Prompting of the Spirit

My Dad worked construction most of his life. Shortly after he married my Mom, he got a job as a "Cat Skinner." The "Cat" was also known as a "Bulldozer." I asked him how he got the job and he said that he taught himself while demonstrating to his prospective employer that he could operate the equipment. For the next forty plus years, he worked construction jobs all over the country from Idaho to the Panama Canal and from Utah to South Carolina. During 1938 and 1939, my Dad, "Digger," was working on the Deer Creek Dam in Heber Valley in Utah. His job required that he, among other things, pioneer a road from the east side of the dam to the Walsberg road
east of Heber City. To this day, the highway follows the route he made. On one occasion, he stopped for lunch and backed his "cat" up to a steep incline that was in the shade to eat his lunch while sitting in the seat of the "cat." He had finished eating and was taking a nap before resuming his work. Suddenly, he awoke and a voice told him to get out of the seat and on to the ground. He did so and within a few seconds a rock from up the hill about four feet in diameter landed in the seat where he had been sitting. The rock must have been jarred loose while he was working the hillside for the road. He told me this story to emphasize the importance of following the promptings of the spirit. Had he not listened to and followed that small voice, he surely would have been killed. He was a very humble man though his outward demeanor did not show it.

Throwin'' The Weight Around

My older sister's third husband was, I think, about twenty yeas older than her. His Son in Law was Governor of Wyoming during the 70's and early 80's. His name was Ed Hirschler. Interestingly enough, I was working for a trucking company as Lease Manager at that time. The company ran about 40 leased trucks. My job, among other things required that the equipment be licensed in the states we ran in. On one occasion, an emergency required that I fly to Cheyenne, Wyoming to get plates for the trucks. The company was starting a new job transporting crude oil from Wyoming and I needed the plates for the next day. While attempting to accomplish this, I was being hassled by the Wyoming license plate division. After several attempts to get the plates, I mentioned that my sister's Son in Law was Governor Hirschler and that I was going to call her and tell her of the treatment I was getting. As I started to leave, the director of that department stopped me and said to wait a minute. Thirty minutes later, I had the plates and was on my way home. It just goes to show you that sometimes throwing your weight around gets positive results.

Memories

As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember

Digger and Butch

My dad, Linsey Clair Rogerson, his given name that he hated and changed to Lynn C Rogerson by which he was known except on LDS Church records told me many stories about his youth which occurred around the turn of the century, he being born in 1892. One of my favorite stories is about an incident that happened to him when he was 10 years old. He lived, with his family in Monticello, UT. He relates this story: "In the summer of 1902 a man came to our house one morning riding a white horse. He spoke to my father who instructed me and a friend to put the horse in the barn and then to stay outside and be quiet around the house. My dad and the man then went into our house. An hour or so later the Sheriff came to our house and came up to my father. He said: 'Johnny, have you seen a man ride past here on a white horse?' to which my father replied 'no.' (He didn't lie. The man did not ride past, he came onto our property and went in the house.) The Sheriff said 'If you see anyone like that, please notify me' and rode off. Later in the early evening, my father called me and my friend into the house. The man, who had been sleeping, was still there and my dad introduced us to him as Butch Cassidy. It appears that Butch and his gang had robbed the telegraph station in Castledale, UT the day before and had split up, Butch coming south to Monticello. My father knew Butch from their childhood days when Butch would come to Parowan, UT where my father lived before moving to Monticello under Brigham Young's orders to help settle the town. Butch reached into his pocket and retrieved two 25 dollar gold pieces then said to us, 'Promise me that you will never draw a gun on another man' before giving us the coins. We made the promise. and he gave one to me and one to my friend. I was sent to get the white horse and Butch rode off. I never saw him again. I have kept my promise made to Butch and though I have always owned hand guns, I've never drawn on another man, even in fun." How about that?

My Truck Blew it's Top

In 1965 I worked for a trucking company called W.S. Hatch Co. This company was a transporter of liquid and dry bulk commodities throughout the Western United States. As a driver for that company one of the jobs I did was to operate a “Distributor.” A distributor is a truck with an apparatus attacked to the back of the truck that distributes hot specialized oil through a spreader bar on to the road surface that binds asphalt or fine gravel to it. If you have seen the movie “Cool Hand Luke” you'll remember an episode where a tank truck sprayed hot oil on the road and the men then scattered sand over the oil to resurface the road. The truck that sprayed the oil is called a “Distributor.” After loading the tank at an oil refinery and going to the job site, it is necessary in preparing to spread or “shoot” the oil to gradually heat the spreader bar to prevent it from cracking open with the sudden impact of the hot oil that is, sometimes, 1500 degrees Fahrenheit or more. A gradual introduction of oil in to the bar is required and the oil is circulated through the spreader bar and then back into the tank increasing the flow as the bar warms up. When the spreader bar is hot, it is time to shoot the oil. On one occasion after I had worked for the company for some time and was made a Driver Supervisor,I was sent to instruct and help a new spreader operator on his first job. The job location was near Elberta, UT, 20 or so miles west of Payson, UT. I followed the truck in my company car and when we arrived at the job site, men from the Utah Highway Dept. were there to do their jobs. We proceeded to do the drill as I indicated above but unbeknownst to us, this particular distributor truck had been used the day before to shoot another type of oil and had been cleaned with high pressure steam but had not been dried out. Water was left in the spreader bar and when that water circulated back into the tank of hot oil, there was an explosion of steam and oil that literally blew the dome lid open and sprayed the hot oil all over everyone within 25 feet of the truck. I, along with a State Road worker and the spreader operator had the hot oil sprayed on us. The state guy was wearing a T shirt and no cap. I was not wearing a cap but had a short sleeved shirt open at the neck as did the spreader operator. The state guy got the worst of it with hot oil over his head, shoulders, arms and back. The spreader operator jot some on his arms and shoulders. I had oil on my head, shoulders, back and arms. We all got into my car and headed for the hospital emergency in Payson. When all was said and done, the state guy wound up in the hospital for a stay with 2nd and 3rd degree burns over 50% of his body. When the ER staff started to clean me up the only places I was burned was on my arms and the top of my head. My upper arms, shoulders and back though covered with the hot oil were not burned in the least. Essentially, I was protected where my Temple Garments covered my body. The ER staff noticed this too and one nurse commented about it. That to me was a real testimony builder.

Digger Blows his Horn

Digger was a true "Maverick" and as such was able to do and get away with things most of us could never achieve. Some of the stories I have posted about his time at BYU illustrate this point very well. The following is yet another of his antics while there.

Digger had seats in the Faculty section of the Smith Field house and attended all basketball games. I remember one time he had one of his men install a blow horn, that made a loud obnoxious sound when activated, installed up in the catwalks of the Field house with a wire that ran to a button under his seat. The next time there was a home game, Digger "Blew His Horn" as a cheer for the Cougs. After about three or four times of the horn blast, they stopped the game to locate the horn at which time he made a hasty disappearing act so as to not get caught. The next week he had the horn and button removed. And yes, you guessed it, he didn't get into trouble.

Digger's Racing Stripes

In the mid sixties, Digger had a 1949 or 1950 Ford car. It ran good as all of Diggers autos died. All of the family borrowed the Ford when needed in case of an emergency. One time RaNae’s little brother, Jerry, who was going to BYU at the time, had his own car break down and needed a loaner. I arranged for him to use Digger’s ’49 Ford. After that, the car got nicknamed “Jerry.” I don’t remember what happened to the car The following is about Digger and the way he conducted his affairs while doing his job at BYU. It involves the car we called “Jerry.”

When Digger worked for BYU, he was always tearing buildings down, preparing sites for new construction, and general remodel on BYU facilities. It was his custom to carry a can of Blue spray paint in his truck in case he found anything that he wanted for himself. When coming on an object too big for him to move himself, he would get out and spray “Digger” on it in his handwriting in large cursive letters. Every one on the jobs then knew whose it was. Old swamp coolers, fans, pipe, furniture, toilets and other fixtures, 50 gallon drums, tanks, steel, plywood, other kinds of wood, it didn’t matter.

He saw most of this “stuff” as goods he could trade for something he really needed. In 1964 he had an old faded 1949 or1950 Ford. He made a deal with the guys in the BYU paint shop to trade him a new paint job for a toilet one of them needed in remodeling his house. The deal was, the color didn’t matter, just use whatever paint they had extra.

After about two weeks, they called him one night and told him they would finish it that night and it would be dry and ready for him the following morning.

Digger always left for work early in the morning. This was a Saturday and he got me up (We were visiting for the wekend) to go with him so that I could drive his truck back home and he would bring the car. We got there around 6:00 am – summertime so it was light. The garage to the paint shop was locked and no one was there yet but Digger wanted to see what the car looked like.

Digger couldn’t wait. He got a hammer out of his truck and started banging on the lock, but it would not break. Finally, he used the claw on the hammer to pry the door open just enough to put one eye up to the door and look in. As soon as he looked, he exclaimed “sons-a-bitches”, and stomped off to the truck.

I immediately ran up to the door and put my eye up to look in. The lights were still on inside curing the paint so I could plainly see what had been done. The painters had painted Digger’s Ford a most interesting dirt brown color – but that wasn’t what he had reacted to. Starting at the front grill and continuing uninterrupted up over the hood, top and trunk - except for the windshields, they had painted two “Digger Blue” racing stripes about 3” wide the length of the car.

We left the car and went back home. He never said anything. On Monday he went to work with a toilet in the back of his pick-up, traded it for his new paint job, told them how great it looked and drove it for many more years. When he came on campus, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind whose car it was.