LIFE HISTORY
OF
DUWAYNE G. SQUIRE
Completed
October 11, 1987
Written by DuWayne Squire
Typed by Verlynn Sheffield
I
was born on the 14th day of January in the year 19-- in our home in
LaVerkin, Washington County, Utah. My parents are Loren DeLance Squire and
Amelia Sanders Squire. I was their fourth son born. After my birth, my parents
had three more sons and three daughters; one of the daughters died at birth. By
descending order, here are the names of my family members: DeLance, Phil, Don,
DuWayne, Jerald, Baby Girl Squire (died at birth), Adrien, Scott, LoRene, and
Sandra.
The births and marriages of my family are as
follows:
My
Father: Loren DeLance Squire, 2
January 1898 My parents were
married
My
Mother: Amelia Sanders, 3 October 1899 on 22 October 1918
DeLance
W. Squire married Dorothy Hirschi
Phil
Ervil married Ruth Hafen,
Don
Sanders married Dixie DeMille
DuWayne
Gilber married Helen Gubler
Jerald
P. married Lorna Hinton
Baby
Girl, 23 Dec. 1930, died at birth
Adrien
J. married Louise Wilcox
Scott
O married Arva Dean Ellett
LoRene
married James Edwin Turner Jr.
Sandra
married Alan Lloyd Howard
My
parents had a baby girl who died at birth between Jerald and Adrien. Also, the
middle initials of some of my brothers are just initials. My parents said they
gave Scott the middle initial “O” because they were “putting out an S.O.S. to
send us some girls.” After seven boys, they finally got their girls!
I
wasn’t very old when I realized how blessed I was to have been born to such
goodly parents with such great brothers and sisters. I felt a deep sense of
pride each time I was asked my name or whose son was I because I soon learned
that my parents seemed to be known by everyone. I could tell they were deeply
loved and respected.
At
a very early age, I developed the desire to do those things which I knew my
parents would approve of and, conversely, avoid doing those things that would
make my parents ashamed. This pride in my family and respect for my parents
made it so much easier to resist many of the temptations which engulf each of
us in our youth. I sincerely hope I am not giving the impression that I was
anywhere near perfect in my youth because, as my friends and associates
witnessed, I did many things which required repentance and brought remorse to
my soul. In fact, my life has been one continual period of repentance. I find
that, as my knowledge of Jesus Christ increases, I am continually recognizing
more weaknesses in my armor that must be atoned for.
It
seems that I have already digressed greatly from reflections of my early youth,
and so I will go back to the beginning and let you be the judge of the type of
young child I was.
At
the time I was born, we lived in an unpainted, old home constructed of wood.
This old house was moved from Silver Reef and reassembled by a Savage family
and Dad bought the home and lot from Mr. Savage who then moved to Toquerville.
The house was set upon posts and rocks which left room to crawl under all parts
of the house and provided many good hiding places where a boy could get filthy
dirty. As you might imagine, there was dry dust an inch deep along with
anything else that the wind could blow under there.
This
brings to mind the Saturday night ritual of bathing. The water was heated in
pots and pans on the wood range in the kitchen, and a number two or three wash tub
was placed by the range where we bathed. Since the entrance to our home came
into the kitchen, we were often embarrassed as visitors came calling while we
were bathing. We only had the stove to partially block us from full view of
anyone in the kitchen. The soap was homemade from pork fat and lie, and, if you
were the third or fourth to bathe, you found the water to be full of grey soap
and dirt curd.
In
spite of these conditions, we always had plenty to eat. I always had the
feeling that we were far richer and better off than our poor neighbors. It wasn’t
until I became older that I realized we didn’t have any more than most of our
neighbors had. I suppose it was the attitude of thankfulness for our rich
blessings constantly portrayed by our parents that gave us a feeling of being
richly blessed and secure.
At
this time in my life, my wardrobe consisted of a pair of overalls for daily
wear and a better pair of overalls with a shirt for Sunday wear. During the
summer months, we never wore shoes or shirts except on Sundays. As I recall,
underwear was a scarcity that we seldom wore.
We
had an outhouse which set back quite a distance behind the house. Beside the
two round holes lay a couple of Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogs which were
used for paper. I hated it when we got down to the slick sheets. I remember it
was a regular ritual to always look down into the holes to make sure there weren’t
any black widow spiders close to the top. You could usually spot them in their
webs deeper in the hole. I can remember a year or two when we had snow in
LaVerkin and when they shoveled the trail to the outhouse I couldn’t see over
the sides of the trail as the snow was stacked as high as I was.
I
always had good friends. My cousin, Mont Sanders, along with John Segler and
Mark and Arlin Jennings were my best friends. We did have our differences at
times, and I well remember how it feels to be ostracized by your friends. That
didn’t happen very often, and I usually had a deep sense or feeling of
belonging and acceptance.
In
the early spring and summer, the wasps and hornets were ever present as they
nested in our sheds and outhouses. They were often seen on our porches sunning
themselves, but I can testify that sometimes they were not seen and on several
occasions I have sat on them and was stung as they protested. On one occasion,
I took a stick and poked at a wasp nest high up in the corner of my
Grandparents’ chicken coop. I can still remember seeing a mad wasp following
straight along the stick at high speed just before he stung me between the
eyes. I must say that I hated those stingings about as much as anything that
happened in my youth.
However,
that does bring to mind the many nights I lay awake crying with an earache or a
toothache. We never went to doctors or dentists, and we never had toothbrushes,
so all of my baby teeth eventually rotted out. Many were the nights that I
cried all night in a cold, breezy bedroom. I say breezy because, as I stated
earlier, our home was on posts which held it 18 to 36 inches above the ground.
The floors in the bedroom were one by six or one by eight inch pinewood with
cracks and knotholes allowing the cold wind to come up through the floors. We
found the knotholes convenient to relieve ones’ self when it was too cold to go
out on the side porch at night. When our toothaches wouldn’t subside for a day
or two, we were taken to Grandpa Sanders or to one of our uncles who had a
rusty pair of pliers or tooth extractor forceps. They would pull the tooth with
much teasing and fanfare. I well remember how much it hurt, but, in an hour or
so, the toothache would be gone and we were grateful for the relief.
My
activities before I became of school age consisted of playing with marbles or
with rubber band guns which we made. One game of marbles was called “purgatory.”
For this game, you would dig a little hole on each corner of a four-foot square
and then dig a little hole in the center called purgatory. We also made a
circle and tried to shoot the marbles out of it. Any marbles you knocked out
were yours, and so we always had a cloth bag full of marbles, steelies, and
agates which we carried in our pockets. We also played many games with rubber
band guns such as cops and robbers and cowboys and Indians.
I
well remember Primary and the “Trail Blazers” because I enjoyed it so much. My
Primary teachers left lasting and deep impressions on my mind. Sisters Ella
Jones, Alice Gubler, and Pansy Hardy are three teachers that have left eternal
impressions on my character.
 |
| Primary-Trail Blazers |
I
mentioned earlier how I felt we were quite well-off financially as a family and
found great security in that feeling. As I recall, the only ones that ever made
me feel that we were poor or inferior were some of my uncles. They often made
remarks that were intended to downgrade me and make me feel inferior in status
to their children. They were doing very well in the turkey business and often
commented on how much wealthier they were than my parents.
I
remember how hot the sand, the cement, and especially, the asphalt were on my
bare feet in the spring. Later, my feet were so calloused that I could stand
all day in the sand or I could run down through a field of alfalfa, cane, and
corn stubble without hurting at all. I do remember the puncture burrs, grass
burrs, and cockle burrs as they would get between my toes or in the instep
where there weren’t any callouses.
When
I was four or five years old, we moved to St. George, Utah, because Dad worked
at the state weighing or checking station in Santa Clara. We lived on the northwest
end of St. George in a cluster of homes known as Sand Town. Our home was on the
east side of Interstate 91 and was the last home before leaving St. George
heading toward Santa Clara.
We
lived in what was known as Sand Town in St. George. At the time, this was way
out of town in St. George but it is now known as busy Bluff Street up by where
you turn to go to Santa Clara). One incident that happened while we lived in
Sand Town had a lasting impression on me. My older brother, Don, and his
friend, one of the Prince boys that lived next door to us, had taken a brass
fire extinguisher and removed the spray nozzle, which allowed about a quarter
of an inch diameter jet of water to shoot out 20 to 40 feet when you pushed the
plunger. Don placed me at the side of U.S. Highway 91 and told me to squirt at
the next car that came by. He and his friend hid back behind the house. The
next car happened to be a local St. George resident who was moseying along at
about 15 miles per hour. He had all of the windows down on his car as it was
very hot. I can still see the spray of water hitting the windshield and then
through the window hitting the driver. The car screeched to a halt, and the
driver jumped out, leaving his car parked on the highway. He came running after
me. I dropped the fire extinguisher and ran as fast as I could around the house
and down into a field of high weeds and sage brush. This man was swearing,
cussing, and yelling at me to come out or he would break my neck. He stomped
all through the weeds, but, as I would hear him coming towards me, I would
crawl off through the weeds like a little rabbit. He kept searching for what
seemed an eternity before finally leaving. I was so scared that I stayed hidden
until after it became dark. When I finally came out, Don informed me that the
man was so angry that he was going to send the sheriff to get me and put me in
jail. When I finally came into the house, Mother asked where I had been and if
I wanted some supper. I told her I wasn’t hungry, which I wasn’t as I was so
scared. I just sat trembling in a corner until bedtime. After that incident, I
was petrified every time I heard a siren or saw a sheriff. This fear stayed
with me for several years. Of course, Don didn’t help any as he kept reminding
me that someday the sheriff would catch me.
When
I was six years old, which was about six months after moving to Sand Town, we
moved into St. George to be nearer the schools. We lived about two blocks west
of the St. George Tabernacle in which President Lorenzo Snow received the
revelation on the necessity of the members paying their tithes and offerings if
they wanted the blessings of the lord. Just across the street lived the
Anderson family, sort of a tobacco-road family who had a son that wasn’t normal
and a daughter named Jesse. Since she was the only child around that was my
age, I played dolls with her. I was accused of being a sissy for playing with
dolls, so we made a doll house in the thick bushes to the east of our house. We
used old pieces of cloth, blankets, and pasteboard to hang around the playhouse
so no one could see us. I also remember sneaking around in the house finding
secluded corners to play with my doll. Jesse taught me to assist her in taking
eggs from their chicken coop which we then took to McArthur’s market where we
would trade them for candy. Mr. McArthur would often ask if we had taken the
eggs without telling Jesse’s parents. Of course, the answer was always, “No!”
Once in a while, Mr. McArthur wouldn’t immediately give us candy but would say
he must check with Mrs. Anderson to see if she had given her permission.
Needless to say, we caught heck and didn’t get any candy on those occasions.
I
attended the first grade in St. George and was so shy that I was completely antisocial.
I sat in the back of the room and never participated unless forced to do so.
The only incident that really stands out in my memory happened because of my
uncontrollable temper. Dennis Atkins heckled me to the point that I flew into a
rage, and we had a big fight in the back part of our classroom. The teacher had
a hard time in separating us as I was like a mad dog and would keep attacking.
This incident made me crawl even deeper into my antisocial shell.
I will always remember the time that Paul Webb
and one or two of his friends who were three or four years older than me kept
egging Bernard Gifford, nicknamed “Pug” to continue to beat me to a pulp during
recess at the LaVerkin School. I must have been in the second grade at the
time. Pug was in my class but was a year older than me and I must admit he was
much more muscular than me. I don’t know what really started the altercation,
but we got into a fist fight and it soon became very evident that I was not
match as I was soon overcome by his barrage of knuckle sandwiches in my face.
Every time either one of us tried to stop fighting, those couple of guys who
were three or four years older than we were would encourage Pug to keep
pounding me or they would even shove him into me or me into him.
When I was finally able to disengage from the
fight, I came bawling home badly bruised and with bad cuts on my nose, lips,
and eyes and with blood streaming down on my shirt and pants. I can still see
the look of horror and pain in Mother’s eyes when she saw me. She asked me who
did it and I told her I had been in a fight with Pug Gifford. Just as soon as
she washed me up and dressed the cuts, Mother rushed for the door to go get
Pug. I was able to stop her long enough to tell her it wasn’t Pug’s fault
because he had stopped fighting several times and that it was Paul and these
older boys’ fault because they kept encouraging Pug and pushing and shoving him
into me. She asked me their names and when I told her she tore out of the house
and practically ran down the street to the school yard.
Needless to say, I was scared to death that
when mother got through with them I would be teased and plagued by these two
boys from that day on. But it didn’t happen! I heard about it for weeks after
how Mother really dressed these two guys down. She tore into those guys and
gave them fair warning that if it ever happened again they would pay the piper.
She must have really put the fear into them because when I returned to school
they never gave me a moment of trouble from that day on. Pug later became one
of my good friends and still is to this day. It was such support and love as
this from Mother that gave me a feeling of self-worth and security.
After
attending the first grade, my folks farmed me out to live with my Grandparents
William and Sarah Amelia Wilson Sanders in LaVerkin where I attended the second
grade with a Mrs. Bradshaw as our teacher. Grandpa had diabetes and
rheumatism so bad that he was confined to a wheelchair, and so I was consigned
to live with them and help do chores and run errands. Grandmother taught me how
to milk the cows, and, when I became proficient at it, I was assigned to milk
the three cows they owned from that time on. After milking the cows, I poured
the milk into a hand cranked milk and cream separator.
 | |
| William & Sarah Sanders with DuWayne Squire |
Grandmother
taught me how to weed and irrigate the garden and orchard. Because of her
teachings, I always took great pride in seeing that I cut every root from the
ground as I weeded instead of just cutting off the tops of the weeds like most
of my friends did. I also took care of the chickens and gathered their eggs.
Each spring, we would get a flock of new chicks, and we kept them in pasteboard
boxes in the house until they were big enough to put in the coops. We raised
the chickens until they were big enough to eat, and then we killed the
roosters, along with the hens that didn’t lay sufficient eggs to earn their
keep. Every other year as the new hens began to lay eggs we would kill the
older hens, dip them in hot water, pluck their feathers, and have tough chicken
and stew.
While
living with Grandpa and Grandma, I turned eight years old and someone from the
ward told Grandma to have me go down to LaVerkin Sulpher Springs Pool and
someone would be there to baptize me. The day appointed was February 24, 1936.
I walked down alone since my family was still living in St. George. When I got
there they issued me a swimming suit and told me to go get into the pool with a
couple of other children from the ward. Since this was my first time to be allowed
to go to the pool, I was having a great time swimming and playing with my
friends. When everyone had arrived, including the two men who were to baptize
and confirm us, we were told to come to the shallow end of the pool and a young
man from the ward named Donworth V. Gubler came into the water and baptized
each of us. We were asked to come out of the pool one at a time and Wickley Gubler (assisted by Donworth Gubler) confirmed us members of The Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and told us to receive the Holy Ghost. We
were then allowed to swim for another fifteen minutes or more. The part I
remember most was being able to play and swim in the pool.
During
the six years I lived at my grandparents’ home, I was often called on to
babysit for Uncle Ervil’s family. They rented some run-down homes which were
usually way out in the sticks where they would run their turkeys. I will
remember tending in Brigham Hardy’s old home. In those days they didn’t have
any radios or television sets, and so I just sat in a chair listening to the
wind whistle its mournful tunes or listening to the rats running up and down in
the walls or above the ceiling. At times, I would listen for hours as the rats
were chewing and crunching on things in the ceiling area. Another scary old
home was way out in the fields sitting on a knoll. Leonard Hardy later bought
that home and fixed it up for his family to live in. Later, Uncle Ervil built a
small, little home up above the ditch some distance away from any other homes.
I still have the image firmly in mind of watching the chaparral bushes through
the undraped windows. The wind would blow the bushes, and I would envision all
sorts of wild animals or ugly, mean things moving in the chaparral bushes
coming ever closer to the house. This would go on for hours since Uncle Ervil
and Aunt Belva went out dancing nearly every week and they often stayed until
one or two in the morning. I sat in panic for several hours many nights while
tending their children.
 |
| DuWayne-10 years old |
I
went on to school at the old schoolhouse in LaVerkin through the third grade.
The first grade through the eighth grade were all in the single classroom with
a big, potbellied, wood stove in its center. One teacher taught us all. I can’t
be sure, but I believe that Sister Bradshaw was the only teacher I had in
LaVerkin. After finishing grade three, the school board decided to close
LaVerkin’s school and bus us to Hurricane. The town’s people protested to no
avail. A few years later, after Dad moved the family from St. George back to LaVerkin,
Dad got the contract to tear down the old school for the stone, lumber, and
nails he could salvage. Dad’s fruit cellar, granary, and two garages were built
from the materials he salvaged. We all helped in this project, and it seemed
that Dad could build anything he set his mind to.
My middle name came from Dad’s half-brother,
Gilbert. I remember we had a backwoods type of family who lived in town who
were very unkempt. One time, I was sent by one of my uncles to get some popcorn
from their home. As I entered the home and walked through the filthy rooms, I
was about overcome by the smell of ammonia that came from their urinating on
the floors inside their home. I remember well how I was about knocked over by
the awful smell. One of their boys was named Gilbert and his mother used to go
outside and call, “GILBERTA!! GILBERTA!”
I remember Lyman Gubler and others teasing me and calling me,
“Gilberta!” in the same way. Later, Helen came up with the nickname, “Baggy
Pants Gilbert”, but I couldn’t help it if my skinny little fanny didn’t fill
out my pants!
I
attended the fourth through the twelfth grade at Hurricane Elementary and
Hurricane High School. While living with my grandparents, I can remember many
experiences such as being quarantined for two to three weeks at a time for such
dreaded diseases as scarlet fever, whooping cough, and measles. I remember the
first time I was quarantined I was so happy and excited because I wouldn’t have
to attend school and church. I soon wearied of it since I wasn’t able to play
with any of my friends and couldn’t leave our property. As you can imagine, the
second quarantine wasn’t so exciting, and I tried to convince them that I would
be all right if they would let me attend school.
My
first love was for Joyce Garff. This happened in the fifth grade, and she never
knew of my love for her or how she excited me whenever she came near me.
My
second love was for Venice Whitney in the sixth grade. The love affair ended
abruptly following an altercation in school. We had spent the recess playing
mumble peg on the lawn with my pocket knife and had made a date to meet at a
movie, but, when we came back into the room after recess, a pair of twins named
Thain and Twain Scow began teasing me about Venice. Again my foul temper erupted,
and I attacked the two of them in the aisle. Lafell Iverson, our teacher, had a
tough time in separating us. I was overly embarrassed as Lafell was a very good
friend of my parents. Because of my embarrassment over that incident, I avoided
Venice for weeks after that.
I
was kept after school a few times, missing the bus ride to LaVerkin, because of
behavioral problems or, most often, for not knowing my spelling words or my
times tables. When this happened, I had to walk the three plus miles to LaVerkin,
and I could expect to get heck from my grandparents when I arrived home.
I
would guess that I was twelve or thirteen years old when I and two friends,
Mont Sanders and John Segler, decided to explore a cave or cavern which was
formed in the limestone formation of the mountain located on the south side of
the Virgin River at the location where the LaVerkin Sulphur Hot Springs boils
out of the mountain and drains into the Virgin River.
The
series of caverns resulted from the sulphur water flow which dissolved the
limestone leaving caverns going in all directions with only the undissolved
huge lava rock forming obstacles in each of the caverns. There were deep
drop-off crevices 100 to probably 200 feet deep and open areas going up some 50
to 100 feet.
What
piqued our interest in this cave was the story I had often heard about Uncle
Owen Sanders who discovered this cave when he found a small opening which he
crawled into and after about ten feet it opened up so that he could stand and
walk on in. He went back home and got some string and a candle and went
exploring inside this cavern. He tied the string on a rock at the opening of
the cave and unwound the string as he explored into the cave. He found many
areas where most of the floor of the cave dropped off into deep pits or
caverns. To get around these holes required some agility. Uncle Owen went until
his string ended, and at that point he made the bad choice of going deeper into
the cave. His candle was about to its end when he tried to find his way back to
the end of the string. But try as he might, he could not find his way and the
candle was soon out and he was in pitch blackness from there on. He crawled
around and around and after a few hours was about to give up since he kept
coming to the deep drop-off holes. By this time his knees were all skinned up
and so sore he could hardly navigate any further. He said he was panicked and
losing hope and was about to give up. Whether through prayer or dumb luck, he
began moving again and spotted a pin hole of light. He said that he carefully
crawled, feeling his way, until the hole of light kept getting bigger and
bigger. He had found the entrance of the cave again. He said he never ventured
into that cave again!
When
we got to the Sulphur Hot Springs, we climbed up a steep hillside on the south
of the Springs and found a small hole. We couldn’t believe this was the cave
entrance, but as we explored around it was the only hole in the rocky ledge we
could find. So we got on our stomachs and crawled into this small opening. Sure
enough, in about ten feet it opened up so you could stand. We lit our candles
and as we got into the darker part of the cave we heard a rustle and a lot of
squeaking noises and as we looked up we saw that the ceiling and the upper walls
were completely covered with bats. We passed them and went on into the cave
until we came to a big hole which didn’t leave much room to crawl around. We
dropped some rocks into the hole and it seemed to take seconds before they hit
the bottom. So we turned around and came back where the bats were hanging. One
of us got the bright idea that if we took some bats back up town, we could
really scare the girls. We began grabbing the bats by the handful and stuffed
them into our front pockets. When we couldn’t stuff anymore in, we began to
crawl out of the hole. It was difficult to use our hands to crawl and still
hold the bats from getting out of our pockets. We did lose a few as we crawled
through the hole and climbed down the ledge to the pool area.
We
were really pleased and excited with our conquest and the thoughts of scaring
the girls. It took us twenty to thirty minutes to walk back up into town while
holding our pockets closed and listening to the bats squeaking as they tried to
squirm free. By the time we reached John Segler’s home, which was next to
Grandma Sanders’ home where I was living, we each began to itch all over. On
closer examination, it looked like the skin on our arms was moving. We then
discovered our arms and stomachs and chests were crawling with millions of
spider mites or lice which the bats had stored under their wings for food. We
immediately started pulling the bats out of our pockets and throwing them into
the air, watching them flutter away.
We
were about two blocks away from our swimming hole in the mouth of the tunnel
where the irrigation water came through the mountain from the Virgin River and
so we ran as fast as we could while tearing off shirts and disrobing. When we
reached the tunnel, we jumped into the water and washed and washed ourselves
and our clothes. Eventually, we seemed to have rid our bodies, hair, and
clothes of the spider mites and lice.
The
joke was on us, not the girls!
