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