Neal Ross Shirley - by Scott Shirley

The first memory I have of Neal is being carried around by him and being dropped. The next was when Dad had installed a clothes hanger in the hallway by the bathroom. I made a space between the clothes and was climbing and hanging on the metal rod when suddenly it gave way, hit me on the head, and then buried me in shirts and pants. Neal came in, dug me out from under the remains, and chewed me out for being so stupid. They were rather painful beginnings to an otherwise positive relationship.

Janet and I were the victims of a few of Neal and Dale's jokes. One Christmas Eve we boys were sleeping in the "boys bedroom" in the northeast corner of the house. There was a folding accordion door between the living room and the bedroom. We were so excited that sleep was impossible. Neal and Dale peeked out the door and then told me they had seen Santa's boot going out the door. When I tried to see for myself they would not let me. I was certain I had missed the chance of a five-year-old's lifetime.

Neal loved to flex in front of the big mirror in Mom and Dad's bedroom. He would take his shirt off and make the muscles bulge. Dad loved to box with us, so boxing gloves were always handy. Neal would often be working out and then seeing me sitting on the couch would throw the gloves at me and say, "You have one minute to defend yourself." I would throw the gloves at him, then wait for his attack. I would then lie on the couch at kick at him while he punched my feet. It was all in good fun, but I honestly tried my best to take his head off. I never could.

Our house was a quarter mile from Virgin's house, which was to the west. The local "hoods," (a.k.a. teenage punks, fore bearers of future gang bangers) would start at Virgin's house, then drag race the quarter mile to the intersection by our house, then go screaming past in both lanes. We would hear the engines roaring a quarter mile away, then come running out to see who won. On one occasion, after the drag was over, a police car showed up with two of the hoods in tow. They were a year or so older than Neal. They insisted they had not been racing. We all knew they had. The officer looked at Neal and asked him point-blank if the older boys had been racing. Everyone looked at Neal. He looked at the officer directly and said, "Yes, they were." The boys looked like a hot-air balloon going flat. Neal taught me an important lesson that day about telling the truth, no matter what. Had he lied, it would have taught me something entirely different.

Neal took Hawaiian guitar lessons, which got me interested in guitar. It was just expected of us to be able to play a variety of instruments. Neal formed a folk group which would practice at our house. I would hide behind the couch and sing along, which irritated Neal to no end. I would play around with Neal's acoustic guitar and ask him how to do different chords, etc. He would show me something, then let me work on it by myself. He wanted to de-string his 12-string guitar while he was on his mission, but I made a deal with him that if I learned how to play it, then I could use it while he was gone. I passed the test.

When I was in Jr. High, Neal and I started our first band. It was 1966. Neal played guitar and I had a set of drums. We wanted to be different than the Beatles (and believe me, we were), so instead of having long hair we shaved our head and called ourselves The Bald Ones. We entered a battle of the bands in West Yellowstone, which was a disaster, but we learned from the experience. We also did a show in Jackson Hole.

Neal and I have been in a variety of musical groups ever since. We have played folk, rock, country western, and bluegrass. We have performed at senior citizens centers, rest homes, church activities, bars, theaters, the Rexburg Tabernacle, elementary schools (both Madison and Teton Basin), as well as appearing three different times at the Ricks College Guitars Unplugged (Brandon played guitar with us for one of those). We also had a comedy number where I played the accordion, he played the trombone, and I sang Shaduppa You Face in an Italian accent. I have been on stage with Neal so many times that it seems only natural to look over and see him. Neal is a stickler for having the guitars in tune. I am rather unpredictable on stage, but Neal has learned to adapt. Some of my favorite memories are family get-togethers where we all get out the guitars and sing. Dad would often come over, sit in the middle of us, tap his feet and enjoy the songs.

When Neal was dating Cathie, I enjoyed being the obnoxious little brother. When Neal would bring her to the house I would always try to sit between them and watch Neal get mad. On one occasion I was giving Cathie a bad time when the song Chapel of Love came on. I told Cathie, "This song talks about going to the chapel and getting married. Don't listen to it!"

Dad would often come home after work and read the paper. The three of us little boys would get our heads together and make a plan. One would sneak up and flick his paper. He would pretend not to see us. We would flick it again, then pull the paper from him and the wrestling match was on. Neal and Dale would grab his legs and pull him from the couch. I would grab whatever I could and just hang on. We would end up in a big pile on the floor. Dad told me years later that after one such encounter he told Mom that he would have to start wrestling the boys one at a time because they were getting too big to handle and he was getting older.

After Neal's mission he needed money, so I bought his 12-stringer. Whenever we would get together to play I would play his Brazilian guitar and he would play my 12-stringer. Finally I suggested that we trade and he agreed. We have both been happy ever since.

When I left to go on my mission, Neal and Cathie were living in Utah in their trailer. Mom, Dad and I spent my last night staying with them. Brian had just been born and was so tiny. While I was on my mission in Guatemala I received a letter one night telling me that Neal and Cathie had lost a child due to complications. They told me that they had named their son Jared Scott Shirley. I felt so homesick and sad that I went upstairs to the top of the flat roof on our apartment building to be alone in the dark. There, through the tears, I saw a distant lightning storm and heard the delayed rumble. I felt a feeling of peace and comfort. Storms come and go, but are necessary to leave life-giving waters behind, even if it comes in the form of tears. With a renewed sense of purpose, I went back down to my apartment and went to work. After all, I wanted to be as good a missionary as Neal and Dale had been.

Grandma Ward

Mina Ward was an identical twin. She married and had a daughter, Rayola. The man she married decided he would go to California and obtain work there. He would send for her later. My mother said, "I guess he forgot." Mina met and married Grandpa Ward and they started their family. Grandpa Ward was a "day-laborer, so he was always looking for work. Grandma did what she could to keep the family fed. Grandpa knew the scriptures well. He was also ward clerk for many years. At the same time he had a problem with tobacco. Mom said, "He never smoked in front of us kids." She said he would go outside into the outhouse for his "necessities." The first photo shows Grandma Ward. The caption on the back says, "Mina at Margie's place, 1950."

This is Margie.

This photo shows Grandma Ward holding Dale, at 7 weeks of age. Did you notice a third person in the photo? To their right and to the bottom of the photo is Neal, age 15 months.

This is Grandma holding Dale at 5 months of age.

This is Grandma holding me (Scott).

This is a five generation photo. It shows Phebe (Grandpa Ward's mother, who was a second wife), Art (Grandpa Eberhardt Ward), Rayola (Mom's older sister, known as Ray), her daughter Betty, and her son. The photo was taken in June, 1952.

To give an idea of Mina's personality, I am including some correspondence between her and Mom. I left as much of the spelling and punctuation as possible:

Dear Margie and Ross, I am taking a chance that you may be getting your mail. My thoughts are with you all the time since I heard of the awful flood. The pictures on the T.V. nearly makes a person sick and I guess to see the real things are still worse. I sure hope you can reach your home and find some things that you can redeem. It is tragic but I am so grateful that your family are all safe. The life of one member would be worse than it is now. I hope you are not making yourselves sick worrying. Just plan on coming out OK. I sure hope you are accepting aid from the church and red cross and in the end get some money from the government who seem to be to blame. They are such liars, there's no telling what they will do.

We have had a real hot day today. It keeps me busy running the hose on my garden and flowers. I haven't heard from any of the kids for a day or two and I am sure they are all thinking about you. If there is any thing I can do or any thing that I have that you may need please tell me. I forgot to give you your plum preserve also a bottle of dill pickles and rheubarb. I don't know how to spell it but you will know what I mean. Tuesday. I got this far last evening then decided to go to bed. I have been out this morning looking to see if my vegetables had grown another leaf. It is cloudy so we may get some rain to-day.

Max Anderson's wife called me Sunday to hear what I knew about you and the flood. I ask her if she was the lady that ask about you when she saw me in Tremonton and she said no, so I don't know who it was that talked to me and ask about you when I was in Tremonton so that shows that you have friends around our valley. I am fine I don't know just what I will do today but it will be some thing. By the looks of the T.V. pictures there is a lot of mud for some one to shovel out. I hope your house still stands and that I could help you clean up. I imagine some one will come to your aid.

The other day when Gwen called she said she was coming up one day this week and take me to a show then stay here over night. I hope I hear from you before she comes and besides I am not interested in night life. I would rather go to bed. It is real good of her to do it but young folks don't realize that old people have lost interest in such things. Maybe not all old folks but I sure am past enjoying such things especially a picture show. I never did care of them. I would rather lay on the bed and watch T.V. Well I guess this is all for now. I hope you two are taking care of yourselves. I need all my kids. Thanks for all the nice things you do for me. Love to all. Mom. Please excuse mistakes and read this as it should be. Wish I could help you.

New Letter: I got my new colored T.V. and love it but I am half afraid to use it because it has snow looking dots on it. I am waiting until Paul comes up some time and take care of it. I daresen't mess with it and I wouldn't let any one else. I put it on for one show and then use my radio. Margie after talking to you the other day nothing has happened around so this will sure be a short note. I will keep thinking until some one comes so I can mail this. Take care of yourselves. You sounded good the other day. Hope Ross is OK also all your kids and grand kids.

Teton Dam Disaster, 1976, by Neal Shirley

Saturday, June 5, 1976, started out a beautiful day. We were planning to bless Amber the next day. Cathie was preparing lots of food for the special event. Brian was out in the yard playing with his trucks and our dog, Molly. That morning I was called in to repair a water main at what was then Ricks College. The water line was out in the median south of the heat plant. Davawn Beattie saw me working and stopped to tell me that the Teton Dam had burst. I jumped into my 1970 Chevy pickup and headed north. The sheriff deputies were stopping all traffic going to Sugar City, so I avoided them and went out through Salem to get to Mom and Dad’s place since they were in Salt Lake. I called Cathie to see if she was aware of the dam breaking. She had heard about it on KRXK. When she asked if I thought our place might get flooded, I suggested that she climb up on the roof. She saw no humor in that idea since she was still recovering from a C-section delivery of Amber.

I called Dad (who was in Salt Lake for Chris' blessing) to let him know. His first request was to get his Colt Python, a custom built target revolver. I could not find it, so I went out and parked the Bronco and the red pickup in the shop. I loaded their chest freezer into the back of my pickup, and decided to head north and see if the Teton River was showing signs of flooding. When I crossed the bridge everything looked normal. I unloaded the freezer at our place, and prepared to return to put stuff upstairs at Mom and Dad’s. Our neighbors, the Bodilys, stopped to see if we were leaving. I said that the river looked normal, and I felt like the flood would not get us. Paul pointed to the southeast, and we could see dust rising above the trees from the impact of the leading edge of the water about 1 mile away.

We decided to head to Cathie’s parents home in Plano, so Cath and I put Brian and 6 week old Amber in the pickup and we headed west. That route required that we also cut back to the south to get to the intersection at Lusk’s. We arrived at that intersection just before the leading edge of the flood. We saw the water about 100 yards from the intersection coming at us from the south and from the east. There were poles and debris rolling in the leading waves which appeared to be about 3 feet deep at the leading edge and tapering up from that depth. The water appeared to be coming at about 15 miles per hour. We saw horses in Lusk’s pasture running along the fence ahead of the wave, looking for a way out.

When we got to Plano, we listened to the CB radio that Vance had in his pickup. The report was grim. Word was that the water had taken out half of the Wilford Church, and had taken some shingles off of the church house roof. We headed back through Egin and Parker to get to Saint Anthony. There we saw the Bodily’s, who informed us that the railroad tracks had been washed up and over the highway, creating a giant picket fence. The dam created by the debris caught in this railroad track had turned the 10 foot tide to the south. Our road, 300 North, from the highway west, was dry. We took some pictures of houses floating away just a half mile to the south of our house. We had resigned ourselves to the probability that our house and car and dog and everything would be gone. What a blessed surprise to find all well at our place.

We now had a headquarters to work from when Dad and Mom and family got here. We had access to Mom and Dad’s house by driving as far as Hirschi’s, and then walking about a mile south from there. The bridge was still in place, but we had to climb up and through a lot of debris stacked up where the water had washed out the approaches to the bridge. We packed in chain saw, gas, shovels, and other stuff needed for cleanup. The mud and crud and destruction and quiet created such an unforgettable, surreal setting. We were surrounded on all sides by destruction. Yet is was a miracle that so few people died. If the flood had hit during the winter or during the night, hundreds would have perished. If it had hit our place, we would not have had our headquarters for everyone. We were happy to find Scott’s message in the mud indicating that he was OK. Mud etching was one of the few means of communication.

I retrieved the Kawasaki 100 dirt bike from where it laid mostly buried in the mud, and cleaned out the water and crud. It started, do Dad and I took a jaunt west and south to see what shape Salem was in. Uncle Fred’s big house had floated away, but his barn was still there. A couple of times we had to cross deep washouts in the road by crossing on a plank. I walked the Kawasaki across, which was tricky.

When the east wall of Dad’s shop caved in, water tried to exit through the west door. The door cables and buckled door kept most of the stuff in the shop from being washed away. The garden area probably resembled a kind of whirl pool as the water rushed around the house, trees, and shop. That’s why mud and mail boxes and such ended up there. The foot deep, sticky mud which settled in the garden area remained under about a foot of water for about a week.

As the water level began to subside, Stretch and I noticed something sticking out of the water about 30 feet west of the driveway. I didn’t want to trudge out in that sticky mud, so Stretch decided to check it out. When he got close, he got a sick look on his face. He could discern that we had been seeing the boot of a flood victim. It was a man by the name of McCrea who had been helping the Daw family in Wilford. We heard that they had been watching for the flood to come from the Teton River to the south of the Daw home. They were trapped when part of the flood went north up Hog Hollow and came upon them from behind. It took about six of us to carry Mr. McCrea out to the road since his clothing was so full of heavy, dense mud. About a week later another body was found in the canal a half mile to the west near Vernon Mortensen’s place.

East of Dad’s place the canal banks had been washed out, so we continued to have water running through the yard for a week or more. This provided some rinse water to help clean up some of Mom and Dad’s stuff. Dad had a cub cadet riding lawn mower which had a blade for the front. I got the tractor cleaned up well enough to run, and we used it to push the foot deep mud out of his shop. Dad and mom stayed at our home for a month or two, then found an apartment in Rexburg near campus.

When they got a HUD hut (Housing and Urban Development trailer), they stayed in it at their place for about a year until the Feds and the State could decide who owed Dad what. Dad and Mom built a new home in Wilford, a quarter mile east of our home. We had some framing/wall raising family building days. Everyone pitched in to construct the home, put down the well, pour concrete, etc. A year later Dad did the brick work, and I was his hod carrier. Dad hired a mover who loaded the 40X60 shop onto axels in one piece. They hauled it up highway 20 and delivered it at about 6:00 a.m. one morning. It completely filled both lanes of the highway. This whole area was a dust bowl the summer following the flood. Stinky silt covered every farm and field. The summer was dry and windy, and the sky was brown most of the time, especially in Wilford.

The Teton River bridges north of Teton were washed out. The Wilford church house had a huge hole in the east wall where the stage was. The flood waters went right through the recreation hall. The relief society had a tied quilt on the top shelf in the highest closet in the building. Water got up to it, but didn’t get it wet. Kind of like the parrot at Mom and Dad’s. They now refer to the quilt as the “miracle quilt.”