When we are young, it appears we can be mean at times. Some of us get over that, and develop the Christlike attributes' of respecting all people of the earth. So this apology comes late, but wanted to write it to somehow make it up to him and his family. My father is Alma C. Jones, who was born and raised in Nortonville, Utah, then later moved in with his mother and father and cooked for them at their Nephi home on the corner of 7th North and Main. However, his mother died, and her husband-Wm was invited to stay with his daughter and her husband-Erma and Rob Garrett. Will Jones passed away just before this writer was born and proud to carry his name as my middle name. In the Depression Era of America, farmers were hit as hard as the big city folks didn't have the property to have gardens and cattle. Wm and Liz appeared to be allergic to hoarding money, as they gave their money and food to others in dire need. I found that concept trickled down to my father, who was a mason and plaster expert who learned his trade from the honest man that built Nephi High School on Main Street that is now the Juab County Complex. That school was guaranteed to last a hundred years, but that was surpassed, but local officials didn't want to celebrate it. As a kid, I remember helping mix the "mud" in a wheelbarrow or a long mixing trough for my Dad. He would often do touch up jobs, like what he did on the foundation for Zora Booth who lived on the corner of 8th North and second East. My dad fixed it and charged her only five dollars. Zora was tickled pink. After we left, my Dad pulled over and gave me the five dollars for helping to mix the mud and do touch up. I told my Dad Thanks, as that would make a down payment on a lawnmower I was going to buy from Ross Garrett at the Utah Poultry. But I asked my Dad why he didn't charge her more as the bag of cement cost more than I received and Alma didn't get a plug nickel. In a kindly fashion, my father of fathers gently explained that Zora was less fortunate and she just couldn't afford it, and that if we didn't fix the concrete stairs, she could fall and really get hurt. I learned much from that small but great reasoning and found out his father was the same way, who had lost two sons and his wife was pregnant with who would be Vic Jones. Even with all of that, he accepted a mission call from the Prophet of the LDS Church. He and Liz prayed about it, and they received their answer. They would sell part of the farm below their log home in Nortonville, and ask the relatives and good neighbors in Nortonville to take care of the farm. I felt blessed to have been called on a mission where my grandfather went and for some miracle beyond my senses, people had seem to be waiting for another Jones to appear. Now I have explained my foundation and now the rest of the story. Leland Belliston purchased the lower part of the farm, and it was me and the other Jones brothers that would hitch a ride out and pull the Rye from the grain. Leland was his real name but most folks just called him "Bish". Now the apology! When I became a teenager, like others of that age, our brains were not in sink with the Souls deep within all that was given to us by God. Bish had a large car, but he was a very slow driver, and we mistakenly called him "Hazard", as all young whipper snappers' drove like a bat out of hell, and only now that I am old do I see and hear that. When we picked Rye for Bish, I started to see what a great man he was and would make sure we kept liquidized. It wasn't until he sent letters to my Dad saying how much he enjoyed their friendship and how much he didn't want to have to live with his sons up north, as he enjoyed driving around the Nephi area and up the canyon to see the fall leaves. Well Bish, you can enjoy the beauty of the heavens above, as their is beauty beyond belief. And I remember your friend Alma telling us kids that you were the star of the high school basketball team, and the fastest player on the Court. So I for one, feel sorrow to have called you a Hazard driver, as the young dumb drivers call me the same now a days.
No comments:
Post a Comment