"It was not an ordinary day in Porterville when our seventh child, Orson, was born," my grandfather, Alma Porter would exclaim over and over again in the years to come, because the vivid memories of that day would be forever engraved upon his heart. "It all began with the first light of dawn," he said, "when my wife and I were abruptly awakened from a sound sleep to find our home filled to the brim with a sweet heavenly happiness. It seemed as if the very angels of heaven were reaching out to enfold and caress us. As we clung together, laughing joyously, and I beheld my precious Minerva's radiant face, I realized that never before in my life had I ever seen anyone look so happy! This blissful spirit never left us. The whole day long the very air we breathed seemed permeated with a wondrous excitement, tinged with an enchanting expectancy which lingered throughout that gentle day in summer!"

THE DAY WAS 26 JULY 1869! IT WAS MONDAY! AT EXACTLY 6:00 P.M.!

The lowering sun was preparing to hide his crimson glory behind the Porterville hills. The robin's joyous outburst of song filled the quiet evening air. The "cue" was given and ORSON MERIT PORTER made his graceful entrance onto the stage of life!

With a radiant smile on his lips, and a song of praise to God in his heart, he would play the role of "scattering sunshine" where 'ere he went, up and down the pathways of love from babyhood to the grave. In preparation for his part in all the years to come, he would be attired in grandeur, forever majestically robed in the "mantle of Charity, the pure love of Jesus Christ"! The beauty, finesse, and enthusiasm of his divine portrayals would be proof that they were not new roles to him, that Orson Merit Porter has given the same beloved performances in the Eternal Worlds before he was born!

My father's immediate role which began at his birth was to cheer, comfort, and love his father and mother as long as either of them should live. His lifelong devotion to them bears witness to this fact. Orson filled their hearts with holy joy and peace! And when they were gone, his love never diminished one iota! The radiance of his love kept burning more vividly and brightly with the years, tempering the tender sweetness of his life. From it sprang, in all its splendor, a valiant and mighty testimony of Jesus Christ and His restored Gospel and an inborn unquenchable desire to live and spread that Gospel!

My grandfather, Alma, who would later be ordained as the first Patriarch of the Morgan Stake, recorded in his journal that the first time he held his little son, Orson, in his arms, that he recognized his radiant, exuberant spirit, and immediately knew that he was bearer of comfort and rejoicing! The baby was abounding in love; he was wide awake and alert as if he were months old. His body was firm and strong; already a comfort and blessing, for Alma and Minerva had buried three older sons in infancy. My grandfather, Alma, placed his newborn son into the outstretched waiting arms of his precious mother, Minerva. His eyes were wide, looking directly into hers; he brightly smiled, threw his small hands, gurgling delightedly, and she felt an utter surge of joy go through his body, and Minerva rejoiced! My grandparents would never forget the warmth and cheer of the heavenly spirit which accompanied the birth of their seventh child, who would become my noble father!

Later that night, Alma keeping constant vigil beside the bed of his wife and child, recalled the happiness of the past eleven years of marriage to his girl bride. The strength of his love and appreciation arose in his heart to bless him. Vivacious Minerva Adelina Deuel, his tall, slender, Irish Colleen! Her vitality for living had been a constant joy and delight to the lonely motherless boy of twelve, who for years had yearned and prayed for a precious companion and a home of his own. Even his fondest dreams had come true. His precious Minerva was now the mother of seven!

He, with lamp in hand, bent over his wife to check on the baby. The light fell across her face. Minerva was sleeping now, that deep, blissful sleep that follows travail. There was that tender, ethereal glow about her, that heavenly light that glows on a woman's face only after she has borne a child. Alma's heart caught in his throat. Suddenly it brought back to him his own beloved, young mother, Amy Sumner! Alma was her oldest child and only living son. How often in boyhood had he seen that ethereal glow upon her precious face as she bore his younger brothers and sisters amid tragic woes and heart-eating grief. The Sanford Porter and Jonathan Sumner families had eagerly embraced the Restored church of Jesus Christ on the same day while it was in its infancy, only fifteen months old, to defend vigorously, protect lovingly, and hold firmly to their valiant hearts in life or in death.

Chauncey Warriner Porter, age 22 and Amy Sumner, age 19, were married 11 November 1833, at Independence Missouri, with Elder Sanford Porter presiding; so the record says.

As a result of severe persecutions in Missouri in 1833, both the Porter and Sumner families lost their homes and properties. It was then that Chauncey and Amy moved away, alone, out on the Missouri Frontiers, many miles from family or neighbors. They took u land again and built a cabin. It was here that my grandfather Alma Porter was born 15 December 1834, in Van Buren County. Alma, almost since birth, had been able to perceive his mother's every thought. As a lad he had sometimes wondered if it had not all began in this cabin when he was three weeks old while his father was forced to make an overnight trip for much needed food and supplies, leaving him and his gentle, fragile, girl-mother alone.

Alma, sitting at the bedside of Minerva and child o this unforgettable night on 26 July 1869, remembered how many times his mother had held him tight in her loving arms as he asked her over and over again to tell him of that awful night that turned into a mighty miracle. Beautiful Amy Sumner Porter, her heroic faith had been vividly stamped across his heart, to burn vivid and bright, to be passed on to posterity forever! Her spirit had been tugging at his heart all this sweet day. Alma knew that the veil was thin and sometimes parted. Tonight he felt her radiant spirit and Alma rejoiced.

She was telling him again how Chauncey and she had knelt beside his cradle while the worried, young husband and father had humbly thanked God for the richness of their blessings and placed his wife and baby into His special, loving care during his absence. For word had reached the settlers to be alert and prepare d, that renegade, marauding Indians, 40 miles south, were on the warpath. Amy had told him the night before not to worry, that she and little Alma would be alright. But she, who had been so brave the night before, when she kissed her husband good-bye, clung to him and hid her face against his to hide the fear and tears in her eyes as daylight came. But Amy was comforted after prayers, and stood with her baby framed in the cabin's one small window, bravely smiling and waving good-bye as Chauncey drove his wagon out of sight.

The winter day was dreary and long. Amy dreaded for the night to come. She often held her baby close to her to warm her frightened heart. She told him that his papa loved them and bravely assured the bright blue eyes gazing at her that they would be safe and that no one would come to hurt them. As darkness began to fall she nursed him and tucked him warm and snug in his cradle.

Amy rechecked the cabin door to see if she had fastened it just as Chauncey had shown her. She felt an urge to keep the fire in the huge fireplace spanning the cabin's end, burning brightly, the wind was howling and moaning around the cabin, when she heard the lonely, piercing cry of a wolf or coyote. Paralyzed with utter fear by the cradle, the cry was repeated. She walked slowly to the window. Amy stood at the tiny window looking through the fast falling snow. Riding directly toward her was a lone Indian! Amy's heart froze within her, she watched in utter terror, expecting other Indians to follow him. The Indian was riding straight toward the cabin door! He dismounted, dropped the reins, left his pony standing, and Amy saw that he was very gig, and very ugly, and appeared to be very, very, drunk, as he staggered boldly toward the door. She ran, threw her back and arms against it. The big Indian cursed and pounded violently in a rage, screamed for whiskey and biscuit! Then came the splintering of wood holding the door and Amy was thrown across the cabin.

The Indian staggered in, slamming the door shut. Amy stood trying to hide the baby in his cradle. He cursed, wildly screaming again for whiskey. He opened the cupboard, saw the vinegar jug, took a big swig, spat and in a frenzy threw the jug at Amy, making for her. She dodged him and saw in his face what he meant to do to her and her baby. She stood facing him with the cradle behind her. What could she do? Oh, who could help her? Suddenly, like a sweet vision form heaven, "she saw in a ray of flight, herself and husband kneeling at the cradle in the early morning" and distinctly heard a voice say, "BE NOT AFRAID: ONLY BELIEVE." She was instantly calm and unafraid. She knew now what had to be done to the big Indian. SHE HAD TO GET HIM TO SLEEP!

Amy actually led him to the fireplace, as he, with angry cursing attempted to grab her. The Indian stumbled and slumped into a corner beside the blazing fire. She caught hold of the big poker and with her slender hands held it bravely over his head! He was soon in a noisy, deep sleep.

Amy Sumner Porter of gentle and refined rearing, stood all that long, winter night over the Indian, guarding her three week old son, Alma, with her life if need be. When daylight came, amid much groaning and grunting, the Indian awakened, looked up at the fragile, young mother still wielding her weapon, looked over her in great amazement, stood before Amy for an instant with bowed head as if honoring her, and then went out the door. Amy, from the window, watched him ride away on his still waiting pony, and he was never seen again!

But a glorious miracle had happened that January night in 1835, on the "Old Missouri Frontier" to a young mother and her three week old son, when suddenly the magnificent faith of Amy Sumner Porter came shining through! That mighty faith which would sustain her and her husband and children, and give her the strength to cheerfully walk in grace and beauty before God and her loved ones, without ever faltering or uttering one word of complaint! This night, Alma, knew about that faith, and the heroism of his mother's yearning love. The next twelve years he walked beside, his hand in hers, while almost every burden and trial that could be endured was placed in thorny pathway, to the end of her beautiful life!

When Alma was two years old and after the birth of their second child, Malinda Ann born, 9 July 1837, in Van Buren County, Missouri, Chauncey and Amy, with their parents and all other Saints, were driven during the murderous expulsion from Missouri into Illinois. Chauncey and Amy settled across the Mississippi River just opposite of Nauvoo, in Jefferson, lee County, Iowa. And it was when Alma was four that their third child, William, was born, 5 November 1838. This second son was the delight of his mother Amy's heart. Little Bill wanted so much to live and he did, for almost two years, but due to being cruelly driven from their home again and the lack of food and clothing he died with pneumonia. It broke their hearts! The next year Sarah Angelina was born 14 September 1841. Then, 1 October 1943 their third and last daughter, sweet Nancy Areta was born.

Alma was only nine years old now, but he never forgot the awful omen of black clouds, hanging over Nauvoo and the saints! Then the awful day came, June 27, 1844, when the Prophet Joseph Smith, whom they loved more than their own lives, lay martyred with his brother Hyrum! Alma never forgot seeing the great fields of corn wilt and fall dying to the ground. And the leaves, in mid-summer wither and fall from the trees, when mother Earth was mourning her slain prophets!

Amid deep sorrow and deeper persecutions, baby Hyrum Smith Porter, was born, 15 March 1845. He had a mass of golden curls, Amy and Chauncey's third son and sixth child. His cheery smile entwined him around their hearts. He was named after their slain Patriarch. But being deprived of sufficient food and warmth he too died just before he was a year old! He was buried beside little Bill.

Alma tonight remembered again, that beautiful soft glow of motherhood, that ethereal light never left his mother Amy's face after the birth and death of baby Hyrum. And his young heart grew sad! He had worked hard, for at eleven years he was doing a man's work for his over burdened father, Chauncey.

Grandfather Alma's journal state, "In the year of 1845 the Saints ere again compelled by their enemies to leave their homes and go West!" In the spring of 1846, he continues, "My father and family, with my Grandfathers Sanford Porter, Jonathan Sumner, and all families started our journey to the West. We stopped twelve or fifteen miles beyond Council Bluffs and stayed there over the winter." The faithful and burdened Chauncey Warriner Porter during this time was "acting Bishop of Winter Quarters."

At Winter Quarters, along "The Old Missouri River" on a cold, bitter day, 11 December 1946, Amy Sumner Porter, went into the "Valley of the shadow of death" for the last time when she joyfully gave birth to twin sons, Benjamin and Joseph! They died in her arms twenty-four hours later, just three days before my grandfather Alma's twelfth birthday, the saddest of his life! That birthday was forever engraved upon his tender heart!

His mother was very ill after the birth and death of her twin sons. She held young Alma tightly in her thin arms, and he understood the yearning of a noble mother's hear for her only son. He knew, and Amy knew that he knew, that she knew now would never see beloved Valley in the mountains. They spoke of many things and their hearts were comforted as Amy began to prepare her children to live without her. She had always had them sing and laugh and be happy and now she was eager to teach them to love the Gospel of Jesus Christ. She wanted them to feel rich and loved by the Lord because they were special members of His "Kingdom." They never saw her tears, she was always cheerful and smiling and patient. She, amid severe pain, sang and laughed with her children. When they were cold and hungry, she warmed their hearts by telling them often about the glorious "Valley", the place that would soon be their home if they were brave and faithful. They would soon be where they would never be cold, or hungry or afraid of their enemies ever again!

The day came in the early springtime, when Amy called her family to her and after they sang to her, she held each of her four living children to her and gave each a mother's blessing! Then as they knelt at her side, without a quaver in her sweet voice she offered a prayer of "thanksgiving" and implored God for the safety of her beloved family and asked Him to prepare the way for her children to be taken soon to her beloved valley in the mountains. Then with a radiant face, smiling happily, and clinging to her husband's and Alma's hands she closed her eyes in death.

The supreme timing of Amy Sumner Porter's death, 6 April 1847, on the exact seventeenth anniversary of the organization of "The Restored Church of Jesus Christ" is exquisitely significant and proper! Amy, the valiant of heart, my own great grandmother, graciously and lovingly placed her "ALL" on the "ALTAR" for the glory of God! AMY SUMNER PORTER lived thirty-two, two months and ten days. She was married thirteen years to Chauncey Warriner Porter. They are the parents of eight children, five sons and three daughters. Four of their five sons lie buried along the Pioneer Trail. Amy sleeps beside Joseph and Benjamin, and with more than six hundred others of the faithful at Winter Quarters, Nebraska!

Alma was thirteen now. It was fourteen months after the death of Mother Amy. The sad, empty, lonely ache in his heart for her never ceased. He could not forget, nor would he ever forget, the strength and beauty of his mother's love and her faith and prayers for her children to be safe in the valley!

I quote from my grandfather's journal, "Because of the fervent faith and prayers of my mother before she died, in the forepart of June 1848, father fitted up a team and wagon, putting my stepmother, Lydia Ann Cook, 18, her babe Warriner Ahaz, my sisters, and myself as teamster, with sufficient food to last. We started to the Valley of the Mountains, in Ezra Clark's company. I was thirteen years of age and drove three yoke of oxen, walking by their side most of the way. After a tedious journey we entered the "Valley of the Great Salt Lake", 12 October 1848. My grandparents, Sanford and Nancy Warriner Porter, took my sisters and stepmother and baby… I lived with my old captain Ezra Clark that Winter."

I now quote the next entry in my grandfather Alma's journal dated September 1849. "I went back to help the emigrating saints. Their teams were badly worn out. With two yoke of oxen, food and bedding, I started alone on my journey. I was happy to meet my father Chauncey Warriner Porter in the middle of Echo Canyon and he was glad to see me But in bad shape with his teams as they were milk cows. When father arrived in the Valley, he took all of his family four or five miles south of the City, along the Jordan River, where we all lived together during that winter." Alma always remembered and often told his children how peaceful he felt that night. Now his beloved mother's faith and prayers had all been answered, her family was at last safe in her "Valley"!

Tonight, still at the bedside of Minerva and child, my Grandfather Alma had lived again, in memory, the days of his boyhood. He had felt the spirit of his mother Amy Sumner Porter, who had been gone 22 years. She had never been as near to him as she had been this wondrous day! The power and beauty of her faith and love were burning within him more vividly than ever before! And Alma rejoiced! He missed his faithful father Chauncey Warriner who had died seventeen months before Orson's birth. His queenly grandmother Nancy Warriner had been gone five years. Alma looked at his sleeping newborn son Orson and genuinely regretted that he would never know them, or be held in their dear arms.

Alma was glad that his Grandfather Sanford was living, at seventy-nine years of age. It was he who had valiantly sought out the Prophet Joseph Smith in his search for Eternal Truth, when the gospel was in but an infant in arms.

The heavenly spirit and glorious events of this 26^th day of July would forever linger in Alma's heart! He felt a quick surge of gratitude for their first gentle season of prosperity, for the past nine months he had had work on the Union Pacific Railroad. For the first time in his life the rugged burden of pioneer life had eased for him and Minerva, new hope was born, weariness had fled, and fresh will to do was enkindled. Gratitude to God filled his soul to overflowing. Alma quietly knelt at the bedside of his wife and child as he offered a humble benediction for this day! Before the prayer ended a warm hand clasped his. Minerva had awakened with glowing face.

The unordinary day of July 26, 1869 was ending! Minerva was twenty-six now and Alma was almost thirty-five. My grandfather did not know it at the time, but his beloved wife Minerva ( just as his angel mother Amy) would give her life for motherhood and the gospels sake in three and a half more years!

1869 was the best of times in Porterville! The hearts of Alma and Minerva were filled to the brim with joy and peace, after the birth of their seventh child Orson. Day by day he abounded in happiness and health. His remarkable health would endure for the sixty-six years of my noble father Orson's life!

Alma said that, "The baby seldom slept, and never cried! At three months he was merrily humming the melodies of the songs which sang him to sleep. He was a delight to his older sisters and brother. Life had never been so good! I added onto my home, and was set apart to fill my deceased father Chauncey's place as branch president." Chauncey Warriner Porter, the founder of Porterville, died 3 March 1868.

As Alma's journal continues, he gives credit to the Union Pacific Railroad for opening, he gives credit to the Union Pacific Railroad for opening, "the windows of Heaven on Morgan County and all Mormondom in 1869, which for a season eased the rigors of pioneer life." He continues, "When the Railroad reached Echo it was short of money, and due to the "prevision" of wise Brother Brigham the Mormon brethren offered to work for a portion of their wage through Echo canyon and on to the end of the "line". The railroad in turn, issued Union Pacific Stocks to the Mormon Church for the remaining portion." It is well known that during the coming years that this was tremendous blessing. For many years our Church owned and held the controlling shares of this great Railroad, which gave the Church financial prestige! And Zion prospered!

Grandfather's journal continues, "I cut and hewed, alone, 500 ties in Echo Canyon." ("AND LEST WE FORGET THE PRICE PAID BY OUR FATHER FOR ETERNAL TRUTH" REMEMBER THE FOLLOWING FROM HIS JOURNAL.) "This was the very first time in my entire life that I was paid for my hard work in real money! I had done a man's work for my father Chauncey and my grandfather Sanford when I was ten years old. I walked beside the wagon driving three yoke of oxen to bring my sisters across the plains when I was thirteen. I had worked diligently in the Great Salt Lake Valley for twenty-two years, but the Union Pacific Railroad was the first to pay me in real dollars in my entire life of thirty-five years!" Please, I pray never forget what Eternal Truth cost to possess. The long reaching arms f the never-ending work, the hunger and cold were always there, never leaving them. I, too, thank God for the Union Pacific Railroad, for to my faithful, patient grandfather it was his one bright spot of his life when he was free of worry.

Happy Minerva, with a "Bit" of Irish in her heart prayed for a red headed son. Her prayers were obediently answered, for right smack on St. Patrick's Day, 17 March 1871, dear Uncle George Myron was born. Orson was twenty months old now. The timing of the births of these two brothers was tremendously significant. It was no accident that these two valiant spirits were given mortality through the very same parents at this exact time! Their children who have walked with them and loved them and who saw their magnificent love and sacrifices for each other endure not only for the sixty-six years of my own father's life, but also we have seen it reach beyond the grave and become a legend which beckons us from Eternity to follow!

It is still talked about in Porterville, because of its merit. It has never been forgotten. It is handed down by work of mouth that Minerva Duel Porter scoured her wooden floors with the sand from nearby Canyon Creek until they shone beautifully. And it is well known among her descendants, that because of her Irish spunk that no man without just cause "ever tracked mud on her gleaming wooden floors without regret!" For the steel grip of my lovely grandmother's hands could bring any man to his knees! Minerva's delightful "Bit of Heaven" Irish wit and her lofty sense of humor were richly bequeathed to her son Orson, my happy father.

I quote from Alma's journal, "In 1871 and 1872 all prosperity had fled! The Grasshoppers came in hordes and ate everything green in the valley including all crops. Times were hard, very hard! I hauled ore form Dry Canyon for almost two years and never got a cent for it!"

The next entry in Grandfather's journal is written with an unsteady hand and smudged with tears. The words cry out in heart-torn, agonized grief and loneliness. "On 29 January 1873 our ninth child Vilate was born, and after 12 days of happiness her mother and my beloved wife Minerva suddenly died!" Each time I have read it during my lifetime I suffer for my grandfather, Alma Porter!

I have sat on my own father's lap many times and have had him repeat it to me as I wiped away his tears and I felt the sorrow of his mother Minerva's death. It had cut so deeply into his tender three and a half year old heart that he never forgot for an instant during his life the utter loneliness of their home when his mother suddenly died. Alma had picked him up to kiss her lovely cheek good-bye before they closed the coffin and took her away.

Minerva Adelina Deuel Porter died 9 February 1873, on the same bitter, winter day Sanford Porter, the family patriarch, died a few hours earlier, at the age of eighty-two years. They had a double funeral and were buried side by side on the lonely, little hillside at Porterville, Utah.

Minerva Adelina Deuel is the daughter of William Henry and Eliza Avery Whiting Deuel. She was born 3 March 1843 in Montrose, Lee County, Iowa. She lived with her parents, younger sister Mercy Ann, and with her uncle and aunt, Osmyn M. and Mary Whiting Deuel, IN THE FIRST HOUSE BUILT IN THE SALT LAKE VALLEY! In early 1847, the cabin was built by the two Deuel brothers, who married sisters. It stood in grace on TEMPLE SQUARE in Salt Lake City for more than 130 years. It was restored in 1986 and now sits in dignity where it was first built (between the Church Museum and Family History Library). William Henry Deuel is my own great grandfather and Minerva, my own father's mother!

Minerva married Alma Porter, 15 November 1858 in the Salt Lake Endowment House. They are the parents of six sons and three daughters. She was married fifteen years and died 9 February 1873. She lived 29 years, eleven months and six days. She died giving birth and mortality to a choice spirit. She lived as she died with a smile on her lips caressing Alma's cheek. Her twelve day old baby daughter, Vilate, was raised and loved by Alma's uncle, Lyman Porter and his wife Catherine.

I quote from Alma's journal, "My precious, happy Minerva, the mother of my children, what would I do without her? Her wit and charm always washed away my fears, but she is gone. I will have to paddle my canoe alone through life. With all of my losses and sorrows, this is the hardest to bear!"

My beloved, young Grandmother Minerva had gracefully given her life for motherhood and the gospel's sake, just as Alma's mother Amy Sumner Porter had done before her. And when she was gone it was as if all the sunshine and beauty of life had followed her! The home of Alma and his children during that long winter of 1873 in Porterville was a dark and gloomy place. Little Orson at half past three was just the age when a mother is missed the most. Young Myron was two and Orson from that time on was always holding his hand and seemed to take over his care. But Orson's yearning for his mother never ceased. He never cried for fear others would feel badly. He wondered why he ached so much inside himself. But when Alma gathered his little ones around him and they knelt in prayer and thanked God for his goodness and Alma at night would take the two youngest upon his knees and sing to them and hold them close, Orson was comforted. He adored his gentle, lonely father with every bit of his sturdy, little heart.

At an early age Orson could tell that his father Alma's life was rich and full with spiritual blessings. He saw the sick healed through his administrations. This made a lasting impression up Orson. He testifies that his father Alma gracefully lived every principal of the gospel to its fullest and kept every commandment! Alma's shining example sowed the seed which took root in Orson's hart and grew and blossomed in all of its beauty into a glorious testimony of the Restored Truth; He would eternally proclaim that, "The Prophet Joseph Smith beheld and conversed with two glorious, resurrected beings, the Father and His Son Jesus Christ as they appeared together for the first time in any of their created worlds without number." The event that "Dear Old Mother Earth had been looking forward to for almost 2000 years!"

Of course, Orson knew, and his brothers and sisters knew, and they all taught their children and their children's children to know and thousands of others to know, just as Sanford and Nancy Warriner knew that Joseph Smith was chosen by the Lord to bring Light and Truth to the world in his Restored Gospel. Not Truth alone, not Liberty alone, but Liberty and Truth! He believed and taught the divine truth that the Spirit of Liberty is the genius of the gospel. With almost every breath he drew, he taught patriotism intermingled with gospel truths. Joseph knew from the heavens that we can't have one without the other. These sublime truths uttered when he was rattling chains in Liberty Jail amid persecutions worse than death. I, Rhea Porter White am humbly grateful for my parentage, progenitors, persecutions, and sacrifice burned from their souls the dross leaving only pure gold of loftiest character "The Mormon Pioneers"! They came to a Foreign land, over which floated a foreign flag. They came driven from their native land and from under their own flag, by armed mobs, which burned their homes and robbed them of their belongings they left behind, while fleeing. Yet, arrived in the new home, our Pioneers raised the flag of the homeland from which they had been expelled. They set up a protecting government with the rights and liberties that, they in their old home had been guaranteed by our beloved Constitution but which they had not enjoyed. From that moment when we raised the stars and stripes until now we have cherished these rights and liberties. We affirm that the Constitution, to uphold it, our patriotism has for us, the sanction of the King of Kings, God, Almighty Himself!

The following entry from my grandfather Alma Porter's journal was told and retold at his knee. Each word was indelibly engraved upon my father Orson's heart. He ever rejoiced in his father Alma's loyalty and bravery! This lofty patriotism has been generously bequeathed to us, his children, and may we never forget our responsibility of being born of noble patriots and nurtured tenderly in the "Cradle of Liberty" by the Prophet Joseph Smith, under the banner of Eternal Truth!

Alma quotes, "It was 24 July 1857 when President Young and more than 3000 Saints, including the Porter families, were celebrating in Big Cottonwood Canyon, under the "High Flying Stars and Stripes", our ten peaceful years in the Valley. When three messengers, horses steaming, rode into camp with the startling news that President Buchanan had sent an army of 2500 men under the command of Colonel A. S. Johnston, bringing Alfred Cumming of Georgia to succeed Governor Young as Territorial Governor of Utah, to quell all Mormon disloyalty and rebellion! The army and their long train of supplies and beef cattle were strung out for miles and were even now well on their way toward us and not one single word of warning had been given!" Alma said, "It was good that our flag that we loved was flying above u, for soon we would hear the lies that we had burned our flags!" Alma never forgot the shock, fear, sorrow and righteous anger of 3000 Saints. Many had traveled the thorny, blood-strewn, path before.

"President Young stood before them. He looked as if all eternity was resting upon his brave shoulders, weighing him to the ground! But without flinching, his comforting voice rang out loud and clear, 'Beloved brothers and sisters, we do not want to fight the United States, but if they drive us to it we shall do the best we can. And I tell you, as the Lord lives, we shall come off conquerors!'"

"He then immediately called out the "Little Militia" of whom I, Alma, the oldest grandson of Sanford and Nancy Warriner Porter, and Lyman their youngest son were members! Within hours we were on our way to Echo Canyon with brave General Wells, Lot Smith, Porter Rockwell, Ephraim K. Hanks and others. As Lyman and I rode away on our horses behind our leaders, we did not know how long we would be gone, or if we would ever return. Our hearts were breaking as we left our homes and loved ones. That night we arrived at Echo Canyon where under the guidance and strategy of God himself, we, a mere handful o men weak in number but powerful in faith, would hold back an entire army!"

President Young humbly praised God at this crucial time that we had one true friend in the government. He dispatched a message to Colonel Thomas L. Kane of Philadelphia to explain the true status of government among the Saints. Kane, known by presidents, congressmen, and men of importance, beloved for his honesty and lofty ideals, swore before the President and Congress that he would stake his life on the Mormons being absolutely loyal Americans! Everyone in Washington advised him that he would loose his prestige; to leave us alone! Colonel Kane said that the Mormons deserved an apology for the President and that he was going to deliver it!"

"We are blessed," Alma told his sons, "that we follow3ed the example of our beloved, loyal Prophet Joseph on loving this great land as he did more than life itself, or we would not have had a chance! For we had to have a miracle now! We valiantly prayed in the Canyon. The army arrived at Fort Bridger. Brother Brigham sent us words of comfort and asked us to pray for colonel Kane. We stood firm awaiting a miracle." Alma said, "And then it happened. We knelt in snow to thank God for Kane's arrival in Salt Lake City with our Prophet!"

Kane decided to make a trip to Utah, a decision reached amid a barrage of protests. His health at the time was delicate. Kane left with a lone companion, a servant. It was a mission of love, which Brigham Young later said was inspired by the Lord. Kane paid his own way, and in order to pull clean his stakes, resigned a well paying position as clerk of the federal court.

The day of Kane's arrival in late February 1858, President Young notified him of his joy and surprise! No one knew that he was coming. That same night they had a formal meeting with the leading authorities. Kane asked for a private interview with President Young. The two old friends chatted for about half an hour, and no doubt some of the suggestions made by Colonel Kane influenced president Young's actions toward the army. He told Kane that as he had been inspired to come to them, he should go to the army and do as the Spirit of the Lord led him, and all would be right.

The meeting closed with President Young's comment to Kane, "Brother Thomas, the Lord sent you here, and he will not let you die. No! You cannot die until your work is done. I want to have your name live with the Saints through all Eternity! You have done a great work and you will do a greater work still."

Colonel Kane remained in the taunt atmosphere of Salt Lake City almost two weeks, before proceeding to Camp Bridger. Kane's arrival at the camp was exciting. Alma writes that their leaders told them it made some difficulty and shots rang out across the prairie. The entire day following Colonel Kane's arrival he spent in conference with Governor Cumming, telling the truth. Johnston's attitude toward the visitor remained cool. When an attempt was made to arrest Kane he fumed out a challenge to Johnston for a duel, and Cumming agreed to serve as Kane's second.

Colonel Kane remained at Camp Bridger (Scott) for three cold weeks. During this time, while sleeping in falling snow several nights, he kept in constant touch with Mormon messengers on the outer fringes of the camp. These contacts assured Kane that the Saints would be willing to receive Cumming without an armed escort. Kane's conversations with Cumming bore fruit, fruit which carried with it the sweet juices of peace. On April 3, Cumming notified Colonel Johnston that he was going to Salt Lake City with Kane, unescorted. Kane's influence in teaching him the truth regarding the Mormons had mellowed Alfred Coming. He seemed to have partaken of Kane's fine spirit.

The following day after reaching Salt Lake, President Young and Governor Cumming had a private hour, with Kane the only other person present. At the close of the meeting Cumming agreed to show the ex-governor, Brigham Young, his private instructions.

Conversations with President Young continued and on Saturday April 24^th a final and decisive interview took place, of which Kane wrote in his diary, "I AM AND KNOW MYSELF TO BE HAPPY!" Kane's mission of peace, which he, like President Young, believed was heaven ordained had met success. Alma and Lyman met the Colonel as he went through Echo Canyon. He dismounted and shook the hands of the faithful "Little Militia" including Alma and Lyman Porter, congratulating them with others in their ability to detain an entire army. Colonel Kane then departed for Washington, where he delivered important messages from Utah including reports from Governor Cumming."

And then the AWFUL DAY CAME! When Alma was alone on the mountain cutting trees for firewood, one fell across his legs breaking one badly. Sanford Porter, Jr., of the Mormon Battalion and Alma's uncle, bandaged it too tightly. The pain was too severe and when loosened the bones slipped, overlapped and caused such great pain that all his life he limped and suffered pain.

Alma could hold only one little boy now and that was Myron, the youngest. I had heard this many times in a laughing way, but when Uncle Myron and I were biding my father good-bye before his funeral, tears were falling when dear uncle Myron bent over his brother Orson and asked him to forgive him for never letting him share "Pa's " knee with him. Taking my father's hand he recalled during their boyhood years, how often when Orson had a little treasure that he would make a deal to get it by promising to let him sit on "Pa's" knee that night. But when night came Uncle Myron said, "I always welched on my deal and you never once told on me! You just went stumbling off to bed alone, while I enjoyed myself." He added, "All of our lives, Orson, you gave of our best to me!"

Alma records, "Orson's mere presence in the home of his childhood made it a happy one." But Orson's home was no ordinary one. With Alma's mighty faith, it was a home of purity and sweetness. Where the grieving family clasp each other in love and knelt with dampened faces to pray, Mary was now thirteen, and Eliza nine. They faithfully took over the home and their younger brothers along with the help of Alma's sister Sara Leavitt. They were happy to see that their devotion comforted their lonely father.

One of Orson's most tender memories of those days was his sister Mary's sweet singing. She constantly had a song on her lips and in her heart! When she went to the Porterville Hills in the summertime to fetch the cows her three little brothers would sit on the doorsteps awaiting her return. During all the times she was gone, even when they could not see her, they knew where she was for her clear bell-like voice as like a sweet benediction upon the lonely hearts below!

And then one day the Portals of Heaven opened wide to Orson. Alma took him alone into the fields with him. As Orson trudged along holding Alma's finger with his pudgy little hand, enrapture, somehow or other, he knew not exactly how, but he made a solemn covenant in his little heart to protect and watch over his father all of his life! And he did!

When spring came with the birds singing and the wild flowers aflame on the hillside, Mr. Sun came dancing and bursting gaily into Alma's home with laughter and son; happiness was there to stay! And then, suddenly it seemed that Mary was eighteen and married Samuel Uriah Porter and left home to live in the Arizona desert along wither Aunt Sarah Leavitt and family. Orson never saw his beloved sister again! Eliza, always the apple of her brothers' eyes was the "Home Maker" for her father and brothers. And then before they even believed it, Eliza too was eighteen. She loved Hyrum Clark and she too wanted to get married. It broke their hearts. But Alma, putting his arm around her, asked Eliza how much she loved this Hyrum Clark and she said, "BETTER than anybody or anything in the whole world." Alma said, "Well, you'd better marry him then!" And she did!

"Meet William Henry Deuel, Grandfather!" After the marriage of Mary and Eliza, Alma was left alone with his three sons: Charles 13, Orson 11, and Myron 9. One summer day the boys were lonesome awaiting Alma's return, when they had a visitor. Their Grandfather Deuel came from Centerville to see them.

His high prancing horses hitched to a shiny, black buggy with red wheels was resplendent indeed. Porterville did not have horses and buggies like these. But then, Grandpa was an important man, his visits to his three motherless grandsons was very rare. They could not remember seeing their Grandmother Deuel. Orson said that when he laughed and hugged them that he remembered his mother Minerva, Grandpa's daughter, laughing the very same way and it warmed Orson's heart! Especially the laughter, they had not heard much of it for a long time. They had a ride around Porterville and came home, and Grandpa played with them and teased them and they loved him.

Their eyes grew wide when he took three, big, new, shining, silver dollars out of his pocket. Grandpa Deuel asked them if they wanted to bet on a foot race sot that maybe they could win the dollars. But he warned them that he was a tricky racer. That did not worry Orson. It was said that when Orson watched for the Federal Agents on the hills above Porterville, in order to let the men know so that they could hide, Orson was fast and always warned Uncle Lyman and others in time. So they took Grandpa's bet. They went out in the dusty road and made their marks and the race was on! Orson could see Charley and Myron behind him but where was Grandpa? Grandpa bet that he could run right away from them and he was too! He was going the other way and Grandpa won the bet!

When he saw how sad the boys' faces were, Grandpa started to laugh, and he laughed and laughed, and he sat on the ditch bank and laughed some mer. Orson watching him began to laugh and finally he was laughing and rolling with glee. Charley and Myron then started to laugh and they all laughed and giggled until they felt so good.

When Grandpa Deuel got ready to go he hugged them and when he hugged Orson last, he held him tightly. Grandpa was not laughing now; he seemed to have something in his eyes. He was rubbing them and whispered, "Orson, never stop laughing, you are just like your mother!" As he drove away Grandpa called, "Look good in your pockets," and he was gone. And in each ragged little pocket was a silver dollar! A day never to be forgotten, they could not wait to tell Pa.

These are some of the sweetest memories of Orson Merit Porter's childhood and of his growing up years in Porterville-the dearest spot on earth to him! How blessed is pure childhood! Pure boyhood! Pure manhood! Where CLEAN MIRTH EVER ABIDES!

Just seeing his beloved, hard-working father Alma walk gracefully out on a dance floor amid applause and give a masterful performance was a sort of heaven to this young lad who knew the heavy burdens his beloved father carried!

Orson went to the first Primary ever held in Porterville. He delighted in the lessons taught by "role playing" even then, which left their mark on young Orson.

And then, because he was trustworthy and "Fleet of Foot", those watching over the polygamists would place him on the top of the highest hill overlooking the Morgan Road to watch for those who meant trouble. Orson knew every horse and vehicle in Porterville, and could spot the enemy a mile off. He never failed to deliver the warning message.

The hours spent with his cousins, how dear they were to him; hours spent with "HK", Hyrum, singing sweet harmony, the jokes played on the each other, and the years being close to Ernest and Edna. And most important, the cherished school days under the strict tutelage of "JR", Joseph Rich Porter, an intelligent giant who fashioned and taught generations of Porters. By his giving so generously of himself, he helped many to "reach for the stars" and some of the Porters touched them!

My Grandfather Alma, often said, "Heaven was a sad and lonely place," and that many tears were shed the day that my Orson left its portals. For even Heaven missed happiness and gratitude to God, which filled my father Orson's heart. Alma testifies that each day Orson brought him more comfort and delight, as his life began to unfold in all of its sweetness. His quick wit brought back his precious mother, as he sang and laughed and tried to figure ways to make his father and brothers happy. Orson was quick and helpful to everyone, and just went about enjoying the beauties around him; all nature seemed to smile upon him.

Alma decided that Orson was old enough at eleven to walk over Big Mountain with him to General Conference, where he could meet his namesake Elder Orson Pratt. It was a beautiful October day; father and son went to Centerville and stayed the night with Uncle Nathan Porter. The next day at the tabernacle, Orson heard Elder Pratt speak. He had asked so often about him. He knew that his father Alma had learned to lover Brother Pratt when he was commissioned to lay out the Salt Lake City streets. Alma herded the milk cows for the City, and every day as Alma passed him, he visited with Brother Pratt. The great mathematician and astronomer taught Alma many things because he listened and remembered. A tender love grew between the renowned Apostle of the Lord and the motherless lad of thirteen. When conference was over Elder Pratt embraced Alma and hugged young Orson, who would never forget that wonderful man!

Uncle Nathan, after conference, wanted to borrow Orson, but Orson sure didn't want to be borrowed; but Uncle Nathan won. And Alma left Orson. Papa often said that, "there was nothing worse than being homesick." He nearly died. He worked so hard that he cut the borrow time in two and one night at sunset he was allowed to go home. He started out alone without supper. When he was halfway home he was starving, so he stopped in the moonlight to eat service berries. He ate, and ate, and ate, as he walked around the big bushes and there in the moonlight he ran slap dab into the biggest grizzly bear in the whole world, standing on his hind feet eating along side of him. My little father started running, and he ran, and ran, and ran until he fell exhausted on the trail. He had heard the bear running right close behind him all the time, but when looked up there wasn't any bear at all! My papa told me that, "the things we fear the most in life never happen at all." For my entire life I have proven this!

Alma writes in his journal dated 26 July 1882, "Today is Orson's thirteenth birthday. His loving, happy spirit is a gentle influence in our home, and a comfort to me as he guides his older and younger brother."

Orson's boyhood years were passing by, but his yearning for his angel mother Minerva never ceased, nor would it! I, Rhea, his daughter bear witness that his love for her grew more vivid and bright each year of my father's beautiful life! I recall that he would be asked to speak on every Mother's Day, sometimes years in advance. The day he died suddenly, while in perfect health, with a joyful shining face he told us, his family, that the felt his mother and father near him and in a few hours he was gone!

After Alma's daughters married, he lived alone with his three young sons. Orson, my father, used to tell his children how good the food cooking at meal time in Porterville smelled to a hungry lad. Sometimes he caught through an open door the beautiful picture of a mother with her children clustered around her. Somehow, he knew within his young heart that mother hood and Heaven are closely woven together. He said he often prayed for his father to bring a mother home to them, and one day he did! Orson was 13, Myron11, and Charles 15. It was 10 November 1882. Alma ha been widowed for ten years. At forty-eight he married Bishop Carter's daughter Jane, almost nineteen. She was, even then, a superb cook, homemaker, and manager. She loved Alma's children, and they loved her. During the next 21 years Alma and Jane would become the parents of eight beautiful daughters and one son. And thus my unselfish, faithful parents, Orson Merit and Maggie Tolman Porter would become entwined with the raising of this younger family!

Thus, Orson Merit Porter, richly endowed with his father Alma's mighty faith and crowned with the gems of his mother Minerva's sparkling sense of humor, grew to lofty manhood in Porterville. And there under the skies amid wild roses, robins, and snow-clad peaks he waxed strong in joyful spirit! The birds sang above him echoing the songs of praise on his lips and from his heart. The sun shone warm and sweet upon him and he caught its radiant beams to scatter along the pathways of life to comfort everyone "going his way"! Both God and Nature smiled lovingly upon Orson as he reached his arms to the wayward, cheered the sick, and comforted the dying. He always left the contagion of laughter behind him that brought a smile or chuckle through the tears!

When Orson was twenty-one he had a dream come true; he was called to fill a mission in the Northern States. He was ordained a seventy by his father Alma, and John H. Smith, a general authority, 19 May 1890.

14 July 1890, he went to the Logan Temple to receive his endowments. He rode a horse to Centerville, where Uncle Nathan offered him a beautiful sure-footed mare to ride the long distance to Logan. When he was part way there, the mare stumbled and fell upon him crushing his back and right leg, severely. He could not move. The mare stood over him, but he could not mount her. Orson said, as he was lying there he heard a voice call him to awaken, he had fainted with the terrible pain. He drifted off again, and heard someone again call his name, telling him that he was chosen for a special work and no one else could do it. The gentle voice called again and told him to arise quickly. He tried to get up, and could by clinging to the saddle. He stood praying for strength, and he seemed to have been lifted on his horse for the next thing he knew he was riding toward Logan.

Others helped him into the Temple and cared for his horse. He was given a wonderful blessing and spent a glorious day free from pain, although he was skinned badly and bruised black and blue.

With thanksgiving he rode back; glad to be getting home safe and the mare fell a second time crushing the other leg. He was found and taken into Uncle Nathan's were Uncle Nathan gave him another blessing and said that he felt the evil spirits were trying to destroy Orson. But Orson made his mission on schedule 15 July 1890.

Bidding him good-bye, Alma said, "Orson, I'm not worried about you becoming a great speaker, but I am concerned about you learning to know when to stop a sermon." It was good advice and it stayed with Orson all of his life. He was much sought for as a speaker but he never abused his privileges!

Orson was an outstanding missionary. He grew in humility and greatness and became a noble defender of the truth! He served most of his time in and around Council Bluffs, Iowa, where he was surrounded and abused by the hatred of members of the Reorganized Church. For about nine months he served without a companion. He would walk the hills among the wild cattle to study the gospel. For hours he would stand still and wait until all the cattle would slowly close in around him and then he would scream to scare and scatter the bellowing cattle. Then he would be able to tackle another day! He was released 6 July 1892.

Orson missed his brother Myron; he was not at the train to meet him with the family in Morgan. When he asked about his brother he could tell that Alma was worried about Myron. Orson found Myron in the saloon, just ready to take his first drink. Orson came in and stood behind him and Myron saw him the mirror. My father reached out, took the drink, set it down and took Myron in his arms.

It wasn't long before the story was told. Myron had fallen in love with a precious young lad, Ellen Loretta Chapin that the brothers and grown up with and both loved. Myron, while Orson was gone, wanted her to marry him, but her father wanted her to wait for Orson and told Myron not to come around anymore.

After returning home and both kneeling in prayer, Orson felt that he knew how to take of everything for Myron whom he had loved since birth. He, my papa, was very persuasive and it was not very long until everything was wonderful and George Myron Porter and Ellen Loretta Chapin were married, 25 October 1893, in the new Salt Lake Temple. They had a glorious family, a glorious life, and they loved the Lord!

Alma had told his son, Orson that he had seen a beautiful little Israelite in Star Valley recently and said, "Why don't you go see her?" Orson and Myron went to visit their sister Eliza Clark. One day, riding in the beautiful valley, they came upon a girl riding straddle (an unseeming thing to do in those days). This girl was driving a herd of wild horses for her brothers and all on the dead run. When she saw the handsome strangers. Without making a false move she flipped her leg across the saddle and rode sideways and never even pulled up her horse. When she turned and pulled up to get another glimpse of them, my papa was standing in the saddle doing the same thing! It was just grand love at first sight that will last eternally! While visiting with his sister Eliza, Orson was able to meet "the Belle of Star Valley", Maggie Belle Tolman.

After Orson asked Maggie to marry him, they went for a horseback ride one Sunday afternoon. On the way home he stopped his bride to tell her something very serious. Orson told Maggie that he loved her, but she would always be the second love of his life. Maggie was quite angry until Orson told her she would be second to his love for Heavenly Father. Orson wanted her to know that through the coming years that Maggie would be often left alone to raise the family while he served the Lord. Hearing these words caused Maggie to only love Orson more.

Maggie had been called to serve a unique five month mission for the Sunday School at the Brigham Young Academy, now Brigham Young University. Orson Merit Porter and Maggie Belle Tolman were married in the Salt Lake Temple, 3 January 1894, with President Rex Winder officiating. The couple continued on to Provo, Utah where Maggie filled her mission and Orson worked in the mines in Eureka, Utah.

My lovely mother, Maggie Belle Tolman, came from noble pioneer parentage. She was born to Cyrus Hewitt and Margaret Eliza Utley Tolman, of the same caliber as the Sanford Porter family. Orson and Maggie worked together serving God and their fellowmen as a beautiful team forever and always magnified each other's greatness.

They, along with Uncle Myron and Aunt Loretta moved to Star Valley in 1895 and went into the cattle business. After they each had three children and modest prosperity, Orson was anxious for Myron to fill a mission. They had planned to use Myron's share of the cattle to finance the mission. Orson was to provide for and take care of Myron and Loretta's family. Myron was called to the Southern States Mission and served in Georgia where the people were killing Mormons and especially the missionaries. Myron and his companion had baptized a family named Moon. They had been members a week when a mob had come looking for the two missionaries. Brother and Sister Moon shielded Myron and his companion. When Sister Moon recognized and called out the name of the masked leader of the mob, he raised his rifle and shot her head off. Brother Moon helped Myron and his companion escape the mob, but for two weeks the Church, Orson, Maggie and Loretta did not know whether Myron was dead or alive. Myron completed a fine mission and was welcomed home to Star Valley. The day after his return Orson invited Myron to come look at the cattle. Then Orson told Myron, "Choose the ones you prefer, we go fifty-fifty, remember?" Myron was surprised because he thought his share of the cattle would have been sold to keep him on his mission. Their love was always shining through! Times like this is when I love my generous father and mother the most!

Shortly after in early 1900, the Honorable Governor DeForrest Richards and Secretary of State Fennimore Chatterson of Wyoming visited President Lorenzo Snow in Salt Lake City asking that a colony of good, young, strong Mormon man and their families come to Wyoming and teach them irrigation. They would be rewarded with choice land under the canal. President Snow appointed Apostle Abraham Owen Woodruff, youngest son of President Wilford Woodruff to take charge of the colonization in the Big Horn Basin.

Orson and Myron with their families and twenty-eight other families left Star Valley for the Greybull Valley. They traveled overland in covered wagons, bringing their cattle, sheep, and all they possessed, to make the "Big Horn" their future home!

In 1899, Elder Woodruff and Joseph McMurrin went to Burlington to organize a branch but they made it a ward. This was the first ward in the future Big Horn Stake. He was told to go to the Greybull Valley later on.

The beloved Elder Abraham O. Woodruff organized the Otto Ward in the Big Horn Stake, 10 September 1901. Myron was ordained as the first bishop; Orson as the first president of the Young Men's Mutual Improvement Association and Maggie Belle as the first Primary president. The three were set apart for their offices by Elder Woodruff the same day.

Virga Marie was born to Myron and Loretta, 1 October 1901, and Rhea was born 10 March 1902 to Orson and Maggie. My young beautiful mother had previously been blessed and promised a son to be like unto Alma of Old! It was a shock when I came marching in as the fourth daughter, but after the shock was over they seemed to love me anyway.

Remember the bitterness toward the Mormons at this time. Mother went with the sisters to a Primary meeting at Burlington, as she was the president. The mothers, children, and some men were away that Saturday after I was born. There had been some murderers who had escaped from the Basin jail, with the help of Hot Springs County men, who were headed toward Thermopolis. A posse was called for every man in Big Horn County to join to go get the murderers.

My happy, gentle father happened to drop into the Post Office, located in a saloon wherein two, hard gunmen were getting the posse together. Men were gathering form up and down the Greybull Valley. As Papa went in for the mail some men shouted, "There is a Mormon! You don't see Mormons willing to join." Papa replied, "I don't have a gun." Then five guns came sliding down the bar to him and they hollered, "You have now, Porter!" Papa picked up a gun and agreed to be back to join them.

Sickened to death with their drinking and profanity, Orson just hurried home to write Mother a good-bye letter. When she returned home he was gone. They met Thermopolis officers and stolen prisoners a hundred miles away and no war took place. It was an awful time in Wyoming those days, at the time of my birth.

In the summer of 1921 when I was nineteen years old and on a trip to Salt Lake, dear cousin, Myra, choicest of the thirteen children of Uncle Milton, Mother's oldest brother, asked me to go to Springville to see her father Milton before I came home. Uncle Milton was very ill in bed and dying after a severe accident of loosing a leg in the sugar factory. He was a giant of a man with a mop of snowy hair. Their humble home was almost bare, he had big, disrespectful sons and it was difficult for him to talk to me alone. Finally, after getting the door locked so he could talk to me, he asked me to sit on his bed and took my hand. He asked me when I was going back to Otto. He said, "Rhea, I am dying and I want you to get home and tell this to your father so that I can die in peace." He then continued by telling me this story, which happened when I was a baby of a few months, that gives you a "feel" of the Mormon sentiment which was taking place.

Among the LDS families that trekked to the Big Horn Basin, along with Papa and Uncle Myron, was Uncle Milton. He was a hard working man of whom Mother writes so much about in her history. In 1902 after the crops the crops were planted, the whole colony from Star Valley was short of money. This was when almost the most important thing in life, except family, was horses, they made the world go. So, Uncle Milton said they had heard of a fine "horse buyer" coming through the country to Basin from Red Lodge, Montana. Each family needed money to see them through the harvest, and all took good horses that could be parted with to Basin. Among the Mormon group were Papa and Uncle Milton; brothers-in-law.

The buyer, Uncle Milton said, was a fine fellow as he paid them well and all were happy. As usual, the buyer asked the men if they would like to go in the saloon and have a drink of whiskey. Papa refused and thanked him and started to leave. As he walked by Uncle Milton and the others, touching their shoulders he whispered, "Don't do it boys, let's get for home," and he started for his saddled horse. But the rest of them went in the saloon and had their drink.

The buyer, looking out the door, asked them to come and see something. He said, "Do you see that young Porter fellow out there?" They did. He continued, "Look at him well, for he is the finest young man I have ever seen! I know that you all are Mormon men, but if you ever want to sell me another horse, you will have to go through him!"

Uncle Milton was weeping now. He said, "From that time to this that drink has choked me. I was so jealous of your father that I could never tell him this. Hurry home and ask him to forgive me for not doing the right thing at the right time! Tell Orson and your ma how I love them!" And I did. I thought Papa would be so happy to hear this. But he wept too, and said, "Your dear, Uncle Milton is such a good, hard-working man, Rhea. I am sorry that he grieved over this!" Myra sent us word that Uncle Milton died the night after I got home.

Our family was comfortably settled on six hundred acres of well irrigated land, and 1902 looked wonderful! The summer of 1903 was passing, the crops were bounteous, and all was well. The two brothers counted their rich blessings! They were on their way! And then it happened! It was just a few lines written by a dear, tired, trembling hand, but those few lines drastically changed Orson and Maggie's lives.

It really didn't have to, if they wanted to disregard it and lay it aside, which was the easy way. The little letter was just from a parent growing old, everything would work itself out, and you just didn't have time, being so busy yourself! But you see, this wasn't good enough thinking for my father Orson Merit Porter. He was fashioned of pure gold and engraved with a covenant that he had made in the heavens before he was born.

All the little letter said was, "I love you, Orson. I am so tired these days, I'd give anything in the world to just see my big, sunshine boy again." But Orson read between the crooked lines, his "ultra" vision saw, and his "tuned in" ears heard that this "Little Letter" was a desperate cry for help! Nothing else really mattered now. Alma, the gentle, hard-working father, who had been both father and mother to him, needed his love! More day by day by day, my gratitude to Orson and Maggie porter grows greater for their lives of unselfishness.

I shed a tear when I see the selfishness among us, of children that outgrow their lover for their parents, those who put their lives on the line to give them mortality; who spoil and adore their own children. But these same children who, when a mother or father needs to be in their home, put those parents on a different status than when their parents stood by them in life, sacrificing to give them their all, going without the little and big pleasures of life or luxuries because they robbed themselves to give to their married children. I, the writer, pray that you who read this, who are the posterity of Orson Merit and Maggie Belle Tolman Porter, notice what true love and gratitude can do to make a heaven on earth!

One of Orson's spiritual gifts was to do the right thing, at the right time! His great desire now, was to rush to his father in Porterville. Maggie did not remind him that his own crops, with hired men were being harvested, and that if he left this would stop and the crops could perish in the fields! My mother was only 24, but she was a queen. She put her arms around my father and said, "Why don't you go to him?" Within the hour Orson was quickly galloping his finest horse toward Red Lodge, Montana, a trip of 200 miles, to just reach a railroad.

When Orson arrived in Porterville, Jane told him that Alma and the men were stacking grain across the creek. Orson motioned to the men to not recognize he was there until he had surprised his father. Orson went to him and climbed up the back of the stack, catching Alma in his arms. Alma struggled to free himself and was cross at such silly stuff. As he turned his head to see who it was he looked into his son's happy, laughing face and into the eyes of his stalwart son, Orson. He put up his arms, thin and weary, that had once held and comforted hundreds of times, a lonely, motherless, little boy, and clasped Orson's neck. Alma put his head on Orson's broad shoulder, and the Patriarch of the Morgan Stake wept with utter joy! Orson slid down the stack, still holding Alma, and carried him gently across the creek, with his own heart failing him because Alma had grown so thin and fragile.

He carried him into the house and placed him on his bed. Tears were backed up behind Orson's eyes, but he joking, lovingly, which brought a delighted smile to his father's face. And then Orson gave orders that there he was to stay, that this big boy was going to do all the harvesting. The radiance on his father's face blinded Orson, he bent and kissed him. Then he hurried back to the grain stacking and took upon his own broad, willing shoulders the heavy burdens of his father Alma forever!

They were days never to be forgotten by father or son. As Alma rested and regained much of his strength he was happy and relaxed. At night time, when the day's work for Orson was done, and a fine meal by Jane was enjoyed, Alma seemed to talk much of his boyhood day; of his mother Amy Sumner Porter's faith and love, of his early days in the Valley, of driving two yoke of oxen and walking most of the way by their side, of bringing his sisters in answer to his angel mother's prayers into their mountain home. He loved to talk about the Prophet Joseph Smith and Nauvoo.

Orson sat near him until he fell asleep and after kissing his father goodnight he would lie awake wondering how he could shield his beloved father from the heavy burden of raising his second family of nine children. He loved the new land in Otto and knew it was a great opportunity for him and Myron and their families. But he would lie awake praying for wisdom. In Orson's magnificent love for his father which he had been born with, he knew that Alma needed him and he had covenanted before he was born to love and serve his father! He wondered if his sweet, young wife, Maggie Bell, would be willing to sacrifice their new home and prosperity for coming to Porterville. He wrote to her and asked her what he should do. By return mail, Maggie Belle told him that she was willing to do anything in the world he felt that they should do. Orson's heart was now at peace.

The day Orson left Porterville to return to Otto he told his father what he and Maggie had decided. He took Alma in his arms, told him that he was going to shoulder his burdens from now on, that he was going to Otto to get his family and that Maggie, too, wanted to come to Porterville. My dear father never forgot for an hour in the years to come how he felt divine peace as the glow of heaven flooded Alma's face, and the joy of Jane and the children. It was well worth the crops still lying unharvested in his own fields at Otto to see his father's happiness! Precious Alma Porter would die in twelve more days.

Orson and Maggie, upon his return, tried to sell his land, horses, cattle, machinery, and home, but nothing sold. So they prepared a covered wagon and loaded it with what they could. On 27 October 1904, ten days after Orson's return, they started to Porterville. At Basin, the county seat, old timers told them not to even try to go over the mountains so late. So Orson immediately sold the outfit and decided to just take what they could carry and go by train. He had been filled with an urging premonition to hurry.

My parents went back to Otto to stay the night with Myron and Loretta. That night the brothers received word that their father Alma had died that day. In his generous and loving way Orson sent Myron to his father's funeral, and when he returned my parents left all their worldly possession, boarded the train at Red Lodge, Montana with their three children and just what they could carry aboard in their hands. They left all else behind. They were going to a new life in Porterville.

My mother wanted to stop in Logan, with her only sister, Mattie Barrus who had children in the college there and took student boarders. Father secured a horse and started for Porterville where he would begin shouldering the heavy responsibilities of raising Alma's second family. As Orson drew near his old home, his heart began to fail him in his breast as he realized that Alma had always been Porterville to him and now his father was gone. Orson's heart was empty. In his loneliness, he wondered how he could live without his father whom he loved more than life itself.

Upon arriving in Porterville he spent time with Jane and the grieving family, crossed Canyon Creek to check on the farm, and then Orson slipped away to be alone at his father's grave. When Orson arrived at the grave it was like the beloved disciples who went to the grave of Him whom they loved and saw an angel. Orson, too, felt the spirit of Heaven at his father's grave, but he couldn't see for the tears, because his first glance told him his father Alma was not buried by the side of his mother Minerva. Orson's hart was utterly broken. This young Orson Merit Porter who had spent his entire life bringing sunshine to the lives of others felt that his burden was too heavy to bear. He knelt at the grave wetting the new mound with his tears. How could his father not have been buried in his rightful place next to his beloved wife Minerva? In shock and sorrow, Orson who had asked for so little didn't understand why his parents whom he loved so much and who had been separated most of his life weren't buried lying side by side. Orson knelt at his father's grave and prayed for strength to gracefully carryout the promise he had made to his father-to carry his burdens of raising Alma's second family.

In a few days, Mother had to send word from Logan that the cold I, Rhea, had caught on the train had now turned into pneumonia and brain fever. The doctor told her I was dying. Father hurried back to Logan, where it was a lonely, sorrowful place. That morning the doctor, at his leaving, said that I could not last the day. I had been in a coma for twelve hours. I had been administered to.

As they were mourning at my little bedside, an elderly lady, a Sister Needem came and asked my parents if she could pray for me. They felt that she was bothering them in their grief, but she said that she had been set apart to heal little children. She asked my father to anoint me, and then as they knelt at my bedside she offered a glorious prayer. The first thing, my mother often told me, which Sister Needem prayed for was the faith that my parents lacked. They had in Star Valley had a little child a year old die. Before Sister Needem had finished her prayer, it was told me; I had awakened and reached out to take hold of my beloved father's finger. I was instantly healed! The next day we journeyed to our new home in Porterville.

My father, knowing that he needed to be right near Jane, his step-mother, bought forty acres joining their place. Here our new life started. From the very start many were curious why, when my grandfather was gone, did Orson return to take care of his father's second family. The oldest daughter, Effie, had married three weeks before to a fine man. Many said and believed that it was not my father's responsibility. But how little they knew of his noble love and what a promise meant to Orson Merit Porter. He had promised Alma, and Alma died believing that Orson would keep his promise and he did! And for the next ten years what a beautiful performance he gave! When little Horace Welcome, who was two at the time his father died, had grown and been nurtured by his brother Orson to a stalwart twelve and all the older sisters had married wonderful men, then and not until then was my father's covenant with his father and family fulfilled.

My parents had much comforting to do in Porterville, for then dear ones of Alma were lonely and discouraged. My father had much loneliness tugging at this own heart. From his birth, Porterville meant his beloved father to him. The home, and the barns and the fields mourned the patriarchal father and mother was not to bemoan the past, the faith born within their very souls from their pioneer parentage gave them faith and sweet joy, after hard working days of getting settled and many things needing repairs on both places. So sweet work and togetherness was the healing strength they gained day by day. The little boy two years old, Horace Welcome, among his eight sisters of all ages down to Martha and me, Rhea, the youngest were those my parents cared for. I have sweet memories of seeing Horace holding my father's finger and going each day in the fields, where he would ride "stick horses" and ask Papa to make him whistles from the willows. The sweet healing for each began and soon smiles wiped away the tears. These words of Robert Lewis Stevenson seem to fit in with my father's daily strivings:

Each Sabbath Orson enjoyed taking and sitting among his two families at church. He soon held positions in the ward, and Mother became the Primary president, Father Superintendent of the Sunday School.

My own tender recollection of Porterville as a baby include listening to the morning and evening prayers, and of hearing the name "Smith" often repeated. I soon listened for my father's thanksgiving for the life and mission of Joseph Smith, then for the health and protection of President Joseph F. Smith. I always questioned who they ere. This caused my beloved father Orson to strive with others to have our prophet come to Porterville so that all the little children could meet him and hold his beloved hand!

The long prayed for day came and we were all dressed in little new dresses our mothers had made. After Sunday School, the children marched by the BEAUTIFUL PROPHET to the strains of the organ music. We marched up from downstairs and one by one greeted President Smith.

When it came my turn and he took my hand I knew what Heaven is! I can never find words to tell of the enraptured joy that filled my being. I had cried when Papa read to us about the Savior taking little children one by one into his arms. But I knew that day what that meant! I was so happy that I ran back down the stairs and marched up again, and a third time.

I was the last one, and then the precious prophet smiled and said, "It seems that I have seen you before." Then he gathered me in his arms and carried me to my father, asking him whose child this was. My father smiling, said, "That is my Rhea." I hugged President Smith; his soft snowy beard tickled my face. But the joy and testimony, the rapture that I felt that day has never stopped burning in my heart. Today it burns more brightly than ever before. That little church is a sanctified place to me. Oh, how many hundreds of times I have wanted to return and tread those sacred steps again! Oh, the blessing of having parents who made their children rich in eternal things.

Another glorious life experience my parents bequeathed to me began when I was just half past three years, when our ward teacher was Henry Florence, who was a lad of nine in a handcart company. Brother Florence used to teach us children by picking up and setting us on the table where he looked into our eyes. Papa had prepared me for him, and for his faith and the miracles that happened to him. But no one knew then, that the little girl half past three would sometime spend sixty years of her life near this sacred spot where so many perished.

Brother Florence was my dearest friend. He taught my sister Winnie's Sunday School class. The little class had to be good to keep me, because for years I used to creep out of my class and go to Brother Florence's classroom. I'd peek in the door, he would hold out his arms and smile and say, "Come in, Rhea. When we have the lesson well we will have pioneer stories." I'd climb up on his lap and sleep until story time.

On 6 October 1904 our prayers were answered, Alma Orson Porter, my parents' first son was born! I was two and a half, but I know what real joy and happy delight is. Some months earlier British Royalty, in honor of the Prince of Wales birth, fired 21 shots from the canons. My father took his 22 rifle outside and fired it 21 times!

That night he called the dear stake president, President Heiner, and in Papa's joy and clean mirth, told him there was a handsome, "young fellow" in bed with his wife and she didn't want him to leave. Dear President Heiner said, "Oh, my! Oh, my! Oh, my!" Then he was told that the young fellow was their beautiful son! The dear man laughed and laughed in exuberance! Every time he saw my papa, he'd choke with laughter and delight.

MAGGIE BELLE TOLMAN PORTER

BIG HORN'S PIONEER TEACHER

Lovell is a wide-streeted town in Wyoming. It has a population of about 2,500 people, lying amidst vast stretches of sugar beet fields and oil rigs. It is in the Big Horn country in Wyoming's northwest area, about ten miles from the Montana border, and approximately fifty miles east of Yellowstone Park. Lovell was settled by Mormon colonists at the century's turn. Led by Abraham O. Woodruff, a young apostle, they were welcomed into the region by the fabulous Colonel W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), who gave them precious irrigation rights.

About ten years ago, the Lovell Ward Sunday School Superintendency was faced with a serious problem. One teacher after another had asked to be relieved from teaching the Second Intermediate Class. There were good boys and girls in that class, but no one seemed to know how to keep their bubbling enthusiasm under control.

Then it was that Maggie Tolman Porter entered the class as teacher, assisted by her oldest daughter, Winnie Porter Harris. That was the beginning of new order, learning, and love in the group.

Since then scores of Big Horn boys and girls have come under the teaching genius of Mrs. Porter. Some of them have been non-members. Her lessons have led to baptisms, and scarcely a day passes without one of her pupils calling on her. As this white-haired woman moves down a Lovell street, almost as likely as not a child's voice will chirp up a greeting from across the street. Children adore her. Many of them, after the usual two years in her class, plead with her to remain a third.

What is her secret? Here are some of her rules of teaching.

1. "Get in the proper frame of mind by seeking time for prayer and meditation."
2. "Know your pupils as separate individuals."
3. "Love them."
4. "Put your teaching into doing."

Mrs. Porter is not a successful teacher by chance. She has nearly sixty years of Sunday School experience. She was born in a little outpost in Utah's Tooele County, April 26, 1877, just a few months before the death of President Brigham Young. Maggie's early gospel training came almost solely from her devout mother, Margaret Eliza Utley Tolman. The nearest Church meetinghouse was some ten miles away, and it was seldom the Tolmans were able to get there for meetings.

When Maggie, the youngest child of Cyrus Tolman, was twelve, her family moved to Wyoming's verdant Star Valley. The Tolmans were among the first Saints to settle there. It was in Fairview which became a prosperous freighter's outpost for wagon and sled caravans, that Maggie first attended school. But, because of the training she had received from an older sister, she was ahead of her class at the start. At sixteen she was a school teacher in a Fairview log cabin, with thirty-two pupils and all eight grades.

After a few months of school teaching, Maggie Tolman was called on a mission for the Church. It was a unique mission. She was to attend a five-month Sunday School teacher training course at Brigham Young Academy in Provo, Utah.

On her journey to Provo, Maggie was married in the Salt Lake Temple to Orson Merit Porter, a returned missionary.

The young bride had not been in Provo very long before she was chosen secretary of the model Sunday School there. Its members were primarily students of the Academy-about eight hundred of them- and it was there that the Sunday School general board experimented with new methods and improvements before introducing them to the entire Church.

Often when general board representatives visited, the strong-voiced, young girl from Star Valley was called from the missionary group to give the demonstration.

One of Mrs. Porter's vivid memories is a visit to her Star Valley Sunday School, shortly thereafter, of Brother George Goddard, a small wry and enthusiastic man with a long flowing beard and a rich voice. He was a member of the Sunday School's general superintendency, and he was so much impressed with his visit that a lengthy article on the Star Valley Sunday School followed in the Deseret News.

In 1902 the Porters, who would bring nine children into the world, moved to the challenging Big Horn Country, pioneers again. There in the little ranch town of Otto, Orson Merit Porter became bishop. With his wife beside him during the next sixteen years the little ward on the Grey Bull River would lead the entire Church in sacrament meeting attendance, payment of tithing and offerings and all ward teaching. Mrs. Porter was ward clerk besides teaching in Sunday School and Relief Society. Bishop Porter died in 1935.

Later Maggie Porter moved to a new home in Lovell, where she believed her life would be carefree with less Church responsibilities. Here she became famous for her beautiful roses and other flowers. She basked in being near her two eldest daughters, Winnie and Valeria, and their families. Maggie Belle didn't know it then, but her greater Church duties were just about to begin.

Today, Maggie Tolman Porter takes pride in the fact that almost one entire side of the Lovell's Sunday School assemblage has been or is part of her classroom family. Her last words to this writer as time's snows gather over her vibrant head, she expresses thankful hope:

"The Lord has been kind to me, and as long as I can raise my voice in praising Him, and am able to instruct the children, I desire to remain. The, when the Master calls me home, I will continue teaching His wonderful gospel to the young that have passed on."

Wendell J. Ashton

The General Sunday School Instructor Magazine