Daisy's Memories

I don’t have any first-hand memories of my Dad, which is unfortunate. It makes sense, though, because I was three when he got sick and six when he passed away. I remember living in Logan during the time he was in the VA hospital in Salt Lake City, but the memories are both few and far between.

I remember being in kindergarten and having to wear an eye patch because I had a lazy eye, and I kept my hand over the patch all day. When I had to draw, I switched to my other hand, never revealing the massive patch that everyone knew was there. I remember my teacher sending my Mom a note saying that I never spoke. I was a very shy child, and judging from the pictures, I cried a lot. Some things never change.

I have a memory, but I do not know if it was real or imagined, of Rodney and me taking a bag of chocolate chips, and going out to the garage and eating the whole bag. Somehow when we came back, Mom knew what we had done, I can only imagine chocolate smeared all over our little faces and hands…but when you are a child, you think “how did she know?”

I remember having a dream one night while living in the big white house on the corner (the old Dial home), that it snowed. I came downstairs and told everyone, and they laughed because I had never seen snow, so how would I know what it looked like? To all of our surprise, we looked out the window and it was indeed, snowing. One of three things happened; first, I really had the dream, second, I saw something strange coming out of the sky from my bedroom window and assumed it was snow, or three, I am completely making this up. It seems real to me though.

Karen & Daisy Dial

I vaguely remember an incident between Willy and Karen. I think Willy wasn’t allowed to pour his own drinks, and in the end Karen dumped the whole pitcher on him. This is where memory flaws come in though. My entire life I have thought that it was a pitcher of lemonade, but someone recently told me it was water. In my mind it was lemonade and I have always wondered how sticky everything must have been.

What I do know for sure is this: all of my life I’ve heard about this man I never knew, and unknowingly felt deserted by him. It was a deep-seated emotion that was planted firmly in my soul. I didn’t even realize it was there, yet it affected everything in my life. I have since dealt with these feelings, and by that I mean that I have acknowledged he did not desert me. He, in fact, died. He had no control over the things that took place, and I know in my heart he would be here if he could be. I love him for my life, for my family and for the things in me that I know are from him. He is a part of me, and I am a part of him.

I can’t imagine what my Mother’s life was like. I can’t imagine losing a partner that I had been with for twenty years and had six (one of which passed away) children with. I can’t imagine most of all what it must have been like for her to finish raising us on her own. She has had an amazing life, and I know that my Dad would be happy with the accomplishments she has made, as a Mother and as a person. And finally, I know that he is waiting to greet her in the life after this.

As I have been putting things together for this blog I am helping to organize for my Dad, and reading about his life and illness, I came to realize that though I know he was a very good man, and has been missed by all who knew him, the real hero in this story, for me, is my Mom. She stood by his side while he was sick for three years, and she carried on as both Mother and Father after he was gone. She said something to me last week that I found interesting: "He was a much better man than I was a woman." It makes me sad to think that she believes that, because I think she is amazing. I have no doubt that my Dad was a very good man, but the two can’t be compared, because it would be like comparing apples and oranges. Maybe the reason that she remained here with us was because she was able to take on the responsibility of caring for five children on her own.

I want to take this opportunity to thank her for always accepting me regardless of what others might see as my "faults." Also, for giving me the opportunity to share my life and my experiences with her, without judgment. It's interesting to find, as I get older, how the people who have judged me and the way I am, are the same people that break the very commandments they claim to hold dear. It is not our job to judge each other, it is not our job to decide what is right for each other, it is our job to accept and love those in our lives, and to allow them the same liberties that we are allowed, the free agency to find our own path back to God. I learned this from her.

She is my hero. I've said it before and I will say it again, had I been in her shoes I probably would have killed myself...does that make me weak and her strong? No, it simply makes us different. Every person on earth is unique, just like our fingerprints. If we were all the same, what would be the point of us all living here together?

In 1985, my Mom had a massive stroke, which left her paralyzed on her right side and unable to speak. Fortunately, I decided to call her that morning, and knowing something was wrong, I drove to her house. The paramedics rushed her to Balboa Naval Hospital. After a couple of weeks she began talking again, and the first thing she said to me, with tears in her eyes, was “why didn’t you let me go so I could be with Glen?” It broke my heart because through the years she put on a very brave front, I am sure, for our benefit. In an instant I could see the devastating loneliness she felt having lost the love of her life so many years ago. She has missed my Dad each and every day since he was taken from her, and when I think of her having to leave my life, I take great comfort knowing that she will once again enter into his waiting, loving arms. I love you Mom and Dad.

—Daisy Dial

Beth Remembers Her Husband

These memories come from a recent interview with Beth by her granddaughter TatiAnna Tibbitts.

I was dating his brother, Merlin. I had heard of the whole family, but I hadn’t really known them. I was walking down the street one day, and he drove past me. And I thought it was Merlin, so I waved to him— though I didn’t know him from anybody! That’s how I met him. And this girl that was with me said: “I get him.” But he pointed to me and said, “I get her.”

Soon after that, he went back to the Navy, so I didn’t see him for quite a while. Our first date, I was supposed to be going out with Merlin, but he stood me up. Glen came to tell me he wasn’t coming, and I ended up going with him instead. I did his hair. I don’t remember why but I put it up in bobby pins.

Glen sent Beth this Christmas Card in 1949 from the U. S. S. Toledo.
(Click to enlarge.)

We had a very small wedding. He was stationed in Bremerton, Washington, and I went up there and we got married up there. I took the bus from Salt Lake to Bremerton. It was a miserable ride.

I don’t remember much, but I remember that he was a very, very good man. He was a much better man than I was a woman.

He was sick for three years, and was in the hospital most of those three years. He was in the Salt Lake V.A. near the end. He came home on weekends.

—Beth Dial

From Birth to Death: Rick Dial on His Father

Dad was born on March 6, 1929 in Logan, UT. He was the third child and second son of Willis Aaron Dial and Ida Geneva Beckstrand Dial. Grandpa Dial settled in Logan with his wife and family, after having served an LDS mission in Germany, and having graduated as a teacher from what is now Utah State University. Grandpa had a career as a woodshop teacher at Logan Junior High School. Grandma was a devoted housewife and homemaker. I met one of Dad’s school teachers once, and he said that Glen was kind of a “monkey” in school. I don’t think he worried too much about being an excellent scholar, but he was very concerned about being a good friend, and went out of his way to be a friend to everybody who needed one.

By the time he was seventeen, Dad decided that he would join the Navy as soon as his father would sign for him. Apparently, Grandpa didn’t much approve of his young son rushing off to see the world before finishing high school, so he refused to sign. At least, not until the last day before Dad turned eighteen. Dad then joined the Navy and left town.

Grandma Dial had a best friend back when she was a teenager in Shelley, Idaho…a gal by the name of Daisy Christensen. Well, to make a long story short, Daisy’s youngest daughter named Beth decided to attend the A.C. (Agricultural College, USU) after graduating from Granite High School in Salt Lake City. Mom is a smart lady, but I think she went to college to get out on her own and meet some new guys. Up in Logan, Mom met Merlin Dial (Glen’s brother). Grandpa Humphries, her father, told her to stop by the Dial household and say hi to her Mother’s best friend. Seems like she got to talk to the big brother first, but the guy who really got her attention was the Navy man who was home on leave. They hit it off, and decided to get married. Without anyone knowing their plans, Glen and Beth took off to Washington State (close to where Dad’s ship was stationed), and got married! Surprise, surprise!

When I (Rick Glen Dial) was born on August 18, 1949, Mom and I were at the L.D.S. Hospital in Salt Lake City on a very hot day, while Dad was gone to sea on the U.S.S. Toledo, a Heavy Cruiser (somewhere down around Panama). Dad was 20 and Mom was 19, and I was 0. Mom and I lived at various times in Salt Lake, or Logan. The new parents were expecting another baby soon, a little girl they named Wanda Ann Dial (in honor of Grandpa Dial, same initials—W.A.D.) who only lived for just two short weeks in the early spring of 1951, and passed away from breathing challenges. The little family was destined to grow, and Karen Beth Dial was born on February 15, 1952, and Willis Aaron Dial followed on March 4, 1953.

By the time I turned four, Dad was out of the Navy, and we moved to Wilmington, CA near Long Beach, where he worked for Ford Motor Company. We lived in a trailer, and in our trailer court there was at least one oil well. We were under strict orders not to go near it. Dad served as an Assistant Scout Master for our ward’s Boy Scouts. He took me on a winter campout up in the San Bernardino Mountains. I remember staying in a cabin up there, Dad making sure I was warm and dry, and having a snowball fight with some of the other Scouts.

We moved back to Salt Lake Valley when I was still four. We lived in Murray, in a trailer at the Doc ‘n’ Dale’s Trailer Court. Dad worked for Uncle Bert (Mom’s Brother), steam cleaning trucks. When I was five, my friend and I noticed that an old empty building on State Street had a few broken windows. So we got the idea to break all the rest of those windows. A policeman saw us, and we were in trouble. Dad’s punishment for me was a couple of spankings, and two weeks in my room. He made it clear that I must never throw another rock (at glass) in my life.

Dad taught me how to ride a bike. He bought a Pontiac, and that was his favorite car ever. We went on a picnic up in the mountains when I was five. Dad was pushing me in a swing, and I fell out and cut the back of my head, which produced a lot of blood. Dad pressed a handkerchief against my head to stop the bleeding. By the time we got to the hospital, the doctor only needed a big band-aid to fix me up. Because of that incident, I am always careful when pushing someone on swings…making sure they always hold on tight.

Dad decided to join the Navy as a career, so when I was in 1st grade, we moved back to Southern California. Over the next ten years, we lived in all kinds of housing-huts (left over from World War II), apartments, and homes. Dad served on cargo ships, and every two years his ship sailed to Japan for at least six months. He was gone a lot. My main memories of him during that time is that, when he was home at night (as opposed to serving duty on the ship), our family would watch one hour of TV together. Dad liked to have his feet tickled, so Karen and I would take turns tickling Dad’s feet. It made him happy.

Dad decided to get training for the submarine service. Years later, Mom told me that this happened because he suffered from sea sickness, and on subs you don’t have that problem. The entire Dial Family moved to Connecticut for three months while Dad went to Sub School. Across country by car we went…our big adventure.

Back in San Diego, Dad served on two submarines, and old WWII sub called the Sea Devil, and a newer diesel sub named Jonquil. Mom and I went out on Dad’s boat one day for a “dependant’s cruise.” We dove under the water, got to look through the periscope, and had lobster for lunch. For about ten minutes, I got to visit Dad at his duty station. He was an Electrician’s Mate, so he took care of the batteries on the sub.

Dad went to nuclear power school at Mare Island Naval Base, up in the San Francisco Bay area. We all moved up there and lived in an apartment on the island. Dad’s math skills weren’t the best, and he didn’t get through the very difficult school. The good news is that the Navy reassigned him to work in San Diego at NTC (Naval Training Center) in Point Loma. He worked first as a Company Commander, in charge of a new group of recruits. Then, he worked as a Swimming Instructor. Dad loved the water, and the beach. He had his dream job, and we finally got to move into a four bedroom house in military housing in Pacific Beach. By this time, Rod who was born on October 6, 1959, and Daisy who was born on August 28, 1961 were still quite young, and the house on Pico Street was just the right size for us. We lived in the San Diego 7th Ward where Dad again served as an Assistant Scoutmaster. Some of the Scouts were goofing off, and made Dad mad, which was not a good idea. He straightened them out real quick and they got a taste of “military justice.”

When Dad was home and he wanted to talk with one of us, he would go out the front door and whistle really loud. You could hear his whistle for at least half a mile. Our job was to get back home within a few minutes to see who Dad wanted to talk to, and if it wasn’t you, you could go back out and play.

Apparently, there was an accident at work. A Navy recruit panicked in the pool one day, and was drowning. He wouldn’t grab the long bamboo pole so they could pull him out of the water, so Dad went in to save him. The man grabbed onto Dad in a death grip, they struggled, and in the process Dad hit his head on the side of the pool. The other instructors had to then rescue both of them.

Sometime in December of 1964, Dad developed a severe headache; it wouldn’t clear up on its own, so he was admitted to Balboa Naval Hospital. They kept him in the observation ward for about a week. I remember visiting him there one time and he was in extreme pain. They finally determined that he had a brain tumor and needed an operation. He had his operation just before Christmas, and they found cancer, but could not get it all. The next summer he had another operation, and a blood vessel was cut in his brain that caused him to be paralyzed on his left side. His quality of life was compromised at that point, and he said that food tasted like gasoline. After he recuperated from the second operation, the Navy finally discharged him from active duty, as 100% disabled.

The Dial Family moved to Logan to live in Grandpa Dial’s old house. I stayed in San Diego for my senior year of High School so I could be eligible for scholarships. Right after I graduated from Mission Bay High School, I moved up to Logan to begin studying at USU (Utah State University). By this time, Dad’s overall condition had deteriorated, and he went into the old Veteran’s Administration Hospital in SLC, needing constant care. Uncle Bob Farnes would take him the Sacrament regularly (on Sunday).

Dad passed away on September 20, 1967, with his mother by his side. The Military Honor Guard funeral was in Logan, and he was laid to rest in the Logan Cemetery.

To end on a positive note, I would like to say that my Father was a very loving, affectionate man who cared about people a lot and went out of his way to be a friend. If he had any negative qualities, I don’t know or care about them. What I do remember is that Dad had a smile and a kind word for most everyone. He liked to have fun, and he tried to get along with folks.

Dad has been gone for forty years now, and I still miss him and think about him often.

I love you Dad!

—Rick Dial

Rod's Memories about Dad

One day, when I was in Kindergarten and had that infernal cast on my leg for my pidgeon-toedness, he brought a wagon to school to pull me home. Daisy walked with us and asked why she didn’t get to ride in the wagon. He explained that he, of course, liked me better (just kidding). He explained patiently that I had a cast on my leg and he had to pull me, and the wagon wouldn’t fit us both. I think he exhibited a lot of love and patience in that situation. He was a good role model for me in that regard.

When I was probably about seven, I remember visiting Dad in the hospital in SLC, and sitting on his lap after one of his operations. His arm was paralyzed, and I asked him about not being able to use it. But he still tried to lift it just to show me. I remember wondering how it could be so hard to lift your own arm.

I remember bringing him some orange candy slices and he shared them with us all. That was my favorite candy too for a long time after that.

I remember his smiling and having a good attitude about things, even though he was in a bad way.

When he died, Mom told me the next morning. I didn’t have to, but I still went to school that day. I guess he was never really part of my day-to-day life that much so it didn’t really impact me very much that he was gone.

When it came time for the viewing, everyone went, but Mom gave me the choice and I stayed home wanting to remember him how he was. I think that was better for me, at age seven. I think Daisy went I don’t know if she remembers that or not. Now I never go to viewing when people die.

Other than that, I don’t have many memories of my Father.

—Rod Dial

Karen's Memories of Dad

When I was about seven or eight, Dad took me on a bike ride. As we were riding on a dirt path, I ran over a small paper sack. He told me not to run over sacks like that because they might have broken glass in them.

I remember him saying this to Mom when he was teaching her to drive:

“When you are turning left, and you are waiting for another car to go by so that you can turn, aim for their back bumper.”

Dad took me to enroll in school when I was about eight. It was, naturally, the middle of the year. When the Secretary asked what our address was, Dad couldn’t remember the house number, just the name of the street, which was South 48th. I said “It’s 1-2-3-1”. I remembered because of the pattern it made. Dad believed me, but I saw him check to make sure when we got home.

He worked on the Mexican Border Patrol for a while. I don't know how good he was at subduing drunk sailors with switchblades, but I like to think of him as being like James Bond. I think we still have some of the switchblades he confiscated.

At one point, we lived in the quonset huts at Hunter's point in San Francisco. Dad decided we needed to practice our fire drill, so in the middle of the day we got in our beds pretending to sleep. Dad rushed in saying, "I smell smoke, let's get out of here!" We all jumped out of bed and he helped us climb out of the window. It was great fun for us kids, but I am sure it was rather serious for Mom and Dad.

When I was in late fifth grade, or early sixth (before we had our sex education class in school), I asked Mom the question; “How do the sperm get to the eggs?” Mom answered “Go ask your Dad”. I am sure they had arranged this beforehand. We lived at 4850 Pico Street (San Diego) for those of you that remember the floor plan. I walked down the hall and met Dad at the end of the hall by he and Mom’s bedroom & asked my question. He told me all about it, and when he was done I said “OK”. He was cool about it.

I remember Dad taking us on an aircraft carrier for dinner, it must have been Christmas or Thanksgiving. There were rows and rows of tables in the mess hall, and I remember how high the ceiling was. We went to get our food, and Dad got a whole bunch of spinach, yech! I asked him how he could eat it, and he said that he didn't use to like it, but that he had eaten a lot of it in the Navy and had come to like it. I still think it tastes too salty.

Dad was stationed on submarines for a lot of the time. His two were the U.S.S. Ronquil and the U.S.S. Sea Devil. Rick and Mom got to go out on one of the subs for a whole day, but I was too young. However, our whole family got to go aboard on Thanksgiving one year, and Dad showed us where he slept (with a few torpedos!), where he worked (in a really small little room), and where he ate (mess hall). We got to look through the periscope, and that was fun.

Glen sent Karen some flowers from Hawaii, accompanied by this note.
(Click to enlarge.)

Dad was the Scout Master when we lived on Pico street. I begged him to take me on the campouts. Mom didn’t like to camp, so the most I ever got to do was to set the tent up in the backyard. I promised to do the cooking too, trying to persuade him to take me. But, rats, he couldn’t. Jack Rollins (who was a POW in Vietnam a couple of years later) was Dad’s Assistant Scout Master.

Dad liked having his feet tickled, and so do I. We would lay on the couch at opposite ends, and tickle each others feet. He would tickle mine where he wanted me to tickle his.

Dad taught recruits at NTC (Naval Training Center in San Diego). He had a small problem with swearing that he tried to control. He was so nice as a Drill Instructor that one of his recruit units got him a radio as a gift.

When Dad started teaching swimming at NTC, we would go often on Saturdays. I couldn’t swim and Dad was too tender hearted to force me to learn under his instruction. I learned to snorkel before I could swim. One day I got water in the snorkel and almost drowned in 4 ½ feet of water, so he had me take swimming lessons. He told me “do whatever the instructor tells you to do.” So I finally learned to swim. He would cook fried rice and Spam in the instructors' dressing room where us kids were also allowed to dress.

Mom was pregnant with Daisy when Dad was supposed to go on a short cruise on his submarine. Just before the sub was to leave, Mom went into labor and called him to ask him to come back to help her. He took the bus, and I remember seeing him come running home from between two houses, which was a short cut from the bus stop. This is my favorite memory of him because he was really concerned. That was also about the only time I remember seeing him run.

Dad went overseas (WestPac) at least two times that I remember. One of the times, a few months after Daisy was born, we all gave him going away presents. It was so funny because he opened up each package only to find that they were full of Vicks Cough Drops. Whether he actually used that many, or started a "black market" on the ship, I don't know!

When he came home, Daisy was seven or eight months old. She always got along best with men, but Dad had to bribe her with a packet of lifesavers before she would stop crying when he held her.

We traveled a lot, because we were in the Navy. We usually left at night because then we kids could sleep. We would also sing in the car along with the radio to help keep Dad awake. Que Sera Sera was one of our favorites.

After one of the times he had surgery, he was in the kitchen one day after I had left the cabinet open. He bumped his head right where he had his surgery, and it really hurt. He very calmly asked me to try to remember to keep the cupboards closed.

Another morning, he got out a couple of eggs to fry for his breakfast. As he was cracking the first, he dropped it. After he cleaned it up (and I seem to remember a few swear words), he got out another egg. He dropped that one too. We both looked at it on the floor, then Dad sat down and asked me to fry him a couple of eggs.

I remember Aunt Linda coming down to visit us when Dad was in the hospital. We slept in a tent in the back yard together, and she kept a piece of chewing gum in her mouth to help her throat stay moist.

At the time, Mom was spending a lot of time in the hospital with Dad, and he told her not to spend so much time with him, because she needed to be with her children. Dad’s emotions were very tender while he was ill. He often cried. I was embarrassed once and wanted to go home, that’s how sympathetic I was! Many people told me how cheerful and upbeat Dad was when they would go visit him. They would go to cheer him up and he would cheer them up. I remember Dad teasing his Doctor once. He was in the bathroom, and as he flushed the toilet he said “Goodbye cruel world.”

Dad had one dime while in the hospital. When he wanted to call home, he would let the phone ring once, and then hang up so he could get his dime back. When he did this, we would know to call him on the pay phone in his ward.

When Dad was retired and discharged from the Navy, we moved to Logan to be near his family. I don’t remember much about Dad while we were there. He was in SLC at the Veteran’s Hospital some of the time, maybe most of the time.

—Karen Dial Tibbitts

Aunt June Remembers Glen

Being just 18 months younger than Glen, he was very much a part of my early life. I was just three years old when the folks decided to build the house on the corner of 4th North and 4th West. The house we were living in was 3 ½ blocks from the house Dad was building. Mother said many times she would go out to check on Glen and I, but we were no place to be found. She suspected where we were and started down the street in a near panic knowing that Glen had decided to go over to the new house to see Dad. Her main concern was the canal that we had to pass where she many times found us laying on our bellies trying to catch Penny Bug. He would load me in his red wagon, and off we would go. Mother and Dad seldom went out for an evening but when they did, it was to the Temple. When they would, Aunt Millie was our baby sitter. Years later I asked her how it was to baby-sit us, and she said “as long as I had Glen in my lap reading to both of you, everything was fine. If I let Glen down, he always found some mischief to get into”. She said that of all of us kids, Glen was the most loveable.

The little red wagon was our usual means of transportation. When Mother churned butter, we would always take a bucket of buttermilk down to Aunt Millie. In return, she would give Glen and me a sugar cube, which to us was a real treat. She used the sugar cubes in her coffee, but we never knew that was what they were for. It was just a wonderful treat for us to suck on the three block walk back home.

On the 4th of July we always had home made ice cream. We had to walk the red wagon down to the ice house to get a block of ice to freeze it. It was a wild ride back home for me in the wagon, holding the ice down as Glen ran all the way at top speed so the ice wouldn’t melt. Our reward was a sliver of ice to suck on as we took turns turning the freezer. Glen always wanted to take the last few turns, because he was the strongest.

Mother used to say that Glen and Fred Sorenson got blamed for everything that went wrong in the neighborhood, but that wasn’t fair because they were usually only responsible for 90%.

Glen was a really great brother to me, always there to defend me. One day as we were walking home from school, the neighbor boy made me feel bad. The next thing I knew, Glen and the boy were in the Principals office for fighting.

To Glen, school was an inconvenience; he would rather just have fun. On the first day of Junior High, where Dad taught, Dad got the word that Glen had sluffed school. When Dad came home in a huff and confronted him, he said “I was there Dad; I took the absent list to the office for the teacher.” Too bad he hadn’t noticed his name on the list!

When he got into High School, he struggled. Unfortunate for me, he did have one class he really enjoyed, and that was band. He loved to play his Trombone, and on several occasions when he decided he would rather not bother with school, it was my assignment to carry his trombone home. After he joined the Navy, He and Merlin both graduated when I did.

Glen loved to tease and Loree was usually his favorite one to torment. However, he knew that I was afraid of snakes, so if he could find even a picture of one, he’d chase me with it. One day Glen asked Mother for a bucket, and not bothering to ask him what for, he left. When he returned, he had been over to the canal, and filled it with water snakes. Mother screamed and told him to get rid of them, so he took them out back and dumped them in the garden. Needless to say, I avoided the garden for a good long time.

Our favorite thing to do at Easter time was to walk down to the west fields to a flowing well, where we would find watercress to put on our bologna sandwiches. One year Logan City was working on the water line, so we took glass jars to fill and bring back drinking water from the flowing well. Loree wanted to go with us, and Glen tried to convince her she would get tired, and that he would not carry her back home, but she went along anyway. On the way back, she was carrying a bottle of water, and fell down and cut her knee. When Glen and Fred Sorenson saw blood, they picked her up and ran all the way home.

Another time we were making a tent using a big rock on the fence post. As usual, Loree was the one that had the rock fall on her head, and the blood again put Glen into action. Dad was working about four blocks away and Glen ran all the way; sure she was going to die. But to his disappointment, the cut was only the size of a pea, and all it required was a good washing off.

Through all of his craziness, he was a very kind and caring person. He told me not long before he died that he was glad the Lord let him live long enough to repent.

—June Cottle