White Family Reunion 2007

WHERE EVER I HANG MY HAT- By Paris James White

Looking back on all the places that I have called home, it has truly been a wonderful life. I was born in Mesa Arizona, at a small nursing home, West of Chandler Highway and North of Southern. Mother went there early in the morning, but the Doctor was not yet there. In an attempt to delay the birth, the Nurses cruelly held her legs together, causing much pain. As a result, I was born with a badly miss shapen head. It had been forced into a point or ridge, which remained for several weeks. Mother was so worried that she piled weights on my little pointy-head for weeks trying to get it back to normal. But I still think that is the reason for no hair on my head. Mom and Dad were staying with Grandma and Grandpa White at the time, at a home on North Extension Ave. in Mesa, Arizona. Shortly thereafter we moved up to Eager, where we lived with Mom's folks, (Grandpa and Grandma Paris Ashcroft)-Grandpa Paris built us a small frame and stucco house on the corner of his lot. Uncle Henry and Dad dug a well next to the place, and with the addition of a one-hole outhouse, we had a home. When I was about 15 months old, we moved to Long Beach, California. My little sister Patsy was born there. One day I escaped. My worried folks found me at the police station happily eating an ice-cream cone with very messy pants. So began my life of crime. We moved back to Eager, here my sisters Marlene and Janice were born. I remember Aunt Eula driving all the way up from Mesa, to see the babies in her Model A Ford. The road was much longer, and narrower, with many more curves in those days.
We eventually left Eager. Moving to many small homes around Mesa, and even living for a while with Uncle Joe and Aunt Ethal in Tempe. Dad was a traveling salesman, I recall a little of Duncan, and then Benson, Arizona as well. We lived in a small Motor Court, with cabins surrounding a beautiful pond shaded with giant cottonwood trees. What a wonderful place for kids to get into trouble. Patsy and I caught giant Gold fish from the pond and tried to cook and eat the poor things over a small fire. I have hated fish ever since. We played hide and seek in an old refrigerator, had fun killing ants with a whole barrel of DDT that we found, and tried to electrocute each other by touching a bare electric wire, which we could reach by climbing a cottonwood tree near our cabin. Our Landlords Daughter touched it a little too long and couldn't let go. She was shaking violently until she swung from the wire, and fell to the ground. I told you I was always in trouble. I really feel that a whole troupe of Guardian Angels is still active until this day.
After being baptized in the small close-by town of Pomerene, I remember Mom giving me a big hug as I stood wet from the baptism and telling me that now I was as clean as a little baby. It wasn't very long until we moved to Tucson. We lived in a small house on the outskirts of town. There were many things to do. I explored places like dry washes, desert dumps, and a cement conduit where tramp's slept. There were many interesting neighbors there. One family had peacocks and parrots, which I watched with awe. Caring my sister, Marlene piggyback, I ripped on the sidewalk, and broke my left arm at the elbow. That was a long hot summer with a cast on. But I healed O.K.
We then moved back to Mesa. My Grandparents (Lizzie and James White) gave Dad a lot at West First Ave. Dad then purchased an old house, which had been a music room and a snack bar on the grounds of Irving School in Mesa. It was moved to our lot. It became our first real home. There were very high ceilings, and three rooms. A front room, a kitchen, and a very large room with a toilet in the corner. Dad had a wall built around that, and it became our bathroom. The ceiling was about four feet above that, so Dad removed that low ceiling and put a ceiling over the bathroom and with some stairs that became John and Gary's bedroom. The Girls slept near the bathroom wall. Mother put up a curtain across the middle, and that became my Parent's bedroom. I was left to shift for myself. I slept on the couch, then in the back yard during the summer. (Using the old ceiling boards, together with all the lumber I could scrounge up. I constructed a small room on the back of the house.) It sure wasn't much to look at, but with a cot, I had my own room. I nearly burned the whole place down one winter night, when an electric space heater was placed too close to my bed, and caught my blankets on fire. I smelled the smoke, and quickly stomped out the blankets. This home was were I finished high school, and started college at A.S.U.
I sure did look forward to a little brother to play with, but first came Patsy Jean, Marlene, Janice, and finally my brother John, but by then it was too late for him to be my buddy. My sisters were cute enough, but nearly useless as buddies. When my brother John finally came along he was more of a nuisance than someone to play with. And when Gary came I was nearly grown. These little guys really wanted to be my buddies, but I just felt like they were little kids usually of another generation and under foot. In my circle, there were no boys exactly my age. They were all either a couple of years younger or, as is the case with my good friend Joe O'Barr, a year or so older. I have often wondered about this, and have reached the conclusion that it mush have been a result of the great depression. There were just fewer babies born in 1935. I think that people just lost hope by then, the depression had started in October 1929, and really didn't end until World War II got the country finally rolling. So when I came along, things were pretty bleak.
My good friends and buddies while I was growing up were; Joe O'Barr, Lannie Horne, Karl Mortensen, Grant Smith, Arch Willis, Allen Klienman, Jesse O'Barr and Pat Goodman. Others were not so good friends, like Charlie Sutton whom I would have a steady fight with every time we saw one another. He would box pretty good, but he had a habit of biting on his finger as he slugged away. I couldn't box very well, but was a fair wrestler. So I would always take a few good licks till I could get a hold of him, and then it was my fight. I got so upset with his constant bullying that I would have killed him (or at least tried). If some of his friends hadn't pulled me off a few times. After many years away from home I was so surprised to return and find old Charlie to be an Elders Quorum President and really nice guy. So I guess people really can change. If Old Charlie could, any one can! We played a lot of war games, it was during World War II, and for the years thereafter, the Army or Marines was the goal of all young men. Anyway, it was tough to find kids my age. As a result, I spent my days as the gang leader of a bunch of younger kids, doing my own thing, or tying to tag along with older boys. I'm sure this had a great influence on who I am, and how I have behaved towards others in my life. I regret how I treated my little brothers, usually ignoring them, or worse, teasing them. I wasn't a very good influence upon my younger friends either, leading them into all kinds of mischief. I have always had a certain aloofness, which people seemed to take as being stuck up, or a better than thou attitude. I have never thought of myself as being that way, generally feeling rather insecure, and somehow not quite as good as other people, perhaps because of these feelings, and being so poor as a child, I have been driven, all my life, to be, or at least appear to be, the best at whatever I did. In some ways, this has been good, it has also created problems in my life. People didn't really like someone who thinks he's better than they are. It's hard to be friends with one who doesn't seem to mix. I suppose that it all comes down to just you are what you are, you become what you become.

SCHOOL DAYS

I would like to record for some of my posterity some of my early memories. Of great influence in my life, were my Dad and my Dear Aunt Eula. Both were school teachers. My Father knew, and told me many times, that I could, and I'd better do better. My Aunt Eula did something about it. She made sure that I received every educational benefit. This included Nursery School, summer tutoring, this I didn't mind at all as we always went for hamburgers and cherry coke afterwards. She had sort of adopted us kids, as she never married. Due to my father's many jobs, I attended Alma School, Tempe Grade School, Eager Elementary, Tucson Grade School, Mesa Lincoln and Franklin, Irving, and Mesa High School; I took all of the art classes available. I followed that with nearly a year at ASU, and then many years of Military Schools. I graduated as an Honor Student, from Air Traffic Control School, and was retained as an instructor. This was at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi Mississippi. After losing my left eye in an accident I had to change career fields. Back to school studying Electronics, and then a school specializing in ATC Radar, after graduating Honor Student, I was given the choice of bases in the West and closest was Ellsworth AFB. The next school I went to was at Fort Manmouth, New Jersey. I was the Honor graduate, receiving my award from the Commanding General of Fort Monmouth, the Army Electronics School. I am not writing these things to boast, only saying to you that you have great intelligence potential in you, apply it, and there is no end to your possibilities. You can do it, there are no scrubs in our Family. I say this with Love.

IMPRESSIONS OF EAGER-ROUND VALLEY DAYS

Much of My Life has been centered around a beautiful piece of Arizona called Round Valley. That is the spot where my life began. Mother's folks lived there. Dad was the Principal of the High School. They courted there and then traveled to Salt Lake to be married in the Temple. As a natural result, I began my journey on Earth in Eager. I don't know what happened to get me down to Mesa for my birth, as I am quite sure Mother would rather have been with her Mother and other loved ones for that event. Shortly after, I was taken back to Eager for a joyful showing to all, as the first child and the first Grand Child in the Family. My Eager was a small Mormon community nestled in the White Mountains. The elevation is around seven thousand feet, so the summers are cool and just about perfect with the smells of a sawmill and wood smoke in the air. The community streets lined with Cottonwood and Poplar trees. Nearly every home had an orchard of apple trees which, if the early frost didn't get them, produced delicious apples of every kind. Also, around every home can be found a well for household water, plenty of happy kids, and chicken's scratching around for bugs and other chicken delights. There were also barns with hay, a cow shed with at least one family milk cow, and assorted other out buildings. It was a wonderful place for a child to grow up. The kids always had plenty of chores, which included driving the cows down the hill to the community pasture, in the mornings, and bring them home in the evenings. There was always a garden to be weeded, wood to be cut, and kindling to be gathered. The wood box next to the family cook stove had to be filled, the cow milked and chickens taken care of. But, as kids always do, we could find plenty of time for play. An egg, found in the barn and taken to the store, would buy a nickels worth of candy. I remember a childhood filled with good things, exciting things. Like laying in a big, many blanketed bed in our little home in Eager and listening every night to the coyotes crying on the rodeo hill back behind the house. Playing in the Bishop's store house, the barn, in the hay, and setting up a fort in an old abandoned cabin in a field of sunflowers and preparing for battle with a neighborhood band of boys using flippers, bows, arrows, and B.B. guns. The battles were furious, but somehow on one was every seriously hurt. I remember taking my 22 riffles, my bicycle, some blankets, and my old dog and heading down Extension Road in Mesa out to the old powerhouse. Thee was nothing but desert there then, and camping out overnight. About 3a.m. some noise in the underbrush scared me so bad that I started firing my 22 wildly into the trees, I found out the next day that it was just a bunch of horses and I don't know if I hit anyone of them or not. (NO DEAD HORSES)

DEATH RIDES AND HIGHWAY

When I was about 13 and living in Mesa I made a little car using parts from a motor scooter and miscellaneous sheet metal and angle iron. Which looked like a Model A Ford with one wheel in the back. I was very proud of the little car and drove it all over Mesa, including to Mutual. On my way home I decided to go down main street because this was the shortest way home. It was dark and I had no lights or breaks. I was about to turn to my home road when I noticed red lights behind me. Doing my best to turn off the engine and stop by dragging my feet, I finally got stopped. From behind me came a great big policeman, who sternly listed all my violations, including no driver's license, unlicensed vehicle, and none of the required safety features. I was so scared I knew I was going to prison. Unknown to me the policeman had recorded the whole thing on a tape recorder. After turning off the tape recorder he sternly told me to go home and never take it on the road again.
About a week later the family was tuned into KOY in Phoenix and a program called,
"Death Rides the Highway" came on the air and I was the main offender, you would here me in my little boys voice saying, "No Sir, I don't have a license. Oh no!"

JUST LILLY AND ME

I was a senior in High School when Lilly first came into my circle, this pretty little sophomore came up to me and wanted me to write in her yearbook. I was very flattered by this obviously smitten young thing. She was obviously smitten with my many charms. I think I drew a little cartoon in her book with some silly little caption about maybe getting together at some future time. How little did I know? In those days I was still getting around on bicycle, but my buddy, Karl Mortenson, had a car. We had gone to the movies at the Mesa Theater when we noticed a group of girls sitting down in front of us. Having each other for courage, we moved down behind them, flirting with them. I noticed the most outgoing girl among them, and focused all of my considerable charm on her. I shortly asked her if she would like a ride home after the show. Now, if she had said yes, I had no idea what I would have done with Karl, but she turned me down. But, she did it in such a way that left me knowing that there was hope for future developments. After that summer, I started my freshman year at ASU and I was now a college man. I even had a car, a 1936 Ford with fender skirts, a fresh paint job, and a neckers knob on the steering wheel. I was very cool, even before that word meant what it does today. Anyway, one evening I got a telephone call from a girl in my ward, inviting me to a birthday party. Not for her, but for one of her girl friends, one I might possibly remember, a Miss Lillian Crigler. A surprise party for a girl I hardly knew. No gift required, just please come. I was very flattered, obviously my considerable charms were coming into demand. At the party were many of Lillian's friends, we had a great time, and then we piled into one of the cars and drove down to a A & W Root Beer stand where we met Lilly's then boyfriend, Gene, who was mad, because he had to work. Then we drove out to the Mesa City Cemetery with Lillian sitting on my lap, we were very crowded. As I hugged that sweet young thing, laughing, joking, just having a wonderful time, I fell in love. I didn't know much about dating, about having a serious romance, but I was falling seriously, deeply, and permanently in love. It took a few weeks for Lillian to break Gene's heart. I remember his picture remaining in her living room for some while, but Lillian and I began seeing each other nearly every day. I think our first real date was a picnic on the slopes of Camel-Back Mountain. We had a wonderful time, and this soon became a pattern for our times together. Lilly's father became very angry with her, he did not like Mormons, and told Lilly she could not see me and continue to live in his home. If you know my sweetheart at all, you know what happened. She moved out. We were just thrown together more. I soon forgot about school, and everything else, but we started talking about the future, and I remember telling Lilly about finishing college, and about going on a mission. I didn't see how I could possibly get married before the age of 28 or so. Little did I know? Then Lilly told me that Gene had asked her to marry him. I kept my shock under control and told her that if that was what she wanted, to go ahead, I left, Once again, that was the wrong, or right thing to say to Lilly, depending on how you look at it. It wasn't long before I thought I was in a whirlwind, Lilly was everywhere, she was at my MIA meetings, laughing and having a good time with her girl friends, all of whom seemed to be in MY WARD. It also wasn't long before we were right back together again, this time for keeps. It wasn't long either, before my Dad told me I either had to marry the girl, or leave town. I had no job, wasn't doing well in school, and could see only one way to go. I would join the Air Force. I had always wanted that anyway, so that is what we did. I say we, because Lilly was with me every step of the way. She hadn't been feeling too well, and had been to see a Doctor. She was told that it was an amoeba, nothing to worry about. So I went off to Texas. We later named that little stomach problem, Pamela.Lilly was my first real love, we had been totally committed to each other from nearly the first time we had met, and so there were never any regrets, things just worked out that way. We were married in San Antonio, Texas on the 24th day of July 1954. By the Bishop. I went to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio Texas. I was then shipped to Biloxi, Mississippi and Lilly and Pamela joined me and we became a family.
In Biloxi, we first lived in a small duplex quite a ways from the Base. I rode a bike to work and we enjoyed good friends and the Gulf Coast. Going out on a boat and fishing with a neighbor was great fun. We lived a simple life not having anything we didn't make ourselves, out of pine limbs and orange crates. After a while we moved to West End Homes, a public low cost housing development. We had many good friends, many of whom were members of the Church. We became active in the Ward there, and Lillian was baptized there. It was there when I built my first Radio Controlled Air Plane and tragically lost my left eye. We were living there when Randy was born, and because of the loss of my eye, I was forced to change my career field, and learned Electronics. We lived in a base housing unit after that, until an assignment came from Ellsworth A.F.B. in South Dakota. We bought a small homemade two wheel trailer, and pulled it to Arizona and then to South Dakota with our 1950 Ford. There we lived in an apartment near the school of Mines in Rapid City. Later we moved to a small rent house right off the end of the runway at Ellsworth A.F.B.
My Father became very ill and I received a Compassionate Transfer back to Arizona. I worked on the Radar at Luke A.F.B. out towards Wickenburg. The old Auxiliary Field was wonderful to work at, as a small crew of us was way out in the Desert with no one around but the desert critters. During the rainy season, we were flown to work in an Air Force Aircraft. Our family lived in Avondale, where our Vanessa was born. After about a year, we were shipped over seas to Japan. We were stationed at Itazuki AFB on Kyushu Island, near the large city of Fukuyoka. Our first home was off base in a Japanese built home, called Shire Baru. Our little Bonnie was born there, later we moved into a much larger Japanese home in Kasuga Baru. We soon moved to base housing where our little boy, Rulon was born. Our tour off duty was up in 1962.
We were sent back to the States, assigned to Otis A.F.B. on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. On our way through Arizona, Lillian and I received our Patriarchal Blessings, and went to the Mesa Temple for our family sealings and our Endowments. A short visit at home and then moved to Massachusetts.
While in Massachusetts we lived in a big two story home on Cranberry Hwy. In a town called Wareham. This was where our Rhonda was born. We were on Old Cape Cod for a number of years, and so we moved twice more. Our second home was out on the Cape in Cautamet, a cold and drafty old place, and then out to Otis A.F.B. in base housing. These were happy years making new friends, serving as Branch President in the Cape Cod Branch, a great Squadron, and many airplane Buddies.
My next assignment was kind of strange, first, going to an Army Satellite Communications School at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey where we lived in a Beach cottage by the Boardwalk, in Manasquan, New Jersey. I was the ranking man in my class, and so I had to march a large group of Air Force, Army, and Navy men to and from class. I was required to stay in the barracks for a while, and was very happy to finally get my family there. School was over in the spring, and we packed up with orders for a stay in Arizona, to be followed with orders sending me overseas. We purchased a home on West 6th Drive in Mesa. Once again, I went to work at Luke AFB. Working at the Radar site. After just getting settled down, I received orders for an unaccompanied tour at Dyabikir Turkey. After getting all packed, those orders were cancelled, and we received new orders for Brandywine, Maryland. We sold the house, and headed for the East Coast once again.
Brandywine was a small Air Force long haul receiver site, near Waldorf, Maryland. Lillian found us an old farmhouse on a run down grown over, wonderful tobacco farm. This was where I was ordained a High Priest, where we started our Twig, which is a very small Branch of the church, and where our son, Ronald was born.
After four years, we received orders for Aviano AFB, in Northern Italy. We flew from New York to Milan, Italy. From there, another flight to Venice, and then by van to Aviano. What a lovely place. Right up against the Swiss Alps. Near the Adriatic Ocean. And close to the City of Pordenony, where our Rachel was born in an Italian hospital. This is where Randy and I first tried Hang Gliding. This is where we met with the Italian Saints, with American families sitting on one side of the Chapel, and Italians on the other. We were able to live in a three story Italian Home with marble floors. We were in the small village of Roverado. The church bells awakened us on Sunday mornings, ringing all over the valley. The only word for it is Belisimo (beautiful). I developed skin cancer problems and was eventually sent back to Lackland AFB, in San Antonio, TX. Lillian and the children joined me, and after the operation, I was sent to Luke AFB again. We purchased a home in Mesa, on the corner of 8th Ave. and Elm Street. That is where I retired from the Air Force as a tired old Master Sergeant. I worked for Our Bishop, Moroni Mac Elhaney, as a Masonry Contractor Estimator and general Gofer.
After a very short year, No, it was almost two years during which our Pamela married David Morgan, our Vanessa married Burke Donaldson, Lillian and I served in the Alma Ward where I was Ward Clerk and Lillian worked in the Primary. I obtained work as a D.P.S. Communications Technician. After training, I received an assignment in Safford, AZ. Lillian and her Mother went ahead to find a house. They returned telling of an old house in Central, Arizona. Which would be perfect for our family. And as always, Lilly was right. We moved to Central, AZ. It turned out to be a house that had been moved down from Morenci many years before. There had been many tack-on additions, the roof had so many different angles and there was so many windows, it just looked strange. But, we loved it. Randy had been called on his mission while we were still in Mesa, and he departed for Japan. Our children started school in Thatcher, we began the long process of clean up, fix up, and this became our first real home. Our Son Rulon, died of cancer in 1977 and he is buried in Central.

MOUNTAINS OF ARIZONA

For many years, I was privileged to work on the mountains of Arizona. I would take the mountain roads to the Radio Sites in a truck in the summer and a truck with a snow cat in the winter.
All alone with my radios for company. I would meditate along looking at the beautiful scenery and getting paid for doing what I considered to be the best job in the world. Many the Gospel questions dwelt with, many the prayers offered on those windy roads. Many times, I would be the only soul on the whole mountain. With a few notable exceptions, I did not have many problems in the summer-time. However, one evening I was called out to go to Guthrie Mountain. I took Lilly with me, and after hitting a sharp bump; all the lights went out and stayed out. We made it to the Radio Site in the dusk, we did the work on the site and then started to travel down and that was a different matter. It was pitch dark, we started out, and I could not see the road. One wrong turn and it was hundreds of feet down off the side of the mountain. With Lilly holding a flashlight out of the window, we crept along. About halfway down, the flashlight went out. We faced either a cold night and wait for daylight, or some help would have to come. I called out on my Radio, and luckily got a Highway Parolman. Bob Sabin would be happy to come and help, but had no idea how to get there. So after directing Bob around many mountain turns, he arrived, and began leading us down the mountain. With his headlights ahead, and his taillights as our guide, we made it back to town. Thankful to be home again.
Lilly was brave enough to accompany me on many more trips up to the mountains, not nearly as scary. But, one dark and very snowy night on Mt. Graham we were in the Snow Cat, a tracked vehicle required in deep snow, we were heading down. The roads were drifted so badly, that they were invisible. I drove by aiming through the gaps where the roadway should have been. The lights all went out. Lilly was terrified. She screamed just in time for me to swerve us onto the road. Instead of down a steep slope, probably saving us from injury or worse. On another snowy occasion, I ran over a large snow covered log. Violently throwing the snow cat, and throwing Lilly right out the door. I was so busy, that I didn't even see her go. When I finally looked over, she was gone. Stopping the cat, I looked and hollered, Lilly. She answered from deep in a snow bank. "I'm here." Except for very bruised pride, she was fine.
It was my practice, to pull the snow cat just as high up on the Mountain as I could, unloading it off the trailer when the snow became too deep to go further. I would unload the cat from the trailer, lock the truck, take all the keys, and plow up the rest of the way in the Cat. As I arrived at the Site, I always had to dig down through up to four or more feet of snow reaching the door. There were two locks, very secure, needing unlocked, to enter the building. On two different occasions, when I reached for my keys, they were gone. I had shoveled so much snow they could have been anywhere. I could not get in the Building nor could I get back into my truck by going back down. I knelt in the snow, prayed with real intent. One final look at the door, and glory be, the keys were hanging from the lock. It was an answer to my prayer, and I cannot deny it. Another thankful prayer was given and I gratefully went to work. On another occasion, the snow had blocked the access gate, I had shoveled about three feet of snow there, just to go the last two miles to the site. When I got up to the site, and down to the door, my keys were again missing. Again a fervent prayer, but this time, no keys in the lock. After a vain search, I took the snow cat back down to the gate. There, lying on top of the snow that I had shoveled, lay the keys. In worldly circumstances, those keys would have been lost until the spring melts. I always felt closer to the Lord up there.
Going up the mountain often gave me more trouble than coming down. Trying to pull as high as possible before unloading the snow cat often got me in trouble. There are several steeply banked turns just about Turkey Flat. With people four wheeling it after every snowstorm. The roads became as slick as proverbial goose grease. Cover that with a foot of snow and it became a treacherous situation. I would often become stuck on the steep slope right after the turn. I usually put on my tire chains first, and if that didn't work, I would pull out the cable from the truck winch, and try and find a tree to hook it to. It often took me an hour or more, just to do these things. Using the winch drew down the battery so heavily, that the truck engine would often stall. Then I would be in trouble. After off loading the cat, I would use it's battery to get my engine going. Dear readers...please bear with me as I tell you these things. On one memorable day, all of this was done, and I was still stuck. To make matters worse, the truck was slipping towards the cliff. All of a sudden, as if pushed by a giant hand, my truck made a leap to the center of the road, and took off up the hill. Never had my prayers been answered so forcibly before. Another thanks giving prayer, and I was on my way to Lady Bug Saddle. All of this, of course, came to an end when I lost my eyesight. But, memories of that wonderful time will last forever. I feel that I should record at least one other miraculous event in my life. It was in the late Seventies, I was in the V.A. Hospital over in Tucson. The Doctors were going to operate on my right eye socket. I was terribly worried, as they had told me that I could loose my EYE. As the time drew near I began praying over and over that all would be well. They loaded me on the cart to take me to the operating room and I was still praying. It seemed that every bump of the wheels produced another prayer. Suddenly, a voice spoke to me. It was firm, it came into my mind, but not through my ears, the voice said, "Cease to trouble me with the problem, all will be well." A peace immediately came over me, I began to smile, and all my worries were gone, I realized that my constant Prayer had been answered so forcibly that I could never deny it. Most amazing of all was that I had actually troubled the Lord, from all of these things, and many, many more. I absolutely know that all of our Prayers are answered. All was well, and all still is, through all of my many operations, through all of the pain, nothing has ever happened to me that has not strengthened me. I am thankful for it ALL.

MY HOBBY==MODEL AIRPLANES

In my life, the making and flying of model airplanes has played an important role. As a very young lad, perhaps I was four or five, My Uncle Ronald was flying rubber powered free flight models. I remember watching Him and wanting so much to participate. I saved some pennies, and we ordered a small kit from Sears and Roebucks. I don't remember getting it built, just the excitement of getting it. My next memory is of a Motor Court in Phoenix, right across the street from the State Mental Hospital. Some boys, who lived in the court, were playing with model airplanes. It looked like so much fun. I begged my mom and dad to get me one. I prevailed, and Dad brought a kit home, which we tried to build on the kitchen table. We couldn't figure it out, so Dad paid one of the boys to build it. It was a rubber powered, balsa and tissue covered free flight. I think it was yellow. I remember playing with it until it was destroyed in Grandma White's backyard. So began the pattern of my life. Build it, dream about it, and then crash it. Most of these early attempts were during WWII, which began in December 1941 when I was just six years old. It was an exciting time, with reports of the battles on the radio every day, airplanes filling the skies over Mesa with Pilot training at Luke, Willy, and Falcon fields. We ran around the schoolyards with arms outspread, making airplane noise and pretending to shoot down each other in flames. No cowboy and Indian stuff for us. It was Japs and German, American good guys all day long. We collected scrap metal, old rubber tires and even string for the war effort. We bought war bones at school, filling out little stamp books with ten-cent war stamps. Everything bought in the stores was rationed, if you could find it at all. Anyhow, we flew little toss gliders, built model airplanes with cardboard and pinewood parts. Balsa wood was not available, very often. You couldn't get glue, so it was make our own glue using celluloid tooth brush handles and paint thinner. Some model kits came with a set of plans and a block of pinewood to be carved into a model. I also had to walk five miles through deep snow, but that's a different story.

While I was in Grade School I hung out down by old Mesa High School there was a hobby shop across the street. I would watch and listen as the boys ran their engines, talked about airplanes, and just seemed to have a great time. I remember watching as they strapped a Jetex C02 cartridge to a balsa stick and punctured it, aiming high in the sky, something went wrong, and it just fell over into the street, striking the pavement. It swooshed, and took off, heading right down the street. About two blocks away an old man was slowly crossing the street, suddenly spotting the rocket coming at a lethal speed. He jumped up in the air and the rocket went right under him. I'm sure that he was terrified, but to us watching, it was hilarious. I started building little cars, which could run down a string. We convinced the principal at Franklin grade school, to let me use the hall after school, and run my car down the hallway. When I punctured the jet it shot down the string, hit the end, and kept right on going out the door. Like a bullet. That was the end of that, except for the time that I put an ice pick through the shop roof with a Jetex powered airplane. Honestly, I thought an ice pick would make a great nose cone for my rocket airplane. Pursing gentler aspects of the hobby, I purchased my first engine while in High School. It was a .049 Atwood, that I wore out, trying to start it. I remember beating up a neighbor kid pretty badly for stealing the darn thing. When I should have just given him it. I learned to fly U control on a basketball court behind Alma Ward. Not much line length, but I did learn how not to get dizzy. Some of the dates that I had with Lilly, were flying U control model airplanes, I flew a U Control in front to the first little apartment that we lived in after our Marriage. My experiences with model airplanes are mostly about friends, people I would never have known had it not been for my hobby. So, my advice has always been, find something to do outside of your regular circles, and you will find people out there that will make your life so much better and someone to share the Gospel with also. In Biloxi, Mississippi I became friends with Sgt. Kline, Pete Mesmer, Sgt. Howard, and others. Peter and his whole family joined the church, and more many have, that I have not followed. It has just been a great part of my life. My first radio-controlled airplane was made in Biloxi, and m first flight was made in Gulfport, at an abandoned airport. What a thrill it was to see that Cub actually turn as I worked the control stick. My transmitter, receiver, and all that was in the airplane, was homemade, as there was very little commercially available. We would work all week repairing, just to fly that once or twice on Saturday, just to do it all over again. In South Dakota, I still had the Cub, but also designed and made a big Stits Flybaby. I tried to build a new proportional radio system for it, but it never did work right. Using those new fangled transistors, I was trying to go too far, too fast. I went back to what worked, in Arizona, and built a Champ, with single channel, wig-wag pulse proportional. (A system where as you moved the Control stick the rudder would constantly bag back and forth but according to the stick position of the rudder, it would stay more to one side than the other.) We had to cut the wing in half to get it to Japan, so my models went there wagging their tails behind them.
Waiting for my Lilly, I built a Nobler U Control (flown on 60ft wire cables)Kit and really got serious about UC Stunt. I joined the Base Model club, and again made many new friends. I participated in the Far East model championships, in which I flew Radio Control hand launched glider, U-Control stunt speed, including jet at nearly 200 miles an hour. Free flight, and Team Racing. We were after team points, and had to enter as many events as possible. Back at Itazuki, I started flying with a tuned reed Radio Control system to give me up to ten channels different controls we built many airplanes, but my favorite was the Smog Hog. It had a 6ft wide wingspan. And it had a high wing. Our homemade radio equipment didn't work that entire well. That old Smog Hog went in so many times and was rebuilt so many times I was considering cast iron as a building material. So, necessity being the mother of invention, I installed a large parachute in the airplane which could be deployed by radio. Well, the very next time I flew it, it happened. Flying from an athletic field nest the the fence over which was a Japanese village, the airplane headed for the ground. About 50ft above the ground, I hit the switch. I watched as the chute came out and fully deployed just before it hit the ground. I climbed the fence and ran to the plane. There was the poor plane, broken clean in two, not by the ground, but by the shock of the chute opening. Back to the drawing board, but years later, this has become a life saving idea, used on ultra light and other small planes. Just ahead of my time again.
It wasn't until the 1970's that model helicopters became a reality, but again, when I was a junior in High School, I built and flew a jet powered model helicopter free flight, with great success. When I was in Rapid City, I designed and flew a low winged RC airplane, that to my knowledge, was one of the first low winged that I ever heard of. All of these things have left me wondering just what could have happened had I pursued it. Never sell yourself short. Your ideas are actually whisperings of the spirit and should never be sold short. By the time we got back to the US and at old Cape Cod, things were really beginning to happen in the hobby. Multi channel, proportional, commercially available radio systems became available, but very expensive. I remember spending all of a reenlistment bonus for a new radio system. I even borrowed money from the Church building funds to finish paying for a new system and not only repay it, but had to confess it to the Bishop. This taught me to never let your wants lead you down the path that can take you to places that can give you unhappiness, it isn't worth it. I hope my family will forgive me for the second hand clothes, the less than new Christmas and birthday presents caused by my over enthusiastic involvement in my hobby. I have seen some of this same tendency in some of my children and accept responsibility for not teaching you better. Some of these Radio systems were almost worthless, but over the years they are now almost perfect.
In Old Cape Cod, I was a member of a great club, with guys from all over that part of New England. We flew off the frozen Ice Ponds. Our gear in the airplanes required hand warmers wrapped next to the airplane receivers to keep from freezing. I built a cub from my own planes, a P63 King Cobra from a kit, and other short-lived planes I can't remember. On one occasion, a big contest was held at Otis AFB, and I built a Nober UC especially for the contest. With hundreds of people watching, I started the engine, and then ran out to the center of the circle to pick up the control handle. With perfect confidence, like a bullfighter in the ring, I raised my arm and dropped it in a signal to release the plane. It quickly accelerated to take off speed and flew into the air. I gave it up to prepare for my first maneuver/the airplane dove straight into the ground, splattering into a hundred pieces. I had grabbed the handle upside down. Those old contest jitters can sure humble a feller in a hurry.
Another event I entered that day was UC combat, where the object is to cut a crape paper streamer from the tail the other aircraft. Something went wrong with my engine, and it would scream wide open for a few seconds, then sat down to just idle again. As I flew around in the circle, the airplane would streak around, and then practically stop in the air. I'm sure the other pilot thought I did it deliberately, because he didn't have a chance. A little help from above is always appreciated (what you say when your praying for help in a model airplane contest.) Surely, the old man was crazy. Nope, just praying over my crops and fields, like the good book says. Mine just happened to have engines. Anyhow, when we left Cape Cod, I had a pretty good outfit. In New Jersey, I flew off of the Parade grounds at Ft. Monmouth. Along the way, I got Nita's husband, Dale, interested in the hobby, for which he probably still cusses me. When we got to Maryland, I really got into the contests. Concentrating on Scale events, I won many trophies in contest up and down the East Coast. That is where the DC3 was designed and built. It won many contests, and I did a construction article for it in the Magazine, Model Airplanes News. When we left Maryland, I never did get into the Hobby that deeply again. I did enjoy flying, especially with my sons. Each of which learned to fly. Ronald has been my good right hand, enabling me to hold the transmitter even though I can no longer see the planes. It has been a wonderful hobby, a large part of my life.