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JFR Notes - Dad
The '06 All Girls Weekend included memories of the day dad died.
My Dad Story - Donna
Donna HillIt is always hard to pick just one story about dad. It seems that he and I spent a lot of time together because of working on the farm together so much and his having to yell at me about something or other that I was not doing up to his standards. However, having said that, I must say that I have always had a lot of respect and gratitude to my father for the example that he was to me and for the blessings that I have received from being one of his daughters. I think that I would like to tell you about the night before I left home to get married.
I was married on September 22, 1967. I left home a few days before that because, I was not being married in Mountain Home, but in Acequia and needed to get a few things taken care of.
As the other girls in the family can attest, mom was anxious for my marriage to be over and for me to be gone. She had been 'on one' for a few days and there was some tension in the house which everyone could feel.
I would like to insert something here. Mom worked all of her life to make financial ends meet. I think a lot of her stress was caused by the lack of money in our family. I think that she wished she could help all of us out more, but it just was not within the family means to do so. As children we did not lack for any of the necessities of life' but extras were not an option. When I told mom that Gordon and I were getting married she said that I would have to pay for whatever I wanted. I got a job as a maid in a hotel up town and paid for my wedding with what I made there. I do not look back on this with any kind of anger, resentment or disappointment. I was getting married to the most wonderful man I had ever met and was joyous within myself for this privilege.
I will now return to the night before I left. I had spent most of the day packing up my things and finishing up some wedding items. Dad was gone working most of the day and probably had some church stuff to do before he finally got home that night to stay. It was about 10:00 p.m. Everyone had gone to bed and that included me.
“Dad came into the bedroom and woke me up. He exclaimed, “I didn't know you were leaving tomorrow. I would like to give you a Father's Blessing before you leave.” I must say here too, that dad always seemed 'out of the loop' when it came to family happenings. He missed a lot of things and seemed surprised whenever he would come home and we would be celebrating someone's birthday.
I had never thought about asking for a Father's Blessing, but I was thrilled that.he would think it important enough to come in, get me up, and give me a blessing in the middle of the night.
He asked me to come down to the bedroom where mom was so she could be there. I did so. As I was getting out of bed he said, “You know your mom does love you, in her way.” My thought, at the time, was, “Yea, right!!” (As the years have past, I realize that she did love me - in her way.)
We went down to the bedroom. Dad was standing there in his garments and he put a chair at the end of the bed in which I sat. I do not remember many of the things that he blessed me with, but I do remember two things. One thing was that my husband would always love and respect me if I acted as I should and treated him the way a worthy man should be treated.
He also blessed me that I would not need for things in life. He promised that I would always be taken care of and blessed in that way.
And, so, it has been. My life has always been good. I am not saying that it has always been perfect, but I truly feel that great blessings have always been mine. At times in life, when I would feel myself getting a little worried about worldly comforts, I would think of my dad taking that time and effort to make sure that I had a Father's Blessing before I left home. I can see in my mind's eye the bedroom, mom laying in bed, dad standing there in his garments and his hands on my head.
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Christine's “Dad Story”
Submitted for: All-Girls Weekend, November 17-18, 2006
Christine Gail Johnson (or, as some family members like to refer to me - Christine Gail Cowgirl Johnson Marks Catlett Catlett Johnson) was born August 24, 1948, in Adak, Alaska (yes, before Alaska became a state 10 years later in 1959). When I was much younger, I often thought I was lying if I answered that the state I was born in was Alaska, when it had been a territory at the time I was born. My Dad tried to teach me not to lie, and even to this day, I am a terrible liar. I know Dad helped me obtain a well-developed conscience because I can pretty much remember each time I have told a lie, which reminds me, I am way behind on my repentance duties.
When I was 4 months old, Mother contracted an infection that became life-threatening and she was evacuated by air from Alaska to Washington. The task of bringing Dick, Leslie, Donna, and me to Washington fell to Dad alone. The story of how Dad fated with all of us on the plane is one that is memorable. Apparently, Dad had to put his knee on my chest to get me to stay still long enough to change my diaper. I've been told that this method of changing diapers was quite a topic of conversation amongst the other passengers.
Dad never shied away from helping with his children or his grandchildren. Changing diapers, burping, floor-walking, soft murmurings, or whatever it took to help with the unending tasks related to babies-Dad did it.
My first day out of the hospital after Monica was born (one day later!), I went to Sunday dinner at Mom and Dad's in Mountain Home. Monica had been born with an underdeveloped duodenum (not discovered until a few weeks later). I'll never forget that when Dad picked her up, and was admiring her, Monica threw up all over his Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes. Not a word of complaint did he utter. Once, when Donna was visiting with Eric when he was a few months old, Dad was lying on the living room floor and holding Eric up over him, Eric managed to choose just that moment to poo in his diaper with an extremely loose stool that leaked out on Dad. Not a word of complaint from Dad; however, for quite a long time after that Eric was dubbed “Eric the Pooper.”
One of my favorite memories of Dad is actually a result of something Grant did. When Danna Lynn (named after Donna Lynn for some of you who don't know that), was a few weeks old, Dad was lying on the living room floor and admiring her-Danna was absolutely, positively the most beautiful baby ever-but I digress. Danna curled her two-weeks-fresh-from-the-womb hand around Dad's weathered and aged little finger and at that precise moment, Grant took a black and white picture that is one of the most precious pictures my family has. We have often thought that the picture should be entered into a best photo contest-it would surely win “hands-down.” Once, Monica and I even thought we should have it made it into a poster, frame it, and sell copies of it on e-Bay. Nonetheless, that picture serves a purpose here, today, as we remember our Dad in this manner.
I am 23 months away from being the same age Dad was when he went to heaven, for surely if anyone has ever made it to heaven, it is our Dad. Lately, I am realizing more and more how short his life-span was and how much more I would have enjoyed him now that I have learned to love myself as much as my Dad loves me. When my co-workers quit or retire, I am not likely to ever see them again. I've been through a lot of co-workers over the years, but I can count on one hand the co-workers that I still remember and miss, That is how I think the world feels about Dad. Everyone who ever knew him for any length of time still remembers him and misses him. I did not write the following poem, but I thought of Dad when I read it. l think you will think of dad too.
April 8, 1918 - August 31, 1978
Dash
I read of a Bishop who stood to speak
at the funeral of his friend.
He referred to the date
on his tombstone
from the beginning... to the end.
He noted that first came the date of his birth
and spoke of the date with tears
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
that he spent alive on earth, and
now only those who loved him know
what that little line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own;
the cars, the house, the cash.
What matters is how we lived and loved
and how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard,
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
You could be at “dash mid-range”
If we could just slow down enough
to consider what's true and real,
and always try to understand
the way other people feel, and
be less quick to anger,
show appreciation more
and love the people in our life like
we've never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
more often wear a smile
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read
with your life's actions to rehash...
would you be pleased with the things they say
about how you spent your dash?
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Barbara - The Day Dad Died
By Barbara Greer SansoucieThis really isn't about the actual day Dad died but the first Tuesday after because I'm not really sure just what day he did pass away.
I had gone back to school after the Labor Day weekend. Things were uncertain about Dad when I left the house, but no one really seemed all that concerned.
I was in my 4th period Geometry class when someone from the office called and said I needed to come. When I got there Sister Johnson (not Mom) was waiting for me. Her hair was in curlers and I vividly remember thinking, “Gee, I hope no one thinks this Mrs. Johnson is MY mom showing up to school with curlers in her hair!”
We got into the car and I still really didn't know what or why I was pulled out of school, but the minute I walked into the house I knew.
Not much of a story, but I was only 15 and the world revolved around me and my drama, so this is all I can recollect.
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Tony's Memory
By Tony
I’ve given some thought to trying to remember a story about dad that we don’t already all know. After some consideration I came up with something that I think was unique to just dad and I.
Even though dad seldom had much free time, we both enjoyed watching football. Do you remember that first TV we, had that had a remote control? It had two buttons, one for volume and another to change the channel. It didn’t work like remotes work today. Instead of using an IR transmitter, it had two metal cylinders inside, of it. When you hit one of the buttons on top of the remote, a hammer would strike one of those cylinders on its end, which would emit a tone out of the range of human hearing. A sensor on the TV picked up those sound frequencies and would then move the mechanical channel changer or move the volume to one of three settings - very sophisticated. That old remote had a kick like a .357. It also did double duty as my phaser. Those were the days. I seem to have wondered off the, subject...
Sometimes on Sunday afternoon or Monday nights we would both be downstairs watching football. On the coffee table was a well worn chess set. Dad and I must have, played dozens, maybe hundreds of games sitting on that old uncomfortable green couch. In and of itself, that is a good memory of him for me. But the thing that really sticks out in my mind is that he never let me win! He beat me time and time again. He was never mean about it and he, never gloated. In typical dad fashion, my beatings were carried out in a very matter-of-fact, business-like way.
I remember one little quirk in his play. When he had moved a piece so as to place my queen under attack he, would say “Madam” as a way of letting me, know that she was in trouble. I’ve never read the official rules to chess but I don’t think you have to show that courtesy to the opposing player. I’d bet all of Leslie’s money and Christine’s imaginary friends that there probably is an interesting story regarding how he picked up that habit.
Again, I’ve digressed. Let me get back on track. Dad was an exceptional chess player but he, did make, a mistake, now and again. Finally one day it happened, I actually won a game! Of course I was pretty pumped about beating the old man because I knew he hadn’t let me win. From then on he still won most of the games we played, but I knew that I could occasionally pull off a win.
Dad was very wise that way.
Part 2
After writing that story about chess, Bev informs me that the assignment wasn’t initially understood correctly. We don’t need to write about just any memory we have of dad, we need to write about our memories of when he died.
Like everybody else in the family, I remember well what I was doing at that time. Dad died the year I graduated from high school. In late August of that year, I was just getting ready to begin my on-again, off-again relationship with higher education at Ricks College. Mom and dad took me to Rexburg via Utah. I remember we visited all the usual suspects including the kids in Utah and Uncle Boyd (I think).
On the last leg of the trip from Utah to Rexburg I got annoyed with dad for some petty reason. Being 18, which is to say, mentally retarded, I was quite putout by whatever it was that was bothering me.
Fortunately, when we got to Rexburg, Grant was already there. I was going to be rooming with him and 4 other guys. We unloaded my stuff and we all walked out the car. I gave, dad a half-hearted hug and they drove off.
A couple of days later I was walking on campus. One of my non-Johnson roommates saw me and told me that there had been an emergency at home and that I had to call home ASAP. This happened a long time ago but I still clearly remember my first thought upon hearing this, I thought dad had died, I also remember my second thought, “That’s silly, Nobody has died.”
When I got home, Grant was already there. He gave me the news and we spent the next hours in our room crying and talking.
We didn’t have a car so Grant asked one of the guys we knew to give us a ride back to Mountain Home. He had a Ford Pinto with a propensity to vapor lock, which it did about a dozen times between Rexburg and Mountain Home.
That’s what I remember of August 31, 1978
Tony
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The Day Dad Died - Shelley
Shelley's Memories
August 18, 1977 was Brian's first birthday party. Mom and Dad had driven down from Mountain Home to pick Barbara up after her annual trip to Shelley's for the summer. On the way home, Mom guessed so Barbara confessed that I was expecting again. I didn't want to tell Mom because she thought I already had enough kids to handle. I am glad now that the secret was out.
When the call came, I was home alone. (Now there is a surprise!) Aunt Jean Paul called the house. I knew that something was wrong then because although we had lived in the same town for years, we had never really communicated. She asked me if I was feeling all right. She asked me to sit down. She explained that in searching for another missing plane, they had found the plane that Dad and Dr. Wells had been flying.
It was hard to breathe for a little while. It all seemed so very unexpected with someone who was in such good health. I did not cry at first, not even when I told Rudy. I needed to make arrangements to get a Primary teacher, lawn waterer and mail gatherer so I called the neighbors. When I told Kaye Buchanan what was going on, her kind words and soft shoulder were all I needed to start the tears.
I love the story Mom used to tell about Dad finding out that I was pregnant and that he had to go to heaven to pick a little girl out for me. After living through the turbulent years with that girl, I wonder if he was trying to bless me or curse me. But now that she is all grown up, I don't know what I would have done without her. All I can say is thanks, Dad.
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Two Dad Thoughts - Grant
A story about Dad:
When I worked on the well rig with dad, he once told me that he had made a decision to read the 88th section of the D&C once a week. He felt it was so powerful and helpful that he should do that. I remember thinking that the 84th section would be a better one. After studying both, I decided that it was OK for him to read the 88th section once a week as it is sufficiently theologically dense to be well worth the effort. For some reason it resonated with him.
Dad set a good example of someone who was able to commit to the gospel. He was not always active in the church but he was when he got older and I know all the kids remember that.
You can also ask the sisters to review the family web site and make additions or corrections. Tell them that we will be updating it after the girls weekend with the photos you take. If anyone wants to send photos, I can add them too.
Story 2
I don't know that I've ever recorded this so it might be a good thing to do. I don't remember the exact date but I know it was shortly after school started in Rexburg. I'd returned from my mission about a year earlier. I was walking home from a class and one of the Rubert girls, I think LaNelle stopped me and insisted I call home. I was sort of joking with her and said she'd have to tell me why to call home or I wouldn't do it - it was after all - a long distance phone call!
Well, she told me they heard dad had died so that was a downer on my day and made my petty attempt at a joke even the more petty. I did call when I got home and Blain Mecham answered and told me the news. I was sharing a room with Tony at the time and I was in such shock that I couldn't even tell him what happened. Tony then called and talked to Blain and broke out in tears at the news. I was just in stunned shock. We made arrangements to get home, neither Tony nor I had a car so we borrowed one, I think from Russell Rubert, and made the trip home. I guess the Rubert's had more to do with us than I thought or remembered. I do remember that Blain said something about dad dying in a plane crash and he wanted to be sure we got the news first hand before it was all over the radio and TV, which eventually it was and I heard about it probably the same day on either the radio or TV, I don't remember which.
I don't remember a lot of other details but we didn't come home the same day, I think it was the day after. I told my bosses secretary that I would be gone home and why, I didn't have the desire to talk about dad's death so I was avoiding telling my boss so I wouldn't have to answer any questions about it and so not have to talk about it. The drive home from Rexburg was very quiet but when Tony and I got there, we were probably the last ones to get there. At mom's house there was lots of activity and lots of people. At one point one of the neighbors called and asked if they could bring some food over. By that point there was so much food in the house from the ward that we couldn't fit another thing in the house so we politely declined.
For the funeral, it was sad for me in that it was a closed casket and we did not get another chance to see dad in the sense of a viewing. The funeral service it self was fine in my memory but the grave side service was very difficult for me. I remember breaking down into tears several times but with all the family and friends there, it was easy to get support and comfort. I remember that there were lots of people there. Dad had influenced lots of people and many were there for support.
It has been a long time since that day, now almost 20 years, but the feelings of loss still persist. I know enough of the plan of salvation to know that dad is not sad or mad or bad but glad. I've realized that we are the ones who feel the loss and have the sense that we are not with him but I do feel that he is with us and has been here to help us as needed. I told Trudy that I think most all of my brothers and sisters have had some kind of dream about dad and not long ago I told Trudy of one I had. That dream was a long time ago. I still feel that dad was able to go on the mission that he always wanted to go on. I don't think mom would have made it to a mission if dad had “retired” and then wanted to fill a mission. He has that chance and I'm sure he is happy for where he is.
Grant