A Very Special Wedding Gift. . . .

George William Wadsworth on his mission in England

Sarah Mariah Terry Wadsworth

Josephine Rebecca Terry Wadsworth

Aunt Josie as I knew her

I will attempt to establish a foundation for this story with
some genealogy.

My great grandfather, George Allen Wadsworth and his wife
Elizabent Broadbent, had eleven children. My father's father,
Nephi John, was the second child. George William (Will) was
the fourth child, and the father in this story.

Thomas Sirls Terry, my great grandfather and his wife, Eliza
Jane Pulsipher, had twelve children. My grandmother, Eliza
Jane Terry, the wife of Nephi John, was one of these children.
Two of her sisters, Sarah Mariah and Josephine Rebecca, are
part of the foundation of this story.

George William fell in love at the age of 20 with the very
beautiful Sarah Mariah, who was 17. They married and had
a son. Soon they had a little girl, Sadie. Sarah died from
complications of the birth when she was just 20. Great
Grandmother Eliza Jane, came to Panaca to care for George
and his children until they could recover from this tragedy.
A very short time later, George was called to serve a
mission in England and Eliza Jane took the children to her
home in Hebron to care for them while he was gone. After
returning from his mission, he went to Hebron to see the
children. They didn't know him, nor did he know them.
Sarah's younger sister, Josephine, 19 at the time, had been
the primary care giver of the children. I am sure there
were many reasons, but I am romantic enough to think
and hope, that love was why George married Josephine
after a brief courtship. It is easy to see why she had fallen
in love with him; he was the father of the children she
loved as her own and he was very handsome and kind.
He took her and the children home to Panaca.

George and Josephine had nine children, Albert Thomas,
one of the principal players in this story, being their first
born.

Now a little more history. Dad had three aunts living in
Panaca. His father's sister, Elizabeth (Aunt Lizzie Edwards),
Nora, the wife of his father's brother, Benjamin (Aunt Nora
Wadsworth), and Josephine (Aunt Josie Wadsworth), the
wife of George William. Aunt Josie is the other principal
player in this story.

Dad loved these aunts. My siblings and I loved them, too.
We knew them as the "older aunts", but to us they were
the same as our other aunts who lived in Panaca, Dad's
sister Dora, and Florence and Dolly, the wives of his
brothers, Frank and Lafe. To us, perhaps, we loved to
visit their homes even more because they were an older
part of our pioneer heritage and had such wonderful
stories to tell. They loved Dad, and so they also loved his
children.

Aunt Josie lived in very humble circumstances, George
having died at the age of 50 leaving her with all of those
little children, the youngest just an infant. She cleaned
houses and took in washing and ironing to support her
family. I loved to visit her and often found myself walking
to her humble little home, hoping for a hug and another
wonderful story. Her little home was always clean, neat,
and cozy. She always had a treat for me and my siblings
when we would visit her. I realize now how meager a
treat it was, but to a child who loved her, it was always
wonderful. She would have one of her homemade
gingersnap or molasses cookies, a scone with homemade
jam, or sometimes just a cold baking powder biscuit
with molasses or honey. It was all very delicious

When Dad was proprietor of the N. J. Wadsworth and
Sons General Mercantile, he helped Aunt Josie by
giving her supplies in a way that she was never stripped
of her dignity. Aunt Josie died in 1942, having been a
widow for 31 years. I was just 11 and I was so sad when
she died. I missed her so much.

James Albert never married. He had health problems
and was mentaly handicapped. I am not sure if he was
born with these challenges or if they occurred later. I
have heard that he was severely injured in a fall from a
horse and that he had suffered severe illness with very
high fevers. I learned from listening to Dad and reading
genealogy, that for a time he worked at farming and
drove freight wagons. As a child, I remember him riding
a beautiful big black horse and hearing stories of his skill
as a true "Old West" cowboy. My brother, Leo, said there
was no one he would rather ride the range with and that
he learned a lot about being a good cowboy from Albert.
Eventually, Albert was no longer able to do these things.

Dad loved this cousin and was protective of him. He was
known as "Ob" to most everyone. He was a sweet, gentle
man. Some of the kids in town called him "Old Ob" and
when he got older, cruelly referred to him as the "dummy".
Dad told my siblings and I that we should always call him
Albert and treat him with love and respect. Dad always
had a little job for him. He always complemented him
when he completed them and helped him to feel that
he was important and of worth.

Aunt Josie had loved Albert and gave him the care that he
needed. When she died, Albert was alone and frightened.
His condition worsened. He continued to live in the little
house he and Aunt Josie had lived in for so many years.
He had a sister, Georgia, who lived next door, but she had
many problems in her own family and couldn't do too
much for him. Dad made sure Albert always had something
to keep him busy that would give him a few groceries and a
little spending money. I think after Aunt Josie died, he
looked to Dad for love and stability. In that sense, Dad
became his primary caregiver.

On a beautiful summer day, May 24, 1951, George and I
were married by Bishop Horlacher, my brother-in-law
Pete's father, in Mrs. Free's beautiful flower filled yard.
During our reception that night at the church, George and
I were standing in the receiving line with our parents. As
guests arrived, several of the Relief Society Sisters would
take their gifts and place them on a table before they came
through the line to congratulate us.

Albert came through the door. He was neatly dressed in
his best clothes, his hair slicked back, and his shoes shined.
He had a newspaper wrapped bundle clutched tightly to
his chest. As he came in, the sisters attempted to take it
from him. He clutched it tighter and became agitated
when they again attempted to take it. Dad saw what was
happening. He motioned for the sisters to step away and
asked Albert to come over. He ignored the line and the
people coming through, walked straight to me and placed
the newspaper wrapped bundle into my arms.

Dad nodded for me to take it and as I held the newspaper
against my white satin gown, Albert said to me, "These
were my mother's, we used them every day. My mother
loved me and took care of me. I loved her. James loves
me and helps me. I love him. You are James' daughter
and so I love you. You loved my mother and I want
you to have them."

He stood there and waited for me to unwrap his gift, and
with people waiting in line, Dad told me to do so. Albert
smiled his sweet smile, looking proud, as I did. Inside
were a few of Aunt Josie's dishes, much used, one chipped,
but all scrubbed clean. In those days, these dishes were
given as premiums in each box of oatmeal. They were china
and ovenware in several different patterns. This little
bundle contained an assortment of pieces . There was a
bread and butter plate, saucer, cereal bowl, and a fruit
dish in the Harvest pattern. There was a cereal bowl in the
Tea Rose pattern, a cereal bowl and a fruit bowl in the
Pastoral pattern, a cup and saucer in Jadeite and another
small green bread or salad plate.

Even as a 20 year old new bride, this touched me deeply. I
could picture him going to the cupboard and assembling
this wonderful gift for me. It was, and still is, a testament
of my father's love and respect for his family and fellow men
and a testament of his infinite kindness to those who some
people do not treat as equals, nor see them through the eyes
of our Father in Heaven.

When unpacking after a move, I always remove these dishes
before any of my other china. They have always remained
with me. I have never used them, but I look at them often
and they have been used as visual aids in lessons I have
taught in Relief Society and Young Women. They are dear
to me. They are a part of my childhood and young woman-
hood and represent a link to those people I loved so much.
I am sure on one of my many visits to Aunt Josie's humble
little home she served my treat on one of these bread and
butter plates and I happily ate from it as she told me
another wonderful story of my family and the "olden days".

As I wrote this story and took them out to photograph them,
I cried for a minute, not tears of sadness, but tears of joy
and thanksgiving for my wonderful father, his precious
Aunt Josie, and his special cousin Albert.

About Our Wedding Gift From Albert Wadsworth. . . .

Pastoral by Taylor Smith and Taylor - Green under glaze print
cereal bowl and fruit dish.
Tea Rose by Homer Laughlin - scalloped edge cereal bowl with
red, yellow and blue flowers.
Oven Fire King Glass Jadeite saucer by Hocking Glass Co.

Harvest by Homer Laughlin - Red fruit compote underglaze print
cereal bowl, fruit dish, saucer, bread and butter or salad plate.

In 1915 Quaker Oats first came out with the familiar
round box featuring a picture of the Quaker Man. With
the debut, they offered their first promotional premium.
If you cut out the picture of the Quaker Man and sent it
with one dollar to the Quaker Oats Company, you would
receive a double boiler to cook your oatmeal in.

After that first successful promotion, they began to offer
premiums regularly, including puzzles, trading cards and
pins. With the advent of the trading cards, Babe Ruth's
was the most popular.

In the 1920s and 1930s, Homer Laughlin, Taylor Smith
and Taylor, and Royal China jointly made breakfast sets
in several different patterns of china for Quaker Oats,
with individual pieces given away in each box of oats.

Another popular premium found in Quaker Oatmeal was
a Jadeite cup and saucer. Jadeite was first produced by
Jeanette Glass Co. and McKee in the 1920s and 1930s.
In the early 1940s, Anchor Hocking Glass Co. began
producing it's Oven Fire King Glass with Jadeite being
a favorite color. Jadeite was named for it's translucent
green color. Promotional advertising said you would
receive a piece of Jadeite "free" in each box of oats. It
wasn't exactly free, however, as you paid 24 cents for
the box of oats.

These dishes are highly sought after by collectors. You
can still find them at Flea Markets, Antique Stores, and
garage sales.

Knock Offs of the Jadeite Oven Fire King Glass are
being produced in China and Japan and so care must
be taken if you want to buy vintage pieces.

These pictures show the dishes Albert Wadsworth gave
George and I at our Wedding Reception. They are an
important part of my previous story. There is a cup to
match the Jadeite saucer but I did not want to empty
the hutch to find it. I don't know why they were not
together.

I think it is very possible that when I was a little girl
visiting Aunt Josie in her humble little home, I ate
my scone and jam or my baking powder biscuit and
molasses from one of these dishes that Albert chose,
lovingly wrapped in newspaper, and pressed into my
arms at our wedding reception on that beautiful
night so long ago.

Conana's new "Digs" . . . .

In December 1991, two weeks before Christmas, George was installing carpet on a patio in Gilbert. It was very cold and windy, and raining. Out of the rain walked a little Indian Ring Neck Parrot. She was cold, wet and hungry. She walked up to George and waited for him to pick her up. If she had been enjoying her freedom, doing whatever birds do when they are flying free, she was no longer having fun. She was scared and miserable. He called to the woman he was working for and asked her if she had lost a parrot. She told him no and when he asked her if she wanted one, she again answered, "no".

George put her in a box he had in his van and gave her several Ritz
Crackers. The woman's teenage daughter and two friends canvassed
the neighborhood asking people if they had lost their bird. When no
one had claimed her, George brought her home. I put an ad in the
newspaper and still on one claimed her.

We bought a cage and I took her to a vet. I wanted to make sure she
was not sick from her adventure in the wet winter weather. Due to
the color of the ring around her neck, I was quite sure she was a
female, but I wanted to know for sure. Also, I was wondering how old
she was. The vet said she was healthy, but underweight. He said she
was a female and that she was mature. He estimated her age to be 3
or 4. We had learned a few things about parrots and the trouble they
can get in, and so we named her Conana, after Conan the Destroyer.

This little parrot adored George from the first time she saw him. She
had found him and he had rescued her. She always wanted him to
hold her, pet her, and scratch her back. She cooed at him, talked to
him, and performed for him. The way she kissed up to him was
hilarious. She barely tolerated me. She was jealous of me and would
try to bite me whenever she had the chance. She screamed at me
and rolled her eyes until they were yellow. But since I fed her,
cleaned her cage, gave her treats and a tub to bathe in, she put up
with me. She knew the minute George's van pulled into the driveway
and the garage door opened, and she was so happy. Her favorite time
of the day was in the evening when George laid on the floor to watch
TV. She ran around the room, climbed all over him, and would
stretch way up with wings spread, to mimic an eagle. Whenever
George says, "be an eagle", she does it.

Conana has lived with us for almost 20 years. She has been a fun
addition to our family. She likes most men and doesn't care
much for women. She loves to eat. She loves "people" food.
She knows when we are eating and will run around her cage,
stopping to ring her bell on each circle, until I take her some of
whatever we are eating. Her favorite food is corn on the cob, She
loves potatoes, fixed any way, bread and pizza. She loves chicken
(a bit of a cannibal, perhaps.) She loves most fresh fruit and
vegetables. She loves sunflower seeds. Her favorite nut is peanuts,
but she will not shell them. I do it for her, and still the ungrateful
little character will bite "the hand that feeds her". I learned that it
is actually healthy to feed a parrot people food along with the
commercial mix as long as you watch the salt and the sugar.

Her life of freedom came to an end on Wednesday, April 13, 2005
when George flew to Baton Rouge, Louisiana to get Muggles, our
beautiful little red Norfolk Terrier. Being a terrier and bred as a
vermin hunter, we can not trust Muggles to not hurt her. Now, I
know a bird is not vermin, but I was not sure Muggles knows it.

For the last six years, I have worried about Conana and her loss
of freedom. Was she happy still, I wasn't sure. When I became so
ill this year, one of the things I was diagnosed with was environ-
mental emphysema. In an effort to protect my lungs, we needed to
move Conana to the patio as bird droppings, particularly parrot
and pigeon, can aggravate lung problems. George had recently
decided to move his leather work to the patio. Not wanting to
cut out light or the view, he used clear panels to enclose it. It is
light, airy, and very attractive. He purchased a portable air
conditionig unit that is very effective.

This was the perfect time to get Conana a larger cage with a play
area on top. We knew that birds love to be up high so they can
view their terrain. Did we go overboard with the size of her cage?
Most likely we did, but she loves it. She is a happy little bird. So
happy, she will sometimes let me scratch her back and pet her
without biting me.

How did Muggles handle this? It has been hilarious. She has driven
us to distraction at times. For the first two months, she spent every
waking moment sitting at the sliding glass doors staring at
Conana. The first thing she does in the morning, is run to check her
out. She eats and runs right back. She would lay there all night if
we didn't take her in our bedroom and shut the door. We say the
word bird, or Conana, and she takes up her stance. I am sure she
is living with a stiff neck from looking up all of these weeks.

Conana is not afraid of her, and I am no longer sure Muggles would
delibertely try to hurt her, but we can't take the chance, so if
Conana is playing on top, Muggles can not go out. Conana will run
around the bottom of her cage and she and Muggles will go nose to
nose through the bars. So far, Conana has not bitten her nose, maybe
she doesn't want to.

Every day when I see Conana enjoying her new "digs" and being so happy, I am grateful that we have given this sassy little parrot with the enchanting personality, a new and refreshing look at the beauty of the outdoors and a new environment to enjoy the rest of her life. We love her. Thank you Conana for 20 years of fun.

An Indian Chief, a Campfire, Two Girls, and a Dance

Edna and Theresa Martha

Edna speaking:

My cousin, Francis Jo and I, spent hours writing plays and performing them with our younger brothers and sisters and others we recruited to help us. In retrospect, I realize we always had an audience because we produced wonderful comedies. Even our tragedeies were comedies. One, I remember very vividly. It started out with "Pandora" sitting fanning herself and suddenly a pig walked in. This was a talking pig that turned into Prince Charming, shades of today's books, Charlotte's Web and Babe In The City, and this was about 70 years ago.

We had one play where the hero was a Superman type. Across from my home was a lot where the house had burned down and the place had reseeded itself into a jungle. In our play, the hero chased the bad guys all the way through the jungle and the capture ended in the barn at the bottom of the lot.

During the chase, the audience followed the actors all of the way at a fast run, with the little ones yelling. "Wait!" We hadn't yet mastered the moving or the changing of the stage and props. Of course, our largest audience was made up of our little siblings. and their friends.

Another time, Jo and I made up an Indian dance. The dance was ceremonial and supposedly was performed around a camp fire. We made mock suede or leather costumes from gunny sacks and spent hours cutting all of the edges into strips two inches long to stimulate fringe. We performed the dance at a school program. Word got around about this "great dance" and we were invited to dance at a high school assembly. They clapped, stomped, whistled, and encored us. We were convinced that our dance was fantastic, and so came to the conclusion that our most appreciative audience would be the Indians themselves.

They had come to town a short time earlier to harvest pine nuts, as they did each year. We sneaked out after dark and went to their camp above town. We crept from one sagebrush to another, whispering to each other as we found our next concealment. Bear in mind that there were people in town who had experienced hostile Indians, and we were frightened by tales we had heard.

The Indians saw us, of course, and beckoned us in. We did our dance for them and they yelled and stomped. We were simply flabbergasted! I can still see the big fat chief (there really was one). He rolled back and forth on the ground, laughing so hard that big tears were running down his dark, fat cheeks. Then we really were petrified, but they just gave us some pine nuts and escorted us part of the way home. "Old Charlie" couldn't wait for Dad to go to the corral the next morning so he could tell him about it. Dad explained to us later that if the dance had not been "so good", we could have insulted them because they were so proud and so brave. I learned a great lesson. Of course, all experiences are a part of the learning process, good and bad, but what an adventure it was!

Theresa speaking:

Jo's older sister Bea, and I, always wished we could be as brave and forward as our younger sisters, so when we heard Edna and Jo planning this caper, we decided we would follow them. It wasn't until we were almost there that I discovered we were also being followed. Yep, our little "tag-a-long" was my little sister, Martha. We were afraid that if we took her home, we would miss "the show", so we told her that she would be in "big trouble" if she made any noise. We were amazed at how brave Edna and Jo were. We were scared to death and couldn't wait to be home, snuggled into our warm pajamas and comfortable beds.

A bit of trivia to go with this story:

Edna and Jo attended BYU. While there, they tried out, and were accepted, as part of BYU's dance team. Hmmm, I wonder if when they had to perform an original dance in competition, did they do their Indian Dance?

Jo married Sherman Hinkley, President Gordon B. Hinkley's brother. Jo"s brother Don, married President Hinkley's sister, Sylvia.

Words From Martha, A "Tag-A-Long" Little Sister. . .

The other day, I was thinking of some things we used to do for entertainment as children growing up in Panaca. There was no such thing as television and many people did not even have a radio. We made our own fun, and there was plenty for all.

Play acting and story telling - what fun we had with that! Some of our plays were really great. My sister Edna, and cousin Jo, were something else. They would pull back the curtains to the stage and away we would all go - the audience running to keep up with the actors. This could envolve several town blocks . These were very original stories that no one wanted to miss. I remember one "swell" one. It went like this - Pandora sat fanning herself and all of a sudden a pig walked in! Now is that a good opener, or what?

A favorite time was when the Indians came through twice a year. The tribe spent weeks gathering pine nuts. Few people realized that the chief had attended the BYU Academy and was an educated person. He had been sent to school so he would be ready to lead his people.

We all, the children anyway, thought he was a fierce person. He thought we were one "crazy" tribe. My father always made sure there was work for the young chief so he could furnish sugar, flour, and other necessary items for his people. A couple of my siblings, a cousin and I, used to creep away and hide in the shoulder high "rabbit" brush so we could entertain them. We felt very brave and smart and I remember the great laughs we received. My cousin and sister spent hours on "gunny sack" dresses that were frayed and decorated with beads. The whole purpose of this operation was to dance "Indian" around their fire. How the chief would laugh and I would burrow deeper into the brush and hide "plenty".

When the chief came to weed and thin the new plants for dad, it became my duty to talk "Indian" so he would know how to communicate with us. How he would laugh at my weird utterings, grunts, and so on. I could lay him in the aisle everytime. Because he was Dad's good friend, he put up with our nonsense.

Foster Charles/Charlie Foster. . . .

In several of my stories I have written about Foster Charles, also
called Charlie Foster. He was the Indian Chief who was a good friend
of Dad's. He and his tribe came to Panaca each year when it was time
to harvest the pine nuts from the Pinon Pine trees that grew in great
profusion on the Panaca summit.

Several months ago, in an e-mail, Bruce asked me if I knew what had
happened to the Indian Chief that was Dad's good friend. I wrote Leo
hoping that he could tell me some of the history of Charlie. I received
an answer from him with the following information:

In the 1870's, the Utes, including Paiutes and Chivwits, had decided
to start another war against the whites that were taking over Utah,
Southern Idaho, Northern Arizona, and Eastern Nevada. The wars
of the 1850s and 1860s were still fresh in memory, but the Indians
had not really been beaten. Although they could not get a real
movement going, it looked like they were going to try again. A minor
war chief went to our Great Grandfather Terry and to our Great
Uncle, Charles Foster. These two men had married sisters, aunts of
our grandmother, Eliza Jane Terry Wadsworth. The chief told the
two men that he had to answer the call. At that time, honor to the
Indians meant more than to many whites.

The chief stated that he knew it was a losing cause and that the anger
would be such that he was afraid for his family. He wanted those two
good friends of his to take his two children and raise them as their own.

Uncle Charlie had not the large growing family that Thomas Sirls had,
so he took both of them. It was necessary that they be given white
people's names. He reversed the names of him and his wife. Using
those names, he had the children baptized and sent them to school.
They evidently were good students. Uncle Charlie sent them to the
BYU Academy. The way I remember it, after one year the girl
returned home, "back to the blanket", and married. Foster remained
at school for two years in Provo. He stayed very strong in the
church. When he was in Panaca, he never missed attending.
He looked upon Granddad Nephi as a cousin.

After granddad died, Foster continued to bring his family to Panaca
each year as soon as school was out in the St. George area. His three
older sons worked for some of the men in Panaca, mostly for Dad
and his brother, Uncle Frank.

Through the government in Washington D.C., the Bureau of Indian
Affairs and the Department of Interior had been in charge of building
houses for the Navaho's and Hopis in Arizona and New Mexico.
Several clusters of small, square cement homes were built on the
Chivwits Reservation west of Santa Clara, Utah. But rather than
the Indians falling on their knees in thanksgiving, as had been
expected by the government, most of them were not interested.
In the beginning, government representatives selected "leaders"
from the Indians to contribute their thoughts and ideas on the
venture. Accord was never reached between our government
and the Indians. Due to that, and the lack of interest by the Indians,
most of the houses were never lived in and fell into ruin.

Foster with a better than average education, his father's status
in the Indian Nation, influence in politics because of his
foster families, and because the three Indian tribes trusted him,
had been chosen to be a leader. Figuratively though, like his
sister, he "went back to the blanket". Besides seeing him when he
came to Panaca with his tribe, Dad went through the reservation
fairly often to see him and thus remained in touch.

Leo said he doesn't remember Foster coming to Panaca after 1935.
He clarified that year with a ?, meaning he is not sure of the year.
I think Charlie had to have returned into the late 1930s as I have
vivid memories of him and his tribe together on the porch of the
Wadsworth store on several occasions. I remember how nice they
all were to me because I was James' daughter. I also have vivid
memories of playing with one of the little Indian girls who was my
age. If they quit coming in 1935, I would have only been four years
old and I don't think my memories would be so strong and clear.

Leo said Peter, Charlie's (Foster's) youngest son and he, were
good friends. After the tribe quit coming to Panaca, Leo said he
would see Peter once-in-a-while at horse race meets and rodeos.
He was always very friendly and happy to see Leo, but outside of
that, he didn't seem to want to socialize

Anther point of interest is that the second husband of our second
cousin Nell Wadsworth, was Charlie Foster's youngest son.
Leo said he had some good visits with him at Wadsworth and
Stewart reunions in the Las Vegas area where they lived. He
said he has often wondered why this man didn't keep track of the
Foster Charles family as that family meant so much to Uncle
Charles Foster.

I hope the Foster Charles/Charlie Foster references in this story
are not totally confusing to you. Our family always referred to him
as Charlie Foster rather than Foster Charles.

Charlie and his tribe were an important part of my childhood. I
loved it when they would assemble at the Wadsworth store. I
was fascinated with their gentle nature, the sound of their soft
conversation in their own language. I loved the vivid colors in
their clothes, the women's long dresses, the ribbons and beads
braided into the little girls hair, and the haircuts the men and
boys sported. I was enthralled with the papooses sleeping in
their beautiful cradle boards.

Thank you, Leo, for this wonderful information. I would love to
know where Charlie is buried. I am sure it is in the St. George
Santa Clara area. I am going to do some research on this.

I'm Back. . . .

I can't believe it has been six months since I last posted. The first
problem was an inability to post pictures. I didn't want to post my
stories without the pictures that go with them. I still haven't
solved the problem. We are working on it and hope to solve it
soon. For now, I will write stories that will not be posted with
pictures. The second problem is that I got sick. It has been a
longer recovery than I expected and I have not been able to
focus.


Thank you for your patience. I haven't forgotten all of my loyal
followers and I hope you haven't forgotten me.