A Rambling History of Grandfather Earl John Taylor, My Cherished Father

There is no way I can honor this man enough. Here is just a part of his story, cobbled together from a collection of his own writing and conversations with family members over the years.

Happy Fathers Day to all. Thank you for your anxious concern for your families. That very concern has been the driving force and the story of my own father’s life.

Barbara Taylor Benac. June 21, 2009. Dallas, TX

HISTORY OF EARL JOHN TAYLOR by Earl J. Taylor born 12 January 1922, Lehi, Utah, Utah written September 1996 - December 1996 I, Earl John Taylor, was born in Lehi, Utah, January 12, 1922, to Leon and Ruby Brown Taylor. I was the last child of Ruby and Leon Taylor, born at our then house in Lehi, Utah. (Mother and Dad eventually lost this house when they were unable to meet a foreclosure deadline requiring the payment of $200). My grandmother Brown advised Mother not to become too attached to me until I was three or four years old because I probably would die young. My aunt Emma Lott, Mother's sister, told Mother that I probably had a bad liver and checked by taking one of my legs and forcing the foot hard against my hip. When I shrieked she said it was because of my bad liver. That was the last test Aunt Em was allowed to perform on me. Mother liked me in spite of my liver. My birth was preceded by two miscarriages, and Mother thought I might be her last chance. Aunt Em and Mother were both members of the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers._ One day when I was about four years old (Mother had by now become quite attached to me), Mother dressed me in a pair of old overalls, a ragged shirt, a straw hat and no shoes. She attached some arched willows over my coaster wagon and covered it with a sheet to simulate a covered wagon. Then she took me to Aunt Em's and Uncle Iz's house across the street from Margaret Wines Park, named for my great aunt Margaret Taylor Wines. There, with my cousin Lois Lott and three other children, we pulled our wagons through the living room where a DUP meeting was in progress, to the piano accompaniment of "Come, Come, Ye Saints." The ladies all cried, which mystified me at the time. Years later I learned that most of them had traveled across the plains with the pioneers. At that memory it is now I who cry. When I was three years old, Mother bought me a "best" outfit from Sears & Roebuck consisting of a broad-rimmed straw hat, a checked blouse, and over jacket of black broadcloth, short black broadcloth trousers, long black cotton stockings that came to just above the knees, and shiny patent leather shoes of the Mary Jane variety. The stockings were anchored by a contraption known as a panty waist. Several inches of bare skin extended from the stocking tops to the pants, broken only by two black garters per stocking. Mother dressed me in the outfit right after it arrived, and stood me in front of the mirror. I looked, then wept broken-heartedly. That wonderful woman never again made me wear that outfit. In the autumn of 1929, the family were loaded into our old Dodge, and moved to Idaho Falls where Dad was superintendent of the Utah-Idaho Sugar Company factory at Lincoln. That was the year that the Great Depression began, first in the U.S., then throughout the world. Our family was blessed during that period in that Dad had a steady job (pronounced as a single word and representing the almost only single security). We rented a house from the Sugar Company for $25 per month, which was deducted from Dad's salary which years later reached a peak of $350 per month. Mother and Dad were deeply in debt due to a failed business venture at Saratoga Springs, Utah (more of that later). Mother did all the washing, cleaning, cooking and ironing for the family, as well as four or five boarders. Wash and wear clothes were then a distant miracle. I've seen men come to the house to ask Dad if he could hire them for work at the sugar factory and, when that was impossible, leave the house in tears. I'm convinced that the depression caused suffering comparable to the war that followed, at least to the Americans. Food was in short supply everywhere. I attended grade school with children afflicted with bowed legsÑricketsÑwhich could have been prevented with a more nourishing diet of plenty of milk and vegetables. While working as a box boy at O. P. Skaggs Grocery, I've seen farmers wearing long coats made of cow hides with the hair and spots still on, against the bitter cold Idaho winters, during which there were yearly deaths due to freezing. The homeless men rode freight trains, and dozens of them walked the blocks from the Oregon Short Line tracks to our house to beg for meals. None were ever refused. My parents were generous with whatever they had. Also observed at O. P. Skaggs, and elsewhere, were people (mostly women) with enlarged thyroid glands called goiters which protruded from their necks like tumors. Not much later it was discovered that such growths could be prevented with the introduction of trace amounts of iodine in the diet, which was then supplied in salt. When I was ten years old, Idaho Falls was hit by an early and severe winter. The sugar beets were frozen in the ground and the itinerant Mexican laborers who had come with their families to dig the beets found themselves with no jobs and no money. They were housed in old buildings owned by the sugar company, but their prospects were bleak. Since school was out for the Christmas holidays, Papa let me spend the day with him at the factory poking around his office. It was about 5 PM on Christmas Eve and I could see that he was disturbed. He stared out of the window, then spoke. "There won't be much of a Christmas for the Mexican kids." I could see tears in his eyes. Then resolutely he picked up the phone and called Mama. "How much money have we in the bank? Ñ About twenty-five dollars? Ñ”Write a check for all of it and cash it quick." We hurried out to the car and Papa raced it through the ice and slush. When we got to the house Mama handed Papa the residue of the bank account and he drove downtown where he spent the whole thing on candy and small toys. In those days $25 would buy a heck of a lot of candy and trinkets, and what he brought home filled up two large wash tubs. Christmas morning he took the brimming tubs out to his office and sent a messenger to the Mexican families that Santa Claus had been unable to find them on Christmas night but had left presents for all the children at his office. They came over as a group and he had something for every child there. Years later I overheard two men discussing Papa. One said, "Len Taylor was a fine man, but he never accumulated much." I knew he was right and my heart glowed with pride, for I knew why. _ Life for me at 390 G Street, was great. Dad bought me some oak strips about 12 feet long, 1-1/2 inches wide, and 1/4 inch thick. He fashioned an electric drill by adding a chuck to a small electric motor. Pieces were joined at intersections by clamping, drilling two holes at each joint, then wiring them together with copper wire. My brother Keith made a canoe this way, and showed me how to bend the ribs of a boat by inserting it into a water-filled 2-inch pipe capped on the lower end, and resting the pipe in Mother's laundry stove in the basement. After about 2 hours of boiling, it could be shaped to a pattern on an old wooden table and held in place by nails until it dried, when it would hold its curved shape. After my 8th grade I drew plans and cross sections for a kayak which I built during the winter of 1935. Mother showed me how to use her old pedal-driven Singer sewing machine to make a canvas cover with which I covered and hand stitched into place over the frame. I painted the completed skin with one coat of linseed oil and 2 coats of oil paint. The completed boat served me for the next four years. I painted the name, Aly Oop, on the nose and spent the summers of my high school almost entirely on the Snake River attempting to eradicate trout as a species. A few years ago someone asked me if I was a good fisherman. I replied, "No, I'm a great one." I should be. I had the world's greatest teacher. Dad told me that years before, he and my uncle Herbert were fishing in American Fork Canyon and while wearing hip boots he was about to step in the water when a snake wiggled across his foot. His fear of snakes, any snakes, was monumental and malignant. He jumped into the stream, then looked to see what had happened to the snake which was not to be seen. He felt the top of his boots to see if the snake was possibly in his clothes and to his horror felt a roll in his seat [which] he was convinced was the snake. "Herb, I've got a snake in my pants!" he yelled. While holding the roll as far from him as he could, he had Uncle Herbert stab, then cut the roll and his trousers away in a patch about 10 inches in diameter. The "snake" turned out to be the rolled up seat of his underwear, and he spent the rest of the day fishing with one flank exposed. In 1932, the U.S. Forest Service made available, based on 99-year leases, some forest lots in the Targee National Forest. Dad obtained one such lot on the North Fork of the Snake river near Mack's Inn, Idaho. Lodge pole pine logs for the construction of cabins could be had for about $1 per log. Starting in 1932, and finishing in 1933, Dad, my brothers, and some woodsmen built a cabin approximately 20 feet wide and 30 feet long. A second story sleeping loft covered the east end over the kitchen and a bedroom. A later addition was made to the east end consisting of a porch and a bathroom with a shower. The only name the structure was ever known by was "The Cabin," and when I visited it in 1996, except for a few repairs, nothing had changed. The Snake flowing five miles below its mouth at Big Springs averages 30 inches in depth and is still crystal clear. The lot to the east and a cabin thereon was owned by the builder, known to us only as Ernie. Rumor held that he had spent some serious jail time for killing game, namely moose, out of season. Ernie was a guide and a handyman. A few years after we occupied the Cabin, Ernie listed his property for sale. It was bought by my Aunt Ethel Taylor Scalley and her husband Douglas. On the day following its purchase an offer was received from Wallace Beery, a veteran movie star. I watched him fishing in front of the Cabin. Aunt Ethel had a bulldog named Perk, a lovable disgusting creature given to producing flatulence any time, anywhere. It had the strength to cause the removal of nose hair. Whenever we visited at the Scalley cabin, Perk could be expected to flatulate, and he seldom missed a performance. When I eventually sold the Cabin, the sale was handled through a high school classmate and Realtor, Reed Cook. As we were driving to Island Park through the lush farmlands above St. Anthony, I observed to Reed how good it must be to own such a farm [as] we were passing. Reed paused, then answered: "All you get from living on a farm are mean dogs and ignernt kids." So much for the American Dream. In 1991 I visited the Scalley cabin then owned by an official of the Great Western Sugar Company. In the living room was a mounted and well-preserved osprey which I shot off the top of a tree across from the Cabin in 1936, and presented to Aunt Ethel, which she took to a taxidermist. Those were great years for me as we spent most weekends at the Cabin. In addition Mother and I often would spend the week days there with Dad coming on weekends. I'd like to add a note about my parents. Not only did I love them, I liked them. We fished together, played rummy together, cooked together, worked together, and were best friends. Not only did I like them, they liked me and showed it. As I gazed in admiration at my own children, I'm convinced they were recommended by Leon Taylor who, with his wife Ruby, now cares for one of their grandchildren_ as well as others. I attended the University of Utah where, as a sophomore, I took a class in public speaking. From the time I began to talk I had a noticeable speech defect known as a lisp. In my second week of class the teacher told me: "Mr. Taylor, you lisp like a second grader. It may have sounded cute when you were a small child, but now it's an albatross. I have a young lady majoring in speech therapy and I'm going to assign her to work with you." We met for an hour twice a week to eliminate my lisp. It seemed to be centered in my inability to hear the resulting sound and to eliminate the problem which made s's sound like th's. For six months, two hours a week, she drilled me in enunciation and actual mouth part position in the speaking of the various syllables. My speech defect was cured, and unfortunately I can't even remember the name of the wonderful girl. From then on I could address an audience without provoking giggles. Since then there have been few occasions when addressing a group that I don't feel gratitude to that speech teacher and her student therapist. On May 5, 1943, the world seemed to be headed for endless catastrophe, so I married my sweetheart Alice Taggart (Dad's nurse). We both felt our time together would be short and uncertain as the minions of Hitler spread the cancer of Nazism over Europe. Later we were sealed with five children in the Idaho Falls Temple. My graduation from the University of Utah was keyed by an unusual occurrence. As the summer of 1943 approached an end, I had already received orders to begin active duty in September. It was the original intention of the Navy to allow engineering students to graduate before being called to active duty. I made every attempt to comply but was finally given a call to report by Sept. 1, 1943. In order to complete the required courses for graduation I carried a minimum of 21 units per quarter. In addition I completed at least one class (Engineering Law) by correspondence. I had completed all the required courses except one, Indeterminate Structures. It wasn't being taught during the remaining quarter, and it appeared to me that if I didn't receive my degree before being called to active duty I may never achieve it. In 1943, the current prognostication was for a 20-year war. I petitioned to the Dean of Engineering for permission to graduate without this one course and was summarily refused by Dean Taylor (no relation). As well as carrying a back-breaking scholastic course I was forced to support myself by working at various odd jobs: house boy, clothing salesman, night watchman, instrument man at a construction site, control operator at radio station KSL, and driving a taxi. One Saturday night in August I picked up a fare at the Hotel Utah, and he directed to the University of Utah campus. "Which building?" I asked. "How do you know the buildings?" he asked. I told him that I was a senior in civil engineering until now, but I was to leave at the end of August. "Are you graduating?" he asked, and I poured out my frustrations of my failure to get permission to graduate. I had attended continually_, maintaining a B-plus average, had carried a course load averaging 20 hours, and had filled every requirement but one course, Indeterminate Structures, which was taught only in one quarter per year, but had been unsuccessful in my petition for a waiver. In view of the war-required call-up of reserves, I would be unable to graduate. At 10:00 AM the following Monday morning I was in a class on reinforced concrete when Dean Taylor's secretary came in with a note which she handed to the professor. Diefendorf turned to the class and asked, "Does one of you drive a cab, and did you bring a fare up to the University last Saturday?" When I raised my hand he told me to report to Dean Taylor immediately, which I did. "Did you bring a cab passenger to the Park Building Saturday night?" he asked. I affirmed that I had, wondering if I had somehow gotten into trouble, and he said, "You picked up the right passenger. He said to tell you that you would graduate and to look for his name on your diploma. He's the President_ of the Board of Regents." I graduated. For many years I made my living addressing seminars concerning the advisability of using sound business methods in conducting the business of construction subcontracting. I related among other things, two stories from my life and that of my parents. The first was of the fact that at the University of Utah, I was the intramural light heavyweight boxing champion for two years. The matches consisted of three 2-minute rounds. In one I was fighting a match that I was winning. When the bell rang, ending the second round, I turned my back on my opponent to return to my corner, and received a late blow to my right kidney. The blow was humbling, and almost prevented my answering the bell for the third round. I decided that from that date onward I would never again, in boxing or in business, expose myself to a cowardly "late punch."

Dad was an easy mark for anyone seeking a job to feed a family. I was too little to work, and since the rest of the family were busy [running Saratoga, the recreation area on the lake] my brother Keith who was five years older than me, was assigned as my constant companion. He took me fishing, hunting with his BB gun (a Daisy pump), and supervised me on the playground. For two summers when Keith also had to work, Mother and Dad had Zina Anderson, a wonderful lady, take care of me. Zina wasn't much of a fisherman, but read and told me stories from the Children's Friend. At the end of the last season in 1929, she gave me Joseph Fielding Smith's book, The Way to Perfection, which I still have. At Saratoga we acquired a fox terrier named Tricks. I loved him and he responded in kind. Dad hired a Mr. Russon, a fine old man who mainly kept the lawns mowed. Whatever the reason, there was bad blood between Tricks and Mr. Russon, which Tricks showed by growling and showing his teeth whenever Mr. Russon came to a meal which we all ate in the huge kitchen over which Mother presided and operated in conjunction with the cafe. In 1929, our family drove our old Dodge and moved to Idaho Falls to begin a new life at 390 G Street, where I lived 'till I finished high school in 1940. On a clear day, and most of them were, I could look from my window and see the Teton Peaks in the distance. I had always yearned to go to the United States Military Academy at West Point. Mother and Dad moved during the winter of 1940, to Spanish Fork, Utah, where Dad was superintendent of the Payson factory of the Utah Idaho Sugar Company. I was left to board with first my brother Blaine, then my brother Keith, and their wives, finishing high school, and studying for the entrance examination given under the auspices of the Idaho Senator. During the summer I crammed for the examination, finally taking it after my graduation, then moving to Spanish Fork with my parents. I was never informed as to the results of the examination, though I know I never received the appointment, a fact for which I'm forever grateful. Dad and Mother really loved the Cabin. Dad looked forward to his retirement which would permit the two of them to spend all their time there. It was not to be. A year before the move to Spanish Fork, Dad began to have lower bowel pains and went to Dr. Jabez West for an examination. Dr. West found nothing. He later said that if had used a longer proctoscope he might have seen the tumor. In the winter of 1941, Dad was found to have a problem that necessitated an exploratory operation at the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. An inoperable liver cancer was discovered. Observing the operation was student nurse Alice Taggart, who had been assigned as one of Dad's nurses. Alice was a year ahead of me in school, had attended high school with me, and was a popular cheerleader. I had never dated her for, among other things, she was older than I_ and hugely popular with her male classmates. I hadn't seen her since high school, and she was currently enrolled in the nursing school at LDS Hospital. I met her again in Dad's hospital room. I served in the United States Navy on active duty from 1 September 1943, to May 1946. My service was entirely within the United States at the following stations: a. The United States Naval Academy b. The University of Michigan. c. The Bremerton Naval Shipyard in Bremerton, Washington. My specialty and rating was that of Naval Architect, and I spent my non-school time in supervising the repair and overhaul of naval ships. Naturally I made many friends while in the military service but have not maintained contact with any of them. During World War II, I entered a Navy program known as V-7, which permitted me to remain in college for a short time to work on my engineering degree. In August, 1943, I received orders and a travel voucher to travel by train and report for Officer's training at the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. On August 28th, I bid Alice a tearful farewell and entrained from Salt Lake City on a hot summer's day. The trip took three days, and I arrived at Annapolis on Sept. 1. I, together with many other men with similar orders, arrived and were met and marched to Bancroft Hall where we were to live for the next several months. We were assigned to our quarters in a section of the building housing the reserve battalion of the Corps of Midshipmen. Our civilian clothing was stored for us and we were immediately ordered to report to sick bayÑin the nudeÑfor our physical examinations. One third of our number went to the section where they were examined from the waist down. The second one-third went to the waist up examination. My third went to the dentistry section. None of us had showered or bathed for at least three days, and it was hot, and we stuck to the leather chairs and emitted an unwashed aroma that must have been unpleasant for the dentists who examined us. My dentist looked in my mouth and said, "How are things in Utah and Idaho?" When I asked him how he knew where I had lived, he answered, "You have absolutely no cavities. We see that only from that section of the country where there is fluorine in the water." One of the other reserve midshipmen in our class was a large rugged individual named Walter Hallopek. Walt had played a year of professional football as an end with Sammy Baugh. After receiving his commission Walt went to New London to the submarine base where he shipped out on a sub headed for the west coast and was lost with the sub. He was an outstanding man and won the rank of battalion commander, the highest in our unit. I was the battalion adjutant. I had yearned for the chance to attend the Military Academy at West Point. Now, through an unrelated set of circumstances, I found myself at the Naval Academy, and wished that I was home with Alice whom I had married in May, and who was now carrying our first child. At that time I felt no hope of ever seeing either of them in the future. We were told to expect a twenty year war, and the news was filled with German and Japanese victories. As the time approached for the graduation and commissioning of the reserve midshipmen in our battalion, I was one of three that were offered posts at the Academy as company officers for the next class of reserve midshipmen. We were informed that if we accepted, we could have first choice among assignments after the graduation of that class. The new class was to begin in two weeks, and we would have leave until that time. Alice was living with her parents in Cody, Wyoming, and working at the Cody Hospital as a nurse. She was still working though 7 months pregnant, and living with her parents in Cody, Wyoming. Immediately after graduation I hopped a train and was reunited with her on Christmas day, 1943. When I returned to the Academy, I was assigned as company officer of C company of midshipmen. It was a great assignment, and the Academy was a marvelous place for an officer, even an Ensign. There were sail boats of all classes available for use on the adjoining Chesapeake Bay. Annapolis was a quaint little town at that time, and the countryside beautiful. I boxed and fenced with the regular midshipmen. During the last days at the Academy I saw a bulletin requesting applications from officers wishing to attend the naval architectural postgraduate school at the University of Michigan. This seemed like a great idea as it would permit Alice and Anne to join me for 8 months. I applied but had little hope for acceptance. About a week later an officer stationed at the personnel office in Washington DC. was having dinner with a few of us, and I mentioned my application. "I know the WAVE officer handling those applications. I'll talk to her," he said. Ten days later I received orders to report to the school to begin in late March. One of our first duties was to witness the launching of a submarine in Manitowoc, Wisconsin. On the way back I picked up Alice and Anne where they had traveled to Chicago and were [quartered?] in a hotel. We were never again separated. At the Naval Shipyard at Bremerton, Washington where we spent the first 30 months, I was assigned to the production division where I was a shop superintendent working on the repair and overhaul of warships, mostly damaged in battle in the Pacific Theater. The Carriers Saratoga, Franklin, Bunker Hill, Monterey, and the Battleships California, Maryland, West Virginia, and the Cruiser Pittsburgh_, were among our projects. I worked in the hull section. Our first living quarters were in a government housing project at Port Orchard. One Saturday afternoon while I was watching Anne, who was playing in the small front yard, I heard one, then another shot, at the building east of ours. I brought Anne into the apartment, then walked around our building to where I could see a policeman standing over the downed body of a black man. When I got close enough, I could see the man had been shot in the chest but was still alive. Another black man put a lighted cigarette between the lips of the prostrate man, who took one slow drag, then let the cigarette fall with the lighted end in his eye. He didn't blink as he had died. The policeman dripped blood from his left arm from a gunshot wound to his biceps. The story I later heard was that there was a casino established in a ground floor apartment where a crowd was gambling. The dead man had caused a ruckus and had been bodily expelled, after which he had gone and obtained a hand gun, returned, and threatened the gamblers who fled through a window. Someone had called the police and the policeman drove up and was walking to the building when the man took a shot at him, hitting his badge which deflected the bullet through his arm. The policeman's return fire had downed, then killed the shooter. I attained the rank of Lieutenant, Sr. Grade. I was never injured because of enemy action during the war, but I saw much evidence to many who were. Late in the war the carrier Franklin was operating north of the Philippines. One of its air groups returned to the ship and began landing to re-arm and re-fuel. They circled the ship in a pattern to accomplish an orderly landing . A Japanese plane carrying a 500 lb. bomb edged into the pattern unnoticed, and when it was its turn to land it flew low over the carrier deck and dropped its bomb and flew away unchallenged. The carrier had the gas lines necessary to re-fuel the planes all pressurized. The explosion cut a gas main but didn't start a fire. Gasoline gushed out onto the hanger deck in hundreds of gallons before it was shut off. The fumes went down through open hatches into the interior of the ship until they were ignited, probably by a spark from an electric motor, and the resultant explosion killed all that were exposed and exerted such force within the ship that decks and bulkheads were distorted. The Franklin was towed back to the US, but the damage was more than was deemed worthwhile to repair. [EJT watched the injured crew exit the ship when it arrived at Bremerton Naval Shipyard.] When the war ended, first in Germany, then in Japan, I was still in Bremerton. My assignment to the shipyard was a temporary one. The twelve officers assigned with me were sent after our graduation from the naval architectural and marine engineering school at the University of Michigan for shipyard training prior to our being sent to advanced bases for evaluation and supervision of battle repairs to naval vessels. As it turned out, the heavy schedule of repair and overhaul of damaged ships kept our assignment permanent. The week before I left the service at Bremerton, I received orders which stated, "Your undelivered orders are hereby cancelled. You are permanently attached to the U.S. Naval Shipyard at Bremerton, Washington." So much for paperwork. My release from active duty was received in Seattle, and from there Alice, Keith, Anne and I boarded a train for Idaho Falls, stopping en route at Boise where I applied for a job with the Morrison-Knutson Construction Company. Keith had been born May 8, 1945, at the Naval Hospital in Bremerton. Unemployed, I arrived in Idaho Falls and began looking for work. Mother had lived there in a small apartment since Dad's death in 1942. She gave us her apartment and moved into Aunt Emily Brown's home. Mother never lost the concept that her first worry was for the welfare of her children. I looked for work at the local grocery stores, the railroad, and finally was hired by Donald Germann, the project engineer planning details for the construction of the upcoming Palisades Dam. My job was as a junior engineer with a P-5 rating, working in the Idaho Falls office for $185 a month. It just wasn't enough to live on, so I looked for part time employment. Again I checked the grocery stores where I had worked as a box boy during high school at $3 per 16-hour Saturday. Having no success I checked with Mr. Stalker, a one-armed architect, then with Architect Clint Sundberg who hired me at $1.50 per hour. The Bureau of Reclamation job was not going anywhere. My principal duties consisted of reading the reports Mr. Germann was required to submit and re-writing them to omit profamity and an ocean of grammatical errors. When I returned the reports for Mr. Germann's inspection, invariably he lost his temper, berated me for impertinence, then forwarded the report as I had corrected it. Looking to him for recommendation for a promotion seemed a waste of time, so in the late summer of 1945, Mr. Sundberg offered me $250 a month if I would work for him full time. I immediately gave notice to Mr. Germann who said, "I'm sorry you're leaving. We could uv taught you somethin." I liked the work at Mr. Sundberg's. He and his brother, H. M. Sundberg were partners with Clint in charge of the field work and client relations, and H. M. in charge of office work and production. As the years passed, Clint suspected H. M. of splitting and opening his own office. Each time the license renewals were due, Clint would do the relicensing except that he failed to renew H. M.'s license for several years, and when the time came that H. M. broke away from the partnership, he found that he was no longer a licensed architect. Since Clint was also a member of the Idaho State license board, H. M. struggled for a protracted time to regain his license to practice. By then no love was lost between the two brothers. The split occurred before I came to work for Clint. Drawings in progress were stored in a pigeon file in the drafting room. I wasn't allowed to title the drawings until they were completed and ready for printing. Moreover, I was not allowed to place all the drawings pertaining to a single job in a labelled pigeon hole since Clint suspected H. M. of surreptitiously breaking into the office at night to see what jobs were in progress and approach Clint's clients, a shadowy feat that I'm positive never happened. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the work and was delighted when late one Saturday afternoon a small man entered the office and asked if I would be interested in studying architecture at home under the auspices of The International Correspondence Schools. He pointed out that my G. I. benefits would pay for the course. He assured me that the school was accredited, which it wasn't, and would give me all I would need to pass the licensing examination to entitle me to practice architecture, which it did. I signed up and for the next several years worked until I completed the course. Around the first of the year 1946, my sister Fay, who was living in Sacramento, delivered a baby. Mother agreed to come and help her and told me thjat if I would drive her car to Sacramento over a weekend that she would fly me home the following Monday. We made the trip without incident, and I found myself Monday morning with five hours to wait until time for my flight. I decided to see if I might be able to find a job in Sacramento. The first office I visited was that of Architect Herbert E. Goodpastor. He offered me $350 a month, and I jumped at the chance. On February 1, I drove Mother's car with Mother, Alice, Anne, Keith, and Margaret, who had been born in Idaho Falls. As we drove down the west slope of the Sierra Nevadas and into the lush Sacramento Valley we were overcome by seeing palm trees and flowers in midwinter. Mother had decided also to relocate and found a job in alterations at Magnin's, a trendy department store. When she left that job years later she was in charge of the department. We bought a just-finished house for $8500, using the financing provided by a veteran's loan, and lived there until 1951. During that time I worked for Architects Goodpastor, Gordon Stafford, Raymond Franceschi, and Charles Dean, while studying for the California State architectural exam. I passed and took a position with the Corps of Engineers as an architect. Five months later I accepted a junior partnership with Architect Erling Olausen, where I remained for ten months until I opened my own office where I worked for 32 years. The following inserted letter was a response to Barbara Taylor Benac's request for EJT's thoughts on Father's Day 1995: (received 18 June 1995-- Father's Day) EARL J. TAYLOR 1131 El Sur Way Sacramento, CA 95864 (916) 481-9270 June 26, 1995 Dear Barbara, I'll have to hurry this since I have a subcontract to review and return by tomorrow. Thoughts on fatherhood: My first concern regarding my children was to feed, clothe, provide medical attention, and protect them. Anne arrived during World War II and all the problems associated therewith were attendant: a. Rationing required Alice's and my using part of our own food allotment in addition to that allowed the child to obtain required dairy and special foods necessary. b. The hyper-critical housing shortage made the finding of housing of any kind a critical problem. c. My military position placed my personal presence always subject to an overseas call, a call which never came but hovered constantly like a dark cloud. d. Finances were always short of what seemed needed, and there was no one to turn to for help. Physical protection of the children and Alice was always in the forefront. One day while we were living in a tarpaper temporary apartment in Bremerton, Alice had taken a bus to shop (we had no car), and shots ran out at the adjoining apartment house. I quickly stashed Anne with a neighbor, and ran to investigate. On the front lawn stood a police officer with blood streaming from an arm wound. In his other hand he held a gun with which he had just fired into an assailant who lay dying at his feet. Incidentally, our common washroom had become infamous as the scene of an ax murder six months previously. At the end of the war we returned to Idaho Falls via Boise where I attempted to find employment with the Morrison-Knudsen Corp. but was unsuccessful. Two jobs were offered me in Idaho Falls: clerk for the Union Pacific Railroad if I would learn to type, and engineering assistant for the Bureau of Reclamation on the Palisades Dam Project, which I took. The salary wasn't even a living wage but with side jobs we managed to eat and stay warm. I was always looking for the side jobs, We had no car so I would canvass the local businesses on foot. I tried to get a job as a box boy on Saturdays but there wasn't an opening. I prepared a piping diagram for the local potato alcohol plant which paid well since I could work evenings. One day I went into the offices of Clinton Sundberg, Architect, and he hired me to do part time drafting. After a month he hired me full time, and I quit the Bureau of Reclamation, with the parting observation by the Chief Engineer, Donald German, that if only I had remained he could have learned me something. Incidentally, one of my last month's duties was to read all his outgoing mail and remove all reference to profanity and sex. It was a challenging job. Mother had given us her apartment and had moved in with my Aunt Emily. After about 7 months I was working on a Saturday, and small man came by holding a briefcase. He asked me if I was an architect, to which I replied no. "Why don't you become one," he said. "I represent the International Correspondence Schools, I can sign you up to take our correspondence course in architecture. It carries the same accreditation as any university." I have long since forgiven him. He needed the money. I enrolled, using up my GI. schooling entitlement. Nothing was lost, however. When I took the California State Architecture license four years later (conceded to be the toughest in the nation) I was one of the 20% of applicants that passed. Thank you, little salesman. After working for Sundberg for 8 months I drove my mother to Sacramento to help my sister Fay with her baby. We stayed the night with Fay, and I had a plane reservation for 3 PM the following day. In the morning I started calling on Architects in Sacramento. The second one, Herbert Goodpastor, hired me. I've never moved from Sacramento since. Children joined our family at constant intervals, Keith in Bremerton, Margaret in Idaho Falls, Jeff and all following in Sacramento. All are wonderful, choice spirits. I love and treasure them more than you can imagine. I have never found complete peace with the passing of no. 7, Becky. I constantly rehearse her last days wondering how I might have saved her. Regardless of the others, there is one too few. Sometimes I long to join her. Now concerning your Fathers Day talk in Sacrament MeetingÑdo your own research, and good luck. Love, Dad Following are excerpted journal entries from Anne T. C. : 23 Dec. 1995. I am writing this as I remember the visit of my parents to Utah December 15-18, 1995. Daddy wasn't feeling as well as when he was young--he said getting in and out of cars is now hard for him. He wears suspenders of necessity. It's a little difficult for him to find the exact word he wants, and this is new. Refers to Alice Rebecca Taylor, who died 23 August 1956, just before her first birthday. EJT said, "I have never found complete peace with the passing of no. 7, Becky. I constantly rehearse her last days wondering how I might have saved her. Regardless of the others, there is one too few. Sometimes I long to join her." She was the 7th child and 4th daughter of Alice & Earl.