Earl & Eliza Halls

In every small town and in every school there is a group of bullies. We had ours and I seemed to be the subject of their bullying. One time at school, Que Hislop and Carman Brown, with others backing them up were touting me for a fight, but I wouldn’t fight. Eventually I said I would meet them behind the store after school. Well when I got to the store, there they were. They started mouthing off and putting chips on my shoulders and giving me a bad time. Finally I hit Carman in the face with my hand and pushed him backward because I wasn’t going to take any more. He came back swinging. My Dad had never taught me how to fight and neither had anybody else, so I never clenched my fist properly, but when I let him have it beside the head, he hollered and I broke my thumb so that ended the fight. Thereafter they wanted to be my friends, but I would not. Another time I was riding my bicycle and Que threw some rocks in my spokes. That did it! I got off my bicycle and started pounding on him. We pounded on each other till a neighbor stopped us, but I wished that he hadn’t for I would have liked to have beat the socks off of that guy. One time Maynard Peterson stood at the crossroads when I was coming from Grandpa’s. I didn’t like the look on his face, so I turned around and went around the block. He
went down the block and he was standing at the crossroads again, so I sensed that there was something wrong, but I continued on. I found that he was very unhappy, as someone had told him that I had been calling him nasty names. He didn’t believe what I said, so we had to pound on each other’s heads awhile before he would let me continue.

(Earl) I was transferred to Ogden, and did blacksmith work on 29th Street and Pacific Avenue when they were building the Union Pacific roundhouse. In March, when the job was about ended, I contracted to buy Albert Wangsgard’s shop in Huntsville. Later, I was notified I had been recommended for the Evanston shops. Too late; I was tied up.

(Lyle) We lived in the Sprague home for about two years, paying $50.00 rent per month. Dad and Mother then rented a home owned by Aunt Ruth and Uncle Henry Grow, located in the center of Huntsville. This home was much nicer and larger than the Sprague home, having three large rooms downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs. Mother and Dad used the lower bedroom and us boys were upstairs. The home had city water, with a sink, but we still had an outside privy. There was a barn, a chicken coop, and a large garden area.

(Glenn) 1926. I don’t recall the move from the Sprague house to Aunt Ruth’s house uptown. Mother told me that she and I walked up the road and that I carried one of her lamps. Ruth’s house was on a couple of acres of land with a large barn at the back. Beside the house was a well with a workable pump which we did not use as water was piped into the house to a sink. The sink drain pipe went through the wall and drained into the raspberry bushes. Ruth’s house consisted of three rooms downstairs and about the same upstairs. The downstairs east room was used for the kitchen. The southwest room was the living room, but we hardly ever used it. Off of this room was Mother and Dad’s bedroom. Upstairs there was a large room and two small rooms. The large room at the head of the stairs was where all the boys slept. One small room had Aunt Ruth’s stored goods that we got into and nosed around once in awhile, and there was one small room where I slept. Why I was given a room of my own, I do not know.

Dad eventually quit the railroad and worked for a time at Sperry Mills unloading grain from railroad cars. He then bought the Wangsgard shop in Huntsville and I worked with him quite a bit. I remember it was sometimes difficult to get released so us boys could go down to Spring Creek and go skinny dipping. While swimming, we used to worry about the crawdads getting hold of our toes.

One night I was invited to a party. Mother had gone to the store and I needed some hot water to get ready. I kindled a fire in the kitchen stove. In doing so I poured some kerosene in on the wood, but there were some hot coals and it exploded. The lids flew off and soot was scattered all over the house; sure made a mess. When Mother came home, I had a job cleaning up the room. I guess I did get it done in time to go to the party.

Mother had an electric washing machine. I think it was a Maytag. It was my first experience with electricity and I didn’t know what made it work. I recall putting a kink in the cord and the washer stopped so I presumed it was like water and I could stop the electricity from flowing through the cord.

Mother on occasion went to church and got us kids started. I recall that I used to go to Primary after school. They had dances and that is how I learned to dance. I had to give a talk in Sacrament Meeting and in the middle of my talk I forgot what I was supposed to say. I just stood there, but I finally regained my composure and picked it up and finished. After the meeting, I was congratulated on my recovery and composure, but I was scared to death.

(Lyle) Dad was still working for the railroads, but in March 1927, he contracted to buy Albert Wangsgard’s blacksmith shop that was located next to Mr. Wangsgard’s garage, and one-half block from home. The blacksmith business was not too profitable, but with the cow, chickens and garden we had all we needed to eat. Mother made most of our clothes for school and even some for our Sunday best. Glenn and I earned spending money by picking beans, working for farmers in the hay, and in late fall and early winter trapping muskrats for their skins. It wasn’t big business as each skin only brought thirty to forty cents, but that seemed like a lot of money to us.

One time David 0. McKay was in the shop getting some work done, and Dad was using the acetylene torch. Mr. McKay asked how hot the flame was, and Dad said, “Ten degrees hotter than hell.” Mr. McKay answered, “That’s hot enough for me.” One time there was a light rain storm and my cousin, Otto Grow, found that by laying a bar on the forge and touching the sidewalk in front of the shop, he would get an electric shock. He then proceeded to stand just inside the shop and greet everyone who passed by with a hearty handshake. It was interesting to see how different people reacted.

(Glenn) 1927. It was about this time that I desired to get more wheels under me than a bicycle provided, something with power. A friend of mine, Mark Shupe, and his family were inventive and mechanical. He and I worked for somebody and we traded our labors for an old motorcycle that didn’t run. Someone had lost part of the bearings in the connecting rod and replaced them with some leather and bearings together. Of course, they didn’t hold up too long so we had to rebuild the engine. We spent most of our time working on it and pushing it to get it started. Eventually it became functional and Mark spent most of the time riding it while I fixed it. Of course, this didn’t go over very well and the partnership soon broke up. I bought out his interest, as I recall, for two dollars and fifty cents, then I traded the motorcycle for a bunch of Model-T parts consisting of a front axle, a rear axle frame, and I guess a steering wheel, gas tank, and a basket of engine parts. I then preceded to build my four wheels. I was almost fourteen at that time. My working area was in front of the house, between the fence and the road. I imagine it was sure a mess. How I got by with it I do not know. I spent a lot of time building that automobile and cranking it, trying to get it to run. I did not have much help as Dad was busy in the blacksmith shop, and I was busy helping him, and of course, we had to go to school and church. The crank that I had acquired was a Chevrolet crank and was a little longer than the regular Ford crank. One day while cranking the engine, not knowing the procedure for cranking, I was pushing down and the engine kicked back and broke my arm. I suppose every Model-T owner had that experience. Thereafter I learned how to crank a Model-T, for they had a very bad habit of kicking. I finally got it running and rode around town sitting on the gas tank for a seat. The steering wheel was wired up to something, and the rest of it was just an open frame with an engine and the radiators. As time went on, I acquired more parts, also a body, and in the end, had a very nice Model-T Ford. I probably replaced the engine two or three times and it eventually had a battery and a starter. In early 1928, Dad bought a car from Uncle Henry Grow, a black 1924 Model-T touring car, with top and side curtains, with three doors (the driver had no door.) Of course, I was never privileged to drive it.

(Lyle) Mother’s life during these years in Huntsville was hard, with Dad not making much money and with six boys to feed and clothe, the youngest being Gene, born on May 19, 1925, and Glenn the oldest, born in 1914. I don’t recall her taking any active part in church activities, but on occasion she attended the services. About the only fun times for her would be visiting relatives on Sundays and holidays.

(Earl) In March 1930, Albert Wangsgard offered me $50.00 more than I had paid him on the shop as payments. He must have wanted it pretty bad, and I wanted to get rid of it pretty bad, so I sold it to him. He and I went to Ogden, and he paid for the shop; also bought the stock of iron, horse shoes, and so on, that I had on hand.

(Glenn) Albert Wangsgard was giving Dad a bad time because he wanted his blacksmith shop back. One day Dad asked me to go with him to the shop and be there because he was expecting a consultation with Albert. They met and Dad agreed to sell the shop back for fifty dollars more than he had paid for it. So Dad was again without a job. He started searching for another town to set up a shop. He, Uncle Clyde, and I got in the car and went down south of Provo looking at different towns trying to find a location to start a business. One of the places was Goshen and I have never liked Goshen since, for I nearly froze to death and it was a barren place.

(Lyle) Joy was born February 1, 1930. Being the first girl after six boys it is understandable why she was named Joy. Mother and Dad, hoping to improve economically, moved to Morgan when Joy was only five weeks old.

(Earl) On March 22, 1930, we moved to Morgan. I had rented a shop, an old-time red painted shop that leaked – almost let the sunshine in. Was cold in the winter and hot in the summer.

We took our seven kids and the Model-T car we had, and made the grand start for Morgan. I had to hire a truck to haul our two cows and what tools I had, and our furniture, which wasn’t so much, to Morgan. On the way to Morgan, bouncing along in the Model-T, the roads were all washboardy and unoiled, and it was really rough. At times, the hind end of the Ford would get in the front and bounce along for awhile, and then reverse again. The kids were a hollerin’ and a yellin,’ but we made it!

Joy was born on the first day of February 1930, so, you see, she wasn’t very old when we moved to Morgan. She probably doesn’t remember the trip.

(Glenn) The move to Morgan required Mother to again pack up her goods and prepare to move again. The family went by way of Ogden and Weber Canyon. By that time I had my automobile in fairly good condition, so I drove it over the hill between Huntsville and Mountain Green.

(Earl) We rented a house in South Morgan from Newell Butters which cost $17.00 a month. It looked good, but was a very cold place to live in. We lived there for six years. I told my wife on the way over, “We’ve had a store bill all our lives, and we’ve never been out of debt. We’re going to a new town, and it’s the last move we’re going to make. We’re not going to have a store bill if we starve to death.” And that’s the way it’s been. I have bought a few things in the way of lumber and things like that “on time,” but never any groceries. We’ve stayed with the plan and it’s paid off. Times were hard. The Depression was on. No money. Men were working on WPA projects at $1.50 per day. Some state road jobs paid $5.00 per day for man and team.

(Lyle) The house they rented in South Morgan was about the same as the one they left in Huntsville, with a barn, chicken coop, pig pen, and a large garden. The house was single story, brick, with three bedrooms, a front room, and a kitchen lean-to built on the back of the main building. It was a very cold house in winter. Frost would build up on the inside of the exterior walls of the bedrooms.

(Glenn) We rented a house in South Morgan with five rooms. Again I was given a bedroom by myself, for what reason I know not. I must have been hard to get along with or it could be because it was the coldest room in the house. I recall that a half inch of frost would build up on the inside walls. Many’s the time I came home from a date and would curl up in a ball with my head under the covers trying to get warm.

(Joy) My first memories of Mother start at the house in south Morgan. I remember the house as having a large kitchen where Mom spent most of her time preparing meals, canning fruits and vegetables and ironing. I remember the ironing board always being up ready to use, with a basket of sprinkled clothes next to it.

On the street side of the house there was a big snowball bush and between the lawn and the road was an irrigation ditch. At the side of the house was another irrigation ditch that was used to water the pasture next to the house. I was about three or four years old and Mom and Don were cleaning that ditch and burning the dead grass on the ditch bank. I sat on the ditch bank to watch them and was wearing a pair of overalls Mom had made from leftover pants. Mom and Don left and went into the house while I continued to sit and daydream. I looked down and found flames creeping up my pant leg. I started screaming and running around the snowball bush as fast as I could go. When Mom finally heard me and came running out, the flames had reached my neck. Mother grabbed me and started beating out the flames with her hands. About the only burn I can remember was on my neck, but I remember Mother’s hands were sore for quite some time.  [photo-gallery id=”282″]

(Earl) I patched up the old shop, fastened the doors so they could be locked, and started in business. Some days I didn’t even take in a dime, but I stayed there all day hoping, and most of the customers that did come, if you charged them a little, they’d complain about it being too high-priced. We had a hard old go for quite some time, but we soon gained friends, and at the time that Elden got down with rheumatic fever, we found that the friends were great. One fall, a merchant friend brought us peaches and sugar to put them up with, and he did many things to help us out the next few years which we greatly appreciated.

(Lyle) I’m glad we finally settled in Morgan where Dad found a single blacksmith in a large farming community. This fellow was old and about ready to retire and would welcome someone to start another blacksmith shop. Dad rented, for five dollars a month, the old Tonks shop on Main Street. It was just a board shack and there he started in business.

(Earl) When we moved to Morgan, I had made up my mind to one thing – that I wasn’t going to give credit. But, of course, later on when I learned about people, or thought I had, I did give some credit. And over these thirty years, I doubt that I’ve lost more than four or five hundred dollars, but that is entirely too much. Soon after we moved here, a well-known man from down the county brought in a little horse to shoe. The bill was $1.50. I had to furnish the shoes, of course, caulk them up the fire, and all that, but he said, “I’ll pay you Friday.” Well, he didn’t pay me Friday. I took my old Model-T and made three separate trips down to collect that $1.50. I was so damn stubborn, I wasn’t going to let that boy beat me out of that $1.50. P.S. He paid me.

(Glenn) These were pretty tough times and I guess we were poor, but we kids never realized it for we never went hungry. Moving to Morgan placed me in a high school environment from an elementary school environment. I was in the ninth grade and we moved in the spring before school was out. I recall that I had some problems with the teacher because she wanted me to memorize two pages of poetry. When I glanced at it I panicked and I refused to even try. I recall that she forced me to stand in front of the class and repeat after her as she prompted. I remember the first line to this day. It was “Never so rare as a day in June.” She threatened to flunk me if I didn’t memorize that poem, and I decided that she could flunk me, because I just wasn’t going to do it. Anyway I graduated from the ninth grade and that was the end of my schooling. The next fall I was working in the beet fields and school started before I finished the work in the fields. I didn’t realize that in high school you had to get there and sign up for your classes and that there was a limit to the number of students to the class. I was about two weeks late and the subjects that I wanted were not available. I went to school and lasted about two weeks, then I quit and continued to work where I could. I signed up with the Lincoln School of Aviation for a correspondence course in aviation. Herold Fry was one of my good friends. He was in the school band and was also an athlete. He told me one time soon after I had quit school that the principal had used me as an example in the assembly for being so stupid as to quit school. He said all I thought of was flying and that all there was to flying was to get a stick between my legs. I didn’t think that was very appropriate for the principal of a school. Not one time did anyone come and consult with me and question my reason for quitting and encourage me to continue. I worked with Dad in the shop, and I do not know why he did not encourage me to finish my schooling because he had been to college.

(Earl) I did blacksmithing of all kinds, plow shares, shoeing horses, everything from soldering pans to fixing the old washing machines that were worn out, almost anything to get a few dimes. Of course, Glenn was old enough to help me some when I needed a little help, and so we went on.

I used to fit up shoes and go out and put them on horses for the sheep men, spring and fall. One time I made a trip to Henefer and shod seventeen horses that day. Two or three of them were bad and had to have their feet tied up and I believe that’s about the hardest day’s work I ever did. Later, when I had more horses to shoe, I would get Tom Geary, who owned a shop in South Morgan, an old fellow and very good friend, to help me out. When he would get too much work, he would send the jobs over to me which helped us out in a good many cases. Later, he would set up part of the shoes and I’d set up part, and we’d go together up to Henefer and Croydon and shoe horses all day. That made it a little easier on me for I didn’t have so many in one day. That was about the best money we could make, which wasn’t too good at that. The highest price paid was $2.50, shoes and all, for a big horse. The smaller horses were $1.50, and we’d furnish the shoes. You can see it wasn’t a get-rich-quick procedure.

(Earl) On September 10, 1932, Lois was born in South Morgan, the second girl in a family of eight children. The doctor in that case was Dr. Abbott, our Morgan physician. Lois apparently was the “last of the Mohicans,” and as I look back over the eight kids, I think “Count your many blessings.” A friend of mine, Clarence Thurston, asked me one day when I was down to his place and stopped and ate dinner, “Earl, how many kids do you have?” I said, “Eight.” He said, “And with your wife and you, that’s ten. Thirty meals a day. My god, how do you do it?” I said, “I don’t know, Clarence, but we’ve never starved yet.”

(Lyle) Even though he worked hard, Dad still had a sense of humor that he displayed once in awhile. A few times when he had a horse to shoe, he would ask the farmer if he would rather pay him the $2.50 or give him a penny for the first nail and double it each time he drove a nail (1-2-4-8-16-32-etc.) It takes thirty-two nails to shoe a horse. Most of the time the farmers said they would pay the $2.50. I guess they didn’t want to use their heads.

One day a fellow took Dad up on the one-penny-double-each-time deal. Dad started to shoe the horse and this fellow was leaning against the door frame with the gears grinding slowly away in his brain. Dad had started on the second shoe when this fellow said, “Oh no, I’ll pay you the $2.50.” He had got his figures up to the ninth nail and the bill was going up fast. I often wonder if Dad knew what it totaled up to. The total, for you slow thinkers, is $21,474,836.48.

For Dad to shoe a horse, first he had to fit up the shoes, which today are bought already made. He had to heat up the back part of the shoe and turn the heel calks, then heat up the front part and fire weld the toe calk on. When the horse was brought in for shoeing, he had to fit the shoes to the horse’s feet by heating them up and shaping each shoe to the shape of the hoof.

Most of the horses had been shod many times and would stand still, but some of the young ones, and a few just plain mean ones, would fight. To control these, Dad had different methods. One was to put a twitch on their nose. A twitch was made of a piece of wood about two inches in diameter, eighteen inches long, with a four-inch loop of rope fastened to the end. This loop was placed over the fleshy part of the horse’s nose and twisted until it started to hurt. The idea was to give the horse something to think about besides its feet. If the horse started to fight, the person holding its head would give another twist on the handle. Another method that he used was to put a rope over the horse’s back and tie the foot up, but this made it awkward to nail the shoe onto the hoof. Sometimes both methods were used, but the horse still could be dangerous, for if it gave a sudden jerk with a nail sticking out the side of the hoof, it could tear a deep hold in Dad’s hand or leg. That is why he wore a leather apron for protection, but he still had scars from being caught by a nail. But Dad was strong and quick and this helped to keep him from getting hurt.

In the depression years, many of the farmers would shoe their own tame horses and bring the mean ones to the shop. One hot summer day in 1934, I was fighting one of these ornery critters for over and hour and still had not finished. I walked into the shop for a rest and to wipe the sweat off my brow and said to Dad that there was a better way to make a living. He didn’t say anything for what seemed like twenty minutes, then he said, “I think you are right.” From then on the only mean horses that we would shoe were the ones that belonged to the farmers that brought all of their horses to us.

Grandfather Halls came from Huntsville to Morgan to visit a few times, and would stand around the shop and visit with the customers. He was well-read and up-to-date on most subjects. I don’t know if he was a Democrat or Republican, but he could argue either side. He could talk to someone and eventually determine their politics, then take the other point of view. He would continue to argue, always picking up and working on the other’s political sore spot. He would keep this up till the other fellow was red in the face and really jumping. Grandfather would then start to laugh and the fellow would realize what had been going on and would also end up laughing.

In 1933, Morgan city was breaking up old head gates to install a turbine and generator for their new light plant. They were using dynamite and one of the men thought it would work better by putting mud and boulders on top of the dynamite to help break the concrete. Dad’s shop was over a block away and at the time, Dad was shoeing a horse and was fitting the shoes at the anvil. He went outside to try the shoes on the horse and as he went out a gust of wind blew the door shut. He turned around and thought that the door had made a lot of noise as it slammed, then went and tried the shoes on the horse. When he returned to the shop, there on the floor by the anvil where he had stood seconds before was a large rock, larger than a football, that minutes before had been dynamited from the dam, and in the roof directly above was the hole that it had made.

In 1934, Dad got his first electric welder, a heavy thing about 700 pounds. It was a Westinghouse, with an electric motor in one end and the generator in the other end. Morgan City had their own power plant run by a turbine-driven generator. This electric motor on Dad’s welder was the largest in town. They told him that when he turned it on, the turbine turned backwards so they wouldn’t let him use it. He ended up mounting it on a four-wheel trailer and running it with a Chevrolet engine.

Between the engine and the welder was a pulley that Dad used to belt-drive a table saw that he had built. One day we had this set up in front of the old shop, sawing some three-inch hardwood to repair a wagon. The wood pieces were tapered, three inches square and ten inches long. They were bounding around on the table. One of them got behind the saw blade and caught the teeth and took off, landing about sixty feet away. As it sailed over Dad’s head, it knocked his hat off. That was too close.

One day a fellow brought in a car to have a bumper bolt drilled out. As Dad started to drill the bolt with his old portable drill, the car started to roll back. Dad told me to put on the emergency brake. I opened the door and leaned in with one foot on the damp ground and a knee on the running board and grabbed the brake lever. When Dad heard the brake lever pulled back, he started the drill. The drill had a short in it causing me to get an electric shock, and I couldn’t let go of the brake lever. As my muscles contracted, pulling me into the car, my foot came off the ground which broke the circuit, thus releasing me.