Olivia McMullin Whitehead

06 Aug 1895 – 10 Feb 1981

daughter of

George Wesley McMullin

and

Florence Mae Oakden

by

Carol Easterbrook Wolf, Granddaughter

Olivia "Iv" McMullin was born in St. George, Washington, Utah on Tuesday 06 August 1895 to George Wesley and Florence (Flora) Mae Oakden McMullin. She was the fourth child and third daughter born to this couple. Her siblings were:

Florence 06 Feb 1890

Sarah (Sade) 02 Nov 1891

George Douglas 06 Sep 1893

Willard John 08 Sep 1897 - 18 Feb 1898

Hyla 13 Nov 1898

When Grandma was 2 ½ years old her Dad died on 04 April 1898 of Delamar Dust. I’m assuming he worked in the Delamar Mine in Nevada. He was 38 ½ years old. His second son preceded him in death by less than two months. Great Grandma was left with four children the oldest one barely eight years old; and she expecting another baby in seven months. She had just lost a baby son and a husband. With the help of her brothers, she moved from St. George to Cleveland, Emery, Utah in a wagon to be near her family who had located there sometime earlier.

Obviously, Grandma retained no memory of her Dad. Grandma’s mother was a seamstress, and made dresses and hats to sell. She also operated a boarding house. She remarried on 02 December 1902 to Thomas Evan Davis and Grandma immediately acquired four more sisters and a brother. They were:

Clara 12 May 1885

Esther 05 Jun 1887

Sarah 26 Jan 1890

Sam 06 Aug 1892

Ida 14 Apr 1897

To that union were born the following:

Oleia (Leah) 30 Oct 1904

Thomas Loraine 11 Dec 1906

Lowell Clayton 19 Nov 1909

Grandma dearly loved all of her siblings, full, step and half. There was never any difference made in her interactions with them nor in her talking about them. I called them Aunt and Uncle except for Loraine and Lowell. Of the step ones, I knew Uncle Sam and Aunt Sarah the best. I remember being with my Mother and Grandma going to an apartment building in Salt Lake to see Uncle Sam and Aunt Caroline. What I remember about Uncle Sam is his birthdate was the same as Grandma’s, Aug 6, he wore a hat on the side of his head, and his cigarettes. I thought it was the filter, but Jean tells me that he had a cigarette holder. Of course, I knew Aunt Leah best of all. She lived across the road from Grandma and Grandpa in Cleveland and was an extension of home. I knew Loraine because he lived with Grandma Davis until she died in 1953. He was somewhat quiet, but fun. By the time I was born Lowell no longer lived in Cleveland. Grandma always referred to her step-dad as "Mr. Davis."

The story is told of Great Grandma that one day after hearing "Ma" (which is what they called her) for the umpteenth time, she said, "for Hell’s sake call me Peter."

I loved my great aunts and uncles. It was always such fun to be around them. It seems like the McMullin/Davis family was very close. Uncle Doug and Aunt Luella had one of the first televisions in Cleveland. Grandma, Grandpa, my parents and I would go visit them in the evening. The show I remember going to see was "Dagwood". Uncle Doug was the mayor of Cleveland and instrumental in bringing television into town.

I honestly don’t know about Grandma’s education. She was married at age 16½, so she must have quit at a fairly young age. She used to tell us to take our time getting married, that she felt like she’d been married all her life. She was a smart woman, could both read and write and she could turn money into dollars, then double it again. She understood the simple truth: spend less than you earn.

Grandma married Wm. Robert Whitehead on 21 February 1912 in Cleveland, Emery, Utah, at Ernie’s Hall (Main Street, but no longer there). Actually at that time I believe it may have been called the Opera House. It was built in 1910. Her brother, Doug, and Grandpa’s cousin, Matt Ward (Larsen) were their witnesses. They honeymooned by sleigh to Desert Lake. Now it’s a ghost town.

Dancing was a main form of entertainment, and I’m told that the McMullin’s could dance – all of them. Grandma and Grandpa were beautiful dancers. How I wish video cameras had been around when they were in their prime. Grandma was a dresser and a pretty woman and thoroughly enjoyed an evening of dancing.

I think I’d be right in describing Grandma as a spunky type. I’m told that early in their marriage when they got their first car Grandma was determined she was going to learn to drive (in those days women didn’t necessarily drive). She’d race Grandpa to the car and get into the driver’s seat first. Then she’d insist on learning to drive. Grandpa would shift the gears while she was driving. She was a shrewd woman and pretty well knew what was going on and wouldn’t be taken advantage of. She was a very giving person, but wouldn’t be used.

She wouldn’t cow down and pretty well stood her ground. She mellowed with age, but she wasn’t the type that would let a man hoodoo her, not that Grandpa ever tried. Grandpa once told me that "the Old Lady" thinks she’s the boss, and if she’s happy thinking so, I let her think it." I think she not only thought it, BUT. . .

Grandma was just 17 years and four months when she became a mother. Mary Florence, born on the twelfth day of the twelfth month and twelfth year was named for both of her grandma’s. She easily became the apple of both Grandma and Grandpa’s eye. I’m told she was a very gentle and agreeable little girl, with ‘liquid’ brown eyes. My mother once told me that my cousin Bob has eyes like her sister Florence. Florence was one month shy of four years when my mother, Barbara Pauline Whitehead was born 06 November in 1916. My mother worshipped her sister. In fact, she called her "Sister." That’s really all I ever heard her call her. My mother actually started school a year before she was supposed to because she followed Florence to school one day. My Grandma just told my mother "to tell them you’re six." (I know, I know, but I don’t make judgment calls).

The youngest daughter, Jean, was born 27 January 1927. There was ten years between my mother and her, and while Grandma was still a relatively young woman, she thought she was too old to be having another baby and I understand was pretty disgusted with Grandpa. He pampered her during the pregnancy, and took a lot of the responsibility of Jean when she was born. He always seemed to enjoy having kids with him.

Needless to say, the death of Florence when she was just past 17 years old was a loss hard to recover from. Grandma was unable to return to the house in the lower end of Cleveland where she died. Grandpa and her brothers and sisters went in packed, cleaned and moved them out. They moved to South Flat to the farm to live. Grandma nearly went crazy living there, so it was decided that they move back into town. Uncle Doug and Aunt Luella had them move into their home in Cleveland when they still lived on their farm until a house in town could be built. They slept upstairs, and cooked in what was called "the shanty", so it was a little private from the rest of the house. Grandpa and the relatives tore down the log cabin from the farm hauled it into town to 640 West 100 North. They then went to Sunnyside and tore down a camp house and brought it to Cleveland and between the two structures they built a house. At that time it didn’t have a full basement. (Although I do remember the fruit cellar and the door that lifted to get to the stairs.)

My Mother has told me that in those days death seemed a lot worse because of the barbaric ways things had to be done. When Florence died the aunts took turns sitting with her, keeping cold packs on her until the funeral. They dressed her and she was hauled to the cemetery in the back of a truck or on a hay wagon now I don’t remember which. I do remember when Grandma and Grandpa had a headstone made for her grave. That and the decorating of graves were done with much soberness and little talking.

That reminds me of Memorial Day and how when I was young the lawn would be mowed fresh that day, stuffed into bags, and flowers cut, usually flags (Iris), Tiger lilies, snowballs, poppies, and roses would be cut and we’d make a trek to the cemetery and make the rounds to all the gravesites covering their graves with cut grass and pretty flowers. I’ve always liked exploring cemeteries and I think that’s the reason. There’s so much history there, and a special spirit.

My first conscious memory of Grandma is when she gave me a wind-up Grizzly Bear when she returned from Yellowstone the summer of 1948. I wasn’t quite four years old. I believe that she had chaperoned a group of young people Jean’s age. I think it was the softball team. I remember them telling stories about the bear raiding their camp and stealing the bacon.

Grandma wasn’t as affectionate as Grandpa. Not that she didn’t love us, she just didn’t spend a lot of time holding, touching and interacting that way. I always loved my Grandma and knew that she loved me, but I believe her emotions had been locked up with the death of Florence. Florence was a subject that wasn’t mentioned much, and if she were mentioned it was usually with Grandpa. However, in later years just a few years before Grandma died, pictures of Florence started appearing in her living room. I think either she had finally dealt with her death, or she was looking forward to a reunion.

Grandma had a knack for making pretty things. She could sew and made many of my dresses and shirts when I was younger. Actually, she made dresses for me into high school. She did it all on a treadle sewing machine. I have to wonder at the things she could have created had she had the super neat sewing machines of the 1990s. She made beautiful quilts and made sure each one of her grandchildren had one. She sat by the hour and cut pieces of fabric for the double wedding ring quilt and then placed them in such a way that all the corners were the same. Many of the pieces of fabric I recognize from clothing I had, or from aprons or whatever. Not only did she piece quilts, but she was a beautiful quilter. She’s the one who insisted when I learned to quilt that I place the thimble on my middle finger, the strong finger and not on the pointer or ring finger. Prior to me learning to quilt, it was such fun to be in the room and underneath the quilting frame much of the time just listening to the talking. Most of the time it would be my mother, grandmother and my aunts. They had such good times together. Not just quilting, but also canning.

I remember sitting outside in the back yard at Grandma’s house snapping green beans, and peas, eating the fresh peas, or on Aunt Leah’s back porch watching them can corn. How I loved watching those razor sharp knifes slice through the kernels and then back again to scrape the remaining corn from the ear. Being at Aunt Leah’s I remember her cutting my hair, and cooking up a pot of white beans. She’s the one that would give me headcheese also. (Yes, I really did eat it and like it!) Uncle Tom would always save the liver from a butchered beef for me. Aunt Florence would save the double yolk eggs for me also.

Grandma could crochet too. She made very nice doilies, table cloths, and edges around pillowcases. In those days it was the fashion to embroider and crochet on pillowcases, and to iron them too. They were white, starched and pretty.

Christmas was a special time. There was always a program and Santa visit at the church on Christmas Eve. It was the tradition for the kids to open one present on Christmas Eve. Christmas morning bright and early Grandma and Grandpa would be at the house to see what Santa brought and to open gifts. I don’t ever remember a Christmas without them until 1968, the year I married and moved away.

A favorite thing to do with Grandma was to go visiting with her. It seems like before TV and telephones people neighbored more. I know her life had to be busy, and yet we’d visit Matt Larsen and Vola Ward, Aunt Winnie (Allred), Caroline Hansen, plus Aunt Sade, Aunt Leah, Aunt Florence and Grandma Davis, Dalton and Aunt Carrie, Em Johnson, Vandel Davis, Nett Davis, Melissa Davis, Louise Mortensen and Zella Stokes. Aunt Winnie and Aunt Carrie weren’t blood aunts. Many times we’d go to Flora Tucker’s to cut dill for the pickles Grandma would be making. Aunt Sade had an upstairs. We’d sit on the steps, then gradually move up a step, when we’d get so far, she said, "go ahead and go up and have a look around." It was the neatest upstairs, three bedrooms, and it seemed a world away and magical. Most of the people were relatives of sorts.

Grandma was a very good cook. She also baked wonderful breads and pies. Her pie crusts were perfect; flaky, just the way a pie crust should be. When she’d make bread she’d not put margarine on the top of my loaf so that it would remain crisp. She’d often fry up "tuffies" from some of the bread dough, or make one of her famous coffeecakes. Sundays and holidays there were always plenty of pies, all different flavors. My Dad once claimed he had two favorite kinds, "hot and cold." My personal favorite was the lemon except I didn’t care for the meringue. She made her own filling from scratch (I have the recipe). Her dinner rolls were second to none. She also had a knack for making noodles for her soup. I remember her yet, rolling them out into a big circle, adding just a sprinkle of flour so they wouldn’t stick together as she rolled it up. Then slice, slice, slice, and then unroll to dry on the counter. I always managed to steal a few just to eat. When they cooked, they were the best noodles, not like store-bought, but puffy and good. No one could bake a roast like Grandma. It just had the best brown drippings and good gravy – although when we visited Aunt Hyla in Hobbs, hers was awfully close. They must have had the same teacher! In those days it was a common thing to have a container of bacon grease near the stove to use to flavor the food. Grandma would cook great big meals for threshers. That was always a favorite time.

Grandma canned a lot and made the best sour pickles. They were the favorite of both Grandpa and me. Until she got creative and started sticking a piece of red bell pepper in the jar to make it look pretty – spoiled the whole flavor. She also made delicious mustard pickles, and bread and butter ones. She’d can whole chickens, which we’d go up to Aunt Florence’s to catch with a hook to the foot, hit them in the head and chop off their heads, then dip them in boiling hot water to pluck the feathers and to clean them. Oh, there’s nothing quite like the smell of chicken feathers in hot water. Is there any wonder my mother didn’t care for either eggs or chicken? Sometimes when cleaning the innards of a hen we’d find an egg without a shell, and it seems like we’d save them in a dish and use them to cook with. The gizzard would usually contain some wheat. We always cleaned the gizzard, liver and stuff for Grandpa because he ate all the undesirables, including the neck.

I have a vague recollection of a separator for milk and cream and a butter churn. There was usually a pint or quart of cream in the refrigerator and I’d open it and drink straight from the jar. Sometimes it’d be so thick I’d use a spoon. Any leftovers were up for grabs, or at least I got into them. Usually I ate leftover roast. I’ve always been a meat lover, and I think I inherited the taste because meat was something that Grandpa enjoyed at a meal, and provided it.

Grandma’s fruit cellar was always full. She’d pick pie cherries from our trees and freeze many of them. They were good to sneak a spoonful from the carton while still frozen. Grandma and Grandpa had an apple tree that had transparent apples. They were the best for cooking with and for applesauce. She also had a lot of currant bushes, and many times I’d sit and pick currants.

Grandma was a clean housekeeper, but she wasn’t obsessed about it. She’d sometimes say, "why clean up for company wait until they leave and then clean." She had a way of making people welcome in her home.

Grandma was a pretty woman, and liked to "deck out". When I was a young child, Grandma and my Mother would get all dressed up, hats, gloves, and heels to go to Price to shop. It was always fun to see her dressed up to go dancing. She was a pretty woman and enjoyed wearing pretty things.

A favorite thing for me to do was to help her change purses. Whatever coins were in the bottom of the purse I got to keep. There were always coins in the bottom. I also liked to play at her dresser with her make-up and stuff. I’d also wrap Christmas presents for her.

Grandma used to make her own lotion. I can’t remember the recipe. It had mineral oil and lemon juice. There was a time that she made her own laundry soap. There wasn’t much Grandma couldn’t do if she put her mind to it. She was very good with measurements and numbers. She helped me learn fractions using her tape measure to show me the different parts to an inch.

Grandma suffered from cystitis for many years. Periodically we’d make a trip to Provo for her to "have a treatment" from Dr. Ensley. His office was on 500 West across from Utah Valley Hospital. I’m not sure how old I was when she had her gall bladder removed at the hospital in Price. In those days surgery required several days in the hospital and the patient didn’t get up and move around. I’ve heard it told that Grandpa sat by her side nearly constantly. He left to go get a drink or go to the bathroom when she awoke and she accused him of not being there for her. When she came home Joyce and I were curious about what had happened, so she undid her clothing and showed us her incision and stitches. It was long and the stitches big and black.

Having Grandparents so nearby was like having a second home. It was at Grandma’s that the cooking, baking, popcorn making, etc. took place. We could make a mess, but we also cleaned it up. We would decorate the living room for Christmas and spray stencils on the windows. The fruit cellar had a bed in it, and it was a favorite play area. I spent most Sundays there playing with Doreen Tucker or Catherine Wells.

The end of October 1954 Joyce and I got polio. Joyce was bad enough to go to the hospital in Salt Lake. I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa for a period of time. It didn’t phase me at all. Grandma took me to Hiawatha to our Doctor, Dr. Merrill because I needed to have a blood test and also a Gamma Globulin shot. It turns out they couldn’t find a vein on me, and after poking in each arm a couple of times, they finally got it from my ankle. I was barely ten years old. Grandma promised me if I’d cooperate and be good that she’d fix me a steak when we got home to build the blood loss back up. I’ve always been a meat and egg lover and at the time the speculation was that I avoided having polio as bad because of that. The two of us went by train from Price to Salt Lake to visit my parents and to see Joyce at the hospital. The first time we went up Joyce was at the General Hospital and we could only see her through the window. For a while she was on the ‘iron lung’. When she was moved to St. Mark’s we were able to go into her room. She was at the hospital almost a month. During that time the County Nurse would come to Cleveland to see me. I slept on the green sofa bed or "let-down couch" as I called it. When I wasn’t contagious my Sunday School class came to the house for class because I was too weak to go.

Grandma had a green thumb and enjoyed working in the yard. She’d wear a wide brim hat, and oversized long sleeve shirt to work in the yard. A fairly regular thing we did was to go to Price, between Price and Helper to the nursery to buy bedding plants. She also had a manure/water mixture where she'd dip from and fertilize her plants. My cousin Jan has a start of Grandma’s Tiger lilies and they move wherever she goes. She says they are very hardy and do well wherever they are. Grandma did the landscaping for the red church on Main Street in Cleveland. I was with her when she did it.

Grandma would bring lunch to the farm when Grandpa would be working there, and sometimes if she timed it right, she’d be there at the end of the day to ride home on the load of hay with us. We weren’t allowed to ride home on it without an adult.

Grandma went through cycles of trying to get religion, and did quite a bit of studying. There’d be blocks of time she’d give going to church a try. She’d been baptized in the Mormon Church when she was eight years old, but I’m not convinced that she was ever converted. I think she dearly wanted to believe, but never quite made it. Somewhere in the back of my mind is the memory that inactivity in the family creeped in because of the polygamy issue. Grandma’s grandpa Alger at one time had five wives. His first wife, Sarah Pulsipher Alger quit living with him and in later years he moved from child to child to live. There was a saying in the family, and again, I’m not sure of the reason, but if ever there was some wrong doing it was said, (especially by Aunt Sade) "that’s the Alger in us."

Being at Grandma and Grandpa’s many times included getting out the big box of pictures and going through them. That was when I learned my ancestors and the stories, and who was who. It was a favorite activity of mine. I learned to love and recognize those people I’d never met. It was a feeling of connection.

I used to ride my tricycle on the sidewalk that ran from their back yard, past the east side of the house to the front gate. Another fun thing was to run up and down the concrete edge of the stairs. It seemed a lot bigger when I was small. There used to be a hedge in the front yard and a big old tree and in the fall there were lots of leaves to play in.

Every few years Grandma would take a weekend trip to St. George and we’d scout around and rediscover her hometown. One year in particular we went in search of pampas grass. We did find some. As I recall we stopped and asked someone if we could cut some. We also gathered walnuts from the ground and the tree. The St. George area along with Beaver have always held a special fondness to me because of the history of my family in those areas. Grandma’s mother, Florence Mae Oakden, was born in Beaver. On our travels we’d go through those towns because it was before the freeway.

In later years Grandma had a stereo that she enjoyed playing records on. A couple of favorites were Dottie West and Marty Robbins.

On the 4^th of July 1958 we went to Provo to the parade and to Mt. Timpanogos. When we got home Grandma discovered that her brother, Loraine "Chris" was sick. She brought him home with her to care for him. He died at her home on the 6^th of July from measles. It seems like the measles broke out on his lungs. I wasn’t allowed to go over while he was sick.

That reminds me of times when I was sick with measles, chicken pox, mumps or whatever Grandma would always be there helping to care for me. I remember once when we were fairly young and she was baby-sitting. She laid down on the bed with us, saying, "I’ll bet I can get to sleep before you." She also taught me my first poem:

"Little Robin Red Breast

sat upon a pole.

Wiggle, wiggle went his tail,

poop went his hole."

Grandma was a compassionate person and was always there when someone needed a meal or a friend. She’d attend funerals and wedding receptions and support the people. The little cup of mints and nuts would always be brought home to me and Joyce. When her niece, Erma Lu (McMullin) Jones lost her teenage son in a drowning accident at Lake Powell, Grandma’s first reaction when she heard the news was "I’ve got to go to her." I suspect that if anyone could understand that loss it would be Grandma.

One thing about Grandma that has stuck with me is the brick she was when Grandpa was sick and dying. I went with her to the dry cleaners to have Grandpa’s suit cleaned, and to JC Penney to buy a new shirt for him to be buried in. This was before he was dead, but she was planning ahead. She also went to the bank and got stuff out of the safety deposit box (I told you she was shrewd). I now wonder if she just put herself into automatic and locked away the emotion again.

I’m not sure exactly when Grandma’s personality changed. The April I was expecting Monique (1974), my parents and Grandma were coming to see me in a new car that I didn’t know about. I got a call from Chama that there had been an accident and wondering if I could come for them. It turns out it wasn’t so bad that they couldn’t drive the car, but I was already on my way. I met them along the way. Grandma got out and rode with me. I know she was still herself then. We had an enjoyable time together. When Monique was born and we gave her the middle name of "Olivia" Grandma was pleased.

My Dad took an early retirement to help care for Grandma. That was 24 April 1979. She still knew us, but just wasn’t herself. She continued to live alone with help from my parents. When it reached the point that my Mother needed a break from caring for her, she went to Midvale to stay with Jean and Luke. On February 5^th I called her from Los Alamos to see how she was. She said, "Oh, Carol, I’m going home soon." She died five days later.

Grandma died in Midvale, Salt Lake, Utah on Tuesday, 10 February 1981 at the age of 85 ½ years. Her funeral was 12 February 1981 in the Cleveland Ward Chapel, with burial in Cleveland Cemetery. The song "Somewhere My Love" was sung at her funeral.

At the time of her death there were five grandchildren, and ten great-grandchildren.

GRANDMA’S ROSES

by

Carol Easterbrook Wolf

The velvet petals call

echoing her sound,

captivating perfume lingers,

the puckered

bud emits her kiss,

a full-grown blossom smiles.

QUILTS

by

Carol Easterbrook Wolf

A collage of matching shapes

delicately pieced,

stitched in such a way

that just a thought warms my body.