FRANK BROWN 1870-1950 3 December 1934: I, Frank Brown, shall start today and write a brief autobiographical sketch of my life. I am the 4th son and 9th child of Homer Brown and Sarah Ann Woolf . I was born 26 Nov. 1870, in Salt Lake City, Ut ah. Father, at that time, had 3 families, my mother being the first wife, her sister, Hannah Elizabeth, the 2nd, and the 3rd wives given name was Bertha ( I do not know her surname). Bertha had one child, Elizabeth had 14 and my mother had 10. When I was 5 or 6 years old, Father moved mother and her family to Hyde Park, Cache County, Utah, about 100 miles north from Salt Lake City. I was baptized there, and when I was about 9 or 10 years old, Father moved Mother and her family to Rabbit Valley, a place about 200 miles south of Salt Lake City. I well remember this 300 miles with ox teams. I was hardly big enough to lift one of the large team whips, but I used to drive sometimes. I remember some of the dangerous roads, especially the dugway on the Sevier River. We had 3 wagons hitched together and several yoke of cattle on each train, which made it very dangerous in making some of the short turns. My grandfather, Benjamin Brown, was not alive at this time (he died 22 May 1878), but grandmother (Sarah Mumford Brown) was still living. She died through 1 Jan 1879, so we must have gone to Rabbit Valley the summer of 1878. We only stayed there 1 ½ years. We moved back to Salt Lake City, where we lived for about 2 years. Father sold all of his property in Salt Lake City and moved both families out to Taylorsville, 12 miles southwest of Salt Lake City. Here Father and Mother separated, and in a few years, mother married a man by the name of Fredrick Baker. They, with my youngest brother, Charles Sidney, moved to Mancos, Colorado, where Mother later died at the age of 77 years. I started out for myself at 16. I worked on the Joab Lawrence ranch, 6 miles west of Salt Lake City, for 3 or 4 years. It was while working on this ranch that I met the sweet Harriet Amelia Little, daughter of George Little and Martha Taylor Little. She was born 31 March 1869, and died in Alberta, Canada, 7 July 1934 at age 65. This sweet girl afterwards became my wife. And what a wife. No man on this earth was ever blessed with a better one. We had 12 children come to us, and they are all recorded in the family record book. After leaving the Joab Lawrence ranch, I worked on a brickyard for a few years, enough to go to school one winter. I attended the Academy in the Old Social Hall in Salt Lake City that winter. This was about all the schooling I ever had, as my parents were poor; I had to assist in whatever work I could do to help make the living. Well, Miss Little and I talked things over and decided to get married, which we did on the 4 March 1891. We were married in the Logan Temple by M. W. Merrill. We rented a farm from my brother, Manley, in Granger, about 12 miles west and a little south of Salt Lake City. We lived there one year, and then moved to Taylorsville, where we bought a small farm and lived 5 years. It was while on Manley’s farm that our first baby came, Frank L., who was born 8 Feb. 1892. Newel and Luella was born in Taylorsville, 16 Sep. 1893, and 30 May 1895. We decided to sell out and go to Canada. We sold the little farm and moved to Salt Lake City, where we stayed one year, because Nora was born there on the 6 Aug. 1896, and the next spring we set our for Canada. We had 4 horses and a wagon. I fixed the wagon bed up with extension sides like a sheep camp wagon; we loaded what we could in the wagon, including the cook stove, which was a Charter Oak, sold the rest of our belongings, and set out for Canada. We left Salt Lake 10 May

1897. I well remember that day. Nora was less than a year old, and she and Luella were very delicate. Father, Uncle Joseph Taylor, as well as the rest of the folks, told us not to undertake such a trip with 3 babies, and 2 of them so delicate. They declared that we would never reach Canada with Nora. How strange it is that young people are so determined when they have made up their minds to do a certain thing, or to go a certain place. We left Salt Lake in the afternoon and drove about 10 miles and stayed at a friend’s place that night, a Mrs. Capener. Aunt Lisadore Taylor accompanied us that far and stayed with us that first night. It was while in Taylorsville that we met our first real sorrow; our deal little Frankie was snatched from us. He was run over with a loaded wagon and died 5 Feb. He was buried on the 7th day before he would have been 4 years old. We were both young and had little experience in real life at that time; it seemed to us that no trial greater than that could possibly come to us. But alas, we have learned many things since then, in the many experiences of life. While it is hard–yes, very, very hard–to part with our loved ones in death, yet there are other trials we are called upon by our Heavenly Father to endure that are a thousand-fold harder to bear than death itself. But, oh, the many, many things that come to us in life that bring joy and happiness and for which we are grateful and thankful. For instance, I am so thankful that I met and made the acquaintance of Miss Hattie Little. Nobody but myself will ever know the real joy and satisfaction, comfort and strength, she brought into my life. In her girlhood days she always had the very highest ideals and standards of life–always maintained her dignity and self-respect, was never a jealous disposition, and never gave me the least cause to be jealous of her actions. In our married life, she a true and loving companion. I think probably the greatest real joy that ever came into my life was on the 4 March 1891, in the Logan Temple, when I had the grand, and never-to-be-forgotten privilege of taking her through the veil of the temple. I can just seem to feel, as I write these lines, the thrill of joy, yes, real joy, through my whole being, from head to toe, to think that I had such a lovely woman, true and faithful in every respect to be my wife and companion, not only for life, but throughout all eternity. And then the 12 lovely children she bore to us–5 sons and 7 daughters-everyone of whom we were and are so proud of and thankful for. Mixed with this joy that has come into our lives, is the sorrow we have been called upon to endure in laying some of these dear ones away. This side of life seems to necessary, in order that our lives may be properly tempered, and that we may be tested. Now, back to our journey to Canada. We were 3 days reaching Cache Valley, a distance of 100 miles. We stayed with Grandmother Woolf 2 or 3 days, and she was such a nice, lovely old lady. At that time she was 83 years old. She was doing her own housework and was so spry, and could see and hear very well. Since that time (37 years) she has passed away and all of her sons and daughters. Uncle Homer Woolf, the last, died 2 years ago last July. He nearly lost his eyesight for several years before his death; and as I am the Sheriff’s Officer, and had considerable driving to do, I used to call for him once in a while and take h im along with me for a drive. His life began t o be quite lonely with such poor eyesight. He told me many interesting stories of his father’s (my Grandfather Woolf) experiences in the early days of the church, as they had been told to him by his father. He told of the last time his father saw the Prophet Joseph Smith in Nauvoo, Illinois. Grandfather had sold out in New York not long before that and had still had some of the money which he received from the sale. The Prophet brought Brother Heber C. Kimball with him and told Grandfather that he needed some money very badly. Grandfather asked him how much he required and he said $500. Grandfather handed it out to him and he said, “Brother Woolf, here is Brother Pratt, who will sign this note with me so that you will be

secured.” But Grandfather said “No, Brother Smith, I do not require a note of you. You pay it back all right, but if you cannot, I will feel proud to have been able to help you.” The Prophet then gave Grandfather a wonderful blessing. Among many other things, he promised him that neither he nor any one of his sons or daughters, as well as his wife, should ever leave the Church, and none of them should ever want for bread. Uncle Homer told me, that as he was the last one, that promise had been fulfilled. Now, to the trip again. After a couple of days at Grandmother’s, we went on to Riverdale in the north end of Cache Valley on the banks of the Bear River. Here Uncle James Woolf lived. We stayed with them for a few days. One of my horses was taken very sick while there and Uncle James and his son, John, doctored the horse, a very valuable mare, with an all-night vigil. Her life was saved, although I was not able to put her in the harness for a few days. Marion Woolf, another son of Uncle James, joined us t here wit h a saddle horse and accompanied us to Canada. We worked his saddle horse and led the sick mare for a few days. When she had completely recovered, she took her place in the team all t he rest of the trip. We had many varied experiences on our long trip. I remember one night in the middle of the night in Montan. The horses had strayed away so far that we could not hear the bell. Marion and I dressed and set out to find the horses, which we did in about an hour’s time. As we were returning in the darkness, we heard a gunshot within about 200 yards of the wagon. Marion thought we were being attacked by either Indians or horse thieves, but I knew very well where the shot came from. Hattie had been left there in that wagon with 3 little children, and on hearing the approach of the horses decided this was the best way to learn whether it was friend or foe. It brought the desired result very quickly, for we both called out in no uncertain terms. “Hattie, it’s us. Don’t shoot.” Needless to say. After that, if the horses needed attention in the night, one of us attended to them and the other stayed in camp. How little did I realize her feelings until that happened. We reached Cardston on the 15 June 1897. Our last camp was the night of the 14th on the east bank of the St. Mary’s River, just opposite the old Pilling place, about 10 or 12 miles southeast of Cardston. The Royal Northwest Mounted Police were stationed near where we camped. That evening, an officer came to our camp to inspect our outfit, as was the custom upon arriving in a foreign country. He went through the regular questions as to having any arms, etc. and as he was walking around the wagon he noticed some ducks on the back of the wagon, which I had shot that afternoon along the trail. Knowing that I did not realize I had broken the law by shooting ducks out of season, he quickly turned his back on the ducks and put his hand out towards them and said, “Oh, Cover those things up so I can’t see them.” The next morning it was raining torrents and the river had risen very high; However, we forded all right, although the water on the upper side of the wagon ran over the hind wheel of the wagon. The customs house was down the river a couple of miles, &, of course, we had a steep hill to pull with horses that were tired and worn after such a long journey. Luella, our eldest daughter, was nearing her 2nd birthday and was very sick. Because of this, we were anxious to reach Cardston as soon as possible. I got Marion Woolf to go down on his saddle horse and see if we could pass customs without having to drive down the steep, gumbo, slippery hill while it was raining so hard. He brought back word that I would have to take the wagon and family down to the house. I drove down and handed the lines to Hattie to hold the team while I went in. To my great surprise, he sat there in his bathrobe and slippers and a pipe in his mouth. He wrote out

my pass without even getting out of his chair. What a contract in the disposition between him and the policeman the night before. We got up the hill, which was a very dangerous dugway, because it was so wet and muddy and slippery and our horses were tired and weary. When we got to Cardston, we unhitched the horses and turned them out on the Indian reservation just north of the little town. We then went to Uncle John and Aunt Mary Woolf’s house, or their hotel, that they were keeping at that time. We all drank tea for dinner; it was black tea, the first I had ever tasted. I didn’t like it, and after dinner I said to Hattie, “Say, Aunt Mary’s teakettle was burnt badly, wasn’t it?” After dinner we got the horses in again and hitched up and drove out to Uncle Homer Woolf’s ranch, about 8 miles south of Cardston. We stayed the first night with Johnny (Woolf) and Lucinda, and from there to Uncle Homer’s where we stayed for a month. Then we moved on to O. E. Bates’ place just south from Uncle Homer’s, where we lived for nearly one year. This was a log house and only partly finished. It was a cold winter the latter part; the floor cloth would sometimes freeze solid under the stove right in the middle of the day. But for all this, the children kept well all winter. The next spring we homesteaded on what is now the quarter section owned by Canadian Pacific Railroad at Kimball, but then it was only a quarter on the east bank of the St. Mary’s River. I hauled a set of house logs there and took 2 four-horse teams to Lethbridge for the lumber, shingles, doors and windows. While there, I went into the land office to see why I had received no word from my application to homestead this quarter, as I had made application through the Cardston sub-agent. I learned that word had just come back from Ottowa that this particular quarter had been reserved for the intake of a large canal that was soon to be started. Of course, this was a disappointment, as I had to find a new location and move the logs again. I will have to tell one incident that happened while hauling the logs to this quarter. My half-brother, Byron, was working for me, & he took a two-horse load of logs and I took the other team, and took my wife and the 3 children, so that she might see the location I had chosen for our future home. After unloading the logs, we all went to John Dunn’s and had dinner and spent part of the afternoon. Mr. Dunn lived on the next quarter from ours. It was in the month of May or the forepart of June and the river was high. While we were there, the ford, which was a gravel bed, had washed out and cut out a deep channel in the middle of the river. Before starting into the river, Byron got in the back of my wagon and led his team by the halters, as the wagon he was using for the logs was just the running gears and was difficult to go in deep water with. Of course, we were unaware that the ford had washed out until we reached the deep channel. The mare (“Maud” we called her), on the upper side got frightened when she dropped into the deep, swift water. We had the double bed on the wagon bed and the spring seat on top of this top bed, which put us up pretty high. We had all 3 children in the seat with us. Hattie holding the 2 younger ones on her lap. Well, when Maud got scared, she started to lie down in the water. Byron picked up the whip and would have started to lay it on her, but I stopped him and got down off the seat and reached my hand and arm down in the water and stroked her and talked gently to her, she soon had confidence enough in me that she stood up again. Then I spoke to both of them telling them to go, and they started up and took us safely through. I seemed to have been very cool-headed all this time, for I realized full well that the swift water was running over the hind wheel of the wagon on the upper side, and over the back of the horse on the upper side, and could at any moment tip the wagon over. I looked down the river several times and had a plan all studied out in case we were thrown into the water. There was an

island down the river a couple of hundred yards or so and as I was a good swimmer, I figured I could guide the wife and kiddies to that island. Well, when we reached the bank of the river and were safely on land again, I looked around for the other team but could see nothing of them. Byron had to let go of their halter when Maud laid down as he got excited, and of course they went with the stream, a thing we are all apt to do in life unless we are on our guard. We got them out of the river about a quarter of a mile below. We had taken the precaution to tie the wagon bed to the gear good and solid, and tied Byron’s wagon solid too, so that if it tipped over, it would not come apart. Well, when we got the other team out and I could see that we were all safely on land, I began to tremble a little; and I fully realized that I had come very close to drowning my whole family. I then located again-this time in the hills about 8 miles south & a little west from Cardston. I bought 2 R. R. Quarters, namely the S. W. & the N. E. Halves of section 7th 2 R 25 W. 4th; I built the home here. I also homesteaded one quarter about 2 miles southwest of this place, namely the N.W. quarter section, 36 1-R, 26 W. 4th. This was not as suitable a place to make the home, but it was a real good pasture and hay quarter. We lived on the ranch 6 years from Spring 1898 to Fall 1903. We had 3 children born to us while there; Ethel, born 2 Oct. 1898; Walter, born 27 March 1900; Clara Vilate, born 27 Nov 1902. We did very little farming, but raised cattle and horses and sold butter, sometimes milking as many as 30 cows. When Newel was 10 years old, we moved to Cardston and started Newel, Luella, and Nora to school. This was the latter part of November 1903. I rented the ranch and stock to D. K. Greene, and then to George Triple, and finally sold it. In Cardston I worked at various things. The first winter, I and 3 other men moved the old dairy buildings which were then located about 5 or 6 miles above the Kimball Bridge on the St. Mary’s River, down to the said bridge. We received $702 for this contract work. I was engaged as the foreman to grade the racetrack west of Cardston in the summer of 1904. I also put up hay on the Cochran ranch, about 20 or 25 miles west of Cardston, worked with my team on the roads and hauling coal from Lethbridge, and finally from Spring Coulee after the railroad had been built that far; I was engaged as foreman or manager of the Cardston Implement Co., where we did a very large volume of business. There were only 2 of us in winter and 3 in summer; and we did $100,000 volume of business in one year. I did all the buying and bookkeeping, besides being the head salesman. I worked there until January 1911, when I bought a $4,000 interest in the Cardston Meca Co. Where I worked 3 years. A wave of depression seemed to strike the country and this business failed. It hit me hard, as I paid the cash, $4,000 and lost it all. I started in the coal, oil, flour and feed business and did well at it for 5 years, when I sold my interests and was appointed Sheriff’s Bailiff in Jan. 1914, which position I still hold, Jan. 1935. I also have engaged since that time in auctioneer business and for several years did a rushing business in the taxi business, the three all at once. Since moving to Cardston, we have had 5 children born to us, making 12 children in all-5 sons and 7 daughters–of which we lost 4: Frank L. 7 Feb. 1896; Little Hattie, 3 Dec. 1912; Nora, 11 Jan. 1930; Clara Vilate, 11 Oct 1932. My dear wife and companion was taken from me on 7 July 1934. We had been married 43 years. NOTE; After the death of his first wife, Frank Brown married his neighbor, Mrs. Ellen Gooding, a widow. He then devoted most of his time as a temple worker. He became an ordinance worker and could portray all of the character parts in the endowment presentation. He

was counselor in the presidency of the Cardston Temple until his health failed. His second wife passed away and he moved to Salt Lake City where his children cared for him until his death a year later in October 1950. He was buried in the Taylorsville Cemetery beside his firstborn son, Frank.

Typed into the computer 23 Oct. 2002 by Kathleen Jardine Woolf Idaho Falls, Idaho Information taken from book JOHN ANTHONY WOOLF FAMILY Publ. 1986