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Edward Casper Gunderson

Life History of Edward Casper Gunderson. Rosetta Stay and Mary Carma Stay's husband.

I, as Nephi of old, was born of goodly parents. My father, Edward Gunderson, was born Oct. 5, 1852 at Fredrickstad, Norway, and my mother Mary Malinda Casper, was born Aug 5 1857 at Big Cottonwood, Utah. They were married Sep. 18, 1857, in Salt Lake City, Utah. They resided in Big Cottonwood Ward. Eventually two daughters were born to them. First Malinda Ann on Jul. 30, 1878, and Louisa Olina, on 31 Mar. 1882. In the summer of 1823, my mother's brothers, Alonzo Casper, told them that there was land near their home in Menan, Idaho that could be homesteaded, so they hooked up their team and wagon and some of their belongings and their two baby girls and headed for Idaho by way of Peoa, Utah, down to Echo, then to Evanston, Wyoming, down through Bear Lake country to Montpelier, Idaho, then Soda Springs and over to Bancroft and over the hills to Fort Hall. From Fort Hall to Eagle Rock (Idaho Falls now) then on to Menan, a long interesting journey.

They homesteaded 160 acres next to the Menan town site, and proceeded to build a two-room log cabin on this land. Then on 8 Apr. 1885, another daughter Matilda was born to them. And in 1888, the 27th day of Apr. in this little log cabin, a baby boy, Edward Casper Gunderson was welcomed by the family. And I still live on this homestead farm.

I was blessed by Bishop Bybee in the Menan Ward. Mother said that I learned to walk when I was nine months old. Then I took typhoid fever and was very ill. I was unable to walk again until I was two years old.

In 1890, my parents moved back down to Utah in Salt Lake County at Big Cottonwood where their home was, along with twenty-five acres of land. Then in 1895, I came back to Menan with my father, mother, Wallace Casper, and Carl Olaveson. We came up here for a couple of weeks and went back to Utah in a wagon. It took seven days each way.

While we lived in Salt Lake City, I started to school in Big Cottonwood and my teacher was Mrs. Batt. She had one leg cut off to the hip, and had to walk with crutches. She taught six grades, and was a wonderful teacher. When I was in the first grade, she hit me with a pointer a couple of times to straighten me out and make me behave. Also, my half uncle Jesse Casper got a flogging. He went home and told his mother so the next morning early she hitched up the horse to the buggy and came to my place. She wanted my mother to go with her and give the teacher a good going over for the whipping Jessie and I got. When they arrived at our home I was out doors, and mother called me in and asked me if the teacher had whipped me. I said she did. Then she gave me another whipping because the teacher had to give me one. Then she told her stepmother that if she would go home and give Jesse a good licking he would be a better boy. For some reason, I did not get any more whipping in school, but Jesse did. Another time Mrs. Batt got out of patience with me because I was talking. She took a hold of me and sat me down by a girl for a punishment. This girl happened to be my cousin, Mae Christensen, but the teacher did not know that Mae was my cousin, and we had a lot of fun and a good time together. Then Mrs. Batt came and hit me with a hickory point across the shoulders, and pulled me out of the seat. I bumped her crutch and she fell flat on the floor. I realized what I had done and felt sorry for her and tried to help he up, which was a mistake, for when she did get up and she whacked me several more times with the pointer.

When I got into District School at Big Cottonwood, another teacher was a cousin of mine, Albert Marchant. I remember we had marbles to play with, and if we dropped any on the floor, he would take them away for us and put them in the big pot-bellied stove. One day at noon, several of the boys were getting marbles out of the stove. He came in the room and said," Give me those marbles." He became right towards me and I was bouncing a hot marble first in one hand and then the other because it was too hot to hold. He grabbed it from me and it burned his hand. It was so hot that he did not pick it up again. He was a strict teacher. One time when I was about eight or nine years old I went with my sister and her boy friend to the Democratic Rally in the Salt Lake City Theater, and every time the speaker would make some big point and clap his hand I would crow They said that they were hoodlums and they going to thought them out and then I would crow again. Duncan Marchant wanted to take me out a lot of times, and a lot of them would clap. But, I stuck it out as long as the Rally lasted and didn't get thrown out. But it embarrassed my sister and her boy friend.

Another time I was cutting corn and the boy that was living with us by the name of Don Munday had cut corn down thought the field and back and the girls had something for him to do in the house before he could come back out to cut corn. I was about 11, he was about 10, and he had sharpened the sickle very sharp. I hit at the corn and the sickle came up and cut through the cords of my arm, split the bone, and it was quite a bad deal. I would grab a hold of my arm above the cut and hold it, and when I would let loose the blood would come out in spurts and when I went to the house just the girls were home. Mother and father had gone with Uncle Arthur Maxwell, mother's brother-in-law, and Aunt Wealthy to get some fruit so the girls had to catch the horse out in the pasture, hitch it on the buggy, and drive four miles to Murray to Dr. Roscher, a German doctor. When he was sewing, my arm up I flinched and he said, “Boy, tell you like I tell the other boy you must not break your arm if you cannot stand the pain". They didn't give us anesthetic those days, so they sewed it up without any. He wouldn't let me lay down. He said, “If you lay down, you would never wake up." Therefore, he kept me awake.

In 1895, my father and his brother, Thomas Gunderson, went on a mission to Norway. While they were there, I went to summer school in Salt Lake City, and when I was eight years, I was baptized in Big Cottonwood Creek close to the paper mill the first of May. The creek was high running ice-cold water off the snow banks.

After father came back from his mission, he went out to Bingham with Uncle Tom to work in the mines. They left me home to mow the hay, rake it, plow, and cultivate the potatoes. Mother and Aunt Harriet, Uncle Tom's wife, drove a horse and buggy and hauled the hay to feed it, as well as some grain for us. We had to tie a bundle of hay on the back of the buggy, as in those days, we did not have bales. Sometimes they would take me along for the trip. I remember the trip across the valley to the copper mines so well. It seemed such a long way in those days.

When I was twelve years old, I was ordained a deacon by Joseph Boyce at Big Cottonwood ward. When I was fifteen years old father had me take a team and help haul dirt to fill in the Granite Stake Tabernacle grounds. Then we would haul the dirt from the brickyard on 23rd South down to State Street. Then we would make a trip over across the Jordan River, get a load of dirt, and bring it back, thus getting a load of dirt both ways.

I also worked in Salt Lake City helping grade East South Temple Street, down from State Street up to 13 East. While working there, I lived with my sister Olina who had married Alfred Larsen on 10th East and First Street.

One summer my father and I laded two loads of ice each night and hauled them from the icehouse east of our place over to Sugar House to Appollis Rockwoods. Many times, it would be after midnight when we got home. I used to go with father to the canyon when he was hauling freight up to the mine at Park City and then we would haul ore back down.

Each fall we would go up the Big Cottonwood and haul our wood out, at the South Fork. We had a cabin up there for years. My father never believed in idleness, so at home we had an orchard. We used to pick and haul the peaches and strawberries in to the early market in Salt Lake City at 4 am in the early mornings. Other time we hauled fruit out to Summit County on the Weber River. I would stay with them and peddle the fruit. After I sold out, I would buy a load of coal at Grass Creek coalmine and bring it back home. It would take us three of four days sometimes to make the trip there and back. Sometimes father and I would each take a team to the coalmines and get in two loads at a time for the winter. We slept out on the ground when we camped out. Many times, it would be frozen so hard in Nov., and it would be very cold traveling through the mountains. But this did not stop father as he did this for several years.

When I was big enough to go with girls I stayed with my Uncle in Salt Lake City, and behold, Mrs. Batt, my old teacher, lived neighbor to him. She tried to get me to go with her niece. I was happy to know that she did not hold anything against me for she told her niece that I was a pretty good fellow. It made me fell guilty after that incident in the schoolroom.

I came to Idaho on a trip in 1907 and stayed with uncle Alonzo

Casper at Annis. I was up here one time and went to a dance with uncle Alonzo's girls, Teidy, Nora, Ethel, Nettie, and his son Will Casper, and

I went home from a dance with Myrtle Fisher. When I went back to Uncle Alonzo's that night, the kids had tied the pans and buckets around the place where I would walk, so that when I opened the door it would make a lot of racket, and it did. Uncle Alonzo was good to me and took me around the country. We went down to visit Carl Olaveson and Charlie Shippen at Menan, then to visit John and George Casper's place at Lewisville. Then to Uncle Newt Casper's place north of Idaho Falls. I stayed here that summer and when I got home, I got the job of fencing all around the Reservation at Fort Douglas, a large job. Father and Branson Brinton helped me. When we got through fencing, I did some grading north of Fort Douglas until it froze so hard that we could not work. We slept in a tent. One night a coyote came and would bark and sneak around. He would keep getting closer and closer. Finally, he got courage enough to come into the tent and tried to help himself to the grub. We had the food in the back of the tent and he had to go past the foot of the bed to get to it. The moon was shinning and we could see his shadow on the tent. We kicked the bedclothes and got him so scared that he would bump into the side of the tent and bounce back and howl, and try again to go through the tent but could not. In the process, he knocked the stovepipe down and it hit him. Out the door, he went and never visited us again while we were there. We spent many an hour laughing about that crazy coyote.

I worked for the Utah Power and Street Car Company for four of five years. At that time, I used to go with a girl by the name of Bertha Sutherland. She was my very best girl friend, and a fine girl. She encouraged me to go to the University of Utah. One time I had her to the dance at Big Cottonwood ward and I saw a girl sitting by her, and I said, "Bett Newman, who is that girl sitting by Bertha?" he said, "I don't know her." Then I told him that she could put her shoes in my trunk any time. I crossed the dance floor and went over to Bertha. She made me acquainted with Miss Rosetta Stay. I fell for her and after nearly three years, I made her my wife. The next week I went to a dance alone and Rosetta was there, I and won a quilt on a raffle that night. I asked her to dance the medley with me, and then we got ready to home. I took her on one arm and the quilt on the other, and everybody had a good laugh. Rosetta and I went to school together the winter of 1907 at the L.D.S. College in Salt Lake City; the school was just east and across the street from the Temple at that time. I tried to take the horse and buggy every morning so we could drive to school together and home every night. I lived two miles farther out than she did, so I could think about her on the way home.

We had some very fine teachers at the College. Noel Pratt was my favorite. He taught mathematic. Of course, Rosetta was in a couple of my classes. She took art and I didn't. She was in Oscar Kirkham's art class. The boys used to try and date her up, but they could not for some reason. She would not go with them. At night, we would go out buggy riding. Sometimes we would take her sister Ruth and Antone Samuelson went ridding with us, and we would sing as we rode along. They were all very good singers but me. We had a very enjoyable time together.

One time I went up Weber Canyon to get out saw logs one fall, and took Arthur Gunderson with me. We Cut them, piled them, and hauled them that winter. The last of Jan. or Feb. we hauled the sawed logs on sleighs to the sawmill up Smith –Morehouse Fork of the Weber Canyon. When we were hauling the last load out there came a snow slide down the mountain, and it went over my load. I had the horses on a big trot or it would have got me. We finally got out of there just in time to avoid the heaviest that had ever been seen before. It drifted the roads from Peoa to Salt Lake City that it took us two days to get home. It generally took us just one day. It was so terribly cold that Arthur almost froze to death. He was riding the horse and got so cold that he didn't realize that he was cold. I called to him and asked if he was cold that he said he wasn't. But I went back and took him off the horse and he was so cold that he could not stand up. I held on to him and to the horses tail until he got the blood circulating. Then he hurt all over and knew that he was cold. We got up on the summit and left our sleighs there. He told us to come back and stay at Rasmussen's house that night. We went on in the morning and were glad to get home that night.

One time I was going to Parley's Park (Gerogorgia) a sign on the Railroad on the east Canyon and this man Rasmussen stopped me and asked me if I had seen three stray sheep, one with a bell on, one ewe and ½ of a bell on and one with out. One is a stray. This Parker's Park is now a big Highway all smoothed off and you would never know it was such a place of hills and dales.

Rosetta's mother was a widow, Mary Woodbury Stay. They lived out on 33rd S. just East of Highland Drive. She had four sisters, Ruth, Dot, Becky and Catherine. An older brother Charles, a Brother Jesse and a little brother Valentine, Born on Valentine's Day. A Very lovely family. Rosetta and I were married Jun. 23, 1090. In Dec. of 1909, I went out to Rossevelt to file on a homestead. It was 150 miles to go on horseback, and a long trip alone. I was happy to meet my sister Malinda and brother-in-law, Duncan Marchant, who were living there. After I had liked at the place I called up to file on it, and someone had just filed on it, so I didn't get it. I was disappointed as I left Roosevelt to come home on the 20th of December. I rode over to Tabonia and stayed at Maxwell's all night. He was sick and he told me that it was snowing down the country and I had better get up early and leave because it was getting so deep that it was above the horse’s knees when I left his place. And when I got up to Wolf Creek, it was up to the bell of the horse. The people at Germany's Ranch where I was to stay that night had moved out and I could not stay there, so I went on and let the horse go ahead of me and I hung on to the horse's tail. Thus, we climbed up the mountain at Wolf Creek Pass until she got tired. Then I had to take the lead and when we got up to the top we were both exhausted as the snow was four feet deep and the wind was blowing until we could not see where we were going as it was getting dark. So we went over in a bunch of pines and prepared to stay there all night. I unsaddled the horse, turned the saddle over, sat down in it, and asked the Lord to take care of me that night. I could hear the wolves howling, but it did not trouble me. Next morning I was so cold that I could not pick up the saddle. It was the 21st of Dec, the longest day of the year. I left the horse and crawled through the snow until I could walk, and got the blood to circulating, and went over to the Reed and Benson Saw Mill, about two miles or so. When I got to the Saw Mill the man was burning slab and I asked him if I could get a drink and he said to go up to the boiler. I asked him how do I get there. He said right up the hill. The snow was so deep that I could not get up, so he came around and wallowed the snow so I could get a drink. I had nothing to eat since the night before. He said he would find the boss, Mr. Benson. He and my folks were young people together. Mr. Benson told the girl to give me some liniment so I would not catch cold. She fixed me something to eat and put a tablespoon of liniment in a glass of water, and I drank it, and I can still feel it burn! But I didn't catch cold or anything bad except the skin peeled off my legs from being so cold. After breakfast, the men went out with me and helped me get my horse out to the broken road. This was no small task as there are two divides there about a half mile apart, and the snow was so deep it was hard to break a road to where my horse was. I stayed all night that night with one of the men at the sawmill. The next day I went down as far as Pea on the Weber River and stayed all night with Uncle All Marchant. The next day I rode from Peoa home. There I had a very good welcome, as my wife met me at her sister's home on the White Farm. She told me the good news that she was pregnant and we were going to be parents.

Our first child, Gerald, was born Aug. 9, 1910. Dr. Bird assisted with his delivery. He was born in Murray, Utah. We were living in Winder Ward at that time. My, how proud we were! For we had a son.

Two different falls after I was married I worked on the threshing machine with my brother- in-law, Mahonri Moriancamur White and John Boulton, and two brothers, Joe and Will Walker. We had a new thrashing Machine and it caught fire and we had only threshed with it two weeks. The stalks of grain caught fire and burned up with the machine, on a Saturday. Monday they went to town again, bought another separator, and went to threshing again.

We used to take toll grain for pay for threshing. In those days, that was how they would pay. Sometimes they would pay three or four bushels and sometime six bushels for every hundred bushels we threshed., The threshing machine was run by horse power.; The horses went round and round, six team of the,, on each sweep or arm to run the machine. My team was used to help with this.

In 1912 on Jun 3rd Alvin Vern was born. He was an eight-month baby. The day before he was born I took my wife riding to take some people who were visiting with is over to catch the streetcar in the white-top rig. It was jolt, jiggly ride that shook her up quite a bit. The next morning she said that she had cramps, and so when I got up early the next morning about 5 a.m. to tend to my horses and do my chores I asked my father to go to work in my place. I told him that she was sick and he said she wouldn't have that baby for a long while. He said to go to work and he would come if it was necessary. I was working in Highland Drive and 27th S. for the street Car Company grading track out and I had been there only a half hour and here came father on horseback. He hadn't ridden a horse for many years, and it looked so funny to see him ridding. With a worried look, he told me to hurry home. When I got home, I had another son, who we named Alvin Vern.

In the fall of 1912, I moved to Menan, Idaho. My wife and two babies came on the train with Bill Casper, as he had just come off his Mission. Uncle Alonzo came to Rigby to meet them. It was a terrible cold Oct. And he did not bring any wraps for them to wrap in, and my wife said they just about froze riding from Rigby to Menan. Four days later, I loaded my wagon, tools, and horses into a boxcar at Murray, Utah, and the train headed for Idaho. I got into Idaho Falls on a Saturday and couldn't get a train out to Rigby until Monday, so I went and visited Maggie Shippen in Idaho Falls. When I arrived in Rigby I needed some help to unload my wagons anything out of the car and put them together so I could load the furniture that I had to go to the pool hall to get some men to help unload the railroad car. It was the first time that I was ever in a pool hall in my life. I came over to Menan and stayed with Uncle Alonzo until we could get the house cleaned up so we could move in.

That fall I hauled beets for a man by the name of Seymans. It was a nasty fall. It snowed on the beets before they could get them all hauled. We worked out in the storm and mud. I had to hurry to cut wood to burn for the winter as we burned wood the. We also cut a pile for the summer.

That fall Uncle Alonzo and Will Casper tipped over with a load of potatoes that was in the beet bed. When it tipped over it broke Uncle Alonzo's ribs. He was laid up, and he smoked, and when he smoked, he coughed, and while he was in bed, he asked me to roll him a smoke. I had never rolled one in my life, but when I tried, I got one as big around as my finger. He lit it and took two puffs, then he said, "Here, take it, I can't smoke it." And that was the last that he ever smoked. He was a man in his sixties, and that was how he quit smoking.

We thought a lot of Uncle Alonzo and Aunt Lucy and used to go up there every day. Aunt Lucy would nurse Vern because his mother did not have enough milk for him, and she had plenty of milk and a little to spare for Harold. It helped us out with Vern.

We attended church regular all winter. We used to hitch up the team and drive down when it was stormy. And when the roads were good we would walk to the church. It was only a mile. The next spring I got a call for a mission. They never asked me to go or anything, just a complete surprise to me. I didn't have the finances to keep my family and go on a mission. I took the call down to Bishop Oscar Green and he wrote a letter to President Joseph F. Smith and we both signed it telling that I didn't have the finances to go then, and I got an honorable release form the mission until I was financially able to go.

I farmed the first year here and broke up a lot of ground that had never been broke before and planted grain, and I had a good crop of grain and a good crop of potatoes. We did this for several years until we had the would place under cultivation.

We had another baby born Dec 10, 1913. We named him Joseph Marvin. He was a seven-month baby. When he was born, I had just time to get on a horse to get Dr. Milton who came over, and just as we got home the baby was born. Mother and Aunt Lucy were there and they fried fish that night, so later we had a nice big fish supper, which the doctor and all of us enjoyed. Joe was able to nurse even though he was premature. He had a little difficulty at first, so mother put some water in his mouth and he vomited up a lot of phlegm and was then able to nurse. The doctor said that the women folks would know more what to do for the baby than he did.

In 1915 and 1916, we hauled rock to the place where I now live to build our house. In the spring, we started to build it. Lew Johnson took the contract to lay the rock and Ben Pool was hired as carpenter to help father and me with the building. We got dissatisfied with the carpenter and hired Ben Schroder to finish with the work.

Our dear little girl, Leona was born Feb 23 1916, causing much happiness and rejoicing in our family.

We were still building the house, just had the rafters, and sheeting on the roof. Leona was two years old at that time and she climbed the ladder clear to the top of the house. Her grandfather saw her and it scared him so bad that he came running over and got up the ladder and got her down. She was cleanup and straddle of the gable, and the sheeting was spaced and had holes between each board. It was blood-curdling episode but grandfather got her down safely.

On 26 May 1918, Aden was born. The first to be born in the new house. And in 1920, Jan. 20, another son Grant was born. We enjoyed our little family. They used to enjoy going to visit their grandma and grandpa who lived in the rooms on the north side of the house.

I was called on a mission in 1925 to the North Central States leaving my wife and children at home. I felt it was my responsibility to go, as I told them that I would go when I was financially able to do so. I filled a six months successful mission.

I used to have sixteen workhorses that we worked putting the crops in. Also had two very good saddles horses. Old Tony was 30 years old when we got rid of him. I had some of the best pulling horses in the country and never had to use a whip on them. I had one horse that I never had to shoe, as his hooves were so hard I would use him on the lead of a four-horse hitch and hauled beets with him and used him day after day. He was a real dandy.

I had several cars, a Jackson, Studebaker, Ford, Chevrolet, and about six more Chevvies. Our first car was brought here by father and mother. It was a right-hand drive Jackson, 1914 model. I drove it from Idaho Falls and had never driven a car in my life. I drove it home and have been driving ever since, and never got a ticket yet. Our next car was a big passenger Big Six 1919 Studebaker. The next was a Ford. These were all touring cars as were all cars in those days. I bought a Ford car a couple of years later.

I was in the Presidency of the Mutual in 1929. After that, I was called to be Second Counselor in the Bishopric. I was released that last of Jan in 1937.

I served as a director of the Long Island Canal Company for a while.

Father was hauling a load of hay, it started to rain, and he crawled under the load of hay to get out of the rainstorm. The lighting had stuck close by and scared the horses. They pulled the wagon on his chest and pulled his ribs loose from the backbone. He suffered a lot of pain. Dr. Rogers an osteopath put him back together again and he got well, but it left him with a bad heart. He passed away in the morning, after mother had gotten up. He did not come in to breakfast, so Gerald went in and found him dead in bed. The other children were all quarantined in with scarlet fever at that time.

After father's death mother went out to Roosevelt, Utah, with my sister Malinda. She homesteaded 160 acres of ground out there. She gave it to Malinda. I heard she was sick and Rosetta and I went out and brought her home. She died about a month or so after she got home of cancer.

In 1930, my mother-in-law, Mary Woodbury Stay, died with heart trouble. The two grandmothers died while Gerald was on his mission to Eastern States.

My life and my parents life was woven very close together and I loved them very much, and missed them after they were gone.

My wife, Rosetta, took very ill with a carbuncle on the back of her neck. We took her to the hospital and she died with quick pneumonia on Oct. 29, 1936. We buried her Nov. 1, 1936. It was a very sad day, and a very large funeral. Many people could not get into the church, so they had to go home, as it was too cold to stay outside.

Our home was very lonely without her. I found myself looking for her everywhere.

Our third son, Joseph, was called on a mission to the Southern States, so I went down to Salt Lake City wit him when he went into the mission home. At that time, they trained them for two weeks. While I was there Kenneth White asked me to go to California with him and his wife and Mary Horst and Ray Balmforth. We Stayed in Oakland for two nights and then went down to Los Angeles and stayed with my brother-in-law,

Charlie Stay. While there, I asked his daughter, Mary, if she would be my wife. She thought I was joking, but later decided I was serious and she consented. She quit her job as a nurse at the Mission Hospital. She had previously given them notice that she was going on a mission and had been interviewed by the Bishop, and consented to go and was waiting for her call any day. She went to the Stake President and he said to her that for some reason he had not sent her name in, but he said to her that her mission was in Idaho, so we drove her car and took her mother with us to Salt Lake. It was a real cold, stormy trip. When we were coming up to St. George the roads were closed and they had just got it open when were at St. George. We drove to Cedar City and stayed all night. We finally got to Salt Lake City the next day. I had telephoned home to Gerald to get me a recommend and sent it to Salt Lake City, so we were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

After we were married and came out of the Temple, we went to see my Menan neighbor George Gray who was sick. He died soon afterwards. That was the last time I got to see him. We left Salt Lake City for Idaho, and when we got to Idaho it was like driving though deep canals, just wide enough for one car and very few turn-out places. Mary was worried for fear she could never find her way back if she got homesick.

Gerald was released from his mission, and he had as many boils as Job had. He was afflicted with boils was Job and he couldn't travel, he was so bad. He had to wait a week or so he could come home until some of the boils got better. When he arrived home in Rigby, we brought him home in a sleigh. We had lots of snow that winter, 17 March.

I have a watch, a 21-jewel watch, a Hamilton that he bought out in the mission field. He and his companion were walking along the street in Maryland an there was a jewelry man that had died, and they were auctioning off his property because he had no relatives. When they got there to the shop on the sidewalk the auctioneer said, “How much will you bid on this 21 jewel Hamilton?" And Gerald said five dollars, and the auctioneer said, "Sold for $5. To this man." And I still have that watch. I have been offered $87 for it during the second World War. I have been carrying the watch ever since Gerald died.

When Gerald came home he was Stake Missionary for two years, and he also served as President of the Mutual for a period of time. He was also Superintendent of the Sunday School. He never married.

I Worked on the Stake old Folks Committee for about 45 years or more and then was Stake Missionary for eleven years. I was a High Priest several years before I went in the Bishopric. I was Second Counselor for six years with Bishop Hansen and Glen Watson. George M. Larsen was Ward Clerk.

When we were having a party for the retiring Bishopric, somebody came to our place and stole between 300 and 400 quarts of fruit, practically all we had. They really loaded up, as they knew we were gone. They liked it so much that almost every winter they come back to get some more. We have had to put it under lock and key. Mary put a sign that said if you must take our fruit, please bring back our bottles. So we can have some for you next time.

I have enjoyed all my family and all the other children ho have lived in my home from time to time. My sister, Oleina, died and left her family of six children. They came to live with us. They were Alfred, George, Edward, Joe, Tom and Linnie. They made their home with us. Also, Rosetta's sister Ruth's boy, Wendell Samuelson, lived with us five years. Then Harold Casper, my cousin, came to live with us for seven years. We sent him on a mission while he was with us. When he came back, he got to peddling Watkings Products and met his wife Ada Sorenson, and got married.

Two months after Mary and I were married, Her sister Lorna died leaving four children. Her two older children, Harry and Joyce, came to live with us, and we raised them. Harry went on a mission to the Central States. These children were eight and nine when they came to live with us. Other children that we had had were Bart Lee, Ellis Bowman. They both lived with us at different times. We took a family of five children who the Court had taken away from the parents. They stayed with us until they were adopted into other homes. One of them become our grandson namely Tommy Purcell. Then Larry Samuelson came to live with us for three years. He met and married Myla Casper while he was here.

I have tried to live my religion and pay an honest tithing all my life.

In 1945, the boys and I got into the cattle business. They were milking Shorthorns. About that time I took sick with blood clots. They hit me in the brain and in the lungs twice. I almost died. We had to sell the cattle to pay the hospital and doctor bills. Mary nursed my through this illness for about five years. Since then I have had fairly good health, except for my vision.

We have had many nice trips together. Mary has to do the driving as my eyesight failed so bad that I cannot see to drive on long trips. And many times Leona would help us drive.

I have farmed and rented my farm out for many years and am now retired. I look forward to visits from my children and grandchildren, and great grand children. I love all of these dearly, and get a great kick out of them.

I would like my grandchildren and great grandchildren to know something about my grandfather, as his life has always been a testimony to me.

I remember a story about my grandfather after he joined the church. He was one of the first in Norway to receive the Gospel. He was superintendent of a large sawmill. The mobs came after the elders one day, so we he had his oldest son taken them in a boat out on the fjord so he mobs couldn't get them. He gave him a big half oar that hadn't been completed and told him if they came after him to take that oar that hadn't completed and told him if they came after him to take that oar and wreck their boat and split it open for them. There were two boats of mobsters that came out after them and when they were in the middle of the fjord, they pulled up one on each side to take him. He stood up in the boat with half oar and whacked first one boat and then the other and they were sinking, and they had rescue their own lives. They had to hold on to their own boats to keep from sinking and had some trouble, but they didn't come back any more.

Another time they were after the elders. (Olaf Larsen was one of the elders that converted grandfather.) A mob came so grandfather told them to leave them alone, and they were not going too. They were in the building with a big pot-bellied stove. So He grabbed them and was pitching them out the window as fast as he could and they threw four or five our in the snow, and when the stove tipped over he threw it out the window and it lit on top of some of them, and burned them. He was a very stout man, very strong. Whenever grandfather was to a meeting, the mob never troubled the elders any more when he was around.

They were six weeks on the ocean coming over to the states. They came across the plains in 1866. They came over this country and stayed at Lacrosse, Wisconsin, and a couple of years and then came across the plains to Salt Lake City. They settled out in Cottonwood. They first lived in a dug out. Then build a log house. Then they built a larger house for a son, Edward, my father.

My father always told me a story Dead Man Larsen, so they called him. Dead Man Larsen had whipped Aunt Gustie, my grandfather's daughter, as she thought he had stolen his traps. Of course, grandfather got mad about this and they had words and he called grandfather a name. With that grandfather picked him up and threw him over the brush fence that was made with willows and was about four feet high. He laid there like he was dead and the neighbors went for the sheriff to arrest grandfather. Then they took Larsen down to Britton's place and called the doctor out from Salt Lake City to see him. He had laid in the bed and soiled it instead of getting up and using the toilet. The doctor smelted it and said to them. “Go get Gunderson and have him throw him over the fence again."

There is a faith-promoting story, Edward Gunderson, that I would like to live with you. My father was dying with erysipelas and pneumonia. The doctor had been to see him and said, “he won't live through the night." and left. Later the seven presidents of the seventies came and administered to him and his life was spared. The doctor came the next morning and said to me. "Is your father alive?" I said, "Yes." He said "Tie up and blanket my horse." It was cold and they were all sweaty from their trip from Salt Lake. When the doctor went in father was sitting up eating his breakfast. He said, “Who has been here?" And father told him that he had been blessed. Then the doctor said, “A miracle has happened. But I knew that it was our faith, and God had healed him.

Edward Casper Gunderson, died of cancer, Oct. 29, 1977 and Buried Nov. 1, 1977. Just 41 years to the same day as his beloved wife had passed away and was buried. Rosetta died Oct. 29, 1936 and was buried Nov. 1, 1936

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