Sidney James OTTLEY

                   AN APPRECIATION OF MY FATHER
   SIDNEY JAMES OTTLEY

by Wayne W. Ottley, January 1955
PREFACE

Many great men are eulogized only as a show of respect at their death. Because
they have expired, and out of courtesy to their relatives, glib tributes are
offered which may or may not be exactly the truth. I make this writing about
the best man I know, my father, who is in the "fall" of his life, but
continues to be a good example while giving service to his fellowmen. It is my
plan to review his life and his influence on me as a guide for me, my children
and theirs. It is not my purpose to write a complete autobiography, but to
record my impressions from that which I have heard or personally experienced.
Of equal stature, in my heart, is my devoted mother of whom I hope to write
about at another time.

"Having been born of goodly parents". . .could certainly be the way to start
this transmission. Dad was born of immigrant parents from London, England on
September 2, 1890 in South Cottonwood, Utah. He was the next to youngest of a
large family raised in a humble home. By the time he was twelve years old he
had learned to work, play and appreciate the blessings and struggles of a
pioneer life. At that time, left motherless, he was forced to become adult and
share in the provisions of the family needs. As a teen he worked in a smelter
as a water boy, as a yard and delivery boy for a lumber yard and as an
assistant to his father and brothers as they pursued their crafts as
carpenters and builders. In spite of the necessity to work in his youth, he
paid his own way through high school and furthered his education by reading or
taking special study courses. I'm sure he had some fun along the way by
different ways than youth do today. I get excited as I hear him tell the story
of riding his pinto horse from his home in Delta to Salt Lake in a day when
there wasn't much in between. It was a long two day ride, and he stayed
overnight in an abandoned cabin that was often used by travelers.

Early in life he embraced the Gospel of Jesus Christ by the teachings of his
parents and through his activity in the Church, and developed a firm testimony
of its divinity. He learned that "Faith in God gives meaning and purpose to
human life and that service to humanity is the best work of life," creeds by
which young men pledge themselves to follow but often forget in their pursuit
of worldly goods. By his industry and thrift, he prepared himself to fill a
mission and received a call to serve in far away New Zealand, then a primitive
province of Great Britain. In a short time he learned the Maori language, and
was soon bearing his testimony to the natives in their own tongue. He spent
four years in the islands and made many friends. He wrote a song, "THE LAND OF
LOVE" which is still sung there today.

On January 3, l917 he married my mother, Alice Warren of Murray, in the Logan
Temple, (Salt Lake Temple was closed) then traveled to Banida, Idaho to make
their first home. On July 31, l922, I was born, their third son. My first
recollection of life was just previous to the birth of my sister, Lael,
September 30, 1925.
I remember many things about Dad but can't set them in a sequence of their
happening. I remember that he whistled as he left for work and as he returned,
he had unending energy as a young Bishop, with wisdom in his leadership. He
showed loving care to Mother and all of us.

I will always remember how he would pick me up and hold me up over his head as
he talked to me, how he taught us the importance of prayer and "family night"
and understanding the gospel. I remember that he took me with him as he fed
and milked the cow; he helped the older boys plant gardens and taught them
responsibility. I remember him cleaning out the well, building a garage for
the Model T and enlarging the little house to make room for more little feet.
I remember the exercise regimen he led us in every morning ending with several
trips jogging around the house. I got so tired. I remember several trips to
the mountains where we slept out under the stars and were reminded of the
beauties that Father in Heaven had provided for our benefit. His undaunted
enthusiasm and energies have always been a marvel to me, even though I haven't
been able to keep up with him.

I remember how we would visit him at the lumber yard where he worked and how
he would set us up to pick up the lath strips and neatly stack them to earn a
nickel for a Dixie Cup (ice cream) from Day's store. We took many trips in the
car that seemed very long but none could have been more than a few miles.
While I was still five, Mom and Dad took a trip to Salina, Utah to look over
an opportunity to step up in Dad's employment. They returned with glowing
reports of a town with cement sidewalks and one full block of cement road,
neither of which I had ever seen. They talked about hills and mountains so
close that you could walk to them in a few minutes; a newer, more modern
lumber yard to explore with a home right next to it. I remember the tears of
the Saints who bid farewell to their Bishop and family and gave him a
beautiful gold watch in appreciation for his services.

In Salina, as always, Dad worked extra hours to make us all comfortable. The
house was too small so some of us slept in a back room of the lumber yard
store, where I remember watching the lights from passing cars travel across
two walls in our quarters. In the summer we could sleep on lumber piles in the
yard, but the best deal was when Dad acquired an old van body and made a
sleeping room out of it parked in front of the house. A kerosene stove was
used for heat in the winter and it cast a snowflake shadow on the ceiling. I
suspect now, that these strange accommodations were the necessity of an
approaching depression, but to us, the exciting innovations that Dad came up
with were done for our pleasure.

The days and years to follow would get even more desperate for Dad and Mom but
great for us. After a day in the hospital to have my tonsils removed, I was
ready to start school (first grade, there was no kindergarten then.) In my
second year I remember how Dad tried to fashion a Halloween mask from an old
flour sack since "ready-made masks" were just not in our budget. I bawled
because I thought his efforts were dumb, but he patiently told me how fun it
would be and that I looked like a very respectable Ghost. The most terrifying
part of starting school was the shots and vaccinations required to be cleared
to go to school. I suffered for days anticipating the ordeal and broke in
tears as I was dragged to the school for old Dr. Merrill to make the injection.
   (even today, I don't like them, but have learned not to look while it is
going on.)

From Salina we traveled with Dad to nearby towns and found adventure while he
did his business. One day he was summoned to Axtel to remount a door that had
been pulled off the hinges by a horse that had been tethered to the handle.
While Dad fixed the door we explored the school yard which included sage
brush, mounds of dirt and desert like country. On other occasions while he was
trying to "collect" unpaid bills for the lumber yard, we explored barns,
outbuildings and animal stalls. Dad was always pleased to "show off" his kids
to customers, associates and bosses; he even coaxed us out of the back room to
show us the Indians that would come in to look at pocket knives or bright
colored paint sample chips. They seldom bought anything but Dad usually bought
from them a few pine nuts to keep them from lifting some merchandise from the
shelves; they usually had to be watched closely. They spoke very little
English but Dad could communicate with them in a rough sign language. We were
always a little timid with them because of the stories we had heard about the
Indians taking white scalps. They knew we were frightened and would often pull
faces or make quick moves toward us to scare us further.

   Some other strange folk we met in Salina were the Gypsies who camped down in
the creek beds among the willows. They dressed in bright colors and wore lots
of jewelry. We were always warned to stay away from them because they were
known to steal children and sell them. (I still wonder if that story is true.)
   Salina will always be our most exciting town because it was here that Dad
planned and built our only "NEW" home. In 1929-30 we watched our home built
from blueprints. I remember the basement being dug with a slip shovel behind a
horse out in the middle of a former cow corral. The top soil was nice but down
deeper there were lots of rocks. As was common in those days the basement was
made liveable and we moved in.

   Dad did much of the work himself but I remember that there were others who
helped including my dear Grandpa Ottley whom I loved very much. The stone
columns in the front fence that stand today were laid up by him. Similar
columns mark the entrance of Murray Park and Wheeler Farm in Murray. I am told
that these are some of his craft.

I think we were considered fairly prosperous, by comparison to other families
because we were getting a new home. As I recall, Dad was paid $150.00 per
month at Bonneville Lumber Co. for whom he managed. He took some of his salary
in company stock which was lost as the company failed later. He put in long
hours at the yard then worked late into the night to build on the new house.
To help out, Mother was busy giving music lessons in several small towns
nearby, or playing in dance bands, also often out of town.

Verlo was born in Salina Hospital July 14,l930, the first of the children born
in a hospital. We enjoyed our first radio, a small table model Philco. Mom and
Dad bought this at great sacrifice for the children for our Christmas. That
Christmas Eve, Dad worked on the house while Mom played a dance job in Scipio.
The radio was a revered instrument for many years bringing us Amos n' Andy, Ma
Perkins, Mert and Marge, Jack Armstrong, The Whistler, The Shadow and many
others including the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir. The "crash" came to Salina in
1932 and building stopped. Dad was directed to close out the Salina yard and
was offered another yard in Spanish Fork.

Dad sold the house to Bishop Peterson on a contract and we moved north to the
Utah County Community to a strange new life. In Spanish Fork there was a new
lumber yard to explore and a rented house a few blocks away right on Main
Street, with interurban trains going right up the middle of the street, all
hours of the day and night. The yard was filled with black walnut trees. This
town offered more swimmin' holes, a more uptown atmosphere and lots of
automobiles, the most interesting were abandoned behind the stores. We enjoyed
stripping them of their magnets and cast iron parts which brought coins with
which to buy candy.

   As usual, Dad took the move in stride and soon had us all very comfortable
again. I remember he had a fine young assistant at the yard named Paul
Christensen, who kind of fussed over us. We thought he was great. It was here
I cried most of the first day of school, coming into the third grade in
October or November. It seemed you were expected to fight your way into a new
school, but I just couldn't cope with it. My teacher, Miss Bearnsen, was very
kind to me and helped me through that first day. I remember hiding my face on
the desk most of the day.

We enjoyed the "Farr House" but Dad was always looking for ways to upgrade our
housing as the family grew larger. He contracted to buy a building lot a few
blocks west of Main Street for the future but during the summer vacation, Dad
moved the family to the Coltrin House on First South while Glen and I were
"working?" on the Larsen place in Orem.

When we returned, we were sure that our Dad was the most clever person we knew
because of the way everything fit in the house. This new house meant a new
school for me but we were in the same town and nearer the favorite swimming
holes and the pastures where we took the community herd of cows each morning
and brought them home in the evening. Dad always felt the need for us to have
a cow for nutritious food for "his kids." I suppose it would have been slim
pickin's without milk and homemade bread.

Money was hard to come by. Dad was obliged to travel to nearby towns to
collect money owed the lumber yard. We got to go with him many times and found
many opportunities to explore new surroundings.

I remember one trip clear out to Price, passing the little but very busy
railroad marshaling yards at Soldier Summit. The dirty little  town of Thistle
buzzed with trains, engines and repair yards. As we traveled through the
various types of country, Dad pointed out the beautiful shapes of the
mountains, the little babbling brooks or the deer or other wildlife lurking in
the trees. Dad was a true Smokey Bear as he taught us that it was our
responsibility to keep the woods clean and free from the ravages of fire. On
other occasions we traveled up Hobble Creek, Diamond Fork, Provo and American
Fork Canyons, all special events full of memories.

It wasn't long before the local economy fell "flat out" and once again Dad was
advised to move the lumber yard inventory to Provo and close the Spanish Fork
yard. He was offered another position in Tooele, but with not much hope the
economy would be strong enough to keep it going. At the same time the buyer of
our Salina home defaulted and Dad chose to take us back to Salina to see what
he could pick up in work there, knowing we could again occupy our new home for
a while. Dad soon lined up some work with the city and county in removing some
old poplar trees, worked on some road crews and several other jobs not
befitting his size and strength. Some time later he made arrangements with
Brother Albert Albertson to paint Forest Service houses and outbuildings.
Brother Albertson was the Forest Ranger in the area. His family had moved to
Salt Lake so son, Preston could be near his doctor as he suffered terribly
with asthma. Mother and Dad offered to take Brother Albertson into our home as
a boarder to help with his expenses as well as ours.

As carefree kids we were delighted to be back in our Salina home with our
former friends. Our parents didn't shield us from the impending economic
problems, in which we might lose the house and eventually have to look for new
employment but their kindly sweet spirits assured us that all would be well.

Late that year Dad went to Salt Lake to attend the funeral of my beloved
Grandpa Ottley, who passed away quietly while visiting his brother's family in
Elba, Idaho. While in Salt Lake, Dad made several contacts with paint
distributors with a plan for him to open a paint, glass and wallpaper store in
Sugar House. He got very little encouragement because he had little to offer
in assets, but John Bennett appreciated his enthusiasm and offered to back him
with a little inventory. Dad's enthusiasm and will to succeed was his greatest
asset as he carefully made a plan to not only provide for this growing family,
but his vision showed him a way to provide opportunities for his growing boys
in days to come. I will forever be grateful for the opportunities he made for
me to learn to work and accept a stewardship in life as a preparation for an
eternal realm. His foresight would affect his children, grandchildren, and
even beyond if each would learn the lessons he taught so well.

The move to Salt Lake came in late April. Dad and Glen had gone ahead and
opened the store April l, l933 (The Paint Bucket, later changed to The Paint
Pot at 1074 East 21st South, Salt Lake City, Utah, Sugar House.) The move was
tough because we had no car. With a borrowed car and a four wheeled hay rack
we headed north on the mostly gravel roads to Salt Lake. It took us two days
since we had so many flat tires to fix. We stayed overnight in Spanish Fork
with understanding friends.
I had completed fifth grade in Salina before the move. Salina schools
dismissed on April 21, but I reluctantly went back to Forest School i