Emily Estella was a lovely lady with a kind touch and a
pleasant chuckle. She always loved
children and was totally loyal and devoted to her family.
She was named after her mother, who was called Emily, and so the family
called her 'Stella. (But, it was
always written Estella.)
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Emily as a Child |
In her words: I was born in Ogden, Utah, on June
12, 1901, one of 13 children born to Emily Millgate Oborn and Heber Charles
Oborn. I was one of many brothers
and sisters, this making my life full and happy.
Mother had 9 living children, but had 13 altogether.
We lost 4, but we always counted them, anyway, in our family.
We lived and grew up at 1141 - 23rd
Street, in Ogden.
My parents were Mormon immigrants who traveled to the United States from
England to join the Mormon pioneers in Utah.
I'm grateful each day for my parents and my
grandparents. I had a beautiful
family. All the ancestors we know
on both sides were of English descent. And
they all had to give up what they had to come to America.
I am blessed with a heritage to be proud of. (For more details, see Heber
C., Emily Millgate and Mary
Swaffield Hackwell Oborn histories.)
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Heber Oborn |
Emily Millgate |
My father was Heber Charles Oborn, and my mother was Emily
Millgate Oborn. They both came from
England. They were married in the
Logan Temple, making their large family blessed by being born under the
covenant. Their marriage was an
extremely happy one.
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John Joseph Oborn |
Mary Swaffield Hackwell |
My
grandfather, John Joseph Oborn, let his two boys come to America first.
They each came separately from England as young men.
These boys were Joe and Heber, our Father.
There were 7 or 8 children in the family.
The girls waited until their parents came to America, a year after my
father, Heber, came across the ocean.
Joe and Heber pioneered in Bear Lake [at the Utah/Idaho state
border] and helped to establish the church there.
My father worked in Bear Lake twice, once with his brother Joe, on the
railroad and later, dry farming with my mother when they were beginning their
family.
My mother was born and lived on the Isle of Sheppy, on England's sea coast near London. Her parents joined the church, and her father became Branch President of Faversham. There were five children born to their family, and three lived to come to America: a daughter, May, age 3; my mother, Emily, age 11; and a son, Alfred, 18 years old.
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William Millgate |
Mary Chambers Fekins |
My Mother's parents wanted to come to America, but they
didn't have the money. Mother's
Aunt Matilda was coming to America on an immigration vessel, so my grandmother,
Mary Fekins Millgate, took out the front windows of her house and made a store
out of the front room to help earn money for their voyage. Because they lived near the school, she sold pencils, candy,
and paper to the school kids. She
made enough money to send the three children on the boat to America with this
aunt and uncle so they could go to school in America. Grandmother Millgate wanted to come to America, too, but she
died before she could get there. After
Grandmother died, my Grandfather was finally able to come.
I felt my Grandmother Millgate had a lot of
courage to give up her children to come to Utah, in a foreign country, for the
gospel, and send them here alone. And,
she was going to come the next year, but she got pneumonia and died and was
buried in England [before she could come].
But, I'm not big enough to do that--I couldn't send my children. I love them too much. They
must have truly loved the gospel to do that.
Mother came first from England, when she was 11.
She sailed with her Aunt Matilda and took the new railroad west; then she
stayed with her Uncle John in Salt Lake until her Uncle Ralph came for her.
From Salt Lake to Fillmore, they traveled by covered wagon. Aunt Emily and Uncle Daniel Ralph took up a farm in Fillmore,
Utah (near St. George), and Mother helped them on the farm there, because they
didn't have any boys to help. And that's where Mother lived her first years.
One of her jobs was raising silk worms.
Two years later, Mother's older brother, Alfred, came over from England
and settled in Ogden and worked, where he made enough money to have his little
sisters, Emily and May, come to live with him.
My parents each lived in Ogden for a while, then they met
in the ward choir. One of their
favorite things among the young people of those days was surprise parties.
They would get together and bring all the food, and then show up at
someone's door and spend the evening laughing and playing games.
My parents married in the Logan temple.
The Salt Lake Temple wasn't finished yet.
My Grandfather Oborn brought his family here from England on an
immigration boat, uniting his family in America a bit at a time.
First Joe came, and then Heber followed two years later. When Heber
arrived in Utah in 1881, he set out to find his brother, Joe, who was working to
build the Short Line Rail Road around Bear Lake. The brothers met in Wyoming, and their meeting was a joyous
surprise to Joe, who didn't know his brother had come to the US.
They worked together all summer on the railroad.
A year later, when
Grandfather Oborn came to Utah, he bought a block of land from the city of
Ogden. He gave some of it to my
Father so he and Mother could build a home right next door.
My father's brother, Joe, remained in Bear Lake to homestead up there.
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Salt Lake Temple Dedication Ticket |
When my parents had two little boys, the Salt Lake Temple
was being dedicated, and my parents traveled to Salt Lake for the dedication.
They were in the Hosanna Shout. Did
you know they have this whenever they build a new temple?
Everyone throws a white handkerchief in the air and shouts, "Hosannah,
Hosannah!" I was in the Los
Angeles Temple Hosanna Shout.
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Dingle Idaho Pioneers (large 1.8MB) |
I was the ninth one born in the family.
I have two older brothers who died young.
One was Heber, and one was Earl. Heber
died before Mother and Father moved up to dry farm and homestead in Dingle,
Idaho, to pioneer there. That's
right on Bear Lake--Dingle and Paris are close.
They stayed up there two winters. But
the conditions were so rough, and it was so cold.
They lost Earl while they lived there, and Lorene was born there.
Mother said she had one baby dress that little Lorene
could wear to church. In potato
season, she used potato starch to make the material stand up straight, but
otherwise, starch was hard to get. And,
she would wrap the little dress in paper and hang it on the wall, like it was a
picture. Lorene could only wear it
on Sunday.
Father joked about the jack rabbits being so thick at Bear
Lake that he would take his rifle out in the evening, just before dark, when the
jack rabbits were eating up his hay. He
would shoot one of them and get a dozen, there were so many lined up together.
Mother and Father lived on jack rabbits, mostly, for meat.
And, they grew lots of vegetables to eat.
They had so many hardships in Dingle.
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Ralph Lillie Clermont Ernest Albert Lorene Verna Father Mary-Lila Mother Emily Oborn Family |
My parents came back from Bear Lake, down into
Ogden, and moved into the house next to Grandpa Oborn, where I was born.
It was a wonderful life to live next to my grandparents.
Of the Oborn children who lived, we had a brother Ernest, Lorene, then a
sister Lilly, and a brother, Albert. Verna
was the next one, then Clermont, then myself.
Then, later on, we had two more babies that didn't live, and then, six
years later, I had a brother, Ralph. Last
of all, came Mary Lila.
Between our house and our grandparents', they made a big, double driveway
to the store from the property out back where we used to play [and Father had his garden]. They
had a lot of property--it was like a farm.
We had every kind of berry bush, and we grew all kinds of animals and
produce for our family. Father thought that big, double driveway, might be
useful some day. It was, because
the American Food Co. finally bought the center of the field in back, using the
driveway for trucks. It brought a
good price.
I can remember getting our first electric lights--just
a big bulb at first. When I was
four, we had just a big lamp on the table.
Before electric lights, people used candles, oil or gas lamps.
When I was very small, I especially loved my father.
For some reason, I was a great deal like my father, and I loved to be
with him. And, he loved, me, too.
If I was a good girl, and I tried to be, to please him, I used to go to
the Ogden Tabernacle Choir with him. He
would call, "Come on, Blinks". Then,
he would fix my hair up pretty, and off we would go to the Ogden Tabernacle or
other places. I just wanted to be
with him. I would sit down on the
stairway, by the organ, and play with my dolls while he sang in the choir.
This gave me precious time with my Dad, just me.
A friend of Mother's from Australia was childless and wanted
to have a daughter of her own. She
wrote and asked Mother if I could come to Australia and be her daughter, because
Mother had nine children, and she wouldn't miss one, would she?
This was tempting at first, because I could have been a rich girl and
lived on a big ranch in Australia, but then I decided not to go.
My brother, Ralph, was six years younger than I, and I tended him
a great deal. One naughty
experience I had: The Primary put
on a big operetta in the Ogden Theater downtown, and Mother was working with the
Stake Primary to put it on, and I wanted to be in that play, too.
My brother was just a baby in a buggy, and I was six
years older, so I was supposed to be old enough to take care of him. I loved him, and I did take care of him, but I wanted to be
in the play. So, one day Mother was
leaving for Primary, and she said that I would have to stay and take care of
Ralph. I said I wouldn't and
stamped my foot. She said, I have
to go, and you have to take care of Ralph.
So, she said she would give me a penny if I would stay and take care of
Ralph, nice. I said, "I don't
want a penny--I want to go to Primary."
She gave me a penny, and I threw it back at her, because I was so
naughty. So, I had to be paddled
and stayed home without my penny and took care of Ralph. But, Ralph was mine to tend, and I loved him very much.
He was a happy youngster.
To make up for this, Mother said, during the play,
I'll get you a seat so you can see it. I'll
get you a special seat. I tried to
make that do. I was quite envious
because all my friends were getting costumes made.
And, Mother made costumes for the boys and girls in the neighborhood.
When the night of the play came, my seat was there, and I was going to
go. But, in the front door came my
dear Uncle John, Father's brother, and we all loved Uncle John.
We were happy when he came. Mother
talked to me, and said I should let Uncle John have my seat at the play because
he can't see or hear as well as you can. So,
I said, okay, but I wasn't too willing. I
had planned on that seat a long time. But,
I was always glad I gave my seat to him. I
got to go, but I sat way up in the tip-top in the back of the theater, but I got
to see it. I could see, and I could
hear.
Uncle Sam (Samuel Oborn Jr. 1832) was another brother of Father's, and he lived back
of Grandma's house. He was a nice
old man. He used to give us kittens
and saved candy for me. Mother said
I couldn't have the candy until I brought it home and showed it to her. So, I did--I held it in my grubby hand till I got home.
My mother would always take it from me and give me something else.
I often wondered why I couldn't have Uncle Sam's candy. When I got older, I realized that Uncle Sam had kept it in a
pocket that wasn't too clean, and Mother was trying to be clean.
I had a good Mother. She was
very good to me.
Living by my grandparents was a great blessing in that when
there was illness in the family, instead of sending for the doctor like people
do nowadays, my parents believed in the church and felt that's all they needed.
We had scarlet fever, and all kinds of illnesses.
My father would get Grandpa, and they would give us a blessing, and we
overcame things that were wrong. We
were always taught Faith. The
gospel was our mainstay, and we got better.
The only thing that didn't get better was Mary's condition.
When Grandpa Oborn was alive, and we all had scarlet fever, we were very
sick. Ralph was just three months
old, and he was really sick. We
never had a doctor except then, because Ralph was so sick.
We always just had Grandpa come over and give us a blessing, and we got
better from everything because we had our blessings.
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Before Fire |
Rebuilt |
Our first home was not too large, but it was always large enough
for us all. Our home caught fire on
one Saturday afternoon. When I was nine years old, and Ralph was three, it was
Saturday and Verna's birthday, and we did all the housework.
Because we did such a nice job, we each got a dime to go down to the
picture show.
Going down to Lester Park, the fire engine wagon was going fast the other
way, up 25th Street. For some
reason, I had a feeling there was something wrong at home.
My sisters kept telling me, "No, you're all right.
Let's go to the show!" So,
I went to the show with them, but the feeling didn't leave me.
I put my head on the seat in front of me and didn't look at the show.
When the show was over, we went over to Mr. Picket's, our grocery man,
and Mr. Picket gave us a sack of candy. He
said, "Did you girls know what happened at home today?
Your house burned up." It
was to our house, the fire engine went! The
man next door ran over and got our piano out, and our dining room table.
They were both scarred and burned, and the house was gone.
When we came home from the picture show, Lillie and Verna and I found our
home completely burned up.
Mother had been cleaning Verna's dress with gasoline.
She put the pan on the dining room table, and this wool dress had a silk
piping around the collar. She
rubbed the collar, and a spark from the silk piping caught on fire, and it blew
up in her face. Mother was burned
real bad, her face and her arms. The
telephone was right there by her, but she couldn't use it.
She dashed out the front door and fell down on the streetcar tracks. The motorman stopped the streetcar, ran into the house, and got the fire department. So, of course, the fire had a good start before the fire department got there. Mother was ill for quite a while.
We children had no where to go. I
stayed with Pearl Clark, my friend, and she had to give me some of her stockings
to wear. Everyone was real good to
us.
Father didn't have any insurance, and so all the men from church, and his
friends from work, all worked on that house every night, and by Thanksgiving
day, we were back in the house. There
were still saw horses around and ladders, but we all had beds.
Father was grateful to have his family back together again. We had been treated very kindly by friends and neighbors in
the church. The Priesthood men
helped Father build a new home. Our
new home was larger, and we had an upstairs now.
So we enjoyed more room and more comforts.
My Mother was very active in the Primary organization, and I
began to help her at an early date. At
eleven, I learned to play marches on the piano and played them for the children
as they went to classes. I sang and
took part in Primary plays, loving this very much.
After I graduated from Primary, I stayed on as secretary, helping in many
ways. When my sister, Mary, was
born, I always had her with me, so I worked in Primary a long time.
I loved her dearly, and she was handicapped and not able to get all from
life. It was my pleasure to take
her everywhere with me.
Children were always under my care for as long as I could
remember. My biggest experience was
when I had to take care of my sister, Mary.
She was a little crippled sister. She
was born December 22, 1916, when I was 15 years old and Ralph was nine.
She was a beautiful child, and very small.
Mary was my constant companion for all the years she lived.
She was like my very own.
I was in junior high school and supposed to be big enough to help take
care of this little baby sister. I
took two years off school to help Mother at home with the new baby, who was born
with spinal bifida. She was born
with her spine 3 inches too short, and the fluid didn't run up and down her
spine as it should have done. She
had a large lump at the end of her spine which could not be bumped.
The doctors told us that she wouldn't live too long, but we could enjoy
her as long as she lived.
The doctor said Mary was mine when she was born, because my mother was in such bad health and couldn't take care of her. For Mary's first two years, I was her mother. And while she slept, I was the worker in the house, and on Saturdays, my sisters helped, but my mother couldn't do much, because her health was gone. My mother could do small things like wash dishes. Mary slept with me and came with me in all the things I ever did.
My father bought her a wicker cart.
I would put a big blanket in it and we wheeled her everywhere: to
Primary, to school, and on dates. She
became part of my life.
I can remember hurrying home from school, and then I would take her to
Primary in her cart or anywhere else that I might be going.
She was mine to guard and love for as many hours a day as I could give
her.
We took her to the Children's Hospital in Salt Lake, and they had doctors
from the Mayo Clinic come and see her. They
told us she would live till she was seven if she stayed the way she was.
But, if she was operated on, it would help her to have the fluid run
better. But, she wouldn't be able
to sit up and play and walk any more, she would have to stay in bed all the
time. So, Mother and Father felt
that wasn't the proper decision; that it was better not to operate.
So, she could play with the other children in the house quietly, but she
couldn't play outdoors, roughly. But,
she could walk, and she was happy. She
was extremely bright and beautiful, and learned easily.
She couldn't go to school because her body didn't function properly.
But, she was a beautiful little sister.
She died from her complication a year after my marriage.
We were taught everything was from our Father in Heaven.
We had home night even then, and we had a big table, and we would turn
our chairs around and kneel at the table on our knees at every meal.
We strictly observed the Word of Wisdom, and on Sundays, we could go for
walks with my father, but not on hikes. My
father would tell us about nature, but we couldn't be wild on Sundays.
We had to keep the Sabbath Day holy.
I'm grateful for my upbringing.
Church was just a block and a half from us. We went first to the 4th Ward; it was divided, and when I was
baptized we were in the Sixth Ward; then, when I was a teenager, it became the
13th Ward, always living in the same house.
Mother and Father, by that time, were into genealogy.
But Father was always with the music, and he still had the choir. And,
Mother and Father used to sing duets together.
My sisters played the organ and the piano. I learned piano, too, but I didn't get good enough to play
[except for Primary]. Instead of
practicing, I was holding my little sister on my lap.
They built a big tabernacle in Ogden, so we had our
own Tabernacle Choir. My oldest
brother, Ernest, played the organ for the Ogden Stake Choir.
He was a really good musician. So,
as I grew older, my parents sent him to college to study music back East.
Ernest taught music lessons, too.
When I was a little girl, I knew I had a good voice.
When they had special conferences, I can remember standing up in the
Tabernacle singing, and my brother playing the organ for me.
In later life, thyroid took my voice for a while, so I couldn't sing as
well. But, I always enjoyed singing
and always sang in choirs and to my children and grandchildren.
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Heber & Emily & Family Traveling |
At The Beach |
We lived close to the rocky mountains, so all of my childhood
was spent wandering over the hills and mountains.
I love the outdoors and all nature with a deep love.
I like to feel and be outdoors. As
a girl, I loved to climb the mountains with my brothers, and Ben Lomond
mountain, near Ogden, was a real favorite.
In my early youth, I remember the fields of sage brush, the
fields of lucerne, and the old mill pond where my brothers and I waded in the
water and sailed on rafts across it. I
have always enjoyed the outdoors, all of nature.
We had lots of room to roam. Grandfather
Oborn lived next door, and they, together, owned much of the block, so we could
roam all over.
My older brother, Clermont, and I were great pals and constant
companions. He made me a baseball
star, an ice skating champ, and an outdoor girl, riding bikes.
In the summer, I would go flying down the hill on my father's bike, and
then would have to walk back up to the top again.
We lived at the foot of big mountains, and in the winter evenings,
Clermont would coax me to come out and sleigh ride with him or go skating.
During the winter months, when the streams coming out of the mountains
would freeze in the ponds, we would hike to the foothills of the mountains to
ice skate.
Clermont was a great skater. He
wanted me to be as rough-and-tumble as he was.
And, I did a pretty good act. Above
Ogden, we would go down the dugway [a
steep, dirt, one-lane road carved into the mountain side wide enough for one
wagon or a horse] down to the pond. It was just the shape of a milk pitcher,
so we called it the Cream Pot. The
boys would build fires around the edge, to keep skaters warm in the winter, and
we would skate here and keep warm by the fires when we got cold. That was a pretty good sized pond. Then, there was a trickle of water that ran down to a great
big Mill Pond where that big wheel turned to make the flour for the whole city.
It was in back of the cemetery.
Clermont played hockey a lot. He
would hold his hockey stick, and I would take hold of the end that bent, and he
would pull me all down this little crick. It
was all full of waterfalls and bumps and bubbles, and we would fly down four or
five blocks. When we got to the
great big mill pond, that was smooth, and real good skating.
He would skate as fast as he could,
then he would give me a whip, and I would just sail through the air.
He got the biggest kick out of sailing me down that mill pond.
Then, a bunch of us would play crack the whip on the mill pond.
A big string of us all took hands. Then,
it was my turn to get on the end, and they would leave go of me, and I'd sail
for a block or more. That was the
closest I ever came to flying, but it was fun.
Clermont would bawl me out so I wouldn't be scared--I had to be tough. We were outdoor kids. We
went skating and coasting all the time. My
folks were good when I wanted to go outside, and they would watch Mary.
We went up on the lower slopes of the mountains, too, and
coasted down with sleds. We'd get
on the sled, and we would coast down the hill, between the rocks at night.
We didn't hit any boulders. Clermont
would lay down on the sled, then I would lay on top of him with my hands under
his arms and hold on. Then, I would
put my knees in between his legs and, down we would go, down these steep hills. My knees would fall off the sled, and I would be flying
through the air, down that mountain side.
We had great big schooners the boys would make. They put one sled on the front and one sled on the back, and
a great big two-by-four in between the sleds.
The guy on the first sled guided it with ropes.
We got seven or eight people together, and we came down some of the great
big hills on these big schooners. One
night, we went down on that schooner, and I sat between the driver's legs, and
we hit a tree. I couldn't walk for
two or three days--I thought I'd never walk again!
In the summertime, at the base of Ogden mountains, I
climbed the tallest peak around Ogden with Clermont.
He had a little black and white dog named Butts with kind of short hair.
We put a strap on Butts, and he pulled me up, or I couldn't have made it.
Clermont had a paper route, and they had one of the worst storms.
We had quilts over the doors and windows, and the snow would still come
in. Butts would always help
Clermont with his paper route--he had to go out, snow or not.
He delivered some of his papers, but the wind blew so hard, it took the
papers off the sled, and Clermont couldn't see to get home.
He took his belt off and tied it to the dog's collar and took his
handkerchief out and put it over his face and told the dog to go home.
And, the dog brought him home. When
Clermont got home, we took the quilt off the door.
We were so happy to see him! Because
it was such a terrible night. He
came inside, and the dog's saliva, running out of his mouth was all icicles, it
was so cold. But, he got Clermont
home safely.
One day, Butts died. And, we
had the biggest funeral for that dog, because he was so loved.
He was so faithful to Clermont.
When
Ralph was a young boy, he had a big, black and white spaniel.
They used to hitch him up to a cart, and he would pull the little kids
down the street. That was really
fun for the kids. Ralph had a black
dog later, that he called Coalie that he loved very much.
We had the cow shed where the manger was, and when we played
games out at night, we would hide in the cow mangers and in the hay loft.
Our barn had a sloping roof.
My brother, Clermont was always teasing me.
I did all the fun things of life with him. We chased over all the hills and we climbed all the trees and
walked all the fences and did everything together. One summer day, it was hot and dusty, and he asked me if I
knew that if you put brick dust under your arms, you could fly.
And, being such a wonderful brother, I felt that anything he said was the
truth. So, I sat busily on the
steps, Ralph and I, and broke up some bricks and got some brick dust.
I guess I wasn't too trusting. I
went in the house and got Mother's umbrella that I thought might help me to fly
further. So, I put the brick dust
under my arms and took the umbrella, and jumped off the roof of the barn.
I sailed down, and I didn't hurt anything.
It was soft dirt. And, he
was over, behind the steps, laughing his head off at me.
I learned you couldn't fly with brick dust.
Clermont and I were like twins--we liked to sleep
together when we were little. For
Christmas, Clermont got a cute little hatchet, which he liked very much. I got a new little doll for Christmas. We were playing with these dolls, and we lined them up behind
the bed. There was a place between
the bed and the wall where we made a doll house.
My brother said, "Let's play that this bunch over here are
Indians." I wasn't much of a
blood and thunder person, but I went along with him.
When we moved the dolls, he said, "This one's captured and has to
have her head cut off". I
didn't like that part at all. But,
because he said it and he was my favorite brother, I said, "Well, I guess
it has to be!" So, he chopped
her head off! Mother came in and
saw us. She got after him for such
a thing as to cut off a doll's head! He
said that's what hatchets were for. He
had his hatchet later, but he didn't have it the rest of that day.
My parents were both great genealogists--they
did so much of it while I was growing up. They
were head of genealogy. And, they
spent a lot of time in the Salt Lake Temple, too.
Inside the temple was a long hallway.
They called it the Temple Annex. And,
when you would go in the door of the annex, you had to take off your shoes and
wear white stockings. I had to be
dressed in white, too, and stay in this annex where there were benches and
everybody's coats and shoes and suitcases.
I would stay there and play all day long while my folks went to the
temple.
Then, after, we would go to Uncle Alfred's house in Salt
Lake. He was my mother's brother
who came from England with her and took care of her when she was young.
He lived in Salt Lake then. We
would go to his house and spend the night, usually, then go on home.
I would try to sleep with my cousin, Dora.
But, instead of sleeping, as soon as my father went to bed, I would
always sneak in and curl up in his arms, and he always let me stay.
I always liked to be near him.
Because I loved the outside so much, I preferred the outside
work or tending of children to the work in the house.
My oldest brother was married, and he had children.
There were quite a few nephews and nieces there, as I grew up in the
latter end of Mother's family. I
tended Franklin and Ella and Willis and all of their children, and my little
sister. That was my main job, to
take care of all the children.
On Saturdays--we did all the housework.
My older sisters took charge of the housework because they were older
than I. They would tell me to tend
the baby, so I tended the youngsters.
Father always had cows, and gardens and chickens, so it was like
living on a farm. Grandpa had
horses, but we just had cows at our house.
I had to help with the cows. We
had to take that cow up on the mountain to get her enough feed.
Through the summer, Clermont and I would start out in the morning and
take her all over the foothills in the Ogden valley, and let her crop and feed.
When the cow was going to have a calf, we would sometimes stake her out
and then come back and get her. It
wasn't built up--it was an open area.
Every morning before school, we would deliver milk in
the neighborhood in little pans, and the people would pour it out into their
pans. We'd take the pans back home.
We delivered milk to the McGregors and the Brownings.
That was the famous Browning that made the rifles and the knives and
scissors for the pioneers.
When Mother and Father were gone one night, they had
gone on a trip to Portland on a trip with the Choir.
While they were gone, my brother, Albert was taking care of us, and we
heard the awfullest clatter out in front. He
carried the lamp over to the front door, and we opened the front door.
There was a little bit of light under the front door, and we had
forgotten to close up the chickens. Each
of us had to carry two or three chickens back to the hen house and put them back
to bed.
We used to have weasels in the chicken house--they were nasty
little guys. There wouldn't be an
inch of space, but a weasel could squeeze himself real skinny and get in and eat
those chickens.
And, when I would go to the store for candy, Mother would give me
some eggs. We didn't use money.
The lady in the store had one brown eye and one blue eye.
I never stopped thinking about it. But,
she was very nice, and I liked her.
Father had a beautiful garden, and he grew
peonies that were six inches across. He
would put them all in a big tub, and my brother and I would take orders and
deliver them on our roller skates on Decoration Day morning to take over to the
cemetery.
In the summertime, Clermont and I were great
pals--I was a tomboy. I used to go
out and play with the boys out in the field where we had cows, chickens,
raspberries, carrots, peas, and beans. (We
raised the chickens to show, for eating and for eggs.)
I didn't play much with girls when I was young, because my brother had so
many friends, and I just played with his friends, and they were my friends, too.
Clermont was my big fun and biggest interest in my
life. There were parties and
boyfriends, and my grandfather's farm in the back.
In growing up, we had the pleasure of having all of our cousins visit us
and playing games outdoors at night, running in the fields, the great big moon
shining above. When all my cousins
would come to our grandfather's house, next door, we would play all kinds of
games out in the big field behind the houses.
There must have been around 30 of us grandchildren.
All my cousins would run and fall over the sagebrush.
We played "Run, Sheepie, Run", and there were all kinds of
places to hide. We had a ball
living in that place. My Uncle Sam
used to babysit my brother and I, since we were the youngest.
Grandpa sold off a lot of the land around, and the middle of the block he
kept for us to play in. The
cousins, and my brothers would dig dugouts in the ground.
They would build chimneys with a little hole you would have to crawl in
through 4 or 5 feet of tunnel. They
would make a roof on it and then have the smoke come up the chimney.
It was mostly the boys who played out there, but I was always playing
with my brother, so I was the only girl who was allowed in this smokey place.
I would get in there and cook their potatoes for them.
My hair was smokey, and I'd be so grubby, but they made me feel like I
was the honored guest. I thought
about it when I grew up and realized I had been taken advantage of, very rudely.
But, I enjoyed it at the time. The
boys were all good to me.
When I was young, my father worked in the Sunday School
with President David O. McKay, who was the Stake Board President of the Sunday
School at the time. He would come
from Huntsville to our place with my father, and we would give him ice cream.
That was how I got to know him. He
became president of Weber College, and my brothers and sisters went to Weber
when he was president there. But, I
got to know him as a child. Then,
he moved to Salt Lake.
I went to school with Luellen McKay, one of President McKay's sons, and
he was a little older than I.
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Grandma Oborn's House |
My grandparents lived next door.
Grandfather Oborn was a tall, kindly man who loved us, but I didn't get
to know him very well, as he died when I was eleven.
Grandmother Oborn, "Little Grandma", lived all her life next
door to us. She was always a pleasure to us--telling us stories of her
family, and of dear old England--she loved her England.
She was real little, and very jovial, giving us the treats of childhood.
She used to laugh at her name because it was so long: Mary Ellen
Swaffield Hackwell Oborn. And, she
was so small--about four and a half feet tall.
I used to hop over the double driveway between our homes all the time to
go and visit my grandmother. When
she was getting old, we used to take turns going over to take care of her.
The boys had to keep the path clean because she couldn't walk out in the
snow. We would take her meals over
to her and make her fires in the morning and get her breakfast.
We took turns--everybody had a week taking care of Grandma.
She lived until she was 97. She
was a beautiful, little old Grandma and loved us all very dearly.
One summer, the lady across the street came
over. The boys were mowing the
lawn. The little boy put his finger
down in to feel the grass coming up between the lawn mower blades and cut the
end of his finger off. So, we
quickly put his finger back on and put him in a wagon and dashed him down to the
doctor, and the doctor fixed it so his finger grew back on. We thought that was quite miraculous.
I missed two years of school watching Mary and taking care of
the family. I made up one year of
school by taking tests in the principal's office and studying at home while Mary
slept.
I had to go a long ways to school--way down to Madison Avenue, and those
blocks were long. My sisters and
brothers took care of me. I went to
Quincy first, where my cousin, Rhea, lived.
Then, Loran Farr school was built across the field from us when there
were no houses there.
John DeHawn was one of my favorite boyfriends. We used to pick each other for dances over in the Loran Farr
school. I was very small.
At junior high, I had to go way down to Jefferson.
I used my roller skates, and I would roller skate home for lunch.
I was a good skater, and my brother had a bike.
If I didn't have my skates, he would ride me over on his bike.
(Right near the school was Weber College, then.)
So when I got through with Central, I went to Ogden High.
Then, I went out to North Ogden and picked cherries and grapes, apples,
and peaches at Mrs. Pettigrew's. I'd
get up early in the morning to pick fruit all summer long.
We had a babysitting group going, too, and if I had too many jobs, my
friends and I would trade, and that is how we kept so many jobs going.
During high school, the school was in the auditorium having a
special assembly, and the kids had been especially unruly. The principal gave them a big speech about being quieter, and
the next person to make noise would be expelled from school!
Just at that time, my friend and I came in, chattering, and noisily found
some seats. My friend dropped her
books, and I laughed. Immediately, the principal stood up and expelled us both on
the spot. Humiliated, I went home
and refused to go back to school until the principal came to my house and begged
my pardon. With reluctance, he did.
My two older sisters were working, and the other two were going to
college, studying to be teachers. My
brother, Clermont, one year older than I, was working on the farm in Liberty, by
Huntsville. And, that was where he
met Blanche Holms, the girl he was later sealed to in the temple.
Clermont and Blanche were going together when he left on his mission.
Unfortunately, they both died about the same time, but they got to be
sealed in the temple to each other.
Clermont and I were always very close. This lasted until he went on his mission to Tonga.
That was a real hard part of my life, to let Clermont go.
He went to Tonga, way across the ocean.
Tonga was so far away, and there were no airplanes.
Once a month, the steamer would bring the mail in.
They would listen for it, and when the ship got in the harbor, they would
shoot the cannon off, and Clermont would know it was time to go get the mail.
The island was wild--there were wild boars. Clermont liked to sleep on the lawn, but they couldn't because the wild boars were so numerous, and they had great big tusks.
Clermont helped to build the church there.
He taught the school children singing and English.
When he was President of the Haapai Conference, he had to travel all
around the islands in a small boat to visit everyone.
While he was visiting, sometimes there wasn't a place for him to sleep,
so he would sleep on the floor, right on the boards, with his bible for a
pillow. Once, President David O.
McKay came to the islands when he was an apostle.
They had a great, big feast for him; the big, brass band played, and they
were all dressed up in their uniforms, and all the children sang their hearts
out for him.
Clermont's mission was cut short when he died of typhoid fever from
drinking impure water. At a cottage
meeting, Clermont was sitting backwards on a chair.
He laid his head down on the back of the chair, and he died very quietly.
And, on February 14, just before he died, Clermont got the disappointing
news in a letter saying that his girl friend, Blanche Holmes, had just died of
appendicitis.
They buried Clermont next to the king in highest respect. Island fashion, the top of his grave was decorated all over
with small black and white rocks arranged in beautiful rock patterns.
Out of compassion for Clermont and Blanch, their parents, both Oborn and
Holmes, got approval from President
Heber J. Grant to have Blanche and Clermont sealed together in the temple.
After reading their letters to each other, President Grant gave his
permission to have them sealed in the temple for time and eternity.
Ralph was always a fun young man. He always had a smile on his face. One job he had was showing
movies to the little farm communities around Ogden. He would load the camera in the trunk of his car and drive up
the canyon to the little town where he would unload into a hall, change the
marquees out front, set the projector up, go out front and collect tickets, show
the movie, then pack it all up and return home until the next little town.
He also enjoyed riding his motorcycle up the canyons when young Stan came
to visit from Los Angeles, and gave him the thrill of his life. Stan enjoyed going along with his Uncle Ralph to the movies
and for a motorcycle ride when he visited Ogden.
Ralph filled his mission in England, and while he was in Medford, five
miles from Bath, he was able to find the old Oborn grist mill that his great
grandfather, William Oborn, had once owned.
Some of the Oborn descendents still owned the mill, and each sack of
flour bore the name of Oborn on them.
Ralph married his sweetheart, Myrtle Hill, and they
had three boys, Dale, Kent, and Dean. Ralph
didn't live long after that. He
died while working on the railroad as an fireman.
He was on his last trip as a fireman before being advanced to an
engineer. They were going down a gradual grade near Welles,
Nevada, with a heavy load on a winter night. There was a train stopped on the track ahead of them, and
they were slowing down to stop behind it, but the tracks were icy, and the load
was heavy, and the train could not be stopped.
The engineer and others jumped off, but Ralph stayed right with the
train. He was killed when equipment
from the rear caved the cab in. Ralph
died instantly--his hands were still on the controls. That was a very sad day in our family.
When I was 17, Mother got me interested in genealogy, and I
took a course in it. I loved that
very much. [Estella
continued this interest in genealogy all her life. She called it her "genie".]
I still picked fruit every summer and used it for my
tuition for college. I got two years in at Weber, and I graduated from Weber
Normal School [a two-year college]. I
received a Commercial certificate, and went to work in the brick yard office.
After I graduated, Weber moved up on Harrison to a bigger campus.
Now, they call it Weber State
College.
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Estella and Alvin |
When I first met Alvin, it was through the Clark girls.
Our stake mutual had a moonlight hike party.
We walked up into the mountains on the trails.
The Clark girls invited the boys from the Third Ward.
They came up, and Alvin was one of them.
I was with Fred Dellenbach, Alvin's friend, all evening, and I hadn't
felt good--I almost didn't go. But,
Mother coaxed me to go. Part way
up, Fred stopped on the trail and built a bonfire, and he and I stayed on the
trail while the others went on up.
When they came back, some of the others came over to the
fire, and Alvin came too. He had
been looking at me a lot, but we hadn't had a chance to talk.
When we got closer to home, Fred had a car, so we all got in the car, and
he drove us home. Alvin was in the
back seat, and I was in the front seat by Fred. I tried to hold hands with Alvin in the back set to tease him
a little bit. He blushed so fun.
He wouldn't hold hands with me. He
liked me, but he wouldn't have much to say to me.
When we got to the door, Fred asked Alvin, "Why don't you take her
up to the door?" But, Alvin
was too scared.
We had a party over to Bea's house, and I invited Fred and Alvin and
these guys to come up to this party. We
played games, and I was teasing Alvin some more.
So, that night, he really did take me up to the door. I've teased him all my life, because I liked to see him
blush. I still tease him, and he
still blushes.
We got going together, and we used to take
Sunday walks in the foothills. We
walked those mountains to pieces. In
the spring, there were bluebells, three feet tall, and the bluebells were two
inches across. All these bluebells
were growing in the scrub oak, and the hills were covered with sego lilies.
You can even eat the sego lilies, they are so good.
That is what kept the Indians alive.
Hiking up Taylors Canyon, we would pick all these flowers, and we passed
a big stone house on the way up to the waterfall.
After a date with Alvin, I would come in at 1:00 a.m.,
make bread, and get it ready for my mother to put in the oven in the morning.
I was up several times during the night, changing Mary and giving her
drinks of water. She could walk,
but she couldn't play outside; she could play quietly on the floor.
We had to watch Mary closely. She
couldn't bump that bump or she would die instantly.
Everyone was real good to Mary.
Alvin was real good with her, too. When
Alvin and I were dating, we often took Mary Lila along, wrapping her in a
blanket on cold nights. And when we
decided to marry, Alvin bought her a little, gold ring just like mine so she
could pretend to be married, too. She
thought that was really something.
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Marriage Certificate |
I married Alvin M. Sorensen on 20 June 1923, in the Salt Lake
Temple. There were 300 couples
married that day, and we spent all day getting married.
We took my Mother with us to get a dinner and then took her to the train.
We were then on our own. We
have had the most happy marriage--one of the extra special kind that are found
so rarely.
Mary lived with us a lot after we were married, but she lived less than a
year. Mary's sickness was
different, and we didn't figure she could get better.
My parents talked about her condition and knew it couldn't be fixed, and
as Mary grew up, she knew it, too.
Before Mary died, I had a dream one night and left my body.
I turned and looked back at myself, but I went walking by a white house
with a white picket fence. When I
looked, I saw some children playing by the porch.
I looked closely at the children, and one of them was Mary.
I just couldn't believe it! Mary
was there with a nice, older woman, who was tending these children.
The next morning, in the kitchen, I told my mother about this dream.
Mary listened and spoke up and said, "That's where I'm going!"
I said, "Oh, Mary, don't talk like that, honey."
She said, "That's heaven, and that's where I'm going."
And, it wasn't long after this dream that Mary died.
She never murmured about going, but she knew she was going.
Mary lived until she was seven. Before she died, she was given a potted Easter lily that she
loved to watch as it bloomed. One
day, they both folded up and were gone. There
was nothing anyone could do for her. It was time for her to go.
After our marriage, I still worked in the brick yard for a while, but
before long, Bob was on the way, and, besides, married women didn't work outside
the home in those days. I stayed
home and took care of my husband and boys.
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Alvin at Work |
We have always had to work real hard, for making money
wasn't easy for us. Alvin wanted to
be a Machinist, so we planned on this for him.
He took an apprenticeship in the Southern Pacific shops, so we had to
make this work out from the beginning. He
went on further and further with his school, and is now working as a Mechanical
Engineer, owning and operating his own business of designing and building his
machines.
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Bob & Stan |
Just before the depression, Robert Alvin was
born July 9, 1924, and then in 1928, Stanley Oborn was born, both in Ogden.
The great depression hit in 1929, and Alvin and I moved from California
to Utah and back to find work, while work was very hard to find.
We had been living in Art's house, on Porter
Avenue, when the
work gave out [in Ogden]. This was when Bob was three years old. Alvin went to Dunsmuir,
California, to find a job on the
railroad there, and he found us a little place to live.
That was a wonderful experience there.
We were quite alone. It was
a very small place, at the beginning of the Sacramento River.
We used to have a lot of fun finding the spring under the rocks that
began it.
We didn't have any church there. So
we wrote to Salt Lake, and they sent word back and said they would send some
missionaries.
In the meantime, there was a conference in Marysville, and they sent us
the names of 11 LDS people who lived around about the mountains there, and they
asked us to go find them. We
quickly got in our little Ford and drove up the logging camp trails to find all
the people they told us about. The
Gibsons, in Shasta, had a piano, so we decided to have our meetings there.
After we had been to Marysville, we met the missionaries, and a letter
came to set us up as a branch. We
were really excited, because we felt so lost without the church.
When the missionaries came to stay with us to set up the
branch, I didn't give it a thought about what it would cost us to feed them
all--there were about eight of them--young men, ladies, and a couple. It was expensive. But,
I figured up the meals I would have, and what I would feed them.
I spent all the money that I had at the grocery store without giving it a
thought, what I would do for the rest of the month, because we got paid once a
month. Having the missionaries was
the important thing. I had to rent
rooms, too, for the missionaries to sleep in.
I got it all ready, and the missionaries came, and we got the branch all
organized.
The next morning, they were going to leave, and we were out standing by
the gate, and the Gardners were there, the head couple missionaries.
I wanted a pencil to take down their address so I could write to them.
I ran quick back into the house. When
I opened my purse to get a pencil, there was the exact amount of money there I
had spent for the room and for the groceries.
I couldn't believe it! "Did
any of you get into my purse?" They
said, "No, we wouldn't touch your purse."
They weren't even in the house. No
one even knew how much I had spent, not even Alvin.
That has always been a testimony of tithing to me.
Pay tithing, and you won't miss out.
And, it surely is true.
One of the fun things in Shasta was the soda fountain.
We took our lemons over and had pop to drink.
They also had rusty-looking water that we drank for iron because it was
so good for us. We took walks up by
the river, and [Alvin] put Bob up on his shoulders.
Every night, when Alvin came home from work, I would fix us a lunch, and
we would eat in the fir trees. We
could look all over the valley and down the canyon and see Mount Shasta while we
were eating.
Bob used to play with a little Indian girl who lived two or
three houses down. One day, she got
bit by a real long rattle snake. They
kept her drunk to save her life. And,
she lived! after being drunk for three days!
Our back yard was the mountain, and our clothesline, where we
hung our clothes to dry, was among the fir trees.
Alvin would chase me up the mountain in back of the house, just for the
fun of it.
Bob had a bad cold, and I had to go across a little
bridge over the river and across the railroad tracks to go to the grocery store.
It was raining, and Alvin stayed with Bob, while I went over to the
grocery store. When I came home to
go across the railroad tracks, here was a great big freight train blocking the
way. I had a great big sack of
groceries, my purse, and an umbrella, and I found a flat car, so I could climb
over it. I put my groceries on the
flat car, climbed up on top of the flat car, and picked up my groceries and
umbrella. Toot, toot went the
train, and it started up the canyon. There
is no stop after it starts, so it went on up the canyon.
And, I looked to see if I should jump off the train.
I knew I'd better jump now, quick, so I jumped down into the
cobblestones. I got scratched up a
lot, but I didn't break anything. A
few groceries spilled, but I picked them up and went on home.
That was pretty scary.
Alvin was working in the roundhouse.
The engines would come up the canyon to be repaired.
They would put another engine on to climb the hills because it was so
steep. Alvin repaired the engines
and then sent them on to Shasta. Alvin
did very good work. They were
surprised how good he did, being a new employee.
We lived there for a year. Then,
I was expecting another baby, which was wonderful.
But, I wasn't feeling up to par. Alvin's
work quit, so we went back to Ogden where we knew people, and we knew the
doctors.
June 18, 1928, the evening
Stan was born, the doctors gave me very little chance of living, and they
left me in a room all by myself
while they were tending to the new baby. I
was very ill at Stanley's birth. I
had received blessings that I would live, but it didn't seem possible. One
night, when the world was quiet, my brother-in-law, Ivan Chard (who had passed
on about two years before) came to me in the night. I put out my hand to go with him when I remembered my new
baby, and I said, No, I don't want to go, I have a new baby boy to raise.
He smiled and left me. I
don't remember [how long this took], but later in the night, the doctor came in and
said he didn't see how I was still alive, as according to all medical knowledge,
I just couldn't be. He was a
Latter-Day Saint doctor, too. He
realized the blessing I was having. We
had quite a struggle to get Stanley; he was very special.
Both my boys are very special.
First, we stayed with my folks, then we stayed with the Sorensens
for a while. Then, when we got our
new baby, Stanley, we went up to 25th
street, to an apartment house.
"I
have always been active in the church, teaching in the organizations.
I do not know of a time when
I was inactive in any way. My
health has been a big problem to me all my life, and many times I have not known
just what to do to carry on. This
is where I have been greatly blessed because always, my Father in Heaven has
come to my rescue. Answering my
prayers and guiding me into the paths of knowledge to help my body function as
it should...
It took me years to get better enough to be a real mother, though.
I am so grateful I was privileged to live to see the wonderful life that
my sons and husband are living. I
did become better enough to be the Primary President when we lived in Vallejo,
California, when the boys were real small.
We have lived in California most of our lives now.
We came here in 1928 in January, first living in Vallejo, then Oakland,
and then my husband's work at the Moore Business Forms sent him to Los Angeles
in 1937, and we have enjoyed our home here, since. We spent one year in Northern California when Robert was
three years old. This was a lovely
experience, living in this little town up in the mountain.
Right on the edge of the fir trees, and the big Sacramento River.
We have always enjoyed our boys and being together in all the things we
did. Picnics, hikes, and rides out
in the mountains whenever possible. We
didn't get out into the big, high mountains very much, as we have been tied with
our work and my health. We had many
lovely trips and made lots of fun in whatever we did, and with whatever we had.
My husband has been kind and wonderful to me always.
Also to our sons, and we are still a devoted family, living and doing for
each other." From Estella's typewritten, short history, found in her
papers.
After we came to Ogden to live,
we didn't have any work for a while until after Stan was born. So, Alvin tried to sell Holland furnaces.
But, he felt sorry for the guy he was trying to sell furnaces to.
He knew the guy would have trouble digging up money to pay for it. He would go in and ask the people if he could winterize their
furnace. Then, he was supposed to
sell them a new furnace. But, he
felt sorry for them because they didn't have any money, and he would tell them,
instead, "Oh, I'll just clean your furnace and replace a few little parts
here, and you'll be just fine!" They
appreciated it, but Alvin didn't sell many furnaces.
We finally found work in Vallejo, working in the big ship yards
there. He worked in the
machine shop that made parts for submarines.
We went through the big submarine that Alvin worked on.
What a wonderful ship it was! Alvin
was always so proud of his work. But,
to his disappointment, this ship sank on its maiden voyage.
He said, "All that good work, down at the bottom of the
ocean!".
We drove over the big causeway that goes across the water
to Mare Island where they built the big ships.
He worked there for about two years.
Then, came the big layoff. And,
anyone who hadn't been a veteran got laid off.
They loved his work.
We moved over to Oakland in an apartment on College Avenue, just south of the University of California, Berkeley, where Alvin went to school evenings, studying mechanical engineering. He had 18 jobs in two weeks. These were the depression years, and there was no work. He went one place and told them they didn't have to pay him. "Just let me sweep the floor, because it feels good to work." And, they said, "If you're so persistent and you want to work so bad, come on back." And, he did.
Alvin found a steady job in San Francisco in building the new Gas
Company. He used to go across the
ferry, morning and evening, to San Francisco to work.
We moved from the apartments on College Avenue to a little house at 5465
Kales Avenue, not far from the apartment. It
was a little house in a nice neighborhood.
[Their theory was to keep
stretching to put their family in the nicest neighborhood they could afford,
even though it was a small, modest house.]
[Up until this
time, Estella was a very energetic lady. Her
son, Bob, remembers the family going to a church picnic when he was a little
boy. His mother ran a race with the
other ladies, and she won! He even
has a picture of her running over the finish line.
While they lived in Oakland, the doctor told them she needed an
operation. She had a thyroid
disorder and it needed to be removed. After
the operation, she began to have lots of problems.
All of a sudden, she would stiffen, black out, and fall to the floor for
no apparent reason. The doctor who
did the operation went on an extended vacation to Europe and was not available
for consultation. They consulted
Mid, Hap's wife, who was a nurse at the Dee Hospital in Ogden, and she was
instrumental in finding the cause of the problem.
The doctor had taken out the thyroid and most of the parathyroid gland as
well, which threw her body chemistry out of balance.
They now knew what the problem was, but it didn't help, because Estella's
medical doctors still had no solution to her blacking out and told her she would
just get worse. Finally, after they
had moved to Los Angeles, she talked to Dr. Holly [a chiropractor in Vermont
Ward], and he said he would try to help her with natural foods.
He gave her various herbs, cactus, and raw animal parathyroid glands to
eat, along with many vitamins, in an effort to stimulate the parathyroid gland
to rejuvenate itself. She gradually
got better, and her blackouts ceased.
But Estella's health continued to stump the doctors, and they couldn't
seem to help her get completely well. She
felt like she was on her own to get better.
She began to watch her health very closely.
In addition, she developed an enlarged heart, and it began to race a lot,
which scared her. She was afraid
she would have a heart attack and die at any moment.
For the rest of her life, she had to rest more and limit her activities,
but she was up and around most of the time, especially for her family.]
President McKay came to our ward in Oakland
for stake conference when I was real sick.
Alvin took me into one of the stake offices, and President McKay gave me
a blessing so I could be made well. He
had been a special friend of my father's when I was a child. He told me, "Turn to the Word of Wisdom, and you will
live to raise your sons." I
couldn't think of how I could live the Word of Wisdom better, because I already
lived it, so I thought and thought about it.
I began to study nutrition, and I became very good at using vitamins to
make people better. People started
calling me the Vitamin Lady after that, and they phoned me all the time for
advice. I helped a lot of people
that way.
[Some of her loved ones accepted
Estella's vitamin advice and others didn't.
Most of the time, Alvin took vitamins willingly.
But at the end of his life, when Alvin was in intensive care at the
hospital, she continued to bring him vitamins to help him feel better.
Lovingly, he laughed and said, "Estella, I don't want your vitamins,
I just want to get out of here." He
was tired of living, and he was anxious to get on with his activity in the next
life with a new body.]
Alvin worked for the Wire Cloth Company (wire mesh
fencing) in Oakland and fixed all the machines that made the wire fencing.
The head guy asked him to come to the Mason Lodge.
After a few meetings, they showed Alvin all the handshakes and special
things in the Masons. The next
morning, after thinking this over, he said No, he was going to stay with the
church and not join the lodge.
There were a lot of Masons in the Union where Alvin worked.
Then, the Union was after him because he wouldn't conform. He wouldn't march in the Labor Day parade, and he sounded off
in their meetings about their reading a communist newspaper, "The Daily
Worker" at meetings, and they didn't like that.
At work, the superintendent came to him quietly and told him to go home
early one night, because they were going to get him!
He left the Wire Cloth Co. fast and got a job at Moore Business Forms, a
printing company, in Emeryville,
California.
But, they took him on in Los Angeles.
So, we got a rickety, old trailer for our belongings, and traveled down
the coast to Los Angeles.
We weren't ready to go, but we took everything we had. The people in the Oakland Ward quickly got a farewell party
together for us and all signed their names in an autograph book for us that we
kept, always. On the way down the
coast, we stopped at Carmel to see Alvin's sister, Eva.
Upon reaching Los Angeles, Alvin went to work right away.
We tried to find a house to live in, and nobody would rent to people with
two boys. We finally rented a place
at 1340 W. 73rd Street that had a big yard.
We lived there for 16 years. We
later bought the house for $1,500.
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Alvin at Moore Business Forms |
While at Moore Business
Forms,
Alvin designed and built many important pieces of printing equipment.
He was the machine shop foreman there, with his own design room.
He was there 8 or 10 years. Alvin
built an I-beam, steel-framed office in our backyard where he studied his
engineering classes through
correspondence at ICS. Then, he
went to UCLA for some business management
classes. He studied hard at
whatever he needed to learn. Even
though he never got his degree, he
knew as much as people who had their degrees.
When he owned Sorensen
Machinery, Alvin designed lots of special machinery--big printing presses,
slitters, and other labor-saving machinery that would do whatever people wanted
their machine to do. He could
design and build it.
But, anyway, the Moore Corporation back east found out he was not a
degreed engineer, and they wanted to limit him to just the machine shop.
They advised him to start his own business if he needed to design
machinery. So, he did.
He had too much talent to be limited.
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Sorensen Machinery |
As this situation was coming to a head, Alvin's
father passed away in Ogden and left him a $3,000 inheritance from which
he started Sorensen Machinery Development Company in southwest Los Angeles.
They built printing, measuring, gluing, and bindery machines for many
different customers, all over Los Angeles.
Alvin loved the big city and never wanted to move back to Ogden again.
Stan worked with him for many years, and he was part of it, too.
(This is the end of the tape. The
following is taken from Estella's several short histories she wrote during her
lifetime.)
Alvin designed and sold the machines; Stan ran the shop that built them;
Estella kept the books, and Bob used to come in and give his advice on financial
decisions. One reason Sorensen
machinery was not a grand success was that Alvin loved building new machines and
didn't really capitalize on re-making some of the better machines so they could
get their costs down. Estella
always talked about running Sorensen Machinery as "brinkmanship"--on
the verge of getting rich or going broke all the time.
When the boys were in school, Alvin took their
car to work, so Estella never drove. She
often took the bus or took short walks to the grocery store. When they moved to Newbury Park in her 60s, there were no
buses there for her transportation. In desperation, Estella learned to drive,
and she became quite proficient behind the wheel.
Estella delighted in her grandchildren, and she
often sang to them as she rocked them. A
toddler brought a smile to her face as she 'picked' pretend cherries off a
granddaughter's dress and they both chuckled with glee.
Estella had a strong testimony of the gospel and shared it
freely with everyone. She says,
"Through all my life, I have been blessed with a testimony of the gospel.
In childhood, I didn't realize what this was, but as my life has
developed, it has been my most treasured blessing.
I somehow felt in tune with my Father in Heaven.
Through all the childhood illnesses, my prayers were answered, and we
received many healings."
Estella often taught Primary as her boys grew up, "always
choosing a class of boys, as I seem to feel and love working with boys very
much." But she also wrote that
she 'believed mostly in supporting my husband and sons in their positions'.
She was Primary President in Vallejo, Beehive teacher, served on the
Primary Stake Board, and she taught Relief Society for many years.
The position she loved most was being called to officiate in the
Los Angeles Temple just before it was dedicated.
President Bowring called Estella and Alvin March 1, 1956, to serve in the
brand new Los Angeles Temple just before it was dedicated.
They worked twice a week from 3 p.m. in the afternoon and didn't get home
until 1 a.m. most of the time. They
served in the temple close to five years together where they loved serving the
Lord and made many lasting friendships.
"We started doing live work in the temple, and we took all the
parts. We had to study in the
library in the upper rooms of the temple and learn all the parts word for word.
It was written in a book, but you couldn't take the book out, and you
couldn't repeat it out loud. You
could only think it in your mind. It
is sacred, and they don't want people to talk about it.
One of the most sacred parts had to be taught by Sister Bowring in the
last room, and we would stand by the altar, and she would show us how our
clothes should be and what we should say and what would happen.
We had so many good friends from our temple days.
We had wonderful dinners out together.
It's a wonderful calling. It's
the only place in the church that women are given the privilege of blessing
people and saying these blessings."
"The first session of the temple after the dedication was for the
heads of the church from Salt Lake. Alvin
and I were asked to be officiators on this day, and we felt that was such an
honor to officiate at this special time."
One special memory of that day stood out in Estella's mind: They were doing their work on the day the temple was dedicated. Estella took the temple elevator, and as the door opened on her floor, Estella was greatly surprised to see President David O. McKay, their old family friend from her childhood days, standing there, waiting to get on the elevator. He immediately stopped his conversation and, with a big smile, gave Estella a great big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He was delighted to see her, and she never stopped talking about the experience till the end of her life. This was, indeed, a great memory for Estella with a beloved prophet of the Lord in the temple.
Estella and Alvin both loved genealogy work.
Estella had learned to love genealogy from her parents, and showed a deep
devotion to it her entire life. Estella
served as secretary when Alvin was the Genealogy Chairman in the ward.
She always loved the out of doors and looking at beautiful mountains or
ocean scenes. Estella was ill quite
a bit during her life, and from her middle years on, she enjoyed her scenery
riding in the family car.
Estella missed being with her family back in Ogden, and she always
remained close to them through constant letter writing and visiting back and
forth.
Estella liked writing poetry, but she didn't show it to anyone but
Alvin, at the time. When her boys
were growing up, Emily wrote this poem as she mused by her window about those
back in Ogden:
