Lydia Ann Beckstead

Lydia Ann Beckstead – Charles Lorenzo Jenkins– Ilene Jenkins – Shirley Ann McConkie – Lyrad Kelly Riley

Born:  Nov. 24, 1853 / Married David Jenkins:  Sept. 11, 1871 / Died:  Jan. 25, 1938

Lydia Ann Beckstead Jenkins (grandmother of Grandma Ilene)When Lydia Ann was but a small girl, she learned to knit stockings and comforters.  She also learned to pick wool and wash it and prepare the wool for further use, and she learned to use the spinning wheel to make yarn.  She learned to weave cloth on a loom when she was about 10 years old, then she helped to make it into clothes for the family to wear. Lydia  Ann  married  David  Jenkins  and  had  15 children.   Five  of  their children died of diphtheria and whooping cough.  The Jenkins family was in quarantine, meaning no one was allowed to go near the house for fear they might catch diphtheria.  No funeral was held for the children for fear the  germ would  still  spread.   So  Lydia  Ann  washed  her  children  and prepared them for burial by herself.

When Lydia was a young girl, she learned an unforgettable lesson about prayer while she was tending three younger siblings and had been warned by her mother to keep them away from the nearby streams.  After the baby fell into a stream, Lydia jumped in after her and brought her out,unconscious.  Thinking the baby was dead, Lydia knelt down and prayed to the Lord to give them back their baby sister.  About the time their mother arrived, the baby was miraculously waking up. 

Lydia’s grandfather, Alexander Beckstead, was asked to help guard Joseph Smith.  After two ugly men rode up to take the prophet away,Alexander witnessed the shooting and killing of Joseph and Hyrum Smith.While Alexander was gone, two more ugly men rode up to the Beckstead home and told Alexander’s wife, Catherine, that she had until morning to be  gone;  otherwise they  would  burn  the  house  and  kill  the  children.Catherine worked all night packing their wagon, and at sunrise Alexander arrived home to flee with the family.   Looking back as they went into hiding, they heard a terrible noise and saw a large group of men going in a rage toward their home, with burning torches, and soon the house was completely gone.  The men were singing and shouting, "We burned ole Joe’s guard up, and his family are sizzling in that heap of fire.  We’ve got them now…”  But the Becksteads were safe and sound in their hiding place, thanking the Lord for their protection.

At age 7, Lydia was asked to recite a poem in church one Sunday while Brigham Young was visiting.  She didn’t have any nice dress and no shoes whatsoever, so her mother made her a cute little dress out of an old white curtain dressed up with bows and ruffles.  For shoes, they made moccasins out of her father’s old felt hat. 

Lydia  always helped the  sick  and needy,  often riding in  sleds  or buggies in the middle of the night to care for the sick or lay out the dead.Lydia remarked a few days before her death in 1938 in Vernal, UT, “If only I could leave with my posterity a knowledge that there is a God.  Then I think I could leave the greatest gift of all.”

Source:  Lydia Ann Beckstead Jenkins’ life story, written by Grandma Ilene’s cousin

Jessie Pearl Jessen

Lyrad Riley - Shirley McConkie - Ilene Jenkins - Jessie Pearl Jessen

My Grandmother, Jessie Pearl Jessen, was born prematurely on Dec. 19, 1891, in a time when most very tiny infants did not survive.  The midwife attending the birth thought her to be stillborn, and as her mother had many problems at the time of delivery the midwife’s attention was all on the mother.  Later, she heard a little sound from the baby, so she wrapped her in a soft cloth and put her in a shoe-box which was placed on the open oven door of a wood stove.  They later told my grandmother she probably weighed about 2 to 2 ½ lbs at birth. She appeared to be bluish and cold, so the midwife placed the solid metal iron, (called a “sad-iron”), which was always on the back of the stove, behind her back to warm her a little.  There wasn’t enough fabric between the baby and the old sad iron, and she was severely burned on her delicate newborn skin.  The midwife became frightened when she saw the burn on Grandma’s back, and fearing what my Great Grandfather Jessen might do, she rubbed flour into the burn to make it look paler.  After the midwife left to go home, and her father discovered the flour-filled burn, he tenderly tried to brush the flour away and work it out of the wound with his soft bristled shaving brush.  Fortunately the burn healed without any further infection for the tiny infant.  As my grandmother grew, so did the scar from the burn, and it covered most of her back from her neck to her hips.  She started out tiny, with odds against her survival, but lived a long and productive life until she was 90 years old.  I know what a great blessing it was in my life to have her for a grandmother.  –written by Shirley Riley, Dec. 2003

Ernest Ray Riley

 Lyrad Kelly Riley - Ernest Ray Riley (born December 4, 1939)

Grandpa Ernie

            When Ernie was two years old, he was riding his tricycle on the driveway when his dad backed up over him and his bike.  Ernie was pinned underneath the truck, but luckily the wheels didn`t go over him.  His dad stopped the truck, looked underneath it, and was so surprised to see Ernie down there.

            When Ernie was about four years old, he was visiting his grandparents.  His Grandpa Thomasini had worked hard to plant some new seedlings (little trees), but little Ernie found a hatchet.   Ernie proceeded to chop all of the bark off of several of the seedlings, until his grandparents found him and made him stop.

            Another time at his grandparents` house, Ernie thought he was in trouble, so he hid in a big pipe that carries water under the street.  He sat there for a long time, listening to his parents and grandparents calling for him.

            Ernie loved to play with toy trucks in dirt piles and sand piles.  After he turned three, he received a dump truck that he loved for Christmas.  When he was supposed to go out to dinner with his aunt, he only wanted to show off his new truck and he refused to go to dinner.

            One day he was driving his metal fire engine around the driveway when he saw a gopher snake crawling toward him.  He sat petrified in his fire engine until it crawled by him and went away.  He thought the snake was seven feet long.

            Ernie`s mom, our great-grandma Mary, hated snakes.  One day Ernie found a water snake while working in the garden.  He brought it home and put it in the bathtub, but the snake crawled out and headed for the kitchen.  When Grandma Mary saw the snake slithering along the kitchen floor, she "just about died".

Ernie loved his big old English Shepherd named Bingo.  The dog was bigger than Ernie and they were best friends.  Ernie sat on him and rode him like a horse.

            One day while playing outside, Ernie saw his dad drive his tractor a half-mile away to work.  Ernie wasn`t allowed to go with his dad, so he just followed him there instead.  Ernie remembers having to eat his cheese sandwich and go to bed early (a common consequence when he disobeyed).

            Ernie`s dad, Kelly, raised turkeys a few miles away from their home.  Ernie absolutely loved staying overnight in their little "turkey wagon" (a trailer with a roof, stove, and bed).  He loved to drip water, one drop at a time, onto the stove to hear it sizzle.  One time he dripped fuel onto the stove, and a huge flame shot up!

            Ernie's standard breakfast was cooked whole wheat cereal, toast, and eggs.  His FAVORITE dessert was cooked chocolate pudding with a thick skin on top.  He HATED to eat potatoes with gravy, baked ham, and vegetables (except for peas and asparagus).  He loved Grandma Thomasini's asparagus dipped in oil and vinegar.

            Ernie's chores as a little boy were hauling wood for fires, feeding the dog, weeding, hoeing, and milking cows.  He enjoyed playing checkers and Monopoly indoors, and his favorite book was Grimms' Fairy Tales.  But Ernie was happiest outdoors!  He learned to swim in canals, floating downstream while frantically dogpaddling.  He loved building fires and would dig up sagebrush, stack it into big piles, and burn the piles just for fun.

            Ernie's favorite childhood pastime was setting off firecrackers.  He earned money by catching magpies (noisy birds); he earned three cents for each baby bird he killed and one cent for each egg he turned in (he would climb trees and take the eggs out of the nests).  With the money he earned, he would buy firecrackers.

            Ernie liked Indians and collected Indian cards that came inside boxes of Shredded Wheat.  He had cards that told how to make a bow and arrow, build a teepee, hide an animal trap, and identify plants to eat in the wild.

            Ernie's school in Altonah, Utah, didn't have a fourth grade, so he rode the bus to Altamont for fourth grade.  He played baseball in Little League and also in high school.  Across the street from the school was the church building, where the children attended primary once a week after school.  Movies were shown weekly at the church building, such as "Abbott and Costello" and "Red Stallion."  He really wanted a t.v., but t.v.'s required a huge antenna; Ernie didn't have his first t.v. until after he was married.

            Ernie (a fifth-grader) first met Shirley (a third-grader) one morning in December 1950; she was playing Christmas carols on the piano as the school children sang them.  Ernie remembers walking in and noticing that "her feet could barely reach the pedals."  Their first date was years later when they travelled to Provo to watch Altamont High School's basketball team play in the state play-offs.

            When a young boy, Ernie hoped to become a truck driver when he grew up.  He began Dixie College hoping to become an engineer, but the math classes were too hard.  His next choice was to be an auto mechanic, but that was too much work and too dirty for him.  So then he decided to become a biology teacher. 

+++++++++

Ernie’s  Glimpses of the Past

Bountiful, Moss Hill 13^th east, little white house

            Earliest thing I remember       

Christmas present dump truck, stubborn , I wouldn’t go to dinner with aunt Ester,

                       

                        Spinning tires in the snow.  The road to the driveway was pretty steep and during snow storm the old blue ford panel truck would spin and I loved to see the tires spin.  I would try to throw snow back under the tires with my little toy shovel to make them spin after he had shoveled it away and was trying to get up the hill.  As the wheels would spin I really thought I’d done something neat.  

            Fire engine and Gopher snake that scared me motionless

            Dead gopher snakes after they cut hay across the fields

            Hiding under the culvert from Grandma and Grandpa

            Barking the trees at Grampas

            Bringing cows up the lane with Stella

            Riding on the handlebars of aunt Stella’s bike

Altonah

            Age 5-18

                        Trading tops with Gary Jessen  I had no sense of value, can’t remember what I traded but Mom didn’t like the trade, I think She made me try and get it back, or else I got the top and had a hard time learning to spin it but when I did nearly drove everyone nuts with it.

            Kindergarten, first ever Mrs Snider at Altamont

            Elementary school -- first three years

                        Beaten in foot race by Janice Allrred.  I thought I could easily out run any girl, what a blow to the ego.

                        Outhouse bathrooms

                        Gail Timothy

                        Old Well for water, water bucket in hall way for drinking.  One of the rewards for getting your work done early ws to go out and lower the bucket into the dug well, about 30 feet deep, fill the school bucket and bring it into the hall for the school.  There was one long handled dipper that everyone drank out of.  Never a thought of spreading germs, etc.

                        Primary part of school, one day a week.   The entire school was excused to go across the street to attend  primary classes.  I seem to remember that there were about five kids that didn’t attend.

Jesse Fowler, pocket knife I wanted.  I had notice that mom and Dad kept a small box above the clothes closet where they kept their change.  Seemed like there was always a few quarters, nickels and dimes in the box.  I got the idea that if I just took a few no one would know the difference.  I’d help myself to a few coins for a candy bar, pop, or just give them to other kids.  One day I saw the neatest little pocket knofe in the store carse in  of Jesse Fowler’s store

                        My earliest memory of buying a soda pop.  Uncle Dell and I were getting a tire fixed at Jesse Fowler’s garage and Dell bought me the biggest Pepsie I’d ever seen.  I remember that it tasted so good but was so filling that I had t leave some in the bottle

Mohlmans Store, 5 cent pop

stove in classroom

lunch room

first value of snakes, I got to take it back outside

Shirley had to come for thire grade, I went to Altamont for the fourth grade

Altamont Elementary

            Mrs Gomm art teacher, getting placed in seats and levels

            I was a terrible ball player, seemed like I was always the last one chosen on a side when sides were picked for teams.

Altamont High School

Guam

__________

            Letter from 2001: 

            Grampa Ernie has had a most enjoyable last month with the Riley’s in Guam.  Getting there on the 5^th of Dec and returning home on the 8^th of Jan.   Got to enjoy numerous aspects of Guam, all most enjoyable!  Amazing how many activities got packed into this time—Christmas, Birthday parties, New Years and Family outings, and even getting Grama Shirley here for almost two weeks  It’s not possible to pick out any one thing as being the best, but I supposed one of the very best was experiencing the growth of Joshua in just a little more than a month.  I think he had his first cherrio’ on about Dec. 6, and (pardon my memory if wrong) but he seemed to stay in whatever location he might be placed.  By the time I left he was never in the same place unless strapped into his seat.  The progress he made in such a short time, learning to crawl, move around the hot chocolate table,  taking the position of “chief-picker-upper) of anything on the floor and the master of apples, cereal, crackers, cherrio’s with only two front teeth was quite amazing.  I sure enjoyed the interaction with all the other kids, Lyrad and Alicia included.  Never saw seven kids, one grampa, one van, two boogie boards, a whole sackfull of sun and surf things have anymore fun than we did. 

            Fun included playing in the warm ocean water as waves and surf broke over the coral reef flat, trying to keep the waves from banging us around on the sharp limestone rocky beaches, hiking through numerous trails, (some we were sure of, others we had a pretty good guess, some it just didn’t matter) to more secluded coves and beaches, and visiting some of the War in the Pacific memorial and parks, museums, and invasion sites.  I’d list all the places we visited and try and tell you about them, but really the best thing to do is hot on a short flight or a long boat ride and come to Guam to see for yourself. 

I suppose nothing is all good and one negative of Guam would be that weeds in the garden never take a break and the grass never quits growing.  So when I left Guam the bean seeds we planted earlier had all rotted in the ground, and the weeds loved the newly prepared soil for the garden, I’m pretty sure thinking “we’ll overrun those invasive tomato plants in no time", and Lyrad will need to mow the grass before the next inspection.

            There’s no way to state all the pleasant memories I’ve had during this visit, but I sure do thank each member of the family for the time and energy they had given to make this such an enjoyable winter trip.  I’m writing this on my last day in Guam and can’t help but feeling some sadness at leaving here, it has been great.  Thanks for a great ending of ‘01 and beginning of ’02.   Grampa Ernie  

            Hikes

            Kids

            Beaches

            Christmas

            Birthdays

Ilene Jenkins

Lyrad Riley - Shirley Ann McConkie - Ilene Jenkins (Born:  Jan. 29, 1923 / Married Lyrad Charles McConkie Sept. 13, 1941 / Died )

From Lyrad:  I remember when I was a little boy, going to visit Grandma Ilene's house was always exciting.  It usually took a long hot drive accross Nevada in a van full of kids to get there, but it was so exciting when we finally saw her dirt lane and house.  She was such a fun grandma for kids.  She would take us fishing, riding horses, and to a little store that sold Indian stuff.  She liked to tell stories and I liked to hear about when she was little- it seemed like remote history.  She kept a nice garden, and cooked good food whenever the relatives got together, which was for any excuse- baptisms, holidays, or just because someone was visiting from out of town.  

From Madison: I loved spending time at Gma Ilene's.  I loved her chicken noodle soup with mashed potatoes in it and the fresh raspberry bushes.  I always loved picking fresh raspberries and playing with her dog and her big bathtub.  But my all-time favorite thing about being at Gma Ilene's house was her water bed.  I also loved going through old photo albums with Gma Ilene and hearing about her experiences, such as when she showed me that she was in band and showing me what kind of music she played.  I thought it was really fun to see how times have changed, when she showed us the dance card that she used, where boys would sign up for dances with her on a little card she carried with her with numbers from 1 to 15 or so. I love her work ethic.   I love her and she was a great role model to me, always kind and loving.   From Josh:  I remember staying at Gma's house and she would feed us mashed potatoes and chicken noodle soup.  Her little dog Charlie never liked me much, though.  One day as I was walking out of her bathroom, he jumped up and bit me on the nose.  It was very bloody.  But I still like him.  I was put to bed on her waterbed, before everyone else because I was tired.  I was very little then.  My big sister told me not to bounce around too much because the water bed might pop.  I could hear everybody else having fun and talking and I wanted to join them, because it wasn't that late.  But I was terrified of moving because I didn't want to pop the waterbed.  So I lay there stiffly.  For some reason, I was scared to make any noise, too.  So I just lay there until I fell asleep.  I had traumatic experiences every time I came to her house, but I just loved coming back.  I wonder why that is. +++++++++++ “Ol’ pig-killing day was one big day.  The kids would get really excited.  Dad could really butcher his pigs.  He’d hang them up under that big ‘ol tree.  He’d dip them in a barrel of boiling water with a can of lye in it.  That skin’d be just as white and pretty as anything.  He’d scrape it with a hoe, then he’d get a sharp knife and he’d just soak ‘em down and clean ‘em.  Then after he cleaned the ol’ pig, why, he’d get the pig bladder and put a string around it and blow it up and tie it off and we’d have football ‘til it got caught in the road.  Then another thing—every day when Dad’d go to town, every time he came home he had a sack of candy in his shirt pocket and whoever kid’s turn it was to have that candy, he’d sit and rattle that sack, and we’d go up and then we had to share it with the other kids.  But when he’d get coal oil, he’d stick a gum drop on the spout; we never had a lid for the spout.  We’d even eat the gum drop with the coal oil on it. A lot of things I remember about Dad, he had nine children but I always felt like I was one of the pets.  Kids in those days had a lot of respect for their parents, when they was told to do something, they just said, “Yes, Sir,” and hurried off and did it.  He was a VERY hard worker.  He’d just work from daylight ‘til dark and he was quite proud of how hard he could work and he liked all his kids to work hard.  Right after Depression when everyone was real poor and didn’t have anything, we had a big cellar full of potatoes and lots of pork and beef and that.  If you worked hard, you got to play hard.  In the spring, we’d sort the potatoes from one bin to the other and take the rotten ones down to a bunch of pigs.  I was quite little but I remember us barefooted and we had a big ol’ five-gallon bucket and when we’d got down to that pig-pen, went to dump that big bucket of potatoes into an old sow that had a bunch of little pigs and she rared up and I thought she was going to jump out and I stepped back and there was a big heavy plank with a spike right up through the middle of it, and when I stepped back, the spike went right up  through the arch of my foot and I couldn’t pull my foot up off of it and of course I was screaming.  Dad come running over there and picked me up, took me to the house and all he did was just wash my face off and take me up to the doctor in Roosevelt.  And I can remember it so plain, they stuck a swab up there and turned it around and OH how it hurt.  When we come home, Dad told me I could stay in bed or stay in the house for a while.  That was getting treated real good, you know.  Then the next morning he whittled me a crutch with a tree limb, it made a “T” and he come and measured it, and it just fit under my arm, so I had a crutch and I could hop along.  I remember old Doc called me “Old Crip” for a while and Dad would spank him.  Dad was really kind to me that way.  One time when I was in school (and the teachers wouldn’t let us chew gum in school), we had some out on the playground and I forgot and left it in and I thought, “Well, I won’t chew it,” but I must’ve chewed a little and he called me up and said I had to chew a great big thing of scratch paper and I said, “Well, I won’t do it,” ‘cuz I’d heard they put horses’ hooves and glue in that scratch paper and I couldn’t have gagged it down to save my life.  So he kicked me out of school and said don’t come back ‘til you bring your parents.  So I went skipping home and I thought, “My dad will go down and tell him to go to h___; he’ll beat that old sucker right to death…”  I went skipping along home so happy and I went in and Dad said, “What are you doing home?” I told him and he said, “Well, I’ll get on my horse and, young lady, you better be back to school by the time I get down there.”  I could cut through the field, Dad went around on the road, and we got there just at the same time and he got me back into school.  But the teacher made me go out and dust all the erasers.  My dad just upheld the teachers, anyone in authority, you just minded them!   “When the depression and that was over, when Jay was born Dad had a big big building across the road full of alfalfa seed and when Mom got sick, they sent us kids over to play on them sacks of alfalfa seed.  And I remember when they came and told us we had a baby brother, everyone took off running, and I remember my legs just turning round and round in a circle.  I was the last one coming and I fell down and took all the hide off my arms and elbows.             “When Stella was born, we had no Maytag washer and Dad did the washing.  It had a wringer on it and something had been wrong and they took the guard off the wringer.  But I was getting out of the rinse water, sticking up through the hard rubber wringer, and somehow or other my hand got caught in the wringer and it pulled me up off of my feet.  Well, it was a gas motor, and Dad grabbed the gears with his hands and stopped that.  And it just tore all the meat right off his hands.  He was really a pretty good guy.  He sowed that seed and he got such a big price out of it  (it’s when there wasn’t any money), Dad come home and he let each of us kids hold that big check for a while.  It was a humongous big lot of money.             “…My childhood must have really been happy because I just hated for it to get night so you had to go to bed, and I couldn’t wait for morning to come so you could be up and out and doing things.  Our neighbors played out in the dirt all day, but us kids was working.  But we loved it.  At night, the parents would play cards, and us kids would all get in the road and play Kick the Can, Run Sheep Run, and Hide and Seek, and we’d swim in the old dirty ditch at noon to cool off.  It was just happy.  I hated to even sleep because life was so fun, and I’ve always liked work.  It’s just a good feeling to feel so good that you want to work, I think.” “Things are so different now.  Things are so fast-paced.  And I can remember the first old radio Dad had.  We, all the kids, no matter how many we was, sat there like mice while he listened to Amos and Andy.  My dad would get his ear right up to there and Mom, they just LOVED Amos and Andy, until it turned off (it run on a battery, you know).  And to have a hat full of apples, we’d go down to that cellar and get a bunch of apples at night.  That was a BIG treat.  Holy heck!  And an orange at Christmastime, gee, that was out of this world, you know.  And it’s just so different, kids have so much now that I wonder what’s a treat for them.  Because in them days, I remember I always wore boy shoes in the summer ‘cause they lasted longer, and my friends had little Sunday shoes and Dad, he gave Mom the money to buy me a little pair of black slippers with a strap over the front.  And I was riding that old horse down there, I was so tickled, I wanted to wear them 24 hours a day!  But I was taking his lunch down to the field and there’s a net-wire fence and I was trying to tickle my toe along there and buckle hurt and yanked me off the horse.  I didn’t care about breaking my leg, if I did, I just didn’t want to skin up my shoes!  And things like that, you got one nice dress or a pair of shoes.              I’ve told you about mine and Stella’s first permanent.  Dad was getting that seed in and we’d heard about these permanents, and my hair was as straight and froggy-fine, it was just terrible.  And all the other girls had curlers and stuff.  My grandpa cut my hair off clear up by my ears and my bangs, so it’d last a year til the next time he came, and I’d look in the mirror and just bawl, I looked so ugly.  I was an ugly little old thing.  Anyway, I wanted a permanent so bad, Dad said, “Well, on the ditch banks, next to the fence where they couldn’t cut it, was a lot of this alfalfa seed.  He said, “If you’ll gather that into sacks, if you get enough, you can have your permanent.”  And I think he taught us kids to work for what we got, he just didn’t hand it out.  If we ever needed anything, we got it, and he always treated us to that little old sack of candy and that, you know, but we gathered I don’t know how many sacks.  And Stella, she was four years younger than me, so she’d have been quite small, but she’d hold the sacks and we’d go and I had them old sheep shearers and we’d cut that seed and put it in them sacks.  When we had four sacks seeds, we took them up to the thresher.  I said, “Dad, now when they get through, you tell them this is ours for our permanent.”…And they wind them up on some old curlers, then they have clamps that come down out of a hood, and they clamped over that, and then it got hot and sizzled, you could smell that, OH, it was all your head’d hold up.  But we come out of there 2 of the curly-headedest kids you ever seen.  It was just really fun.  I was about 11, 12 years old.” Source:  cassette-tape interview of  Grandma Ilene, by Lyrad, July 1994

John Watkins

John Watkins—Edward Watkins—Pearl Watkins—Ilene Jenkins—Shirley McConkie—Lyrad Riley

Born:  April 13, 1834 (Kent, England) / Married Margaret Ackhurst May 4, 1851 / Died Dec. 23, 1902 (UT)

John Watkins (great-grandfather of Grandma Ilene)
From John Watkins’ recollections  (he crossed the plains  with the Martin  Handcart  Company in 1856):   
That night after we crossed the last crossing of the Platte River, the snow started to fall and winter set in, finding us with scarcely any clothing and very little food.  We had been traveling many days in the snow.  The cattle having had nothing to eat, became so poor and emaciated that they would lie down and no persuasion or beating could induce them to go farther; they were nothing but a stack of bones and were not worth the time and delay it would take the company to kill them, so they were left for the wolves to devour.   On one of these occasions I  noticed an ox that could not be driven and was left  to perish.  I conceived the idea that if I went back in the night, I might kill it and thus get something that would help sustain life.  We waited until after night fall when all the camp had retired…then we three with a handcart crept from the camp quietly and secretly…the wind was blowing bitter cold, it was freezing hard, and the snow was about 18 inches deep.  We were all thinly clad.  We traveled on, hunting for the ox until we were five miles from camp out on the cold prairie.  There we came upon the ox standing, chilling, freezing to death.  I had noticed a deep ravine a mile and a half from camp.  So we decided to try and drive the ox there.  Suddenly (the woman with us) gave up, begging to lie down.  The death sleep that precedes freezing was upon her.  Then I made her walk in spite of her cries, for we knew that was the only way of saving her life.Mr. Hunter took the hatchet and drove the ox, for the only way to make him move was by striking his backbone with the hatchet and that sounded like striking a board.  At last we managed to reach the ravine.  I was just immigrating from London and was not a very good marksman, so I knew that I must take good aim.  Just as I fired, the ox moved his head and the last load I had in the world went far from its mark.  So we decided to cut his throat.  The snow was so deep we could not find a rock on which to sharpen our case knife, so we went to work.  I held the ox by the horns while Hunter took hold of the loose skin of the throat in one hand and began sawing.  The ox would stand still until his throat began to hurt, then he would run off and we would have to catch him again and bring him back to repeat the operation.The knife was so dull that we could never tell where we sawed last.  We then decided to try the broken hatchet.  Hunter would hold him by the horns while I hit him on the head with the hatchet and after each blow the ox would break away and we had to catch him again.  Then Hunter would think that he could strike harder than I and he would try.  Then I got out of patience with Hunter and told him he did not half hit the ox and we kept changing places until Hunter at last gave the final  blow,  and the ox staggered  and fell  to  the ground, taking me with  him.  I  fell  underneath  his head and shoulders, hurting me terribly and pinning me to the ground so that I could not move.  But I told Hunter to blaze away at him while he was down, for I was afraid that he would get up and run off again. When we were sure that he was dead, we made ready to skin him.  We tried to saw through the hide, but not being experienced butchers, we could not get through the thick hair and hide.  Finally we got the ox on his back and cut through the skin.  At last we got the ox cut open and brought the woman to the side of it and she was glad to put her hands in the warm blood of the ox to keep them from freezing.  The knife and hatchet  would freeze to our hands and we had to thaw them off in the warm blood and entrails, but we thought we were doing such a good job and would get something to eat, so we worked away until the ox was cut up and loaded on our handcart.  Mr. Hunter did not like to leave the head, he thought that it would make good soup.  We were all so weak that we could not pull the load, so we had to throw the head and feet away.  Then we started on our way back to camp.  All at once Mr. Hunter gave out as the woman previously had done.  He begged piteously for us to let him lie down and sleep.  So we put him in between us,the woman on one side and I on the other and pulled the handcart with him as well.  It was very hard toil, but we managed to get him and the beef to camp.  We managed to get him and his share of the beef into his tent just as day was breaking.  We had been out the whole of that bitter cold night.  I hid my meat, wrapping it in clothes and hiding it in every available place. I have never for one single moment regretted what I have passed through or the cause for which I came.  The Lord revealed to me what I had to pass through, and I was prepared for the trials I had to bear. 
  –written by John Watkins (1834-1902) 

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LONGER VERSION:

We started on our journey one fine day and raised our tents. We had a few yoke of oxen and wagons to carry the provisions and tents, while we had to haul on our hand-carts, our bedding, clothing, cooking utensils and children. I was bugler for the company. My duty was to call then [them] up in the morning, to come to prayers, when to march, pitch tents and go to bed. We were under the presidency and leadership of Edward Martin and Daniel Tyler, veterans of the Mormon Battalion.

While traveling through the state of Iowa with six hundred immigrants with hand-carts and dust of harvest weather four or five inches deep, the sun pouring down on our heads and the perspiration and wet dust streaming down our faces and in our throats, choking us so we could hardly breath and tantalized by the people coming out of their houses and telling us that was a (dam) hard way to serve the Lord, and how the young hoodlems would go ahead of the company to the next river or creek to ridicule our wives and daughters who had to raise their dresses out of the water to wade the streams as there was not many bridges in those days. Many of the amusing incidents of our journey through the states I must pass by briefly until I come to the main incident of our journey.

Our rations was one pound of flour for grown people and half rations for children and the work being so laborious that the young people got very hungry, myself included. The roads were very heavy, being sometimes sand, sometimes mud and sometimes dust, which made progress slow, much slower than had been calculated on, consequently when we got out on the prairie our food ran short, our rations were then cut down and half and finally to four ounces of flower [flour] a day to grown people and two ounces to children, which continued day after day making the people very hungry and weak. With cold weather and winter approaching while out on the prairie, we all were frightened and a council was called at which they all decided, under the circumstances, to lighten the loads to a few pounds each, which was w[e]ighed out to them with a pair of scales, leaving out quilts and blankets, overcoats, cooking utensils and everything that could be dispensed with which were put in a heap and set fire to for fear some one would be tempted to pick out something that they needed so badly. Every thing that human ingenuity could devise to try and save the lives of the people so they could get in early and the snows would not catch them in the South Pass and the Big and Little Mountains.

The night after we crossed the last crossing of the Platte river the snow started to fall and winter set in, finding us with scarcely any clothing and very little food. The cold and hunger was so intense that we stopped a day or two in camp and before we moved camp, buried fourteen people in one grave who died from cold and hunger; Up to this time a great number of our company had died through hunger and cold. The people who were to meet us from Salt Lake did not arrive as expected.

When at last the company arrived from Salt Lake with supplies it did not encrease our rations any. The only difference it made, our rations continued as they had been and if the relief had not come, in a few days we would have had no food at all. The company, when they started to our relief, had plenty of provisions but had met two or three companies on the road who were out of provisions and they had divided up with them so when they reached us, comparatively speaking, there was only a little left. We had been traveling many days in the snow and the cattle having nothing to eat, became so poor and emaciated that they would lie down and no persuasion or beating could induce them to go further. They being worn out with hunger and cold, were nothing but a stack of bones and were not worth the time it would take and the delay it would make to the company to kill them so they were left for the wolves to devour.

On one of these occasions I noticed an ox that could not be drove loose, was left to perish and I conceived the idea that if I went back in the night, I might kill it and thus get something that would help to sustain us. I told my plan to William L. Binder who occupied the same tent with me and invited him to help me kill the ox and bring in some of the remains but Binder’s feet were so badly frozen that he could not go and his wife prefered to go in his place. I did not like the idea of going alone, miles out on the prairie with another man’s wife, so I invited a man by the name of James Hunter to help us and share with the beef such it might be called.

We waited till after night fall and all the camp had retired to their beds and every sign of life had fled from the camp. Then we three with a hand cart crept quietly and secretly from the camp, for if we were discovered, we would not be allowed to go out to risk our lives on such an expedition. We were all highly elated to get from camp without being discovered and began our tramp back across the prairie in the direction we had come during the day. It was bright moonlight night beams reflections like the purest diamonds. The wind was blowing bitter cold, it was freezing hard and the snow was about eighteen inches deep, No one can realize the intense cold of the night like this, unless they have spent one in a similar place in midwinter.

We were all thinly clad and armed with all the implements of destruction that we could get together, a small rifle of about twenty-two caliber with one load, and old case knife with both sides broken off and only the piece of iron in the center, a small shingling hatchet with a handle seven inches long and one corner broken off. These were our implements. They had all seen better days, but we were glad to get them.

We traveled on hunting for the ox until we were five miles from camp out on the cold bleak prairie, when we came upon the ox standing, chilling and freezing to death. We stopped a few minutes to co[u]ncil, knowing that it was impossible to kill the ox where it now stood, the cold was so intense and distance to great to haul the meat. In coming out I had noticed a deep ravine or gulley a mile and a half from camp. I thought if we could get the ox there we would be a little sheltered from the wind and much nearer to haul the meat, so we concluded to drive the ox there.

By this time the woman was shivering and her teeth chattering with the cold, suddenly she gave up and was determined that she could go no further. She was pleading and begging to lay down. I told Mr. [James] Hunter that Mrs. Binder was dying and if she did we would be hung for murder, for it was realy no more or less than murder to bring a woman out on such a bitter cold night so thinly clothed. If we let her have her own way she would certainly die for the death sleep that precedes freezing was upon her. We did not like to leave the ox so we decided to place the woman in the shaves of the hand cart and let her lean against the brace that was there placing the breast against when pulling. Then I got in the shaves with the woman, placed one hand on the cart and with the other arm supporting her, making her walk in spite of her cries and entreaties, for we knew that was the only way of saving her life.

Mr. hunter took the hatchet and drove the ox, for the only way to make him move was by striking his back-bone with the hatchet and that sounded like striking a board. When I became tired in the shaves, Mr. Hunter would take my place and I took his, changing places at short intervals until at last we managed to reach the ravine, our gulley allured to. It being as we expected a little sheltered from the wind. The woman by this time was a little revivied by her walk and we set the hand cart up on end and placed her in it to protect her as much as possible from the cold. Then we make ready for the ox.

I was just immigrating from London and was not a very good marksman so I knew that I must take good aim, so I pointed my gun straight at the forehead of the ox and fired, but just as I fired the ox moved his head at the last load I had in the world went far from it’s mark. We were then in a dilemma for we did not like to leave our ox after all the trouble we had gone through. We decided to do our best to kill him with what we had so we tried to cut his throat.

The snow was so deep we could not find a rock to sharpen our case knofe [knife] but went to work. I held the ox by the horns while Hunter took hold of the loose skin of the throat in one hand and the knife in the other and began sawing on his throat. When Hunter got tired sawing we would change places. He holding the ox while I sawed awhile. The ox would stand still until his throat began to hurt, then he would run off and we had to catch him again and bring him back to repeat the operation, the knife was so dull that we could never tell where we sawed last. We continued this mode of butchering for nearly an hour without making any impression, so we gave up that scheme in despair.

We then decided to try the hatchet, but it had one corner broken off so we could not hurt him very much at a time with that. Hunter would hold him by the horns while I hit him with the hatchet on the head and at each blow the ox would break away and we had to catch him again. Then Hunter would think that he could strike harder than I, and he would try. Then I got out of patience with Hunter and told him he did not half hit him and Hunter told me to try myself if I thought I could do better, and so we kept changing places until he had a place in his head nearly the size of your hand where the hide was hacked up like mince meat. Hunter at last gave the final blow and the ox staggered and fell to the ground, taking me with him. I fell underneath his head and shoulders, hurting me terribly and pinning me to the ground so that I could not move, but I told Hunter to blaze away at him while he was down, for I was afraid that he would get up and run off again and we could only get one lick at him when he was on his feet. But he did not get up again for Hunter had killed him.

When we were sure that he was dead and I was liberated from underneath him, we made ready to skin him. Now if I could describe the skinning of that ox I would like to, but I cannot, but to give you some idea of what it was like, just take a piece of hoop iron and try to skin an ox with it, then you can realize what we passed through in skinning this one. We tried to saw through the hide, but not being experienced butchers, we could not get through the thick hair and hide. We tried to get a start at the eyes and then at the mouth thinking the skin would be thinner in those places, finally we got the ox on his back and tore through the skin, then we found out that it was much easier to saw on the edge of the hide after it was started.

At last we got the ox cut open and brought the woman to the side of it and she was glad to put her hands in the warm blood of the ox to keep them from freezing. By this little warmth the woman seemed to get so much better that we all felt happy. The knife and hatchet would freeze to our hands and we had to thaw them off in the warm blood and inter[v]als, but we thought we were doing a good job and would get something to eat. So we worked away until the ox was cut up and loaded on our hand-cart. Mr. Hunter did not like to leave the head, he thought that would make good soup, then he wanted the feet so we loaded them on but they proved to be too heavy and we all so weak that we could not pull the load, so we had to throw the head and feet away. We then started on our way back to comp when all at once Mr. Hunter gave out as the woman previously had done. He begged piteously for us to let him lie down and sleep, but I knew that he was freezing to death and the only hope of saving him was to make him walk, so we put him in between us, the woman on one side and I on the other and pulled the hand-cart and him as well, for he just let his legs drag and kept begging to let him sleep.

It was by very hard toil that we managed to get him and the beef to camp. When we arrived mr. Binder was waiting up for us. He was sitting by a few sagebrush coals with a tin cup and a bone in it stewing. When we reached the few smoldering coals, we let go of Hunter and he fell prostrate towards the fire, freezing and starving he seized the tin cup and immediately swallowed the contents. We managed to get him and his share of the beef in his tent just as it was breaking day.

We had been out the whole of that bitter night. Drinking that boiling soup make [made] mr Hunter so very sick that he was not able to help himself and could not hide his meat away and consequently when the people began moving around, they discovered the meat and notified the Captain, Edward Martin about it. I being bugler for the camp, the Captain sent for me and told me to call the people together which I did[.] Then the Captain told them he understood there was meat in camp and that poor meat was better than none and it must be divided among the people. I slipped away from the crowd and hid my meat and Mrs. Binder’s, wrapping it in clothes and hiding it in every available place.

When they questioned Mr. Hunter he was so sick that he could give no information where he obtained the meat. Hunter from that time on had to be hauled in a wagon to Salt Lake. After suffering many hardships and burying a great number of our company, we arrived in Salt Lake on the last day of November 1856. But with the best of nursing it took Mr. Hunter three months, after our arrival to recover from that night’s adventure on the Plains.

Years have passed since that night and Mrs. Binder and mr. Hunter have passed to the great beyond. I am getting on in years and children and grandchildren play around my door. But I have never for one single moment regretted what I have passed through or the cause for which I came. The Lord revealed to me what I had to pass through and I was prepared for what trials I had to bear, for they all transpired as I had foreseen in my vision.

Source:

http://history.lds.org/overlandtravels/trailExcerptMulti?lang=eng&companyId=192&sourceId=19345

Watkins, John, Reminiscences, 1-5. (Trail excerpt transcribed from "Pioneer History Collection" available at Pioneer Memorial Museum [Daughters of Utah Pioneers Museum], Salt Lake City, Utah. Some restrictions apply.)

Mary and Kelly Riley and their parents

Lyrad Riley - Ernie Riley - Mary Teresa Tomasini - Domenica Andrini  

(Born:  Aug. 11, 1890 (Torino, Italy) / Married Ernest Tomasini Sept. 23, 1912 / Died 1983 )

Family history tidbits from conversation with Mary Riley, Nov. 1996:

Mary's mother was Domenica Andrene.  She was originally from Turin in N. Italy.  She had one brother, Pete, who preceded her to Italy, and one sister who stayed in Italy.  Domenica's mother died early and she was raised by her father, who was a farmer.  Her recollections of her father include that he always ate with a wooden spoon and he had all his teeth.She left Italy at age 18 and went to California and lived with her brother. Ernest was working on a  farm and Domenica was working in the house when they met and married.  She was 90 when she died.  Mary Teresa Tomasini was born Nov 22, 1913 in Guadalupe, CA.  When she was 5 they moved to UT so that Ernest could work in the sulfur mines. Ernest was originally from Milan.  He always made his own  wine and brandy, even during Prohibition.  He loved cars, and got his first one when Mary was about 10 yrs old.  He tried to outdo the neighbors with newer cars. Mary was staying with friends in Salt Lake City while Kelly was attending the University of Utah.  His sister introduced them. They dated for two years before getting married Dec 10, 1937. Kelly Ray Riley liked fishing and fixing up small engines.  He attended the University of Utah for a coupe years, and also worked in the Conservation Corps.  His siblings are Alice, Bunny, Newman (who has done some geneology for the family and put together some book), Delwin, Dell, who served in the Army, Paul (who married Martha, was close to Kelly, but very competitive.  He got one of the first microwave ovens and loved to show it off by cooking bacon), Rayonne, Sammy and Jean.  Kelly's parents are Charlotte "Lottie" and Ray Riley.  Lottie was quiet, reserved, and never drove a car.  She cooked for the farm hands.  She and Ray were both raised in Bountiful, and lived together on the lot @ 132E 5th So.  She was said to be sweet and affectionate.  Ray liked his meat rare, and to eat rice pudding they made on a coal stove.  He was a dairy farmer, and Kelly hated to milk cows.  Ray was hard of hearing all his life.  He loved to garden, and his chickens and flowers won prizes at contests. Lottie's parents are Kelly and Priscilla Davis.  Kelly's father was a missionary to England.  Priscilla was a pioneer and crippled when a wagon ran over her legs while crossing the plains.  They had two invalid daughters. Kelly Riley was a turkey farmer for two years before moving out to Altonah in 1946.  In 71 they moved back to Bountiful.  Kelly loved the soil and to see things grow.  He thought that if you had a piece of land then you really had something.  Mary says they wanted to travel but always put it off because they were saving for the future until they were too old to travel. Mary recalls playing with dolls and jacks as a child.  They moved from CA to UT when she was 5 yrs old.  She remembers some "Redwing" song that was popular then.  Her mother had a nice voice and liked to sing while she worked.  Her family moved to 2.5 acre place in So SLC to raise chickens, and then to Kennelworth (mining camps) where Mary started school.  She couldn't speak a word of English when she started  school.  As a teenager, her family moved to a small farm off Redwood Road.  Mary's siblings are: Pete, who taught her how to drive right before she was married-not many women drove then; Ester (in Cleveland); Alta, and Stella (the youngest).  Mary was born 22 Nov 1913. Mary says Ernie was a very active young boy.  He would do things like chop down his grandpa's little trees but get away with it because he was the first grandchild.  He worked with Kelly a lot picking up rocks, milking cows, working in the garden.  He went down to Atamont to school.
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Mary Teresa Tomasini Riley

Mary’s mother, Domenica Andrini, came to the United States from Italy.  Dominica’s mother died early and Domenica was raised by her father, who was a farmer.  Domenica grew up with her brother, sister, and father in a dirt-floor one-room house with a divider in the middle. The family slept on one side of the divider and their cow slept on the other side of the divider.  Domenica’srecollections of her father included that he always ate with a wooden spoon and he had all of his teeth.  Domenica made wonderfulgnocchis and lived to age 90.Mary was born in Guadalupe, CA.  As a child, she enjoyed playing dolls and jacks.  She moved from CA to UT when shewas 5 years old.  Her parents raised chickens in SLC before moving to a mining camp.  When Mary began first grade, she couldn’t speak any English, only Italian.Mary has a wonderful  memory of  the Christmas when she was 12 years old—she received a wrist  watch and was absolutely thrilled!  At school, they would have a “peanut bust” for fun.  Everyone would throw and break shelled peanuts.  Maryremembers eating so many peanuts that she couldn’t eat any more for a long time.  When Mary was 14, her appendix ruptured and she was rushed to LDS Hospital.When Mary met Kelly Riley, she was cleaning houses in Salt Lake for $5 a month. He and Mary bought 160 acres in Altonah, UT, and spent several years working hard there to build up a dairy before moving back to Bountiful. Just last spring, Mary was driving to Duchesne with her daughter Mary Ann to get some trees.  A deer jumped in front oftheir car and they crashed  into it.  The deer hit the radiator and broke the lights.  The car had to be towed all the way back to Salt Lake

Source:   Conversations between Alicia Burk Riley and Mary Riley, Bountiful, UT, 2000

Mary’s Mother:  Domenica Clara Andrini

 Domenica Andrini came to the United States from Italy.  Dominica’s mother died early and Domenica was raised by her father, who was a farmer.  Domenica grew up with her brother, sister, and father in a dirt-floor one-room house with a divider in the middle. The family slept on one side of the divider and their cow slept on the other side of the divider.  Domenica’s recollections of her father included that he always ate with a wooden spoon and he had all of his teeth.  She left Italy at age 18 and went to California and lived with her brother. Ernest Tomasini was working on a  farm and Domenica was working in the house when they met and married. Her husband, Ernest, was originally from Milan (Italy).  He always made his own wine and brandy, even during Prohibition. One time, police were searching for alcohol and searched in Ernest’s house.  The bathtub was full of wine he’d made, and his daughter stayed locked in the bathroom pretending to take a bath until the policemen left.  Ernest loved cars, and got his first one when Mary was about 10 yrs old.  He tried to outdo the neighbors with newer cars.  He worked in Utah sulfur mines. Domenica made wonderful gnocchis and lived to age 90.

Source: conversations between Mary Riley (Domenica's daughter) and Lyrad (Mary's grandson) and Alicia Riley, 2000, Bountiful, UT

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“Remembering Grandma Mary” by Keyan
We were just up to see grandma Riley before we left for Mississippi.  I knew it would be the last time we would see her and I enjoyed the time we were able to spend.  She was in a lot of pain, and could barely stand up straight.  She asked me about the pain and the medicines she was taking, but she didn't complain once.  When she started to talk about the pain, she would go into the familiar  "well, that's just it!"  While I was in her house I took a good long look at that old fridge she had...the one with the handle that pointed straight up and you had to turn it to the left or the right to get it to open.  That is the same fridge that she has been keeping her grape juice in since we were kids.  And she has had the same picture of a smiling kid on her fridge for some time.  On the back of her door was the frog-like creation that cousin Matt drew with crayon when he was a boy.  My favorite memory of her and grandpa was that  there was always something growing there on the place.  I was always sad to see Riley Court in the place of the orchards and grape vines.  Undeterred, she grew her tomatoes under the pine tree in her front yard even last year.  The little plants under the glass bowl on top of the deep freeze, and of course, the rose floating in a bowl of water----next to a glass of grape juice.  The love of gardening and plants that I have is shared by my brothers and is easily traced to my sweet grandma.  I had the opportunity to spend some time reminiscing with her and we went up stairs together a few years ago.  I loved sleeping upstairs when we would visit and looking out those upstairs windows at the traffic on 5th south.  She offered me some old books which were up there,and they are treasures.  It was up in that very attic that I learned to tie shoelaces (from Lyrad, I think).    One funny thing, I had this vision when I was just a little kid that I was going to marry Shellee and move into that house...I loved that place, from the time I was little until now.  We would sit by the flowers on that sloping lawn to the north (now under a retaining wall) and watch the traffic roll by.   I think I had this "dream" because her place was a place where I always felt warm and welcome because grandma made it that way.  I will really miss her sweetness and the simplicity with which she maintained her house and life.  I hope I can live my life with the dignity and grace she showed.  

Some thoughts from Cory..
She was always such a sweet grandma - I have many fond memories of her fresh cookies and grape juice she always made for us, and mush and plain noodles with butter on them (which I still make often). She loved gardening and enjoyed getting out. She lived a very good life- I'm sure she's in a peaceful, beautiful place..

And from Lyrad….
My best memories of Grandma Mary are from childhood.  After a long hot drive across Nevada it was wonderful to get out and stretch our legs with a tour around Kelly’s garden and orchard.  It was always remarkable to me how little their home changed from year to year.  As a child, their home was a place of mystery—wondering why you had to reach through a hole in the wall to turn on lights, why you’d carry a faucet handle from tap to tap, what false teeth were for, and how adults could look at albums full of pictures of the same things for hours.  I loved to go up the creaky stairs to explore the attic and look out the window at the cars whizzing by, then go down the stairs in the greenhouse to the musty cellar and lie on that soft bed in the cool air.  Grandma never seemed to stop moving—wiping clean counters, rearranging the tables, cutting up fruit, and seeing to everyone’s comfort.  I marveled at her simple, frugal ways, and still think of her when I hum to myself absent-mindedly or feel the compulsive urge to grow a few vegetables.  Her work ethic and concern for others are contributions to a heritage we all can be proud of.

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Comments from Shirley Riley's recollection, Nov 1996:  Ray and Lottie were active in the Church, but all of their kids were inactive.  Kelly said he felt too forced into religion. Kelly had been ordained an Elder before moving to Altonah. Kelly had a rather rigid personality.  He always wore striped overalls, and once they couldn't find new ones on UT, and his wore out after many mendings.  They wrote to CA and Shirley found and sent him two pairs, but he would not wear them because they were Paul's stripes (slightly wider).  Grandma Tomasini got pregnant by a married man and left Italy to prevent disgracing her family.  Her brother, Bernardo, had come to America first and lived with a Mexican woman.  He was supposed to send for his wife and kids from Italy, but when Domenica learned he had no intention of doing so she spilled the beans and there were hard feelings afterwards. Grandma T. worked hard in a boarding home in Santa Maria doing laundry and cooking.  She met Ernesto while he was a fireman in San Francisco.  Grandma T's father had a dirt-floor one-room with a divider in the middle.  The family lived in one half and their cow (their only possession) in the other. Mary Tomasini almost died of a ruptured appendix at age 14 and went to LDS Hospital.  A Miss Thatcher paid her hospital bills and then Mary went to live with her as ananny/maid until she was married.  Shirley thinks that Mary's mannerisms are much more like Miss Thatcher's than her siblings, who are very warm, loving, and emotional. Jim, Mary Ann, and Ernest never attended church growing up.  Shirley and Ernie were childhood sweethearts, and she told him she wanted to marry a priesthood holder.  Ernie got involved with the church while @ Snow College when working for a Bishop Hansen, though he had been baptized as a youth in a "roundup" and attended MIA dances. Shirley was baptized in a cold irrigation ditch on her birthday.She and Ernie were married when my mom was 19, on 8 sep 61.

Sometimes Kel and Mary would go for weeks without speaking to each other, and the tension was hard for the kids. Aunt Etta (Wilford McConkie's sister) hated Lawrence Welk, but always watched his show and carried on about how ridiculous it was.  She did a lot of geneology, but never turned it in to the Church because she didn't want Oscar's family to have access to it.  There was some dispute between branches of the McConkie family about who had really been the first wife in a ploygamist family.

Wilford Woodruff McConkie

Lyrad Kelly Riley - Shirley Ann McConkie - Lyrad Charles McConkie - Wilford Woodruff McConkie

“My favorite person in the whole world was my Grandpa McConkie. He was kind-of a rough-tough old cowboy and I just thought he knew everything, did everything, and was everything, so I was his buddy.  I went with him all the time from the time I was tiny I would cry to sleep with him when he came up in his old sheep wagon, and my mom and dad thought I’d get scared of the dark.  They said, “Grandpa’s gone to bed,” and I said, “I want to go to bed with Grandpa,” so I went out in the dark and Mom told me the Boogy Man was going to eat me if I went out there.  I didn’t care, so I just went up over the ditch up  to the  side of  the  sheep wagon and beat  on  the door  until Grandpa got up.  Then I would sleep with him, so after that they didn’t try to stop me from going to sleep with him when he stayed out.  But he loved to be up there; it was cooler and he liked to come do stuff with his cows.  I went everywhere with him in his truck, helped him always.  He worked with bulls a lot.   He  liked  his  bulls  to  be  champions  and to  look  perfect  so  he’d  put weights on their horns and lead them around so they were like show bulls all the time and I would help him.   I went with him to all the stock shows and to the Saturday cattle auctions.And he let me start driving his truck when I was around six or seven years  old  and  my  dad  would  get  gruff  with  him  and  tell  him  he  wasn’t supposed to let me drive, so then he says, “Well, Sis, we’ve got to get out of the sight of your house before you can get behind the wheel.”  So he would drive down the lane about a quarter of a mile, then he would stop the truck and slide over and he would run the gas and let me steer it because I was so little I practically had to kneel up on the seat to see out the windshield even a little bit.  I remember lots of times my dad would tell him not to let me drive,and when I was about 11, he would let me drive on the main highway, the Highway 40, which is the fast highway across the United States, but once we’d get out on Highway 40 he would tell me to pep it up a little bit, but I used to  be really scared to pull out there because of the semis and stuff that were coming, because I was only used to driving about 30 or 35 down the road.  But if my grandpa was driving, that was the same speed he went.  He didn’t go much over 35.  I guess everybody in town got to know his old truck because they could tell by how slow he went..  But it didn’t matter what he was doing, out in the hot sun or anything, I just wanted to be with him, so I spent most of my Saturdays, or else I’d sleep down there Friday nights.  Then when I got a little bit older I started taking piano lessons at their house, at my grandparents’  house,  so  I’d  do  everything  with  Grandpa  after  my  piano lesson,  then we’d come home and Grandma and I  would stay up half the night playing cards or Chinese checkers.”Source: Cassette-tape interview with Shirley Riley, by Alicia, January 2002