Life History of DuWayne G. Squire - The Short Bitter-Sweet Life of Kirk

You might need to get some tissues ready for this installment of my dad's history.  It is a heart-breaking period early in their marriage.  Their faith in God is evident and helped them endure this incredibly difficult time.

Kirk DuWayne Squire
24 March 1950-14 December 1950

Our first son was born on March 24, 1950, in the Cedar City Hospital. He was about five weeks premature, but he looked so good and healthy, and the Doctor assured us that everything seemed to be just great. When Kirk was born, I ran up and down the hospital corridors yelling, “It’s a boy!” We were so happy, but Helen was in pretty bad shape as she was in labor for a couple of days before Kirk’s birth.

By the time Helen brought the baby home from the hospital, it was apparent that he had unnatural and excessive bowel movements. The doctors at Cedar City treated him until it was apparent that they could not find a proper solution to his problem. At that point, they suggested that we take him to a specialist in Salt Lake City. They recommended a Dr. Snow who grew up in Pine Valley and was now a resident doctor at the LDS Hospital specializing in pediatrics.

We went home and called Dr. Snow’s office and were able to get an appointment for Kirk. Dr. Snow examined Kirk and suggested that we admit him into the LDS Hospital, and he would treat him there. Dr. Snow tested and treated Kirk for a few weeks and was unable to find any cause or cure for Kirk’s problems, and so he suggested that we take Kirk to the Salt Lake County Hospital and have him admitted under the care of the University of Utah doctors. He said they could experiment and perhaps find a solution to Kirk’s problems. Dr. Snow stated that he had exhausted every avenue known to him for a solution, and so from now on it would have to be through experimentation if they found a cure. At this point in our conversation, I asked Dr. Snow if it would be all right for us to take Kirk to a Dr. Wilkinson who was once an M.D. in Hurricane but had since moved to Salt Lake City and ran a clinic which determined diseases through blood tests, and then he treated them with some form of electrical device. Because of his unorthodox type of treatment, the AMA had kicked Dr. Wilkinson out of their Association. When I asked Dr. Snow this question, he flew into a rage and told me that Dr. Wilkinson couldn’t do that child any more good than if he took a light bulb and switched it on and off in front of the child. He further stated in a rage that if we took the baby to Dr. Wilkinson, he would personally see that we would be unable to register our child in any hospital in the state and would see that no doctor would look at the baby ever again. At that point, he stomped out of the baby’s hospital room. The nurse that was in there changing the bedding scolded us by saying, “You shouldn’t have mentioned Dr. Wilkinson’s name in the presence of Dr. Snow.” I said, “Why not, since Dr. Snow just admitted that whatever is ailing Kirk is beyond the knowledge of the medical profession and from now on it will be strictly experimental work if a solution is found to help him.” I further stated that we were very upset because, as we saw it, Dr. Snow had just pronounced a death sentence on our son rather than let us try something not approved by the AMA.

Needless to say, we were too frightened to try Dr. Wilkinson, even though Helen’s mother had been going to him and had experienced miraculous healing. We took Kirk obediently to the Salt Lake County Hospital. Helen stayed at her Uncle Harvey Dalton’s home on Seventh East and Eighth South in Salt Lake and would go to the hospital and spend each day with Kirk. I returned to LaVerkin to my job until I was called into active duty in the 213^th F.A. Battalion on August 3, 1950. We were all loaded on the train at Cedar City and traveled to Ft. Lewis, Washington. Those were weary, lonely days without Helen, especially with the worry of our son’s illness. We had administered to Kirk and had faith that he would be healed. Even though we prayed, “Thy will be done,” the thought never entered our heads that the Lord may choose not to heal Kirk.

Since Helen couldn’t do anything for Kirk except visit him daily, I talked her into coming up to Ft. Lewis to stay with me. I had found a little cottage in the pines just off the base. Helen had our belongings loaded into our 1940 Ford pickup and her father accompanied her to Ft. Lewis. As I recall, she arrived the first part of October, 1950. I was so homesick to see Helen that I could hardly stand it. As you can imagine, we had a joyous reunion. Dad stayed overnight in our one-room cottage, and then we put him on a bus for home.

I believe that from the day Helen arrived, we had rain and fog every day. She became very homesick and worried about our little son lying in a hospital bed in Salt Lake City. The weather being so dreary and my being at the base from 5:00 a.m. to late evening every day added to Helen’s loneliness. She missed being with Kirk, and we were both so worried about him that those were sad days, even though we had each other at night.

About 30 days after Helen arrived in Ft. Lewis, we got a call from the hospital saying that we could come and pick up Kirk. We were so elated as we assumed they must have cured Kirk of his affliction. I was able to get a weekend off, and so we packed up all of our belongings from the cabin and headed for home. It was late evening when I got off work, and so it was rather late when we left Ft. Lewis. By the time we started up the Mt. Rainier or Snoqualomie Pass, it was very dark and snowing heavily.

We thought it unusual that we never came upon any other traffic, either coming or going, but I was so busy trying to keep the Ford pickup from sliding off the road or from spinning out as we were pushing snow with the bumper, that I really didn’t give it much thought. We were petrified at times because the snow was so deep and there weren’t any other tracks to follow. At times, we had to nearly stop to discern which direction the road was heading since all markers were covered by snow. We said prayers that we might be able to make it over the pass without sliding off into one of the deep chasms along the road. We knew that if we stopped completely, we would not be able to get the truck to move again since we didn’t have snow tires or chains.

You will never know how relieved we were when we finally made it over the top of the pass and saw some lights at a café and truck stop. We pulled into the truck stop much to the surprise of everyone there. They inquired as to where we had come from, and when we told them we had just come over the Mt. Rainier or Snoqualomie Pass, they could hardly believe us because the Highway Patrol had stopped traffic due to the heavy snowfall several hours earlier. We knew that the Lord had been with us, but we never could understand how we had passed through the road block.

We arrived in Salt Lake City and went directly to the hospital and picked up our sweet little Kirk. We were very disheartened to find that he had not been cured and that the hospital was releasing him because they had done all that they could do for him.

When I got Helen and Kirk home, I had to leave immediately to catch a bus back to Ft. Lewis, Washington. I was very busy at Ft. Lewis trying to requisition all the spare parts of the OVM (equipment for our obsolete 105 MM Howitzers). I would send in a requisition for hundreds of spare parts and get three or four small parts with all of the other parts marked “out of stock.” I then had to re-requisition all of those out of stock items along with the others that I hadn’t requisitioned as yet. Each Howitzer had a book listing hundreds of spare parts required before taking the units into combat.

In December, 1950, Helen told me that Kirk was so dehydrated and thin from lack of nourishment because of his diarrhea that she had taken him back to Salt Lake. When she got to Salt Lake, she called Dr. Snow. He was very curt with her and practically hung up on her. He said there wasn’t anything he could do, and so he wouldn’t come to see Kirk or let her make an appointment to bring him into his office.

Sometime earlier, Helen had taken Kirk to Dr. Wilkinson and he treated him for a time. After one of the treatments, Kirk became constipated and Helen had to use a suppository to relieve him. At that time, he had a large solid stool—the first one since his birth—but by this time, Kirk’s little body was so emaciated and dehydrated that he just became weaker and weaker. Dr. Wilkinson said he only wished he had been able to treat him earlier as he may have been able to save him. After the rejection by Dr. Snow, Helen called and told me how weak and sick Kirk was and said he had received a priesthood blessing and was promised to live long enough to see his father again.

I went to the commanding officer and asked for time off to go home, and I explained the circumstances to him concerning Kirk’s condition. He told me that he did not have the authority to authorize me time off due to the emergency status of our unit.

I then went to the Red Cross, and they were more sympathetic to my cause and were able to get me an emergency leave. I threw some things in a bag and went over to McChord Air Force Base to see if I could get a ride to Hill Field, Utah. They didn’t have any flights scheduled for Hill Field in the next few days, but they did have a flight going to Great Falls, Montana, They suggested that I take that flight, and then I should be able to get a flight down to Hill Field from there. I took the flight in a cold C-47 sitting with my back to the side of the plane in a canvas seat. Needless to say, I was very uncomfortable and cold, but we arrived at Great Falls to find the airfield covered with snow and a cold, icy wind blowing to greet us. I was informed that there wouldn’t be any flights out until morning, and so they were kind enough to issue me a couple of army blankets and give me a bunk. It was cold in the barracks, and so I spent a very uncomfortable night. I was up at daylight and rushed over to see when I might catch a flight for Hill Field. They told me that Hill Field was completely fogged in and they had no idea when it might lift or when they may try to fly in. I waited until late afternoon, and they told me it didn’t look very promising for the next day or two. I called Helen to report where I was and what the conditions were. She said Kirk was in a terribly weakened condition, and she feared that I may not get there in time to see him alive. I called the commercial airline that served Great Falls and was told there was a flight out the next morning, but it stopped at every little town in Montana and Idaho on the way to Salt Lake. I was unable to get anything with the air force, and so I took the flight. It was very scary to me as we stopped (or landed) on several snow-packed, small runways. It was a small two-engine aircraft. I got into Salt Lake in the late afternoon, and Helen’s Uncle Harvey Dalton came out to the airport and brought me to his home.

When I arrived at the Dalton residence, Helen was there to greet me, and we had a very tearful reunion. When I saw my poor, sick, little Kirk, my heart was broken as I was not prepared to see how much suffering he had gone through to stay alive until I got there. It was almost more than I could bear to see how emaciated and dehydrated his little body was. I held him for a moment, and then Aunt Partha took him while Helen and I went to the basement bedroom where Helen was staying. We knelt down and poured our hearts out to our Father in Heaven, thanking Him for the privilege of having such a sweet little spirit born to us, thanking Him for allowing Kirk to live long enough for us to be prepared to accept the fact that it was His will that he was not to live long upon the earth, and thanking Him for preserving his life long enough for me to see him alive once more. Then we asked that He take Kirk unto Himself that he might not suffer longer. We closed our prayer, came upstairs, and Helen took Kirk from her aunt and held him close to her. Within a couple of minutes, he passed peacefully on. That was December 14, 1950.

Early the next morning, Helen dressed Kirk in his best little suit and placed him on the back seat of our car, and we drove to LaVerkin. Our hearts were heavy and our feelings close to the surface all the way home.

We bought the smallest casket we could find and held a small funeral in LaVerkin. We found that we had so many great friends, and they showered us with great love and comfort. Of course, our families were the greatest and gave us the support we needed at that time.

After the funeral, I had to catch a bus and go right back to Ft. Lewis, Washington, since our unit was preparing to ship out for Korea within the next few days. It was with heavy hearts that Helen and I parted that day.

Life History of DuWayne G. Squire - Love & Marriage

DuWayne & Helen

When Helen and I became serious enough to contemplate marriage, we were greatly concerned about the fact that we were second cousins. My Grandmother Sanders and Helen’s Grandfather Morris Wilson were brother and sister. We did much praying and soul searching concerning this problem and finally went to Ivan J. Barrett, our seminary teacher and also a member of our stake presidency. He suggested that we all kneel in prayer around his office desk. After he prayed, we all had a good positive feeling about our continued pursuit of marriage. However, because of comments made by some of my uncles, we were still greatly concerned and frustrated. In answer to prayer, we were guided to go to Brother Roundy, our stake patriarch, to receive a patriarchal blessing to see if the answer would be given there. On October 28, 1945, we went to Brother Roundy for my patriarchal blessing. We didn’t warn Brother Roundy of our concern about marriage, but we both felt the answer was very plainly stated. At that point, we went to our parents with our desires and my parents readily gave their permission.

I guessed that Helen’s parents had given their permission since they consented to ride into Salt Lake with us to buy an engagement ring. Since I hadn’t formally asked Helen’s father for her hand, I spent most of the trip nervously trying to get up enough courage to do so. We were nearly to Salt Lake by the time I finally asked the question. Helen’s father was sitting behind me as I was driving, and so I couldn’t see his face. He never responded to my question for what seemed an eternity. I am sure that it was two or three minutes before he said anything. Dad finally gave his permission, and Helen and I breathed a great sigh of relief. Dad later told us that the reason he took so long to respond to my question was because he couldn’t think of my name. He said that all of my brothers’ names came to his mind, but he drew a blank on my name. I guess he was a little nervous too.

While in Salt Lake, we stayed at Helen’s Uncle Harvey Dalton’s home. We bought Helen’s miniature diamond ring at a supposedly wholesale jewelry outlet (Dahnkens). It cost me $127 which was about one-third of my total summer’s wages. Needless to say, we were so happy we could hardly contain ourselves as we drove back home.

The next problem was to set a date for our marriage. Helen’s mother said that the St. George Temple was closed for remodeling, and she would allow us to marry when it reopened. She had understood that it would reopen in late spring, but the temple presidency decided to open the temple for a couple of weeks in December for marriages. We set the date for December 10, 1947, much to Helen’s mother’s chagrin. Thora felt tricked as the wedding date came about six months earlier than she had first contemplated.

We were married late at night, getting out of the temple at midnight. We drove to Cedar City to the Lunt Hotel to spend the night. I well remember how uneasy I felt as we went up to the hotel desk to ask for a room. The attendant asked our names and I said, “DuWayne Squire and Helen Gubler.” I blushed greatly as I quickly said, “I mean Helen Squire.” There were two or three people in the lobby and their eyes were all upon us. I am sure that none of them believed that we were married. My habit of blushing in my shyness and embarrassment certainly didn’t help our cause. We were both further embarrassed when the attendant asked where our luggage was. We had come with a small overnight case only. We were both still flushed a bright red when the attendant showed us our room and I gave him his twenty-five cent tip. 

DuWayne & Helen
This picture was taken several months after their wedding at Helen's sister, Ramona's, wedding.

The embarrassment wasn’t over because Helen was trying to figure how she could get into her nightgown without me seeing her. When I asked if she would like to go out for dinner, she suggested that I go out and buy something and bring it back to our room. When I got back with hamburgers and drinks, Helen was in her nightgown, and when I saw her, I thought she was in a formal dress and I asked her where she planned on going. She asked what did I mean? So I asked why she was in a formal dress. As I recall, she never did eat her hamburger.

The next morning we got up and had breakfast and then rushed home since we had much to do in getting the church house ready for our reception. We held our reception in the same hall that church services were held as it was also used for all cultural events. We didn’t have any decorations, not even a wedding cake. By the time all of our cousins, relatives, and friends showed up, we had all of the benches filled to capacity and a large group dancing on the hardwood floor of the chapel. At that time, people came to a wedding reception to spend the evening in dancing, eating, and enjoying a program where the M.C. roasted the bride and groom and announced the program numbers. After the program, the bride and groom had to dance alone until some family members finally took pity on us and joined in.

There was much talk of shivareeing us by Helen’s brothers, my brothers, and friends. This made us very uneasy as we had heard many tales from aunts and uncles who were taken to the mountains where the husband was chained or tied to a tree, then left to try to get loose any way he possibly could, and then walk back to town. If the groom didn’t make it back by morning, they would go out and get him. Sometimes they tied both the groom and the bride to a tree. Other times they would put the bride on a front fender of a car and the groom on another and drive them through neighboring towns and cities honking their horns or else they would parade them through restaurants and movie houses.

With this threat hanging over us, like most newlyweds we took evasive action and made a hasty retreat when no one was looking. We went down through the basement, out the basement door, and ran for Helen’s home. When we got there, we went to her room and locked the door. We were so tired that we laid on the bed with our clothes on to wait until we felt safe to proceed on our honeymoon. It was 7:30 a.m. when we awoke. We got up and changed out of our wedding clothes and grabbed our suitcases. Mother insisted we have breakfast. We then went up to tell my folks goodbye. By then, the school students were waiting for the bus, and so we waited for the bus to come as we were too shy to take the ribbing from the high school students as we departed.

I had a 1938 Chevrolet four-door sedan that had at least 200,000 miles on it which we took on our honeymoon. When we got to it, we found that we could hardly see out of any of the windows as our friends had painted it up so much and tied strings of tin cans underneath it. We made a noisy retreat as we left for Pasadena, California. I only had $20 to my name, so I borrowed $100 from Dad for our honeymoon. We drove to Las Vegas before stopping for something to eat. With a feeling of adventure, we put our change in the nickel slot machines before proceeding onto Barstow, California. We were able to get a room even though it was fairly late in the evening when we arrived. Since my car was so conspicuous with all the writing of “Just Married” and crude jokes on it and since every time we stopped for gas or to eat we were the subject of much kidding. I got up early the next morning and took a can of water out and used my handkerchief to try to wash the car. I wasn’t too successful, and since they didn’t have car wash places in those days, we still got much more attention than we desired until we got back home.

We got to Pasadena the next day and went to the oldest and most famous hotel in town and were able to get a room for the next three nights. One night we were entertained by one of Don’s best buddies from the army days in the South Pacific Islands. Don’s buddy’s parents had us over for a delicious dinner, and then they took us all over Los Angeles. Our eyes bunged out at the sights of Signal Hill and the harbor at night. We were also overawed by the freeways, the bridges, the ships in the harbor, and the traffic going at breakneck speeds.

We had a great time on our honeymoon, but it was brought to an abrupt halt when we arrived back home. We were faced with the problem of finding a place to rent and finding enough furniture to set up housekeeping, and then there was the problem of Helen returning to high school. We were able to rent Helen’s Uncle Wayne Wilson’s home for about $25 a month, and with all the used furniture contributed by our folks, we were soon set up for modified housekeeping.

Helen was in the middle of her senior year at Hurricane High School and had to attend school for half a day. I would drive Helen to school each morning, and then I would go to work at Hurricane Motor Company. At noon, I would pick Helen up, and we would drive home for lunch and then drop Helen off at her folk’s store where Helen worked until I got home after work each day. Helen graduated with her class at Hurricane High School the following spring.

We rented Wayne Wilson’s old home for a few months, but the mice and the $25 per month drove us out. We moved to Helen’s Grandmother Gubler’s home and lived in the upstairs. As I recall, the rent was only $15 per month and that fit our budget much better. We lived there until one day John Judd came in the garage and asked me if I would be interested in buying their home and the 11 acres across the street from it. He stated that he and his wife wanted to sell to someone that they respected and who they felt would keep up the place. At first, I was very elated, but when he told me the asking price was $13,000 for the land and home, I began to realize with my income it would be beyond my reach. I was only making $125 per month, and even with Helen working in the store for our groceries, it would be next to impossible to make the payments. I went home and talked to Dad and, to my surprise, found him very excited about the prospect of owning that land. He said that land was some of the most fertile and had the best water rights on the center canal of any land in LaVerkin.

I found that Dad had secretly desired to own that land since he had moved to LaVerkin. Dad suggested that if I really wanted the place, then he would buy the west six acres for the down payment of $5,000 and I could make the payments for the home and the five acres until I paid off the $8,000 balance. Helen and I were very excited to have a place of our own, but the payments were over $100, and so we had less than $25 per month to live on. With Helen working in the store and receiving free groceries for her services and with many free dinners from Mom and Dad when we stopped there after picking Helen up from work, we barely made the payments each month.

My brother, Phil, knowing of our financial bind, suggested that I might consider joining the National Guard. He said that although he was called up in World War II, history indicated that we couldn’t possibly afford to get into another war for the next 25 years or so. I joined up for the $15 or so each month for two days drill exercises. The funds did really help. I also accepted a job with E. J. Graff at his chicken ranch (on the north end of town in the old CCC buildings) as night watchman. My hours were from 2:00 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. each morning. If I rushed, I would barely get home and grab a bite to eat on the way to Hurricane Motor Co. to start work at 8:00 a.m. At this time, we were doing quite a bit of socializing with Verla and Burdell Reusch and Thell and Elaine Gubler and would be up late at night playing cards or some such game. Once in a while, I didn’t hear the alarm at 1:30 a.m. since I may have only been in bed for an hour or two, so we brought in a #2 wash tub and put it by our bed. We then wound up the “Big Ben” alarm clock and put it in the center of the tub. When the alarm went off, I would usually explode out of bed since it made a terrible racket. Believe it or not, we even slept through that a time or two.

Life History of DuWayne G. Squire - The Teen Years Continued

I have been blessed to grow up in a home where my parents not only loved each other, but they adored each other.  They have a love that started as teenage infatuation and has withstood the test of time and the test of great trials. I grew up listening to the stories of my parents' courtship and it is fun to read them.

The Teen Years Continued

When I first noticed that Helen had grown up and was no longer a little pest was while I was dating Quinta Nielson and Mont Sanders was dating Helen’s cousin, Afton Wilson. We were going on a date to a high school dance and our friend, John Segler, wanted to go with us and didn’t know who to ask to go with him. We suggested he ask Helen Gubler, who was a friend of Quinta and Afton, and so he did. The six of us went together to the dance and the other activities of the evening. Before the evening was over, John, Mont, and myself noticed that Helen was the best dancer and was by far the most fun to be around. We all became enamored with Helen’s beauty, wit, and flirtations. From then on, we all wanted to date Helen. I immediately decided to start dating Helen, if she agreed. John didn’t appreciate this turn of events and let me know that he was the one that discovered Helen and, therefore, he felt he should have a monopoly on her. Too bad, John! I began dating Helen but John didn’t go down without a fight. He began asking Helen out two to four weeks in advance, so I started doing the same, plus I began taking her on dates other than to school events. John persevered for a time but he began to see the handwriting on the wall. Helen had let me know that between the two of us, she chose me. But that didn’t stop her from dating some boys from her school class from time to time.

                                                           

Helen loved to dance and I am sure she was the most popular dance partner in the school. For instance, back in those days they gave out dance cards listing the 18 to 24 dances planned for the evening. Boys would ask for a dance and the girls would write their name in and tell them which number they had. By the time Helen had danced a couple of numbers, she would have all of her dances spoken for. I soon wised up and would tell her that I was to get every other dance number. I even got greedy and once asked for all of the dance numbers. Bad mistake! I could tell Helen wasn’t happy with that arrangement, so I didn’t make that mistake again. However, being a slow learner, I didn’t make another gross error when I took Helen to a movie and skipped the dance. That was one cool evening—I mean, it got down near freezing. I can understand why Helen enjoyed going to the dances. The two best dancers in the school were my age and they could dance up a storm and Helen was their favorite partner. Needless to say, I didn’t especially like either one of them! However, even though they got the dance accolades, I got the girl!

By the time I was a senior, Helen and I were going quite steady. She did manage to shake me up once in a while with dates from fellows in her age group in the sophomore class.

Helen and I were on the go all the time in my Model A Ford. I remember on one trip we took Thell and Elaine with us to a ball game in Cedar City. It had been cold and snowy weather up in Iron County, and the roads were ice packed. We would drive down main street in Cedar City, and I would turn my wheels sharp and hit the brakes, and we would go whirling around and around for a block or so. Helen’s mother nearly chewed my ear off when she found out about that escapade; she gave me a quick lesson in driver’s education.

During my last two summers of high school, I worked for Reed Wilson on his farm and spent much time in digging ditches, thinning peaches, irrigating, planting tomatoes, strawberries, and a host of other chores. At harvest time, I peddled fruit and melons in Cedar City, Parowan, Paragonah, Beaver, Minersville, Milford, Fillmore, Kanosh, and Delta. I had many experiences while on these trips, some good and many that were not so good, which opened my eyes to the ways of the world—a world from which I had been sheltered while living in Dixie.

An illustration of these experiences happened in Beaver. A lady who was probably in her twenties bought two bushels of peaches. When I carried them into her house, she asked me to set them down and follow her into another room. We ended up in her bedroom where she asked me to sit on the bed while she tried to find her money. While she was looking for her money, she told me that her husband had been stationed in the CC Camp in LaVerkin (the CC Camp was later purchased by E. J. Graff and turned into a chicken farm), but he was now in the military service and had been gone for over a year on an overseas assignment. She continued looking in drawers and around the room, but she just couldn’t remember where she had stashed the money. Finally, she flat out asked if there wasn’t some other way she could pay for the peaches. Being very naive, she nearly had to spell it out for me so I could catch on to what she was alluding to. I stammered and told her that my boss insisted on cash for every bushel of peaches. At that point, she grabbed her purse from the dresser and handed me the money with a great show of disgust. I literally ran out of her house!

On another peddling trip, Reed Wilson sent me with his brother, Dilworth, and a brother-in-law, Carlyle Sullivan. I drove the three quarter ton truck and they drove the one and a half ton truck loaded with pears. When we got situated at Beaver, it soon became apparent that I was to do the peddling and those two were going after the women in the restaurants, telephone office, and any other place they could find them. They were both married and had several children, but it seemed that they chased women and drank liquor all day and all night long.

I sold my truck load of pears, and we loaded it full from the big truck. Since I had covered Beaver, Milford, and Minersville in those first two days, Dilworth called Reed and told him we were not doing very well and that the pears were just not moving, and so he thought it best that we try Richfield and Gunnison over on Highway 89.

Carlyle and Dilworth stayed with the women that night. They told me to get up early and they would meet me at my hotel room the next morning. When they arrived the next morning, Dilworth was with a woman and he told us to go on ahead and he would meet us in Richfield as he and his gal would drive over after breakfast. We took off with me driving the little truck and Carlyle driving the big truck. We stopped at Cove Fort and bought some cookies and such for breakfast. Carlyle said he would go on ahead of me, and so we started up over the Cove Fort cutoff road to Highway 89. The road was a dirt and gravel road with a great deal of washboard roughness. It was very dusty following the truck so I dropped back and opened a package of cookies as I bounced along. I ate a couple of cookies and laid the package on the seat, but, as we bounced along, the cookies slid off the seat by the passenger door. I was in a gentle turn when I leaned over to feel for the cookies. When I straightened up, I was on the rough shoulder of the road in the rocks which caught my right front wheel and pulled me over the steep embankment. The truck rolled completely over and ended right side up with the rear end sitting on top of a spruce tree. The engine was revving up and the rear wheels—suspended in air—were spinning 80 miles an hour. When I came to my senses, I turned the key off and started trying to get out. The cab was mashed flat to the bottom of the window on the driver’s side, and so I opened the passenger door and found that I was about ten feet above the ground. I got out and climbed down the tree I was resting on.

I was sitting on the edge of the road when Carlyle came back. He had noticed I wasn’t behind him by the time he got to the top of the pass, and so he turned around and came back. Soon after, Dilworth and his girlfriend arrived and others began stopping. We had someone stop at Cove Fort to call a wrecker. While we were waiting for it, who should come along but our old neighbor, Walter Segler. When Dilworth saw Walter there, he sent his girlfriend over to stand by me. She was in a pair of shorts with a halter-neck top, and she hung on to me giving the impression she was with me. You can imagine the story Walter told everyone in LaVerkin when he got home that day. He said that I had this little chippie who was nearly naked riding with me and it wasn’t any wonder that I couldn’t keep my eyes on the road. Anyway, it took a lot of explaining when I got home. I am sure many were never convinced I was telling the truth, especially since I couldn’t tell them that the gal was with Dilworth.

The next summer following my junior year, I worked for Reed for a while and then was offered a job on a maintenance crew in Zion National Park. I was making $5 a day for about ten hours work for Reed and would make $8 a day for an eight hour shift in Zion National Park. Dad wasn’t convinced that I should leave a steady, secure job to go for the “bucks” in Zion. If I thought Dad was disappointed in my decision, I didn’t know what disappointment was until I told Reed Wilson I was quitting. He thought he had a lifetime lease on my soul, so he treated me like dirt from that day on for several years to come. He wouldn’t speak to me unless he had to, and he was always giving cutting remarks about the fact that I wrecked his truck and was thus indebted to him. As far as the truck wreck goes, I know that he came out very well since it was covered by insurance, and the insurance company paid for many more bushels of pears than was damaged by the wreck.

I had enough points accrued toward my high school graduation that I only had to attend a couple of classes in my senior year. So, with the money I had earned working at Zion, I was able to do a lot of chasing around and dating. Helen’s folks put a damper on dating school nights which was a very good thing for both of us.

I had determined that I wanted to be an auto mechanic and have a little farm on the side. So, when I graduated from high school, I prepared and saved to go to Dixie College. I was able to live at home because that year Dixie College bought a new station wagon and assigned a driver in Hurricane to pick each of us up who wanted to attend Dixie. We had a full load, and it worked very well to be able to come home every night. I took a schedule loaded with auto mechanics and crafts for the winter.

During winter quarter, I missed a couple weeks of school because of complications following a tonsillectomy. For several years during the winter, my throat would become inflamed and so sore I could hardly swallow. On numerous occasions, doctors had told the folks that I should have my tonsils out. It finally became so bad that I went in on my own. When they looked at my tonsils, they said they were too infected to operate. They gave me penicillin shots for at least a month to try to clear up the infection. They indicated that they were still bad, but they really needed to come out. So they gave me local anesthesia and set me in a dental chair. The Cocaine and Novocain they were giving me didn’t deaden my throat at all. I could feel the cutting as though they hadn’t anesthetized me at all. I was coughing blood all over the doctor and the wall behind him. He had to keep stopping to clean off his glasses. When they finished, the doctor told me that I was immune to local anesthesia as he had tried three or four different types and none of them numbed my throat. He also told me that I was a bleeder and should alert any doctors who planned any future operations. I had lost quite a bit of blood and was very sick for the next several days. On the eighth day after the operation, I was awake most of the night gagging down blood. The next morning, I threw up a bucket of blood and the folks called the doctor. They rushed me to the hospital in St. George where the doctor said the area where my tonsils had been had rotted and sloughed away leaving a hole about the size of a golf ball. They called the college for volunteer blood donors, and a Pete Johnson came over and gave a pint of blood for me. While receiving it, I went into shock, and they stacked quilts on me about 12 inches high. That night the doctor took some forceps and clamped a wad of gauze about the size of a golf ball and had me hold the forceps pushing the gauze in the sloughed-away hole. Before he left me, he told me not to let that come out or I would bleed to death. About 11:00 p.m., I got to choking and panicked. I yanked out the gauze and called for a nurse. When she came in, she really chewed me out stating that Dr. McGregor was at a Lion’s Club meeting and would be very upset at being disturbed. When Dr. McGregor came, he was upset and he chewed me out before clamping some fresh gauze and telling me to keep it in my throat. I survived! I was reminded several times how lucky I was to be alive after that incident.

No wonder my dad is such a tough man!

Life History of DuWayne G. Squire - The Teen Years

I am so glad that my dad took the time and made the effort to write his life history.  There are so many things that I did not know about him until I read this book.  He really lived an extraordinary life.  I love reading of the experiences that built him into the great man he is today!

LIFE HISTORY OF DUWAYNE G. SQUIRE continued

Written by DuWayne Squire

Typed by Verlynn Sheffield

As a teenager, I worked picking cherries, strawberries, peaches, apricots, pears, or topping cane, topping or shocking sugar beets, and, worst of all, digging ditches and hauling hay. I was also required to work for my uncles doing chores like clipping the wings of the turkeys, vaccinating them, or watering and feeding them. I helped put up fences, dig ditches, stack hay, haul loose and bailed hay, and irrigate the fields and orchards. While living with my grandparents, I was farmed out to my uncles from early morning to late night working with hardly anything to eat all day and then awarded with one or two twenty-two rifle bullets, or a dime, or, once in a while, a quarter for the day’s work.

On one occasion, one of my uncles took me over to a farm on the foothills above Pintura where we worked all day digging ditches and irrigating the alfalfa. In the afternoon, he left to go with some of his cronies for a drink and never came back, and so I cuddled up to a big poplar tree trying to keep warm as all I had on were overalls and a T-shirt. I finally got so cold that I walked about a mile up to Highway 91 that ran through Pintura where I waited some more. I finally noticed that the black-topped road was somewhat warmer than I was. So I would lie down on the road and jump up as each car passed by. Finally, at about 10:00 p.m., I began walking home and was finally picked up by a gentleman from Hurricane. My uncle never did go back to pick me up.

I am grateful that my parents taught me at an early age to conform to the principle of tithing because it has made it so much easier to comply throughout my life. While serving as bishop, I counseled with adults who struggled with the principle of tithing, and, in every case, it seemed that their parents had not been faithful in the payment of their tithes and offerings (or at least had not taught their children this principle!)

I was taught at my mother’s knee to say my prayers before going to bed, and this has been a great source of spiritual strength throughout my life. I have learned to rely on prayer to find answers to all important decisions and problems and to rely on the counsel given in the Doctrine and Covenants 9:7-9.

The Aaronic Priesthood was a good experience for me. Since I seemed to be well accepted by most of my peer group, I had ample opportunity to serve in leadership capacities throughout my Aaronic Priesthood tenure. I have tasted the sweetness of success while serving in such roles.

When I entered scouting at the age of 12, I again had a great experience. We had William Tell Gubler as our Scoutmaster and he was one of the most understanding, unselfish, kind, and great men I have ever known. He took us on some wonderful trips to such places as Pipe Springs, Cedar Mountain, Puffer Lake, Blue Springs on the Kolob Mountain, and Ferron Lake. We had some super activities and were each influenced greatly by Brother Gubler’s quiet, dignified, honest, and loving characteristics. Much to our sorrow, these attributes were recognized by others, and Brother Gubler was hired by the National Scout Council on a full-time basis, and he was moved to Oregon. He finally ended up back in the Great Salt Lake Council and was retired there in 1975 or 1976. When Brother Gubler left our ward, scouting died, and my advancement ceased just prior to my receiving my first class award.

   

Another man that was a good influence in my life was Luther Fuller. Brother Fuller took it upon himself to train those interested from our ward in the art of drama. I was very shy and scared to death to open my mouth in public. This fear carried over through my high school and college years to the point that I dared not participate in class discussions unless forced to. Brother Fuller’s firm urging that I participate in some of the drama productions gave me some courage and kept me from becoming more withdrawn and introverted. He gave me some confidence in myself and a feeling of self-worth which helped me to gradually come out of my shell when in groups or in public.  I must confess that I have not completely conquered my fears and doubts concerning my abilities and equality with other adults.

Perhaps I should digress for a moment to explain why I developed into an introvert. As I recall, I was very shy before I went to live with my grandparents, William and Sarah Amelia Sanders. I lived with them from age 7 through 13. Some of my experiences with my grandfather really gave me a feeling of worthlessness and deep insecurity. Grandfather always seemed so gruff with me that I never felt welcome or comfortable in his presence. Often times when company came to visit if I was to join in the conversation, grandfather would effectively put me down with some comment like children are to be seen and not heard. I nearly went crazy on some of those long evenings sitting in the living room with nothing to do but listen to the old clock ticking away while grandfather and grandmother were reading. I recall the embarrassment I felt in the presence of my cousins or some of my peer group when grandfather made me feel that I was a nobody. My grandmother often came to my defense, but her power was limited as she respected my grandfather and didn’t want to irritate him.

My grandfather suffered greatly from sugar diabetes and rheumatism and perhaps that will justify his actions concerning me. I often wonder if I haven’t developed these feelings in my mind because of a few very embarrassing situations which remain so vivid in my mind, but, try as I might, I find it difficult to stir warm feelings toward my grandfather. I do hope that he will forgive me and that I can be honorable enough to completely forgive him in every way for the real or imagined hurt I have felt.

Another man who left deep impressions upon me was our great seminary teacher, Ivan J. Barrett. His wit, wisdom, love, and insight into the problems of youth made him a great source of strength and an aid in my decision making.

In my high school years I lived with my parents and helped dad on the farm and for most of the summers I was able to get a job with Wayne or Reed Wilson. By the time I was 16, I was able to earn enough to buy me a Model-A Coupe. I learned to drive when I was about 14 since Wayne and Reed would have me hauling fruit in the fields or loading hay and cane. I remember one day when I was about 14 or 15 after working nine or ten hours, Wayne told me to run home and change as he wanted me to go into Salt Lake with him to deliver a load of the fruit we had picked and sorted that day. When we got to Fillmore, we had a hamburger and a shake. From then on, Wayne fell asleep about every mile. As he began running off the road, I would reach over and turn the steering wheel bringing the truck back on the road. After a while, he told me to drive. At that time my driving experience consisted of sitting in the truck while it was stopped and play-shifting the gears or driving up through a field in low gear as someone loaded hay seed or hay on the truck. I remember I ground the gears once in a while and did a little weaving but got along quite well until we came into Scipio where there was a 90-degree turn as you entered the main street in town. I only slowed to about 40 miles an hour when I went around that turn, and the truck went up on two wheels. Needless to say, Wayne was wide awake from then on, and he drove on into Salt Lake.

I knew that if Dad ever found out that I was driving, he would be greatly disappointed since he was a highway patrolman trying to get people to obey the law, but, at the insistence of Wayne and Reed, I kept driving, and they soon had me driving up-town on errands for them. I was always petrified while driving around LaVerkin. One day when they sent me and one of Wayne’s young sons up to the store to buy something, I stopped a block and a half away and made Wayne’s son, Kent, walk to the store while I turned the truck around. It was on a narrow road with a big open ditch on either side of it. I had the truck crosswise in the road when guess who came driving along in his truck? You guessed it! There sat Dad waiting for me to get turned around and out of his way. If looks could kill, I would have been fried to a cinder. Dad never said anything until I got home where he expressed his great disappointment in me. I felt terrible! When I got back, I told Wayne that from then on I would not drive on the open road until I got my driver’s license.

I had a ball in high school, and my grades reflected it. My first date, as I recall, was a girl’s choice date with Ramona Gubler, whom I liked. It consisted of meeting at the school bus stop, riding the bus together to a school dance, coming home on the bus, and saying goodbye at the bus stop.

I later had a girl’s choice date with Venice Whitney where I rode the bus to the function at school and met Venice in the entrance hall. After the dance, I said goodbye to her and boarded the bus. I later dated Venice for a few months while I was in the ninth or tenth grade. Several times we sat in the car in front of her house until near day break while I was trying to get up the courage to kiss her. I never did!

I think the evolution of my association and subsequent marriage with Helen is extraordinary and so I will relate the events of this relationship beginning with my first recollection of her existence. While I was in junior high school, I had a lot of fun playing around with Fawn, Helen’s oldest sister, and some of her friends. Fawn was a year ahead of me in school and since she was nice to me we used to play around and tease each other at the school bus stop and on the bus. Fawn was a flirt with most of the boys and, of course, we were never a pair and we never dated.

My earliest recollection of Helen was when her mother didn’t have time to brush and comb out her very curly hair, so she would send Helen up to the bus stop to have Fawn fix her hair. I must admit that I didn’t appreciate the interruptions! However, Fawn soon out grew me and was dating the big boys and so Helen’s sister, Ramona, who is my age, began teasing around with me and we did go on a couple dates to the school dances. We would meet at the bus stop and sit together on the way to the dance and again on the way home. We then said our goodbyes at the bus stop as we left to go to our own homes.

STAY TUNED for next week when you can read about one of the best love stories of all time...Helen & DuWayne.

Life History of DuWayne G. Squire - The Growing Years

I am excited to get back to blogging.  My life has been a little hectic as I have gone back to teaching full time, moving from half-day kindergarten to full time third grade.  I am so happy with the job change, but it has been a bit overwhelming.  Thanks to my sister, Verlynn Sheffield, I am ready to blog again.  She typed my dad's life history and now I am benefiting from her hard work of typing and I can just cut and paste his history to my blog.  I am excited to share my dad's history, which he wrote several years ago.  It can stand up to any great autobiography! His life has been full of adventure, hard work, heartbreak and love.

LIFE HISTORY OF

DUWAYNE G. SQUIRE

Completed October 11, 1987

Written by DuWayne Squire

Typed by Verlynn Sheffield

I was born on the 14^th 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!