A Story of Two Best Friends and the Family Who Loved Them. . . .

When I was a little girl and into my teens, Dad had an agreement with several sheepherders to allow them to drive their flocks through his range as they moved them from the spring and summer grazing pastures in the mountains and high country in Southern Utah and Nevada to their winter grazing and holding pastures in Arizona.

Those were exciting times for Delores, David, and I. Dad would go to one of his several range camps where there was water and fence. Usually, The Well, Sheep, or Uvada, to meet with the sheepherders who had become his good friends. Often, he would come home with one, or more, newborn lambs who would not be able to make the drive. We would bottle feed them and love them. They would sleep in a box, fixed snug and warm by Mom near the wood burning stove, until they were old enough to move to the barn.

One time when I was about 14, instead of a lamb, Dad brought home a puppy. He was a Border Collie, Shepherd mix. He was black with grey and tan markings. He had been born to one of the sheepherder's dogs during a drive.

My brother Leo, was home on leave from the Air Force and he named him Tony after his best friend, a member of his flight crew. Tony, given name Antonio, was a big, handsome, funny, and charming, Italian boy. Leo's last instructions to us were, "The next time I come home, I am going to bring Tony. No matter what you do, do not yell "Here Tony, Come Boy, Bad Boy, or any of those dog things." Well, we didn't take his advice, and to his and Tony's horror, we began hollering at Tony, at one time even referring to him as a very 'naughty dog'. Leo had to talk like mad to assure Antonio that Tony was named after him because he was truly "Man's Best Friend", loyal, loving, and very intelligent.

Tony had no professional training as a herd dog, but his instincts told him he was one and he had the herding dog's natural instincts. He went with Dad, Leo, and David when cattle were rounded up for branding, and was a help, but he was never more happy than when he joined us on our horseback rides. I can still picture him racing along at the side of a horse with his ears laid back and his long beautiful coat flying in the wind.

When I was in high school I was often teased by my friends because Tony rode standing on the top of Dad's old car, legs braced so he wouldn't fall. He adapted to the hot metal of the car in the summer and the slippery top in the winter. Of course, Dad didn't drive fast. I never knew when one of my friends would yell, "Here comes Ina's dad crawling down the middle of the road with that dog on top of the car! " Embarrassing, to say the least!

One winter morning when we were having our first significant snowfall of the season, I woke up early and went outside to watch it float down. On the porch, laying beside Tony was a beautiful sable and white Rough Coated Collie. He looked at me and wagged his tail. One of his legs had been chewed up and he had wounds on his head and ears with lots of dried blood. Mom and Dad cleaned him up and treated his wounds. Dad said he probably belonged to one of the sheepherders and had suffered the injuries and became separated from the flock during an attack by a wild animal, probably a Cougar, during an altercation to save a lamb or bring in a stray.

We always thought it more than happenstance that he came to the home of the man who probably knew his master and would be the most apt to reunite them. Dad knew, though, that with the coming of winter and the snow, they would have passed through with their flocks.

Not knowing his name, we called him Bruno. He and Tony became the best of friends. Bruno was a true working dog. He was beautifully trained and was the happiest when he was herding. He herded anything he could. He would go into the lot between the house and the corral and herd the chickens and ducks. He herded the pigs and the milk cows. It was not unusual for us to look out and see him with some chickens and two or three cows, bunched up into a group, with him circling around and around them. Tony would go with him and Bruno taught him some of the tricks of his trade. They herded us and our friends, nipping at our heels, all in fun, of course. Bruno joined Tony on our horseback rides and they were beautiful to watch in their enthusiasm and joy.

As winter faded into spring, Bruno became agitated and antsy, pacing back and forth on the porch, and sniffing the air. One day an old beat up truck stopped at our front gate and an old man got out, He called "Shep" and Bruno ran to meet him, almost bowling him over in his wild joy and elation. It was a joyous reunion and brought tears to our eyes. It was as Dad thought, Shep had been sent by his master to get a ewe who had just given birth. It was snowing, an early storm that was not expected. Bruno didn't come back. They decided he had been attacked, possibly even killed, by a cougar. They couldn't find him and had to move on.

The old sheepherder continued to make inquiries and had heard of a dog who showed up at "Jim's" home and had spent the winter and early spring months there.

Even though their reunion was wonderful, it was a heartbreaking moment for us, and Tony, when Shep was put in the back of that old beat up truck and they started to drive away. They hadn't gone far when Shep, our Bruno, jumped out of the truck and raced back, tail wagging a mile a minute, to lick each one of us and have a quick romp with Tony, before running back and jumping into the truck once again. I cried as they drove away. For several days, Tony was lethargic and sad, but soon he was back to his happy, carefree ways, racing beside us as we rode our horses through the country around Panaca. It was a fun, happy moment the first time we looked out and saw Tony attempting to herd some chickens and a couple of milk cows into a tight little group. The cows looked at him like he was crazy and the chickens "crow hopped" and fluttered away, making quite a racket. And somewhere out in the hills, Shep, our Bruno, was joyfully herding his flock of sheep and looking out for the tiny, newborn lambs.

1963 Reunion-The year I wrote CONTEMPLATION

1963
My parents - James & Lois Wadsworth
in front of the old Pine Valley Cabin

George & Ina Wimsatt

My brothers - Leo & David Wadsworth


Cousins - Rhonda Loie Wimsatt and
Lisa Kay Horlacher
Even then Rhonda was quite the little
cowgirl.


Sisters- Thea Ann Lee (Thomas) and
Marsha Lee (Somers)



Cousins - on horse - Kirk Jacobson and
Craig Wimsatt
Standing - Lft to Rt - Mike Wadsworth, Paul Wimsatt, Kent Horlacher, Gordon Wadsworth, Mark Horlacher

CONTEMPLATION. . . .

I wanted to post something this morning but find that the creative juices are not flowing, so I dipped into my store of already created masterpieces, and this is what I came up with.

On a day in 1963 when Ina's day seemed to be too short for what she had to do, and responsibilities seemed overwhelming, she took a brief respite and had a little fun.

CONTEMPLATION

I like to sit and contemplate upon my lot in life,

to ponder what I might have been if I wasn't George's wife.

I dream of being unattached to lead a life of ease -

a life where I can come and go and do just as I please.

I've often thought the life for me was that of a fat, old maid,

eating yummy slices of bread with peanut butter and marmalade.

But, when I think of Mom and Dad and the cross they'd have to bear,

to have me home year after year, would hardly seem too fair.

So, I let my thoughts drift off again to something much more daring,

than worrying about the fatty bulge and what I "can't" be wearing.

I think that I would like to be performing upon the stage;

with my loud, clear voice and knack for talk - I'm sure I'd be the rage!

The thought of starring in the movies, also gives me joy.

I'm sure I'd be another Liz with my own sweet "Dickie" boy!

Then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window pane,

"Ouch!" , I think, "Not even the Asp would bite a Marjorie Main!"

So, I think of simpler ways,

in which to spend my remaining days. . . .

Gee, how fun to be a female Tarzana of the Apes -

just swinging through the jungle eating purple wild grapes!

But when I had to clean my hut, this I would abhor -

seeing all the ugly spiders leaving dust trails on my floor!

I'd like to go to Africa to watch the wild game,

but, after climbing Kilimanjaro, I'm sure I'd be too lame.

Doctor, lawyer, stewardess, nurse -

Writer, beatnik, snatcher of purse,

Dancer, comedienne, Indian Chief -

This and that, and "Oh, good grief!"

Just when I'm exhausted and feeling blue,

I hear my baby whisper, "Mama, I love you."

George comes in and says, "Boy, do you look beat,

I think perhaps I should take the family out to eat!"

Paul and Rhonda rush around -

and bring my shoes on the bound,

Nana yips,

and out I trip,

and, so ends another day -

I think I'll quit while I'm ahead, and accept my lot in life,

and concentrate on being "just a better George's wife!"

The end by,

you guessed it! - GEORGE'S WIFE - Ina Mae Wadsworth Wimsatt

Do you realize how young I was when I wrote that? George's wife looking in the window pane that day certainly wouldn't see what she sees when she looks in it today.

And yes, my grandchildren are not too familiar with Liz, "Dickie" boy and the Asp, and I am sure none of them have a clue who Marjorie Main is. . . .but that was then and this is now!

Theresa and Edna's Memories of the N. J. Wadsworth Store. . . .#2

Theresa, the oldest of my four sisters, wrote of working in the store from the time she was in the 5th grade until she married and left home. She said, "It was often hard work and I wished that I could be out having a carefree good time with my friends, but I knew that I was needed there and that I was helping to insure that mom could run it when dad was gone. I enjoyed working side by side with my mother. I learned so much from her during that time. She was amazing."

Theresa often talked about Clara Syphus, one of the elderly women in Panaca. She said, "Clara lived alone in a little house that always seemed to be in need of repairs. Dad tried to see that these were done. Clara befriended stray cats and had many in her house and on her property. She often couldn't afford food for herself and yet would come into the store to get canned tuna for the cats. No matter how dad tried to talk her into a less expensive food for them, she insisted on the tuna. The end result was always that she left with it. He also made sure she had food for herself. Clara had a running bill at the store which dad never pushed her to pay. He would say to mom and I, " When Clara has a little extra, she will take care of it."

What I enjoyed the most was the quality time, one on one, that I got to spend with my father who was often gone from home. I was proud to see the love and respect he was given by the people of Panaca. The love given to him from the older people in town made me feel warm and happy. I loved his aunts, whom my siblings and I also called Aunt. Several of them were widowed and needy. Like Clara, he gave what would have been his profits to them, and made sure they had food and clothing. I especially enjoyed it when Chief Foster Charles and members of his tribe came into the store. It was heartwarming to see dad let the Indian children choose a candy stick from the jar on the counter. Their shy smiles and giggles were infectious. I think dad knew the store would never make him rich, but he ran it the way his heart dictated.

There were so many wonderful antiques in that little store. I loved dusting them and moving them around to make sure they always made an attractive display. As I did this, I found myself reminiscing about my ancestors and picturing them in the store looking at these very same items. These are all very special memories for me when I think of that little store."

Edna, 18 months younger than Theresa, was often baby sitter to David, Delores and I when Theresa and Mom worked in the store. She said, "Dad's country store was a haven for the lonely and the needy. He gave freely, whether comfort or sustenance. Dad literally gave the store away because he loved people and trusted them to do the right thing and pay when they could. He didn't press them, just grieved when they didn't. In essence then, he was paying for them.

I can still see, in my minds eye, each detail of that wonderful little Country Store. It had the usual porch across the front and the usual pot-belly stove with "fenders" to rest your feet on so one could tip their chair back. It had a deep cellar that kept the "soda water" cold and the perishable items fresh. It had a small walk in closet where fresh meat hung on wall hooks and the round balls of cheese were stored. There was a large cutting board on the front counter and a large knife. These things did not come ready packaged then. The store had an attic for storage where, way before my time, there was a corner sectioned off that held a counter and a small round table where "homemade" ice cream was sold. This was the towns first Ice Cream Parlor. I was told that ice cream could be purchased during the week only on a specified day. Back then, ice was cut in blocks from the reservoir and stored deep in sawdust or straw, in a protected building. It would last into the summer. Thus, the hand cranked machines could turn out ice cream even when the weather became hot. I go back far enough in years that I do remember what was probably the last ice storage of that kind in town. Dad stored ice for the store in huge blocks buried in sawdust in the cellar."

Edna also talked about the Indians and how they were part of the history of Panaca and the store when she was growing up. She said, "They would come to the store and stay almost the whole day. They would buy one thing at a time after long deliberations. Dad always ended up giving them things he knew they desperately needed for the papooses. The Indians were still doing leather and bead work. This took skill and great patience. They camped above town and stayed until the pine nuts were ready to harvest. They picked many pounds and cooked them over their campfires in big tubs. They wintered in another area and subsisted mainly from the sale of their pine nuts and handicrafts. I missed them when they left and looked forward to the day they came back."

Leather by George - MacFest

George is enjoying displaying his leather work at downtown Mesa's MacFest. It will run every Saturday from October through May. This picture was taken on October 4th, the opening Saturday of the festival, by the Arizona Republic and was published in the paper. There has been a lot of interest in his work. In addition to the Republic, he has been mentioned in the Mesa Tribune. Many people have stopped to watch him work and ask questions about leather working. They want to touch and feel his work.

He has wrist bands available for the children and they have been a big hit. They can choose what they want on it from his many designs, he then adds their name and paints it. In the picture he is finishing one with a Boy Scout design for a young scout.

Come and check out MacFest and watch him "work". It's fun!

George started doing hand tooled leather work in 1953. While in the navy during the Korean War, he was stationed at the Naval Training Center in San Diego. He wanted to get a job to give us a little more money. He went to the Hobby Shop on base and asked them if they needed any help. They asked him if he had ever done any leather tooling. With a perfectly straight face, he told them "yes". Maybe he thought banging the mallet a couple of times when he was a very young boy scout, counted as leather work. At any rate, they hired him.

At first he worked the counter; selling supplies, collecting payment, stocking shelves, etc. It wasn't long before he was actually tooling leather and giving lessons as if he really knew what he was doing. I guess he did as there were never any complaints. While working there, he made his first purse, a stirrup bag for me. It has Brer' Rabbit, from my favorite fable, tooled and painted on it and is finished with red suede. I still have it.

In the early days of our marriage, he would do a little leather work. He made wallets for Christmas presents, belts for him, Paul, and Craig, and a couple of purses for me. While running his business, he never really had time to work at it seriously. It became just a leisure hobby. As a long time Scout Master, he taught the basic steps of leather work to many scouts, and served as a Boy Scout Merit Badge Councilor for Leather Work.

It wasn't until he retired and we moved to Mesa that he had the time to really work at it. Still, it was just a hobby, making gifts for family and friends. After we had been here several years, I talked him into entering a piece of his work at the Arizona State Fair for judging. That very first entry won a Premium Blue Ribbon for first place. For the next few years, he entered one or two pieces and received a ribbon on each piece he entered; first, second, third, or honorable mention. He realized he was good at this, and he was hooked!

Now, he would like to make people aware of what is involved in tooling leather. With so much commercial work being sold where the designs are stamped on and much of the finish work is done by machine, hand tooling and finishing, is becoming a lost art. To keep it alive, and because he enjoys it so much, he will continue with his leather art. MacFest is his first venture in taking his work to an Arts Festival.

N. J. Wadsworth and Sons General Mercantile. . . .#1

My father, James Allen Wadsworth and his father,
Nephi John Wadsworth, proprietors of the store.

Ina and Delores on Pardner in the shade at the side
of the store. Beans is laying under one of the trees.

It is a giant stretch for me to get into the saddle, but
I refused to let anyone help me. I think Delores is
upset because I insisted I go by myself.

We were wearing sunsuits mom had made for us. I think I was 6 years old in these pictures.


My grandfather, Nephi John Wadsworth, was very active in the spiritual, cultural, and political affairs of Panaca. One of his positions was as a trustee to the Panaca School district. While serving in that position, he sold the old Wadsworth Store building to the school district to be used as an addition to the grammar school. It had been sitting empty after his brother James Allen, who built, owned, and ran it, died. When the new cement block school building was built in 1909, Nephi bought it back and with his sons, restocked it. Running it became a family affair, and once again, it was serving the people of Panaca and the outlying ranches. The sign that hung above the porch, under the attic window, boldly stated that it was the N. J. Wadsworth and Sons General Mercantile. On the reverse side was printed: Mitchell Wagons - Hay, Grain and Stabling.

In 1922, several years after returning from serving in the Infantry in World War 1, Nephi's son, my father James Allen, took over the store and in addition to his farming and ranching, school teacher, senator, and chairman of many state and national committees and organizations, he became proprietor of the store. He ran it until 1941. My mother and oldest sister, Theresa, worked with him in the store and ran it when he was gone from home for his senate and other state and national appointments.

As I was growing up, many of my most precious memories are of the store. I loved it. I remember as a little girl how I would walk from our home to the store, sometimes holding my shoes and stockings as I waded all of the way in the irrigation ditch that ran beside the sidewalk. In the summer, it was the most refreshing adventure to wade in the cool water under the shade of the huge trees that formed a beautiful canopy along the ditch bank.

When I stepped onto the porch and into the store, I was immediately subjected to the most tantalizing sights and smells. It was a child's paradise. There was a bushel basket of peanuts, one of pistachios, a large crock of huge dill pickles made by my mother, a jar on the counter filled with candy sticks of all flavors, another holding horehound candy, and yet others filled with root beer barrels, all day suckers, and licorice. Any of this could be purchased with the pennies or nickel clutched in a child's hand or stowed in their pocket.

There was the wonderful smell of leather and textiles and the beautiful colors of gingham cloth. Often natural root beer soda would be brewing. In the cellar, big blocks of ice were buried in sawdust to keep the meat, cheeses, and eggs cold. I was fascinated by the old handle crank cash register that sat on the counter. I loved to hear the clicking noise as the purchases were rang up, and the musical clang it made when the money drawer popped open.

The grammar school was on the opposite side of the school, at the end of the block and when I was old enough to go to school, I would often stop on my way home and dad would hand me a candy bar. Sometimes a Snickers, but my favorite was the Three Musketeers bar. At that time, it was made up of three separate pieces; a chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla log, making it a genuine Three Musketeers. Delores related to me that she remembers those special times when dad would give us a candy bar. Like me, she also loved the Three Musketeers bar.

Dad had an American Saddle Bred horse named Pardner. He was beautiful. He was a tall horse, 17 hands. He was spirited when ridden by an adult, but was very gentle with children. He would stand like a rock as I shinnied up his leg to reach the stirrup. My favorite way to spend a Saturday morning was to go to the store with Delores and David. Dad would have Pardner there, saddled and waiting in the shade of the trees by the side of the store. My brother Leo's dog Beans, would be there, too. He and Pardner were the best of friends. Dad would put us on Pardner; David and I alone, or Delores and I together. He would slap Pardner on the rump, tell him "One time around, boy". There was always someone there to watch us and so Dad could go back into the store. With Beans following, Pardner would very carefully walk around the block, back to the store, and stop in the very same spot he left from. He then patiently waited for the process to be repeated. He and Beans would make as many a a dozen trips around the block and never deviate from the route designated for them. Dad knew he could trust them. One time, with Delores and I riding together, he stepped on a board with a huge nail sticking up. The pain must have been terrible, but with his muscles quivering, he stood without moving until Dad made sure we were off. He continued to stand immobile while dad pulled out the nail and disinfected the wound. I cried and cried.

I especially loved being at the store during pine nut picking time. The Indians who came and camped above town while harvesting the nuts, would come into town to the store. Foster Charles, also called Charlie Foster, was the chief of the tribe. He was no ordinary Indian for that time, having been educated at BYU. His father was an important chief and after his death, Charlie chose to go home to help his tribe when he probably could have had a good job. He and Dad were great friends and shared a mutual love and admiration for each other. Dad gave him, and others of the tribe, small jobs to do to supplement their meager income. Charlie would come into town with his wives and several other tribal members. They would sit on the store porch or lounge in the shade of the trees. I was fascinated by the women's brightly colored long dresses and the papooses in cradles on their backs. I became friends with some of the children, but they were very shy and wouldn't speak English, even though I am sure they understood most of what I said. I would stand enthralled for hours and listen to the adults talk among themselves in their native language. Because I was "Jim's daughter", they treated me with the same love and respect they gave their own children.

Delores was two years younger than me. She said her favorite memory of the store was when she was very small and she would go to the store with mom in the mornings. While mom was working, she would play in the store. There were many nooks and crannies where she could happily entertain herself for hours. She loved to play outside on the covered porch and in the shade of the big trees that grew to the side of the store.

All of the children of Panaca loved to go to the store to spend their pennies or nickel. There were several families whose children never had a penny and dad would let them choose some candy, just as if they did. In that same way, he gave goods to the poor, elderly, and infirm people of Panaca. That is why the store never made him rich. I loved the status Delores and I had with our friends as the daughters of the proprietor of that wonderful little store.

After I married and left Panaca, when I would return home and drive up Main Street, the first thing I found myself searching for was the little store building, long vacant, but still standing staunch and firm in the same spot it had stood for almost a hundred years. My heart broke when it started to fall into ruin and I rejoiced when it was designated as a Historical Building for the State of Nevada. It has now been restored and is a museum with pictures, artifacts, and histories of the people and events of the settling of Panaca by the early Mormon Pioneers. Once again, after 128 years, it is standing firm and true. I am proud that it is part of my heritage and proud to have "Grown Up Ina" in that beautiful little town. I have often talked to my children and grandchildren about the little store and it's role in my life and hope I have installed in them a love for it as part of their heritage.

To Be Continued. . . .

The Wadsworth Store

George A. Wadsworth and Elizabeth Broadbent Wadsworth

The Wadsworth Store as it looked in the early days, except now bearing the sign

N. J. Wadsworth and Sons General Mercantile

This picture was taken at least twenty years after my father, James, had quit running it.

It had been vacant all those years and was falling into disrepair.

It is the same building I remember as a child, except then it would have been painted and in good condition, with the surrounding grounds neat and tidy.

There is a little building on Main Street in Panaca. It has stood in the same spot for as long as I have lived, from before my father was born in 1888. It was there when the road that ran in front was dirt, filled with ruts from the many wagons that traveled it and the teams that pulled them. It was there when the early settlers of Panaca were still struggling with Indians and Outlaws. It has stood there through bitter cold and blistering heat and has survived several floods that threatened to wipe out the little town. It survived through at least three great depressions in the country.

I don't know the exact date it was built, but do know that it was built by James Allen Wadsworth, my father's uncle and his namesake. I have not been able to find the date James built it, but I know that he owned and operated it for years before he died in Panaca on January 3, 1887, at the age of 38. The store at that time was known as The Wadsworth Store. It served the ranchers and farmers of Panaca and the outlying ranches, as well as many of the miners in the area, with the goods necessary for their homes and businesses. It was a gathering place where the men could get together to share information or just to tell a good story.

In those early days of Panaca, George A. Wadsworth and his sons were farmers, cattlemen, merchants, and freighters. At that time, prior to the railroad, freighting was a lucrative business and good freighters were in great demand. The Wadsworth men were strong men with the best wagons and quality horses and mules to pull them. There was ore to be hauled from the silver mines in Pioche to the smelters and kilns in Bullionville and Bristol, Nevada, and Milford, Utah. There was a run to deliver supplies to the gold camp in Delamar, Nevada, and load the wagons with supplies to be brought back. There was wood to be chopped and hauled to fuel the smelters and kilns in the mining towns and camps.

George's son, Nephi John, my grandfather, was credited with hauling the first load of lumber into Pioche from Salt Lake City, Utah. He forwarded and hauled freight from terminals in York, a railroad station now part of Salt Lake City, Utah, to Bamberger, a station 12 miles below Caliente. He had a contract with Wells Fargo to tranport a safe that was constructed like a huge iron ball and weighed more than 8 tons. In addition to fine horses, he had a team of ten mules that he drove with a jerk line. Nephi's son, James Allen, my father, hauled freight and wrote in his history of driving his first freight wagon with a two horse team from Panaca to Delamar when he was 7 or 8 years old. This was in a group of several other freight wagons.

Changing stations and feed yards were necessary to keep the wagons running smoothly and the horses and mules rested, shod, and healthy. George and Nephi owned and operated feed lots and changing stations in Panaca and Milford, Utah. Nephi also sold Mitchell wagons, said to be one of the best wagons built at that time.

After James' death, the store was operated by my grandfather, Nephi John Wadsworth, brother of James. It became the N. J. Wadsworth & Sons General Mercantile. But, that is another story.

To Be Continued. . . .

Love Is In The Air. . . .Sweet, Sweet Love. . . .#2

Gino and George in September of 1948. The picture was taken on the road east of Panaca going out of town. The hill that has the white washed "L" for Lincoln County High School can be seen in the backgound.

George and Ina in the winter of 1948. The picture was taken in the High School courtyard.

This is me taken in June of 1950 in Salt Lake City on the lawn in front of my sister Theresa's home where I was living. I am wearing the dress and shoes I wore to my Baccalaureate ceremony the Sunday before my graduation from Lincoln County High School in May.

September of 1950. . . ."Say it isn't so"!. . . .Could this really be me flaunting George's Letterman's sweater while sitting on the fender of Ollie's car? Notice the stripes for George being a three year letterman in football and basketball. I very much doubt that Ollie was impressed!

In Chapter 1, writing of my romance with George Wimsatt, I had stated that true love does not always run smoothly and promised that I would write more on that later. Well, I guess it is now later. . . .

When I ended that chapter of our love story, I had graduated from Lincoln County High School and left for Salt Lake City to continue my education and enhance my beautiful smile through orthodontics. I would be living with my sister Theresa, her husband LeGrande, their two sons and a beautiful little daughter.

There were some important events that occurred leading up to my departure. In the spring of my senior year, the State Highway Department for the State of Nevada, sent a crew of 7 surveyors to Panaca. They were doing extensive work on the highway from the Delamar road through the canyon into Caliente, and on the road going out of Panaca over the summit, to the Utah State Line. Because of her reputation as the "best cook in Lincoln County", my mother had been asked to feed the crew breakfast, pack them a lunch, and feed them dinner.

Oliver Perondi was one of the crew. He was handsome, charming, and drove a new Oldsmobile. From the beginning, Ollie treated me like I was a princess, and I was very flattered. I found myself liking him a lot. But, there was George and I also liked him a lot. We had been a couple for a year and a half. We had shared some of the most exciting times in our lives.

The Panaca girls had a killer softball team. We had lost our coach. Ollie had become close friends with my brother Leo. Leo convinced Ollie to coach the team, with him as the assisstant coach. I found myself seeing Ollie often, twice a day at my home when he came to eat, and several times a week at softball practice. He wanted to date me. I knew it wasn't fair to date him when I was George's steady girlfriend, but honestly thought I could date them both without anyone getting hurt. So, off I went to Salt Lake, blissfully wearing George's Letterman's sweater AND a bracelet Ollie had given me.

Ollie made trips to Salt Lake to see me, even coming for one visit with a fellow surveyor and my big brother, Leo. Leo had never been happy about me dating Ollie, he much preferred I date George. What is it with big brothers? They can be so smothering!

I went home several times to watch George play football and basketball. I was also going home to be his date for the Christmas Ball. At that time, being the sweetie I was and because my mother told me I should, I returned his Letterman's sweater so he could wear it his senior year.

At some point, that "True Love" we had sang about, hit it's first big bump. I guess it was bound to happen when your girlfriend is a long ways away and going on dates with another guy. By the time George graduated from good old Lincoln in May of 1950, our romance seemed to be over. He left soon after his graduation for Washington DC where he had a job working for the FBI. John and Ruby Leach arrived in DC a week ahead of him. They also had jobs in DC. George and I had no contact but I was having a hard time letting go and kept track of him through John and Ruby. (Yup, we were friends again!)

Just before Valentine's day in 1951, Ollie showed up in Salt Lake City with a huge diamond engagement ring. He picked me up at Bekin's Van Lines where I was working, and took me to lunch. He showed me the ring and asked me if I would be engaged to him. He said he knew I was young but if I would wear his ring, he would wait how ever long it took for me to marry him. I was overwhelmed with emotions I did not understand, but I knew I could not accept the ring at that time. Coward that I was, I told him I would give him my answer the next day. In the middle of the night, I woke up in a cold sweat, and the first thing I thought about was George. Then I thought, "What in the world are you doing, Ina?" We went to lunch the next day and I told him I could not accept his ring. He asked me if it was because of George and I gave him a resounding "Yes"! He was sad, but being the gentleman he was, told me he hoped I would be happy.

I felt wonderful! On the way home from work, I stopped to get a Valentine card for George. It took a long time to find one that was suitable for the occassion as I had not exchanged a word with him since he left for DC. I stayed up most of the night writing a letter to put with the card. The letter was a masterpiece; charming, witty, sophisticated, and compelling. I mailed it and waited, with butterflies in my stomach, for his letter to arrive. I was sure he would affirm his everlasting love for me.

The letter soon arrived, and with my heart thumping madly, I opened it and began to read. "Dear Ina", it began. . . .and then my dream turned into a nightmare. . . ."take a hike!", it continued. Well, maybe he didn't say it exactly like that, perhaps not quite as blatant and cold, but the message was the same. I couldn't believe it! In my most ladylike manner, I swore and ranted. I was so irate that I was literally jumping up and down. What was he thinking? I had just refused a huge diamond ring from a handsome man, who I might add, had lots of money and a flashy car! True, George didn't know about the ring thing, but still. . . .So with pen in hand, I sat down to fire off a blistering reply.

Hearing the ruckus, my sweet sister came down to my little basement room to make sure I hadn't completely destroyed it. She asked what was wrong, and with all of the self-rightous fury I could muster, I told her the story and what I was going to tell George. She said to me, "Put your anger aside for a minute and answer me honestly, do you really love this young man?" "Because", she continued, "if you do, this is what you need to do . . . ." And so, I wrote George. I didn't mention his letter, but just wrote a very ordinary one telling him what was going on in my life and asked him what was going on in his. I told him I would be going home in a week with braces on my teeth and my "course completed certificate" from the LDS Business College, in my suitcase. I had submitted an application for an interview for the position of secretary to Esther Rollins, who was the Lincoln County Clerk. In the meantime, I would be baby sitting two little boys five days a week, while their mother worked.

I returned to Panaca and once again I waited, with butterflies in my stomach, for his letter to arrive.

To be continued. . . .