Through the Mists

Fast Food

2010-10-09T19:40:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the family room gazing out the patio window I see a swarm of damsel flies. I have nothing better to do so I watch in wonder at the speed and agility of these insect aerobats. As I watch their aerial dance, I see that they are not alone. There are small midge-like bugs flying among the swarm. Then a disembodied pair of wings flutter to the ground. A few seconds later another pair fall. Before long the number of small midges has fallen sharply. I concentrate my observation to discover what is going on. Then a damsel fly darts up from below and behind a midge and another pair of wings flutters free. The dragonflies, as we always called them, are making a meal of the midges. When there was no more 'meal-on-the-fly', the damsel flies flew off in search of better hunting grounds.

If we could design aircraft to mimic the speed and agility of these savage insects there would surely be no adversary in the skies to rival our air power. Such a feat would take a new way of thinking. Or put in the words of one of my favorite poems "The Calf Path": "A moral lesson this might teach were I ordained or called to preach, for men are prone to go it blind along the calf paths of the mind and toil away from sun to sun to do what other men have done. But I am not ordained or called to preach."

A greater moral lesson, to my thinking, is whether it is more probable to believe that life came about by chance from some primordial ocean soup without any intelligent organizing power or that there is a being with the intelligence and power to organize life into a myriad of creatures of such variety with amazing abilities, not the least of which is the ability to reproduce. But I am not ordained or called to preach

Swimming Hole

2010-10-09T19:38:00.000-07:00

Chores were complete that sunny summer morning. School was finished for the year and now we could decide how to spend our time. I spent a lot of time walking the Union Pacific tracks that ran behind our home. The ore that spilled from the railcars was interesting. Iron pyrite was worthless but the sparkling crystals looked so rich that about half my rock collection was composed of the shiny rocks.

The swimming hole was about a mile from home so I had to have permission from Mom to go that far to play. It was far enough away to make the trip something special. Mom couldn't keep her eye on us that far away. Walking south on the tracks for a little less than a mile, I came to the creek. A bend in the stream had cut into the clay bank leaving a cliff about fifteen feet high where the more daring boys would jump into the creek. Arriving before the swimmers had muddied the water, I could watch the large fish swimming in the hole below the cliff.

Even on these hot summer days the water was very cold. I was satisfied to jump off the bank, float around and watch the better swimmers jump from higher on the cliff. Becoming engrossed in the diving, I was swept into the shallows where I stubbed my toe and bruised my tender feet. We hadn't brought a towel to dry off but playing in the warm sunshine soon dried our skin. The swimming suits took longer to dry.

Going back years later, I could hardly recognize the spot. Russian Olive, willow and Chinese Elm trees have grown along the bank; the cheat grass has surrendered dominance to weeds and taller grasses that reach above my waist. It was never a residential neighborhood but the few surrounding homes are now gone, replaced by industry and businesses. Just this year one large industrial company was replaced by apartment buildings. Perhaps as time passes the old neighborhood will again ring with children's voices but it will never be the same. The times when your doors were left unlocked and neighbors shared snacks with neighborhood children will never return, I'm afraid. I don't think my grandchildren have ever made a whistle from joint grass but I, likewise, never played video games when I was a child.

Rufus returns home

2010-10-09T19:37:00.000-07:00

The mountains of New Mexico are so beautiful in the spring, The cottonwoods fresh with young leaves chatter as the cool breeze fans their branches and the tiny pods of cotton form on the upper branches. It will be a few weeks before they burst and send the seeds borne on fuzzy puffs. The ground will look as if snow has fallen. William and Wendy Wren will gather the pillowy down to decorate their home and make it comfy for thier babies. Here comes William now.

Why Rufus, what are you doing so far away from your home on the Virgin River, chirps William?

I've been all the way to Sonora to visit my cousin there. He brags about how tasty the scorpions are around his cactus patch. I will admit that they make a spicy change from my usual meals.

I mentioned how the sheep herder's boy on the reservation likes to practice with a braided whip and he told me a story about a legendary masked rider named Zorro who used a whip and a sword to defend the peasants when his great grandfather was alive. The indian boy must think he too can become a legend. I could show him a trick or two with the rattlers I catch. The boy's whip isn't alive and can't strike back.

I've seen you dance like a Spanish bull fighter when you challenge a rattle snake. You do put on quite a show. I don't know of any other bird who would risk their life against a snake that is too big to even swallow.

Oh that is nothing, William, I may not be able to swallow one all at once but I can find a nice bush to crouch under and swallow a little more as my stomach makes room. You see, I don't ever need to drink water so I can keep my mouth full for days. I won't have a big meal while I'm on this journey but if you get too close, I might have you for an appetizer.

I've seen how quick you can be. I'm fast too but I know better than to challenge you to a duel. Good day now and you have a safe trip. I'm going down to the stream bed and get myself a drink and take a bath too.

Good bye William. I can run all day and never break a sweat but a few seconds of flight and I'm ready to stretch my legs again. Before I cross the mountains I'm going to flip over a few rocks and dine on fat scorpions. You never can tell where your next meal may come from and Mom always said to be grateful for the blessings God provides and not waste his gifts.

On the second day in the mountains I notice a paw print in the dust. Bobby Bobcat told me about Lenny Linx who lives around here somewhere. Watch out for him, cautioned Bobby, he may mistake you for a sickly forest grouse. Lenny loves forest grouse more than he does green-headed ducks. The feathers on the back of my neck bristled as I trotted through the cedars. I felt as though someone was watching. It pays to follow your instincts. If the sight of the paw track hadn't made me extra careful, I would likely be Lenny's dinner now. As it was, he gave me quite a scare when he bolted from a mound of rocks. It was only my quick reflexes and hiding among the leaves in the chapparal that saved me from his claws.

Three more days and I caught sight of the cottonwood trees along the river near my home. I hadn't come home with a present for my parents or my friend Renae Roadrunner. Old Mr. Rattler had left his curled track across my path so I decided to take a short detour and hunt him. He would make a fine homecoming feast. No sooner had the thought entered my mind than I saw Mr. Rattler peeking from under a cactus. I danced right up to him using my wings to draw his attention. He was in a nasty mood as he bit my feathers but I had done this dance many times and shortly Rattler was exhausted. Grabbing him by the tail I snapped him back and forth until his spirit left and he lay limp. Instead of swallowing him, I grabbed his middle and sped home to present him to my parents. I did peck off the best part and took it to Renae. She did the most beautiful dance when she saw me approach and I could tell she liked my simple present. Watching her dance made me feel warm and strange inside. As much as I enjoyed the visit with my Sonoran cousin, I doubted that I would ever make that journey again.

Days later I was strolling by the river when who should come riding past on their bicycles but Ellie, Jenna and Brooke. Evening was coming on, the sun low on the horizon and I was starting to look for shelter for the evening. I guess the girls were preparing for night-time; they stopped at the park and prepared for their dinner. Dad and Mom followed close behind the girls. In their packs were meals for the family and treats for the girls. As I perched on a boulder overlooking the park I watched as they helped each other prepare for the meal, dine together and then clean up afterward. I held their gaze and felt the love they shared for each other. I was overpowered by the desire for a family of my own and I couldn't get Renae out of my thoughts.

Ghosts, goblins and wraiths

2010-10-09T19:36:00.000-07:00

The solitude of the english moors is a fertile breeding ground for legends of ghosts and mysterious happenings. One story tells of a ghostly apparition who patrols the byways of the moors and of strange disapearances of travelers caught out on a moonless night. It was such a night as two LDS missionaries drove their van from a late night meeting when they came upon a lone bicyclist cloaked in black, riding toward them on the opposite side of the road. They passed and traveled a short distance before their curiousity prompted them to turn around to have another look. As they neared the same spot, there was the mysterious rider again coming toward them. They proceeded to where they could turn around and retraced their course. This time the road was empty. Where had the traveler gone? Was it the ghost?
The truth was revealed days later as they related thier story to a local family. "That is not a ghost," they were informed. He is a man who rides his cycle along the road in the solitary late evening hours and composes crossword puzzles. He has such a mind that he can keep the puzzle in memory until it is complete at which time he returns home to put it to paper.
I like the legend of the ghost. What spawns these tales of ghosts, goblins, trolls and other unearthly creatures? Were they used to discourage wayward youth from staying out into the wee hours? Another legend comes down through many generations telling of wicked "Lady Howard" who likewise travels the lonely paths of Devonshire in her carriage drawn by headless horses. Travelers who accept a ride are never seen or heard from again. The legend follows:
"There was once a very wicked woman called Lady Howard, or more familiarly the Old Lady, who now every night for her sins rides a coach made of bones from Fitzford to Okehampton Castle. As the clock strikes twelve, she starts from Fitzford Gateway in her coach of bones drawn by headless horses; in front of the carriage runs a sable hound with one eye in the middle of his forehead. Arrived at Okehampton the hound plucks a blade of grass (or in some versions three blades), and the cortege returns to Fitzford, where the blade of grass is laid on a certain stone. This is Lady Howard's penance, and it will last until every blade of grass in Okehampton Park is plucked, or the world ends." -"Lady Howard of Fitzford", Mrs. G.H. Radford, read at Barnstaple, July 1890. [reprinted from Transactions of the Devonshire Association for the Advancement of Science, Literature and Art, 1890. - xxii. pp. 66-110]

The Rock Pecker

2010-10-09T19:35:00.000-07:00

The rock pecker (hornithopterus amphibius) is a presumed extinct relative of the pterydactl. Its common name derives from the way it uses its beak to chip small rock particles from the rock walls. Though there have been no documented confirmed sightings within recent recorded history, there is ample evidence of the creature's existence from its cup-shaped creations in the rock walls of the canyons bordering the Colorado River. Scientists believe the depressions are used by the rock pecker for shelter and nesting. The rock pecker derives most of its diet from the rock fragments it produces. An important benefit from eating the rock chips comes from the concentration of arsenic in the rock pecker's tissues. Though benign to the rock pecker, the concentrations of arsenic are highly poisonous to would-be predators. The rock pecker's beak extends up between its eyes and over the brows providing protection for the head and eyes from a misplaced blow.

"The Rock Pecker Legend" - Looking a little like the offspring of a bird and a bat, the rock pecker emerged from primeval waters during the age of the dinosaurs. It retained the ability to live submerged in water or out in the open air. The wings developed from aquautic fins, growing larger, stronger and better adapted to flight as the rock pecker spent more of its life out of the water. The wings were used mostly for fanning rock dust from the burrows it pecked in the rocky canyon walls. Those that tried to fly tumbled helplessly to the ground. One day while pecking at the face of a cliff, a rock pecker was struck on its lizard-like tail by a boulder falling from above. The flattened disfigurement made others of its kind shun the misfortunate creature leaving it to mate only with others who had suffered a similar fate. Somehow the physical malformity became genetically encoded and passed to subsequent generations. The flat tail made it possible for the rock peckers to develop stable flight. The legend explains that rock peckers do not die of old age. As they grow very old, an irresistable drive like the pigeon's homing instinct forces them to fly into the sun, never to return. This explains why fossils and skeletal remains of the rock pecker have never been discovered. Researchers are at a loss to explain why the rock pecker is no longer found. The legend is silent on their disappearance, leaving us to speculate. Perhaps like the lemming racing into the sea, all the rock peckers flew in a mass exodus into the sun. Are there any remaining descendants of the mysterious rock pecker? If you have seen one or even discovered its cup shaped hollows in remote canyon walls, please leave a comment explaining what you saw and where. Who knows, we may be able to ferret out a remaining specimen and preserve the species for future generations.

Horsehair snake

2010-10-09T19:33:00.000-07:00

Four boys huddled around a paper cup peering intently on the thread-like object wiggling lazily in the water inside. None had seen anything like it before. While trying to catch water skaters along the bank of the irrigation canal one of the boys had spied the curious object and captured it in the cup. Horsehair snake is an appropriate nickname because it looks so much like a hair from a horse's mane or tail. It is not a snake but a parasitic worm which matures in the abdomen of grasshoppers and crickets. It is completely harmless to humans. The mysterious creature somehow manages to induce the grasshopper to jump in a stream or pool of water where the grasshopper dies and the worm swims out into the water to seek a mate. Legends say a horse hair falling into a watering trough or puddle of water comes to life becoming the horsehair snake. Much mystery still surrounds the life of this interesting creature. It is sometimes referred to by the name Gordian Worm for the habit of curling into a twisted ball resembling the knot that Alexander the Great severed with his sword in frustration with the task of untying it.

Frogs don't have tails, but that's another story

2010-10-09T19:32:00.000-07:00

School was out for the summer. The hot days in the classroom were over until Labor day. After my chores were finished I had to run an errand to the store to buy bread, milk and a can of soup for lunch. With that done, I had the rest of the day to myself. Walking down the dirt lane bordered on my left by gnarled boxelder trees and on my right by the irrigation ditch and pasture, I strolled down to the pond. The sunfish were plentiful though not very big. What they lacked in size they made up for in speed and aggressiveness. Jigging a fly through a hole in the moss soon provolked a speedy attack. A quick eye, a quicker hand and more than a little luck and there dangling on my line was a frisky bluegill. The first time I tried to remove a sunfish from my line I found the sharp spines on the dorsal fin and it was not a pleasant lesson. I caught and released a few more fish then thought to myself, "I'll try casting out to the middle of the pond. Perhaps there are bigger fish out there." The only thing I caught was a big gob of moss. As I was retrieving the next cast a frog popped his head through the moss and jumped at my hook. I missed his bite but the rest of the day I forgot about bluegill and concentrated on frogs. A big bullfrog rested near a fallen tree with just his eyes and nose out of the water. I must have spent an hour trying to get him to go after my hook but he was either too smart or too lazy. Counting the day a success I collected my gear and walked back past the cows in the meadow, the barn and old farm dog. The summer breeze carried a hint of catnip or mint. As I came to the boxelder trees their somewhat bitter smell reminded me I was almost home and it was time for supper. Mom had been cooking a pot of navy beans when I left and the fragance flooded my nostils as I opened the screen door. I wonder how that big bull frog's legs would taste with a heaping bowl of beans.

Silver Lake

2010-10-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

Remember the feeling of gazing across a lake as the sun sets in the background. As the sun retreats behind the mountain, the coolness of evening creates mists which drift and swirl lazily over the surface. The water is nearly as smooth as glass except for a few riffles which glisten like a hoard of gems.

On the far side fishermen wade out in the shallow water to cast their fly to the wary trout. Spin casting and composite fiber rods have not been invented yet. The floating lines are dressed with a lard-like substance to keep them buoyant. The men control the line with the grace of a ballerina as though in slow motion. They roll cast a loop that glides out and settles the fly softly on the water. I’m only about ten years old at this time and perhaps my memory is playing tricks but it seems they cast nearly a hundred yards of line. Impossible, I’m sure. I couldn’t cast a third that distance with the best high-tech gear available today.

How do you paint this picture that lingers in my memory? It’s not colorful, more a contrast of the bright sun and the sparkling water against the deep shadows of the trees and the hills. The mists add the mid-tone grays which grow as the sun retires. The light gathers in a narrowing band at the horizon and the lake’s surface becomes perfectly calm.

It’s nearly time to walk back to camp. The end of another day yet not the end.

The Farm

2010-10-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

Why is it always Grandma’s house, not Grandpa’s? Grandpa lived there too.

It was always fun to visit Grandma. There were so many wonderful things to explore and discover. Outside in a bucket in the barn were beans and their dried up pods. I don’t know if they were used for food or seed for the next year’s planting. Next to the bucket was a box of photographic equipment. It was very old when I found it. Someone long ago had processed film plates and printed photographs. The barn was two buildings with a pathway between them. The cows were milked and fed in the other building.

The plum tree was just off the back of the house. It was a good tree for climbing. There was a boxelder tree at the corner of the barn that we could climb to get on the barn roof to see what was happening around the yard. It was a good place to stretch out and lay in the sun. It was a popular place to hide when playing hide and seek.

The fields were irrigated and the ditches bordered the property except for the ditch in front that divided the lawn from the apple trees. Just outside the front fence and across a footpath was a gate for the irrigation. Care was needed to switch the water because there was a patch of poison ivy nearby.

My cousin Ralph and I loved to sail boats in the ditch running along the south side of the property. Pea pods made great canoes when propped open with a small twig.

Next to the ditch was an outdoor fireplace with a stovepipe chimney and a plate on the top for cooking. I only remember roasting hot dogs in the fireplace. Perhaps the cooking griddle was too rusted or dirty for cooking. The fireplace was made of stone and cement mortar. The stovepipe was so black and corroded that there were holes all over near the top. The hot dogs sure tasted good.

Kite Tales

2010-10-09T19:26:00.000-07:00

I began life in the dark sun-warmed soil where Squirrel buried me with his winter food supply. As the snows melted I began to stir and send down my roots. I stretched my needles and branches to catch the sun. I look up and see my parents towering above me and wish to grow tall like them and look out at the mountains, streams and meadows. Years pass and I am nearly grown as tall as Mom and Dad. Today there are visitors in the forest. They came with trucks and saws. Someone is cutting into my trunk and I'm getting dizzy. I'm crashing down through my brothers and sisters and lying flat on the ground. My dreams of gazing across the vistas of mountains are dashed forever. If I'm lucky I could be made into lumber to become a home for a human family. I would like the laughter of children and keeping them warm and sheltered from the rain and snow. No, they are passing the sawmill and dumping me at the pulp and paper mill. They chop me in pieces and run me through the grinder. After I am mixed with other ingredients I get pressed and dried. I could still become something exciting like a coloring book or children's stories, even a family portrait but no; I'm being made into a big roll of newsprint. I'm going to be a newspaper and then be thrown away with the trash. All my hopes are dashed. After I'm folded and thrown on the doorstep, I'm opened and read. I like the soft hands that gently turn my pages. What's next? I'm not thrown in the trash but cut and folded and fastened to crossed sticks. Some of my pieces are twisted and tied on a long string which trails from the rest of me. Outside I go and off to the park where the warm sun and cool breeze lift my spirits. Oh my, the wind lifts me above the grass. High into the air I soar above the trees up with the birds. I can see forever. The mountain vistas, the meadows and streams all within my view. I'm taller than the tallest trees and I have a human family that shares my fun. This is better than my greatest dream.

Bob's Story

2010-10-09T19:25:00.000-07:00

My name is Bob, Bob White. I am a quail. A few days ago I lived in a shell. I have a mother and father, bothers and sisters. Mom and Dad have tassels on top of their heads. I will have one too when I get older. Now I’m just a ball of fuzzy brown and white feathers. Today we are going for a walk. Father leads the way, then mother and we all follow in a single line behind them. Look, Dad sees something. See how he stretches his neck and bobs his top not. Now he is flying to perch on the top of the fence. Mother quickly runs to the shelter of the thorn bush and we follow behind. From deep within the branches of our bush I can see Tom the cat silently stalking up to where we hide. Mother tells us to curl up together and stay until she returns. Then she dashes out where Tom can see her. She is playing a game with Tom. She holds her wing out on the ground like it is broken and hops away. Tom sneaks up trying to pounce on her but just as he gets ready to jump she flies a little further away. All this time Papa is scolding Tom for disturbing his family. Tom pays no attention as he is still trying to catch Mama. Soon he tires of playing this game and finds a shady spot to curl up and go to sleep. I am getting hungry. Mama scolds Tom for a long time then she comes back to get us. Now I am very hungry. We all scurry off in our line like children following the teacher. I would like to curl up for a nap myself. I was too frightened by Tom’s game to sleep.

Squirrel Tales

2010-10-09T19:23:00.000-07:00

It was a fine summer day and Mr. Gray Squirrel was busy gathering black walnuts for his storehouse. The summer crop was ripening and soon the cool fall days would proclaim winter’s approach. Scampering from branch to branch then onto the fence with his jaws stuffed with nuts, he paid little attention to those humans watching from the driveway nearby. The fence was made with posts and rails with the fence boards nailed on both sides. There was a hole just big enough to crawl through with a walnut. He had the cavity about half full and there were plenty of nuts left.

Mr. Blue Jay watched from a nearby branch and chirped a warning to be alert. There could be danger about.

Squirrel paid no mind; he was too occupied getting the best ones for his hoard. Back and forth he hopped. He would have a good supply to keep him fed through the winter and spring until the trees provided a new crop.

Many years earlier a chipmunk was scampering in the bright sun among the leaves and pine needles. He sought pine cones for the seeds they contained. He too was storing food for the approaching winter.

A young boy watched envious of the chipmunk’s freedom. In truth, the small animal was bound to a path and activity that should he stray or neglect would lead to tragedy for he and his family. I would like to catch the chipmunk thought the boy to himself. I would make a home for him and we would play together. They boy began the chase but discovered that it was much easier to dream of capture than to make it happen. Usually the chipmunk sought refuge in the trees but once he made the mistake of hiding beneath a 55-gallon drum used to collect trash from the campers. Now the boy thought he had they animal trapped and would take him captive. He tipped the barrel up a little ready to catch the chipmunk when he came out. But he didn’t come out. When the boy tipped the barrel, it pressed down on the poor animal’s head. He lay twitching on the ground. He no longer raced among the leaves and needles but staggered spastically in small circles. There was no healing the mortal wounds and soon the chipmunk lay still. The boy was saddened by the results of his actions. He didn’t want it to turn out as it did. He thought only of his own wants. He knew little of the consequences that could result. Wiser minds could probably not have predicted the ultimate consequences but they would have foreseen that the captivity of the wild creature would not have been good for either the boy or the chipmunk. Scripture talks of ‘looking through a glass darkly’ as we progress through our time on earth with clouded vision for what is to come. Doing the best we can is what we seek. In my work I can erase a line I have misplaced. It is even easier now with electronic graphics. I cannot restore the blameless chipmunk to life no matter how much I would wish to.

Simpson Steel Fabricators and Erectors, Inc.

2008-09-20T08:18:00.000-07:00

On a recent auto trip I was explaining how Newt began his own business and I was asked to write it down. Here are the results as I remember them.
Newt became a skilled welder through his experience in the Navy during WWII. After the war he worked for several companies but felt frustrated that his ideas weren't implemented as fast as he thought they should be and he harbored the desire to become his own boss. He built several boat trailers using axles salvaged from old cars. This he did in the yard or driveway of his home on West Temple. Besides the salvaged parts, he used steel pipe for the trailer's superstructure. In the 50's he began fabricating pipe handrail and for a time worked out of a quanset hut at about 100 West and 4400 South. He asked friends from work to help in their free time and that way developed business associations with men who would later become key to the business growth. A few that I recall are Jerry Clegg, Paul Palur, Heber Bishop, Bob Burr and later as the company took shape, John Ballou, Bjorn Saetrum, Roen Hale and Fred Richeda. Growth wasn't smooth and when the steelworkers went on strike around 1960 the company disbanded and the equipment moved into Newt's garage. For a time, Newt rented the portable welders he purchased from construction companies who prefered to sell their assets when the project was complete rather than move it to the next job or put it in storage. These welding machines became the equipment basis for his company as work expanded. He rented space on Mrs. Green's property behind the home on West Temple. That was about 1962 or 63. As the company grew, he moved operations to a rented building in North Salt Lake. It resided there for a year or two then proved too small and operations moved to the old Lang Company's truck shop along the Jordan River. Newt had worked for the Lang Company early in his career as did most of the others who became the basis for Simpson Steel. The new shop was spacious and clients like the oil companies, Kennecott, Utah Power and Hercules provided the work. Simpson Steel as it was known then and from that time forward also thrived on work subcontracted from other steel fabrication companies, primarily Titan Steel. Even the space in Salt Lake became too restricted and Newt found some property in Murray where an old brick-making company had abandoned operations leaving bins and hoppers and brick firing tunnels in disrepair. Newt's vision was to gut the processing building and convert it into his steel fabrication shop. The office/laboratory became the company office and it all grew from there. Utah Power was building coal fired power plants, the mining industry was growing in Utah and Nevada and three trona mining/processing plants were growing rapidly in Wyoming. The shop was directly across the railroad tracks from its competitor Titan Steel and workers from both companies could monitor the activities of the other by just gazing across the tracks. The other chief competitors were Mark Steel founded by Mark Markosian and Alpine Metals by Red Mays.

Pesky Little Brother

2008-03-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

At a family reunion held in Washington in 1989, I asked Newt's sisters to relate some memories they had of my dad in his younger days. The one thing that really stuck in their memories was how much a big tease Newt was. Mayme and Mable (Newt's younger twin sisters) related that when they would be talking 'girl talk' and gossiping and telling all sorts of juicy secrets to each other, invariably, Newt would be hiding somewhere (under the bed, in the closet, back of the couch) and after he had an earful, would jump up and run off laughing at what he'd heard. One time he was under the bed while the twins and their friends were playing. He popped his head out and took off running, and teased them for years about what he overheard.
Mable remembered how Newt would rise early and noisily take the trash out from near their room while they were still trying to sleep. One visit with his brother-in-law Charles concluded with evening stories of the pranks they played as youths. Tipping outhouses was common and once Newt and his friends hoisted a neighbor's wagon or carriage onto the roof of his barn.
-From writings of Katie Clausen-

Arkansas Family

2008-03-16T09:13:00.000-07:00

We children walked the mile and a half to school through fair weather and foul. I remember having frost-bitten feet from the severely cold winter weather. As we grew older, we also walked to late evening and night events in our rural community, such as church services, parties, ice cream suppers, pie suppers and the annual "Cap Tiller" silent western movies which were shown at the Stoney Point school house. It didn't matter if the country roads were lighted by a full moon or if there was no light at all, we had no difficulty since we had learned every crook and turn in the road. And it was safe in those days. We had no fear of being molested or harmed in any way as we walked in the dark. Though simple, those were enjoyable times.
Mama had a strong faith. It was not always possible for her to attend church regularly but she did when she could and read from the Bible often. One of the most pleasant memories of my childhood was of her reading Bible stories to us each night at bedtime. I learned a great deal about the Old Testament characters in particular from those bedtime experiences. This was a practice which I had good intentions of following with my own children, and I did make a start, but regrettably did not continue. Sad to say, the television got in the way. I feel indebted to Mama for setting a good example of strong faith and for encouraging us to be religious without pressuring us into any particular one. She and Daddy co-existed peacefully in a Methodist/Baptist relationship. (Extracted from 'A Tribute to my Mother, Bertha Freeman Simpson' by her daughter Mable Simpson Brown, April 1989)
Newt was a great concern to his mother as he left home as a boy and ended in Salt Lake City where he married a Mormon girl. You can imagine how this disturbed his mother who cherished her faith and considered Mormons little more than heathens. Newt didn't attend his wife's church often or any other for that matter but he did volunteer to assist with work projects and perform music. His smoking and occasional drinking binge kept him from converting to the LDS faith for about fifteen years. He was unable to stop smoking for very long though he was baptised and Temple endowed. Smoking no doubt contributed to the lung cancer that claimed his life.

Toys

2008-02-17T08:55:00.000-08:00

Janet remembers a toy that Newt created for neighborhood children. It was an adaptation of one used by children as he was growing up. He rolled a strip of steel flat bar into a hoop then butt welded the ends. This formed a band very much like the ones used as tires on wagon wheels of earlier times. Next he bent another strip into a 'U' shape with about a two-inch throat and 3/4-inch lips. This he welded to a handle made of 1/4-inch steel round bar doubled back into a deep 'U' shape to form a handle. The handle was used to roll and guide the hoop around the yard, sidewalk or where ever. Because it was steel sliding on steel it made a terrible racket but it was challenging and fun and provided plenty of exercise. I believe he made two sets so you could challenge your friends to a race. Newt made other things too. One summer while playing softball, Newt broke his leg. Janet jumped off a slide and broke her leg too, so there were two invalids that summer. Newt had commercial crutches but they didn't have a size that would fit Janet so Newt cut a pair from wood and fitted them to her height. It was hillarious to watch father and daughter hobble around.
Newt bought an old Jeep pickup then decided he needed a camper to put on it for deer hunting. Newt decided the factory built campers weren't worth what they cost so he spent nearly every night one summer building one of his own. It could have been that the bed on the Jeep was smaller than most pickup beds and he couldn't buy a camper to fit. Come deer season he had a new camper to keep him warm and dry. He took the camper to Yellowstone one summer. A big brown bear strolled up to the driver side to beg for food. Genevieve wanted a picture of the bear so she got out of the passenger side and creeped around the back to take the picture. As she got to the back, Newt pulled forward leaving Gen nearly face to face with the bear. He got a good laugh from that prank but he paid dearly for the joke. I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Newt's sisters claim that he was full of pranks as a boy. While one sister was drawing water from the well, Newt would wait until she had it cranked nearly to the top then tease her until she released the handle to swat him which let the bucket fall back to the bottom.

What Did Simpson Steel?

2008-02-14T16:15:00.000-08:00

Just like Charlie Steen who also was born in 1919 in Texas, Newt became involved in the uranium boom of the 1950s. He spent a summer working and maintaining a drill rig for Utah Sprocket near Moab and Hite in southern Utah. Unlike Charlie, he did not make a fortune in mining claims. The experience may have triggered an entreprenuerial chord with him because he began to think, plan and venture to expand his financial options. At first he purchased used welding machines from construction firms who chose to sell them rather than move them to the next project. He then rented this equipment and within a year was making almost as much from the rental income as he did from his day job. With a little capital and a few welders, he started a back-yard fabrication company. He made handrail and other miscellaneous steel items that were so small that they did not cover the overhead required at a larger steel firm. Great trees from little acorns grow and Newt's company struggled and grew to a multi-million dollar enterprise.

I Get No Respect

2008-02-14T14:10:00.000-08:00

Newt insisted that his family show respect whether at home or in public. He only had to tell his children once that 'Old Man and Old Lady' were not acceptable terms for Mom and Dad, neither were Ma and Pa. His children were never to call adults by their first name. Showing disrespect to a teacher or arguing were likewise unacceptable. One day at a family gathering at Genevieve's parents, Jerry was playing with his cousin Ralph. They were nearly the same age and were enjoying playing together. Newt told Jerry to do something and Jerry answered, "phooey-on-you." Jerry thought he was being funny but as Newt stood up with a frown on his face, Jerry knew he'd made a mistake. Jerry started to run through the pasture toward the canal. That was his second mistake. About half way down the pasture Jerry paused to look back. That was all it took because Newt was right behind him. Newt subscribed to the concept of "spare the rod and spoil the child." Jerry received a sound spanking. It hurt a lot and since Ralph was there, Jerry was also embarrassed. One night after visiting his wife's parents, Newt pulled into his driveway to find Jerry's tricycle right in the middle of the drive. "Put your tricycle in the coal shed," Newt said to his son. It was dark and the coal shed was in the back yard. Jerry was afraid and refused to put it away, then threw a screaming fit. Newt said you can stay outside until you put the tricycle away. A short time later a police car pulled up in front. The sirens and flashing lights really scared Jerry but he stopped screaming. The policeman asked if he was hurt or if Newt had done anything to him. It was all a big mistake. The neighbors heard the screaming and called the police. I think that was the last of Jerry's temper tantrums.

The Guitar

2008-02-09T23:05:00.000-08:00

Newt was often asked to sing at church or family gatherings. At home, he would accompany himself on his old guitar. Usually around Christmas his brother Vic would visit and they would sit on the couch and sing country and western, gospel and sometimes popular songs from the 1950s. When 'Goodnight Irene' became popular, Newt sang that tune over and over until some of the family complained. Newt had a pleasant voice and seldom did anyone ask him not to sing but this time the repetition was just too much. On deer hunting trips he would usually wake the camp with "Oh what a beautiful morning; Oh what a beautiful day. I've got a wonderful feeling, everythings going my way." One sister commented after his passing that as a youth they could hear him singing as he came down the country lane long before he was visible. Just a few of the songs he sang were 'Little Brown Church in the Vale, How Great Thou Art, Oklahoma Hills, Bluetail Fly and Clementine.' Before the Minstrel Shows became passe, Newt and three friends formed a male chorus from the LDS Ward community and performed an evening of music, jokes and entertainment staged as a minstrel show. It's strange that I don't remember the show itself but I do remember the practices. One of the members couldn't sing but he was one of their friends so they taught him how. How would it be to look back across the years to when Newt's grandfather would sit on the porch of his Texas home and sing the songs of that time.

Sea Legs

2008-02-07T21:16:00.000-08:00

As a sailor during WWII, Newt became proficient at the welding trade. He spoke little of his years aboard ship. It seems to take a shipmate to draw the stories into the open. One experience that he shared was the Normandy invasion. Newt was on a repair ship that participated in the invasion. He spoke of being off shore as the landing craft hit the beach. A ship near by was struck by enemy fire and sunk. He then said that their ship was signalled that they were at the wrong beachhead and directed to move further off shore. I don't recall if he told whether they then sailed to the beach they were intended to support. I recall one snapshot in his photo album that showed the deck of a ship with a large hole which he claimed was caused by a bomb that failed to detonate. He returned with one momento of the invasion, a seashell inscribed with the name of his vessel, Normandy, and the date. Besides his duffle bag and uniform, the only other item relating to his naval service was his seaman's handbook. The knots and splices and pictures of different classes of ships were the most interesting to me. He told of shaping a file into a knife blade then tempering and hardening it. He plied his trade in his driveway building boat trailers. He would salvage an axle from an old car and frame the rest of the trailer with pipe. for rollers he used old washing machine rolls. He'd custom fit the trailer to the boat. He had a boat for a while. One day he was backing down to the water at Great Salt Lake and submerged the car engine in the salty water. The old engine sat in his garage for years afterwards. Later he bought a boat to sail at Lake Powell. Then he had to buy an airplane to get there and get his pilots license.

Newt

2008-02-03T17:50:00.000-08:00

We bounced through the sagebrush and over rocks on what Newt promised was a road but there was no visible indication to prove his claim. The old yellow Jeep managed to cling tightly to the side-hill as we neared the West Fork headwaters. Lunch was a can of Dinty-Moore stew; we would be through fishing in time to catch a bite of dinner in Kamas on our way home. The fish were small, quick and alert to any intrusion from outsiders. Newt worked down stream while I sat on the bank trying to entice a large cutthroat that patrolled the deep hole. It had been what seemed like an hour when I decided to retrieve my line. I had a snag. Try as I might, I couldn't get it loose. Then suddenly it moved upstream. I had the fish on my line. I must have made a lot of noise because Newt soon broke through the willows and seeing my plight, set aside his pole and with a net prepared to help me land the trout. After several minutes and many attempts to get the fish to where we could slip him in the net, we finally landed him.