Saga of the Sanpitch Volume 17, 1985 - Sanpete County

President Heber J. Grant taught himself to sing just one patriotic song that had great appeal, called
"The Flag Without a Stain." He proudly sang it on many occasions, usually by request.
We had numerous bond rallies" where people pledged to buy as many bonds as possible., We'd often
have leading people from other cities give urgent pleas for help At times we would have a band play and
always patriotic songs. I'd like to give a few lines from one song, which I think are apropos:
What are you going to do for Uncle Sammy?
What are you going to do to help the boys?
When you're far away from home, fighting o'er the foam,
The least that you can do is buy a Liberty Bond or two.
We had new words and phrases emerge as an outgrowth of the war, some of which are still in use
today. Such words as "camouflage, "Ace," "slacker," to name a few. One phrase stands out because of its
frequent use and strong appeal-- "Doing your bit." A "bit" adds up to a great amount if consistently given.
On that sunny day of November 11, 1918, my brother and I were enjoying a moment of inertia by
lying on our stomachs on the warm earth at the beet dump between Moroni and Mt. Pleasant where we
weighed beets. Suddenly, a cacaphony of sound exploded around us. A long procession of cars hurtled by
bearing dozens of people shouting, singing, honking. We heard the strains of "It's Over Over There."
On the back of the last car, tall, red painted letters spelled out the word PEACE!!
WINDSWEPT
Bonnie Nielson Dahlsrud
P.O. Box 195
Salina, UT 84654
Professional Division
Third Place Personal Recollections
I don't visit the old house anymore. No one does. It stands quietly empty„ Cobwebs cling to the dusty
windows. Walls crumble, a fine sand sifting from the aged bricks. The porch sags to one side, while the steps
creak against their own weight. Weeds choke the brittle grass. The whole place smells of desertion.
I used to go there. When grandma was alive, the house lived also. The windows shone. The porch bore
a swing. I used to munch hot applesauce cookies and chase my shadow on the velvet lawn. The place smelled
of fresh baking.
On holidays, the whole family would visit the house0 The steps were strong then and could hold the
men while they discussed farming, or the children as they scurried in chattering groups. Shutters didn't creak
when the house was windswept then. Walls didn't crumble. Laughter bubbled from the house. Tears were
dried there. Memories were made. The place smelled like magic.
I used to mow the grass for grandma. It took me a long time because I was small and not near as strong
as I was confident„ But no weeds threatened her yard then. We'd pull them when they were tiny, grandma
and I0 After, we'd swing on the porch and sing songs while grandma snapped peas. The place smelled like
contentment.
For a while, after grandma was gone, the family took care of the house. The women would clean, the
men tend to the yard work while they talked investments, and the kids would play red-rover on the lawn. But
the lawn wasn't velvet anymore. The sky wasn't as blue overhead. Weeds were bigger than grandma and I
ever let them get. There were no peas to snap. Nobody felt like swinging. The place smelled like change.
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