook and shipped them out to satisfy the banks." 

Don joined the family at the sawmill and worked there, but not happily. He went to 
work for Naegle Land and Cattle Company in the Springerville- Vernon area. "I started riding 
a bunch of little broncs they'd started, and helping gather cattle." 

In 1935, Bob Francy, a rancher in Vernon, asked Don to help take a party of dudes 
on a pack trip in the White Mountains, offering him $ 1 50 for 15 days. "Gosh damn, that was 
a gold mine for an old cowboy making $30 a month." 

Francy had worked at the Grand Canyon for years, and he told Don he could make 
$60 a month as a guide, phis an extra $15 if he would entertain. Don worked at the Canyon 
until the fall of 1939, as mule guide, packer and horse guide. Three nights a week, he was 
one of the entertainers at Bright Angel Lodge. He sang old songs about the hardship of 
cowboying and the folly of dudes. 

Don had a special talent that not even Robert Ripley was able to describe. Ripley 
visited the Canyon in 1938 and put Don in his Believe It Or Not. Don could hum and whistle 
at the same time. The effect was something like a Jew's harp. He tells that he learned the skill 
while riding into the wind as a boy. On stage, he fanned his hat in front of his mouth to create 
a wind. Folklore collectors at Northern Arizona University have recorded some of his songs. 


■ ■ 

Getting ready for a ride down the canyon 

Don at Grand Canyon 

When asked about his musical talents, Don answered, "I'm not sure where my musical 
abilities came from. Just seemed kinda natural to me, and I guess to Beulah. IVe often 
wished that I had taken a little more interest in it than I did, and really entertained more. 
Before I went into the Army and got that throat trouble, I loved to sing. I could sing all night 
and never sing the same song twice. If I was in the mood and had the right kind of crowd, 
especially around a campfire, I was alright. I didn't have to take my guitar with me when I 
went down into the Canyon. They had one down there at Phantom Ranch that I used. 
Usually I only went to Phantom Ranch about every 10-12 days. Each guide would take a turn 
going to Phantom Ranch because usually the people who went to Phantom were the wealthier 
guests and they'd stay overnight. I understand they don't do it like they used to. A one-day 
trip would go down Bright Angel trail and come back up Bright Angel Trail. I understand 
now that they go down the Yaqui Trail and come up Bright Angel. The only people who got 
to go down the Yaqui had to stay overnight. 

"When I was not taking a group down into the Canyon, Td be up on the South Rim 
The first two summers I was there, I guided, going just down into the canyon. The last two 
years I was there, I didn't go into the canyon. I worked with the horses and took rides along 
the rim Horses never went down into the canyon, just the mules. So anybody who wanted 
to take a horseback ride, just rode the rim I still entertained, however, about once a week 
in the Bright Angel Lodge. I really enjoyed that, and I was around the horses I loved. 

"There are several reasons why the Canyon used mules rather than horses in the 
canyon. Mules won't hurt themselves, but if a horse gets scared, he'll might jump off the bluff 
with a rider. A mule won't do that. Another thing, if you send the guide down first, the mule 



will just naturally follow. Horses don't do that, they're too independent. That's why I liked 
the horses better. 

While at the Canyon, Don met 
Yellowstone Chip, an entertainer who 
worked the Canyon in summer and was 
head wrangler at the Wigwam Inn in 
Litchfield Park (west of Phoenix) during the 
winter season. He asked Don to move 
down to the valley in the winter of 1939 and 
break horses for the Wigwam Inn, which 
was more or less a dude place. Don moved 
down, and there he met Evelyn Rostberg, a 
North Dakota girl, who was waiting tables 
at the Wigwam The next spring, he went 
to work at Camelback Inn. From there, he 
applied to drive "test" for Goodyear Tire 
and Rubber Company, to see how 
Goodyear tires held up on desert roads. 
Mostly, he drove a Mack tractor-trailer with 
1400 pounds of water slung high in its 
trailer to make it top-heavy. It was a test of 
how the sidewalls would hold up. Truck 
tires were made of genuine rubber, and Don 
says he didn't have many flats. But now and 
then he drove a Chrysler passenger car to 
test the new tires of synthetic rubber. 

"We'd take two or three sets of tires 
along and come back without any," Don 
said. "They'd throw the caps (treads). They 

couldn't get 'em to adhere to the body. Td drive that there truck down toward Casa Grande 
and almost into Tucson and then turn around and come back — driving for 8 hours each day. 
I did that for about 18 months until I went into the Army in 1942." 

Goodyear offered to get him a draft deferment, but he chose to go into the Army. He 
and Evelyn were married before he left. Evelyn recalls, "Don and I were married in the 
afternoon of April 27th, 1942, in Wickenburg, Arizona, at a place that was known as "Where 
the Knot is Tied." This place had a big sign "Licenses Issued and Knots Tied." We even had 
to wait for the judge's return from the movie house. Two close friends of ours were also 
married on this date. After rice throwing and congratulations from friends, the four of us left 
for the Utah National Parks — Zions and Bryce for an interesting and short trip. Don already 
had his induction papers and had to report on the 4th of May, so we didn't have much time 

Headed down the canyon 


for a honeymoon. After Don and I returned to the Wigwam Resort, Don reported for his 
physical on the 4th in Phoenix, and on the morning of the 5th, was in Fort Bliss at El Paso. 
He then went on to Camp Walters at Mineral Wells, Texas. I left Arizona and joined him at 
Mineral Wells, where we lived together at the Baker Hotel. After a short time he was called 
to Camp Hale in Colorado and then overseas. 


"We were now expecting our little 'Joe,' so I 
hopped in our Chevrolet and headed across country to 
Larimore, North Dakota (just west of Grand Forks), 
where I was raised. My brother, who was a lieutenant 
in the Navy, also stayed there; his wife, Louise, taught 
in the local school, and I helped another brother operate 
his cleaning establishment. Louise soon had a little 
daughter, and we had our son, Joe, born at St. Joseph's 
Hospital in Grand Forks. He weighed 9 pounds 3- 1/2 
ounces, and the nurses named him Bennie Goodman, a 
popular dance band at the time. Don's brother, John, 
already had a son named Bennie, so we settled for G.I. 
Joe; our Catholic friends said, 'Joseph, that's nice.' Don 
came to Larimore on a week's pass, so saw his son 
before he went overseas. These two babies were raised 
together until three years old when each moved away 
with his and her parents. They are close friends yet." 

Don remembers, "I'm the only son who served 
in the Army. The rest were the wrong age, or too much 
family, or something. Walter worked as a welder in the 
shipyards in California; he worked out there until after 
the war was over. Bill took his physical exam and was 

waiting to be called into World War I, when the armistice was signed. I was only about 12 

years old during World War I. 

Evelyn and her G.I. 

"I was 38 at that time Pa had a stroke. I was stationed at Camp Hale, Colorado (near 
Leadville), but got a pass and came to see him right after the stroke. Then I went back, and 
I was there about six weeks and got a call from home. They said if I wanted to see him alive, 
Td better come back. I got there late one night. He couldn't talk or anything, but I think he 
recognized me and knew that I had come, because I walked up and spoke to him, and I could 
see his muscles kinda tense, but that was the only response. He died the next day, May 26, 



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Letter from Donald to Alvin, Christmas 1943 

Germany, 1944. Donald is first person on left, back row 




"Little Joe was bom just before I went overseas. I got to see him once before I went 
across. I think I had a week's pass and went up and saw him one time. They gave everybody 
a pass before they went overseas. Evelyn was staying with her mother in North Dakota, and 
worked for one of her brothers who had a cleaning establishment. She didn't teach school 
again until she got to Vemon. 

"When I went to school and they tried to teach me history and geography, Td think. 
'What do I care about that history. That's a hundred years ago; all past life.' But after I went 
overseas and we got to seeing places and checking up on history, then I thought, 'Damn, I 
wish I had been a little more interested in history when I was going to school.' A lot of those 
kids would say, 'This is so-and-so.' The kids younger than I knew a lot more about places in 
France and history than I did. I then regretted not knowing more." 

After basic training in Texas, Don was put in charge of a detail of men going to Fort 
Lewis, Washington. "I ran onto an old cowboy there. You know, you can damn near tell a 
cowboy when you see one walking around. And this old boy, he says, 'Where you from?' I 
says, 'Arizona.' He says, 'What do you do?' I said, 'Just punch cows.' 'Hell,' he says, "that's 
what I am, a damn cowboy from Montana.' He says, 'Do you know what you're in?' I says, 
"No, I don't know what I'm in.' He said, Tou're in a damn ski troop outfit.'" 

Don explained the throat trouble mentioned earlier which caused him to lose his 
singing voice. "A whole bunch of us, while we were in Camp Hale, lost our voices and 
couldn't talk. Some of the soldiers were discharged because they never did get to where they 
could talk They kept them there to try and get them over it, and then they tried to figure out 
what had caused the problem, but I don't know what they ever did find out. I heard one 
rumor that it was arsenic in the soil that caused it, but I don't know. But there were about 
800 soldiers affected. 

"Camp Hale was located near Leadville, right on the top of the mountains, about 
14,000 feet. This was a ski camp. The 87th. Mountain Infantry was a ski unit. What the 
Army planned when they started this ski troop was to train ski troopers and a mule-borne 
light artillery unit for an invasion of Europe through Norway instead of across the (English) 
Channel, and why they changed their minds, I don't know. I think it was the way they came 
up through Africa that changed their minds, because they got clear up into Italy, and were 
fighting in Itafy before we crossed the Channel. But, my outfit, the 87th. Mountain Infantry, 
went across into Africa. They were the ones that did all the main fighting in Italy, because 
of the mountain terrain. So, they really took a beating. I hurt my knee at Camp Hale and was 
taken out of the group before they were sent overseas and put into the motor pool. That's 
how I didn't have to go across with them 

"When I was shipped back into El Paso to be discharged, there was another of my old 
87th Mountain Infantry buddies shipped there at the same time. We visited for quite awhile. 


He said, 'Don, you won't believe this, but of our company that we were with in Camp Hale, 
I'm the only one to come back — everyone else is gone.' I think I was probably blessed to 
have hurt my knee, and that's the way it was supposed to be. 

"I served in England, France, Holland, Belgium, and then Germany. I was billeted 
about six months in England before "D" Day. My old outfit went across the Channel about 
"D" Day plus 21, during the Battle of St. Lowe. I went across the other way in the motor 
pooL I was called a trouble-shooter; if a truck in a convoy of ammunition or gas going to the 
front broke down, I was supposed to either go out and get it started and get them on the 
road, or get it back to ordnance for the transfer, so I wasn't actually at the front most of the 
time. After the armistice was signed, I went across Europe as a driver for a legal officer, 
looking for violations of the Geneva Convention. We were sent down into Bavaria, so I got 
to see Hitler's hideout, the Eagle's Nest, they called it. 

"When I got out of the Army in '45, 1 told Evelyn we'd come by Vernon to see Mom 
and the family and go on back to Goodyear. You see, whenever a soldier was taken off a job, 
he had the job promised back if he got back. After we'd been here about three or four days, 
Lloyd came to see me. He was operating that sawmill down at Cross Roads for CD. Moore, 
so he came down one day and said, 'Don, Moore wants someone who knows how to set up 
a planing mill. Do you want to take the job? He'll pay you $1.25 an hour while you're 
building the shed and setting up the planer, and then he'll pay you so much a thousand after 
that.' That sounded like a pretty good deal to us. Goodyear wasn't union, but they always 
paid union wages, but I didn't know what I would have gotten had I gone back. That $1.25 
an hour was pretty good wages at that time. 

"I worked there from '46 to '5 1. Someway or another, Lloyd had a little '6 Cat that 
I skidded for him on the forest. Then he got a loader, but I can't remember for sure how it 
came up that he quit down here at the mill. It may have been then that he went on that 
mission. Anyway, after he left here, he took his machinery and worked on the reservation. 
He worked down at Sells and on the other reservations." 

Back in the sawmilling business that he hated as a kid, Don set up a planing mill and 
operated it for several years. Every time he had a chance, however, he'd take off and "punch 

Evelyn remembers, "That was really pioneering when we first came up here in forty- 
six. Living in a mill shack, and there was only one phone in the whole area." 

Nancy was born in McNary on February 20, 1947. 

Don was the constable for a dozen years or so, serving papers and keeping the peace. 
"It got pretty rough once in a while when two sawmills were running here. The job paid $ 1 5 


a month when I started, and $18 a month when I quit. They passed a law that constables had 
to be paid at least $5,000 a year, and that ended my job fast." 

Tlie Page Land and Cattle Company hired Don to do a lot of cowboying. And when 
former world champion cowboy, Earl Thode, drowned in a nearby lake, Don ran his ranch 
for three years. 



One wet winter the sawmill was closed 
because of snow and mud, so Don was working 
for Emily Michener who owned Timberline 
Ranch, mostly a dude ranch for girls. "I was 
ridin' a little old horse and he jumped into a tree 
with me and broke my leg. I got phlebitis in it 
to where the doctor said Td probably lose it. So 
about that time the Cross Roads Station came 
up for lease, and I wasn't so sure I wasn't going 
to lose my leg anyway." 

Don and Evelyn, with Joe and Nancy 

They leased the station in 1951 from 
Bob Francy, then bought it in 1952. That's 
when they changed the name to "Midway." Evelyn recalled, "The sawmills closed down. We 
had the archaeology camp from the Chicago Museum of Natural History for 17 years, and 
Emily Michener's camp for 20, 30 years. After each one of these was closed down because 
of death, we thought Vernon would die down so we could quit. But business still held up. 
There are more people moving in all the time." 

Don and Evelyn lived in a duplex near the store, until it burned down several years 
later. Evelyn felt the loss keenly. "In about 1956, we had the misfortune of losing our lovely 
duplex home by the store. It caught fire from faulty electrical wiring. We then had to arrange 
for living quarters in the store, which is now where the Post Office is." They had no fire 
insurance so they ran the store, Evelyn taught school, and Don punched cows, while they built 
a new house. Evelyn continued teaching school at various times, and with Don cowboying, 
and with Joe and Nancy helping run the store, they managed to make it, and to stay on that 
corner for 33 years. 

Evelyn also became Post Mistress of the Vemon Post Office in June of 1982, and kept 
it until 1987, when she had heart surgery. 

Don also drove school bus until he was 65. He served on the Round Valley School 
Board, and on the Board of Directors of White Mountain Communities Hospital in 



Don expressed his love of the family with this sentiment: 'Tve always been proud to 
be a Goodman. That's one thing that anyone who ever knew my Dad would say — that he 
never had an enemy in the world." 

"Once when Little Joe went to the Union Hall in Phoenix, the secretary asked him, 
'Are you one of THE Goodmans?'" 

Evelyn wrote: "At this time, Nancy, Dan, and children have taken over Midway 
Station, and we live nearby at Timber Knoll, when we are at home. Otherwise we're in either 
Alaska or San Diego. 

"We both feel so very fortunate and so grateful for the health we are enjoying in our 
80 some years of Irving." 


Don and Evelyn 

Don doing what he likes best 


Joseph Donald Goodman 

I was bom on May 27, 1943 — one day after Grandpa Goodman died. I attended 
Vemon Elementary School through the first eight grades, and went my freshman year at 
Round Valley High SchooL For my sophomore year, I went to North Dakota and stayed with 
my mother's family, but returned to Round Valley for my junior and senior years. 

In the Fall of 1961, I enrolled at Eastern Arizona Junior College, in Thatcher, and 
went for two years. I enlisted in the Army in February of 1964, and was stationed near 
Stuttgard, Germany from April 1965 to February 1967, when I was discharged. 

I married Linda Turben in 1969; we were divorced in 1973. 


I worked as a diesel mechanic at Cummins in Phoenix from 1969 to 1975, when I 
moved to Alaska. In Alaska, I worked on the North Slope at Prudhoe Bay from 1975 
through 1982, working out of the Operating Engineers as a heavy duty mechanic. 

Margaret Statler and I were married in 
Palmer, Alaska, in 1981, and continue to live 
happily ever after! 

I'm currently working for the State of 
Alaska DOT as an equipment operator, and 
Margaret teaches school. For run we ride 
snowmobiles and ATVs, and spend time at our 
cabin in the Caribou Hills. 

Little Joe and Margaret 


Nancy Joan Goodman Mclntyre 

I was born on February 20, 1947 in the McNary Hospital. We lived at the C. D. 
Moore Cottage at the sawmill site, where Dad worked setting up a planer mill for the sawmill. 

My elementary school days were all at Vernon Elementary School, from 1954 to 
1962; I was selected valedictorian of the 8th grade class. I attended Round Valley High 
School from 1962 to 1966, again graduating as valedictorian. 

At Arizona State University, I studied Nursing and graduated with a B.A. Degree in 
Nursing in 1970. After working at the White Mountain Community Hospital for a year, I 
returned to A.S.U. to pursue a masters in Nursing, which I was awarded in 1975. 

I then applied to the medical 
school at the University of Arizona, 
and received my M. D. Degree in 
1979. Because I placed in the top 
sixth of our class academically, I 
received several awards and 
citations. My residency work was 
done at the Emergency Hospital in 
San Diego in 1980. 

Dan Mclntyre and I were 
married on November 7, 1986 at the 
Greer Lodge, in Greer. We have 
two adorable daughters, and live in 
San Diego. 

I'm currently working with 
Kaiser Permanante in emergency 
medicine. Several years ago, we 
bought the Midway Station from 
Dad and Mom Dan now spends 
considerable time in Vernon keeping 
tilings running smoothly there. 




'■■■'gUfff i. 

M i «* 

Dan, Nancy, Donald 



Chapter 12 
John McNeil Goodman 

(This is taken from My Personal History written by Uncle John) 

I was born Feb. 6, 1908, son of William Ezra Goodman and Hannah McNeil 
Goodman. I was the sixth child and the fifth son in the family often children. 

My birthplace was Pinedale, Navajo County, Arizona. At the time I was born my 
father was ninning cattle in the area of Mud Springs and Jump off Canyons, located on the 
White Mountain Apache Indian Reservation. 

When I was two years old, my father homesteaded seven miles west of Pinedale where 
we lived until I was about fifteen or sixteen years old. It was two miles from what is now 
known as Clay Springs, in which area I have yet a lot of fond memories of friends and 

Sometimes, in the summer months, it was necessary for my father to move my mother 
and children temporarily to the reservation in order to properly care for the cattle. The range 
was very rough and rugged. There were deep canyons in which there were numerous wild 
animals, such as lion, bear, even a few gray wolves or lobos, and many smaller predators. 

Our summer home in Jumpoff Canyon was a large tent. The cooking was done 
outside, in front, in dutch ovens over an open fire. We obtained water from a mountain 
stream Because of the need to sew and mend our clothes, it was necessary for my mother 
to have her Singer sewing machine, and because of the very steep, rough terrain there could 
be no wagon road; so to transport the sewing machine my father used our jenny burro, or as 
we called her, "Old Ginny." Using a pack saddle the machine was made secure by the use of 
what packers called the "Diamond hitch", using a lariat rope. A burro is a very sure-footed 
animal; otherwise going down some of those steep mountain trails might have been 

It seems we retain few glimpses of our infant life. One I remember very distinctly, and 
I suppose this particular one because I was so impressed with its rugged beauty. About two 
miles below where our camp was were the falls. Now, these water falls were the reason it 
was called Jumpoff Canyon. There were permanent springs in the canyon, so the water 
flowed over the falls the year around. But this time I refer to Dad took all the family to see 
the falls. As we approached the falls, Dad carried me on his shoulders straddle-neck style. 
Even though I could have been no more than three years old, I remember what a thrill it was 
to see the crystal-clear water tumbling down over the cliffs. 

On this particular day my father had saddled his horse to ride over a certain area. As 
he rode down the canyon away from camp, it sounded as if someone called his name, "Will" 
but he rode. on. After going a short distance, he again heard, "Will." He stopped and 


pondered the situation for a moment then rode on. Again, for the third time, he heard his 
name called. He immediately turned his horse around and returned to camp. He said he didn't 
know why, but he got off his horse and turned over and emptied a large tub of water setting 
there where my mother had been washing. Then he saw me, a two-year old walking around 
the yard. The thought came to him that I might have fallen in the tub and drowned. Could 
it be the Lord was mindfid enough of me to preserve my life? There must be a divine purpose 
in our lives, which we ourselves too often overlook or forget. 

My first school days were spent in a room of a private home rented by arrangement 
of the school trustees for that purpose. My first school teacher was Miss Scarce. She taught 
for two years. One thing I remember about her were her small feet and long, pointed shoes. 
One thought I had was, "I would surely hate to be kicked by those." 


My father was a member of the board of trustees, and as he was a good carpenter, the 
board agreed that he should build a one-room school house on his property and rent it to the 
school district. It was known as the Walker School District No. 11. I went to school there 
through the sixth grade. 

Up to now, I haven't mentioned where our Meeting House was. It was at Clay 
Springs. The ward house was the school house also. It was two miles from our ranch, and 
that was quite far by buggy or buckboard, so we would take a lunch, and it was somewhat 
like a picnic between Sunday School and Church. All the families from the ranches would eat 
lunch on the grounds, and those living nearer would go home for dinner. 

I was proud when I was ordained a deacon. My friend and I would get on our horses 
to gather fast offerings, such as flour, bacon, beans, potatoes, and some bottled items. No 
one had very much money. 

Approximately one-half mile south of our ranch at Linden was Right Hand Canyon. 
This was a wide, flat-bottom canyon with a large ravine criss-crossing it on its way to the 
canyon mouth. There it joined the main drainage system of that area. 

The head of this canyon constituted the foot hills of several large ridges, the largest 
one of which was called Juniper Ridge. On most of the large ridges were large patches of 
Manzanita brush, many as large as 500 yards across. This brush averaged about 45 inches 
high and was so dense it was hard to ride through. However, its beauty was unique, the 
leaves being small and dark green; the trunk and branches were a cherry-red shade. In the fall 
of the year it had a red berry that resembled a miniature apple. 

These Manzanita patches made an ideal place for fur-bearing animals to hide out and 
sleep during the day, as most were of a nocturnal nature, such as Lynx Cat (Wildcat), Gray 
Fox, Raccoon, Timber Wolf (Coyote) and last but by no means least, the wily mountain Lion. 


Now the trick was to ride into the Manzanita thickets, pull the Winchester Carbine 
and fire a shot into the air. This caused any lurking, sleeping predators to scramble out of the 
thicket to escape, but the old hound had a different idea. He was on to this trick, so he would 
proceed to circle the thicket and of course, wherever the tracks came out, he picked it up hot, 
and usually it wasn't long until he barked treed, a different tone of bark than the trail bark. 

Well, on this one day I was riding along the south extreme of Juniper Ridge where it 
breaks off from the main rim or divide, which divide constituted the north boundary of the 
White Mountain Apache Reservation on the south and the Sitgreaves National Forest on the 
north. All of a sudden Ol Bruno let out a bellow and I knew he had a hot track so I rode in 
the direction of the sound of his bark. I came upon the track of a large Mountain Lion and 
the dogs were hot on the traiL After following some distance, I could see where the Lion 
would roll over in the snow trying to cool off Ordinarily at that stage they'll soon take a tree, 
but this one seemed determined to keep ninning. He was headed south toward the 
reservation line. I followed until the tracks crossed the line. On the south slope (reservation 
side) the canyons were deep and steep; the timber and underbrush were very thick and the 
terrain treacherous even in daylight. This being late afternoon, at best it would be dusk or 
even dark coming out, and as my Mother would be worried. I decided not to follow. There 
were two dogs, the hound and a small, but full-grown black shepherd. They were gone all 
that night and until about 10:00 A.M. the next morning. On examining them, I found 01 
Bruno had a slit on the end of his tail approximately two inches long. Presumably, he had 
gotten too close and the old Hon had taken a swipe at him with a claw. Pve always somewhat 
regretted I didn't stay on the trail and see it through. 

Times were bad. The price of cattle dropped so low the cattle men were all losing 
money and some went broke, including my Father. The Bank held a mortgage so it took 
over. We lost all we had. This was during a period from 1920 to 1924. In 1924 my Father 
was able to borrow enough money for the down payment on a saw mill south of Vernon, 
some 50 or 60 miles from where we were Irving at Linden where the ranch was located. 

I had finished the seventh grade at Linden, so later took the eighth grade at Vernon. 

It was still pretty much horse and buggy days. My Dad and I hooked up Old Blue and 
Nickel, our team of gray geldings, and proceeded to move our belongings to the saw mill, a 
two-day trip over some rough stretches of road. My brother, Afvin, worked on a job at 
another saw mill called the Standard Saw Mill, 15 miles west of the ranch. He owned a 
Model T Ford, so he moved my Mother and the small members of the family, namely my 
brother, Lloyd, and two sisters, Fern and Beulah. 

Before long my older brothers, Walter and Ah/in, came to work on the mill. Walter, 
who was very mechanically inclined, came first and did a great lot in getting the mill in shape 
to run and saw lumber. Arvin took over the logging. I and my brother, Donald, being 
younger, labored in the mill. 





Times were hard but we were able to pay the mill off in three years time and live. 
Also employed, at times, three to four extra men, some local, some Oakies and Aikies on 
their way to California to pick grapes or to find work, if possible. What was known as the 
dust bowl area was hit by wind storms which removed considerable top soil off large areas 
of farm land in that region, so the share croppers, as they called themselves, had to move out 
to survive. 

They would come by in an old Jalopy (Model T Ford) with a mattress tied on top and 
a wash tub (Number 3 galvanized) hung on the back, apparently all the worldly possessions 
they had. There would be Mother and Dad and a half dozen kids crammed in the seats, and 
sometimes an old Grandmother or Grandfather. Some had older kids and some younger ones, 
all sharing alike to survive. They would work long enough to get gas and a little food and go 
on. (Grapes of Wrath as they were sometimes referred to.) 

Well, times got worse for us, too. We couldn't sell any lumber. However badly 
people wanted and needed lumber, no one had any money. Except for a buyer now and then, 
we operated the mill very little. 

I decided to go to McNary, 25 miles to the south of us, where there was a big saw 
mill, to try for a job. I did and got one. I roomed and boarded at a company rooming house 
and ate at a company boarding house. They paid every week, so after I had worked one 
week, I went in the office to draw my pay. I can't remember the rate of pay, something like 
500 an hour. At any rate, by the time they had figured my room and board, my total pay was 
$2.50, paid in silver. 

That very day I happened to run onto a man who was some sort of a traveling 
salesman. His name was Mr. Thomas. He said he was going to Miami the next morning. I 
asked if I could ride with him, as my uncle and aunt lived in Miami. He said sure I could. I 
remember he was real friendly. So thinking I might get a job in the mines or elsewhere, I was 
glad to get to go. 

I stayed with Uncle Jess and Aunt Bess McNeil. She was one of the sweetest ladies 
I ever knew. She kept telling Uncle Jess, "You get a job for John." He was an expert 
machinist in the Inspiration Consolidated Copper Company's machine shop. He had 
somewhat of influence with the "Big Shots," as we called them, or management of the 
machine shop, the pipe shop and the boiler shop. He did get me on in the pipe shop as a pipe 
fitter helper. It was a good job. I liked it. I don't remember how many months I worked 
mere, almost a year I think. Things began to get slower. The great depression of 1929 and 
1930 was coming on. Men with least seniority were being laid ofX so I went back to the saw 
mill to eke out an existence with the others of the family who were still there. 

It was the summer of 1928 when I went to Miami, and by the fall of 1929 the 
depression was hurting. By the next summer and fall of 1930 the banks all over the country 


4 ^- - t 

Lahoma Bennett Goodman 

were going broke and soup lines were being financed with some kind of government grants; 
I'm not sure just how. There weren't any in this state, at least where we were, but it was 
mighty slim picking. 

In the meantime every attempt was made to live a 
normal life. We would go to dances and other activities in 
the little towns around this part of the country. It was at 
one of these dances at Show Low that I met a young lady 
who I thought was mighty neat, if you know what that 
means. Cliches change with each generation. Her name 
was Lahoma Bennett. I chased her until I caught her and 
married her. A civil marriage it was on Jan. 28, 193 1, and 
later, after we had 5 children, we were married and the 
children sealed to us in the Mesa, Arizona Temple, Jan. 30, 

In the meantime an American presidential election 
came up and a very lively candidate, a democrat by the 
name of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, announced his 
candidacy for the presidency. He was one of the most 
dynamic personalties that you can imagine. I mean he was 
on top of every issue; he knew just what to say and after he 

was elected he did it. He pulled no punches in his campaign. Mainly the issue, at least in his 
view, was greedy big business versus the common people, or oppression of the working class, 
long hours, low pay, what he called the sweat shops. 

He changed all that with the passage of the Labor Relations Act which permitted labor 
to organize and bargain collectively with big business management for better working 
conditions and more pay, which took money out of the pockets of the biggies and put some 
into the hands of the consumer. This brought to life the law of supply and demand. 
Consequently, by the purchasing power of the people, jobs were created so that people had 
a chance to earn a decent living. 

I got my first job after the depression as an ax- man on a survey crew on the proposed 
highway from Globe to Show Low (this is the Salt River road). That lasted until the job was 
completed, about 5 months. In the meantime, since marriage, I had worked on the Work 
Progress Administration (W.P.A), instigated by Roosevelt. The types of jobs created around 
the United States were of numerous types, too much to be mentioned, building dams, flood 
control, to name a few. But at least people could work and support their families. 

Private industry began to get going again. I got a job with Smith Heywood Truck 
lines. I started on daytime local deliveries, then transferred to Phoenix on the night run from 




Phoenix to Show Low. We moved to Phoenix while I was on that job. I drove to Globe then 
switched trucks with a driver from Show Low, returning to the dock in Phoenix. 


We lived on 7th and East Polk, across the 
street from a big high school. There was this little 
dome-shaped building called the "Igloo." It sold ice 
cream and other goodies to accommodate the high 
school kids. Our kids like to go and patronize that 
place too. They weren't used to the heat, so I guess 
that helped, at least they thought so. Well, that job 
ended in 1938. 

I went to work then for Southwest Forest 
Industries at McNary, operating a bull dozer, 
building truck trails or roads for the big log trucks. 
We were Irving at Show Low at the time. I worked 
there until the war broke out in Dec. 1941 when the 
Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. 

Men were being drafted right and left and 
they were calling for men in the mines. Since I had 
worked for the Inspiration Copper Co. before, and 
since I was getting tired of those hard winters in the 

log woods, I believed I could get a job there and I did, about a week before Christmas. I had 
a 1938 Plymouth. I moved my family down on Christmas day to Miami. 

We lived and I worked there 3 years. While working there I bought and paid for a 
place in Woodruff. We wanted a home, a place where we could settle down and feel more 
secure. So when the Japanese surrendered in 1945, 1 quit my job there and we moved to our 
home in Woodruff. 

John, with Johnnie and Betty 

Additional History 
written by Betty Goodman Hatch 

I don't think LVe ever known anyone with more integrity than my dad. He was always 
totally honest with us. He was loving and kind, but very strict. 

We older children were born during the Depression, and it was a real struggle for Dad 
to make a living. Dad had to hitchhike wherever he went — most of the time we didn't have 
a car 


We lived in Show Low in my early memories, with the exception of about two years 
when we lived in Phoenix (I started 1st grade there). We moved back to Show Low and I 
can't remember what Dad did for employment then. He bought a 2-room cabin and piece of 
land west of Show Low. We moved in, and the first time it rained, the roof leaked like crazy. 
Did didn't have any money, so he went to Roy Ellsworth (from what Mom said, he saved our 
fives more than once) and borrowed enough money to get some tin for the roof. He was 
putting it on during a rain storm; it was slick, and Dad fell off the roof. He was okay, but it 
really gave us a scare. 

While we lived in that little cabin, the 
Second World War started. I remember that 
Sunday morning very well. We went to Grandma 
Goodman's in Vernon and several of Dad's brothers 
were there. Tney were all listening to a radio trying 
to catch any news they could. Shortly after that, 
Dad was able to get a job in Miami in the copper 
industry. We remember when Dad was called into 
the Army; Mom was so upset. So, of course, we 
kids felt it, too. We were so happy when Dad came 
home and said he didn't have to go. Not that he had 
7 kids, but that he was working in an industry that 
was vital to the war effort. 

Dad wasn't very active in the church when 
we were very young. He told me after I was grown 
that one Sunday morning he was dropping us off at 
Sunday School, and I asked, "Daddy, where are you 
going?" He said he thought to himself^ "Where am 
I going?" We were sealed in the Arizona Temple 
when I was young. I remember how happy we all were. 

Betty and Johnnie 

We bought our house in Woodruff and we liked that. We never liked Miami very 
welL At first Dad tried to work in Miami and come home on weekends, but it wasn't a very 
good situation. We older children were coming into the teen-age years and we needed Dad, 
so he quit and came home. He got a job in Holbrook driving a truck for Schusters. 

A couple of experiences he had while driving truck: On one occasion, he picked up 
several Indians who were hitchhiking. When he got to St. Johns, the Indians jumped out and 
disappeared. When he started unloading, he saw that they had eaten half a gunny sack full 
of peanuts and had left the shells scattered all over the truck. Don't remember if he had to pay 
for them 



John and Lahoma holding Benny. L to R, Middle row: Johnny and Betty. 

Front row: Leslie, Jerry, Glen, Eva 

Another time he was passing another truck and clipped the side of the truck. He 
stopped and got out. The other truck driver didn't say a word — just socked Dad in the 
mouth. He was wearing a ring, so Dad really was hurt. It split his Up, and he couldn't eat for 
several days. The guy took him to court in St. Johns. He was surprised when he saw how 
many friends Dad had — everyone in court knew him The guy lost in court and said, Tm just 
a strange man in a strange land." 

Daddy had one of the nicest gardens in Woodruff. He grew wonderful tomatoes and 
com. His front yard was always beautiful. Especially after he retired and was able to spend 
more time at it. He never had a weed in his whole half-acre lot. My children love to spend 
as much time with Grandpa as they could. When my youngest son, Joe, was about 5 years 
old, I told him he couldn't go to Grandpa's. He protested, "If I don't go to my job, Grandpa 
won't pay me and Til get fired." They had a good relationship. 

Dad got a job in road construction skinning cat. He enjoyed that. It took him to 
many different places in Arizona. He was working one summer in Hannigan's Meadow above 
Springerville, and had a bad accident. Somehow, a large tree limb fell on his head. He was 
by himself and laid out there almost all day. He was in Springerville Hospital for quite a while 
and then had to go to Phoenix for surgery, where they put in a silver plate to cover the hole 

! -J- - -t • 


in his skulL That changed Dad somewhat; after that he seemed to have times when he became 
very depressed. 

L to R, Back row: Johnny, Lahoma, John. Middle row: Betty, Eva, Glen, 

Jerry. Front row: Leslie, Benny 

It wasn't long after he got back to work that he broke a leg, and was laid up again for 

Not long after that, Dad was working on a job near Globe. He and Mom were living 
in Globe, when Mom had a cerebral hemorrhage. She died two days later (May 12, 1961). 
She was only 46. We all missed her so much, and Dad was just lost. 

A few months later, he was introduced to a lady named Ora Toone. They were 
married, and Dad was much happier. They were a good team Dad raised a garden and Ora 
canned. They also had an apple orchard, so Dad got an apple press and they made the best 
apple juice. 

Dad was very active and worked very hard up to the last. He fell off the roof again 
while putting a new roof on the house, and even at his age, didn't break any bones. Dad's last 
two years on earth were very hard and very sad. He passed away March 13, 1986, and IVe 
missed him so much. 



In Memory Of 

loHn J}(c2sfeiC Qoodman 

- ' 

3orn Feb. 6, :908 

Passed Aw a v March 13, 1986 

?:nedale, Ariz. 
Woodruff, Ariz. 

Funeral Services 

2:00 P.M. Sunday March 16, 1986 

Woodruff Ward Chapel 

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-dav Saints 
Officiant Bishop Carlton Shephard 

Organist Ollie Busby 

Family Prayer jerry Goodman 

Hym n "The King of Love My Shepherd Is " Choi T 

Invocation Phillip Shumway 

Life History Neil Hatch 

Song "Green Grass o: Home" jay McCieve 

Speaker Melvin Gardner 

Song "Silver Haired Daddy" Lorin Hatch & Sons 

Benediction Ray Parrott 


Woodruff Cemetery 

Dedication of the Grave - Tony Goodman 

Casket Bearers 

Alvin Goodman Richard Stewart 

Ronald Goodman jack Goodman 

Les Goodman Sam Hatch 

Alternate Bearers 
joe Hatch 

Renca;! Keeling 

-D u (Ju 



Funeral Services 

A Little About John McNeil Goodman 
by Jerry Goodman 

When I was little, I only remember a little about JMiami and moving to Woodruff. I 
do remember that the house we moved into had no electricity or plumbing, as a matter of fact, 
there wasn't even electricity in Woodruff at all for a few years after we moved there. It was 
awhile before we got plumbing, and even longer before we got a bathroom. 

I remember Dad having to get up before anyone else in the cold and building a fire in 
the wood heater and in the wood cook stove so it would be warm in the house when we got 
up. Then he'd have to go out and get the old car started to go to work. 

. ^ 


John M. Goodman 

Goodman, 78, died March 13 at 
his home in Woodruff. 

He was born in Pinedale and 
grew up in Vernon. 

Mr. Goodman worked in the 
mines in Miami when he was 
young. He was a heavy 
equipment operator for various 
contractors, building highways 
and bridges until he retired. 

He moved to Woodruff in 1945. 

Mr. Goodman was a member 

of the Operating Engineers 
Local No. 428, and a high priest 
in the Woodruff Ward of the 
Church of Jesus Christ of 
Latter-day Saints. 

He is survived by his wife, 
Ora of Woodruff; four sons, 
John L. of Snowflake, Glen of 
Mesa, Jerry of Nevada, and 
Benny of Woodruff; two 
daughters, Betty Hatch and Eva 
Shumway of Mesa; two 
brothers, Bill Goodman of 
Flagstaff and Don Goodman of 
Vernon; two sisters, Fern 
Penrod of Vernon and Beulah 
Penrod of Taylor ; 26 
grandchildren and 29 great 

Tribute to Grandpa Goodman 
by Rebecca Shumway Hansen 

Most of the things I remember about Grandpa Goodman were not about him 
personally, but about the works of his hands. Coming from the dryness of Mesa, it seemed 
nigh unto paradise to be able to run barefoot on his front lawn. The enormous garden behind 
the house always looked like it was from a picture-book, and the aroma of the spearmint 
plants was the first thing you would smell upon emerging from the back door. 

Grandpa had apple trees and chickens, and even a cow which I got to help milk once. 
My mother would often comment on his cow and about the way Grandpa loved her. Then 
about how heartbroken he was when he had to sell her; but he wouldn't let her go any further 
than the family across the road. He also had a "big stinky" to keep the flies down; Td always 
keep one eye on that peculiar jar whenever passing it, just in case it ever tried to chase after 

When I was in my teens and a little earlier, Dad 
worked as a heavy equipment operator, mostly 
bulldozers, and Pve been told by many who knew him, 
that he was one of the best. Sometimes Dad worked 
out of town and only came home on the weekends, 
leaving Mother to look after and take care of us kids. 
I few times, some of us went with Dad on road jobs. A 
couple of summers we went on road jobs with Dad and 
camped out all summer. One year, we moved to Silver 
Bell, a mine near Tucson, and another time we moved 
to St. David, also near Tucson. I went to high school 
in both those towns. 

I will always remember the good example Dad 
set by living the gospel along with Mother. Dad had a 
very strong testimony of the restored gospel and did his 
best to live it and to influence all of us that way. 

Mother died May 12, 1961, and Dad married 
Ora Rishton Toone on September 6, 1961. After his 
retirement, Dad spent his time in Woodruff where he 
raised the most beautiful gardens you could ever see. 
Every time we'd visit him he'd fill up the trunk of our 
car with fruits and vegetables. 


He was always up at the crack of dawn, working on his garden, milking his cow, 
gathering eggs, or any of the multitude of other tasks associated with running a magnificent 
plantation like I felt he had. 

Grandpa, personally, was always soft-spoken and very gentle. I was never afraid of 
him like I was of many other grown-up relatives. Whenever correcting any of the children, 
it was always with tender, sensitive words. I felt like he respected them as much as the adults 
around him, which was an uncommon trait to me. 

Grandpa was never one to laugh very much, but there was nearly always a smile on 
his face and chuckles would escape his control whenever something particularly tickled him. 
He had an odd side-long glance — almost like a stiff neck was bothering him — but when I saw 
him look that way, I always knew he was smiling about something. 


John and Lahoma 


Lahoma and John at home in Woodruff 

L to R: Johnny, Jerry, Benny, Glen, Eva, Betty, and John 




Beulah and John 



i -: v 

Goodman boys entertaining at wedding 

reception of Dee Johnson and Janice Turley. 

L to R: Benny, Jerry, Les with Tom Allen. MC 


Les, with Benny in back on guitar, 1959 

jr —stars '- 

Johnny at mike, accompanied L to R by Benny, 
Jerry, and Les 


Betty, Jerry, and Eva 



L to R: Benny, Jerry, Glen, Betty, Johnny 


John Leroy Goodman 

I was born April 15, 1931 at my Grandpa Goodman's sawmill in Vernon. We left 
Vernon when I was quite small, so I don't remember much about the sawmill. We lived in 
Show Low for a while and I started school there. 

During the Second World War, we moved to Globe where Dad worked in the mines. 
He didn't go into the Service because he had a defense job. 

After the war, Dad bought a small farm in Woodruff. We moved there and I finished 
high school in Holbrook. During the summers, I worked for Uncle Lloyd at Vernon in the 
log woods and the sawmill where I became interested in heavy machinery. My close 
association with Dale, Kent, and Grant at this period led me to consider them as brothers. 
Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Ruth were very special to me, also. 

After high school, I enlisted in the Army Corps of Engineers and went to Heavy 
Equipment school in Virginia. When I finished school, I was sent to the Hawaiian Islands to 
work on a hurricane damage project. The Korean War started while I was there, and I ended 
up in Korea with the 24th Engineers. We built landing strips and artillery emplacements and 
did road repairs, etc. 

After almost a year 
in Korea, I was sent back to 
Seattle, Washington, where 
I was discharged in the fall 
of 195 1. I went to work for 
Uncle Lloyd at Sells, 
Arizona (west of Tucson), 
building small dams across 
washes to contain soil 
erosion on the Pap ago 
Reservation. Also, at this 
time, I met a young girl 
named June Johnson, 
introduced to me by Eva. 
June and I were married the 
next summer and bought a 

small trailer house and started following construction jobs around the state. I also worked 
in some open pit mines. 

We had four children — two boys and two girls. After they got old enough to go to 
school, we moved to the Snowflake/Taylor area where we built our home. I traveled around 

Johnny and June wedding reception ,1952 



on jobs by myself for a while until I got a steady job with the Highway Department running 
a rock crusher in Taylor. I was then able to stay home and help June raise our kids. 

In 1979, I was the 
successful bidder on a 
government mail contract, so I 
resigned from the Highway 
Department and started a mail 
delivery route out of Snowflake. 
I suffered a fast- acting kidney 
failure in 1989 and had to go on 
dialysis for about six months. 
As I could no longer work full- 
time, June retired from her job 
with the school district and 
helped me with the mail route. 

On June 5, 1990, my 

brother, Jerry, donated me the 

Gift of Life — one of his kidneys. 

Tm doing quite well now, and June and I are currently running the mail route. Our kids are 

all married and have kids of their own and we have tons of Grandkids. And we lived happily 

ever after. THE END. 

Our children, L to R, Donette, Tony, Eva, Jack 

Easter 1966 



Johnny and Mary Donette near Page 

Johnny doing what he likes best. 1958, Woodruff 



Betty Jean Goodman Hatch 

I was bora October 16, 1932 in Show Low, Arizona, to John McNeil Goodman and 
Lahoma Lee Bennett Goodman. It was during the Depression, times were hard, and Dad had 
a job taking care of a ranch, I think it was near Clay Springs. Mom said she never saw 
another woman all that winter. She said one advantage of being so isolated was that we never 
had a cold all winter — there was no one around to expose us. Mom said all they had to eat 
was potatoes, beans, squash, and flour. We had a cow so we had milk. Mom said she learned 
how to make squash pie without eggs. My earliest memories were of living in Show Low and 
of visiting Grandpa and Grandma Goodman at the sawmill. I remember the spring and how 
Grandma always had 5# lard buckets, filled with food she wanted to keep cool, down in the 
spring. The water was so good and cold. I remember the sawdust pile and how good it 
smelled and how much fun we had playing in it. I know we lived at the sawmill at one time, 
but I can't remember that far back. 

I remember when Eva was bora and we other children had whooping cough. The 
doctor said she wouldn't get it, being so young. But when she was only 6 weeks old, she 
came down with it. We had just moved up in the White Mountains to a fire look-out tower, 
where Dad worked all that summer. Eva was very sick, so Mom slept with Eva at her side 
for several weeks. Johnny and I liked that because we got to sleep with Dad. There were 
two Indian men working there, too, named Newton and Lee. When Eva got better and Mom 
said it was time for us to sleep in our own beds cause she wanted to sleep with Dad, I wasn't 
too happy about it, and said, "Mom, you can sleep with Newton." I couldn't figure out why 
they thought that was so funny. 

I started first grade in Phoenix. We lived there for awhile, and Dad drove truck for 
Smith Heywood. When we moved back to Show Low, Dad bought a piece of land west of 
town and moved a little 2-room cabin onto it. That was where we lived when World War II 
broke out. I was so scared; I was afraid Japanese soldiers were hiding behind all of the 

I remember there were a lot of drifters around at that time. When they came looking 
for food, Mom would usually give them some milk to drink — one man drank the whole 
pitcher of milk. Dad had to be gone a lot when we lived in that little cabin. Mom says she 
was so frightened there, but she never let us children know it. Living in that little cabin were 
some of my best memories. 

I was about 9 years old when Dad got a job in Miami in the copper leaching plant, so 
we moved there. We lived in Inspiration, which was in the hills north of Miami, and most of 
our time there we didn't have a car. We lived close enough for Dad to walk to work. There 
was a trail we called the scorpion trail, which was a short cut to downtown Miami. One day 
Dad said he was taking the Scorpion Trail to town and was bringing us back a surprise. 
When he got home, he had a bicycle for us. One bicycle for all of us, but we were sure happy. 

-tl"- - 


He had to push it all the way home because both tires were flat. We never liked it much in 
Miami, so when we had a chance to buy a house in Woodruff we were all happy about that. 
Almost everyone in town was LDS and that is where I really got to know and love the 

There were many good people in Woodruff who had an influence for good in my life. 
This is where I saw the Priesthood at work. The first time was when Glen was shot in the 
stomach when he was 12 years old. He wasn't expected to live and had several set-backs 
during the time he was hospitalized. He received several Priesthood blessings, and I know 
that is what pulled him through this crisis. And again when Dad was hurt, it was through the 
power of the Priesthood that he lived. 

I think that I was my Mother's right-hand woman — she didn't feel good much of the 
time so I was second mother to my three little brothers, Leslie, Jerry, and Benny. I remember 
putting all three of them in a #3 galvanized wash tub to bathe them as we had no indoor 
plumbing at the time. I remember having piles of dirty dishes to wash; not only did I have to 
do the dishes, but had to carry the water and heat it on the old wood-burning cookstove. It 
wasn't until just before I got married that we finally got water piped into the house. 

We had good times there. There was lots to do in the summertime. We climbed the 
famous Woodruff Butte. The Little Colorado River ran just behind our house and we swam 
there, muddy or not. When we were lucky, we got to go up above the new dam where the 
water was much more clear. It was above where Silver Creek and Little Colorado River ran 
together (south of town). During a flood, the boys used to go up the new dam and float 
down the river on tubes. I wasn't brave enough to do that, although I wanted to. 

One day, some friends and I went swimming and stayed most of the day. We were 
so sunburned that we got very sick that night, running high temperatures. Mom was so 
worried, and just knew we were going to get polio. 

I guess Pve been married most of my life. I married at age 16, and thought I knew 
everything. However, I enjoyed my role as wife and mother. And I'm thankful that I lived 
close to my mother, as I didn't have her nearly as long as I would have liked. 

My first little girl, Beverly, was bora with Spina Bifida. She only lived for 3 weeks. 
I don't know what I would have done without my mother at that time. 

We have 4 more children, and Til tell a little bit about each one. 

Neil is married to Dayanne Hager. They have 4 beautiful children: Paul, 15; Burgess, 
13; Hannah, 7; and Nigel, 4. They live in Torrance, California. Neil is an electrician and has 
his California Contractor's license. 


My daughter, Dale, lives here in Mesa, and is married to Raymond (Ray) Parrott. 
They have 4 beautiful children: Todd, 18; Del, 15; Nicole, 12; and Chris, 10. Todd will 
graduate from high school this year and is preparing for his mission. Dale's husband, Ray, is 
a mechanic and has his own business. 

Sam lives here with me. He's never married. About 6 years ago, he had a spinal cord 
injury which has left him quite crippled up. The doctors said he would never walk again, but 
there again we saw the Priesthood in action. Not only does he walk, but he drives wherever 
he wishes to go. He has even had the beginnings of a herd of cattle in Woodruff that he 
would have to go and check on occasionally. 

Joe is my youngest, and is married to Caroline Allegretti, an Italian from New York. 
They have 3 beautiful children: Sandra, 10, Dillon, 9; and Samantha, 7. They live in 
Chandler, close enough that Tm privileged to see them and the children often. Joe is a dry 
wall taper and very good at it. He is working in commercial dry wall at this time. 

My two older children grew up in Woodruff. When Neil was 18 and Joe was 4, my 
husband, Del (we're not married now), was burned over 80% of his body. He was in the 
hospital 6V2 months and had 8 surgeries for skin grafting. They'd remove skin from parts of 
his body where it had grown back, and graft it on the parts of his body that had 3rd degree 

Our lives were never the same after that. When Del got better, we had to move to 
Phoenix. He went to school for air conditioning and refrigeration repair. After this 
schooling, we moved back to Woodruff and he got a job in his new trade. He was never 
happy with that and was determined to get a job driving truck, which is what he was doing 
when he was burned. He got a job with a railroad company that took him all over the western 
states and Canada. We had to move to California. In the meantime, Neil had fulfilled his 
dream of being a disc jockey, and moved to Grand Island, Nebraska. Dale got married and 
moved to Hawaii were Ray was in the service. Sam and Joe were still with us. We were all 
so scattered, I didn't think we'd ever be together again. 

We moved back to Mesa in 1973 and have been here since then. 

My life has not always been a bed of roses, but as I look back, I can see the hand of 
the Lord in my life. He has been by my side the whole time, except when he was carrying me. 
I have served in many church callings, which I feel is what brought me through many hard 
times. Going through a divorce was, I guess, the hardest thing I ever did. Without my 
Heavenly Father, I think I would have become a bitter old lady. 

Losing Dad in 1986 and Eva in 1991 has also been extremely hard. But I know they 
are okay and that Til see them again. 


Tm so thankful for my children and the good lives they live and for their testimonies. 
My grandchildren are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. They are all so perfect and 
I can't stand it when their parents have to correct them. Joe says, "This isn't the same woman 
that raised me." 

I'm thankful that I was privileged to come to earth when the Gospel is here in its 
fullness. I guess you could say, like Charles Dickens in Tale of Two Cities, "It's the best of 
times and it's the worst of times." 

I love being a member of this great GOODMAN FAMILY. 

Betty Hatch family. R to L, Back row: Dayanne, Neil, Todd, Paul, Ray. Second row: 
Caroline, Del, Christian, Samuel, Dale. Third row: Samantha, Betty, Hannah. Fourth row: 
Nicole, Sandra, Burgess, Joe. Front row: Dillon (Nigel not born at time of picture). 


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Neil and Dayanne 
Paul, Burgess, Nigel, Hannah 


Ray and Dale Parrott family. L to R, Back row: Todd, Ray, Del. Middle 

row: Dale, Nicole. Front, Christian 



Joe and Caroline, with Sandra 

L to R: Samantha, Dillon, Sandra 

- i. - 


Eva May Goodman Shumway 

(Taken from her Life History) 

I was born on May 8, 1936, the fourth child and second daughter of John and Lahoma 
Goodman. Times were hard for almost everyone at that time because it was nearing the end 
of the Great Depression. However, my parents felt quite fortunate that Daddy had a good 
job with the government which provided a house to live in, about $30 a month, and free 
medical care at the Indian hospital This explains why I was born on the Apache Reservation 
in White River in the Indian hospital. I was the first child to have brown eyes in our family, 
and Daddy would kid me that I was really an Indian baby. I knew I got them from my 
mother, though, as she had brown eyes and curly auburn hair. 

Some of my first recollections are of hard 
times and my parents still struggling. At the time 
I didn't realize how things were, as we always had 
warm clothes, plenty of food, and we felt secure. 
I wore one-piece underwear in the winter that 
buttoned down the front, and had a "barn-door" in 
back. The legs came about mid-thigh with little 
garters on them, and then I wore long, cotton, 
flesh-colored stockings. 

I recall moving to Show Low into a two- 
room cabin. This was to be a temporary home 
because a house was to be built when the land was 
paid for. The cabin had a leaky roo£ and I 
remember Dad on top putting tin on it in the midst 
of a snowstorm Betty said he fell off once 
because of the slippery snow and steepness of the 
roof Inside, one room had a ceiling and one 
didn't. The boys, Johnny and Glen, had beds up in 
the attic part. There was a ladder that went up the 

wall; it was great run to climb up there and sit. My brothers would sometimes jump from 
there to a bed below, and I suppose barely escaped injury a few times. I was never that 
brave — and when Mama found out, it all had to stop, anyway. 

I always had wonderful Christmases. Betty and I would get beautiful dolls. I really 
enjoyed mine and took it everywhere I went. But, sure as anything, Td lay it down and forget 
to bring in it, and the dew, or maybe a little rain, would cause her skin to peel off and she'd 
be ruined. It was a hard lesson. 

Eva, age 13 


One spring, when my mother and her mother took a little trip to Miami, Arizona, we 
were left in the care of Mom's half-brother, "Uncle Phil." He must have been just a boy 
himseh; but we thought he was really grown-up. The last day she was gone, Phil took Johnny 
out of school and made Betty take me with her to school so they could go fishing. He had 
fixed us lunches, and I remember sitting there in the classroom, being quite bored with it all 
and deciding to eat my lunch. That really embarrassed Betty and she let me know, later. 
Uncle Phil and Johnny met us coming home and said Mama was home. We were so happy. 
She always brought us a special gift when she went away — even after I was grown up and 
married. This time it was a ring. 

About Christmas time, Daddy got a job in Miami working in the copper plant. I guess 
the only time he had to move us was on Christmas Day. I was in great distress because we 
had no Christmas tree — nearly all our stuff was loaded on a big truck. All except our beds 
and a couch, and it was Christmas Eve. But when we woke up that Christmas morning, 
"Santa" had brought our toys anyway and put them all over and around the couch. 

Daddy had a nice house for us and we settled in on Hill Street. I was five years old 
then, but hadn't been to kindergarten because they didn't have it in Show Low. So, when 
school started back up, I started kindergarten. The first day Johnny, Glen, and Betty took me 
to school. All was well until they let kindergarten out earlier than the older children. I got 
lost on my way home. I remember crying and then figuring out that Td turned one street too 
son and finally made it home. I always knew my way after that. 

I don't know how long we lived there, but I can recall a lot more experiences because 
I was a little older. By then, we had two more boys — Leslie and Jerry. Mama was then 
expecting another baby, Number Seven. We had some neighbors next door who hadn't been 
able to have any children. Mr. and Mrs. Windsor told Mama and Daddy how they wanted 
that baby and that they (Mom and Dad) already had all they could care for. They offered 
Mama and Daddy a new car for Benny. Of course, they didn't even consider such a thing! 
Benny was a sweet and precious addition to our family. He was the "New Year Baby," and 
we got gifts and interviews. 

Times must have still been hard for my parents because I remember some men coming 
and taking our car away because Daddy couldn't pay for it. 

We moved to Woodruff; I don't recall just when, but I think in the summer. We lived 
there and Daddy stayed in Miami to work. I think this was the first time they ever seriously 
started buying a home. It wasn't much, but we loved WoodrufZ and found that although our 
circumstances were humble, they were about the same as everyone else's who lived there. 

When I was about six, I had been having trouble with my tonsils. We had medical 
insurance, but it was good only in Miami, so Daddy came and got me. He was living with 
Uncle Jess and Aunt Bess McNeil, and they made room for me and were very good to me. 



I stayed alone (I don't remember how many days) until Daddy could get the appointment set 
up. I really did enjoy my independence. I played their piano a lot and thoroughly enjoyed it. 
They had candy dishes sitting around, and I think I must have enjoyed that, too. Aunt Bess 
would put my lunch in the refrigerator. After I came home from the hospital, she put me in 
her own bed which was so soft and luxurious. 

When I was recovered, Daddy took me to Globe and put me on a bus for home, after 
having the solemn word of the bus driver that he'd take good care of me. I changed buses 
three times, and each driver would hand me over to the next one. The second bus was quite 
a frightening experience. The driver sat me right on the front seat near him, but then it started 
filling up, they were all Indians, Apaches, I guess. When the seats were all full, they started 
sitting on suitcases in the aisles. The driver and I were the only white people on the bus. As 
we rode along, a young man sitting on a suitcase in front of me started to doze, and he would 
lean closer and closer into my lap. I didn't know what to do. Pretty soon I felt a little tap on 
my shoulder, and I turned around. An old man with white hair and not many teeth was 
motioning for me to poke the young man. I waited till he really leaned again, and then gave 
him a poke. He turned around and gave me a dirty look; I turned around to see my old friend 
grinning his toothsome encouragement. Mama was in Holbrook waiting when the bus 

The first birthday party that I remember was in Woodruff when I was about seven. 
Mama gave out invitations to kids not only my age, but some younger and some older, too. 
It was a real big affair. There were even little carts with nuts and mints for them to take 
home. It was a really happy occasion. 

I must have attended first grade in Woodruff and then we moved to Miami, probably 
because of Daddy being away from the family so much. The house wasn't much to speak o£ 
three rooms and a large screen-in porch where we put several beds. This was a real 
experience because of all the bugs we encountered — the biggest centipedes I've seen, before 
or since. There were also scorpions and rattlesnakes, but the only mishaps were Glen and 
Jerry being stung by scorpions. Benny was a toddler at the time and he would wander around 
the yard playing. One day, someone saw him chasing a big centipede with a hammer, yelling, 
"Buggy! Buggy!" We had some chickens and always kept a pan of water under the faucet 
for them In the summer when it was hot, there would be Benny with just a diaper on, sitting 
in the chickens' water. 

Our house was on the side of a hill next to a wash. The wash (Pinto Creek) flooded 
several times and would come up to the edge of our house. One such flood took a pretty 
little garden that Daddy had raised. It was so pretty with a fence around it and flowers 
around the edge. We had just started getting a little food from this garden when the flood 
came. It was a bright spot to whoever passed by (they would comment on it). Daddy had 
supposedly brought the water for irrigation up-hill to this garden. He had a good knowledge 
of surveying and had used that skill to get the water from the stream below. 


We didn't have a car at the time, so when I turned eight years old, the family couldn't 
go when I was baptized. I don't even remember how my Dad and I got to the church (we 
must have ridden a bus), but we met the Bishop there, Daddy baptized me, and we came 

As I mentioned, we didn't have a car. There was a circus in town and we kids wanted 
to go so bad. It seemed like an impossible dream, but that afternoon Daddy came home with 
a car! It wasn't much, it didn't have a top and it had a rumble seat, but it took us to the 
circus! I can remember Daddy letting us buy lots of popcorn and candy that day. 

One day when we were on the school bus and it passed Daddy in that little jalopy, we 
saw Daddy's hat blow off and he had to stop and go back and get it. It made me really sad. 
The kids on the bus were laughing. 

Part of the time when we lived in Miami, we had to ride to school in a milk delivery 
van. We'd have to stop and wait while they made their deliveries. 

I remember being the object of charity sometimes in Miami because we had so many 
children. My school teacher, Mrs. Brown, was especially nice to me. She and her little 
daughter, Nancy, brought me a "May basket" filled with goodies. 

I had a friend who lived near the school, and since I got out earlier than the older kids, 
she talked me into going to her house to visit before my bus came. I guess we played too 
long, and when I frantically ran to catch my bus, I saw it heading down the road without me. 
We didn't have a phone or any way to contact my Mom Then I looked around and there 
were my brothers and sister. They'd seen that I wasn't on the bus and had gotten off to find 
me. I was so relieved to see them, and looking back LVe thought how responsible that was 
of them. We all walked home, stopping by the company store and charging to Daddy's 
account some potato chips and snacks for us to eat. 

At this time, World War II was going strong. We had a lot of things rationed. We 
had to have a ration stamp to buy certain things; all the country's resources were going to the 
war effort. We had stamps for shoes, sugar, and meat. My parents would sometimes trade 
our meat stamps for shoe stamps. We didn't eat much meat (couldn't afford it), and the kids 
needed shoes. We'd have to be careful with our shoes and make them last till the next stamps 
were issued. There were big rubber drives to collect all the rubber people could find. 
Toothpaste tubes were made of metal, maybe tin, and we'd collect them and donate them 
instead of throwing them away. 

At one point, my Dad got a call to join the Army, and he went to Phoenix to get his 
physical, etc. He was gone several days, maybe a week, and we were wondering what we 
would do without him Then, one day a bus pulled up, and Dad got of£ grinning and so 
happy. Td never sen him with that much of a growth of whiskers; I guess he hadn't shaved 

.. » 


since he'd been gone. We were all so happy to see him. He was deferred because of having 
so many children. 


We moved back to 
Woodruff after I finished third 
grade. We were all happy to be 
going back there. We always like it 
there because everyone else was in 
about the same humble 
circumstances we were. Daddy 
drove truck for Babbit's and later 
for Schuster's. One summer, I was 
invited to stay with Uncle Lloyd and 
Aunt Ruth who lived in Vernon. 
They had a daughter, Gloria, about 
my age, and boys, Dale and Kent, a 
little older. They were quite free to 
run around and do as they pleased, 
and I enjoyed this freedom They 
had one bike, so we'd take turns. 
Gloria and I would ride the distance 
of several telephone poles, park the 
bike, and walk. The boys would 
walk as far as the bike, and ride it so 
far, and leave it for us. We'd go to 
a pond called Bob's Lake, and swim, 
then ride the bike back home. While 
I was there, Uncle Lloyd decided to 
make at trip to Phoenix. I think that 
was the first time I stayed in a hotel. 
Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Ruth slept on 
a cot; Gloria and I slept at the head 
of the big bed and the boys slept at 

the foot. The next day, Uncle Lloyd gave us each a dollar, and we had big fun running loose 
in a big department store, and going up and down the elevator. Then, while walking down 
the sidewalk, we met Daddy and Betty. He decided I should go home with them, so I did. 
We rode in his truck (he'd come down for a load of stuff for Babbit's). When we got tired, 
he let us ride in the back and sleep on bags of wheat or something. It was enclosed and quite 
comfortable because we were so tired. 



During and immediately after the war, ration stamps were 
issued for scarce food items, shoes, tires, and gasoline. 

World War II ration stamps 

I don't remember where I was when Glen was shot. I just remember he went through 
several surgeries and we prayed for him a lot. I was allowed to go see him in the hospital 
(children weren't usually allowed). Mama told me to shake his hand and "say hello to your 


brother." I went out of that room and cried and cried. He had IVs sticking in him, and was 
so pale and skinny. He was really blessed, though, and although the bullet is still lodged near 
his spine, I don't think he suffers any bad effects. He was told he'd always have to eat a bland 
diet and strained food, but he doesn't. 

We lived with no indoor plumbing and no electricity for quite a while. I was about 
12 years old when the town got electricity. We had used kerosene lamps, and were now 
amazed that we could leave the door open and it wouldn't blow out the light. 

We still didn't have a bathroom when I got married. We had gotten water piped into 
the house, and appreciated not having to carry it from across the street. 

I finished the eighth grade in Woodruff. Among the graduates I remember Beth 
Shumway, Dillis DeWitt, Jerry Ison, Larry Amos, Venla Whipple (her father was our 
teacher), and me. My best friends were Beth Shumway and June Johnson (she moved to 
town the summer before high school). 

High school was a happy time. I was in Chorus and the Drum and Bugle Corps. I 
sang in girls' trios and quartets and solos for the music festivals at N.A.U. in Flagstaff 

Beth Shumway was always talking about when her older brothers and sisters were 
coming home. I guess Walter came around Christmas. He asked me to marry him (well, he 
said he'd take me home in his duffle bag). We were married June 2, 1952, in my parent's 
living room I was 16. 

Our first home was in Chicago. I was one homesick little girl. We lived there about 
four months, then transferred to San Bernardino, California. A couple of months after we got 
there, we found out we were going to have our first baby. Lynnette was born September 18, 
1953. When she was three or four months old, Walter was discharged from the Air Force. 
We came back to Arizona, where Walter looked for a job, and then re-enlisted. We were at 
Williams AFB for about five years. During that time we had two other children — Chuck was 
born January 15, 1955, and Jeriann on April 16, 1957. She was almost two when we went 
to the Arizona Temple and were sealed on January 23, 1959. The very next day Walter got 
orders to go to Iceland. He was there a year; so the kids and I stayed in Woodruff in a little 
trailer. When Walter got back, we all went to Panama. We were there three years, and Phil 
was bora there on March 1, 1961. 

A while after Phil was bom we got a call from the Red Cross that Mama was gravely 
ill. I was real upset and we were talking about it, and I started reassuring the kids that 
"Grandma will be all right." Then sweet little Lynnette, barely eight, said, "No, Mom, I think 
Heavenly Father wants her." I wasn't able to attend the funeral; Walter couldn't get time of£ 
and that was really hard. 



After our three years in Panama were up, 
we were sent to Denver. It was really an 
adjustment from tropical weather to Denver 

During our stay there, we had another little 
girl, Rebecca, born July 4, 1964. When Walter 
retired, we moved back to Mesa. 

I held various church jobs over the years, 
including Primary President in Woodruff while 
Walter was in Iceland, Junior Sunday School Co- 
ordinator in Panama, Primary Chorister and 
teacher in Denver. In Mesa, I was Relief Society 
President twice, and then spent almost seven years 
in the Stake Relief Society presidency. Then I 
worked in the Young women as advisor and 






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Walter and Eva Shumway, about 1988 

All of these church jobs have given me great happiness, and if I had any success in 
them (and I feel that I really did), it was because of much prayer and being greatly blessed. 

(End of Eva's writings) 

by Jeriann Shumway Keeling 

When Dad retired, they were finally able to set down roots. They grew to deeply love 
east Mesa and the people there. They bought a nice home located just off Bush Highway, 
now named Power Road. At the time, it was certainly considered the boonies, and we kids 
really had a wonderful time tromping through the desert, shooting cans and small critters with 
B.B guns, building a tree house in a Palo Verde, and setting up our own pet cemetery. We 
had our dog Mutsie (a member of the family) and numerous cats. Eventually, we even had 
a goat, and often rabbits and chickens. We also had a nice surprise when Sharon was born 
December 31, 1972, in Mesa. 

Dad and Mom and we kids loved to go camping and did so as often as possible until 
Mom passed away. One particularly wonderful memory-maker was when Dad consented to 
fly to California in 1985. All of us children went except Phil. Each family rented a car and 
simply lived it up. We went to Disneyland, Sea World, and Knott's Berry Farm What a 
priceless memory! 


In 1987, Mom began showing symptoms of a serious illness; she was later diagnosed 
with brain cancer and underwent surgery on May 5, 1988. She passed away on April 11, 
1991. Dad was the true hero during these three years. He was patient, kind, and sweet. 
Never wanting to burden anybody else with Mom's care, he took far better care of her than 
she could have received from any other source. 

Mom is loved and remembered not only by her childhood family, but also by her 
children, in-laws, her 18 grandchildren, and many friends. 

Walter and Eva's family, 1978. LtoR: Back row: Chuck, Barbara with Bonnie, Ren 
with Landon, Jeriann, Phil. Front row: Walter, Eva, Lynnette with Tina, Rick with John, 

Becky and Sharon in front of her. 


Leslie Jack Goodman 

(Written by Jerry Goodman) 

Leslie was the brother just older than I in the family. Leslie, Benny and I were the 
three youngest in a family of 7 children — 5 boys and 2 girls. Leslie had a very short life of 
a little over 20 years. Til try to write a few things I remember about Leslie as we were 
growing up. 

Leslie seemed to be a 
natural leader; he could get 
Benny and me to do just about 
anything he wanted us to do. 
As I remember, as a teen-ager, 
he was very popular and had 
many friends and plenty of girl 
friends, usually the pretty ones. 
Leslie liked to sing country 
music and liked to write songs. 
Some of the songs he wrote 
were words about people he 
knew set to music of popular 
country songs. He wrote funny 
words to these songs. WE all 
got a kick out of the lyrics he 
write, some a little risque, but 
funny none the less. Leslie, 
Benny, and I had a lot of fun 
growing up in Woodruff and 
running around. We actually 
didn't need anyone else with the 
three of us, but we still had a lot 
of friends. 



Leslie Jack Goodman 

Leslie was interested in 
heavy equipment and looked up 
to our older brother, Johnny, a 

lot because that's what he did for a living. Leslie worked quite a bit on heavy equipment after 
coming home from the service. He did a lot of work for a man named Phil McKinnin on 

One thing I remember about Leslie, that I envied, was that if he wanted to do 
something, he was not afraid to try it. This is one of the reasons as a young man he joined 


the paratroopers and was a member of the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg, NC. After 
coming home from the service, Leslie worked around home for awhile, then with his 
adventurous spirit, he decided he wanted to go to Corpus Christi, Texas, and work on the 
shrimp boats. What he made up his mind to do, he usually did. It was while Leslie was 
working in Corpus Christi that he was killed in an automobile accident. We all wonder with 
this spirit of not being afraid to try anything, what he could have accomplished given more 

Leslie was born June 12, 1939 in Show Low, and died August 13, 1959 in Corpus 
Christi, and was buried in Woodruff. 



Jerry Walter Goodman 

I'm the sixth of seven children born to John McNeil Goodman and Lahoma Lee 
Bennett Goodman. I was bom in Snowflake on October 20, 1940. During the Second World 
War, Dad worked in the mines in Miami. After the war was over, we moved to Woodruff 
because Dad thought it was a good place to raise his family and he could have a garden there. 

Growing up in Woodruff was wonderful for a boy. My brothers and I were like Tom 
Sawyer and Huck Finn, playing around the Little Colorado River which ran behind our place, 
and wandering the hills as free as a breeze. 

I was always interested in music so when I was about ten or twelve, I got a job with 
the man who lived next to us and had a chicken farm I worked for him for a while and sent 
off for a guitar. This had a great influence on my life and many of the things I have done. 

Woodruff only had an elementary school, so we had to ride the bus 12 miles to 
Holbrook to go to high school. In high school, I met some young men who played music, and 
we formed a little band. We played in high school. After graduation from high school, we 
all went to Flagstaff and started college where we continued our band, playing for dances on 
the weekends. We even had a radio show on Sunday afternoons on KDJI; we had quite the 
time and even cut a record. 

After our band broke up, I played with a couple of others in Flagstaff and after awhile 
one of the others guys in the band and I decided we'd have more opportunity in Phoenix, so 
we moved there and began playing. It was in Phoenix that I began seeing my future wife, 
Priscilla Montoya. Priscilla was from Holbrook and was in Phoenix going to business college. 
We had known each other in high school but had never dated there. We were married in 
Phoenix on March 28, 1963. Just after we were married, the band I was with went to Las 
Vegas to play fro a little while; Priscilla went with me, which was about the only honeymoon 


we had. For quite a few years after we were married, I continued to be a musician. We went 
on the road and moved around a lot. We went to Hawaii and lived there for about 7 months. 

I was on the road in Alaska when our first child was born. Priscilla had stayed behind 
in Holbrook to have the baby. Unfortunately the baby was stillborn. It grieved us very much 
to lose him. We named him Danial Lee after Priscilla's favorite cousin. Danial was born 
January 6, 1966 in Holbrook and was buried there. We went back to Flagstaff for awhile then 
moved to Las Vegas where we live now. Actually, we live in Henderson, right next to Las 
Vegas. We have done well here. I played on the strip for several years and Priscilla worked 
to help out. I went to the University of Nevada at Las Vegas where I graduated in 1973 and 
then taught music for several years in the local schools. I really didn't like teaching very 
much, so I quit that and went into gardening, or grounds maintenance around the hotels in 
Las Vegas, and finally for the city parks in Henderson. Priscilla worked for a time as a policy 
dispatcher, then moved to the police records department where she now works. 

Jerry and Priscilla holding Andre', Ron, Nikki, and Richard 

On September 4, 1968, our daughter Nicolette Marie (Nikki) was born and has given 
us two grandsons, Richard and Andre'. After having Nikki, Priscilla couldn't have any more 
children because of tubal pregnancies. In 1974, we adopted a boy who was about 8 months 
old. Ronald Hans (Ronnie) was born in Reno, Nevada on January 17, 1974. We were all 
sealed in the Arizona Temple. 


Benny Ray Goodman 

I was born January 2, 1943 at the hospital in Miami, Arizona, to John and Lahoma 
Goodman. I was the last of seven children. I was the first baby born in Miami that year, and 
was given many presents by the businesses in Globe and Miami, our pictures were in the 
newspaper and my parents were celebrities for awhile. 

We lived in Miami for a year longer then we moved to Woodruff where I was raised. 
I was baptized on January 2, 195 1 in the church at Joseph City. Most of my friends were 
baptized in the Little Colorado River whether it was winter or summer so I was glad I didn't 
have to. 


Benny and Peggy 
Wedding July 2, 1964 

In 1964 I married Peggy Ann Gardner. We 
built a house in Woodruff and have been there ever 
since. We have 8 children. 

Leslie John was born in Holbrook on March 
1, 1964. He is now living in Hawaii. Benny Alvin 
was bom in Holbrook on September 2, 1967. He is 
now married to Crystal Smith; they have one 
daughter and live in Clarkdale, Arizona. Cindy was 
bom in Holbrook April 1 1, 1970. She is married to 
Harry Goslin and lives in Chandler. Nancy was bom 
in Lakeside on July 17, 1972. She is married to 
Michael Moore. They have two children and live in 
Woodruff. Tom Ryan was bom in Lakeside on 
August 5, 1975. He is now on a mission in 
Pennsylvania. Our last three girls are still living at 
home. They are: Conny, bom in Lakeside on June 
17, 1978; Tammy, bom December 18, 1979; and 
Patty, bom August 15, 1981. 

i - 


Benny and Peggy 's family. L to R, Back row: Harry Goslin, Tom, 

Benny, Leslie, Mike Moore, Arvin. Middle Row: Cindy, Peggy, 

Nancy, Crystal (Smith). Front row: Patty, Conny, Tammy 



Benny and Peggy Goodman, 1990 


Chapter 13 
Lloyd Everette Goodman 

As the Goodman family was shifting its operations base from the White Mountain 
Apache Reservation to the Clay Springs area, Grandpa homesteaded several miles from those 
clay springs and set up a couple of wall tents for the family on the property. Here, Dad was 
bom on September 26, 191 1. Arizona was still a territory — statehood would not come until 
the following February. Dad joined a family of five brothers and one sister. Frances was 15 
when he was born. Another brother, Ray, had been bom and had died just a year previous, 
so it's easy to imagine how pampered and spoiled this new baby brother might have become. 
He was blessed on June 30, 1912, in the Pinedale Ward, Snowflake Stake, by Lewis Decker. 
Church activities at that time were in Pinedale, about 8 miles away from Clay Springs. The 
family was not always able to attend during the winter months. 

Dad was raised on the homestead under the tutelage of his five active, creative 
brothers. He undoubtedly had to help around the house, as well as in the garden and on the 
ranch. He always had an active interest in pets and animals. Learning to ride a horse would 
have been a mandatory early endeavor for him 

Dad was baptized on June 23, 1922 in the Clay Springs Ward by William A. Hunt, and 
also confirmed by him the same day. 

He attended school first in Walker, then Woodrow, then Linden, and finally in 
Vernon. During the 9th grade, he stayed with Dan and Sarah Mills, his aunt, and attended 
school in Show Low. Their son, Gilbur (Gib), and Dad were just a year apart, and were 
called "the cousin twins." They were very much alike in their love of a good time and 

His cousin, Rosalie Dakon, sat in front of him in the school house at Walker. He took 
delight in dipping her braids in the ink well on his desk. 

One of his favorite friends while on the homestead was J. T. Smith. They spent many 
hours together riding their horses and swiniming in the stock tanks. One day he was having 
a meal with the Smith family. The mother and older sister had moved to Snowflake so the 
daughter could attend school. A younger daughter was cooking breakfast. Jack Smith, 
J.T.'s father, took one bite of a bullet-hard biscuit, and warned the boys that they hadn't better 
go swimming after eating many of the biscuits, or they'd sure as hell sink to the bottom of the 
tank. (Biscuits were known ever after in our family as "sinkers") After the family moved 
to Vernon, the boys didn't see much of each other; it was simply too difficult to travel in those 



days to just go visiting. J.T. was later drafted into the Army during World War n, and was 
killed in Italy. ' 

Dad was about 13 years old when the family moved to the Wolf Mountain sawmill. 
He spent the next 20 or so years of his life working at the mill with his dad and brothers, and 
eventually, his sons. 

However, that was a long way off Rosalie Dalton remembers that she and Fern and 
Dad played together when Aunt Lillias's family visited the sawmill. Fern was exactly one 
year younger than Rosalie; in fact, she was bom on Rosalie's first birthday. These three loved 
to play together on the sawdust pile, as would the following generation. Rosalie moved to 
California with her family when Dad was 16, and they never saw each other after that, but she 
and Gib were the cousins he most frequently talked about. 

The family was active in the Vernon Ward, and Dad was ordained a deacon on 
January 18, 1926, by Henry L. Marble. 

As stated earlier in this history, the four youngest kids started to school in Vernon. 
Dad must have graduated from 8th grade in Vernon. And, as mentioned earlier, Dad spent 
a school year in Show Low Irving with Uncle Dan and Aunt Sarah Mills. According to Gib, 
they had a good time. 

Lloyd and I went to the 9th grade together. We played forward on the 
basketball team together. We played Lakeside, Taylor, and McNary — towns close 
enough to get to. 

Lloyd was a good dancer and went to the dances every Saturday night at the 
church house. And up to Lakeside, too. They had dances in the school house up 
there. My Dad had an old 1927 Whippit, a sedan. It wasn't too fancy, but it got the 
job done. 

During the winter we went hunting, and it was not always for animals. One 
night Neola and her cousins were having a candy pull up to Jennie Stocks' s. Lloyd 
and I met Fats Whipple and he told us about the party, so we went up there. The girls 
had just put the candy up in the cupboard to cool. Lloyd went in and took it out of 
the cupboard and handed it to Fats, Fats handed it to me, and I handed it out the door 
to Lloyd, and Lloyd ran with it. They had made taffy and fudge. Joe Stocks hit me 
right in the ear with a rotten potato as I went out the door. 

Another time some kids were west of the school house having a chicken roast. 
We heard them say, "Well, it's just about done," so me and Lloyd hollered, "There are 
those little devils that stole our chickens." They scattered in all directions, and we 
enjoyed a feast. 

'Recorded in the minutes of Clay Springs Ward (FHL Film #0,002,337). He died on 
October 22, 1944, at age 28; his death was not reported until February 3. 1945. 

I - 

These boys also tried to figure out ways to get what they wanted. 

That Thanksgiving, Mom made a bunch of pumpkin pies. She sat them on the 
table and told us she didnt want to see a pie cut when she got up in the morning. So 
after we came in that night, Lloyd and I each ate a whole pie. Didn't cut 'em at all. 

They also tried to figure out ways to make some money. 

One time when the community was having a dance in the cook shack at 
Standard (south of Pinedale), Lloyd and I went up around Uncle Ben's (McNeil) and 
found his gallon of whiskey. We got some pint bottles and poured the whiskey in 
pints and sold it. Then we'd watch where the guys hid it and then we'd get it and sell 
it again. I think we sold a pint for $3.50. These guys were so far gone, they didn't 
know where they had hid it, anyway. 

Gib told how much he loved to be at the sawmill with Dad. 

When Lloyd and I were still just kids, it rained every day for about three 
weeks at the sawmill and we were bored. We guys got together and counted our 
money. We had a little over two dollars. So we got in a crap game, and I won it all. 
Lloyd wanted to keep playing, so asked me to loan him a quarter, but I told him I 
didn't loan money to gamblers. After it quit raining a little bit, we went to Vernon in 
Uncle Bill's touring car to spend it. Seems like we bought some candy bars and salty 

Another day we were down in the sawdust, and Aunt Hannah came down 
there and said, "Lloyd and Gib, have you been in those peaches and raisins again?" 
We said, "No, it was Fern." Then we had a spanking for lying, but not very hard. 

Wild horses were called "broomies." When people used to hunt broomies, 
they tried to just paralyze them, not kill them, of course. It was called "creasing." 
When we were about 15, 1 was visiting Lloyd that summer, and we decided we were 
going to get us some horses up on Wishbone Mountain. We saw some down a little 
off the mountain there, and Lloyd said, "If you'll shoot him, I'll tie him down." I hit 
him just right the first time, because he went down and didn't even hardly kick. But 
the horse got up and ran before Lloyd could tie him up. We decided to try it again, 
but this time, the dang horse died. We never did get one. 

We liked to go hunting up at Porter Springs about ten o'clock at night, and we 
could hear those old turkeys in the trees. One time we found a tree with turkeys in 
it, but it was too dark to shoot, so Lloyd told me to put the gun barrel under my hat 
band and when I saw a turkey, to pull the trigger. With the hat hanging on the end 
of the barrel, it was easier to sight. 

Lloyd could sure call turkeys. We went out one morning just below the mill 
and saw a flock of turkeys down there. I called them and they didn't come, and he 



said, "Gib, you lack that feminine touch." So he took the turkey caller and started to 
blow; that old gobbler lost all caution and walked right up to us. 

After that year when he stayed with us in Show Low, Lloyd went to school 
one winter in St. Johns going to high school. He usually rode the bus, but 
occasionally stayed with Ren Crosby's family. Ren was a friend of his. Lloyd learned 
to make com beer down there. We made it a time or two after that. Remember, this 
was during prohibition. Old Man Stewart was the supplier of the moonshine in 

Dad was usually competent around machinery, but Cecil Naegle related the following 
incident involving Dad: 

When Lloyd got his first car — an old rattletrap of some kind — he drove up 
past the ranch and no one was there. But in a shed was an oil drum filled with 
molasses that we used to mix with poison bait for grasshoppers. Lloyd stuck his 
finger in there and pulled it out and thought it was oil. So he drained the rearend of 
his car and filled it up with molasses. After he drove it a day or two, it all froze up 
on him. He was just a kid then, and it was his first car. 

Gib recalled that two of Dad's early romantic interests in the Vernon area were Julia 
Whiting and Toots Gillespie. Soon, however, he only had eyes for one of the Rothlisberger 
girls. Dad courted Ruth, and Uncle Arvin courted Aunt Bert. 


At the time Dad and Mom were married, he owned an Indian motorcycle. In an effort 
to get Mom out of the house, he gave Grandma Rothlisberger a ride on his motorcycle to visit 
Aunt Chloe Rothlisberger at their ranch about 5 miles west of Vernon. While they were gone. 
Mom packed her suitcase and was ready to "run away" to get married when Dad returned. 
They were married in Gallup, New Mexico, on July 1 1, 1932. Dad was 20 and Mom 15. 
Uncle Afvin and Aunt Bert were married a week later. 

Times and conditions were not always easy. This, of course, was in the middle of the 
Great Depression. Dale tells about the time we went to a movie at White River and had seven 
flats on the way. 

Dad was ordained an Elder on October 23, 1932, by L. R Gibbons. They were then 
sealed in the Mesa Temple on October 27, 1932. 

He continued to work at the sawmill with his dad and brothers. Dale, Kent, Gloria, 
and Grant were born during this time. 

I asked Uncle Leone Gillespie (married to Mom's sister, Nellie) about Dad's 
resourcefulness and he told this incident: 



After Lloyd and Ruth moved from the sawmill to Vernon, we were all in the 
church house, and Lloyd got the Relief Society ice cream freezer — that 5 -gallon 
one — and cut the handle off. This was when electrical power was coming in. He 
took a drill and put it on the "dash" and set in on low gear. Hey, we could freeze ice 
cream faster than we could eat it. 

He also said Dad was a creative writer: 

Lloyd was realty creative. He wrote nonsense verses to a song about almost 
everyone in Vernon. These are the only two verses I can remember right now: 

John Dutch, he got stuck; 
He was full of gin. 
He put his shoulder to the wheel, 
And pushed it out again. 

Vionne Riggs had a wristwatch. 
She swallowed it one day. 
And now she's taking castor oil 
To pass the time away. 

Aunt Nell and Uncle Leone remember many good times with Dad and Mom playing cards and 
making fudge. He also remembers Dad frying cured pork while Mom made baking powder 
biscuits and milk gravy. Never a better meal in the whole world, according to him. 

As the improved roads across Arizona were beginning to be paved, Dad and several 
of his brothers periodically worked on road construction jobs. A lot of our childhood 
memories are from that nomadic life. Grant refers to those gypsy days as "sand in our shoes" 
days. Tm sure that life was harder on Mom than it was on us kids. 

After Grandpa Goodman "retired," Dad and Gib decided to go into the sawmilling 
business together. Gib wrote that he and Dad went to the First National Bank in Holbrook 
and borrowed enough money to buy a truck, and leased the mill. He said: 

While we were leasing the mill Lloyd and I had a contract with the Phelps- 
Dodge Company down to San Manuel to cut mining timbers, and that's why we were 
exempt from going to the Army during World War II. Mining copper was more 
important to the war effort than being soldiers. I took a load in one day and they told 
me to bring another load the next day, but I said I couldn't because I didn't have any 
more gasoline. (Gasoline was rationed at that time.) So the man said, "Wait until I 
call Phoenix." He called down there and told someone to send some gas stamps. We 
got a book of gas stamps about an inch thick. He came out with tire certificates, too. 
Then he gave us an OPA number (Office of Price Administration) so we could buy 



parts for the sawmill and the truck; then we had everything we needed. I did the 
trucking and Lloyd ran the mill I hauled the lumber for a long while. I just had a flat 
bed truck, and loaded it by hand. 

Yvonne, Gib's daughter, remembers spending the summer of 1943 living at the 
sawmill, and that their lighting after dark was with candles and kerosene lamps. Eating 
watercress at the pond was a favorite activity. Her memory is that Gib hauled lumber during 
1943, 44, and 45. 


Uncle Don told Dale that after Aunt Fern and Aunt Beulah were married, Grandpa 
and Grandma used the little room on the southwest corner of the Main house (the "sawdust" 
room) as an ice room to keep meat and produce cold. However, when Grandpa and Grandma 
were tired of the hassle of the mill and the dining room, they moved into the little house east 
and a little south of the Main house. (They later moved down to Vernon.) Dad and Mom 
moved into the Main house, cleaned out the sawdust room, and made it into a boy's bedroom. 
Dad then built the ice house on the rocks just north of the little spring. 

Gib related that one day Dad had to go down to the meadow to look for the cows, 
so asked Gib to take care of something on the mill while he was gone. He was back in a 
minute, asking for the rifle. Down with the cows was an elk, so they had meat to eat that 

After Dad's family moved into the main house, several of the brothers and sisters were 
still around with their families, and one night about 15 or so kids were gathered around as 
Mom conducted family prayer. We don't remember who was praying that night, but during 
the prayer, Kent let one rip. That shortened the prayer considerably. In the same breath as 
he said "Amen," Donnie asked the question we all wanted to ask, "Who let that peanut butter 

After Grandma sold the mill to Joe Adams and Lloyd Rhoton, Dad continued to run 
it at its original location at the foot of Wolf Mountain. Within a short time, however, it was 
determined by the new owners that getting the cut lumber out of the mountains was too 
difficult, especially in bad weather. The mill was moved one mile north of Vernon to 
Highway 60, across the road from the Cross Roads Station. Dad was hired to move the 
equipment and run the operation from that site. 

Garry was bom on January 19, 1947; we were living in Heber at the time, where Dad 
had been hired to set up and operate a mill north of Heber. Dale was 13, Kent 12, Gloria 10, 
and Grant 7. Garry was the first of the "second" family. 

Dad had been ordained a Seventy on September 9, 1945, at age 33, at which time he 
was called to serve as a Stake Missionary in the St. Johns Stake. And then about three years 
later, he was called to serve in the New England States Mission, and was set apart on 

— * - - 


February 2, 1949 by Antoine R. Ivins. This left Mom home with five children — Dale 15, Kent 
14, Gloria 12, Grant 9, and Garry 2. 

Dale recalls that we all went to Holbrook 
to see Dad off on the train. We stopped 
somewhere around the Petrified Forest and had 
one last picnic; we seemed to be stalling for 

Dad labored in and around Brattleboro, 
Vermont, one of the places where an ancestor, 
Timothy Church, is buried. One of our jobs was 
to clean the Vernon Church house. It didn't 
seem a chore, because Mom would make fudge 
and clean the kitchen while we kids cleaned the 
rest of the building. What fun to "skate" and 
slide around on the hardwood floor in an attempt 
to polish it. However, it was difficult for Mom 
to cope financially and emotionally without 
Dad's help, and he was released on April 7. It 
was about this time the Church stopped sending 
married men on missions. 

Before Dad left, he sold the big car and 
bought a little Chevy coupe. Incidentally, 
anytime there was an argument over the merits 

of Fords vs. Chevys, in Dad's mind, Chevys won hands down. On his way home from the 
mission field, Dad stopped in Detroit and bought the two-toned green Oldsmobile (which 
Kent later wrecked). The Chevy coupe was given to Dale and Kent to drive, but the local 
gendarmes hassled them about being too young to drive, so it was sold to Ted Penrod. 

After returning from his mission, Dad bought a couple of caterpillar tractors and went 
into building stock tanks, etc. for the Bureau of Indian Affairs on many of the reservations 
in Arizona. The older kids stayed in Vernon during the week to go to school, and Dad and 
Mom bought a trailer house and headed for one of several reservations. During the summers, 
we were all out on the "ressie." 

Lloyd in Brattleboro, Vermont 

Dad was proud of his children. With pride, he painted "Lloyd E. Goodman & Sons" 
on all his equipment. He also took great pride in his work. It was a delight to watch as he 
smoothed out the surface of a dam With the blade on the "cat" raised, he would crawl up 
the face of the dam Then, with the blade lowered as he backed down, he would smooth out 
all tracks and other marks, leaving a beautiful smooth structure. Watching him taught us kids 
to be aware of those small, but important, finishing touches. 





Lloyd on his cat on one of the Arizona reservations 

In the meantime, it should be stated 
that Mom and Dad had the first four kids, 
waited 8 years, then had 5 more. After 
Garry came Rita, born January 13, 1950; 
Randy, born October 25, 1951; Rhonda, 
born December 19, 1952; and Tevis, born 
August 17, 1956. Since Dad didn't bless 
Tevis, Mom had her way and named him 
Tevis Everette. 




Garry and Rita in our home away from home 

Dad finally moved all of us to Mesa. 
We rented a house for the first year and 
then bought the house at 145 North Fraser 
Drive. I attended Mesa High School my 
Junior and Senior years; Grant would have 
been junior high and high school age. 
Sometimes Mom went with Dad during the 
week and left us kids home alone, and 
sometimes she stayed home. As the younger family reached school age, Mom couldn't go 
with Dad so often. Occasionally Grandma Goodman would be staying with us. I graduated 
from high school in June 1954, and stayed home with the kids for the following year. Alyn 
and I were married in June 1955, and that took Mom's babysitter. She told me that was a 
hard time for her; she had assumed Td always be around to help her. 



Dad never wanted to grow old (he had a hard time forgiving Kent and Chon for 
making him a grandfather so early in Hfe); he began to dye his hair when it began graying. He 
didn't have to grow old; he died at age 49, just a month or so shy of his 50th birthday. At 
the time of his death, the oldest four children were married — Kent married Charlene (Chon) 
Burk, Dale married Norma Lee Haddock, Gloria married Alyn Andrus, and Grant married 
Gayle Richmond (and suffered the usual "Grant took Richmond" jokes). This left Mom with 
the five younger children to raise. 

The family was living in Springerville during the summer of 1961, and Dad was 
running a backhoe for Bryant Whiting on one of his projects. When he got home from work 
on August 16, he told Mom his left arm and shoulder ached. When the pain increased, Mom 
called the doctor, who came and gave Dad a shot. He died within just a few minutes. The 
official cause of death was a heart attack. No autopsy was performed, so it isn't known for 
sure if he died from a lingering blood clot from an earlier hand injury, or from an actual heart 
attack caused by clogged arteries or some other such condition. At the time of Grandma 
Goodman's death in January of 1960, Dad was undergoing physical therapy on one of his 
hands. This hand had been crushed while he was working on a pipeline near Winslow. How- 
ever, we also know that Dad loved salt and he loved fats. A thick slice of ham with the fat 
still attached and fried crisp was one of his favorite meats. We've all watched him fry ham or 
steak or bacon and eggs and then dip a piece of bread in the remaining grease in the frypan, 
and eat that with relish. 

His funeral was held in Vernon; two of the speakers invited by the family to talk were 
Milo Wiltbank and Bryant Whiting — long-time friends. Here is an excerpt from Milo's talk: 

Most of all I knew and cared for the love and friendship of Lloyd Goodman. 1 
admired his quick wit, his love of people and places, and I know how he loved this 
little place and how he loved this country and the people who lived herein. So again, 
a little poem, "Let This be Heaven." 

Let this be heaven, these pine-clad hills, the valleys that I knew, 

The mountain peaks sun-lit, the lakes all sparkling blue. 

Let this be heaven, though it be harsh oft times, I know and love this land, 

A more abundant place I could never understand. 

Let this be heaven, and then, O, Lord, I know that I can rest at ease 

On this little plot I own where I planted grass and trees. 

Let this be heaven, when this life is ended, when my day is past and through. 

Let the angels be just people — these friends I loved and knew. 

I admired his appreciation for beauty, for he was a man who loved beauty. I admired 
his ability with words. Last night I sat down and read again the little tribute that he 
had written for his mother. I was glad I was alone so's I could weep unashamed. I 
thought of reading it here today, and then I thought no I mustn't, because I knew if 



I did, I couldn't finish because I'd have to stop and cry. But, let me tell you, it was a 
masterpiece of wording and thought, something that I'm sure his family will treasure 
throughout their lives. I admired his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and its 
tmthfulness, because he did have a testimony of the gospel which he knew to be true. 
I admired his willingness and his ability to work. For of all things Lloyd was, he was 
a worker. 

These children of Lloyd's and Ruth's are here as a lasting tribute to this goodly man. 
I wonder if they realize that they are the only worthwhile thing that Lloyd has left. 
I wonder if they realize that only by their acts can they repay him for the years of toil 
that he has spent in their behalf. I know that Lloyd knew that the kind of work that 
he was carrying on — riding rough equipment throughout his life — was shortening it. 
But it was the only way that he knew how to make a living for these children. And 
he didn't mind the fact that it might shorten his life, as long as he could provide for 
them and their mother. 

Bryant, too, remembered Dad's abilities and skills: 

I can't remember when I knew him first, but I know when I saw him last. It was day 
before yesterday, or the day before that. He was running a big machine. He operated 
it on a job that we have going in Springerville. As IVe gone around the job, I couldn't 
help but admire his artistry, because on a trench that was anywhere from 6 to 9 feet 
deep and maybe 1500 feet long, I couldn't help but think that it looked like you could 
have cut it with a butter knife — it was so perfect and straight. He had skill to know 
how to tell from the sound and the touch how to handle them 

Here's another thought, and I think it fits this case very well. 

Let me die working; still tackling plans unfinished, tasks undone. Clean be its end, 
swift my race be run. No laggard steps, no faltering, no shirking. Let me die 

I think Lloyd came as near having that wish as any man I know. Had he lived another 
7 or 8 hours, he'd have been back on the big machine that he controlled so easily. He 
could handle it just like a woman would handle the curling iron in her hair — with a 
light touch, and yet accomplish the thing that he wanted to do. 

Milo mentioned in the life sketch that Dad was concerned about providing for us kids. 

Mom mentioned that it was as though he sensed that summer something might happen — all 

the school clothes had been purchased, the younger kids had all had their eyes examined, 

anything that needed to be done to get ready for school had been done early at Dad's 




Dad (and others) continued to provide for the family through Social Security benefits; 
Mom and the kids under 18 years of age received monthly checks from Social Security to help 
care for them until they reached age 18. Mom also worked at various and sundry jobs until 
she was able to get on at the Post office. 

Like Grandpa Goodman, lots of people owed Dad money. He was always quick to 
advance money to his own employees when they were in need; occasionally, it was an 
outright gift, since they might not have had money coming. If each of them had come 
forward to help Mom at that time, she would have had an easier time with finances. 

Uncle Paul, Mom's brother, helped her move the trailer house to St. Johns, where it 
was set up in his own trailer park. He also helped her add a Irving room and bedroom onto 
it, making a very liveable home. He and Aunt Theedie will surely be blessed for their loving 
care and assistance to Mom and the little kids — Garry, 14; Rita, 11; Randy, 10; Rhonda, 8; 
and Tevis had his 5th birthday the day after Dad died. 

Mom didn't have an easy time raising these kids without Dad. Tevis contracted 
Perthes Disease in one of his legs, and Rhonda died of leukemia. Mom married Al Rencher, 
but they later divorced. When Rita married David Garner and was living in Ashton, Idaho, 
we all decided to look around our wards and identify the most eligible widower there. Rita 
won, so Mom moved to Ashton where Rita would introduce her to" Brother" Stohl. It 
worked, and Mom and Floyd were married and had ten or so good years together, including 
a mission to White Horse, Yukon Territory, Canada, before Floyd was killed in an auto 
accident. Tevis died in California in June of 1988, and Mom died of a heart attack in 
Rexburg, Idaho two months later on August 26, 1988. 

A Tribute to Dad and Mom 
by Dale Goodman 

My patriarchal blessing, given me by A. Gordon Kimball, states that, like Nephi of 
Old, I was born of goodly parents. 

Td like to say right off that when we kids got out of line we could expect retaliation 
equal to the joy of the crime. For every action there was an opposite and equal reaction. 
However, when the storm was over, the sun came out and it was never mentioned again. Dad 
and Mom loved each other and their children, and we felt it in our whole being. We were 
simply comfortable and contented with life. We must — like Alvena said — have been 
abnormal, also. 

Like most everyone else around, we hadn't a lot of money, but it certainly wasn't for 
lack of trying. Dad had something going most every day of his life, as he was a hard worker. 



a smart worker, and so independent. He hardly ever worked for anyone else, and if he did, 
he tried to make it in the capacity of a subcontractor. 

As you drive around the country you won't see any monuments to Dad. People, as 
they drive down a nice section of highway, don't say Lloyd E. Goodman built this or that 
road. Little Navajos, Hopis, or Papagos, as they drive their sheep and cows to water at this 
reservoir or that, or to a charco with a dike 10 feet high and a mile long, won't credit the 
tender man who didn't just build the structure, but spent time making it look nice, too. Nor 
do fishermen leap at the chance to praise him for a job well done in raising the water level at 
Big Lake. 

I do remember a "commendation" from the 
Fish and Game Commission, on the job of raising the 
dam at Big Lake another 8 feet, for a job well done. 
The Indians at the Bureau of Indian Affairs would 
always tell him how great the job was, as he finished 
each one. Interestingly, when the Little (a term of 
endearment) Indian inspectors would initially meet 
with Dad on a job, they'd be so stern and solemn; by 
the time the session was over, Dad, as he walked 
through the structure lay-out with them, with a grin 
here or a joke there, would have them all laughing 
and slapping each other on the back and having a 
great time. He had an amazing ability to set people 
at ease, he loved people and in very little time after 
meeting him, they knew it. So when the job was 
over and we were getting ready to move to a new 
district or we were moving south to the Papago 
Reservation at the end of the summer, I never knew 
whether the Inspectors would tell him he'd done a 
great job because he did, or simply because he liked 
them very much and they liked him a lot in return. 
Anyway, there are no monuments for Lloyd Everette Goodman, physical ones, anyway. I 
guess his family is his monument, and we stand with our arms around him. 

Lloyd doing what he liked 

doing best 

One time Dad built and ran a sawmill for someone out north of Heber, pretty close 
to Chevelon Canyon. This one evening he asked me to drive home. I confess I was not a 
very good driver. I did all right the two or three miles out to the Winslow-Heber highway, 
but when we hit the main road, I thought I had to drive as fast as everyone else, so away we 
went up one hill and down the other, dust just boiling. When we came to Wildcat Canyon I 
hardly slacked off at all, down and around and across the bridge we went, and up and out the 
other side and on home. Dad did not say one word to me, though he must have been hanging 
on for dear life; my tender heart has ever appreciated that. 


Speaking of tender hearts, Dad's was as tender as they come. A sad story or movie 
would have tears running down all our cheeks in no time at all. And a sad story, too, would 
most always get help in one form or another for people in distress. He surely took after 
Grandpa Goodman. Whether it was helping someone with a little "cat" work or unhooking 
our generator from our house system and whisking it up to the little white church in Vernon 
to keep the every-Wednesday-night movie going, or giving someone a hand with some 
lumber, he was a good neighbor. 

I could tell of some stormy times in his life, but no, like his cousin Gib Mills said, 
"Lloyd liked to be happy," and he liked others to have fun and enjoy life, too. 

I don't know if Mom and Dad planned these things before-hand as they lay in bed 
before drifting off to sleep or not; I surely don't know. All I do know is, seemingly out of the 
blue, he'd say, "Let's go to the coast," "Let's go to the Valley." Or off we'd go to the Grand 
Canyon. Once he said, "Let's go to the coast," and by first light we were loaded up and 
headed for San Diego. It didn't matter that Gwennie or Wayne, or Sonny was staying with 
us, and this time it was Afvena. We all piled in and away we went. For some reason I don't 
remember being miserable on that trip (there were other times when we were miserable 
crossing the desert as there was no air conditioning in those days). We did have two water 
bags hanging from the front of our car — as did everyone else. We also had a big bag of 
oranges among other things the folks had bought when we passed through Phoenix. When 
we reached the California state line, the agricultural officer at the Inspection Station was 
going to take them away from us. I can't remember if it was Dad or Mom who asked, 
"Would it be all right if we ate them?" When he looked at us and looked at that big bag and 
said, "Yeah, sure," we knew he wanted to see that. So we pulled over to the side out of the 
way and set to. After about the fifth orange apiece, we got the bag down to where we could 
handle it. 

The first day at San Diego, we took in the zoo. It was the first time we kids had ever 
seen the elephants, tigers, and bears or the long-necked giraffe. Emily Michner had a Polar 
Bear hide in the great hall up at Timberline, her guest ranch, that I loved to sleep on, using 
its open-mouthed head as a pillow, but here were the real things. Tm not sure, but it was 
probably Mom's and Dad's first time seeing them also. We had a wonderful time. The next 
day was spent at the foul-smelling ocean. I was used to the forest's clean smell. ( Norma Lee 
said I should mention that I love the good clean smell of bams and corrals, too, if that's 
indicative of my preferences of smelL) Anyhow, after an all-day swim in the Levis (no swim 
suits) the folks had just bought us, Arvena and Gloria left theirs draped on the steam heaters 
overnight to dry. In the morning, they were toasty warm, so toasty in fact there wasn't much 
left to them I think between them, they had two legs worth of Levis to wear as we made our 
way home to Arizona. 

One time Dad said (and I'm sure he and Mom talked of this before-hand, but if they 
did, I missed it), "Let's move to Oregon. There's a lot of work up there," and in no time at 



all we were loaded and gone. We went straight out to California, first to Los Angeles, then 
up the coast to Bakersfield, San Francisco, then up through the Sacramento Valley. I'm not 
sure where we stayed this one night, but as the sun came up, Dad said "Look at that," and 
there, fronted by fields of Shasta Daisies and some low rolling hills and bathed in the quiet of 
early morning sun was Mount Shasta. Mount Shasta with all its snow-capped glory. I 
thought that was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I could tell by Dad's voice, he 
thought so, too. Then on into Oregon. Wow, it was so beautiful! We were all mesmerized 
by the sights and great country. "Look at this," and "look at that." I'm telling you, it was 
great. Dad drove us into Oregon on one side and out on the other and right straight back 
home. When we arrived and drove across the top of Hoover Dam, Dad said, "Boy, it's good 
to be back in Arizona!" We all laughed as he stopped the car and, according to Kent, jumped 
out and kissed the good Arizona ground. When we pulled up into our yard in Vernon, Mom 
and Dad said, "It's sure good to be back home!" and we all laughed hysterically. It sure was, 
and we had been gone for all of a week and a half. 

Dad would holler at us, "If you'll catch some grasshoppers, we'll have grasshopper 
pie." Translated that meant, "Let's go fishing." Now that was one of the great joys of 
life — to be on a stream with him, and him pointing out neat little places where fish feed, "over 
there under that cool grassy bank," "down in the shade of that fallen log," or "down under 
that white water." Then to see him cast his line out and let it float down and around a big 
rock and "wham" his line would jerk and his pole bend double. He'd get so excited, his face 
would light up and his eyes would simply sparkle, and we, as Mom sat on a blanket off a ways 
in the shade crocheting, and us looking for designs in the Ponderosa bark or chewing its gum, 
would be laughing and wowing, as excited as he. Then, as happy as a bunch of cub bears, 
we'd all wrestle that little fish down and get him off the hook, and Dad would go back to 

I loved to walk along the river with him or with him and the rest of the family. The 
grass swishing, the laughter, the robins singing off in the quakies and fir trees, lazy clouds 
floating overhead. Walking a log across the river or simply wading hip-deep through it. Or 
maybe Kent and I hip-deep in snow as we hunted with him along the north side of Wol£ 
Butler or Ecks Mountains. Dang, Td love to be walking along Paradise Creek fishing with 
him right now; I sure do miss him and Mom. 

I could tell a few more stories, maybe, to show how he loved all his family, and how 
we loved him in return. To me, he had a wonderful, mystical personality, and I enjoyed being 
around him 

To know how much he loved his Heavenly Father, you'd have to follow in his 
footsteps and watch as he spoke of Him to listen as he prayed to Him, to watch how he 
treated his fellowmen; to judge him you would have to, as with any other man, look at his 
life as a whole. With the love and tenderness of our hearts and minds as an aura for him and 
Mom to walk in, we, their family will move forward with them, and our family will be forever 



enduring. And they surely have some great little spirits to journey at their sides, in their ever- 
expanding family. 

Once again, I was born of goodly parents. 

A Tribute to My Parents 
by Kent Goodman 

I had a wonderful time growing up. Most of this was made possible by Mom and 
Dad. Our family was very close and we did many things together, including going to church, 
being snowbound at the Goodman sawmill during winters, hunting and fishing trips, taking 
trips to Southern California, and moving from one job site to another. In those good old days 
before television, we had to rely on each other for entertainment. 

Religious Training. My brothers and sisters and I were very lucky to be raised in an 
LDS home such as ours. Mom and Dad read Bible stories to us almost every evening and we 
came to know most of them by heart. Maybe the Book of Mormon stories weren't out then, 
because we didn't know as much about them as we did the Bible stories. Nevertheless, we 
were always able and quick to contribute in our Sunday School and MIA classes. 

Mom and Dad taught us gospel principles and set good examples for us. We were all 
baptized into the church. I hope that I will have the faith, humuity and strength to repent of 
the things that IVe done wrong, to always remember the things they taught me, and be able 
to endure to the end. 

Discipline. At times we kids were able to get away with murder, so to speak; but as 
a general rule Dad and Mom made us toe the line and did not spare the rod or spoil the 
children. Mom's method of punishment was to spank us on the bottom with a wooden paddle 
or board. I could always out run Mom and would generally stay a few feet out of her reach 
while she was trying to paddle me. Finally, she'd give up trying to catch me and would say, 
"You have to come home and eat sometime and then m paddle you twice as hard." At this 
point, I generally turned myself in and received my whomping. 

Dad's method of punishment was to grab us boys by the hair and boot us on our 
bottoms with the side of his shoe or boot. I actually preferred this over Mom's paddle. I can't 
say that being punished as a child has given me a life-long complex or deep emotional scars, 
as I deserved every whipping that I received and many that I didn't receive. Dad's favorite 
saying was "If you get a whipping at school, you can expect another one when you get 
home," and we did. 


Hard Work. I will always be thankful to Mom and Dad for teaching me how to work. 
As a small lad, Mom made sure that I always had chores to do (along with my brothers and 
sister) namely: chopping wood, milking and feeding the cows, feeding the pigs, washing 
dishes, working in the garden, etc. As we grew older, Dale and I hoed sunflowers for Uncle 
Cecil Naegle, herded sheep for Uncle Len Penrod, helped Uncle Leone Gillespie make 
sorghum molasses, helped Uncle Jasper Harris brand calves, and herded cows for Eben 
Whiting, all for $ 1 a day, apiece. 


When we were in the 7th 
and 8th grades, we worked in the 
logging woods setting chokers for 
the skidding cat, piling brush in big 
piles for burning, sawing logs, etc. 
Dad was always looking for a better 
way to accomplish his work, so he 
was one of the first loggers to use a 
cat (bulldozer) for skidding logs and 
a crane for loading them This is 
where I acquired my life-long love 
for cranes. We also worked at the 
sawmill which was located on 
Highway 60 at the Crossroads north 
of Vernon. We mainly stacked 
lumber and were the youngest boys 
that I know of who had a charge 
account at the Crossroads store. 
We had an open account with an 
upper limit of $5.00, and we paid it 
off every pay day. We'd treat the 
other boys to candy, etc, and would 
then sign the tab. What show-offs! 

We were also the first family 
in Vernon to get butane stoves and 
electric lights. Dad installed a 
Kohler light plant in the wash house 
and wired it so that if Mom wanted 
lights, all she had to do was turn on 

a light switch in the main house, wait about two minutes for the light plant to start up, and 
PRESTO, we had lights. Several years later, the REA made this system obsolete, but it was 
a show-stopper while it lasted. People came from near and far to turn on our lights. 

Not every day was hard work 

L to R: Allie, Dale, Kent, Gwen. 

Sitting: Grant and Gloria 



During and after high school, Dale and I drove a lowboy truck hauling lumber and dirt 
moving equipment for Dad. W also operated the D-8 cats building dirt tanks and dikes. Our 
younger brother, Grant, followed in our footsteps and we all three ended up working 
construction all of our lives. 

I have many fond memories of working with Dad and my brothers. One day while 
Dale and I were working in the logging woods, setting chokers for the skidding cat, we were 
on a little hill and started arguing. I finally started walking down the hill away from Dale. He 
threw a rock at me, and in realizing it was actually going to hit me, called out, "Kent, watch 
out!" I turned around and said, "What?" and the rock hit me in the forehead. The next thing 

I remember was coming to with Dale's arms around my waist. He dragged me about a 
quarter of a mile to the log landing where Dad was. They took me to the hospital where I had 

I I stitches put in my head. I knew Dale loved me because he didn't leave me lying there on 
the ground. 

Between our Junior and Senior years of high school, Dale and I worked with Dad 
building dirt dikes. At the time Dad had two D-8 cats — Ted Pernod was running one and 
Dad the other. They both came down with the flu and couldn't operate the cats. Now, in 
order to get paid, the dike we were working on needed to be completed, so Dad let Dale and 
me work at finishing it. As we were fueling up the cats after work one night, I accidentally 
knocked the spout off the three thousand gallon fuel tank with a cat track because I wasn't 
being careful We lost almost all the fuel in the tank. I really hated to go home and tell Dad 
what Td done because there were several other small things that had already gone wrong. 
After telling him about the fuel tank, I went outside and was standing with Dale. We heard 
Dad tell Mom, "Ruth, IVe got to get well and get back to work; those damn kids are going 
to break us if I don't." We finished the dike before he came back to work, so I hope we 
vindicated ourselves. 

The summer after we graduated from high school, Dale and I were hauling lumber 
from White River to Snowflake on the GMC lowboy. One morning as we were leaving for 
work, Mom said, "If you get a chance today, call your Dad 'Natson.'" Later that day, I was 
up on a load of lumber and one of the load binders fell off on the ground. I didn't want to 
crawl off the load and throw it back up again, so I called to Dad and said, "Hey, Natson, 
would you throw that load binder up to me?" He had started walking toward the sawmill but 
when I called to him, he spun around, grabbed up the load binder, started pounding on the 
lumber and shouting, "Where did you hear that name?" I was so astonished and thankful that 
I was up on the load of lumber instead of down on the ground, I couldn't say a word. Dad 
finally got tired of pounding on the lumber and walked off I waited a sensible amount of time 
until I was sure he wasn't coming back and then I crawled down, retrieved the load binder, 
secured the load of lumber and left the mill site in a hurry. 

When we got home that night, Mom asked if we'd had a chance to call Dad 'Natson.' 
When I told her what happened, she smiled and said she wasn't a bit surprised that it had 



upset Dad as much as it had. I told her that from now on if she wanted anyone called a name, 
any name, she'd have to do it herself. We then asked Mom why Dad didn't like the name 
Natson. She said that when Dad was a little boy, Grandpa Goodman occasionally worked at 
Fort Apache. One of his carpenters was an old Indian named Natson. Natson thought Dad 
was the cutest thing and was continually making things for him — whistles, beanie flippers, 
bows and arrows, etc. In turn. Dad followed Natson everywhere he went. After a while the 
older boys nicknamed Dad 'Natson' and called him that for many years, so Dad came to hate 
it. I guess he thought we might revive that nickname and he was just showing his displeasure 
at the thought by pounding on the load of lumber. We never called him Natson again. 2 

Later that summer we moved to the Navajo Indian Reservation at Kayenta. Early one 
Saturday morning Grant, Gloria, Dale and I loaded the infamous fuel truck onto the GMC 
lowboy and headed to Flagstaffto get some fuel and grease. We finished loading the fuel 
truck in early afternoon, but decided to take in a movie before heading back to Kayenta. It 
was after dark by the time we started back, but, unknown to us, it had been raining on the 
reservation all afternoon. Road crossings through washes that had been nice and smooth 
when we traveled out that morning were now deep ruts. We were able to get through several 
of them, but finally got stuck in a badly rutted one. We tried everything we could to get out, 
but to no avaiL We needed some branches off the cedar trees to put under the driving tires, 
but we didn't have any way to cut them We knelt down and prayed to our Father in Heaven 
and asked him to help us. We then groped our way in the dark up-stream to some trees, and 
Dale put his hand on an axe that "someone" had left there. We cut branches, put them under 
the tires, and finally got the truck out of the wash. I hope we offered thanks. 

Play. It seems like every time we planned a vacation, we ended up in Southern 
California at the beach, at Tijuana, at the San Diego Zoo, and at the Pike in Long Beach. I 
think Mom and Dad loved it as much as we kids did. Here are a couple of other experiences 
I remember doing with Dad and Mom 

2 Gft> Mills told a couple of stories about Natson in his interview. "One interesting old 
Indian was named Natson. Dad (Dan Mills) said if you turned your horses loose at night and 
couldn't find them in the morning, Natson would probably come around and help. Dad would say, 
"Have you seen my horses, Natson?" He'd say, "Well, maybe so me see two dollars." Dad said 
he learned to give Natson the two dollars and he'd go get the horses. He hadn't stolen them but 
he had seen them and knew where they were. 

The story goes that the soldiers over there were trying to catch Natson for stealing Army 
beef. They came upon his camp one night and, sure enough, he was eating meat. They asked him 
if he had killed one of the Army's beeves. He told them if they'd give him $20, he'd show them 
where the carcass was. The soldiers all chipped in for the twenty dollars and gave the money to 
Natson. Natson took them a short distance from his camp to the spot where he'd killed a bear. 
So he ended up with the bear meat and the twenty dollars, too. 


When Dale and I were about 16, Dad said he was going to take us and Mom up in the 
White Mountains to Smith's Park. Dale tells this better than I can, but I will always remember 
the good time we had together on that fishing and hunting trip. 

As Dale and I were growing up, Dad never gave up trying to outrun us, out- wrestle 
us, etc. One day we asked him for some spending money. Dad put a $20 bill in each hand 
and said, "Come and get it if you're big enough." What he didn't realize was that Dale had 
been wrestling at school and was getting pretty good at it. When Dad stuck out his hand to 
ward Dale of£ Dale grabbed his arm and threw Dad over his shoulder and laid him out full 
length on the living room floor. I got into the act by dropping down and putting both knees 
in Dad's rib cage. He let out a gasp of pain and both hands opened. We took our $20 bills 
and left. The end of the story is that we had to skin cat for two weeks because Dad ended 
up with three broken ribs. 

When we were in the 8th grade, we lived in Heber, and Dad worked at the sawmill 
that he built for the Fish Brothers about 10 miles west of Heber near Chevelon Canyon. One 
day Dale, Dad and I left the mill in the water truck to go to Chevelon Canyon to get a load 
of water. As we approached a large cienaga about 5 miles from the mill, we saw that it was 
full of deer. Dad had a new 30-30 rifle with a fold-down peep sight mounted on the stock. 

He grabbed the rifle and jumped out of the truck before it stopped rolling, leaving the 
driving to Dale. He squatted down and took aim on a deer and fired. The deer all looked up, 
but none fell to the ground. Now this was amazing, because everyone called Dad "One- Shot 
Goodman." Dad ran a few paces, squatted down again, took aim, and fired. The deer started 
running, but none fell to the ground. Dad repeated this same maneuver several more times 
until the deer were all out of sight and not one deer fell. Dad was deflated until he noticed 
that in his haste to get out of the truck and start firing, he had forgotten to pop up the peep 
sight on the stock of the rifle. He had just been sighting down the top of the barrel. He gave 
Dale and me each $5 not to tell anybody and ruin his reputation of "One-Shot Goodman." 

After Dale and I graduated from high school, we worked for Dad on the Papago 
Indian Reservation near Sells. Dad always fixed our lunches, and every day we had tuna out 
of the can, crackers, and canned tomatoes. One day he forgot the bowls, and we were giving 
him a bad time about it. He said not to worry, and molded little bowls out in the sand and 
lined them with waxed paper. We got down on our knees and carefully ate tomatoes out of 
the sand bowls. 

These are just a few of my memories of Mom and Dad. I will always be grateful for 
the time we spent together. I miss them and will always love them 


My Tribute to Dad and Mom 
by Gloria G. Andrus 

I really loved my Dad. As his only daughter for so many years (I was 13 when Rita 
was finally bom), I knew he loved me. He spoiled me, in fact. I knew I could get away with 
murder, figuratively speaking. Kent hated me, with just cause. On many evenings, as soon 
as supper was over, Td head for the outhouse and stay there until I knew Dad had made Dale 
and Kent do the dishes. 

When the Number 2 wash tub had been filled with hot water for weekly Saturday 
night baths, as the only girl, I got to bathe first. My poor brothers never did get to bathe in 
clean water. 

I was 8 or 9 the year Santa brought me a new red bike. Dad sent Dale and Kent over 
to Grandpa Rothlisberger's granary where it was hidden, with instructions to carry it back to 
our house. Apparently temptation to ride the bike was too much, because when I found the 
bike near the Christmas tree the next morning, there was mud on the tires. That was the first 
time I had doubts about Santa. Dad taught me to ride that bike. For several hours in the next 
couple of days, he ran beside me, holding on to the back of the seat to keep me up-right until 
I learned to balance myself. 

About the strongest words Dad ever said to me by way of discipline were, Tm going 
to get in your eyes like onions. " 

I think Dad was disappointed that I was such a tomboy. I never wanted dolls or 
jewelry. But I did like dresses and he made sure I always had nice clothes. He also gave me 
a lot of nice jewelry which I never wore. 

I loved Mom, too. I was enthralled with her ability to play the piano "by ear." That 
gift was not given to me. And when Grandpa Goodman came to our house, he always talked 
Mom into halting what she was doing and playing Star of the East for him That is still a 
favorite song of mine. 

Dad and Mom sang beautifully together. As a kid, I loved to ride in the car and listen 
to them harmonizing on our favorite songs. Some of my personal favorites were Roll out the 
Barrel, Spanish Eyes, and Down Mexico Way. 

I remember Dad being wrong only one time. When Grant was just a little tyke. Dad 
and Mom were in Phoenix shopping or conducting some business, when he saw a small pedal 
airplane — the kind that a little boy could sit in and pedal around the yard. He bought this 
airplane for Grant for Christmas one year, and then spent the next several months trying to 
convince Grant that was what he wanted for Christmas. I don't remember that Dad ever 
succeeded in persuading Grant. 



An annual fall activity that I enjoyed at the time was when the entire family would 
gather pine nuts (we called them "pinions" in those days). Sometimes we'd put a taip under 
a tree and shake the tree vigorously; other times, we'd rob nests where forest animals had 
stored their nuts for winter. I now regret having robbed those nests. 

I knew Dad loved me when he sacrificed a new fishing license to save me. We were 
in Bakersfield visiting Mom's sister, Aunt Caroline and Uncle Ray, and had gone to fish and 
swim in the Kearns River. To get Dale's and Kent's attention, I'd duck my head under the 
water and come up sputtering and hollering, "Save me! Save me!" I did this often enough 
that they determined to ignore me. Then came the moment when I really did become 
entangled in all the plant life growing in the bottom of the river and couldn't get loose. 
Apparently the tone of my voice took on new urgency. Anyway, Dad threw down his pole 
and jumped in, clothes and all, to get me loose. Even Mom, in advanced stages of pregnancy, 
and who didn't swim at all, was ready to jump in and help. He did let me know, afterward, 
that all our money and his new fishing license were soaked. 

Mom was a wonderful cook. Nothing fancy, but tasty and substantial. When I took 
her mashed bean sandwiches for lunch, I could trade them for almost anything some other kid 
had brought — her reputation was that good. And I looked forward to "pudding" suppers. 
Mom would make a huge pot of either vanilla or chocolate corn starch pudding. Then we 
could add about anything we wanted — canned sliced peaches, coconut, jam, whatever. And 
with a large slice of her delicious homemade bread, who could have asked for anything better? 
I was so astounded when I married Alyn, from the potato kingdom of America, that he 
wanted meat and potatoes almost every meal. I thought everyone lived on beans and "light 
bread" with fresh green onions and radishes. 

As an adolescent and teen-ager, I often felt Mom was a bit jealous of Dad's and my 
relationship. I was the one he took shopping for the younger kids and for Christmas. And 
as I got older, he always said I could never go to BYU because I'd marry someone from a 
long way off and he'd never see me again. So I met Elder Andrus (from Idaho) in Sells, 
Arizona. Dad was not happy when we got married, even though he liked Alyn very much. 
He was further disappointed when we moved to Provo; he wanted us to live in Arizona. Then 
when we announced in 1959 that we were going to go to Western Samoa for three years, he 
said to me, "Please don't go; something will happen to you and Til never see you again." But 
it was he who died while I was gone, and I was unable to get home for his funeral. Believe 
me, I spent many rough days filled with guilt, but also with the resolve to live the Gospel like 
he and Mom had taught me. lYe always been disappointed that he didn't live to see my little 
Samoan boys. As much as he loved Indians, I know he would be thrilled with his brown 
grandkids and great-grandkids. I expect our reunion in Heaven to be extra sweet. 

I truly miss my parents — both of them They provided me with a lot of love and 
stability as I was growing up. Even when we moved around a lot, we were still together as 
a family and I felt that security. I have wonderful memories of spontaneous trips to the coast. 


and to the valley, and basketball tournaments in Flagstaff and Easter Sunrise programs at 
Grand Canyon, and fishing trips in the mountains, and snake dances on a Hopi mesa. Life 
with Mom and Dad was never boring. 

All the time and effort LVe put into this family history are my lasting tribute to Dad's 
memory; I don't want anyone to forget how much we loved him. And, as much as he loved 
us, I know he's pleased. 

A Tribute to Lloyd and Ruth Goodman and Family 

By Alyn B. Andrus 

Recently, Gloria and I were discussing her father, Lloyd. During the discussion, she 
asked if I would care to write a tribute to him for this Goodman Family history. I told her Td 
be happy to write such a tribute. In fact, I feel honored to have been given this opportunity. 
Since then, though, IVe decided to pay tribute not only to Lloyd, but to Ruth and their 
children as well. 

I became acquainted with Lloyd and Ruth Goodman in Sells, Arizona during the early 
spring of 195 1. I was a 19 year old proselyting missionary for the L.D.S. Church. I was as 
green as missionaries can be, but had enough good sense to identify good people when I met 

My first companion in the mission field as a district president, who, when his time 
came to return home, gave me the choice of going anywhere within the Maricopa District to 
proselyte. For some reason which I did not understand at the time, I chose Sells, a lonely, 
sun-baked Papago Indian community about 15 miles north of Mexico and 60 miles west of 
Tucson. The missionaries there lived in an abandoned service station with a bare concrete 
floor, an outside water tap (which provided only warm water), two bunkbeds, and an old 
table with an orange crate that served as a cupboard. Within our living quarters, from time 
to time, we were visited by snakes, scorpions, lizards, and toads. Sells had virtually nothing 
to commend it except an Indian lady who made excellent tamales, and the Goodman family. 

Lloyd, Ruth and family were in Sells working for the government. Lloyd owned 
earth-moving equipment and was digging water holes for livestock on the Papago 
Reservation. The Goodmans lived in a trailer house by a large wash about a block from 
where the missionaries lived. 

Lloyd and Ruth were friendly, active Mormons. I liked both of them the instant we 
met. Lloyd was sociable. He liked to tell stories and jokes. I remember him as one who was 
optimistic and positive. Tm sure he got angry at times and cussed his boys, but I never heard 
him do this, which surprised me because Dale, Kent, and we missionaries gave him what I 
thought was adequate opportunity to lose his patience and come down pretty hard on us. 


Once, I remember, in our roughhousing, we broke the rear window in his pickup. I thought 
sure we'd hear from Lloyd about that, but he never said a word (at least not to us 

Dale and Kent were about my age and we got along royally. Other children included 
Gloria, Grant, Garry, and baby Rita. Dale, Kent, and Gloria, at the time I arrived in Sells, 
were at Round Valley High School and had not yet joined their family for the summer. When 
they did, they were accompanied by Wayne, a cousin. 

My companion, Gary Dickey, and I visited the Goodmans frequently. Their trailer 
was a favorite stopping place on our way home from cottage meetings. Ruth was always 
there and was as friendly and accommodating as two missionaries could have wanted. She 
loved to visit, and we always felt welcome and comfortable in her presence. Td tend Rita for 
her occasionally. I even changed Rita's diapers (so I know Rita inside and out). I think this 
is what helped Ruth to like me. 

As Dale's, Kent's, and Gloria's reunion with family drew near, Dickey and I became 
even more interested in the Goodmans. Dickey, who by this time was called the "Florida 
Flash" (he was a big fellow from Fort Lauderdale who was outgoing, talkative, not very 
interested in missionary work, and possessed a flare for showing off), was especially eager 
to meet Gloria. 

One day, as Dickey and I were talking with the postmistress, a brown- skinned, blond- 
haired female flounced into the building, asked for Lloyd Goodman's mail, and left without 
acknowledging we were even there. Dickey and I looked at each other, mumbling, "She must 
be the Goodman girl," found an excuse to terminate our conversation with the postmistress, 
and headed for the Goodman trailer. Sure enough, Gloria and her brothers had arrived. 
Thereafter, we spent more time than usual with the Goodmans. We accompanied them to the 
Friday night movies during which Dickey tried holding Gloria's hand (a confession she made 
to me years later). I noticed he always managed to sit by her, but I had no idea he was trying 
to break mission rules. After all, I was just a naive farm boy from rural Idaho who thought 
that any behavior such as that would merit being struck down on the spot through Divine 
intervention. We also accompanied the Goodmans to Sunday services during which I hope 
Dickey repented of his sinful attempts on Friday night. 

During evenings, after work, Dale, Kent, Gloria, Grant, Wayne, Indian boys from the 
community, Dickey and I would gather at the rodeo grounds to play soccer. Gloria was 
always needed to "even up" the teams. So she was accepted as one of the boys, which wasn't 
hard because she was as tan as an Indian and could whistle between her teeth. Having been 
raised with three brothers, she acted more like a boy than a girl. I remember the contrast 
between her and Dickey's two sisters. 

A couple of days that summer, Dickey's lamiry visited us — fresh from Florida (on their 
way to California). TTiey spoke as he did, with a southern drawl. His sisters were as white 


as snow and very feminine, I thought. During their visit, the Dickeys treated us missionaries 
to a picnic and invited the Goodmans to participate. I was fascinated with the contrast 
between Gloria and the Florida Females. She looked healthy, was active, resourceful and 
outgoing. They appeared pallid and helpless. Besides, Gloria could whistle between her 
teeth; they could not. 

Shortly after the Dickeys left, the Goodmans left, too. They went to northern Arizona 
where Lloyd worked on the Navajo Reservation. Gloria, undoubtedly with the 
encouragement from her understanding mother, wrote me a letter, "in behalf of the family," 
telling me about them and bestowing their blessings upon me. I wrote a letter in response, 
and, remembering how uninspiring and unromantic my letters were, I'm not surprised that I 
didn't hear from Gloria again for a year and a half Then, a few days after Christmas (1952), 
five weeks before my release, I received a card from her through the mission home. She 
invited me to Mesa for a visit with the family before I returned home. With the card was a 
photo of her. I was attracted to the photo much more than to the card. She looked like a 
young lady, although I was sure she could still whistle between her teeth, and I determined 
to see her when possible. 

I returned to Arizona ten months after leaving the mission field to visit the Goodmans 
and get better acquainted with Gloria. Getting better acquainted with her took two more 
years. But she finally nailed me, and on June 8, 1955, we were married in the Arizona 
Temple. I then realized, clearly, why I was drawn to Sells as though it were a magnet. God 
wanted us to get together. He knew a good match, and that is exactly what it has been for 
40 years. If I could relive my life, knowing what I know now, I would befriend Lloyd and 
Ruth Goodman and their children, and I would marry Gloria, if she'd have me. 

Today, I remember Lloyd Goodman as a good man. Any faults he may have had do 
not loom large in my field of vision. Good children don't just happen. They are raised to be 
good. And a whole family of good children are not raised by either one parent or the other. 
They are the product of both parents working together. I am proud to have known Lloyd. 
I'm proud to be associated with his family. I thank him for Gloria, and this feeling is 
especially sincere because I know he did not want his little "Chunky" leaving Arizona for 
distant Idaho. He was afraid he would not see her as often as he might like, and possibly he 
would never see her again. 

Today, I have nothing but love and respect for Grandma Ruth. She was a good and 
faithful mother. She loved her children, and after Lloyd's death, undertook, as best she knew 
how, to raise the younger ones (Garry, Rita, Randy, Rhonda and Tevis) within the Gospel 
context. I have often thought that her refiner's fire really came when, all alone, she bid 
goodby to Rhonda as death claimed its tolL To watch a loved one die in the presence of other 
loved ones is difficult enough, but to watch a child waste away and die without the support 
of a loving companion requires unusual faith and courage. Whatever faults Ruth may have 
had were swallowed up in her goodness so much that to me, her faults were insignificant. 

- 4 - 


The world would be a better world if every child from a broken home or without a home had 
a mother like Ruth Goodman. 

Finally, I salute the children of Lloyd and Ruth. I like them all. They are bright, 
friendly and enterprising, and conduct their lives by a sense of fair play. I'm proud to be 
associated with them. May God bless them. 

Lloyd with Gloria, Garry, Dale, with Grant 
in front, and Kent 

Ruth and Lloyd, 1955 


Christmas 1954 in Mesa. L to R, Standing: Gloria, Grant, Lloyd, Ruth, 
Dale, Chon with Sherry, Kent. Front row: Rhonda, Randy, Rita, Garry. 


Standing, L to R: Dale, Garry, Randy, Grant, Kent 
Seated: Rita, Ruth, Gloria. Tevis' funeral, June 1988 


Lloyd Dale Goodman 

I'm afraid the story of my life would be weary reading, indeed; besides, if you read the 
stories of my brothers and sisters and cousins, you will know my story, so I'd just like to say 
to my family: 

Cousins and my cousins once removed and twice and thrice and four times removed, 
you are so neat. Seeing you at family reunions or around as we go through life, let me say 
I'm impressed. I love you and it's truly a pleasure to be in the same family with you. 

To my Aunts and Uncles all, I salute you. You are the spiritual guidons, the guide 
posts of our lives. The help youVe been to me and my family, to all of us cousins, transcends 
this mortal life. You know the love and happiness we have for you, because of the strong 
feelings you have for your Uncles and Aunts. 

To my Mother and Father, what can I say? Words will never ever be able to express 
my love feelings for you. IVe put down a few words on paper and they are so hollow. IVe 
tried a few trite earthly phrases; they just do not satisfy the feeling of closeness and warmth 
I have for Lloyd Everette and Emma Ruth Goodman. Brothers and Sisters, in this letter of 
love you were going to be between our Aunts and Uncles, and Mom and Dad. However, as 
I started my writing thoughts I decided I wanted you included right here with Lloyd Everette 
and Emma Ruth. 

Nephews and Nieces, what great little spirits you are and how I love you for all that 
you are. I put my arms around each of you and give you hugs for the wonderful contribution 
you give to this William Ezra and Hannah McNeil Goodman dynasty. 

And now for a 20-year letter to my children. A 20-year letter is one wherein you tell 
the recipients of your love for them and praise them for their efforts and achievements in life; 
yes, their great stature. The Bible tells us that in the time of Noah, there were giants here on 
earth. There still are — not physical, but spiritual giants. Spirits quietly going through life 
with a stoutness of heart, with a quiet resolve and rugged determination to reach goals their 
Fathers and Mothers, their Father in Heaven, and they themselves have set for themselves and 
their families. My children, to me you are celestial giants. Grandchildren, my heart aches 
with love for you and the joy you are in our lives and the lives of your parents. It's hard to 
put words to paper when I have so many tears to see through. I love you with all my heart. 

To Norma Lee, the last and the first. All the words, thoughts, and feelings afore- 
mentioned and then magnified seventy times seven apply here to you. Once again, words 
cannot express the life time of love I feel for you. Perhaps one day as we learn the language 
of the universe, we will be able to express our thoughts. Until then, the bells will ring when 
I'm around you. Know that you are my all. 

4 - 


Dale and Norma Goodman Family. L to R, Back row: Steven, Eric, Mark, Greg. 

Norma holding Man, Aleta, Dale, and Tracy. 


Steve and Connie Goodman 

L to R: Back row: Julie (Goodman) Ashcroft Clint, 
Kevin Armstrong. Front row: Calvin, Brea, Norma. 

Center: Chantil 

- •» 


Bryan Gregory Goodman 

Greg and Connie Goodman with Billy in back 
and Dale in front 


Eric and Carey Goodman Family. L to R, Middle 
row: Tye, Danielle, Lacey. Center: Janessa 

- -I - 


Don and Aleta Breakwell 
with Claire and Maddie 


Victor and Man Baumgarten , with Adin and Thomas 


Kent "E" Goodman 

I was born on the 27th day of May, 1934 in Woodruff Arizona. Although my folks 
didn't live there, Mom went to be where a midwife was. My parents were Lloyd Everette 
Goodman and Emma Ruth Rothlisberger. I was the second of nine children. (I have three 
sisters and five brothers who I love dearly.) I grew up in Vernon and have many fond 
memories of that little town. Dad was a shovel operator on road construction, so the four 
older kids — Dale, Gloria, Grant and myself — attended quite a few grade schools in quite a 
few different towns, namely: Vernon, Tucson, Benson, Dragoon, Vernon, Flagstaff Parks, 
Vernon, Show Low, Lakeside, Vernon, Heber, and Vernon. I graduated from the Vernon 
Grade School and will never forget, or be able to repay Lois Whiting (Eben Whiting's wife) 
for teaching me basic fundamentals and instillrng in me the desire to get a good education. 
I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Bob's Lake on 
Jury 5, 1942 by Cecil C. Naegle, and my Dad confirmed me. Bob's Lake is just under the hill 
east of Vernon. My favorite Sunday School and Primary Teacher was Louella Webb. 

I attended Round Valley High School in Eagar. I met and fell in love with Charlene 
(Chon) Burk when I was a freshman. Chon's father was Charles Fredrick Burk, who died 
September 16, 1936 when she was a year old. Her mother is Vera Lund Burk LeSueur who 
lives in Eagar. Chon was bom on Jufy 30, 1935 in the living room she lived in in Springerville 
until we got married. She was the fourth child and only girl. When she was 8 years old, Vera 
married Jerold Calvin LeSueur, who died in 1982. 

I graduated from high school in 1952 and promptly joined the Army. Chon and I were 
married September 20, 1953 while I was stationed at Fort Scott on the Presidio in San 
Francisco. While there, our first child, Sherry Lynn, was born September 21, 1954. Chon 
and I were sealed in the Mesa Temple on January 18, 1955. 

After my discharge from the Army Engineers in Jufy 1955, 1 worked construction, but 
mainly as a crane operator. During this time when we were living in Sanders, I was involved 
in a serious accident when a loader fell on me from my waist down, crushing my pelvis and 
breaking my leg. I was in the hospital in Gallup for six weeks and disabled for six months. 
A couple of weeks before I returned to work, on March 12, 1957, our son, Michael Ken, was 
bom in Gallup. 

In the Fall of 1958, 1 started college at Arizona State University. I finally graduated 
in June 1967 with a B.S. in Civil Engineering. Chon said I crammed a 4-year curriculum into 
a 9-year period. Going to college was complicated by the fact that we had two children. 
Chon attended ASU for a year obtaining secretarial skills, then worked for Motorola for three 
years while I finished school. 

After graduating, I worked for Peter Kiewit & Sons until 1976 when I went to work 
for Fluor Corporation as a rigging superintendent/engineer. While using Tustin, California 


as a base, IVe been able to travel all over the world. Chon and I have lived in four foreign 
countries — Iran during 1977, Saudi Arabia during 1978, Louisiana during 1979, and 
Connecticut during 1991-92. In all, weVe moved 50 times. You should see our Christmas 
card list. 

Our third, and last child, Christopher Alyn (yes, named after Alyn Andrus) was born 
December 22, 1978 (the same day as Twila's Michael Christopher) two months after Chon 
returned from Saudi Arabia, so we call him our little Arab. He was born in Mesa and has 
Downs Syndrome. His condition has opened up a whole new world for us. Chris wants to 
marry every pretty girl he meets, loves everybody, especially babies, and has touched so many 
lives with his sweet innocence, and such a forgiving and loving nature. Michael was 23 years 
old and on a mission in Korea at the time of Chris' birth, and while we were overseas. 

Sherry Lynn married Jack Billings and has two daughters — Brooklynn, bom January 
1, 1976 (the same day as Twila's Lacy), and Harmony Chon, born November 7, 1979. They 
have lived in Anchorage, Alaska for about 1 1 years. 

Mike filled a mission in Korea, attended two years of college in Logan, Utah and BYU 
where he met and married Julie Anderson. They have three children — Dane MichaeL bom 
July 17, 1985, Whitney Michelle, bom September 4, 1988, and Joshua Kenneth, bom 
September 29, 1990. 

I know my actions in the past haven't always shown it, but I do love my family and my 
Father in Heaven, and Tm extremely grateful for my membership in the Church. I'm thankful 
for everyone who influenced me in learning the gospel of Jesus Christ: my parents and 
teachers, my wonderful wife, and my children. 


Kent and Chon Goodman, and Christopher Alyn 


Mike, Sherry, Chon, and Chris 


L to R: Whitney, Mike, Dane, Joshua, 1995 


Gloria Ruth Goodman Andrus 

I was bom on June 25, 1936 in Floy (Plenty), Arizona, at the home of Mrs Sides, the 
nearest midwife. Dad and Mom were living at the Goodman sawmill at the time, but then- 
house burned to the ground just before I was born. After two boys — Dale and Kent — Mom 
was sure I would be a girl so had a complete layette crocheted and embroidered. All that 
went up in smoke; so when I came into the world, I was clothed in Relief Society donations. 

I attended school mostly in Vernon, but also in Heber and Tuba City. I attended 
Round Valley and Flagstaff High Schools, and finally graduated from Mesa High in 1954. 
Because the folks were working on the Papago Reservation in Sells, I met Elder Alyn Andrus 
from Idaho. We were married in 1955, and before I knew it, I was on my way to Idaho as 
the wife of a potato farmer. Afyn soon decided he had had enough of the farm, so we moved 
to Provo. He graduated from BYU in 1958, and began teaching at Bonneville Jr. High in 
Idaho Falls. In June 1959, we sailed for Western Samoa where Alyn taught history and 
geography for 2Vi years, and I was secretary to the principal. This is where I began my career 
on electronic typewriters, as the Church sent us one of the first electric typewriters made by 
IBM. While there, we adopted Daniel and acquired Emmie Matua. Back in Idaho, in 1966, 
Steve arrived and became one of the family. When Steve later went on a mission to the 
Arizona Holbrook Mission in 1976, he sent us Dianna, an 8-year old Apache princess who 
quickly won everyone's heart. Steve was also responsible for the family's first cat, Carta, and 
started our cat tradition. In 1968, Alyn was hired to teach History at Ricks College, so we 
moved to Rexburg. I worked as a paralegal in a law firm, assistant to the president in an 
engineering firm, and was appointed Registrar at Ricks in 1981. 

After Daniel left on his mission to Western Samoa in 1978 (Emmie also served her 
mission in Western Samoa), Alyn and I decided to start our second childhood, so bought two 
motorcycles. Touring in the Western states has been a delight for us. We have both been 
active in the LDS church (Alyn has served as Bishop twice) and the Democratic party. 

Here are our kids and grandkids. Emmie married Fa'aliaga Toalepai. They live in 
Compton, California. Emmie works in a local School District and "Honey" works in a 
sophisticated factory of some kind. He is also the Bishop of the Samoan Ward in that stake. 
Little Aryn is 16, very musical, and is going to the International Scout Jamboree in Belgium 
this summer (1995). 

Steve married Eleena Ching from Hawaii. They live here in Rexburg. He works at 
Ricks and she has one of those high level security jobs at the National Engineering Lab west 
of Idaho Falls. Their children are Tiara, Chad, Keala, and Ty. I tease Steve that Tiara is my 
reward from God for not killing him when he was a teenager. 

Daniel married Elizabeth Harris. They lfve in Mapleton, Utah. He's a computer 
programmer and Liz is at home with their five children: Aaron, Tiana, Loni, Anisa. and Turia. 



Diana is back in Arizona. She works in the business office of the local school district. 
Randy is 6. We get to see them each year as we are "home" for a reunion or whatever. 
Randy has already cased Wal-Mart and knows just what he wants on our annual shopping 

I'm sure all of you think your grandkids are the cutest, most wonderful kids 
around — sorry; ours are. They are either musical, artistic, or athletic. Grandparents could 
not ask for better grandchildren. IVe always felt drawn to the Nephite/Lamanite people, and 
have appreciated the vast portion of my life which has been spent among these wonderful 

IVe always been proud to tell people I was born and raised in Vernon and that I was 
a Goodman. I have deep love for both sides of my family — Goodmans and Rothlisbergers. 
This includes grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and especially my parents and brothers 
and sisters. What wonderful memories I have of growing up among the clan. Because Dad 
and Uncle Arvin were brothers, and Mom and Aunt Bert were sisters, the glue between us 
double-cousins was strong and durable. It was fun to have cousins who didn't have any other 
extended family. All my other cousins had this other set of relatives out there that we didn't 
know all that well — not so with Uncle Arvin and Aunt Bert's kids. The trouble we got into 
was also usually doubled. 

The Goodmans seemed to have kids all at once so most of us had cousins very near 
the same age. With me, my near-age cousins are Sonny, Dorothy Jean, and Eva. What fun 
we had together. And how sad I was to learn of Eva's premature passing, and the fact that 
I had not kept in better contact with her over the past 40 years. . 

Because I was the oldest girl and part of the older family, I had lots of training in 
helping Mom with the younger family. Even though there's a large spread in ages, that 
nurturing helped bond them to me, if not me to them. My siblings are still my best friends. 

I was almost 7 years old when Grandpa Goodman died. Just before he died, Kent and 
I got into a fight and I threw a cap gun at him It hit him on the head and he fell to the 
ground. I started running for Grandpa's; I figured I could get there before Kent came "to" 
and killed me. I made it to that safe haven. That is how I now view the entire family. You 
are my safe haven from the rest of the world, and I love all ya'll (as our Texas cousins would 


Gloria (in her pink hat) and Alyn 

Fa'aliaga, Emmie, and Alyn 


Steve and Eleena Danielson. Children L to R are Chad, Tiara, Ty, and Keala 

L to R: Randy Narcisco, Alyn, and Dianna 


Daniel and Liz Andrus. Back row children: Tiana, Aaron. 
Front row: Anisa, Turia, Loni 

• - 


M. Grant Goodman 

It rained yesterday, a nice steady gentle rain, the kind that Mom loved so much. When 
Mom was still with us, whenever it would rain that way, she'd call Gayle and me, and we'd 
take her up into the canyons above Superior. The rain would cause the canyon walls to come 
alive with waterfalls. They would be everywhere, some small and some large. As we would 
drive along the road, we'd "oohh," and "aahh," at every one, only to be surprised at the beauty 
of the next one. 

I thought of Mom a lot yesterday as I always do when we get the gentle spring and 
summer rains. I guess it affects Gayle the same way, as she will say, "I wish Ruth were here 
so we could go look at the waterfalls." She and Mom were such good friends. They were 
more than mother-in-law/daughter-in-law, they sincerely loved each other. I swear Mom 
liked Gayle better than me! (sigh) 

Gayle was bom in Phoenix and I don't think she ever got much beyond the city limits 
until she married me. but Mom must have given her some of the sand out of her shoes, 
because Gayle and Mom loved to travel. It didn't seem to matter where or when, they'd jump 
in the car and go. IVe told this story before, but one time Mom and Gayle had this trip 
planned to Texas to see Garry and Mary Jane when he was in the Army there. Just before 
they were to leave, Garry called to say that he had been called to the field for a two-week 
exercise and would not be able to visit with them. They just looked at each other and said, 
"Let's go to California!" So they did!. 

My little narrative here will be of the story-telling kind, for my genealogy or my life 
activities, you'll have to look elsewhere. We'll start at Vernon and proceed more or less 
chronologically, and look at Mom and Dad's activities as seen from my vantage point. This 
will be brief and will not cover all the happy times or sorrows. Only a few short stories to 
give a sense of what Mom and Dad were like. 

Mom and Dad were not what you would call strict disciplinarians; oh, they taught us 
the rules and had definite limits on our behavior and if we overstepped the bounds, we were 
punished. Dad's way of disciplining us was to grasp us by the back of the collar and boot us 
on our rears with the side of his foot. It didn't hurt at all, but the talking he gave us at the 
same time made us feel so bad, we didn't want another. I only remember Mom spanking me 
one time. 

Dale, Kent and I had done something bad, or as it seems to me, we had not cleaned 
our room, so Mom had us all lean over chairs, and she had this board and she whapped each 
of us. I don't remember it hurting, but what else she did was unforgettable for the rest of my 


Vernon, at the time was very progressive, as we had movies in town. Once a week, 
in the church house a movie was shown. Well, this particular week the movie was The 
Invisible Man. And I had been waiting all week to see it. As part of our punishment, Mom 
would not allow us three boys to go to the movie, until when it was almost over, she let us 
go and we got to see the last 30 minutes or so. I was crushed and ever since then IVe 
watched every movie about any invisible men and they have never lived up to my expectations 
of the original Invisible Man. 

One of my favorite days when I was little was 'wash day.' We lived at the north end 
of town and the school was near the middle (the whole town was only about 5 blocks long), 
and on wash day, it was Wednesday as I recall, when I would go home for lunch, I could 
smell the beans and fresh bread way before getting close to the house. On wash day, Mom 
would cook pinto beans and bread. She'd take a portion of the bread dough and deep fry it 
in shortening until it was a golden brown and we would butter it and with honey and with the 
beans, it was a most delicious meal Gayle cooks beans and bread the same way, and it's still 
just as good. 

While we are talking about washing clothes, allow me to tell a few other 
remembrances of washing clothes. I remember a wash board at our home, but not of Mom 
using it. What I do remember is that she had a Maytag wringer type washing machine in the 
middle of the back yard. Why unprotected from the elements in the yard? I don't know, 
unless it was before Dad built the wash house. But there it was, with its drain hose laying in 
a small trench that would cany the wash water away 10 or 20 feet to dissipate over the soil. 

Mom had been after Dad for some time to make her a nice clothes line, and he finally 
did. It was a beauty. It had about eight lines, each attached to a steel pipe on each end that 
was supported by two steel pipes which were anchored to the ground with concrete. Mom 
was so proud of her clothes line, it had not been installed very long when one winter day, 
Dad had the TD-18 bulldozer (I seem to remember that this was the same TD-18 that Dad 
used in the log woods to skid logs) in the back yard, pushing the snow away from her clothes 
lines. He had made several passes this way and that, clearing away the snow. Mom was 
watching him nervously, like a mother hen protecting her young, when he was making a final 
pass near one end and was coming dangerously close to one of the supporting poles. Mom 
was waving her hands and yelling to Dad that he was too close. Dad was ignoring her in his 
self-confidence that he could come within inches of the post and not hit it. Wrong! The very 
comer of the dozer blade caught one of the poles and ripped it out of the ground and left it 
hanging bent and broken. For some reason it was never repaired properly, only patched with 
a board wired to the top cross piece. 

Dad loved to fish for trout on the many streams in the White Mountains and on one 
such trip I was with him and Mom We were fishing on the stream which led out of Smith's 
Park and were fishing upstream Fishing was very good, we all had our limit, but Dad was 
still fishing when Al Wilson, the game warden, caught him On the citation Al wrote: "fifty- 

, - 


eight fish too many, AND STILL FISHING!" As I recall, the fine was $250, a grand sum for 
those days. 

Almost all the time that we lived at Vernon, Dad was in the sawnrilling business, either 
at the mill or in the woods. In the summer of my 1 1th or 12th year, I would go to work with 
Dad and spend the day just hanging around where he was loading the logs on trucks for 
hauling to the mill. I had been going with him every day for some time and I watched how 
he loaded the logs on the trucks as they arrived, using an old Quick Way crane. I don't 
remember consciously thinking that I wanted to run the crane, but I watched Dad and was 
familiar with how he did it. 

One day, one of the log trucks was waiting for a load, but Dad was off with the TD- 
18 skidding some logs to the loading site. Spud, the driver, was in a big rush to get loaded 
and on his way, so I said I could load the logs if he'd handle the tag line. He must have been 
in an awful hurry and also crazier than I was, because he said, "okay." 

Well, it wasn't pretty, and he hung onto the line by its very end, but we got the truck 
loaded without breaking anything and he went on his way. When Dad got back, I told him 
what Td done. After he got the color back in his face, he told me not to ever do that again. 
I couldn't figure what he was so concerned about. 

It was about this time that Dad bought his first D-8 cat from Bowen and McGlaughen 
Construction. I went with him to Sanders to look at the cat before he bought it. The wind 
was blowing that day, as it usually does in that part of Arizona, and as I was sitting in the car, 
I could see Uncle Alvin walking across the yard. The blowing sand completely obscured him 
from the waist down, and I remember thinking, 'Til never do that for a living!" Of course, 
that is exactly what Pve done for a living all these years, and when the weather is bad, either 
snowing or raining, or just miserable, I have to stop and think of that day at Sanders, and I 
just chuckle to myself. 

Dad's first job with his 'new* used D-8 was to dig a basement for a new building at 
Sanders, and the next I remember was Dad, Mom, and I at Denihotso, on the Navajo Indian 
Reservation. Dad had secured some work for SMOCO (Soil Moisture Conservation 
Organization), a branch of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, of the U.S. Government. It was 
winter and we were living in a tent; one of my jobs was to gather dry 'cow chips' for fuel for 
a fire for Mom to cook with. I don't remember why I was there and not at home going to 
school with the older kids. 

Dad working for SMOCO produced a semi-nomadic life for us as a family. As it 
developed, we would work on the Navajo reservation in the summers and the Papago (in 
extreme southern Arizona) in the winters. It was a good life and Dad was making good 
money doing this. 


When we were on the Papago, we 
always lived at Sells and a few stories come 
to mind. 

While we were there, the Mormon 
missionaries were named Dickey and 
Andrus. Pay attention, as one of these 
names became an important part of our 
family, but I'll let Gloria tell that story. 
They lived in an abandoned gasoline station 
on the west end of Sells, and Dickey had 
the idea he wanted to make a belt out of a 
rattlesnake skin. He had the skin stretched 
and tacked to a board and drying in the 
warm winter sun. Something must not have 
been correct, as the skin gave off a terrible 
odor. I don't know if he ever got his belt or 

Dad's business had grown, so he had 
hired Ted Penrod to skin cat (operate one 
of the D-8 tractors) for him And as fate 
would have it, brought Ted and me into a 
skittish situation. 

I was about 12 at this time and one 
of my favorite things to do was to shoot my 
BB gun. I had worn out a couple of Dairy 
repeaters and had saved my money and 

bought the new 50 shot Daisy pump BB gun. I figured I could hit about anything I aimed for, 

and I did for the most part. 

Well, one morning as Dad and Ted were getting ready for the day's work, as they 
were standing there and talking, Ted lit up a fresh cigarette. I was standing about 15 feet 
away and to Ted's side. As he put it to his lips and moved his hand away, I pumped my gun, 
raised it and shot the cigarette clean out of his mouth! It was a perfect shot! The cigarette 
literally exploded in his lips, sent tobacco flying everywhere. Well, Ted was mad, and Dad 
was trying to scold me without laughing too hard. It was years before I finally realized why 
Ted was so upset with my shot. 

One summer we were living in Monument Valley on the Navajo; we were out in the 
middle of the valley and could see Gouldings Trading Post to the south. Dale and I wanted 
to play a trick on Kent, so we dug a hole by the back door of our trailer house and covered 

Nogales. Lloyd and Ruth, with Rita, Grant, 


• - 


it with small sticks, twigs and leaves and finally some of the native red sand. The trap was 
undetectable to the naked eye. Kent was sure to fall into it. Now, in our defense, make a 
note: Dale and I told Mom about the trap and to not use the back door! 

Yes, you guessed it! Mom forgot and went out the back door and fell into the pit. 
It didn't break her leg, but she walked funny for a few days. Dad was more angry at us for 
this than for anything we had done in the past. It was days before he would even talk to us. 

Another summer we were in Long Valley, between Tuba City and Kayenta (on the 
Navajo). Dad and Ted had finished some structures near the north end of the valley and were 
preparing to move the cats to the south. They got the bright idea that they would aim the D- 
8*s in the general direction of where the next structures were to be built and then jump off 
them, thus letting the D-8's travel by themselves. While they were gathering up the supplies 
and getting ready to go after the D-8's, they kind of forgot to watch to make sure the cats 
were going in the right direction. They suddenly looked up and saw one of the D-8's had 
veered off course and was headed for the only hogan in the valley. 

Ted jumped on the fender of the pickup and yelled to Dad, "Lloyd! Drive me to the 
cat and Til stop it!" They zoomed after the errant D-8, and as Dad got close, Ted jumped 
from the fender, but he didn't allow Dad to slow down first. By the time he quit rolling across 
the valley floor, the cat had missed the hogan, but had gone through the Indian's garden, 
ripping all the fences down and ruining a lot of his crop. They spent the rest of the day 
building fence and nursing Ted's bruised body. 

Three of my memories from these days were events that probably will not ever be 
possible for but a very few people to experience. While on the Navajo and Hopi reservations, 
we went to a Squaw Dance, a Sing, and a Hopi Kachina Dance. 

The Squaw Dance is an event the Navajos used to meet and socialize. This one was 
off in the desert near Kaibito. It was a cool evening and the fire was huge. There were 
probably close to a hundred Indians there, both male and female, and they sort of skip- 
shuffled around the fire, two by two. The circle of dancers seemed to be continuous, some 
joining and some dropping out at random This was accompanied by chanting and the beating 
of some sort of drums. We were the only whites there, but we felt perfectly safe. These 
dances would last all night, with people coming and going at all hours. 

When we were living at Leupp, which is near Winslow, but still on the reservation, 
we went to a Navajo 'Sing.' This is a ritual that is used for the healing of the sick. An Indian 
trader named Warner VanKuren and Dad became friends and he took us to a Sing. When a 
Sing was called, it was continuous until the sick was healed or died. This particular Sing was 
for a sick boy in his early teens, about my age. There were several hogans somewhat loosely 
grouped together and there were people rnilling about at all hours. We were there from early 
afternoon until the Blood Pudding was served, which was very late at night. It seemed that 


the serving of the Blood Pudding occurred at a definite point in the Sing and was considered 
very special. Throughout all of this, I was cautioned to be very quiet and respectful. 

On the earthen floor of the hogan where the sick boy was, they were doing the 
Sandpaintings. I sat there for hours, in the shadows across from the sick boy with a small fire 
between us as the sandpainters made their intricate drawings and erased them 

It was fascinating to watch them as they let the different colored sand trickle through 
their fingers and thumbs, making their sacred designs. They could make a perfectly straight 
line, either pencil-thin or broad and sweeping curves or sharp angles. Using nothing but their 
fingers and thumbs, they could make the most delicate designs, very colorful and beautiful. 
As each sandpainting was completed, the medicine man would immediately erase it by 
brushing all the sand aside or merely blending all the colors to a single hue, and another would 
take his place to begin anew a different one. 

Dad was building a flood control dam near Oraibi, on the Hopi Reservation when we 
went to a Kachina Dance. Tm not sure the special religious significance of the Kachina 
Dance, but it was impressed on me that it was very unusual for any non-Hopis to be allowed 
to attend. Near Oraibi, there are the villages of Hotavilla, Polacca, and Second Mesa. Tm 
not sure which village it was, but it was the last one in the chain of the small, flat-topped 
mesas that tower above the desert floor below. We walked quite a ways to get there as there 
was no room for but a few vehicles on the mesas. The final mesa was accessed only by a 
narrow road that connected the mesa before it. The passage way was only wide enough for 
a single wagon, and that it was well-used was evident by the twin ruts that had been cut into 
the hard red sandstone by the many wagon wheels that had used it for centuries. 

In the early 1950's, we moved to Mesa, and Dad expanded his business to other types 
of construction. He was doing some earth and concrete work on the Big Lake dam I was 
with Dad on one of his trips to Mesa from Big Lake when we had a life- threatening 
experience. It had been raining for some time, and when we were crossing Queen Creek 
west of Florence Junction, we stopped to watch some cows caught up in the flooding wash. 
The water was just lapping at the top of the bridge and we were parked just to the west side 
of it. The highway ahead of us was lower than where we were, and as I looked that way, the 
water was starting to come over the road. I told Dad about the water, and we jumped in the 
car and headed out so we could cross the long depression of the road to reach the other side. 
We were about one-fourth of the way across when a wall of water hit us broadside. Almost 
immediately the water was almost up to the windows of our car and it had slowed us to 
almost a standstill The water all around us made us feel as if we were not moving at all, but 
the speedometer showed us moving about 10 miles per hour, and that was with the 
accelerator pedal all the way to the floor. It appeared that we were drifting off the road, and 
Dad told me that if we went over to hang onto him and we'd try to go to either side of the 
wash. Just as it seemed we were about to go over, our speed started to pick up, and we made 
it safely to the far side. 


There was a man that was standing with us before we tried to cross and when he saw 
we made it, he tried it also. But about halfway across, his car stalled and the water was still 
rising. At that moment a lumber truck owned by Hal Butler came along and plowed into the 
water and pushed the stranded fellow on through to safety on our side. His trunk was bashed 
in, but he didn't complain. 

When I graduated from high school, Dad was working at the Grand Canyon on a 
water line job and he got me a job as his oiler on a backhoe. That is where I joined the Union. 
Dad in his earlier years had been an active participant in the forming of Arizona's chapter of 
the Operating Engineers and was a charter member. A year later Gayle and I were married, 
and I was working on the Glen Canyon Dam when Dad died. 

I remember Dad as a man of many talents and compassion for his family. If someone 
needed help, he was there doing what he could. He, like most of us, made mistakes in his life, 
but overall he was a kindly man who cared about others. 

A few years before his death, Dad gave me a clipping he carried in his wallet, and it 

Let it be said of me after I'm gone, 

that I always pulled a thistle if I saw one, 

and planted a flower wherever I thought one would grow. 

My family and I were blessed to have had Mom live near us here in Mesa and in her 
last years, we truly enjoyed her presence and felt the good influence she had on us. She was 
a favorite of our kids. 

Those of you who knew Mom know how shaky her hands were. (Shaw's and mine 
are the same way.) Let me tell you a couple of little stories about that. 

Any day trip we wanted to take, Mom was always willing to go along with us. One 
time I wanted to visit Arivipa Canyon in southeast Arizona. It is a very scenic drive through 
the canyon and well worth the time and effort getting there. While we were traveling, Mom 
and Darcy were in the back seat, and Mom was helping Darcy learn her alphabet letters when 
we heard Darcy say, "But, Grandma, I cannot make those little squiggly lines like you do!" 

Apparently she had always had that problem cause the story goes that when Uncle 
Paul returned home from World War H, Mom asked him why he had not answered her letters 
to him. To which he replied, "I had a difficult time reading them I even showed them to 
some of the German prisoners I was guarding, and they couldn't read them either!" 

When Mom made up her mind to do something, she made it happen, one way or 
another. When Gayle and I were first married, we were working at Glen Canyon Dam, when 


they were building the town of Page. We had our comfy Terra Cruiser trailer house parked 
at the W. W. Clyde Construction Company trailer park. Few folks had phones, and we were 
not the exception. One Saturday morning just at dawn, we heard this banging on our front 
door. Bleary-eyed, I opened the door and there stood a Government Ranger from the 
Department of the Interior. He was not a happy camper. 

"Are you Grant Goodman?" he demanded. After I told him I was, he went on with 
a scowl and snarled, "Well, call your mother!" With that, he turned and left, spinning his tires 
in the gravel roadway. I wondered what catastrophe had struck, and dressed and found a 
phone to call her. it turned out she wanted to know if I had time that weekend to move her 
trailer house from Show Low to Kanab, Utah. I did, but it took all weekend. That was not 
the only time a Ranger visited me at dawn. After that, whenever a Ranger came to our trailer, 
the other guys would tease me, saying, "Did you call your mother?" I didn't mind at all. 

Mom loved to knit and crochet, and in her later years she carried a big bag of her 
crocheted house slippers in a wide variety of sizes and colors which she'd give to anyone who 
wanted them, even our kids' friends. From time to time as our kids' friends come to visit, they 
talk of Mom's house slippers. 

After Dad's death, Mom worked hard to provide for Garry, Rita, Randy, Rhonda, and 
Tevis. Tm sorry and embarrassed to say I simply did not realize how hard she was struggling 
to keep body and soul together. I could have been a lot of help to her and my younger 
brothers and sisters. 

A few years before her death, we were having a family gathering at our home here in 
Mesa, and I was trying to be funny by telling a story about our younger days in Vernon. I 
said that because we had no shoes, when we were on our way to school in the snow, we'd 
look for fresh cow pies to stick our feet in to get them warm Well, let me tell you, Mom was 
truly offended at the thought that we did not have shoes. I didn't realize it was such a point 
of pride with her that all of her children had nice clothes and good food. And it's true, we 
always had nice clothes, maybe not new, but neat and clean, and I don't ever remember 
having to go hungry. Neither me or any of my brothers or sisters has ever doubted her love 
for us, warts and all. Mom loved the Gospel and our Savior who gave his life for us, and 
she taught each of us its principles and values. She taught by words and actions, and always 
inspired each of us to do our very best. 

We love and miss Mom very much, and when it rains and the little waterfalls appear, 
we know Mom is looking down from on high and smiling. 

' - 


Grant and Gayle Goodman Family. 

L to R, Back row: Matthew, Shaw, Lori, Greg, Weston. Darci in the middle. 

Front row: Leslie holding Corinne, Grant, Brittany, Gayle, Shanna holding McKenna. 

(Hudson arrived too late for this picture.) 


Garry Ray Goodman 

I, Garry Ray Goodman (being somewhat of a knot head — but Gloria says that's solely 
Garry's opinion), and Mary Jane Hone Goodman, were brought into this world by goodly 
parents: Lloyd Everette Goodman and Emma Ruth Rothhsberger and Kenneth LaRoy Hone 
and Wyroa Butler. We thank our Heavenly Father every day for such wonderful parents and 
family. We want our brothers and sisters to know how much we love them and appreciate 
all the help they have given us over the years. Just saying how much we love them isn't 
enough; we love being around our brothers and sisters. 

We also want our uncles and aunts 
and their families to know that we love 
them just as much, and how much Mary 
Jane and I appreciate all the help they've 
given us over the years. 

There's a lot we could say about our 
families and if we did, we'd leave someone 
out and we don't want to do that and hurt 
someone's feelings. So we will say this: we 
have the best family a person could have 
and that Heavenly Father knew this was the 
family we were supposed to be in. 

Mary Jane Hone and I were married 
on 18 January 1974 in the Provo Temple. 
WeVe been married for 21 years and during 
those 21 years, Mary Jane has put up with 
me and all the moving around we have 
done. I want you to know that I love her 
and thank our Heavenly Father for her. 
Heavenly Father knew that Mary Jane was 
the one for me and I for her. 

m mmm,, 
Garry and Mary Jane Goodman 

We have two sons — Reed and Lorin Floyd. First of all, I want to say that they take 
after their mother and not their dad. If they'd have taken after their dad, we'd have shot them. 
Mary Jane and I are so proud of them They honor their Priesthood and do what's asked of 
them They've never given us any trouble about going to church, or anything else either. 

They both have their Patriarchal blessings, and what blessings they are. We'll tell just 
a little bit about each and then you'll have to ask them to read their blessings. Reed will be 
a judge in Israel, and Lorin will be known for his art work throughout the church (if he keeps 
it up). 



I want to testify of the 
truthfulness of the Church of Jesus 
Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and 
that without its guidance and 
teachings, we would be lost souls 
in this world. It is a Church that is 
led by the Spirit of our Heavenly 
Father and his son, Jesus Christ. It 
is also a church of service not only 
to members, but also to non- 
members, and we should always 
remember that. 


I also want to express my appreciation to our Heavenly Father for all the callings 
we've held and what a blessing they are to us. We are put in those positions by the spirit of 
our Heavenly Father, and we are in those callings at this time for a reason and only Heavenly 
Father knows why. Maybe we will know too after we've been in them for a time. 

We know that our Heavenly Father lives and that if we don't follow the teachings he 
has sent down for us to do, there's no way we can get back to him. 

How can we expect to receive the blessings if we don't do what is asked of us — that 
is, go to our meetings and do our callings in the best way we know how. Not only that, but 
to sustain those leaders who are over us. I also testify that the Bishops who are over the 
wards are put there by the spirit of our Heavenly Father and if we don't sustain them, we are 
putting ourselves in danger of damnation. Seek out those who need help, and if it's possible, 
give it to them Let's remember to count our blessings and to choose the right. May our 
Heavenly Father continue to pour out his blessings on all of us and that we may have His 
spirit to be with us in all that we do. 

If you want to know more about Mary Jane and me, you'll have to read our journals. 
If we can be of any help to anyone, please call. Why? Because we're FAMILY! I say this 
in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen. 


Rita Faye Goodman Garner 

I was born January 13, 1950 in 
Springerville, Arizona, in the old hospital. My 
father, Lloyd Goodman, took care of me when I was 
only days old because Mom had to go back into the 
hospital for an emergency appendectomy. Dad 
wouldn't let any of the sisters in the ward help take 
care of me. He'd put me in bed with him at 
night — me on one arm and my bottle in the arm pit 
of the other. When I awoke, he simply put the 
warmed bottle in my mouth and went back to sleep. 

We moved often when I was young. Dad 
was in the road construction business and we didn't 
seem to stay in one place very long. It was difficult 
changing schools so often. I was shy and very quiet 
until I got home; then I was a normal, noisy child 

and a tomboy to boot. 
Lloyd with Rita 

I grew up with Garry, Randy, Rhonda, and 
Tevis, since Dale, Kent, Gloria and Grant were already grown and on their own. When Dad 
died of a heart attack in 1961, we moved to St. Johns to live near Uncle Paul and Aunt 
Theedie RothHsberger, Mom's only brother. They were willing to help out until Mom got on 
her feet. She had a difficult time making ends meet. Having no high school education 
because she dropped out to marry at age 16, and never having had to work outside the home, 
left her unaccustomed to make a living on her own. The oveiv^elming responsibility of five 
children to feed and clothe by herself must have be