Nov 26, 2011
Writing for a New Year
Check out the latest post on my professional blog about writing, this year, and the plan for next year, as well as links to a few great contest where some of you should definitely submit your stuff.
Nov 15, 2011
Four Hard Men, Four Different Ways: Orrin Porter Rockwell
I'm going to make this entry all about Rockwell's character and his relationship with the indians. There is so much going around on the internet about Rockwell, not to mention the hundred or so novels that have been written about or mention him. Porter Rockwell is a legend just about as big among the LDS people as Butch Cassidy, and therefore, there's a lot of heresay going around out there.
Rockwell is described as soft-spoken, with piercing eyes. He didn't say a whole lot... he was quiet, but lightning-quick and deadly accurate with his bullets. An unnerving picture, which may or may not be colored by the wishful thinking of those who like the idea of the sort of vigilanteism that Rockwell tends to represent in LDS and western accounts. To quote Fitz Hugh Ludlow, "In his build he was a gladiator; in his humor a Yankee lumberman; in his memory a Bourbon; in his vengeance an Indian. A strange mixture, only to be found on the American continent."
Rockwell joined the lDS faith on April 6, 1830 in Fayetteville New York. Just for perspective, that is the same day that the church was officially established. Rockwell was among the first members, and among the first married as a church member (to the first of his 3 wives.)
Rockwell has been described as a man of "contrasts." Generous to a fault. Deadly with a weapon, and he didn't falter when he felt someone needed to be dealt with. A direct quote: "[I}never shot at anybody, if I shoot they get shot!... He's still alive, ain't he?"
This was in conjunction with the charge made that he attempted to assassinate Missouri Governor Lilburn Boggs, but missed, hitting him in the leg instead. The Jury failed to convict him in part because of this testimony.After he was released, Rockwell (emaciated, filthy, with his hair grown long after eight months in prison) showed up at Joseph Smith's christmas party at Nauvoo house. He made quite an entrance. And that was when Joseph Smith made the legendary prophecy about his hair: "I prophesy, in the name of the Lord, that you — Orrin Porter Rockwell — so long as ye shall remain loyal and true to thy faith, need fear no enemy. Cut not thy hair and no bullet or blade can harm thee."
Porter Rockwell became a bodyguard for Joseph Smith and the next two presidents of the LDS faith. IN 1834, he was one of the men caught up in the Danite phenomenon, which some accounts say continued long into the church's history, and others say was never authorised or condoned by church leaders, and was quickly extinguished, within a year of its formation. I will write more about that in another post. Suffice it to say, Rockwell's deeds, along with his association with people like William Hickman, give rise to a lot of speculation as to his role in the church and what leaders actually asked him to do.
It is unquestionable that Rockwell murdered several people. When charged with this, he would respond, "I never shot someone who didn't need shooting." He shot men in the course of what he saw as his duty to the prophet and the church, but he also shot people for personal reasons. One of his victims was his old friend, Lott Huntington, another name associated with the Danite legend and often the third to the duet of Hickman and Rockwell in rowdy, sometimes violent exploits.
Lott Huntington was accused of stealing a horse from the Bennion family. The son of the family, Sam, enlisted Rockwell's help in rounding up Lott. Lott holed up in Faust's mail station, Rockwell and his posse surrounded the station, and Lott did well for a while (apparently he was also a 'crack shot') until the horse bolted, leaving him vulnerable on the ground, and at that point, Rockwell "shot him dead."
This is an interesting story to me, because we're talking about two men who were longtime friends and associates. And yet, Rockwell did not hesitate in this instance... to him in that moment, Lott was a horse thief. Therefore he "deserved to be shot," and friendship didn't enter into it.
Rockwell is accused of all manner of violence, including shooting settlers, shooting indians, castrating people... a picture develops of a man who sees justice in black-and-white terms, and himself as a perpetuator of that justice, without need for jury, trial, or argument.
Which, when you think about it... could be seen as s rather frightening thing.
But then there's Rockwell's generosity, his soft side. He eventually cut his hair when Agnes Smith, widow of Don Carlos, the prophet's brother, lay suffering from typhoid fever. Her hair had fallen out due to the fever. So Rockwell gave up his long tresses that he had taken such care of for all those years, so that they could be made into a wig for her.
There are accounts of Rockwell sitting quietly while his grown-up daughters combed and braided his long hair. Rockwell spent a great deal of time, in the earlier years of the Utah settlement, with the Bean family. Eliza Bean also braided his hair on occasion.
George Washington Bean and Porter Rockwell were given the special assignment, in the years 1853-54, to keep track of Chief Walkara, a powerful ute leader who troubled the settlements from time-to-time, and at one time converted to the LDS faith. Bean was interpreter, but Rockwell also engaged in interpretation.
From here:
There did come a relatively tranquil couple of years in Salt Lake, during which Rockwell tended home fires by getting married that third time and working perhaps harder than he had at any of his other jobs to bring down the sparse timber from the steep, dry canyons of the Wasatch. But this quiet time was punctuated by his amiably getting drunk with Walkara of the Utes, and then having to wrestle a bloodied knife away from the war chief when peace talks spectacularly blew up at what was becoming popularly known as the "Walker" War.29
Another incident I thought interesting: when the LDS emigrants were about to move down into the salt lake valley for the firs time, a band of Crow indians stole fifty head of horses from the Church (ie Brigham Young's) herd. Rockwell singlehandedly retrieved 8 of the fifty, but the rest were lost.
Some famous advice purportedly given by Rockwell to Sir Richard F. Burton as he was embarking on an (apparently also now-famous) excursion through the desert: “Carry a double barreled gun loaded with buck-shot, to keep my eyes skinned especially in canyons and ravines, To make at times a dark camp, That is to say un-hitching for supper, and then hitching up and turning a few miles off the road. Ever to be ready for attack when the animals are being in-spanned and out-spanned, and never to trust to appearances in an Indian Country.”
Porter Rockwell was only semi-literate, and so we depend mostly on the journals of others to gain information about his life and actions. This is part of the reason why so much about Rockwell is heresay. But here is an entertaining account that I really hope is true (also from here):
"Camped at Scotts Bluff, a good day's march beyond Chimney Rock, the advanced party of pioneers fell to entertaining itself with the same sorts of mock trials in which we still like to roast our dignitaries. This court summoned the defendant, Rockwell, before one whose name sounds Dickensesque—the Right Reverend Bishop Whipple. The moment could have grown expectant—just before the elders of the wayfaring Church convulsed into giggles as their bailiff did his theatrical best to swell himself—the better to deliver the complaint:
I believe Porter Rockwell was a man of contrasts, who saw the world as black-and-white--in fact, he had such a concrete idea of morality that, after he cut his hair for the Widow Smith, he "found himself unable" to say no to a drink, and his life, once, to him, so clearly "consecrated" to the defending of the prophets and the church, slowly devolved into dissonance and rowdiness. His attitude toward the Indians was the same attitude he had toward everyone: there were people who needed shooting. There were people who needed, and what you do when people need something, is give it to them, whether that was a bullet, or money or food, or the hair off your head.
Rockwell is described as soft-spoken, with piercing eyes. He didn't say a whole lot... he was quiet, but lightning-quick and deadly accurate with his bullets. An unnerving picture, which may or may not be colored by the wishful thinking of those who like the idea of the sort of vigilanteism that Rockwell tends to represent in LDS and western accounts. To quote Fitz Hugh Ludlow, "In his build he was a gladiator; in his humor a Yankee lumberman; in his memory a Bourbon; in his vengeance an Indian. A strange mixture, only to be found on the American continent."
Rockwell joined the lDS faith on April 6, 1830 in Fayetteville New York. Just for perspective, that is the same day that the church was officially established. Rockwell was among the first members, and among the first married as a church member (to the first of his 3 wives.)
Rockwell has been described as a man of "contrasts." Generous to a fault. Deadly with a weapon, and he didn't falter when he felt someone needed to be dealt with. A direct quote: "[I}never shot at anybody, if I shoot they get shot!... He's still alive, ain't he?"
This was in conjunction with the charge made that he attempted to assassinate Missouri Governor Lilburn Boggs, but missed, hitting him in the leg instead. The Jury failed to convict him in part because of this testimony.After he was released, Rockwell (emaciated, filthy, with his hair grown long after eight months in prison) showed up at Joseph Smith's christmas party at Nauvoo house. He made quite an entrance. And that was when Joseph Smith made the legendary prophecy about his hair: "I prophesy, in the name of the Lord, that you — Orrin Porter Rockwell — so long as ye shall remain loyal and true to thy faith, need fear no enemy. Cut not thy hair and no bullet or blade can harm thee."
Porter Rockwell became a bodyguard for Joseph Smith and the next two presidents of the LDS faith. IN 1834, he was one of the men caught up in the Danite phenomenon, which some accounts say continued long into the church's history, and others say was never authorised or condoned by church leaders, and was quickly extinguished, within a year of its formation. I will write more about that in another post. Suffice it to say, Rockwell's deeds, along with his association with people like William Hickman, give rise to a lot of speculation as to his role in the church and what leaders actually asked him to do.
It is unquestionable that Rockwell murdered several people. When charged with this, he would respond, "I never shot someone who didn't need shooting." He shot men in the course of what he saw as his duty to the prophet and the church, but he also shot people for personal reasons. One of his victims was his old friend, Lott Huntington, another name associated with the Danite legend and often the third to the duet of Hickman and Rockwell in rowdy, sometimes violent exploits.
Lott Huntington was accused of stealing a horse from the Bennion family. The son of the family, Sam, enlisted Rockwell's help in rounding up Lott. Lott holed up in Faust's mail station, Rockwell and his posse surrounded the station, and Lott did well for a while (apparently he was also a 'crack shot') until the horse bolted, leaving him vulnerable on the ground, and at that point, Rockwell "shot him dead."
This is an interesting story to me, because we're talking about two men who were longtime friends and associates. And yet, Rockwell did not hesitate in this instance... to him in that moment, Lott was a horse thief. Therefore he "deserved to be shot," and friendship didn't enter into it.
Rockwell is accused of all manner of violence, including shooting settlers, shooting indians, castrating people... a picture develops of a man who sees justice in black-and-white terms, and himself as a perpetuator of that justice, without need for jury, trial, or argument.
Which, when you think about it... could be seen as s rather frightening thing.
But then there's Rockwell's generosity, his soft side. He eventually cut his hair when Agnes Smith, widow of Don Carlos, the prophet's brother, lay suffering from typhoid fever. Her hair had fallen out due to the fever. So Rockwell gave up his long tresses that he had taken such care of for all those years, so that they could be made into a wig for her.
There are accounts of Rockwell sitting quietly while his grown-up daughters combed and braided his long hair. Rockwell spent a great deal of time, in the earlier years of the Utah settlement, with the Bean family. Eliza Bean also braided his hair on occasion.
George Washington Bean and Porter Rockwell were given the special assignment, in the years 1853-54, to keep track of Chief Walkara, a powerful ute leader who troubled the settlements from time-to-time, and at one time converted to the LDS faith. Bean was interpreter, but Rockwell also engaged in interpretation.
From here:
There did come a relatively tranquil couple of years in Salt Lake, during which Rockwell tended home fires by getting married that third time and working perhaps harder than he had at any of his other jobs to bring down the sparse timber from the steep, dry canyons of the Wasatch. But this quiet time was punctuated by his amiably getting drunk with Walkara of the Utes, and then having to wrestle a bloodied knife away from the war chief when peace talks spectacularly blew up at what was becoming popularly known as the "Walker" War.29
Another incident I thought interesting: when the LDS emigrants were about to move down into the salt lake valley for the firs time, a band of Crow indians stole fifty head of horses from the Church (ie Brigham Young's) herd. Rockwell singlehandedly retrieved 8 of the fifty, but the rest were lost.
Some famous advice purportedly given by Rockwell to Sir Richard F. Burton as he was embarking on an (apparently also now-famous) excursion through the desert: “Carry a double barreled gun loaded with buck-shot, to keep my eyes skinned especially in canyons and ravines, To make at times a dark camp, That is to say un-hitching for supper, and then hitching up and turning a few miles off the road. Ever to be ready for attack when the animals are being in-spanned and out-spanned, and never to trust to appearances in an Indian Country.”
Porter Rockwell was only semi-literate, and so we depend mostly on the journals of others to gain information about his life and actions. This is part of the reason why so much about Rockwell is heresay. But here is an entertaining account that I really hope is true (also from here):
"Camped at Scotts Bluff, a good day's march beyond Chimney Rock, the advanced party of pioneers fell to entertaining itself with the same sorts of mock trials in which we still like to roast our dignitaries. This court summoned the defendant, Rockwell, before one whose name sounds Dickensesque—the Right Reverend Bishop Whipple. The moment could have grown expectant—just before the elders of the wayfaring Church convulsed into giggles as their bailiff did his theatrical best to swell himself—the better to deliver the complaint:
That of emitting in meeting of Sunday last, a sound a posteriori, (from the seat of honor) somewhat resembling the rumble of distant thunder, of the heavy discharge of artillery, thereby endangering the steadiness of the olfactory nerves of those present, as well as diverting their minds from the discourse of the speaker.37"
I believe Porter Rockwell was a man of contrasts, who saw the world as black-and-white--in fact, he had such a concrete idea of morality that, after he cut his hair for the Widow Smith, he "found himself unable" to say no to a drink, and his life, once, to him, so clearly "consecrated" to the defending of the prophets and the church, slowly devolved into dissonance and rowdiness. His attitude toward the Indians was the same attitude he had toward everyone: there were people who needed shooting. There were people who needed, and what you do when people need something, is give it to them, whether that was a bullet, or money or food, or the hair off your head.
Nov 3, 2011
Things we say: Boobs and Alcohol
(setting: squirt has developed a ritual of a nightly personal prayer with mom to fend off nightmares. Generally he's got this prayer down pat, but tonight he's a bit tired and more than a little sugar-high).
Squirt: *Clears throat, squints at NSG, and flings his upper body onto his mattress* Dearhevnyfather, thankyoufor thisday, thankyoufor... hmmm... this food, blessit'llbe good forusn help strengthen our bodies...
NSG: (trying to help out a little, whispers) please bless us...
Squirt: Please bless us...
NSG: To not...
Squirt: To not....
NSG: (silence)
Squirt: Drink alcohol. Or wine, or coffee.
NSG: (making a second attempt, whispers) Please help us not to have....
Squirt: Colds from this chocolate, and help us to strengthen our bodies... (springs upright) Mom, this is a different prayer. We need to start over again.
(Setting... the Nosurf fam has just filed out of the ultrasound room wherein they discovered the gender of their unborn child/sibling. They are now waiting in a tiny office room, children seated against every wall, waiting for the Dr. visit followup).
Skywalker: (eyeing the kids sitting at his feet, who are prodding and poking each other)Do we really need to be in here?
NSG: It's just a really short visit. I just want you here because they said Dr. _____ would be seeing me. He's the one who convinced me to come to this practice, and likely will be delivering the baby. I think you should probably meet him at least once.
Skywalker: OK.
(several minutes pass... kids switch walls, begin playing on the turny-chair, have to be asked not to spit on each other several times)
Skywalker: Are you sure we have to be here? There's spongebob on in the waiting room.
NSG: You don't like spongebob.
Skywalker: No, but it's better than this (gesturing to the now-somewhat chaotic mess on the floor... the kids found the magazines.)
NSG: I know. I know. He'll just be a minute. I just want you to meet him. He's a little wierd...
Skywalker: A little wierd? How?
NSG: I don't know. He's just kind of a strange person. I think he might have ADD... he talks a lot.
Skywalker: (makes a face.)
NSG: But he's competent and respectful. That's the important part. You'll probably like him.
Skywalker: Does it really matter if I like him or not?
NSG: He'll be delivering our baby.
Skywalker: (Shrugs) OK.
Several minutes pass... the magazines are abandoned in favor of loudness and dancing and lots of bumping into expensive eqipment).
Skywalker: Squirt, don't touch that. (Removes Squirt from the vicinity of the table, where he has been experimenting with the metal stirrups and gazing-lamp) Nosurf, do you really think we have to...
NSG: He's touched my boobs.
(utter silence for several seconds, Loli and Bella stare at NSG with horrified expressions)
Skywalker: (half-sputtering, half-laughing) don't they all do that?
NSG: Yeah. And you met the others. So now you need to meet this one, too.
Skywalker: (rolls eyes, wrests inside-out-rubber glove from toddler's grip and tosses it back in trash can) This seems a bit silly.
NSG: Yeah, well. I don't expect you to understand.
Squirt: *Clears throat, squints at NSG, and flings his upper body onto his mattress* Dearhevnyfather, thankyoufor thisday, thankyoufor... hmmm... this food, blessit'llbe good forusn help strengthen our bodies...
NSG: (trying to help out a little, whispers) please bless us...
Squirt: Please bless us...
NSG: To not...
Squirt: To not....
NSG: (silence)
Squirt: Drink alcohol. Or wine, or coffee.
NSG: (making a second attempt, whispers) Please help us not to have....
Squirt: Colds from this chocolate, and help us to strengthen our bodies... (springs upright) Mom, this is a different prayer. We need to start over again.
(Setting... the Nosurf fam has just filed out of the ultrasound room wherein they discovered the gender of their unborn child/sibling. They are now waiting in a tiny office room, children seated against every wall, waiting for the Dr. visit followup).
Skywalker: (eyeing the kids sitting at his feet, who are prodding and poking each other)Do we really need to be in here?
NSG: It's just a really short visit. I just want you here because they said Dr. _____ would be seeing me. He's the one who convinced me to come to this practice, and likely will be delivering the baby. I think you should probably meet him at least once.
Skywalker: OK.
(several minutes pass... kids switch walls, begin playing on the turny-chair, have to be asked not to spit on each other several times)
Skywalker: Are you sure we have to be here? There's spongebob on in the waiting room.
NSG: You don't like spongebob.
Skywalker: No, but it's better than this (gesturing to the now-somewhat chaotic mess on the floor... the kids found the magazines.)
NSG: I know. I know. He'll just be a minute. I just want you to meet him. He's a little wierd...
Skywalker: A little wierd? How?
NSG: I don't know. He's just kind of a strange person. I think he might have ADD... he talks a lot.
Skywalker: (makes a face.)
NSG: But he's competent and respectful. That's the important part. You'll probably like him.
Skywalker: Does it really matter if I like him or not?
NSG: He'll be delivering our baby.
Skywalker: (Shrugs) OK.
Several minutes pass... the magazines are abandoned in favor of loudness and dancing and lots of bumping into expensive eqipment).
Skywalker: Squirt, don't touch that. (Removes Squirt from the vicinity of the table, where he has been experimenting with the metal stirrups and gazing-lamp) Nosurf, do you really think we have to...
NSG: He's touched my boobs.
(utter silence for several seconds, Loli and Bella stare at NSG with horrified expressions)
Skywalker: (half-sputtering, half-laughing) don't they all do that?
NSG: Yeah. And you met the others. So now you need to meet this one, too.
Skywalker: (rolls eyes, wrests inside-out-rubber glove from toddler's grip and tosses it back in trash can) This seems a bit silly.
NSG: Yeah, well. I don't expect you to understand.
Nov 1, 2011
Four Hard Men, Four Different Ways: William Hickman
The short answer?
Who knows.
He lived more than a hundred years ago. In piecing and parcing accounts done by Mormon scholars such as Hugh Nibley, accounts from individual family histories by his descendents, his own well-known publication, and the mentions he gets in the biographies of other famous or well-documented people who knew him, I see two possibilities (and a whole range of gradations in between):
1) William Hickman was a fierce defender of the faith who had a weakness for horseflesh that eventually lead to his downfall and excommunication. His book,
2) William (Wild Bill) Hickman was a fierce warrior for the church leadership who murdered, stole, lied, and mistreated his family in the name of the church. He is the personification of the dark, shadowy doings of the church and when he was found out, the church denied and betrayed him. His book is a true account of all that occurred and shows that the LDS faith was lead by unscrupulous people willing to commit all manner of atrocities in the name of God for their own selfish purposes.
Here, I will examine these two hypothesis as best I can. All who read this must consider the reality, though: hardly ever is life so black and white. Generally, things fall in-between. More on that in a sec.
Hickman was famous not only for his book, but for being the one who first brought news to Brigham Young of the Federal Troops about to cross into Utah Territory. Young didn’t believe him at first; in fact one account states that Young laughed at Hickman (which might say something about how little Brigham Young actually did trust him, maybe?) Maybe.
Anyway, when Porter Rockwell brought further news, however, Brigham realized that there was about to be trouble, and he made that famous announcement for everyone in Salt Lake to leave their homes ready to be burnt.
Hickman was among those who attacked the solders’ supply wagons and stole their animals, keeping them on the other side of the mountain for a key amount of time so that Brigham Young and the people of Salt Lake would have time to mobilize and move south. At the time, he is said to have “executed” a man named Richard Yates, which he later claimed he did at the order of Brigham Young. If you look at online articles and even in books, you’ll find account after account that seems to hint that Hickman was told to “execute” Yates. But here, from the diary of Daniel W. Jones, is something that could shed a bit more light on the situation.
From Forty Years among the Indians, by Daniel Webster Jones:
"There is one circumstance connected with my experience while in Echo Canyon service which I wish to put on record--the killing of Yates by Bill Hickman. This Mr. Yates was a personal friend of mine, a kind-hearted, liberal man of whom I had received many kind-[130]nesses, and his being murdered did not agree with my feelings, but I knew of no way to mend the matter, for I knew nothing of the killing till he was buried.
I was camped with a small party about four miles west of the Weber valley and ten or twelve miles from Echo. One very cold morning about sunrise, Hickman and two others came to my camp. They seemed almost frozen, shaking and trembling in an unusual manner. Hickman asked me if I had any whisky. I told them I had not. He then asked if we had coffee. I replied that we had. "Then make us a good strong cup." While the coffee was being made, he took me outside and asked me if I knew Yates. I told him I did. "Well, we have just buried him."
He then told about Yates being taken prisoner for tampering with Indians. And after talking quite excitedly, he said, "We have got away with him. What do you think the Old Boss," (meaning Brigham) "will say?"
Now if Yates had been killed as Hickman related in his book he would not have manifested so much interest in what President Young would say. He tried hard to draw an approval from me of what he had done. I told him I knew nothing about such modes and did not know what Brother Young would say about it.
Hickman killed Yates for his money and horse the same as any other thief and murderer would have done, and then excused himself by telling that he was counseled to do these things. I know positively that Governor Young's orders were to avoid bloodshed in every way possible. I was continually acting and around in places and under circumstances that gave me the best of opportunities to know."
In dealing with the Indians, Hickman was quick to act “in defense of the saints.” Again, from this account: William and his families stayed on the plains until 1849. During this time, he apparently scalped an Indian that made a threat against Brigham Young’s life. William Hickman was operating as a body guard at this time, but later in his life after a serious break in his relationship with the prophet, he wrote, “This was my first act of violence under the rule of Brigham Young.”
Also: "[they] made the trek to Utah in a small company of people that included Bill, his first wife Bernetta, their four children, Udney Hay Jacob, and Mary Jane Shadner. It was noted that Bill killed Indians along their way.
The following years proved to be ones in which he would get his western desperado nickname of “Wild Bill Hickman.” He was involved in quieting Indian trouble that arose in Utah County in 1850."
I have already related the incident of Old Elk. And if you read Hickman’s account of the Provo River or Fort Utah War in his book, you could feel a bit sick at the language he uses… he says things about eating the dead, for instance. But remember that this account is suspect. We don’t know how much is true, and how much can even be attributed to Hickman at all.
Another statement about Hickman as emissary to the Indians:
October 20. 1856. (Taken from THE MORMON, published in Salt Lake City: The editor said in reply to "Correspondent" from Norwalk, Conn, "The 'notorious Bill Hickman', as the correspondent calls him, is a United States Deputy Marshal for Utah, a man that none can fool with, and this the rowdies that come to Salt Lake will soon find out. I know he is a terror to them, for he will not be imposed upon by them, neither suffer his friends to be imposed upon. In regards to his being 'sent to the Indians with goods' what of it, Gov. Young is Supt. of Indian Affairs, and I expect had a perfect right to send whom he pleased. Hickman being well acquainted with the Indians and their Chief, and understanding their language, was certainly a fit person to send".
The question is, how did Hickman see the Indians? One would assume, because of the “Old Elk” deed, the documented killings, and his son’s own account (given below), that he did not see them as human. That words “savage” and “enemy” were used in his household to describe the natives of Utah Valley. But we also have to factor in something a little baffling: Hickman’s tenth wife? A Cherokee woman. They never had children together, but he married her legally. That suggests that he saw Indians as human beings, perhaps. Or it could suggest he saw women as objects and didn’t want to “sin,” therefore he used the principle of plural marriage to satisfy a lust. I don’t know that I see him that way, however. Because accounts also paint Hickman as a loving father. After his excommunication, all his marriages were dissolved except the first. The women decided to do their best to strike out on their own, and Hickman divided his estate among them so that they would have some support. But his children, particularly his sons, followed after him, prospected with him, farmed with him and kept up contact with him. Here is one, very loyal, account of Hickman by one of his sons.
From This: A SON'S TRIBUTE
Wm. A. Hickman was elected by the people to be a member of the first legislature of Utah, which met at Fillmore. I have been told by Church members that he was called by Brigham Young to go to Fort Bridger, Green River, and he performed a great mission while there. He had his ferry so the saints could cross and come on to Utah. I have always been led to believe that my father, William A. Hickman was to Utah what Daniel Boone was to Kentucky; a great Indian fighter in early days and a dealer in fine horses. My mother has often told me how in early days he protected and guarded Brigham Young laid, his hands on his head and blessed him, that he might be able to protect the Saints from Wild savage Indians and outlaws.
J.H. Beadle, who wrote my fathers history, had only one object in view, and that was to slander the Mormons. He admits that he changed the original manuscript in some respects, and I may say many. His corroborative evidences, as he calls them, in the appendix, proves that. He never spoke of Brigham as being governor and executive officer who wanted law and order or that the Mormons had been driven from their homes and had endured great suffering. My oldest sister, Katherine, was the manuscript and she said it was changed to a novel form, much to her and to my father's sorrow. Father told his brother, Dr. G.W. Hickman, that there are many things in that book Beadle had written unauthorized and that were entirely untrue. Beadle got his data, then went East and wrote the book and published it without my father ever seeing the manuscript. Beadle might in justice have said that Utah, like all other states in her early days, had outlawry and Indian troubles, and that Hickman, as an officer, tried to protect the people from such conditions.
The last time I saw my father was at Murray, Utah. We were camped there Bishop Hunter came along. I heard him say to may father that he had been misrepresented and greatly wronged. My father replied, "Let it go, things will be made right some day." I knew him to be a kind and loving father. People seemed to like him wherever he went. All his family speak well of him in the kindest affectionate way, and tell of his charitable deeds, not only at home but abroad."
Perhaps the history of William Hickman is a great example of how history can sometimes fail us. We can gather bits and pieces, and get an idea of things that might have occurred. But anything that stirs up this much controversy makes everything in its wake murky, possibly slanted, and very difficult to trust, on either side.
Above, I provided the two conventional hypothesis found in the literature, generally, surrounding William Hickman. But I have formed an alternative hypothesis (just something I came up with after reading a lot of mind-boggling articles that I will refer you to if you wish).
If Hickman was a murderer (and by every account, he was) it likely had everything to do with a weakness he had. That weakness was horses. Here are a couple telling accounts:
From here:
“Bill was fanatical about horses and his obsession with them led others to accuse him of stealing. After one such accusation by a member of the Church, a formal trial was not instituted but he told Bill that he would never take a brother to trial for stealing from the Gentiles, but when it came to stealing from a brother, he had a problem with it. He ended by telling Bill to “go and steal no more.”
Once, an army officer’s horse was stolen and he announced that he would give the horse to whoever recovered it. Bill heard of the reward and sent word to the officer that he knew a band of horse thieves that had the mare in their possession. Bill offered to recover her for a fee. The officer asked him to proceed. Bill returned claiming that he recovered the horse at great risk of his life and expenses. The officer offered to pay for the expenses incurred, and Bill handed him a complicated list of expenses that amounted to more than the horse was worth. The officer declined to pay it and let Bill remain in possession of what he claimed was “the fastest horse in Utah.” The officer’s suspicions that Bill was the original thief may have very well been correct.”
“At one point, his horse was stolen, and he retaliated by killing the men.”
From here:
A gunfight on Christmas Day 1859 in downtown Salt Lake City nearly ended Hickman's life. He was shot in the hip by his long-time friend and protégé, Lott Huntington in an argument over stolen horses. The effects of this wound plagued Hickman throughout the last 22 years of his life and caused him to walk with "a shuffling gait."
A few accounts state that Hickman fell out of favor with the church after the mid 1850's. Nobody has a definitive reason why, other than that he "stopped living by gospel principles." The only faint hint I've found is that his weakness for horses and his habit of murders. After he was retired from his post as lawman he killed another man. For this, he was excommunicated from the church and prosecuted by the Utah government, and the church did not back him up as before. It was at this point that Hickman turned on the men he, by his own accounts, had loved and trusted and served before. That is when he was persuaded to write his book.
Of all that I have read of Hickman, this, to me, strikes home the most (from here):
"Missouri was not yet a state and Indians and wild animals were part of daily life on the western frontier. Bill grew up thriving in the freedom of the frontier and enjoyed playing outdoor sports and hunting. Being the oldest son, Bill farmed with his father Edwin, who said of him, “He was full of mischief, such as tricks for fun making. He was the best and the worst boy I ever raised.” Guns and fists settled most arguments, which influenced Bill throughout most of his life. He was born a Missouri Wildcat.
The best and worst boy. The best and worst man. He performed heroic deeds, was always generous and ready to help someone out. And, I think we can say there was also another side of him: vengeful, angry, and selfish… and above all, treating lightly the value of another’s life in the face of his own needs and desires. It is possible that as his life spun out of control with murders and thefts, he lost purchase on the things that he previously valued, and saw very few people outside himself as human--brown, black, or white.
At any rate, there are certainly more than a couple lessons we can ingest from the life (and wildly conflicting accounts of the life) of William A. Hickman. One more interesting factoid: The man who baptised Hickman? John D. Lee, who was eventually excomunnicated and executed for killings in the Mountain Meadows Massacre, which is an important piece of backstory for my novel.
Oct 31, 2011
Things We Say: knuckle sandwich
(setting--kids are tidying their rooms because friends are coming over later. Breakfast is being ladeled into bowls.)
MayMay: Mom, can we have breakfast right now? We're almost done cleaning.
NSG: What's left?
MayMay: We just have to sweep.
NSG: sweep? I never said they had to sweep. When was the last time they ever swept? Well, better not to look a gift horse in the mouth... Just maybe hurry and sweep, then you'll be done!
MayMay: *nods solemnly, grabs broom and dustpan*
Jaws: Can I do that part? (pointing at the dustpan)
MayMay: No, you should sweep. I swept last time, and the time before. *considers as they head up the stairs* well, maybe we can take turns sweeping.
NSG: (tempted to pinch herself to make sure she's in the right universe they've been sweeping? Did I just not ever notice?)
(setting: NSG has sorted laundry into various baskets so the kids can put it away in their closets)
Squirt: Mom, I'll put my clothes away. Can I have a penny?
NSG: No, you only get pennies for extra jobs. This is a normal job.
Squirt: OK. *pushes the laundry basket across the floor to his room*
Squirt: *returning several minutes later* OK mom. I want an extra job.
NSG: You put your clean clothes away?
Squirt: Yup.
NSG: You didn't just throw them on the floor?
Squirt: Nope.
NSG: (walks into squirts room and stares for a moment with amazement at clean floor, opens drawers to find them filled with clean clothes) good job, Squirt!
Squirt: Can I have an extra job now?
NSG: Um. OK. Take the towels and put them in the closet.
Squirt: *returning a moment later* OK. Now what?
NSG: take the washcloths and bring them down to the kitchen drawer.
Squirt: *returning a moment later* OK. Now what.
NSG: Um... take Hazel's clothes and put them in her drawer. (watches as squirt grabs armfuls of frilly pink baby clothes and stuffs them in the drawer, getting red-faced as he unsucsessfuly tries to close the drawer on heaping mound of clothes emerging from top. Goes to help him redistribute.)
Squirt: *looks up, bright-eyed with triumph* the stuff's all put away.
NSG: Yup.
Squirt: can I have a penny?
NSG: How about a nickel? That's like five pennies.
Squirt: (squints) OK. A nickel. But not a knuckle samwhich.
NSG: What?
Squirt: A nickel, not a knuckle samwich. That's bad. That's like this (makes fist, propels it through the air, intense frown on face). It's where you punch people.
NSG: OK. Here's a nickel. Not a knuckle sandwich. And here's a little jar to keep it on, on your shelf. Thank you for helping me put away the laundry.
Squirt: (not listening...already running toward room, jingling his nickle in the jar).
MayMay: Mom, can we have breakfast right now? We're almost done cleaning.
NSG: What's left?
MayMay: We just have to sweep.
NSG: sweep? I never said they had to sweep. When was the last time they ever swept? Well, better not to look a gift horse in the mouth... Just maybe hurry and sweep, then you'll be done!
MayMay: *nods solemnly, grabs broom and dustpan*
Jaws: Can I do that part? (pointing at the dustpan)
MayMay: No, you should sweep. I swept last time, and the time before. *considers as they head up the stairs* well, maybe we can take turns sweeping.
NSG: (tempted to pinch herself to make sure she's in the right universe they've been sweeping? Did I just not ever notice?)
(setting: NSG has sorted laundry into various baskets so the kids can put it away in their closets)
Squirt: Mom, I'll put my clothes away. Can I have a penny?
NSG: No, you only get pennies for extra jobs. This is a normal job.
Squirt: OK. *pushes the laundry basket across the floor to his room*
Squirt: *returning several minutes later* OK mom. I want an extra job.
NSG: You put your clean clothes away?
Squirt: Yup.
NSG: You didn't just throw them on the floor?
Squirt: Nope.
NSG: (walks into squirts room and stares for a moment with amazement at clean floor, opens drawers to find them filled with clean clothes) good job, Squirt!
Squirt: Can I have an extra job now?
NSG: Um. OK. Take the towels and put them in the closet.
Squirt: *returning a moment later* OK. Now what?
NSG: take the washcloths and bring them down to the kitchen drawer.
Squirt: *returning a moment later* OK. Now what.
NSG: Um... take Hazel's clothes and put them in her drawer. (watches as squirt grabs armfuls of frilly pink baby clothes and stuffs them in the drawer, getting red-faced as he unsucsessfuly tries to close the drawer on heaping mound of clothes emerging from top. Goes to help him redistribute.)
Squirt: *looks up, bright-eyed with triumph* the stuff's all put away.
NSG: Yup.
Squirt: can I have a penny?
NSG: How about a nickel? That's like five pennies.
Squirt: (squints) OK. A nickel. But not a knuckle samwhich.
NSG: What?
Squirt: A nickel, not a knuckle samwich. That's bad. That's like this (makes fist, propels it through the air, intense frown on face). It's where you punch people.
NSG: OK. Here's a nickel. Not a knuckle sandwich. And here's a little jar to keep it on, on your shelf. Thank you for helping me put away the laundry.
Squirt: (not listening...already running toward room, jingling his nickle in the jar).
Oct 25, 2011
Four Hard Men, Four Different Ways: Erastus Snow
Erastus Snow, the second of my "Hard Men," wasn't hard in the same sense that Daniel W. Jones was. He didn't ever lead a 'rough and rowdy' existence. In fact he was the picture of scholarly refinement. Like his sister Eliza, who is famous for her poems and colorful, romanticised accounts of church history, he had a way with words. And like Eliza's, his accounts have been edited by family members for clarity at times.
Erastus was closely associated with both Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. He was a leader of men and organizer of movements. A man who obeyed, and lead. A hard worker and cool-headed in an emergency, he was often put in charge of exacting tasks: opening the mission in Scandinavia, translating the Book of Mormon into Danish, founding colonies in three different, inhospitable places. He survived the Mormon persecutions--all the way from Kirtland to Nauvoo.
He was a well-written, articulate man. Made the best of things, tried not to complain. Deliberate, cool-headed, and analytical, he nevertheless believed deeply in Joseph Smith and Brigham Young as prophets of god. He was very spiritual, exercized his priesthood and paid attention to his family, large as it was.
Erastus loved his family. There were two wives and three children at the time of the crossing to the Salt Lake Valley; Minerva and Artimesia, and Erastus was 28 at the time. At the time of his death, he had at least 4 wives and 36 children.
He was interested in people. He connected especially with spirituality and spiritual experiences of those around him, but he was also interested in science. The Snows were, as those who study Mormon history know, a scholarly family. Eliza was a prolific reader and writer and was later dubbed the "poetess of zion," and Lorenzo, who would become the fifth presiden of the church, was described as "bookish," pursuing education even to the first year of college, which was very uncommon for someone of the farming class. And then there was Zerubabbel. In addition to scholarly pursuits, the family had a tradition of eccentric names, a tradition that runs common in the LDS faith and continues even today. (My new neighbor's first name is Daedree. Pronounced kind of like daydream. I try hard not to call her that by accident.) (And I think there is more than one "LaVerle" in my ward.)
Anyway, Erastus's fascination with humanity had a kind of anthropologic bent. He was very interested in people, and remembered details about everyone he met. And he was fascinated by the Indians. A few accounts from his writings:
"....As soon as they saw our flag they began to cross the river towards us. We took the precaution to stake down our horses and admitted at first only the chief to our camp, but afterward the whole of them. They had their squaws with them and camped about half a mile from us, and visited us again in the morning. They were all dressed in their richest costumes. Some had fur caps and cloth coats, and others had cloth pants and shirts, and the rest were neatly dressed in skins ornamented with beads, feathers, paint, etc., and they were by all odds the cleanest and best appearing Indians we have seen west of the Missouri river. Some of the brethren traded horses with them and bought some peltry, moccasins and other trinkets, and they crossed the river apparently in high glee, and we pursued our journey." From The Diary of Erastsus Snow, edited by his son, Moroni.
And another:
"This is the country of the Snake Indians, some of whom were at the fort. They bear a good reputation among the mountaineers for honesty and integrity. We traded some with the traders at the fort, and with the French and Indians that were camped near there, but we found that their skins and peltry were quite as high as they were in the states, though they allowed us liberal prices for the commodities we had to exchange." (Diary of Erastus Snow, linked above).
You see here that Snow's attitude toward the Indians was an observant, somewhat detached one... interested in how they were different. Perhaps a little condescending at times.
Another passage from his diary:
"During this week the Ute and Shoshone Indians visited our camp in small parties, almost daily, and traded some horses for guns and skins for clothing, etc. They seemed much pleased at our settling here. While here, one of the Utes stole a horse from the Shoshones and was pursued up the valley by the latter and killed, and his comrade and their horses and the victors returned to our camp with the stolen property.
The following Sunday, August 1st, a resolution was adopted in camp to trade no more with the Indians except at their own encampment, and hold out no inducements to their visiting our camp."
And,
"Sunday morning, October 2, while the camp was starting, a high-spirited Spanish mare which I had purchased of Mr. Racheau unhorsed her rider and at the top of her speed, which was like the flight of a hare, pursued an Indian hunting party that was at that time crossing the bottoms some miles distant towards the bluffs, and although I pursued upon my windiest horse I had a ride of about fifteen miles before I could catch her again. This unlucky circumstance threw me into the midst of what was to me quite a romantic scene—a regular Indian buffalo hunt. When the party arrived in the vicinity of some scattering herds they separated into parties of two and three and took their stations upon tops of buttes or eminences in the prairie in all directions for several miles, so that they could see the direction the herd was taking in the flight. Then two Indians started the herd and pursued in the rear while others were intercepting their retreat and, selecting the fattest cows, let fly their arrows (for they use no firearms in this chase) which seldom failed to do execution; and if the first was not sufficient, the second and third arrow quickly followed, and once wounded became the sole target for the Indian’s arrows until the victim fell. Turn which way they would the herd was sure to be attacked by a fresh party of horsemen who in turn would strew the ground with the slain. When the herd had thus run the gauntlet for some four or five miles and the chase was abandoned, the Indians could be seen in all directions dressing their game. I passed one who had been unhorsed and broken his arm in the chase and his squaw was splintering it up. An old Indian presented me with a couple of tongues which with them is the choicest part of the buffalo, and I returned to camp gratified by the scene I had witnessed and scarcely regretted the chase I had for my mare."
Erastus's account of his dealing with the Indians paints a sort of black-and-white picture. There were, to him, "good indians," childlike, willing to be peacable and taught, and "bad indians," who stirred up trouble, were "bloodthirsty," stole things. And often he excuses these "bad" indians, noting that likely they'd been fed lies about the Mormon settlers by preceding companies, or were being "stirred up" by someone against the church.
One more passage, I thought, was particularly revealing. This comes from an address Erastus Snow gave at a conference in Logan, six years before his death. The address was all about the Indians and how the Mormon settlers had influnced them.
"If the Spirit gives me liberty I will pursue the train of thought that has passed through my mind while Brother Richards has been speaking upon
the spirit that has gone abroad upon the remnants of the house of Israel who occupy this land, the American Indians whom we understand to be the descendants of the Nephites, the Lamanites, the Lemuelites and the Ishmaelites who formerly possessed this land, whose fathers we have an account of in the Book of Mormon....we have chastised them when it became necessary to do so, not in malice nor revenge, but as a father would chastise his wayward child, and then as soon as possible pour into their wounds the oil and the wine to heal them up again—those, I say, who are best acquainted with our labors in this direction will best appreciate the results."
And there is the clincher. Right there. Why did Erastus Snow see the Indians as people? They were descendents of the people in the Book of Mormon. His feeling, his "mission" among the Indians, had very much to do with this, and with the desire to help fulfill the prophecy Joseph Smith made at one time about the Lamanites "blossoming as a rose."
Nowadays, such an attitude would of course meet with resistance and be called prejudice. But you have to give Snow props for how his attitude diverged hugely from the attitude of the times. And for his own feelings... he really loved people. And to him, Indians were people...on the level of children, which could seen to be rather condescending, but you have to remember that he was a product of his time. He did see them people, not animals or savages as the majority of settlers and emigrants at the time seemed to believe.
As I read and looked for clues in these histories and accounts of what sort of man Erastus was, I was struck, over and over, by his complete acceptance of everything Joseph Smith or Brigham Young, or any other prophet, had to say. He loved the presidents of the church, and strove to emulate them. You might go so far as to say he adopted a great deal of their ideas, and even persona. In fact, here is an interesting phenomenon. Let me know if you see it... maybe it's just me...
Brigham Young
Erastus Snow
Brigham Young
Erastus Snow
I think Erastus saw himself as an extension of the Prophet, and of the church. There are a few references to him in histories as a "prophet" or "prophetic."
Because of who Erastus was--how spirituality was such a focus of his life, how he felt so devoted to the prophets and the LDS gospel, It is possible that Erastus Snow's views of the Indians could be said to echo, or even duplicate those of the church at the time.
Erastus was closely associated with both Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. He was a leader of men and organizer of movements. A man who obeyed, and lead. A hard worker and cool-headed in an emergency, he was often put in charge of exacting tasks: opening the mission in Scandinavia, translating the Book of Mormon into Danish, founding colonies in three different, inhospitable places. He survived the Mormon persecutions--all the way from Kirtland to Nauvoo.
He was a well-written, articulate man. Made the best of things, tried not to complain. Deliberate, cool-headed, and analytical, he nevertheless believed deeply in Joseph Smith and Brigham Young as prophets of god. He was very spiritual, exercized his priesthood and paid attention to his family, large as it was.
Erastus loved his family. There were two wives and three children at the time of the crossing to the Salt Lake Valley; Minerva and Artimesia, and Erastus was 28 at the time. At the time of his death, he had at least 4 wives and 36 children.
He was interested in people. He connected especially with spirituality and spiritual experiences of those around him, but he was also interested in science. The Snows were, as those who study Mormon history know, a scholarly family. Eliza was a prolific reader and writer and was later dubbed the "poetess of zion," and Lorenzo, who would become the fifth presiden of the church, was described as "bookish," pursuing education even to the first year of college, which was very uncommon for someone of the farming class. And then there was Zerubabbel. In addition to scholarly pursuits, the family had a tradition of eccentric names, a tradition that runs common in the LDS faith and continues even today. (My new neighbor's first name is Daedree. Pronounced kind of like daydream. I try hard not to call her that by accident.) (And I think there is more than one "LaVerle" in my ward.)
Anyway, Erastus's fascination with humanity had a kind of anthropologic bent. He was very interested in people, and remembered details about everyone he met. And he was fascinated by the Indians. A few accounts from his writings:
"....As soon as they saw our flag they began to cross the river towards us. We took the precaution to stake down our horses and admitted at first only the chief to our camp, but afterward the whole of them. They had their squaws with them and camped about half a mile from us, and visited us again in the morning. They were all dressed in their richest costumes. Some had fur caps and cloth coats, and others had cloth pants and shirts, and the rest were neatly dressed in skins ornamented with beads, feathers, paint, etc., and they were by all odds the cleanest and best appearing Indians we have seen west of the Missouri river. Some of the brethren traded horses with them and bought some peltry, moccasins and other trinkets, and they crossed the river apparently in high glee, and we pursued our journey." From The Diary of Erastsus Snow, edited by his son, Moroni.
And another:
"This is the country of the Snake Indians, some of whom were at the fort. They bear a good reputation among the mountaineers for honesty and integrity. We traded some with the traders at the fort, and with the French and Indians that were camped near there, but we found that their skins and peltry were quite as high as they were in the states, though they allowed us liberal prices for the commodities we had to exchange." (Diary of Erastus Snow, linked above).
You see here that Snow's attitude toward the Indians was an observant, somewhat detached one... interested in how they were different. Perhaps a little condescending at times.
Another passage from his diary:
"During this week the Ute and Shoshone Indians visited our camp in small parties, almost daily, and traded some horses for guns and skins for clothing, etc. They seemed much pleased at our settling here. While here, one of the Utes stole a horse from the Shoshones and was pursued up the valley by the latter and killed, and his comrade and their horses and the victors returned to our camp with the stolen property.
The following Sunday, August 1st, a resolution was adopted in camp to trade no more with the Indians except at their own encampment, and hold out no inducements to their visiting our camp."
And,
"Sunday morning, October 2, while the camp was starting, a high-spirited Spanish mare which I had purchased of Mr. Racheau unhorsed her rider and at the top of her speed, which was like the flight of a hare, pursued an Indian hunting party that was at that time crossing the bottoms some miles distant towards the bluffs, and although I pursued upon my windiest horse I had a ride of about fifteen miles before I could catch her again. This unlucky circumstance threw me into the midst of what was to me quite a romantic scene—a regular Indian buffalo hunt. When the party arrived in the vicinity of some scattering herds they separated into parties of two and three and took their stations upon tops of buttes or eminences in the prairie in all directions for several miles, so that they could see the direction the herd was taking in the flight. Then two Indians started the herd and pursued in the rear while others were intercepting their retreat and, selecting the fattest cows, let fly their arrows (for they use no firearms in this chase) which seldom failed to do execution; and if the first was not sufficient, the second and third arrow quickly followed, and once wounded became the sole target for the Indian’s arrows until the victim fell. Turn which way they would the herd was sure to be attacked by a fresh party of horsemen who in turn would strew the ground with the slain. When the herd had thus run the gauntlet for some four or five miles and the chase was abandoned, the Indians could be seen in all directions dressing their game. I passed one who had been unhorsed and broken his arm in the chase and his squaw was splintering it up. An old Indian presented me with a couple of tongues which with them is the choicest part of the buffalo, and I returned to camp gratified by the scene I had witnessed and scarcely regretted the chase I had for my mare."
Erastus's account of his dealing with the Indians paints a sort of black-and-white picture. There were, to him, "good indians," childlike, willing to be peacable and taught, and "bad indians," who stirred up trouble, were "bloodthirsty," stole things. And often he excuses these "bad" indians, noting that likely they'd been fed lies about the Mormon settlers by preceding companies, or were being "stirred up" by someone against the church.
One more passage, I thought, was particularly revealing. This comes from an address Erastus Snow gave at a conference in Logan, six years before his death. The address was all about the Indians and how the Mormon settlers had influnced them.
"If the Spirit gives me liberty I will pursue the train of thought that has passed through my mind while Brother Richards has been speaking upon
the spirit that has gone abroad upon the remnants of the house of Israel who occupy this land, the American Indians whom we understand to be the descendants of the Nephites, the Lamanites, the Lemuelites and the Ishmaelites who formerly possessed this land, whose fathers we have an account of in the Book of Mormon....we have chastised them when it became necessary to do so, not in malice nor revenge, but as a father would chastise his wayward child, and then as soon as possible pour into their wounds the oil and the wine to heal them up again—those, I say, who are best acquainted with our labors in this direction will best appreciate the results."
And there is the clincher. Right there. Why did Erastus Snow see the Indians as people? They were descendents of the people in the Book of Mormon. His feeling, his "mission" among the Indians, had very much to do with this, and with the desire to help fulfill the prophecy Joseph Smith made at one time about the Lamanites "blossoming as a rose."
Nowadays, such an attitude would of course meet with resistance and be called prejudice. But you have to give Snow props for how his attitude diverged hugely from the attitude of the times. And for his own feelings... he really loved people. And to him, Indians were people...on the level of children, which could seen to be rather condescending, but you have to remember that he was a product of his time. He did see them people, not animals or savages as the majority of settlers and emigrants at the time seemed to believe.
As I read and looked for clues in these histories and accounts of what sort of man Erastus was, I was struck, over and over, by his complete acceptance of everything Joseph Smith or Brigham Young, or any other prophet, had to say. He loved the presidents of the church, and strove to emulate them. You might go so far as to say he adopted a great deal of their ideas, and even persona. In fact, here is an interesting phenomenon. Let me know if you see it... maybe it's just me...
Brigham Young
Erastus Snow
I think Erastus saw himself as an extension of the Prophet, and of the church. There are a few references to him in histories as a "prophet" or "prophetic."
Because of who Erastus was--how spirituality was such a focus of his life, how he felt so devoted to the prophets and the LDS gospel, It is possible that Erastus Snow's views of the Indians could be said to echo, or even duplicate those of the church at the time.
Oct 19, 2011
motherly heartache
I haven't officially told this to the world yet: The Nosurf family will be welcoming its seventh child into the world on or around March 3, 2012.
OK, so, now that's out of the way...
I've been weaning baby Rose.
Baby Rose hasn't gotten a whole lot of publicity on here. MOstly because I took a big break when we moved, and she's only been around for 18 months. But she is very intelligent, flower-faced, large-blue-eyed, and has the ability to make great stern/and or bright smiley faces. She experiments sometimes, sitting in my lap and gazing at me sternly for a moment, then breaking into a smile that would take anyone's breath away and flinging herself against my torso, patting my back.
She also says stuff now.
Her newest language acquisition is the word "Why."
I'll say no more snack,she'll look at me, wide eyed...
Baby Rose: Why?
NSG: Because you just had six crackers, half a peanut butter sandwich and some yogurt. You don't need more food until lunch.
Baby Rose: (Frowning with intense concentration)Ukay. (walks off.)
This is a fun exchange... cute, heartwarming, delightful. Not so fun is this:
Baby Rose: (pointing at my shriveled, depleted mammary organs) Nana? Nana?
NSG: (Attempts a smile) All gone!
Baby Rose: (eyes slowly fill with tears, mouth trembles) Why?!
NSG: because my poor excuse for a body can only produce enough milk and nutrients for *one* child and you, flower baby of my heart, are being supplanted. Because it's all gone, Baby. I'm so sorry.
Baby Rose: (crying now) Why?
NSG: I'm sorry baby.
Lots of hugging and cuddling with baby rose, but lately... very little nursing. And I don't know why, but I don't feel relieved this time like I did with my last few. I feel sad. I don't want to say any time is the "last time." I suddenly realize that there is a level of closeness that goes away when the nursing goes away, and I can't just bring myself to end it, in spite of the fact that when we do nurse, Baby Rose nuzzles with increasingly more frustration, pulls away, cries, asks for the other side, finds it similarly depleted, pulls away, cries...
Why am I having such a hard time with this particular milestone? Do I love this baby more than I did the others? No.
It could be all the changes. Rose has been a comfort to me, and to our whole family. She is the sister that all of my kids, bio and adopted, "Share." She was in mommy's tummy, and born, when everybody was here. She has been babied more than any of my other babies ever were, by everybody. Maybe there is something especially sweet about a baby that knows she is the princess, the apple of everbody's eye... about an 18-month old who knows she can make someone happy by smiling at them.
I'm struggling with this weaning in a way I never anticipated I would... and it's making it harder for me to get excited about this new little one. I know I'll get over it, but for now, there's a bit of grieiving going on.
OK, so, now that's out of the way...
I've been weaning baby Rose.
Baby Rose hasn't gotten a whole lot of publicity on here. MOstly because I took a big break when we moved, and she's only been around for 18 months. But she is very intelligent, flower-faced, large-blue-eyed, and has the ability to make great stern/and or bright smiley faces. She experiments sometimes, sitting in my lap and gazing at me sternly for a moment, then breaking into a smile that would take anyone's breath away and flinging herself against my torso, patting my back.
She also says stuff now.
Her newest language acquisition is the word "Why."
I'll say no more snack,she'll look at me, wide eyed...
Baby Rose: Why?
NSG: Because you just had six crackers, half a peanut butter sandwich and some yogurt. You don't need more food until lunch.
Baby Rose: (Frowning with intense concentration)Ukay. (walks off.)
This is a fun exchange... cute, heartwarming, delightful. Not so fun is this:
Baby Rose: (pointing at my shriveled, depleted mammary organs) Nana? Nana?
NSG: (Attempts a smile) All gone!
Baby Rose: (eyes slowly fill with tears, mouth trembles) Why?!
NSG: because my poor excuse for a body can only produce enough milk and nutrients for *one* child and you, flower baby of my heart, are being supplanted. Because it's all gone, Baby. I'm so sorry.
Baby Rose: (crying now) Why?
NSG: I'm sorry baby.
Lots of hugging and cuddling with baby rose, but lately... very little nursing. And I don't know why, but I don't feel relieved this time like I did with my last few. I feel sad. I don't want to say any time is the "last time." I suddenly realize that there is a level of closeness that goes away when the nursing goes away, and I can't just bring myself to end it, in spite of the fact that when we do nurse, Baby Rose nuzzles with increasingly more frustration, pulls away, cries, asks for the other side, finds it similarly depleted, pulls away, cries...
Why am I having such a hard time with this particular milestone? Do I love this baby more than I did the others? No.
It could be all the changes. Rose has been a comfort to me, and to our whole family. She is the sister that all of my kids, bio and adopted, "Share." She was in mommy's tummy, and born, when everybody was here. She has been babied more than any of my other babies ever were, by everybody. Maybe there is something especially sweet about a baby that knows she is the princess, the apple of everbody's eye... about an 18-month old who knows she can make someone happy by smiling at them.
I'm struggling with this weaning in a way I never anticipated I would... and it's making it harder for me to get excited about this new little one. I know I'll get over it, but for now, there's a bit of grieiving going on.
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