Married Fenly Frost Merrell 10 June 1910
Cora Elizabeth-Clifford
Died 8 November 1971 in Safford, Arizona
1920 Census
1930 Census
Autobiography
I was the third little soft, red bundle put into the arms of Amos Pierce and Hulda Ann Munyon Ward. Before me were Franklin Amos who lived only ten months and Harriet Celia, my older sister. I was just medium size and born 19 September 1888, with a good, peaceful disposition. They named me Cora Elizabeth for a very dear friend and Elizabeth for two of Mother's aunts.
At the time of my advent into the family, my parents were living in Geuda Springs, Kansas, in a small lumber house with a lumber sidewalk running past the place. My father was there because of illness and was taking baths in the mineral springs which were known for great curative values. Indians for generations had used these waters to cure their ills. My grandfather Ward bought the land and moved there in the very early days of Kansas. Father had stomach ulcers, however, and they didn't respond to the mineral water.
George M. Bigger, an early pioneer of Geuda Springs, stated in the Geuda Springs News, 5 January 1933, "Others who came here in the 70's were Orin I. Ward who owned 160 acres where Geuda Springs is now--eighty acres on either side of the county line. " The article further stated, "In 1884 the Santa Fe Railroad (was) built through Geuda Springs, and the big hotels and bath houses were built."
Quotes from Summer County Press, 25 May 1882, are in part: "The visators (original spelling) to the Springs come from every state in the union and it certainly will become a famous resort in a few years if they can only get some monied men to build a good hotel. ...At the Springs, Illinois seems to furnish the largest number of visators after Kansas and there were at least a dozen persons from the Sucker State. ...There are people here from Kansas City, St. Louis, Philadelphia, and in fact from every part of the country, and the general expressions seems to be favorable to the Springs. ...The springs are being welled up and covered and this will add greatly to the looks of things. The baths are as good as any in the country, and I can see no reason why Geuda will not be a good town as nature has done more for the spot than any other place in the world. ..."
Mother, Cora Ward Merrell, when referring to Geuda Springs, told me of her Mother, Hulda Ann Munyon Ward, talking about the beautifully dressed rich ladies she saw strolling along those boardwalks. (Italics added by Verla Merrell Johnson after a genealogy trip to Kansas in 1989, the hundredth anniversary of the Oklahoma Land Rush)
When I was a baby (22 April 1889) the first part of Oklahoma was opened for homesteading. The government offered flour, turnips and bacon to help the homesteaders until they could raise a crop. As father had spent everything he had trying to regain his health, this seemed like a good chance to get a farm and start again. He and Mother talked it over and decided to take their chances. Father, with two of his brothers, Llewellyn and Hubert, and Mr. House, a friend, got their teams and wagons and ran. They landed on the four comers of a section. Each had a quarter section and could be together in the evenings to cook, eat and sleep.
There was an abundance of wood on Uncle Hubert's place, and a spring of water on Father's. Our 160 acres proved to be very good land. Dad built a large log room and brought his family to live in it. There were no windows or doors at first, only blankets hung there. The wolves would howl at night and Mother would be afraid they would break in. We later got windows and doors and also added a large, sod room.
When the "Oklahoma Strip" was opened for homesteading, Father took us out to see it. I can remember the vast crowd lined up for miles. Some were on horseback, in wagons, carts, and buggies. I can even remember one ox team and others on foot. They each had stakes. The Marshall kept going up and down the line to see that all was ready, then at a given signal, the playing of fifes by men stationed every so far apart, everyone ran. They headed in all directions to put their stakes down on the comer of the quarter section they chose, and put up their flag to show that it was taken.
It was on Father's farm in Oklahoma that I became acquainted with the animals and birds and their uses to man. It was there, too, that I began to discover the beauties of nature while watching the big grain fields grow, waving in the wind and later turning yellow and ripening into golden grain.
Threshing time was wonderful to me. I was not old enough to be much help, but I could watch from the house the big, old engine pulling the thresher up to the stacks, then puffing while the men fed the bundles of wheat through it. They stacked the straw on and around the stables for the protection of the animals during the severe winters, and caught the wheat in double-bed wagon boxes and hauled it away.
It was fun, too, having the men with the thresher there to eat with us as we children got lots of attention, and Mother cooked so many good things to eat. They would be with us two or three days. Women would help each other. When the harvest rush was over, we would go to Guthrie with a load of wheat. We bought new shoes, clothing, flour and groceries to last for some time. We always took a camp outfit along. We would stop in the shade along the streams and father would cook the most delicious meals. We would have the best of times.
Mother had a large flock of beautiful, white geese which she plucked every spring for feathers to fill the pillows and featherbeds. It was our delight to watch them sail around on the pond and dive for the bugs and food in the water. In the spring it was the children's duty to keep track of where the hens nested and bring in the eggs which were white and larger than a turkey egg. We would wait until the geese were feeding a long way off then go to the nest, grab the eggs, and run for the house. The old gander was always on guard when we got near the nest. He would let out a honk and here he would come. If he caught us it was too bad. Mother usually heard the signal and would come to our rescue. Once he caught up with my sister, Hattie, knocked her down and began beating her with his wings. Mother had to take a stick and beat him off. (The stream and pond Mother describes still exist today, 1989. The front of the farm along the road has been preserved in its original state. A gnarled, old tree stands which looks as if it could have been there at the time Grandfather owned the farm.)
There were wild fruits on the creeks. It was fun when we put up a lunch and went out picking plums or blackberries. There were also lots of blue and white daisies growing wild which we loved to pick. It was also fun when we went in our wagon up to Kansas to our Uncle Royal's (Grandfather's brother who inherited the Geuda Springs property) to can and dry fruit or to Grandfather's to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas. On one of these trips we fell into a snow drift and the horses went out of sight.
I was always my father's shadow. He taught me to pray, told me bedtime stories, and performed first aid for me whenever I had a cut, burn, bruise or sliver. He always made me think it was tough luck, but that I would get over it and be all the wiser for having had it. One evening I followed him out to the pasture to tend the horses. It was a real close, cloudy evening and it got dark before we got back home. On our way, we saw a large ball of fire drop down. It rolled along the field jumping and rolling much the same as a baseball that had been hit. The ball, as I remember it, was about the size of a #2 tub. We followed it until it suddenly went out, then it was so dark we could hardly see. Dad asked me which way was home. I didn't know, and feared that he didn't either, but we kept walking and soon reached home. I was happily surprised and my idea of his wisdom rose a notch. I was always afraid of the lightning and as there were terrible electrical storms, I had much cause for fear. Mother would tell me that if I would be good, I wouldn't be afraid. I thought she must be almost an angel and that I must really be wicked for I was surely afraid. I would vow to myself that I would be better before the next storm came, though I never could quite figure out just how to be very, very good.
I was five years old when one night Hattie and I went to spend the night with our neighbors. The next morning when we came home we found a brand new little baby girl whom they named Lena May. She was so cute and red.
It was just before this that two of Mother's sisters with their families came there (now Marshall, Oklahoma) to find new homes. Aunt Mary and family soon found a place to live, but Aunt Libbie and family lived with us for a long time. They finally took up a homestead and moved. We children had lots of good times together.
I started my schooling there in a little log, one-room building. Mother and Aunt Libbie took us that first morning in the wagon. The school was about three quarters of a mile north from our home, but seemed like ten miles when we had to walk facing the cold wind or through deep snow. I shall always remember my first day. The teacher was a man, quite stem, and when it came time for the beginners to recite, he asked me to stand and say the alphabet. I got through that fine then he asked me to count to one hundred. I got along fine with that, too, until I came to 49 and was beginning to feel my ego. I was talking up right smart, but instead of saying fifty I said "sixty". The teacher smiled and said, "That will do," and the whole school laughed. I can still see that smile like a circle in water spreading allover the school. He put me in the primer instead of the chart class so I was happy.
About that time the LDS missionaries came through our country preaching a strange gospel. Most people were very prejudiced and would have nothing to do with them. My father was religiously inclined and had never been quite satisfied with any church, although he had investigated several. His mother was a good, prayerful woman and always prayed that some of her family would be led to the truth, feeling that there was something in the future for them that she hadn't received. Dad and Mother went to the missionary meetings and both felt that it was heaven-sent. The missionaries made their headquarters at our home when they were in that district. Mother fed them, did their washing and ironing, and talked about the new gospel. She and Dad were converted and joined the church. They were baptized on 4 June 1893. I was blessed at the time they were confirmed. Hattie was eight and was baptized later when two of Mother's sisters, married to Edward Hunter and William F. Hulse, and their families, and Father's brother, Llewellyn, were baptized.
We attended Sunday services at the home of the Holts. I don't remember their given names, but they lived about three miles from our place and we enjoyed the ride in the early morning. We always took pot luck and all had dinner together. There must have been 15 to 20 when we were all together.
Father was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood to the office of a Priest by Elder John H. Vincent on 10 February 1895 and to the office of an Elder by D. W. Bowering on 28 April 1895.
The people of the neighborhood were mean to us after we joined the church so the missionaries wrote to church headquarters and they advised us to come to Salt Lake. We almost had to give things away. Our place was all planted to grain and the young orchard was loaded with fruit. We received $800. Still we were happy in the fact that we were gathering with the saints. (The records we found on our trip showed the farm was sold for $1200 with a down payment of $800. They no doubt left and never received the balance.)
When we were about to leave, advice came for us to go to Mexico, which was a great disappointment. We left in June and arrived in Dublan, Mexico, the last week of September, after three full months travel in covered wagons. There was no train into that part of Mexico at the time. Elder E. M. McArthur was Captain of our company.
He was a missionary being released, and was given the responsibility of taking us safely across the almost trackless deserts and mountains to old Mexico. He would eat two meals a day with us then one in turn with each of the others. (Mother often told of how much fun the children had on the journey. They would pick wild flowers, and explore along the way. The wagons were so loaded that the horses were slow, so they had time for their adventures. One of the horses had a small colt which they loved to play with. If they ever ventured too far away from the wagon train that colt would come out running, kicking up his hoofs and nudge them to go back. He was a good "watch-dog " over them.)
We carried small sheet-iron stoves with us which burned wood or cow chips if there was no wood. We baked our bread and cooked on it. There was not a great variety because it was so small, but oh! how delicious those meals were--hot biscuits and a lot of the time potato soup with bacon and onions in it. Our appetites were always good after jolting over the rocks or trudging along behind in deep sand so the horses would be relieved of our weight and travel faster. We always camped over Sunday and held Sunday services.
We had no fatalities nor very serious troubles on the way, although we did endure hardships such as lack of water, storms, etc. One evening a big storm came up just as we had all gathered around the circle of tables to eat our supper. Brother McArthur was leading in prayer and blessing when a wind started blowing. It raised the canvases on which the food was set and sent the dishes rolling down the plain. The women ran chasing the dishes, but of course the food was lost and we got no supper. (Mother told of the women being chastised by their leader, the missionary, for leaving the prayer to gather their dishes. He told them they lacked faith and should mend their ways.) There was an empty ranch house about a half mile away to which all the women and children were taken. The men remained through the terrible tornado trying to protect the wagons. The storm lasted most of the night but next morning everything was lovely and we were able to resume our travels. Another time we ran out of water. We traveled all day and all night. I remember how I couldn't sleep because I was so thirsty.
(Mother told more about that incident. They were so thirsty their tongues were swollen so they could hardly talk. They came to a farm where a man was watering his cattle. They asked for water and he refused, saying that he had barely enough for his stock. They asked then if they could just have drinks. He gave them each one drink and said there was a stream just a few miles ahead. When they were so thirsty, that one drink did not suffice. They traveled all day and when they arrived at the stream it was just mud. The only water was in the animal bogs deep into the mud. They gladly dipped that water out, boiled, cooled and drank it. Mother said she has never tasted such good water in her life even though the boiling may have taken out the germs, it did nothing for the awful flavor. The next day they came to a nice stream, and were they and the animals happy.)
Whenever we came to a river all were happy. We camped, had baths, and washed our clothes. Mother took her washing machine along and everyone used it. Often there was wild fruit along the creeks and the women would gather it and make enough jam to last a few days. One day while daddy was swimming he hit bottom with his shoulder and dislocated it. There was no doctor within miles so Uncle Will took him in his spring wagon on to town and the doctor where we overtook them the next day. Again, while tying down the wagon cover, he slipped and held onto the rope which twisted his shoulder out again. (Mother related that the rivers had their drawback also. It was the most fearsome part of the journey when they had to cross. Sometimes it was so deep the horses had to swim and pull the floating wagon behind. They would float downstream as they crossed and the women and children were always frightened of tipping over when the current began to tug at the wagon.)
We arrived in El Paso, Texas, in September where we met Apostle Teasdale, who had been sent there to help us through the custom house. He gave my father a blessing and promised him health and a new stomach, which blessing was later fulfilled.
There were five families on the trip under the direction of E. M. McArthur. They were: my father, Amos Pierce Ward, mother, Hulda Ann Munyon, and three children, Hattie, Cora and Lena; Llewellyn O. Ward, father's brother, who married Stella Hunter after reaching Mexico they had their courtship on the way); Edgar Hunter, his wife Margaret, and their children Stella, Maud, Lowa, Ray, Roy, Rena and Bertha (he was a very fine man--always a faithful church worker and taught his family the gospel); William F. Hulse, his wife, Elizabeth and three children Ethel, George and Eva. One family named Triplett joined them after two days on their journey, but got discouraged and returned to their home.
We arrived in Dublan, Mexico, in September shortly after my seventh birthday. At that time Dublan was not a beautiful place. There were only a few poor houses scattered along the fields, or terrenos, the Spanish word by which they were called, and a one-room school house. Flour was dark and often full of weevil, and everything was scarce.
We lived there about fifteen years and saw Dublan develop into a pretty, flourishing town of 1500. As a child I didn't notice the hardships as did Father and Mother. I went barefoot in the summer as all other children did. We looked forward to summer so we could. We fared as well or better than our neighbors so we were happy.
Mother told on a tape of a time when she was a young woman and her parents were gone for the evening: "I was sitting on the floor with a lamp on a chair to get the light and was studying my Sunday School Lesson. I heard a noise outside and was frightened so I turned out the light and got ready for bed. I had only been asleep a short time when I heard my younger sister scream. I jumped out of bed and ran into her room and saw a great big, tall old Mexican with a six-shooter in his hand and he was pulling at her clothes. When I came into the room he left her and took me. I backed toward the door and thought if I got a chance I could get loose and go for help. Just then my sister, Hattie, came in and, oh, she looked like an angel. She had dark hair against her white gown, and her skin so white--and it was even whiter when she saw what was going on. When he saw her he left me and grabbed her.
"When he did that I shot out the door and my younger sister with me. We went to the closest neighbors to get some help. We ran in (the yard) and up the stairs. A woman came out to see what we wanted and when I told her she said we would have to go to the next place as there were no men there. We ran on to the next place and found two men. They were also Mexicans, but friendly. One of the men happened to have been a policeman at one time. He asked what was the matter and when I told him he grabbed his gun in a hurry and the other man did the same. We ran toward home which was about two blocks and across the street.
"In the meantime, the Mexican had put Hattie on his horse and had run quite a distance when she told him she had some money at home and would like to get it. Of course that interested him so he turned his horse around and went back to the house. When she got in, she slammed the door and locked it. She stood there by the door, but he went around to another door that wasn't locked and got in. He grabbed her again and they were wrestling when the two men arrived. The Mexican pointed his gun at the one who had been a policeman and was going to shoot, but he (the ex-policeman) knew how to stop the trigger so it wouldn't go off. He did that and it gave the other man a chance to get him and they beat him up pretty bad with their guns. By that time there was a big crowd around who were attracted by the noise and the shots. Mother and Dad came home as they were not far away. The police arrived and took over. They got a horse and wagon and took him to jail but they let him go the next morning. They said he had already been punished enough."
I attended school in Dublan and was valedictorian of my class. We had a good school and a wise principal who gave us all that we were willing to work for. Our teacher was Liddy Young, a widow with three sons. She was old but very sweet and kind. I had a great desire to be a teacher, and went to work in a department store to earn money enough to continue school the one year it would take to enable me to teach. While I was working there I saw my first car and rode home in it.
A great sorrow came into our lives about that time by the death of my father on 4 July 1909. I needed to help the family so didn't get the year of school. I helped in the store and in the millinery department, and was finally offered the job of milliner. By that time I had plans to get married. All the teaching I did in Dublan was four years in Sunday School which I certainly enjoyed. In one of our officer and teacher's meetings the superintendent held up my roll book and said it was the best kept book in the Sunday School. I taught the children ages six to eight. One morning I was telling a story and one little boy stood up, clapped his hands and said, "Goody, goody." We all laughed, he sat down, and I finished the story.
My school teacher, who was on the Sunday School Board, called me up to the front on April Fool's Day and told me he didn't want me coming to Sunday School any more acting as I had. He paused, and of course I thought it was a lecture, but he wanted me to act as a teacher. My invitation to the ward choir was also given me on April first so I figured April first was my lucky day. The choir was wonderful and no one would miss a practice for anything. We learned so many beautiful anthems and had good soloists for them.
I enjoyed my primary work. I gave lots of little readings and took part in little plays and songs. I learned many sentiments to give at roll call which still remain fixed in my mind, and I think the literary studies of Mutual are the most remembered. We didn't have beehive work, etc. at that time.
I always loved to entertain and usually did the entertaining at both my and my older sister's parties.
I am somewhat ahead of my story, though, as there is an incident in my life that was always outstanding to me. We had another girl baby in the family, a sweet and most beautiful child just learning to talk. She was named Mary Ann for my grandmother. I was around eight or nine years old. There was an epidemic of measles in town. Aunt Libbie was living near us and had a baby boy about Mary's age. He took the measles and was very low when Mother and Mary also came down with the disease. Frankie, Aunt Libbie's boy, died and I went to the funeral. When I returned from the cemetery, I got out of the wagon and was slowly, sadly making my way home when a voice spoke saying, "Your baby will be the next one taken to the cemetery." I was shocked but understood that Mary would not get well. I went home crying but didn't tell Mother as I thought it would hurt her too much. She tried to comfort me by saying that Mary was not very ill, but I knew. During the nights that followed, I would waken and listen. When she died, I heard Mother say, "Oh, she is gone," and she was the next one taken. We had three more children, Edna, who died of spinal meningitis, Gladys, and Amos Philip.
Another such incident happened when I was a young lady (I thought) probably sixteen, and had been out riding and eating melons. During the evening I became peeved at the fellow I was with. Fenly undertook to be peacemaker and straighten things out. After I was home preparing for bed I was thinking things over and about how I didn't like the way Fenly butted in. A voice said, "He is the man you were born to serve." I clinched my hands and teeth and said, "I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on earth." I had never gone out with him nor had any desire to, but had always admired him as he was a leader among the crowd. I didn't ever try to attract his attentions and it was several years later that we started stepping out together.
Our courtship was beautiful. We went together two years. We were engaged a year of that time. He worked in Ciudad Juarez the last year and could only come home on special occasions, but we wrote often and he sent me flowers and nice little souvenirs, so in our happiness the year flew by. He took me to Salt Lake City, Utah, to be married in the temple on 10 June 1910 at the time of June Conference. It cost him a lot of money, but we had a wonderful trip. We went by way of California, visited Los Angeles and San Francisco, took sight-seeing cars, and saw most of the noted places including China Town. We always felt paid because of being married right. On our return, we had a beautiful reception receiving numerous useful gifts, some of which we still have (1947).
We went to Ciudad Juarez to make our first home as Fenly's work was there. We rented a two-room apartment and had fun shopping to furnish it. We bought stove, bed, chairs and rocker, dresser, buffet, and an ice-cooled refrigerator. Fenly was handy with tools and made tables for the kitchen and a night table for our bedroom.
The first Christmas Fenly gave me a beautiful silver set. He was always surprising me with something nice that I needed. When I was trying to get my sewing done before the stork arrived, he brought me a brand new Singer sewing machine. Was I happy!
On 25 March 1911 our home was made happy by the advent of the most wonderful baby boy, Fenly Frost, Junior, that was ever sent to anyone. His eyes were so large and blue. His hair was dark at first but turned to a silkish yellow. The Mexicans called him "the Christ Child" and would stop to watch him. He had a most active mind. When very small, if I would tell him a thing wasn't good to eat, he would play with it for hours and never put it into his mouth. We often gave him colored candies to play with. He could remember for days where he put things and walked at ten months.
About that time the Madero revolution in Mexico seemed to be gaining momentum. The poorer class had revolted against the rich and it was affecting customs work. N o one dared ship much into Mexico as it would be taken by the revolutionists. They threatened several times to take Juarez, and we hurried to El Paso and stayed at a hotel, but one morning war came without warning. About nine a.m. machine gun fire and rifle shots began pouring in from all sides. I very quickly packed baggage for the baby and ourselves. About that time Fenly came with a hack and people he had picked up on the way who were also fleeing to safety across the border. People on all sides were hysterical. As we were traveling, bullets were sometimes too close for comfort.
We remained in El Paso during the three-day fight. It was terrible. Buildings of all kinds were destroyed and many lives were lost. Madero finally won and Fenly got permission to cross back into Mexico to care for the stock and property. He was the first American to cross the bridge after the fight. We found everything of ours in ship shape. Nothing had been molested at home or at the office.
Fenly's company had a big team and float so the Mexican officers commandeered him to drive the outfit to clear up the town, haul off the dead, etc. He saw all the horrors and smelled all the filth of war.
After that, first one faction of soldiers would come to town and loot, then another, until it was no longer safe to carry on a business. We had a city lot in Dublan, Mexico, so decided to go there and make a home. As I was not very well at the time and everything was so upset, Fenly sent me home then packed our things and shipped them in by freight. He drove a hack and led a horse to save the horses from the rebels. He got within sight of our home when a bunch of soldiers met him and took the extra horse. The morning before Fenly arrived in Dublan the rebels lost their heads and decided they would no longer respect the Americans as they had been ordered. They trained their machine guns on the town and sent armed men to search. They went through the houses taking all the guns and ammunition they could find, and whatever else they fancied.
After the people of Dublan were disarmed, the stake president telegraphed our predicament to Salt Lake and President Joseph F. Smith advised us to leave. The American consul gave the same advice.
It was a hectic day. I often still dream about choosing what to take in the flight. Most of our things were still in the railroad car on the track. I was so afraid Fenly wouldn't arrive before we had to leave, but he drove up in the evening.
Telegrams were sent to El Paso for train cars to move us out. Some came that evening but went on to get the people from Colonia Juarez. Most people stayed all night at the depot with their small belongings. Fenly told us to go to bed and sleep as we would have a hard day coming. They left a man to guard the women and children. With my baby and my possessions consisting of what I could squeeze into a small trunk, a suitcase, and a roll of bedding, I was packed into the box car. We said our sad good- byes to our men and rolled out, leaving them wondering what could come next. We left our homes, family and friends, many of whom we never saw again. We arrived in El Paso in late afternoon. A large lumber shed had been prepared by the Red Cross for those who couldn't get rooms. We were acquainted and were able to get light housekeeping rooms.
We met Mother and her two younger children there. Fenly' s mother and Enzley were also there. They had been to Utah on a visit. Mother never returned to her home.
There were a few families who didn't leave. One man was killed trying to protect his family and a woman was raped. For this, two Mexicans were executed. Then there was a demand sent to President Romney for four men to be killed in reprisal for the two Mexicans. Of course that was out of the question, so the men decided to move out too. They were all to meet in the mountains at a place called "The Stairs." Some of the men loaded a wagon with provisions. They all retrieved their hidden weapons and ammunition, mounted their horses and started for the mountains. They were followed and had to leave the wagon. The Mexicans started firing, but when some of our men fell back and began firing, they turned away.
The men arrived at "The Stairs" where, with a little guarding, they were safe. They waited for men from all the colonies--about 300 in all. They organized into companies and were instructed how to proceed in case of an attack. They managed to salvage enough flour to eat on the way, and by killing a beef they fared very well. They had no dishes or salt, but baked bread and meat on sticks over the fire. Fenly made a wooden spoon which we have kept. It took about ten days to get to El Paso where there were happy reunions of families and prayers of thanks for protecting care.
The Red Cross issued train tickets to any preferred destination, so the people scattered to all corners of the United States. Mother and four children went to Hyrum, Utah, where she had a sister. Afterward she moved to Logan and then to Salt Lake. The Merrell family remained in El Paso for awhile then all the men went back to Mexico.
On 4 November 1912 our second boy, Orin Jerome, arrived in El Paso, Texas. He was a big, fine, husky, good-natured fellow, and when he was three months old or in January, Fenly thought it was safe for the women to return to Mexico. He sent Ernest out for us. There were Fenly's mother with two small children (Nila and Enzley), Mary, and me with two babies. We went to Columbus, New Mexico, on the train then took a wagon and team which had been left there. The horses were poorly fed and were not very strong.
We traveled late as it was safer traveling at night. We drove into a big, muddy ditch and the horses couldn't pull the wagon out. Ernest would dig under the wheels and cuss. It was so cold the ice froze all over the horse's tails, and Ernest made a fire to warm by. We made it out just about sunrise. I sat all night in the wagon to keep the children covered and warm, then it took all the next day to get to a town. In fact, it was dark when we arrived at Ascension where there was a small garrison of soldiers. We attempted to go on through, but were stopped by a guard just outside of town and told to return, stay all night, and be inspected before leaving in the morning.
Ernest drove where he thought he could get feed for the team. We planned to stay in the wagon as we didn't feel too safe. The man in charge was drunk and in a loving mood, embraced Ernest and almost kissed him and said, "Drive in. I have lots of feed." While Ernest unhitched, the Mexican filled a wheelbarrow with corn and Ernest had a hard time talking him out of feeding the horses too much. He spied us in the wagon and nothing short of going to his home would satisfy him. He said he would guard our wagon. They gave us the best room in the house and Mother Merrell recognized the furnishings as her sister's who had lived in the neighboring town.
We spent the night and at last morning came. We were inspected and passed. Our host had sobered up during the night, but insisted that we have breakfast before leaving. They served a little milk with coffee and tortillas. We had to make a pretense of eating and then were allowed to go on.
Fenly had become worried as we didn't arrive on schedule. After we traveled about an hour, he met us with a good team and buggy. What a relief! He had traveled all night but with a good outfit. We arrived home early in the evening. It was quite a disappointment coming home as most of the good homes were occupied by Mexicans. We had enough people, however, to organize a ward. A.B. Call was made bishop. His wife, Julia, with Mary Belle Merrell and I as counselors, were the presidency of the Mutual. Mary was married to Ira Pratt soon after our arrival. We had good times in the day, but the nights were always somewhat of a nightmare.
First one warring party shot their way into town, then another. One morning they attempted to take an American's race horse. He refused to give it up. He started running to take it to the U.S. He lay down on his horse and ran. The rebels behind were shooting as they went down our street. They didn't get his horse. Fenly rushed upstairs and out on a portico to watch. I was afraid they would see him and shoot at him.
Ernest and Verna were married in our home. The crowd arrived and we had prepared a big supper. The bishop told the couple to stand. This was his first ceremony, and being somewhat nervous, told them to join right hands and then said, "Ernest May Moffett and Verna Leroy Merrell." By then he had come to himself and said, "Be seated, please. We will sing a song first." After the song he married them without further trouble. We invited almost the whole community and served a grand wedding dinner. Vern and Orson had bargained to furnish the wedding for the first one married. They didn't spare expense and we cooked all they brought. It was a real feast to the fellows who were down there without their families.
After dinner we had a short program then took up the rugs to dance. The music was going fine when in walked a half dozen drunk Mexicans wanting to dance with us. We had to tell the musicians it was too late to dance and everyone was going home. We put the rugs back and visited around for awhile, but didn't play any more music. There were robberies and killings going on until it wasn't safe to keep any money around. One of our Mexican neighbors buried his son in our corn field and told that he went to the states. He had been shot in a holdup.
First one faction would come in and kill off all the other faction they could find, then the other side would come in and repeat the process. When Pancho Villa was there, a local, thinking to gain his favor went to him and turned in a lot of Federals. Villa asked him if that was all he knew of. He said he could probably find a few more. When he returned, Villa asked if that was all and he said, "yes." Villa ordered his officers, "take this fellow out with the others and execute him, too. Such a fellow isn't worthy of citizenship".
One morning I was home with the babies when a group of armed men came riding into our yard, tied their ropes to our new wagon and started off with it. I went out and told them that we were Americans and they were not supposed to molest our property. The leader said, "You're Mormons, not Americans" and went on with our wagon.
When Fenly came home he went to Villa about it. Villa said he had to have the wagon to carry ammunition, but would give him an old wagon and a hundred dollars. When he came home he didn't tell me that men had been following him all day to find out where he lived. In the evening when he asked if I didn't want to go to his mother's to sleep, I said that we hadn't been disturbed and I hated to take the babies from their beds. His history tells how they treated him in order to finally get his money.
For weeks after that I would waken in the night having nervous chills. Fenly would rub and talk to me until I would get over it and go to sleep again. We left Mexico as soon as a good excuse presented itself as we couldn't have anything there. They stole our fruit, chickens, and everything not under lock and key.
We went to Dona Ana in New Mexico where Fenly worked on a big hay farm. They worked early and late. I never knew when they would come to meals. I had two boys to cook for besides my own. We had no conveniences and it was terribly hot all summer. I was glad when the work was over and we could leave.
Fenly was hired as overseer at the Santa Tomas Ranch near El Paso. The ranch was about sixteen hundred acres consisting mainly of cultivated farm land, with the rest in pasture and brush. We lived there four years, arriving in October 1914. On 25 March 1915 our third boy was born on our first boy's fourth birthday. We named him Clifford Leroy. He was a nice, large child and as active as he was large. I couldn't keep him any place, and could almost see him grow from one day to the next. We told him that he was our half price baby because he arrived ahead of the doctor so he charged us only half of his usual fee. Clifford was a darling child--always had so much faith. One day when he was about two years old, he unloaded a large load of corn one ear at a time.
On this ranch were several Mexican families from old Mexico. Some of the men would get drunk and threaten others with their guns and tear up things in general. Fenly was often called out in the middle of the night to settle a gun fight. One man came from California who had killed a man. He sold the gun to Fenly that had fired the fatal shot. After he died of pneumonia on the ranch, his wife confessed about the gun before she went back to California. I was always worried about Fenly and afraid to be alone on the ranch. My sister, Gladys Ward, came to live with us while we were there and made life more pleasant for us. She was always so happy and full of fun. Fenly called her "Happy". After she came, I went to El Paso and had an operation for a breast tumor, an amputation, and six months later on 17 March 1917, our first sweet little girl was born--Maurine. The night she came, two of our boys came down with measles and in a day or two the third case broke out. Did we have a picnic! We were boarding the school teacher, too, as there were no other Americans on the ranch. We all survived and the baby didn't get the measles. Gladys often mentioned what a nightmare those few days were.
We always had lots of company, but one Sunday a whole truck load of young folks came from El Paso. We managed something to fill them up and we all had a good time. The missionaries and President Pratt and his wife made several trips to see us. On one occasion five missionaries stayed with us for about ten days while they waited for conference. Two other missionaries were there for approximately three months.
There was an old volcanic crater on a hill above the ranch where we took several bunches of
young people on horseback. These visits helped break the monotony for us, and we enjoyed them immensely.
Word went around of the Gila Ranch property in New Mexico being for sale and a group of Mexico people scattered up and down the Rio Grande thought it would be just the place they were looking for. They went together to survey the situation and finally made the purchase. I think Fenly was the only one who didn't have to borrow money for their first payment. We remained on the ranch a year or two after other people moved to their new home they named Virden. We sent money to those who rented or purchased property in Virden to have the place grubbed and fenced. We also sent money to have adobes made to build a house when we arrived, but they had been used. It was too late to make more adobes, so we moved a small barn to a hill on our land and moved into it. It was our first home, and we were as proud of it as if it were a mansion.
The last two years we lived on the ranch we had a Model "T" Ford which we enjoyed immensely, with its curtains for windows and its coal oil parking and taillights. The lights were always going out when we went over a bump. As we approached a town we would get out and inspect our taillight to prevent being stopped by the police and asked to light it. We went to El Paso on the 4th of July, 1918, to see the fire works. They were the most beautiful we ever saw. They imported a whole carload to be used that night.
We sold our car when we moved to Virden and used our buggy. We bought a new wagon, riding plow, and some machinery that Fenly would need on the farm. He made a hayrack, loaded the wagon with machinery and what household goods we could haul. Fenly loaded the buggy with cases of canned fruit and sent the other things by freight. Fenly drove the wagon, I drove the buggy, and my brother, Amos, drove our herd of cattle. We were quite a pioneer outfit on our seven-day trip.
About the first thing after our arrival, we went in the buggy to conference in Safford (9 November 1919) where Fenly was set apart as counselor to Bishop Willard E. Jones. We both did lots of church work. I was a teacher in Primary and assistant superintendent of religion class, two years as counselor in MIA, two as Gleaner Leader, one as leader of the Jr. Girls, two as Literary Class Leader in Relief Society, six as Social Services Leader, two as counselor in Primary, two as a counselor in Relief Society, and three as Relief Society President.
Our last boy, Meriner Ward, was born on 15 January 1921 while we lived on the hill. He was the largest baby of all and we were so happy to have him. Next, our last sweet little girl, Verla, also came to make our home happier while we lived there. The children were all getting so large that we outgrew our home where we had been so happy for seven years.
The children had parties, learned to swim in the ditch, and we had many family parties, outings, and picnics in the mountains. As we had a large room which accommodated many parties in our home, we had all the joys of a young family.
Fenly decided suddenly to build us a new home. It was during the slump after the first world war. Materials were cheap, but so was our produce. I never could figure out how he could do it, but he did. It was one of the brightest spots in our family life when we moved into our new brick five-room home. He built a one-room house for hired help so when we began building, we moved our kitchen into that room and our beds into the unfinished house to save travel time. We finished two rooms and put floors, doors and windows in the others and moved in for Thanksgiving. We invited some friends and relatives to celebrate with us and had a housewarming. We had no water well, no electricity, no modern conveniences of any kind, but no one else in town did either at that time (1925). It all came later. We installed electricity on 23 February 1928, and we appreciated it more for having gone without for so long.
Our six children grew up and graduated from our schools. Fenly Junior graduated from high school and Clifford from the eighth grade the same year. We had only a three-year high school at that time so Junior rode his bicycle to the Arizona line where he caught the Duncan bus and finished his high school in Duncan. He went out for track that year and was doing well at it. He came down with the mumps about the time of the track meet and was a very sick fellow in two ways the day of the contest.
Junior went to Gila College and graduated there in science. After his marriage, he graduated from New Mexico Agricultural College in Las Cruces, New Mexico, with a degree in Civil Engineering. O.J. graduated from high school in Virden after he helped win the state basketball championship and was named All State Forward. Junior and O.J. were going with very fine girls, both asked the parents of his girlfriend for consent to marry on the same night. Neither knew that the other made the same request until the next day. The two couples were married the same day. Junior was married to Beatrice Smith, and O.J. to Arwella Mortensen in the Mesa Temple. They went on their honeymoon together.
That same fall Clifford and Maurine left to go to college so we felt like the bottom had really fallen out of our home, losing all four at the same time. The house was so quiet and empty, we hardly knew what to do with ourselves or how to adjust. They had always had crowds of young folks home on Sundays, had lots of parties, and there was always something going with the four young people. Such wonderful days! Sundays were the hardest and seemed like weeks after they were gone.
Clifford and Maurine went to Gila Junior College in Thatcher, Arizona. Maurine graduated in May and was married in September to Antone Thygerson in the Mesa Temple.
We attended stake conference that summer with Apostle Ballard in attendance. He said the church needed missionaries. He promised that anyone who had faith enough to send a missionary in those hard times would be blessed, and the Lord would open the way so they would never miss the money. We went home thinking it over and I was so happy when Fenly suggested that we send Clifford. Clifford was happy to go and was called to the Central States Mission. The promise was literally fulfilled. It seemed everything we turned our hand to brought money. We lived better and kept him too. After he came home, one day Meriner wanted something we didn't have money for, and he made the remark that we should send Clifford back to the mission so we could have more.
We planned to send Meriner on a mission, but World War II began and missionaries were not sent. He got one year of college and Verla graduated in business. Meriner was married to Flora Fay Nelson of Safford, Arizona, in the Mesa Temple. Clifford went to Gila for another year after his mission then two years at the Brigham Young University where he graduated in soil science. He worked a few months in Utah then came home and installed a gas stove and water heater in our home which we have certainly enjoyed. He met a girl at the BYU, Marie Warnock, from Sigurd, Utah and they were married in the Manti Temple. Clifford was inducted into the army but later released because of night blindness. Verla worked for a year at the Deming Army Air Base as a stenographer in the Bombardier Pilot Training School and then in the Intelligence Office. She met a Cadet, Floyd Johnson from Salt Lake City, and was married on 11 February 1945 in Bakersfield, California. He got a leave two weeks later and they were married in the Salt Lake Temple. All six of our children have wonderful companions and have been married in the temple which makes us very happy.
Fenly and I are still holding down the old home. Our brightest days are when the children come home bringing their love and their families.
There were several highlights I have left out. One was our trip to the dedication of the Mesa Temple with our two oldest boys and Verla. It was dedicated 23 October 1927 on Verla's third birthday. We also bought a new car--a 1927 Whippet. The older boys enjoyed it so much When we bought our new Chevy in 1938 at Christmas time, we took a trip to Salt Lake the next summer with our two girls, Maurine's baby, Stanley, and Meriner. We visited Mother, went to conference at the Tabernacle and the Mutual dance festival at Salt Air. We visited Grand Canyon, Bryce and Zions Canyons on the way. We were in Salt Lake on our wedding anniversary and spent it in the temple where we were married. Verla and Meriner were each baptized for fifty. That day was a red letter day for us all. I also saw two sisters, Hattie Maness in Salt Lake City and Lena Lilenquist in McCammon, Idaho, who I hadn't seen since the exodus (26 years).
Remembrances of Mother
by Verla Merrell Johnson
Mother was a sweet, gentle woman who placed her children's welfare above her own. She had an even temperament and got along well with others. I remember as a school girl that she was always there to greet me when I arrived home from school. At least once a week my homecoming was greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread. She had a square, black baking pan which boasted of at least eight loaves, maybe ten, and she allowed me to take the end crust off one. I'd pile it high with the luscious, freshly churned butter, and savor the treat of the week. I always dreaded Tuesday because Mother attended Relief Society in the afternoon and the house was cold and she wasn't there for some time after school. The Sunday Section of the Phoenix Gazette arrived on that day so the funnies were a consolation.
Mother had diabetes as a young woman and was sent home from the El Paso hospital to die. Through administrations of the priesthood she was allowed to live to raise all her children without the disease. She was always afraid of its return and that her children would be susceptible. She was of the opinion that too much sugar was the cause of diabetes so she was an avid avoider of the sweet stuff and taught us to do without it on our cereal. We ate much of her canned fruit which had sugar in it, and once a week she'd make a cake for our Sunday dinner. She did allow us to invite friends in to make candy--it was usually fudge, pinoche, or taffy. Occasionally in the summertime Dad would go to the dairy nearby and bring home ice to make a welcomed freezer of ice cream. The boys would turn the crank, and I sat on the blanket covering the freezer while they churned away. The anticipation was almost as much fun as the eating, but not quite!
Mom was an excellent seamstress and made beautiful, professional-looking clothing for me. On Christmas morning there was always a pretty surprise dress which I would find hanging in the living room. I was too young to remember, but I'm sure she did the same for Maurine.
Mother was on the sewing committee for the dead. Whenever there was a death in Virden, she was notified and after taking measurements, sewed the clothing necessary for the burial. The committee also made the pretty white covering for the wooden coffin which was quickly but lovingly constructed to the correct measurements by the priesthood men of the town. As far as I know, there was never a charge for a burial-- maybe they were billed for the wood in the coffin and material for the clothing needed. All work was provided with love--the digging of the grave included. The funerals were always at the church. The body was placed on a wooden slab in the individual's home, and men took turns night and day caring for and guarding it. The day of the funeral the body was dressed and placed in the coffin. Of course the funeral was soon after death, but they were preserved beautifully. When Aunt Gladys Ward Richins died at a young age as a result of a hemorrhage after surgery, her family was living on a ranch so she was "laid out" in our home. There was a strong smell of formaldehyde. In later years the dead were taken to a mortuary in Lordsburg, New Mexico, or Safford, Arizona, and from there to be buried in Virden.
Mom was a wonderful cook. When I was young times were tough and we had none of the expensive "store-bought" ingredients many good cooks use today, but she had good, thick cream, homemade butter, plenty of fruits and garden vegetables either canned or in season, and occasionally in the wintertime Dad slaughtered a pig or steer, and there was usually venison in the fall. She canned much of the meat. There was no freezer to keep it fresh, so canning also supplied our meat source. About the only produce from the outside world was one orange for each Christmas sock. The smell of oranges to this day reminds me of Christmas. We were limited to local produce, and for a family of eight, it meant a great deal of canning in the summer. For many years all the cooking and canning were done on a wood stove which produced much heat along with the winter's store. We had an orchard with apples, peaches, plums, prunes, and grape vines--both concord and white--and all kinds of vegetables in the garden.
Mom could make the most of all of these things with her talent for cooking. Each day she cooked a huge breakfast which always consisted of the required cooked cereal. She had a hand grinder with a big wheel with which the wheat was cracked. Her favorite cereal was oatmeal mush, though, which she purchased at the small store in town because it didn't require refrigeration. She could not get me to eat oatmeal so she often made tomato soup with her canned tomatoes and put oatmeal in it. I loved her tomato soup so got my oatmeal and vitamin "C" as well. She could make a pot of beans taste so delicious you didn't want to stop eating. Beans were our source of protein when there was no meat, so it's a good thing we all liked them. She had a real knack of flavoring everything just right. When she came to visit with me in Salt Lake once, she made the kids lunches. They surely hated to see her go. She used the same things I did, but I guess she found something in the refrigerator to flavor them and make them more appealing .
She was an excellent housekeeper. There was no searching for lost articles there. Everything was in its place and things were spotless. One thing she had in her favor, she didn't have as many "things" as we have these days. That must have been a help, but she had many chores that we don't such as churning and molding butter, making cottage cheese, making soap, carrying wood to make a fire under the wash tub outside to bring the wash water to a boil. She put lye in the water to bring the impurities to the surface and then skimmed them off. She boiled all of the white clothing and sheets in the washtub over the fire which kept them snow white and stain free. The job then was to carry all those white clothes and the hot water to the washer near the house. She also had to carry heavy clothing which had been wrung through a wringer to the clothesline to hang them to dry. She had help in all this when the children were not in school. As I remember Dad usually helped with the fire. All this occurred both summer and winter, and all outside .
In order to have chicken for dinner, the chicken was killed and then she had to pour boiling water over it to pluck the feathers. The next process was to clean out the insides, thoroughly wash the chicken and scrape the skin to remove the pinfeathers. N ow it had to be cut into serving pieces--then the process of cooking began. She could really make chicken taste good--even the old hens that had stopped laying. She was a genius.
When I was young, Mother cooked on a wood stove which also heated the kitchen. Most of the time it was the only heat in the house so we lived in our big kitchen. Our bedrooms had no heat and I remember as a child a dash each winter morning to the kitchen behind the stove to dress where it was warm and secluded, hoping the menfolk would not finish their chores and come in before I was ready. On special occasions a fire was built in the living room. It is still easy to visualize the peaceful scene: Dad leaning forward in his armchair listening to the news on the radio which sat in its place on a table by the lace curtained east window, Mom sitting by the lamplight reading, the wood stove crackling occasionally to remind us of its presence, and the clock on the bookcase chiming the hour.
Mother didn't mention in her history her mountains of genealogy work. In her later years after all the children were gone, she spent a good share of her time on that important work. She joined the Boston Genealogical Society and was sent requested books from which she gleaned much valuable information for the salvation of her ancestors. Most of the work was done on her father's line--Ward. The Society had a duplicate of a book she renewed many times so they allowed her to purchase one. That invaluable book records the Hapgood line and is now in my possession. The first man recorded is on our direct line. Mother wrote letters to people allover the country and received useful information. She entered information on thousands of names by the slow and tedious handwritten method. The church was strict in doing only direct ancestors and would not allow marriages to be performed for children of the direct line because the spouse was not on the line. Floyd and I have been able to pick up many of these. We have often talked of how Mother could have been even more effective with a computer and the new genealogical rules of the church. How she would have loved it! I'm sure she was met and welcomed by a throng of people who blessed her when she arrived on the other side.
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