Heavenly Education by Dallas Max Schneider

 

 

Heavenly Education

Excerpt from Remembrances of Orval Dallas Schneider, My Father

By His Son Dallas Max Schneider 

 

My mother, Rosabelle Larsen Schneider, use to say to me, "Oh I wish your dad had some education. He is plenty smart enough."

After Orval Dallas had passed from this life, I had the most wonderful dream about him. He came walking into the dry-cleaning plant with his father, my grandfather, Frank William Schneider. They looked like twins but I knew that it was my grandfather. He said nothing but smiled at me.

I spoke to my father, who had a large roll of individual sheets of paper rolled up under his arm, "Where have you been dad?" He replied, "I have been going to school at BYU and I have come to show you some of my work." Then he proceeded to lay the sheets out on the counter. The work he was showing me looked like some sort of mechanical drawing and on the first page, written in blue pencil was the numbers 78%.

I asked, "What is that?"

"That is my grade," and we turned a few more pages and there was some writing in the same blue pencil.

"What is that?"

"It is the teachers remarks and it say's, thanks for improving 20%."

At that point they both faded away and the pleasant dream was over. I lay in bed musing over this scene I had experienced and luxuriated in its deliciousness for some time. That's what heaven must be like, perfect teaching conditions and endless energy. I would speculate that he can read real well now.

Oravl Dallas had his faults but his virtues shined in gleaming display, far above his flaws.  I hope these stories put flesh and bones on your grandfather and you can enjoy the memory of him as I do.--His son Dallas Max Schneider

Sticking Plaster Plastic Surgery-By Dallas Max Schneider

Sticking Plaster Plastic Surgery

Excerpt from Remembrances of Rosabelle Larsen Schneider, My Mother

By Her Son Dallas Max Schneider 

All of the Larsen family helped milk the cows. Rose and her sisters washed the milk buckets and cans clean every day. One day she slipped and fell on the protruding socket that held the pails handle. It cut like a knife through her lower lip and slashed it open from the upper lip to the chin. It hung in two separate pieces, bleeding profusely.

Grandfather hurriedly hitched up his horses and drove as fast as he could to Logan, the only place there was a doctor. Grandmother held Rose in her arms with a towel place on her torn lip. The doctor was not in his office and unavailable, so they went to Grandfather's sister's home, known to us as, "Aunt Steeny." Aunt Steeny, (her real name was Hansine Larsen Anderson) was skilled in many medical things and when she had stopped the bleeding of Rosabelle's terrible wound she had Grandfather go to the store and buy some sticking plaster.

She mixed the plaster together to the thickness she desired and then carefully pulled the severed lip together and placed the sticking plaster over the wound and held it there until it became solid and unyielding. They left this mold on Rose's lip for some time and when it was removed it had healed beautifully, leaving only a thin red line that eventually went away leaving no scar. Had the doctor been available and had attended Rose, he would have put several stitches in her lip and the disfigurement of this beautiful child would have been everlasting ugliness.

When she would tell us about her cut lip, she would have to show us children the almost invisible white line that was hard to see. It went from the top of her lip to her chin. It was a vicious severing. I have no idea what sticking plaster was but it was Aunt Steeny's primitive form of plastic surgery and it worked a miracle upon our Mother.

Snakes near the Spring-by Dallas Max Schneider

Snakes near the Spring

Excerpt from Remembrances of Rosabelle Larsen Schneider, My Mother

By Her Son Dallas Max Schneider 

The job she hated and feared the most was to be with her father when he was plowing. There was a little spring with a few willow trees, bushes and a limited amount of grass growing around the life giving water and Grandpa would send my mother (about age 10) down to that spring to fill his water can that he drank from. Little Rose would hesitate to go down there because there were water snakes lurking in those bushes and trees. They were harmless but still dreadful snakes to a child.

Her father would call out as he made his plowing rounds, "Are you going to let your poor old father choke to death on dust because he can't have a drink of water?"  She would gird up her courage and hurriedly fill his water can and bring it back to him and he would give her high praise for her daring fortitude but the words of praise did not work and she was always frightened.

One day after her father pleaded for his water, she went and as she dipped the can into the cool water a snake slithered out of the sparse grass and made a hissing sound at her. The harmless snake so frightened her that she fainted and when Grandfather came around he wondered where his little girl had gone and he got off of his plow and rushed to the spring to find his Rosabelle lying on the ground unconscious. He gently cradled her in his arms she soon opened her eyes and clung to her father, shivering with fright. He never made her go for water again. 

Rose's Farm Life by Dallas Max Schneider

Rose's Farm Life

Excerpt from Remembrances of Rosabelle Larsen Schneider, My Mother

By Her Son Dallas Max Schneider

 

Rose was raised on a farm and hated that kind of a life because she had to wear bib overalls like a boy and work like a man. It was degrading to a sensitive young girl but a necessity. One of her jobs was to tromp hay in the summer. What that meant was that as the men pitched the semi dry clumps of hay onto the wagon she had to walk over every foot of that fluffy fodder and compact it with her weight.

 

It was tiresome, endless work of lifting her legs high out of the yielding long stemmed alfalfa to make each step count in crushing it down. It allowed more hay to be put on the wagon and made it easier to unload into the barn or a haystack outside. A well-tromped wagon would sometimes be 10 feet high from the base of the wagon to the top of the load. The wagon was always moving so she had to be careful and not lose her balance as the wagon lurched over the hayfield. The men would pitch the hay as high as they could reach and that determined the size of the burden that could be hauled into the barnyard and stored for the winter-feeding of the cattle. It was a hot, dusty, and dirty job for a young girl but everyone worked hard on the Larsen farm, men women and children. It was expected of them.

The Grandest Grandparents-By Dallas Max Schneider

 

 

The Grandest Granparents

Excerpt from Remembrances of Rosabelle Larsen Schneider, My Mother

By Her Son Dallas Max Schneider

Grandpa and Grandma Larsen's (Niels and Matilda Larsen) home was a cozy place surrounded with happiness and plenty of the necessities of life. No money, mind you, just the things that were necessary. Never a want for food. Grandfather Larsen's mother lived in Logan. Her first husband had died and she had remarried and went by the name of Maren Jensen.

Sometimes on a summery Saturday afternoon Grandpa Larsen would hitch up his horses to the buggy and load his family into that wonderful conveyance and drive to see his mother. It took about 90 minutes to make that trip one way. The children thought it was just about the greatest adventure of their lives to make this trip and Grandpa saw to it that there was excitement. Whenever he came to a stream or river he never used the bridge but would fearlessly plunge the horses, buggy and all into the swirling flood to the delightful screams of joy of the children and emerge to the opposite bank, dripping wet. They were dry but the buggy drenched.

Grandma Larsen was a frightened fearful little person and it would always terrify her when Grandpa would say, "It's time to dust the buggy off and cool the horses down."  One time she could not stand the strain he was inflicting upon her and with a baby under each arm she jumped out of the buggy at the rivers edge. Grandfather's fun came to an end after that display of fear and to the disappointment of the children he used the bridges from that moment on. 

My Mother remembers the very last time they went to see their grandmother. They had been there for the afternoon and the day was growing short. All were seated in the buggy and about to depart for home. Grandmother Jensen followed them out to the buggy and said to her son Niels, "Come again soon but don't bring the children."  My grand parents were wounded by that rather callused, insensitive remark and never went again to visit his mother.

Grandparents in that day had a different feeling for their grand children than now. We were blessed to have had loving grandparents who were unlike the normal ones that would ignore their grandchildren. Every birthday I received a book and a silver dollar and I never appreciated it until the book and the silver dollar stopped coming when I was 18. Then I began to treasure the sacrifice they had made to show their love for me. They emerged in my child like mind as great heroes and heroines that were truly worthy of our respect and awe. In my mind there were no one like my grandparents in every virtue of human kind.

Egg Candeling the cure for common Shop lifting

 

 

Egg Candeling the cure for common Shop lifting

 

Excerpt from Remembrances of Rosabelle Larsen Schneider by Dallas Max Schneider

When Rose was about 16 or 17 she went to work for a small local grocery store simply called, "Allen's", located on the main street of Hyrum.  They paid her about 10 dollars a week for 60 hours of work. 

There were no adding machines at that time and things were added on the spot in the clerks mind with pencil and paper.  Mother told me she could add a column of figures so fast that no one would believe her sum and would painstakingly take a long time to recheck her figures.  The owners, recognizing her gift for numbers told her to deliberately take more time even though she knew the answer so that the slower customers would not think she was incorrect because of her speed.

Money  was always scarce and many times eggs were used as bartering items.  The eggs had to be candled to see that the egg was a good egg.  Bad eggs had blood clots or half formed chick embryos inside of them. 

The method for determining good eggs was called, "Candling".  A clerk would take the eggs to be bartered into a dark room and hold the egg up to a strong focused light.  The light would make the egg transparent and could be examined quickly to see if it was fit for transforming into money or other items like sugar or flour.  I guess this is where the term came from when referring to boorish behavior of people, "He's a bad egg!".

When Rose was alone in the store and had to go into the dark room to candle eggs, she had a little hole that she could see out of and look at what the customer was doing.  Sometimes the customer succumbed to the temptation that no one was looking and would slip some small item in their pockets or purse.  She could usually see what it was that was thought to be secretly purloined and would add it to the list of things the customer had bought. 

When the customer would protest, gentle Rose would quietly give them a graceful excuse out of their thievery by saying, "Oh, that can of baking powder is in your pursue.  You just forgot to put it with the rest of your purchases".  Then they would without a word pay for the stolen goods and get out of the market as soon as possible. They were highly embarrassed that they had been stealing. 

Not many people did that but enough did so Rose would always take a peek out of her secret looking hole.  People today steal much from our supermarkets and go to elaborate schemes to take items that are never paid for.

Cars in the 1930's-How the World has Changed-by Dallas Max Schneider

How the world has changed since I was a little boy-By Dallas Max Schneider

(written approx. 1988)

Story Key:  I=Dallas Max Schneider, Dad = Orval Dallas Schneider, Mother =Rosabelle Larsen Schneider, Grandparents Larsen=Neils and Matilda Larsen

Cars were in, but not with the numbers or the dependability that they have now.  I can remember with great vividness my Dad preparing the car to go to Hyrum Utah to visit my Grandparents, Aunt, Uncles Cousins and Friends.  It was an awesome task;  Extra tires, extra gas and water for the radiator.  Let me tell you about this trip to Utah in 1933.

My Dad owned a 1928 Hudson which in this own words would "Pass anything but a gas station".  After Loading the car with all of our personal items, then came all the other things that I mentioned above.  Gas in 5 gallon cans were placed and secured on the running boards, at least 3 extra tires tied to the trunk and the extra water stored in several locations around the inside of the car.  It was jammed and packed .  The passenger list included my Mother, Father, older Sister LaRae and newly born brother Dee., my mother's 2 younger brothers Lamont Larsen and Lorin Larsen.

Because of the summer heat we would always leave about 9pm in the evening and drive all night across the desert.

We start, and spirits are high.  The car with my Father at the wheel speed across the desert towards Las Vegas, a sleepily little desert town.  Soon all are asleep but me and my Dad.  Even at that early age (I was 5 years old) I felt that it was my duty to stay awake with my Dad and help him drive.  He would set me on his lap and let me hold the wheel and sleep would flee from my eyes with this wild excitement in my life.  My Dad teaching me to drive!  Wow!  who could ask for anything else in life.

I guess I was not as stoic as a I thought for the next thing I remember is burning night air and the car had stopped.  Outside I could hear the voices of my Father and Uncles.  They were fussing with something under the hood of the Hudson.

My young mind did not comprehend what they were doing and all I knew was that it was dark, hot and we were not moving.  Others began to wake.  My one year old brother began to cry and my sister began to sya in a sleepy whiney voice "When are we going?"

Dad and Uncles finish their work and we are off, hurtling down the road in the dark of night fifty miles per hour.  Everyone settle back into the routine of Dad driving and everyone else sleeping.  Thirty minutes later the car stops again. Everybody awake, Dad and nclces repair the car, my brother crying and my sister and I impatient to be moving.  This sense is repeated over and over.

What has happened is that there is something in the gas line and it clogs the line from the gas tank to the carburetor.  My Dad and Uncles become so frustrated that unprintable words are spoken and finally my Dad has to sit on the fender of the car and slowly pour gas into the carburetor and one of my Uncles has to drive the car slowly down the road.

We would creep this way till we found a gas station opened with a mechanic that could fix the car.  The car would be fixed, an exorbitant fee charged, and off we would go.  Twenty miles down the road the car would do the same thing.  We limped into a least 3 gas stations, all with the same results.  Fix the car, charge a horrible fee, drive 20 miles out of the range of the gas station, and the car would stop and my Dad and Uncles would have to repeat the same procedure.  We finally arrived at Mesquite, Nevada as the blazing sun leaps over the western sky.  We ate one of the worst breakfasts known in all the halls of resturantdom.  The car repaired- we zoomed through the heat of the day for about 50 miles and CLUNK!  The car stopped again.  Dad back out on the running board all the way to Cedar City.  The mechanic there knew just what to do and 15 hours later we were safe, sung and well fed and put to bed at Grandpa Larsen's House.

It took us 32 hours to drive 900 miles.  The route has changed.  It is now only about 800 miles and can be driven in 16 hours.

 

Grandma Rosabelle Larsen Schneider

A memory of Grandma Rosabelle Larsen Schneider
Submitted by Kristen Schneider Moh
(Daughter of Max and Marilyn Schneider)

Hollee and I, when we were young used to work at dad’s drycleaners making hangers. Grandma was the seamstress. After a days work, we would walk to Thrifty drug store with Grandma to spend our earnings. (Next to the cleaners) She had really bad arthritis/Rheumatism in her legs As she would walk with painful steps, Hollee and I would skip ahead and then we would hear her say in a plaintiff, good-natured voice, “Grandma is gonna die soon.” This would stop Hollee and I in our steps. We would rush back to her side and say in horrified voices, “No Grandma, you won’t die!” But then she would say, “Oh yes, Grandma WANTS to die!” We would then spend the rest of the short walk pleading with her to not wish such a thing. I think it was a bit of a game to her because she always had a twinkle in her eye!