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The following information was compiled for the Cardon Family Reunion held in
the summer of 1980. Each of the daughters of Louis Samuel Cardon wrote
some thoughts concerning memories of their father. Louis Hickman wrote on
behalf of his mother Margaret.
To read the memories, click on the name of the daughter below.
Edna Cardon Taylor -- MEMORIES OF MY DAD
Ruth Cardon Leonard -- SOME MEMORIES OF PAPA
Lucile Cardon Reading -- MY FATHER AND I
Helen Cardon Lamb -- Papa
Rebecca Cardon Peterson -- MEMORIES OF MY
FATHER
Louis
Hickman's Memories of His Grandfather, Louis S. Cardon
March 1980
Edna Cardon Taylor
My first memory of my father was
when the World War I ended in 1918 - I was just past three years old, but I do
remember that when the local soldiers came home from the war, there was a parade
in their honor down Main Street and Papa lifted me through a window, onto a
lower roof and then up to a taller roof which was that of the office of Cardon
Company, so we could watch the parade from up there. How exciting it was
for me and how scared I was of falling, but he held my hand all through it, and
I was alright then.
It is impossible to put the rest
of my memories of him in any kind of chronological order, so I won't even try,
but here are some that flood into my mind now.
whenever I was sick in bed, he
would always ask me what I wanted him to bring home to me, and it was always
without fail "Nabiscos". They were "sick, and getting well" food, done up
In nice little tin boxes that lasted long after the cookies were gone, and the
tin box was used to store some of my childhood treasures in.
Many are the times when I combed
his hair with a two edged, fine toothed comb. He would sit and read his
paper or his favorite magazine "The Saturday Evening Post" and ask if I wanted
to comb his hair. (or did I ask him if I could?) When I would be so intent
on "styling" it, all of a sudden he would jerk his head and make a funny noise
and I would jump with fright and then we would both laugh about It.
Always, too, he would tear a corner off of the paper to show me how it would
cling to the comb because of static electricity.
On many evenings or Sundays when
he was at home, he would ask someone to play some of his favorite records on the
Edison phonograph. His favorites were Harry Lowder, I think. We had
"thick" records and "thin" records, each of which took different needle
attachments.
Is there anyone who fails to
remember seeing Mama and Papa walking home from church together? He was
always a few feet ahead of her as they walked along together.
In the spring we usually waited
eagerly for his announcement that he had arranged for the man to come with his
horses and plow and harrow the garden. That was a sure sign of springl But
I always failed to remember, until too late, that lots of hard work followed
that day! Anyone who was big enough, or had any spare time, or could, or
would, was expected to help rake and level that garden and help plant it, and
weed it, and water it and help harvest it. It was a very big garden - a
full building lot on which the house just east of the old family home now
stands.
Every few weeks, Mom would
announce she wanted a chicken for Sunday dinner, so Papa would select the
chicken, get out his old chopping block and his axe and kill a chicken or two.
I'll never forget the bloody mess those headless chickens made flopping around
on the ground trying to die. It's a wonder I could ever eat any of them
after watching that!
But, I was always anxious to be
awarded at least one chicken foot so I could pull the tendons in it and cause
the toes to expand and contract. Oh, the simple joys of childhood.
The pleasures we used to share
with all the neighbors in Our car will long be remembered. The first one I
remember was a big Studebaker Touring car with jump seats between the front and
back seats. We would put a board across the jump seats so more people
(usually children) could be accommodated. When we went for a ride it was
usually "around a block or two" but almost always down to Rich Land Acres to see
how crops were doing down there.
Once when we were coming down the canyon (or it may have
been going up), we met a team of horses and a wagon on a narrow curve of the
road. It isn't exactly clear to me now, but I believe Papa had to back up
and move our car over, then help the other man drive the team and wagon past us
on the narrow road.
When I was in the fifth grade at
the Woodruff School, my teacher, Miss Creighton, whom I was deathly afraid of,
sent me out of the room for chewing gum. I was so upset aver it I went and
sat on the ditch curb and cried. Who should happen along about then, but
my Dad. He was pretty upset about it all, but he took me back into the
room, and made everything alright for me.
We were beginning the great
depression before he died, and times were pretty tough then. Although I
wasn't very old, I realized that he was very worried about money. My
friends seemed to have more spending money than I did, and they often urged me
to ask for picture show money, etc., but I loved Papa so much I couldn't stand
to see the sadness in his eyes when he had to refuse me money - or when he found
a way to give it to me - so most of the time I just wouldn't ask for any more
than needed for necessary school expenses.
Even at Christmas time, I'd cut my
Christmas wants and money for gifts to the bare necessities rather than see how
troubled he was in trying to get more for us.
One of the things everyone
remembers about my Father is his kind, calm disposition and his compassion for
other people. I can only remember one time in my life when he even scolded
me, and that nearly broke my heart. I guess that is the reason I remember
it. It happened at the family dinner table. During a discussion (I
don't even remember what the subject was), but someone said something I didn't
like or agree with, and I began to tell her how I felt about it, and Papa turned
to me and said "You had better keep still' this doesn't happen to be any of your
business". I felt terrible, because he had seldom ever even rebuked me
before, and I thought I had certainly displeased him.
When I was going to the Jr. High
school on first east and second north, we always went home for lunch.
There was no hot lunch program in the schools then. We (Helen, who was
secretary there, Ruth and I) usually stopped off at Papa's office and he would
give us a ride home and back in the car. Other wise we could barely make
it in the short noon hour.
Papa usually was the first one up
in the mornings at our house. He would build the fire in the furnace and
in the kitchen stove and would make a big pot of Germaid mush. Many were
the mornings when he would call up the stairs and tell us goodbye as he left for
the office, and tell us that it was time to get up and that there was mush on
the stove for us.
I never heard my father swear!
Whenever he was inclined to cuss a bit, the worst thing I ever heard him say was
"the confounded thing".
Neither did I ever hear my parents
quarrel. There is no doubt that they must have had disagreements
sometimes, but I never heard it or saw it. That is a tribute to both Mama
and Papa. And he didn't like to see his children quarrel either.
Even though we did our share of quarrelling, as children in a big family will
do, he usually acted as the peacemaker and settled us down as best he could.
On New Year's eves, when I was
quite young and found it difficult to stay awake to hear the bells, Papa would
play games with us to help pass the time and help me stay awake.
How well I remember when a circus
would come to town, he would get us up about 4:30 or 5:OO a.m. and take us down
to the railroad yard to watch the circus unload. Then later on during the
day he would take us to the parade. Tickets into the circus were too
expensive for us to go, but we never felt cheated because of his effort to see
that we didn't miss the excitement in town.
I know that my sisters have always
said I was Papa's favorite, spoiled child, but I disagree with them. My
view of his helping me with dishes, taking me places with him and taking my side
in family disagreements was his way of keeping peace. I was rather pliable
and he would say "come on and don't fight about the dishes, I'll help you and
we'll do them". It wasn't I that got out of doing the dishes, it was Ruth
or someone else. Papa and I did many things together, and I practically
worshipped him. I believe I would have done anything in the world he asked
me to do.
Our playhouse was always a fun
place to be. Papa had been able to get ahold of a one room house and had
it moved to our lot west of the garage. This was a playhouse for his
girls. We loved it and fixed it up with curtains at its two small windows,
old furniture and our dolls. I have spent many hours of play in it during
my childhood.
I guess the most enjoyable times I
can remember though are the many summers we spent in our canyon home. Papa
loved it, and I guess we all inherited his love of the mountains. Early
each spring we'd all go up the canyon and open the home up and clean it up so we
could stay there as soon as school let out in the spring.
Papa and the older girls who were
working in town would go to work each day and back to the canyon at night.
Mama and the younger children stayed there full time. I loved it! On
December 14, 1930 when my Father died, I was 15 ½
years old, and the bottom fell out of my world! How well I remember that
day. It was a Sunday and we had all been to Sunday School, except Mom, who
stayed home and cooked 'Sunday dinner'. Papa had taught his Sunday School
class as usual.
Following dinner, each of the
family settled into his own activity of studying, reading, playing, etc.
During the afternoon, I began to
notice him pacing the floor, rubbing his arm and chest and saying to himself
"Oh, hum, " or "Oh, My. Finally I realized something was bothering him, so
I went and told Mama that I didn't think he felt well.
When she questioned him about it
he admitted that he didn't and he thought it was indigestion but he consented to
go to his bed and lie down.
I was dispatched to Aunt Lettie
Squires' home to borrow some SaI Hepatica for him. They did not have any,
so I went then to Aunt Bessie Ballard's home next door and was able to get some
there.
When I returned home with it,
there was great urgency around him. He was much worse and doctor Merrill
had been called. Someone was rubbing his arms and hands and others his
legs. I immediately began to help with this, and we thought he was still
breathing but we know now that it was only air exhaling from his lungs.
He was gone before the doctor
arrived. That is the first time I had ever seen a man cry. Dr. H. K.
Merrill was not only our family doctor, but he and Papa were best of friends.
That is the last memory I have of
Papa, except for the funeral which was held in the Logan Tabernacle on December
17, 1930.
How much I have missed in not
having more years with my father! It seems my memories of him are those of
insignificant little things, but nothing very big had happened to me by the time
I was fifteen years old. I had lived at home and was sheltered in what I
feel was a secure, happy family. If major problems arose, I either was
immature enough to not see them, - or the family didn't want me, as a child, to
see them.
But - through the years, as I grew
up and met the same problems in the world of college, dating, marriage, jobs,
etc. as everyone else, I would often wish I could talk to Papa about them.
When things didn't seem to be going right, I just knew that if he would have
been here, he would have understood them and helped advise me about how to
handle them.
I'm sorry, too, that Tom and our
children and grandchildren were never able to know him and love him as I did.
Back to Top
Family Reunion
July- 12, 1980
Ruth Cardon Leonard
I once read in a book some words
that have stayed in my memory all these years. They went something like
this "Memories are tricky things - fragile and sweet. We look back through
the years and often things we find are a surprise".
As I have thought back through the
years about my early life, and particularly about Papa, I have found I
remembered things that surprised me; many of them sweet, as the saying goes.
I didn't realize very much at the
time, but certainly do more and more as time goes by, how very kind, patient and
considerate Papa was. I only remember once being spoken harshly to, and
that was one evening when Papa had a long distance phone call. Mom said
"Now everyone be quiet", but Edna and I had an argument, as usual, and started
to chase each other around the room. I guess we were rather noisy, and as
I passed by the telephone, Papa reached out and tugged at a piece of my hair.
He never said anything - he didn't need to. It nearly broke my heart to
know that he was cross with me.
Nothing was said or done to Edna.
SHE was the sweet, round faced, chubby, curly haired baby, especially to Papa.
It was often mine and Edna's chore to clean up after dinner. This we put
off doing as long as we could. We would argue about who would clear the
table - who would wash or dry the dishes - or who would sweep the floor, etc.
Often Papa would stop in on his way someplace and Edna would immediately start
to cry. Papa would pick her up (even when she was a big girl) and hold her
on his lap and say "What is the matter with my little baby girl?" Then
Edna would say, "'Ruth won't clear the table, or wash the dishes, or whatever"
and Papa would always say, "Now Ruth, you are the oldest and biggest girl.
You get this work done". Then he would sit and rock her while I did the
work. Funny, I never felt any resentment toward him. It was always
Edna I was mad at.
Our house was always the gathering
place for the neighborhood kids in the early evening to play "kick-the-can",
"run-sheep-run", "Mother, may 1?" or many other games. When the kids were
all called home, or most of them, anyway, papa would nearly always say "would
you like to go around a block or two?" We would all pile into the
Studebaker. A lot of times we would have a neighbor kid or two and would
put a board across the jump seats in order to make more room. We would
then ride as far as "the dam" which was north and west of Logan; or to the south
limits of Logan City - and then we would usually end up with ice cream cones for
all.
I also remember how we would take
our little tin cup with us when Papa went to milk the cow. We would always
get a cupful of nice warm cow's milk to drink. (ugh!)
One of my fondest memories was how
Papa loved the canyon and of how hard he worked to get the house built, little
by little each year. I remember how each evening we would go down to the
bridge when it was time for Papa to come, and wait and wait for him. Often
we would play guessing games while we waited.
One summer day, we all had to go
to Logan for the day. We started out early in the morning. After we
had gone a little ways, Papa said, "The brakes are gone". We were all
panic stricken, as we were headed down the canyon. Papa, however, remained
calm. He stopped us by running into the side of the mountain. Then he
slowly and carefully and safely, drove the rest of the way home.
When I was in Junior High School,
I remember walking home from school one day. About three blocks from home,
Papa passed us. Normally, he would have stopped and given us a ride home,
but this time he only waved and smiled and drove on. Then we heard the
fire engine sirens and realized it was coming down the street past us. We
hurried on, and then when we were about a block from home, we saw the fire
engine was at our house. We ran the rest of the way home. Papa said
later that he had been impressed to go home, even though it was in the middle of
the afternoon. The firemen said that if he hadn't closed the windows and
doors upstairs in our house, the fire would have been much worse.
Papa used to like to watch the
lightning. He would go out an the front porch during a storm and watch it.
He tried to get us to go with him, but Lucile was the only one who was brave
enough to go. I was scared to death and would head for the deep, dark
closet under the stairs in the "little bedroom".
Once Papa took us to Salt Lake
with him to the State Fair. He was on the State Fair Board, and I believe
I was the proudest person in the world when he took us to the Board dining room
and we ate dinner there.
The death of Papa was an extra sad
time for me. This was in December just before I graduated from High
School. I had secretly looked forward to having my father hand me
my graduation diploma. He was then President of the School Board and this
would have been his job. It was indeed a sad day for me when someone else
handed me my diploma.
As I said at the beginning,
"Memories are tricky things - often fragile"- and in my case - mostly sweet!
Ruth Cardon Leonard
Back to Top
Prepared for the
1980 Family Reunion
by Lucile Cardon Reading
When we were growing up, there weren't classes on parenting to
explain to fathers and mothers and children what their needs were and how they
could be fulfilled. So we didn't worry about words like coping and we all
just did the best we could.
As a child I felt
wholly inadequate to compete with my sisters even though I hadn't the words to
express it. Looking back, I don't remember being depressed or feeling
sorry for myself, but I often wondered why I was such a peculiar member of the
family - and the question. continues to plague me at times although I've finally
learned to live with it.
Early In my life I
decided that I must have been left on the family doorstep and that was why I
didn't measure up to the others. And then, one awful day I overheard Mom
confiding to a relative that she had wanted all of her children but Lucile and
Paul. That made me feel even worse; after all, it was better to have been
adopted than not to be wanted!
In our family the
girls were lumped together into twos: Margaret and Rebecca, the older ones, who
were given extra privileges and responsibilities; Ruth and Edna, the younger
girls, who were given special consideration and care; and Helen and Lucile, the
middle twosome.
Being lumped with
Helen should have been some help, but it turned out to be quite the contrary.
My self-image suffered daily because she overshadowed me in every way. She
was known as a good girl and I certainly have never been given that appellation.
Though I thought our work in the home was divided equally between us and we
rotated the tasks from week- to-week-to-week, I never seemed to do well enough
to merit any praise while Helen's efforts were frequently approved.
And Helen was
certainly prettier. I began to notice this difference after I heard one of
the neighbors compare the two of us one day. "Helen has quite noble features,"
she said, "but that poor Lucile is surely a scrawny, awkward kid who is always
running around with those awful skinned knees." I was painfully aware of
Rebecca's justification for labeling me "Ugly, bow-legged, freckle-faced, Billy
Goat whiskers."
Nor did my voice lend
any charm to my existence. I found it impossible to pronounce my R's and
Th's, much to Grandma Ballard's concern, and early in my Primary days Ruby
Mitton urged me not to try to sing with her group. "You always get us off
key", she accused. I didn't question the validity of her contention since
I didn't even know what key I was supposed to be on.
And besides all
these problems, I was not a worthy daughter. Who else was ever caught
having a "Show and Tell" sex session with our boy cousins in the loft of our old
barn! Although I was only five or six at that time, Mom looked at me
mournfully and accusingly for so long afterward that I lived with that guilt for
years. In those days there wasn't help for mothers or daughters to explain that
such a situation was not uncommon with preschool children, and so I believed
that I must be the only bad girl in all the world. As a result, I was in
high school before I learned that a woman has to do more than kiss a boy to
become pregnant. No wonder that I always sneaked away from the
neighborhood parties whenever the other girls and boys started to play
Postoffice, for I knew that the others might not get caught, but I would!
By Mom's own
admission, I wasn't wanted in the family, at least not by her, and so I turned
to our father for comfort, which he gave in ample supply - not in words but just
by being the warm, loving person he was. He made me feel that he accepted
me as I was and without apology - except for the time he hid me out in Logan
canyon so no one would see me until Rebecca's carefully executed shingle haircut
grew out. My gratitude and love for my father was fierce and overwhelming
though never expressed. Any show of affection in either words or touch was
not something in which the Cardon family indulged. How much we all missed
by being that way!
The only thing I had
to offer our father in return for so much that he gave to me, and my only chance
to be alone with him, was to pretend I liked those wild and frightening Cache
Valley thunder storms that he so much enjoyed. I feared them as much as
the rest of the family did, but I forced myself to sit on the porch with him
while lightning streaked the sky and thunder boomed and everyone else stayed
fearfully indoors.
And the wonderful
thing is that eventually I learned to enjoy those Storms as much as he did!
The following story
is one that I wrote about those cherished experiences enjoyed by my father and
me. It was published more than ten years ago in The Children's Friend,
under the title of "Summer Storm".
The rounded
thunderhead billowed up in the southwest. Rachel watched it and shivered
when she saw a far-off flash of lightning and heard the low rumble of thunder.
She was alone and terrified.
Rachel knew that her
sisters, and even her mother too, would be frightened if they were home, but
even a frightened family would be some comfort. It was a fearful thing to
be all alone in a summer storm.
Most of all Rachel
wished her father were at home, as she anxiously watched the fast-moving black
clouds. Father liked to sit on the front porch during a summer storm.
Several times he had invited her and other members of the family to join him,
and seemed to want their company. But she had always been too afraid to go
outside and her sisters and mother must have felt the same way, too, so he'd sit
there by himself.
A gusty wind began to
bend the trees. Rachel jumped as a window in an upstairs room banged shut.
The first big drops of rain pelted down just as her father turned his car into
the driveway, jumped out, and ran into the house.
Rachel's heart turned
over with a suffocating love for him as he explained, "Thought I'd better check
on you. And now that I'm here, how about a ringside seat with me for an
A-No. 1 attraction that's going on outside?"
Rachel followed her
father out onto the porch. He pulled two chairs close together, then
reached out to pat one of her trembling hands. "How beautiful this is," he
said. He was quiet for moment and then he added softly, "You know, Rachel,
being frightened won't ever stop a storm, but facing the beauty and majestic
power of it can bring a strange and exciting kind of joy - and a deep gratitude
for being a part of such a wondrous world. How much people miss in life if
they spend their time being afraid!"
At his quiet words,
Rachel looked up, letting her eyes sweep across the sky as one streak of
lightning followed another and almost constant thunder growled and crashed
around them. In all of her ten years, she had never really seen a summer
storm before. It is beautiful, she thought in wonderment.
And in
that moment, with her father close to her, Rachel decided that all of her life
she'd be glad for the beauty in the world, and she'd try to always have courage
- even in a storm.
Back to Top
Prepared by Helen Cardon Lamb
for the Family Reunion,
July 12, 1980
I can't think of any
really special reason, why I think Papa was the finest, kindest, most patient
and best man I have ever known. I thought so when I was younger, I thought
so when he died and I still think so, especially when I see some other men.
He was never angry
(or showed it at least), and would do anything for Mama, and any of us, or
anyone. If we did something wrong (which we all did at sometime or other),
or said something we shouldn't, like swearing etc., he would just look at you
and that was all it took. He 'would never let us talk back to Mama or show
her disrespect - just a look was all that was needed to make me feel guilty.
I don't remember of him ever as much as slap me. I remember how patient he
was when Mama would call him at work nearly every morning about eleven o'clock -
or later- to have him go to Harrison's grocery store and bring home a pound of
butter and some steak for dinner. He always did this no matter how busy he
was, and then he would have to wait for the meat to cook - and they didn't have
micro ovens, or even presto pots in those days.
When I went to work
for the school board at the Junior High School (he was on the Board of Education
at that time) he told me about the job being available, but made me go and get
it myself. (I don't know if he talked to them before hand or not - but I
doubt it, for he said I had to get It myself.) When Frank was on his
mission he never said a word when I would go with other fellows, but I know he
didn't really approve. Whenever I would get a letter from Frank he would
bring it right down from the post office, not even waiting until he came home
for dinner. When we were married we both had the feeling that Papa was
there in the temple that day.
I do remember that he
was always going to administer to someone who was sick. I think I must
have been around 10 or 11 years old and he was called one night to administer to
a neighbor through the block (Ollie Jean Nibley, I think). When he came
home I heard him say to Mama that he really couldn't bless her to get better -
he just had a feeling when he was praying that she wouldn't get better, and she
didn't. I don't remember why I often think of this even, but I still do.
It was just the
little things that made me feel he was so wonderful!
Back to Top
Louis Samuel Cardon Family Reunion,
July 12, 1980,
by Rebecca C. Peterson
I have been trying to
go back, in memory, to the very earliest recollections of the days of my youth.
I do remember that our lot seemed as big as the whole city of Logan to me.
And all of it was our play ground with a fence around it. We had apple
trees, apricot trees, raspberries, strawberries, garden truck of all kinds,
flowers and vegetables. Also, cats, dogs, lambs, chickens, rabbits,
calves, pigs, etc. I loved them all.
There was a big frame
house on the corner of 3rd West and 1st North, where the Gwen Jones family now
live. It was occupied by Uncle Melvin Ballard and his family for a time
and then rented to a Reverend Lewis and family when Uncle Melvin went to be
President of the Northwestern States Mission. Then it was sold to Uncle
George Squires and they lived there until Gretta sold it to the Jones'.
Going west of that corner, our house was next. That was the little yellow
frame house, built by my father, where Howells now live. Then there was
the Morgan house and Aunt Liz Edwards rock house and Tarbets on the west corner.
Across the street where Thomsons live was Grandma Hopkins little house.
Two of her grandchildren lived with her. They were Susan Roberts and her
brother, Eugene. One day he climbed up the telephone pole and took hold of
the wires. Our father heard the screaming and went up the pole and got him
off of it. I don't know how, but there was nothing my Dad couldn't do, I
thought.
Going south from the
house on corner of 3rd West and 1st North there was the little frame house that
Uncle Willard remodeled and Carlisles now own. Then there was Grandma
Bakers and Hamps lived in part of that and the old Sarah Card home that June
Reading now lives in. So you see that we had most of the block to range
in, and we ranged.
In the back of our
house was a great huge barn with a big hay loft above it. It was very
fascinating. The bottom part of the barn had several rooms and divisions.
There was the stable where we kept the cows, the chicken coop and the large
fenced off chicken run, a storage room for feed, bran, and wheat and implements
and then there was a store room and everything that wouldn't go in the house,
went into the barn and there mouldered away. There was also a pig pen and
a water hydrant with a large tin tub for the livestock to drink from.
I remember the cows,
chickens and pigs, but I don't remember the horses. We must have had
horses because l remember that one of my fondest adventures was to go buggy
riding with our Dad, down 1st North to the big ditch and riding right through
it. Papa would stop in the middle of the stream and let the water run
around us, while we all got excited and sea sick. Mamma did not come with
us on these trips because she was afraid of water. I remember Papa
accusing her of taking a bath one leg at a time as she was afraid to get into
the tub all at one time.
At the front gate of
our fenced yard there grew a large bush of dark red roses. We loved them,
Papa would go to his priesthood meeting early Sunday morning and then come home
for us, to take us to Sunday School. Mamma didn't go to Sunday School
because she always had a new baby. Papa would stand at the front gate and
pick a rose bud and pin on each of our Sunday best dresses. We were
scrubbed and combed and often painfully rag curled, wearing several petticoats,
a gorgeous home-made dress with a large sash around our fat little middles, a
huge bow in the back and hair ribbons to match. What a sight we must have
been as Papa lined us up and took us into the church (2nd Ward) with love and
pride in his eyes. We all loved him, he was so loving and kind.
One Sunday morning we
were going to Sunday School. I was holding one of the younger girl's hand
and a wasp got in between our hands and stung us both. Such bawling you
never heard. Papa was coming home to get us and met us running and
screaming. He came to the rescue, took us over to the big ditch and put
cool soothing mud on our hands. We were comforted by a loving father which
was the best medicine in the world. But, I wonder how proud he was that
day as he ushered two tear streaked muddy handed children into the church house.
I guess I can make
Lucile feel less of an outcast, by confessing that I too, have some experiences
that I thought were not to be talked about.
I remember that I was
smarting off at the dinner table one night, and any Dad said, "Stop that, it is
getting a bit too thick". I said, smartly, "You mean the cheese", which I
was cutting at the moment.
Mom said, in great
disgust, "Lou, slap that girl". And to everyone's surprise, including me,
he did just that. I was hurt (not physically, which I could have endured
easier) but my feelings were sore, and I was disgraced for not to my knowledge,
did he ever do that to any of this other children. I never did blame my
father, my mother made him do it.
I also had a young
female curiosity. Aunt Littie came down and brought Walter and got all the
neighborhood women in to see Walter's hernia and the new truss which he must
wear. I tried awfully hard to catch a peek at it between women and
investigators. I got caught and sent firmly from the room. So, after
the side show, Walter told me that I could have a look at it if I would come out
to the hayloft of our old barn, which we proceeded to do. We reckoned
without my ever watchful mother, who knew about barns and temptation, I guess.
She always kept an eagle eye on that old barn and her kids. We forgot that
the window in the front of the hay loft was wide and high and straight in line
with the kitchen window. She appeared at the most inopportune moment, and
yelled us down from the barn, AT ONCE! I never got to see a truss in
action, and only in the drug store window, but I always had a certain curiosity
about them. Why couldn't the women have told me that they were medical
aids. Instead I went through life thinking that it was a sex symbol.
I thought that all men had to wear a truss, or were born with it.
So, Lucile, I join
you in being ugly and wicked and guilty. But I was watched pretty well
from then on. However, I used to steal a bunch of early radishes and wash
them in the hose, and take them, a warm crust of bread, and. a book to the hay
loft, carefully keeping out of sight, and read and dream. It was a nice place to
meditate and dream, and watch the view, and escape unwelcome chores.
As I write this, my
memory takes me back to those hot July days when Papa had to work so hard to
provide for an ever increasing family, including relatives who always hung on to
him for support and help. How he loved his cold ice water drink. I
remember how often he came home, tired and hot, and headed directly for the Ice
box. He took the ice pick and chipped off some pieces of ice from the
large block of ice that the ice man would deliver every other day, took a long
drink of his ice water and said, "there's nothing so good as a drink of cold
water on a hot day". Then he would see that the drip pan under the ice box
was beginning to overflow and emptied it, never saying a word about us
neglecting to empty it on time.
One summer he had a
bout of diarrhea, and I remember Mamma saying, "Lou, you drink too much of that
ice cold water. That's not good for you and is probably the cause of your
trouble". But he did not stop drinking it, and he eventually was cured.
How he would have enjoyed our modern day refrigerators, and ever ready ice
cubes, which we now take so much for granted.
As I write this,
memories came crowding in and it seemed that there was no end to the things that
should be written, recalling our trips to the canyon, living in a tent, at first
and then making a wooden floor and part way up the walls, and later a real cabin
house which still stands and belongs to Margaret and Louis and his family.
I remember that Papa threw away most of our croquet set, balls and mallets,
trying to get a sage hen. They were very plentiful in those days. I
remember our trips to Salt Lake City to see the Utah State Fair, and how proud
we were to be sitting in box seats and eating in the Coloseum, with all the
dignitaries, because our father was the most important man on the State Fair
Board.
I remember that on
one of these trips in our big new "Velie", with Uncle Joe and his family In
their red one, that we got stuck in the "Sand Ridge" and had to get a farmer to
bring his horses and pull the cars out of the sand. In the meantime Mamma
took all of us kids and all of Uncle Joe's kids and took the Bamberger (train)
into Ogden to wait there for men and their cars. She said that when she
got on the cars with all those kids the conductor said, "My goodness, lady, are
all those kids yours?"
I remember that no
matter what he was doing, at any time of the day or night, Mamma would call Papa
and he would come and get her or take her to town, or to meeting, or to the
temple, (where she officiated for some years) or to the doctor for her or any of
us kids. He never complained, but went steadily on, trying to love us and
make a living for us all.
When Mamma was having
morning sickness or quinsy, both of which she often had, Papa would go to the
B&B Cafe and bring her home a wonderful cooked dinner, on a large platter, hot,
and smelling heavenly, while we kids scrambled eggs, or melted cheese or fried
mush left from breakfast, for Papa and us to eat. We always hoped she
could not eat it all, so we could have a small taste of it.
I remember circus
day, when we got up at the break of day and waited for the train whistle which
would tell us that the circus train was coming in to the station. Papa
would hustle us and some of the neighbor kids into the car and take us down to
the station to see the train unload. He always took us to see the circus
parade which we viewed from the roof top of the "office" or on chairs in front
of the building. We felt very special, even if we didn't get to the circus
unless Papa got some free tickets for putting a poster in his store window.
I remember the great
Christmases that he always provided for us. How Mom would work and sew and
hide things for months before the great day. When the day came, Papa was
as excited as any of us kids and would get up early and have the house snug and
warm when we tumbled out of bed. I can still see those big Christmas
trees, setting in the Music Room, the den, that we used to have an the west end
of the front room. They were decorated with strings of icky candy and
candy canes and hard candy animals, and were loaded with multi colored ribbons
and sashes for 6 little girls. Also a doll for each one of them, and many
other gifts. Piles of them. We were always so excited to see what
Papa had bought for Mom. It was always something special and beautiful, a
pearl star pin with a diamond in the middle, or a necklace or something
wonderful and we were as happy over this as if we had gotten it for ourselves.
We knew how very much he loved our mother, and us. I remember Ballard's
subscription to the "Youth's Companion" and his magic lantern, and slides, which
he treasured and he put an many a picture show for us all. I remember
Paul's trains and his "Chemistry Sets", and how awful the basement smelled for
weeks after.
I think we had the
best father and mother that God ever gave a family and I thank Him and look back
on my childhood as something very special.
In 1918, the World
War raged, and so did the flu. Many folks died with it and it was a
terrible time of sickness, quarantine and "flu masks" and death. Nurses
and doctors were worn out and hard to get. Many of them contracted the
disease, themselves, and died. Papa was on the go, morning and night,
administering to those who were sick and helping all the friends and neighbors
who needed him. All public gatherings were closed and churches, schools,
movies, etc. were banned.
Our mother and father
came down with it, just hours apart. We kids were stricken with fear.
Then our beloved "Teddy Day", who worked at the Court House, came home and said,
"I have gotten off work and have come home to take care of your mother and
father". What a load that lifted from our young shoulders. But our
relief was short lived as Edna came down with it and was put to bed in the
"Little Bedroom". They were all seriously sick. So we kids all moved
upstairs to live and hung a quilt at the bottom of the stairs so we would not
catch it. Some of us did anyway. I remember that Lucile did and I
think some of the others did too.
Our family doctor,
Dr. Parkinson, finally got us a nurse. Camilla York (now Wennergren) came
to help us. Many years later she told my mother of this particular time,
among many, which showed the great love my father had for my mother.
Papa and Mama lay in
the large downstairs bedroom that was their room, in separate beds, both sick,
almost to death, in fact the doctor felt that he my not be able to pull them
through. The overworked elders were sent for to give them a blessing.
When they placed their hands on my Mother's head to give her a blessing and
plead for her life, Father crawled from his bad, and on his feeble knees he got
to her bedside to join in that prayer. He had to be carried back to his
bed. The Lord heard and answered their prayers, for they all three, Mom,
Papa and Teddy Day lived and got well. How thankful we were that Christmas
time in December 1918.
Then when my father
died, another Christmas time in 1930, very suddenly of a heart attack, my safe,
happy world was severely shaken. I felt that nothing bad could happen to
us as long as we had our father to go to. He wouldn't let it. That
was my first real sorrow. I can still feel that sad Christmas, so many
years ago, as we all banded together to get on with the rest of our lives.
We were blessed with
a wonderful father, kind, loving and understanding, always there when needed, no
matter what the cost. Ever ready to do his share, and much, much more.
He was my ideal of what God meant a man to be. Moral, honest and true to
the end. He was always overloaded with helping his whole family. We
always had relatives living with us. Part of Uncle Joe's family, while he
was in Independence, Missouri, on a two year mission. We had Rula, Bart
and Carma, I think. Then there was Everett Griffin, Melvin Ballard, Gladys
and Miriam Ritchie, and Ida Gubler, to name a few, who lived with us and went to
school in Logan at the BY College. (Now the location of the Logan High
School). Besides that we had Oriel Griffin, Carmen Ballard and Veda Guild,
practicing on our piano daily, so they could take piano lessons. I loved
to listen to them play.
We were always having
overnight company, shifting beds and making room for them all. Uncle
Melvin and Aunt Mattie always stayed with us when they came to Logan.
Mamma loved to have them.
I look forward to
seeing our parents again, and also to seeing our two beloved brothers, who were
so much like their father, loving, kind and a little bit shy.
I hope they will not
be too ashamed of us, and our accomplishments, and failures in this world.
I know that they still love us, and will welcome us, and that we will each one
be a member of that great eternal family.
It is wonderful to
see you all here today and to greet you and love you more than ever before.
May God be with us all in our lives, and bless us all in the coming year, and
forever more. "'TiI' we meet Again".
"little" Rebecca
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Louis
Hickman's Memories of His Grandfather, Louis S. Cardon
There is some duplication, but I guess there is in all of
ours, but Edna wasn't the youngest, I was, and it was always, "The youngest will
do it". So, see Teddy?
I remember Grandpa Cardon. I remember him getting up
very early in the mornings, with me trotting behind him, badgering him with
unending questions. I have retrobution now, with mine. I remember
him always fixing breakfast, a habit I haven't been able to break. I
remember him working in the big garden, east of the "new" family home, and
commenting that the best crop that garden grew, was rocks. He threw so
many off of that garden, that when he sold the lot that Walt Raleigh built on,
the lot was 18 inches below the driveway.
I remember him stopping by the house and picking me up and
taking me on various business trips throughout the valley. I became an
expert on irrigation and drainage before I was seven years old, from the time I
spent in Rich Land Acres. I remember him taking the family, and a good
number of the neighborhood kids for a Sunday evening drive around the towns, and
the valley, and we usually ended up in College Ward for an ice cream cone, at
the old service station down there.
Grandpa always bought the largest car available with jump
seats, in order to get everyone in. My, but he would have loved these
three seated station or suburban wagons and these new vans that are out.!
I remember him taking charge of Sunday School, and how
proud I was that he belonged to me. I remember his great love for
literature and music. As kids, we would go down to the bridge in the
canyon and guess the number of cars that would pass before Grandpa and my mother
would come. We would look forward to the times when he would bring up a
new record for the old crank Victorola. I attributed my love for good
music to him. I remember records of Carauso, John Charles Thomas, and
Harry Lawder. How many of you remember this? (Louis sang this)
"Oh it's nice to get up in the mornin' when the sun begins to shine,
at four or five or six o'clock in the good ol' summer time, but when the
snow is snowing, and it's merky over head, oh, it's nice to get up in
the mornin' -- huh -- but it's nicer to lie in yer bed ".
We would sit around the front room in the cabin, with
flickering candle, or lamp lights, and play those records over and over.
And sometimes he would read to us until we fell asleep. I remember his
mechanical ability. I still have one old broken, rusty brace and bit from
his carpentry tools, that I cherish. I remember his ingenuity. As a
boy, I was subject to extreme cases of croup, and we were at the cabin one night
when I got a bad attack. We had no medicine in those days, at least, not
in the canyon, and he knew that getting me to the hospital on the old dirt
roads, was too time consuming, or risky, so he took the top off of the lantern
and poured some kerosene down my throat. It worked marvelously. The
doctor was amazed when we told him what had happened about that trip.
I remember Grandpa's great love for people, - all people.
He would do almost anything to help anyone in need. I can remember him
sitting on the front porch of the house and reading letters in French or German
to people who were either illiterate or did not know the language. And I
remember him loaning money to people, when he knew that he would never get it
back.
I remember the day that he had a heart attack and died.
We were sent up to Aunt Lettie Squires' to get us out of the way, and were not
told what had happened, but we realized it. Lucile had been teaching us
"Silent Night" in German, that year, so we could sing it for Grandpa Cardon on
Christmas Eve. He never heard it, but I can still remember the singing
words today. My wife has been on a mission to Germany and that is the only
thing that she and I have in common in German is "Silent Night".
I remember his funeral in the Logan Tabernacle. It
was probably one of the very last funerals held there before they quit holding
them there. I remember the great love and devotion that I have always held
for him. In my eyes he was perfect, and after fathering nearly the same
number of children that he did, and after comparing my efforts with his, I am
more than ever convinced that he was just that! - a perfect father, grandfather,
neighbor and friend, church and civic leader.
May we always strive to remember him and these wonderful
qualities, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
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