On Pocatello Politics--Epilogue

Several years had passed. I was in college and, although, I would visit Mom and Dad occasionally, I was living in Utah. I was walking with my grandfather downtown, but I do not remember what it was that had brought us so far from either his or my parent's homes. Grandfather was in his 90's and had retired as Bannock County Assessor--a position he had held until well into his 80's.

We walked at a fairly good clip, which rather surprised me, because, as I mentioned Grandfather was well into his 90's, but as we walked in front of the courthouse. It was then that I realized that he had been informed, probably by my father, of my own Republican leanings, because as we slowed the pace, he pointed at the front door of the court house.

"I stopped in the other day to visit some of my old friends at the courthouse," he began innocuously.

"Glad to hear it," I responded politely. "How are they doing?"

"Well, in my office, they are doing just fine. I am proud to say that I left everything in tip-top shape and they've been able to carry on without a hitch."

"Well, of course, we all knew it would be that way. People here didn't keep electing you for nothing." I said wondering where all this was going. I was not long in finding out.

"But", he continued, "when I went over to the clerk's office, I'm very sorry to say, it was a very different story. They are still trying to clear up the mess left them by That Republican (for several years after he left office, Grandad would refer to him by name, Deloy Giles, but for the past several years, he simply called him, That Republican). I just can't understand what the people in this town were thinking when they elected him. How a single Republican could make such a mess of things in two short years, is a mystery to me, but he did, and," he added with a rather ominous touch to his voice, "they always do."

Since it had been almost two decades since Mr. Giles had thus darkened the doors of the County Courthouse, it was a little difficult for me to believe that he could have been entirely responsible for the mess remaining at the County Clerk's office and I was sorely tempted to say something sarcastic like, "Are you sure that That Republican didn't inherit a mess made by a previous Republican, also elected due to patriotic sympathy (Mr. Giles, as I explained earlier, had been elected--although, a Republican, normally impossible in Pocatello, because he was a Korean War Hero), possibly an associate of Teddy Roosevelt's distinguished in bravery at San Juan Hill?" But I refrained. I simply said, "I'm sure, Grandpa, that with all the good Democrats in this town working on the problem together, they will eventually be able to straighten out the mess."

"Well, I hope you're right." Then he muttered almost under his breath, "But I doubt it." And we continued our walk.

On Pocatello Politics--Part III

Several years after we got back from Germany, when I was old enough to begin, at least, to understand about the importance of politics, Idaho elected a Republican govenor by the name of Bob Smylie. Dad acted totally surprised at this development. I think that having won the fight over gambling a few years earlier, he more or less expected to win every political contest the rest of his life. At any rate, he was surprised, and even shocked, when Idaho selected a Republican govenor. He would, thereafter, tell everyone who would listen that getting rid of Bob Smylie at the next gubernatorial election had to be everyone in Pocatello's top priority. Why he felt that way, I could never figure out. It seemed unlikely, to me at least, that anyone in Pocatello would vote for Bob Smylie anyway, except, of course, possibly The Republican, Deloy Giles, (this was before I knew about the Kilbournes. I could only suspect that Dad felt that Mr. Smylie had snuck into Pocatello just before the election and done something very underhanded, like passing out cigars. Many people would then smoke a cigar just before the election, think thereby that they were Republicans, because they were, after all, doing the sort of things Republicans do by smoking a cigar, and vote for the only Republican on the ballet. My guess was that the real problem was Boise. Boise had more people than Pocatello, and it was loaded with Republicans from the get-go, so all Mr. Smylie had to do was pass out cigars in Boise, which was his home town anyway, and, wa-la!, he won the election.

Of course, we also had a Republican President at the time, but I think Dad realized that what with all the gangsters, hoodlums, penny-an-hour-payer employers, slave drivers, and champagne drinking stage and movie stars--all of whom were naturally Republicans--in big places like New York, Chicago, and Los Angelos, you could not blame Eisenhower's election to the presidency to Democrats in Pocatello turning turncoat. Not that it wasn't a problem. President Eisenhower usually referred to himself as "Ike", nobody, except possibly Miss Biggert, being able to spell, or even correctly pronounce, "Eisenhower", and many people in town wanted to get "I like Ike" buttons, that being such a catchy phrase and all, and the only way you could get them was to promise to wear them, of course, so you saw many people, even in Pocatello, wearing the buttons, but I'm sure none of those people actually planned to vote for him.

Of course, one of the things you learn rather early in life, is that the course of true love never runs smooth, and we were reminded of that rather unpleasant fact, when my mother came home one day before the election and announced to all of us that she liked Ike. Now my dad was a great Adlai Stevenson fan and told everyone what a wonderful man Mr. Stevenson was, although, I was never quite sure that Dad agreed with him when he said that he found Paul appealling, but Peale appalling, my Dad having several books by Peale, but anyway, he really liked Adlai Stevenson, no matter how appalling he found Peale, and, as I said, told everyone, even my mother how he felt. So it caused a bit of friction when Mom came home and announced that she liked Ike. Now Loni and I could see through that in an instant. Mom was just getting back at Dad for telling her that he wished she would cut back on the amount of money she was spending on the groceries, and she probably didn't like Ike at all. But I'm sure that feeling that Mom liked Ike was a source of great grief for my dad, so I was tempted to tell him about the groceries and not to worry about it, but I decided that it was not a kid's place to try and console his father, so poor Dad had to bear up under it as best he could.

But anyway, he decided to focus on getting rid of Bob Smylie, but as the election approached, there was a real problem, a fly in the ointment, so to speak. The fly was not really a fly, it was one of the Democratic candidates for govenor who favored bringing back gambling to the state of Idaho. Of course, there was also a Democratic candidate who was opposed to that idea, and my dad worked very hard to get him elected, but to no avail. The gambling guy was chosen to be the Democratic candidate. My poor dad! Here he was, telling everyone for four years that the thing he wanted most was to get rid of Bob Smylie and here faced with the fact that he had to now tell everyone that he thought they should vote for Bob Smylie. The reason was, of course, (and you will know this if you have read my previous explanations of politics in Pocatello) that as much as Dad disliked Republicans, and as much as he disliked, maybe even hated, Bob Smylie, he hated gambling a lot more, so he told everyone that he felt he had no choice and he felt that they should feel they had no choice but to vote for Bob Smylie.

Well, of course, I hated (as I explained in any earlier article) gambling too, so I was sure that if I could vote, I would feel, like my dad felt, that I had no choice but to vote for Bob Smylie. I have since learned, since I can now vote, that I find myself voting more often than not for the lesser of two evils, but back in those days that was not Dad's experience. At any rate, I was in for a mighty shock. I went to church the Sunday before the election, and the Bishop, as he always did, the Sunday before the election, at the end of the meeting announced that the election was next Tuesday and would everyone who could, please vote. But he added, "the Stake President has asked me to remind you that the Democratic candidate for governor favors gambling and we are opposed to it." Well, this came as no surprise to me, and I thought it a perfectly appropriate announcement, but after the meeting all double toothpicks broke loose. People were yelling at each other, and many swore that they would never come to church again (admittedly, most of the ones that said that, didn't come much anyway), others said that they were going to complain to the church leaders, others said they were keep going to church but find a different congregation to do it in and so forth. I was floored. All this over a reminder that you shouldn't vote to support gambling? I couldn't believe it. And I told my mother so when I got home.

"The problem was not the announcement," she explained. "The problem was that the Bishop was a bit of coward in the way he made the announcement. He shouldn't have mentioned the Stake President."

What's wrong with that?" I asked. Kay Hart, the stake president, was a good friend of the family and came by often. He was even a member of Mom and Dad's study group.

"Well, it creates a problem, because, you see, Kay Hart is a Republican."

"What!" I cried, with good cause, because, I couldn't believe it. "You're not serious."

"I am. Not only is he a Republican but he is very active in Republican politics."

"But, how could that be?" I asked in utter disbelief. "He comes to our house. We treat him as though he were a family friend. He comes to church and sits on the stand. How could he do that knowing that he is what he is?"

"Don't be silly", Mom remonstrated. "There are many good people who are Republicans. Just because we are Democrats doesn't mean that only Democrats are good people."

Of course, I had heard both Mom and Dad say that, or things similar to that before, but it never dawned on me that they actually believed it. But then the enormity of the situation suddenly struck me.

"He's even eaten our chocolate covered peanuts!" I stalked away hoping to be able to somehow put back together by suddenly shattered world.

On Pocatello Politics--Part II

I think it only fair to state right up front that as a very young man I did not have a real clear picture of partisan politics. For example, my view of Republicans came strictly from Democrats, since, as far as I knew, I didn't know any Republicans. I have since learned that Democrats may not always be the best source of information about Republicans, and vice-versa, especially if you want a completely objective picture, but I didn't know that at the time so I just accepted everything I was told.

The most important thing to know about Republicans was that they were very very greedy. Because of this they did not want to pay anyone who worked for them--and Republicans all had a great many people working for them--more that a few pennies an hour. If it were not for The Union nobody would get more than a couple of pennies an hour. Now admittedly, I came to hate The Union--actually, as did most people in Pocatello, not because they (whoever The Union was) were greedy, but because they were such a big bully and often very mean. I had been threatened with my life by a man in the name of the Union and I didn't like it--but that is another story. Anyway, because of the Union not even Republicans in Pocatello, if there had been any, which, for the most part there weren't with the exception of the people I am about to describe, could get away with paying people a couple of pennies an hour. Now I am the first to admit that there were people in Pocatello--for example, Dr. Hegstead, who I hate to keep bringing up, him being such a terrible example and all, but anyway there were people in Pocatello--and I suspected that Dr. Hegstead would be one, although, in all fairness to him, he may not have been, who would gladly have paid the people who worked for them, such as, in Dr. Hegstead's case, his secretary and his nurse, only a couple of pennies an hour. But, of course, even though I never asked Dr. Hegstead if he were a Republican--who would dare ask such a question--or even Ralph Jr. if his dad were one, which I probably would have dared done if I had thought of it, I assumed he was not because he did not have nearly enough people working for him to be one. Of course, in places where we assumed that they had lots of Republicans, places like New York, Chicago, Los Angelos, and Boise, there probably were lots of people who were only being paid pennies an hour, in fact, we pretty well assumed, although, our teachers never said so directly, in those places many of the higher up Republicans probably had slaves who they kept working with whips, just like in the movies about the south before the war and in Africa and in other places where almost everyone was Republicans, and there was no Union.

The other thing about Republicans is that they had very expensive tastes and besides being greedy, they were wicked in other, even more wicked ways. For example, Democrats, at least, the ones we knew in Pocatello, who never--are almost never--went to church would smoke cigarettes and drink beer or cheap wine (except, of course, the ones who had never been to church in their whole lives and liked to hang out in bars and other places where people stab and shoot each other. Those people drank whiskey.), but Republicans smoked expensive cigars and they drank a very expensive wine called champagne. This was very wicked indeed--especially the champagne. I knew all about that because I had seen it in the movies. A Republican (in the movies that is) would give a nice girl a glass of champagne and she would giggle and take off her sweater and the movie camera would immediately shift so you saw the empire state building or the Statue of Liberty, because, in the movies they didn't dare show what happened next. If the movie was at the Chief Theater or the Rialto Theater, they had to leave that up to your imagination. If I could have gone to the movies at the Orpheum Theater during the week, I would have known exactly what happened next, because my mom said that those movies left nothing to your imagination. My friends said I could probably get away with it, my wearing glasses and all, they said, made me look old enough to get in, and I will admit, seeing some of the previews, which they always showed at the kid's movies on the weekend, made me want to go--especially, the one that the previews said was filmed entirely in a Nudist colony, but I realized that it would create a problem, even if I did fool the ticket girl with my glasses and all. I mean what would I do after the movie was over? I would have to call Mom and say, "Please come pick me up. I am at the Orpheum Theater." That would mean prison--or at least reform school for sure. Besides, when you think about it (which I admit I did not do at the time), what good would it have done a Republican to give a girl champagne in a Nudist colony--she wouldn't even have a sweater to take off.

All this brings me to the one person we knew for sure was a Republican, because my parents said he--or more correctly, they (we assumed his wife went along with him) was. That was Grant Kilbourne. Grant managed the big fertilizer plant a few miles from town and was precisely the kind of person you would expect to be a Republican. He had lots and lots of employees who he no doubt would have only paid pennies an hour if he could get away with it, which, of course, in Pocatello he could not. But my sister, Loni and I were always very suspicous of what went on up at the Kilbourne house. They lived on what we called "Snob Hill" because that's were the rich people in town lived. They were members of our church, but, of course, being Republicans and all, they hardly ever came. Mostly when they did come it was because their daughter, Diana, was doing something like giving a talk or getting an award or some such thing that young girls did at church. Diana and Loni were sort of friends, meaning that they did things together at church but not much else. I always wished that Loni would get to know her better so that Diana might invite her to stay overnight at her house. This would be especially good if Loni got to stay at her house when they were throwing one of their big parties. Of course, if she had invited Loni, I would have warned her not to drink any pop or anything, because, you never know but what they might be slipping some of their champagne in the root beer, and it would be no good having your very own sister doing the things that girls do after they drink champagne. But the main reason I wished she go up there was to check up on a theory of mine. Grant Kilbourne had worked at the company headquarters in Boise, and Boise being a place where there were lots of Republicans running around, they probably had slaves and I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Kilbourne had brought some back with him and kept them in the basement. The real problem with that theory was, what would you have a slave do in Pocatello? You couldn't have him (or her) mow the lawn, or even take out the garbage, for fear that the neighbors might see you whipping your slaves and call up report it to the Union. Of course, during the parties, they were undoubtedly kept very busy making the cigars and champagne for the party, but what would they do the rest of the time? I thought maybe Loni could sneak around, very carefully, like Nancy Drew, and see the slaves at work and see what else was in the basement that they could be doing. But she never got the chance. Besides, I pretty well gave up the slave idea when I broached it with Dad who just laughed and laughed and said I had been reading too many fantastic fiction books and needed to start reading something more practical, like the manual that came with my new chemistry set.

Of course, there may have been other Republicans as well. Mom said that she thought that Bernice Comstock might be a Republican, but I didn't believe that. Not for a minute. She was my Sunday School teacher, and a very good one she was too. I think people said that because she was such a classy dresser. But, of course, she had to be a classy dresser. Her husband, Mr. Comstock was the head of the local First Security Bank, which was the biggest bank in town and if you wanted people to put money in your bank you had to act like you were terribly rich so you could afford to give the money back if someone wanted you to, so both Mr. and Mrs. Comstock, and even Ralph Comstock Jr. (not by any means to be comfused for even a minute with Ralph Hegstead Jr.), always dressed very classy. For one thing, I knew that the Comstocks could not possibly be Republicans because Ralph Jr. was so nice, and very humble (except, of course, the classy clothes) and all, and Sister Comstock was such a wonderful Sunday School teacher that I knew it could not be true. Not that I doubted for a minute, that Mr. Comstock, who never came to church, did not on occasion do some very Republican things like smoke a cigar or sip a little champagne when he was out of sight of Sister Comstock, and even try to get away occasionally with only paying the bank tellers pennies an hour, but every now and then doing a Republican sort of thing, was, in my mind, a far cry from actually being one. Most of the reason I was sure that people may have accused them of being Republicans, is that, after all, we always suspect the very worst of bankers.

But one of things you learn as you grow older is that people are not always what you expect them to be and that there may be Republicans lurking where you least expect them, which I will clearly demonstrate in the next segment.

On Pocatello Politics Part I

The first thing to know about politics in Pocatello is that there were only Democrats. Of course, there were a few exceptions and they will be dealt with below, but for the most part, certainly to 99.99% there were only Democrats in town. In fact, in Pocatello, the Primary Election was The Election.

Of course, life is defined by its exceptions, so I will deal with them right off. When I was very young, America was involved in the Korean War and just like the Pocatello draft board snagged me for the war in Vietnam, several young men in Pocatello were in like manner snagged for the war in Korea. I was not wounded and certainly not awarded an award for being brave, but at least one person was in Korea who was from Pocatello. And when he came home, the city--or more exactly, the county felt they owed him something, so they elected him County Something--Clerk or Secretary or Treasurer or something like that--as I said, I was very young and did not note all the details. At any rate, the Koreans were notorious for being very sneaky and underhanded and all that sort of thing and they were always using various tricks and tortures to do what we call "brainwashing". At any rate, our young hero must have been tortured--or at least, brainwashed--in this way, because when he came back from being a hero, he said he was a Republican, and the people of Pocatello, who felt that they owed him a great deal, elected him anyway. Of course, after two years, the people pretty well felt that their obligation to him, to patriotism, or whatever it was that caused them to do it in the first place, was running mighty thin, so they voted him out of office. Anyway, he was the only Republican to be elected to anything in Pocatello so long as I lived there, which was mighty long. As I mentioned, I was very young at the time, so I'll bet you will bet that I can't remember this person's name. And you would lose your bet. His name was Deloy Giles. And the reason I remember it has nothing to do with me being so young and all, it has to do with the fact that my grandfather, who was the County Assessor (have you ever wondered what the County Assessor does? I have too, and, in fact, I am sure my grandfather would have been happy to explain it all to you, especially just before election time, but unfortunately, I was never interested in the question until after my grandfather was through being the County Assessor. I can tell you this, that it is a very difficult job. I know this because my grandfather explained, even to me, young as I was, that the men who were running against him--who all seemed like very nice looking chaps to me--could not possibly do it.) and who was, naturally, a Democrat, would complain for years what a mess Deloy Giles had made of our whole county. When he would complain in this manner, my dad would just laugh and say, "Dad, (my grandfather was my father's father, so he called him "Dad") that was years ago, and after all, he was a war hero, and probably a very fine fellow in his own way." Grandfather would sputter and turn red and obviously be on the verge of saying "darn" or something worse, and then, no doubt, remembering the lesson of the cows that he was so fond of telling us all, he would laugh and say, "Oh maybe you're right", then pause, laugh again and say, "but I don't think so". Now in all fairness to both my dad and my granddad, I should point out that they always said that they voted for the man and not the party, but it was pretty clear to me that the men they did vote for were always Democrats. Of course, in Pocatello, you didn't have much choice.

I am afraid that you are maybe getting the wrong idea and thinking that the powers that be would only allow Democrats on the ballot. That simply was not true. If, for example, there was a Republican running for president or for govenor--and there almost always was, they would put his name on the ballot, even in Pocatello. And, in point of fact, occasionally someone would run for an local office as a Republican and they would even put their name on the ballot. The only example I can remember of this was one of my dad's partners in his law office, Howard Armstrong. Actually Dad asked him to run for County Attorney because he said that Hugh Macquire, who was the County Attorney, and had been forever, was a terrible County Attorney, but I think Dad assumed that he would do like everyone else who really wanted to get into office, and run as a Democrat in the primary. But I think that Howard realized that he didn't have a chance against Hugh Macquire because he had been in office so long and besides that he had a daughter who was absolutely the cutest girl in town--well actually, I'm not really sure that Linda was the absolutely cutest. George and Hazel Cox had two daughters--Elaine and Amy that were both terrible, terrible cute and may, in fact, have been the cutest (and then there is my future boss, Ed Bullock's, daughter, Karla, but she was more beautiful than cute, in fact, she was far and away--and everyone agreed--that she was the most beautiful girl in town, and, of course, that is why Ed was elected to be on the school board), but George and Hazel never ran for anything, so having such cute daughters never really did them any good. But anyway, Howard knew that he didn't have a chance, what with Hugh having such a cute daughter and all, so he decided to run as a Republican. Why he did this is anyone's guess, but my guess is that because he lived on a farm about 10 or 15 miles out of town, he assumed, if he wore dark glasses into work, he would be safe, and that it would look good on his resume to state that he was The Republican Candidate for County Attorney in case he decided to move to Utah or Arizona. At any rate, I think that he was hoping that Dad and the other partner, George Hargraves, and their wives would vote him, being as how they worked together and all, but, of course, after the final votes were tallied he realized that that hope was vain.

On Pocatello Politics--Prologue

Before I get into politics, per se, it is essential to make a few things clear. The first is that my dad hated gambling. If you do not understand how much my dad hated gambling, you will think him a bit winkle-wanky on political matters when we get to discussing whos who and whats what later, so that is why we have to take the first side trip.

When we came back from Germany, gambling, meaning the sort of thing that goes on in casinos like in Las Vegas, was legal in Pocatello--indeed, almost everywhere in Idaho. Slot machines were everywhere, just like Las Vegas or even Wendover. Now Dad hated this and he, and others, set out to do something about it. And what they did was to get gambling put on the ballot, something like "Do you want all those slot machines sent down to Jackpot or other places south, or do you want to leave'm here in Pocatello?" Well, you can imagine that this was a very controversial question and people did a good deal of arguing about it at the grocery store and the department store and other places--probably, even at church, but, of course, if you were in church you were supposed to be against gambling from the get-go, but there were always backsliders who somehow weren't but still came to church, maybe to sell used cars or insurance or something, and didn't mind telling the non-backsliders that they were opposed to sending all those expensive machines down to a no-good place like Jackpot. At any rate, the question was a good deal discussed. The very first speech I ever heard on the radio (as opposed to Howdy Dowdy, Sgt Preston of the Yukon, and such like, which I heard almost every day), was my dad arguing against gambling and urging people to vote against gambling in the upcoming election. Mom got my sister and me around the big radio in the living room and said, "Let's all listen to your dad talk on the radio." Which, of course, we did, and I was very proud to hear my own dad talking on the radio just like Big John and Sparkie. And he gave a very convincing speech. I wished more than anything that I could vote and thereby show those backsliders a thing or two. I only hoped that they were listening to Dad's speech. But my dad, probably not convinced that his speech was enough decided to make it clearer to me. So a couple of days later he took me down to the train depot.

Now you have to understand, that when I was a boy, the train depot was a very busy place indeed, it was sort of like the airport is today. This was especially true of Pocatello, which had a very large, and busy train depot, because it was a sort of hub--whatever that is, but at any rate, it was one and consequently, the train depot was a very busy place indeed. Now, of course, things have changed. If you want to be alone and meditate and be all by yourself and you don't feel quite up to climbing the Matterhorn or Mt. Everest to get alone, the next best place to go is the local train depot, but, as I said, things were very different then. And on the day my dad took me down there they were very different indeed. Dad explained that it was due to the fact that it was pay day. All around the outer walls of the train depot there were slot machines, just like the airport at Las Vegas, or like the airports at Wendover, or Jackpot would be if they had airports, only the slot machines at the airport in Las Vegas are bunched together in the center of the various terminals, because, of course, they do not want to be anything like a train depot. At any rate, there were slot machines all around the outside and standing in front of every one of those slot machines was a man (I don't remember any women, but then, it was a long time ago and the type of woman who would gamble might have short hair), putting money in the slot machines. Some of the machines even had people waiting in line, hoping that the people in front of them would run out of money so they could try their luck.

Well, anyway, it turns out that Dad actually knew a couple of the men putting money in the slot machine. He pointed to one and said, "See that man there?" I told him I did. "I know that family and he spends so much of his money on slot machines that they don't even have enough to eat." This, of course, made me very sad, because we had just come from Germany and there were a lot a people who didn't have enough to eat and Loni and I had wondered a good deal about what we could do about it, not knowing at that time about the Scout Food Drive, which we could have helped with if they would let younger kids help them. Then Dad pointed to another man and said, "And I am suing that man so his wife can get a divorce. He doesn't even bring home enough money so she can keep clothes on her children." I remember the next several days looking around the play ground at Bonneville, where I was in the first grade, looking to see if there were any kids who were dressed only in their underwear, but I didn't see any, so I assumed that that man's kids went to Washington, or Whittier, or one of the schools across town. But anyway, I was convinced. I hated gambling, in fact, I still do, but that is not important. The important thing to remember is how much my dad hated gambling.

The next thing I have to tell by way of prologue is that my mom and dad belonged to a study group. Now you may ask, "What does belonging to a study group have to do with politics?" And the answer is, of course, normally nothing, but it turns out to be important, as you will see when we get down later to the nitty-gritty of who is who and what is what. Anyway, they belonged to a study group that met once a month. This included Bob and Donna Thompson, Conway and Phillis Grant, Kay and Violet Hart (take special note), Miles and Janice Romney, and Homer Satterfield and his wife. You notice that I couldn't remember the name of Homer Satterfield's wife? Nobody could. Homer was so well known and such a overpowering personality that nobody could remember his wife's name. Of course, I'm sure, that Mom did not like to say, "Oh hi Homer, and hi Homer's wife, good to see you both." So I think that before study group, she probably wrote Homer's wife's name on the palm of her hand or between her fingers or some other inconspicuous place. But mostly, people just called her "Homer's wife" or sometimes "Mrs. Satterfield", but someone, maybe even Miss Biggert, who was into politics, said, "It's a crying shame that no one remembers Homer's wife's name." and then they generalized that to, "People always remember the man's name and hardly ever remember the woman's name" (which, of course, is not true. I always found it much easier to remember Donna Thompson's name than her husband's who for years I just called Br. Thompson, but then, Donna Thompson always was so bubbly and kind that people just naturally took to her, not that Bob wasn't kind, but he was kind of imposing. He was, as almost everyone knows the state handball champion at 50 and most of the years before that and people who go around throwing handballs at you tend to be imposing--but, I digress). But whoever said that complained to Someone Important--probably to Nellie Kline Steenson, Pocatello's state senator. You may wonder how I remembered her name. I certainly don't remember the name of Pocatello's state representative. But Nellie Kline Steenson sent us a brochure before every election, and although, I didn't read the brochure, I did notice her picture and she looked just like the typical grandmother. Of course, that was not why she was elected, because in Pocatello there were lots of women who looked like your typical grandmother--rather more than in most places. But, I think she was elected because people more or less decided that with a name like Nellie Kline Steenson, she just sounded like she should be a state senator, Nellie Kline Steenson being for politics almost as effective, maybe even more effective, that "E. Preston" is for business. At any rate, someone complained to her about no one knowing Homer's wife's name and she took it to the legislature that started the whole Feminist thing. But if you think about (and I have, just now) women do have a legitimate complaint. For example, why do I remember Dr. Hegstead's first name. The answer is because his son, Ralph Hegstead Jr. was always swearing at me and so, of course, I know that his father's name was Ralph. But do I remember--in fact, did I ever even know, Mrs Hegstead's first name? No! and why? because you can't call your daughter Millie Hegstead Jr. thus letting everyone know that your name is also Millie. Of course, I guess, you could call her "Little Millie" but then that would make you "Big Millie" which is not particularly flattering, but it is probably better that calling her "Young Millie" which would make you "Old Millie", so you see, they do have a point--but, I digress again.

Anyway, Mom and Dad had a study group and about every six months they would meet at our house which was, for my mother particularly, a very Big Deal. She would get out her best candy dishes which she brought back from Germany and fill them with candy. One time one of the guests broke one of the candy dishes, but Mom just laughed and said, "Don't worry about it. It's nothing." Gavin pointed out that if one of us had done it, we would have never heard the end of it, and Mom maybe would have sent us to prison, or, at least, reform school; except, of course, if Erin had done it--come to think of it Erin did do it--and Mom said the same thing to him that she said to the guest at study group, which goes to show how terribly spoiled he was. I even wonder if he would have visited us in reform school. At any rate, Mom would fill all the dishes with candy and we, meaning the kids, would hope against hope that the study group people would not eat it all--especially the chocolate covered peanuts. I also liked the butterscotch candies, but didn't much care for the mints or the lemon drops, and, as fate would have it, those were the things that were mostly left over.

You may wonder what all this has to do with politics. Well, I'll make that clear in the next installment.

On Smoking

One of the things that was a puzzlement and a source of much thought for me growing up in Pocatello was the habit of smoking. Nothing, it seemed to me, so clearly defined who you were and what you wanted in life than that habit--with, of course, the possible exception of drinking.

Now it is important to realize that in Pocatello when I was young there were only two reasons--at least, that I could see--not to smoke, and one of them was definitely not because of health. Tobacco containers did not, back then, have little messages saying in effect, "Smoking the contents of this package may not be the smartest thing you will ever do." Most of the magazines, the radio, and the TV (when we finally got TV) all carried the message that smoking was indeed the very smartest thing you could possibly do. Don Larsen, for example, pitched the first-ever no-hitter in a World Series for the Yankees, and then told everyone who looked on the back cover of Colliers that if he hadn't been smoking Camel cigarettes the whole time he couldn't have done it. Likewise, Rise Stevens, who sang in movies and at the Met said that she could not possibly sing Wagner or Verdi without smoking Camels. And it was that way for almost every exciting thing that a person could want to do. Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly could have hardly moved their feet if they hadn't smoked--not that I cared about that. No one in Pocatello, it seemed to me really wanted to dance. My parents didn't enjoy it, and I absolutely hated it. Everywhere you went--at school, and even at Church, it seemed like someone always wanted to teach you to dance--but I digress. Anyway if you wanted to be a great athlete, a beautiful or charming movie star, a glass-breaking singer, or anything else worth while, you pretty much had to smoke. Of course, I noticed right away that most of the people I knew who smoked were not doing any of those things, but I suspected they took up smoking in case the fancy hit them to start doing them, they would have the most important requirement for doing them firmly in place.

The first reason not to smoke was that your Church frowned on the habit. Of course, not all churches did, but mine did, so my parents didn't smoke, or at least, my mother didn't. There were times when I wasn't so sure about my dad, because he would come home reeking of cigarette smoke, but after awhile I accepted his story, which my mother did right from the start, that being a lawyer he had had to go to a meeting where everyone else was smoking so that is why he smelled of smoke. I certainly hoped it was true, because I knew that my mother would be terrible mad if my dad started smoking. Naturally, our church was not the only one that frowned on smoking. Just up the street was the Grace Lutheran Church, which as part of the Missouri Synod, also frowned on smoking, but a couple of the men in our church used to tell us with some delight that they had very carefully watched some of the Grace Lutheran fellows and, sure enough, after they got around the corner, and out of sight of the Pastor, they had lit up. Of course, now I realize that the Grace Lutherans were probably telling the same story about some of the men going to our church, but at the time, it seemed to me that that was the sort of behavior you could expect from Grace Lutherans. Actually, I rather admired them, in a way--at least they came to church. I had two uncles in Pocatello, and virtually all of my friends at church, had fathers who smoked (thinking, no doubt, that they better do it in case they decided they wanted to start pitching for the Yankees or, at least, doing something like that) and they never, or at least, hardly ever came to church. My friend, Gary Hoff, on the other hand, had a father who did not smoke, which I could never understand because I went with Gary a couple of times to his church, the Congregational Church, and after the service, several--in fact, most of the men, lit up, right in front of the Pastor and the Pastor never said a word. Of course, Gary explained to me that in the Congregational Church, every congregation more or less decided a lot of the rules, so I could only conclude that the congregation where they had come from, Weiser, Idaho, had decided to frown on smoking, and Gary's dad, thinking he might want to move back there some day, did not want to take up the habit, which was hard to break, and he would find himself having to sneak around a corner after services like those Grace Lutheran people.

The other reason for not smoking was that it was expensive--or at least, my parents and all my teachers at church, told me it was, and I believed them because it certainly made sense, because how else could you explain the fact, that with all its many advantaages, almost none of the women I knew--even the unreligious ones--didn't smoke. Take Bucky Petersen' s mother, for example. She never went to church--any church, and yet she didn't smoke. And there were lots of others like her--although their names don't come readily to mind--who were just like her. I concluded that before a couple got married, they would sign a sort of pre-nuptial agreement (not that anyone in Pocatello actually signed a pre-nuptial agreement--I suspect that no one in Pocatello, except lawyers, like my dad, and probably Mrs. Miller, my high school Latin teacher, even knew what "nuptial", much less "pre-nuptail" meant), but they all sat down with their parents before they got married and decided important things like who was going to do the dishes and who was going to mow the lawn and take out the garbage, and things like that until they could get their kids to do all those things, which, in the case, of my sister, Loni, and me happened much earlier than they could possibly have agreed on. At any rate, they sat down and agreed on all that sort of thing, and one of the things they agreed on was, that since smoking was so expensive, only one person in the marriage could do it, and, in Pocatello, at least, it was always the man. Naturally, if a couple felt that they were very rich and they could finally afford it, then both of them would start smoking. A very good example of this is Pete Bistline and his wife,Jen.

Before I go on I think I better explain why I knew about Pete Bistline, seeing as how he lived in the next block. Normally, of course, a young boy would not know anything about a person who lived a whole block away, but in Pocatello, it was different. The reason was that the people who started Pocatello, did not like Mormons in general, and they really disliked Brigham Young in particular, so they decided that they were going to do everything they could to make their town as different as possible from any town that Brigham Young founded. So instead of having big blocks with wide streets laid out with the streets running on a North-south, east-west grid, the Pocatello people decided on very small blocks with very narrow streets laid out on a helter-skelter grid. This being the case, it was pretty easy for a kid to know the people in the next block. There were only four houses on our block, and only three across the street, on account of Dr. Hegsteads 2-car garage with a double wide driveway, obviously, something had to go and in his case it was having an extra neighbor, which, I hate to have to say it, but I don't think he minded much. At any rate, Pete Bistline owned Bistline's Hardware (actually, my dad said sometime that Pete owned Bistline's and sometimes he said that his friend, Amos Chase, owned Bistline's. To me it made more sense that Pete would own Bistline's, because--well after all, it was called Bistline's and not Chase's, and I'm sure that a simple visit to the board of director's meeting would have settled the whole question, but I never went, not being at that age much interested in business--but I digress). As I was saying, because he owned Bistline's--or thought he did--and because he and Jen didn't have any children, I think that they decided that they could start letting Jen smoke, which she did. Actually, now that I think of it, the same thing happened to Dr. and Mrs. Hegstead, although they did have two children, but I think they decided that since he charged so much for delivering babies, and because (I would guess by looking at her) that Millie ate so little, that they could afford to have Mrs. Hegstead take up smoking--and, I must say, she took to it with avengance.

At any rate, I understand that smoking is something that is hard to understand, but I sincerely hope that this explanation has at least helped clear it up for you.

On Swearing

When my Grandfather Gee was a young man, he had to milk cows. Cows are very difficult creatures as I learned when I worked on Ed Bullock's farm. Ed, who was very religious, never swore, except when we were trying to get cows out of the alfalfa fields when they somehow broke a fence and got in them, then he would occasionally (very occasionally, must say in his defence) let forth with a Big Big D. Well anyway, my grandfather was milking the cows one day and the cow he was milking kicked over the milk bucket. As was his custom on such occasions, Grandfather Gee began swearing and cussing and yelling at the cow. He was in the midst of doing this, when it suddenly dawned on him that cursing of the cow, did absolutely nothing to the cow and it didn't do him much good either. That was one of those Great Days in our family history. He always told his son (my father) from that day on he never swore and he hoped that his sons would follow suit, which my dad and then some. Not only did Dad never swear, as far as I or any of my family know, but he never practiced any near-swearing and he made it pretty much off-limits in our family. Such words as "darn", "golly", or "gee-whiz" were frowned upon and occasioned a stern reprimand. Even words that I hardly even thought of as swearing such as calling a policeman a "cop" earned a "I better not ever hear that word again in this house". When I used that word (which I hope I never have since) and got the above, I quickly pointed out to Dad that Joe Friday (on the TV show, Dragnet) called himself that. "I don't care what Joe Friday or any other TV actor says, in this house we call the police either a policeman or a police officer".

I mention all this because there were in Pocatello, I am very sorry to have to report, a good many people who could very well have profited from my grandfather's insight. For those of you who find this hard to believe I can only site the example of Ralph Hegstead Jr. , which I will herefore proceed to do.

Dr. Ralph Hegstead and his family lived across the street from us. He was a baby doctor and I suspected that Dr. Hegsted's baby's did not come out exactly when or in the exact manner that he hoped for. Of course, if you are a baby doctor I think it only fair to expect that sort of behavior on the part of baby's to occur occasionally, but with Dr. Hegstead it must have happened most of the time, because he was always very grumpy. My mother said that he charged a great deal to deliver his babies and that, therefore, she could not afford to use his services. For my part, (but, of course, I never had the courage to tell my mother this) I was grateful that he charged so much to deliver his babies, the reason being that he could afford, as almost no one else on our block could, to have a two-car garage. Naturally, it was not the two car garage that made it so great, but the fact that it required a double wide driveway, which made it perfect for a basketball court. I loved to go over to their house and play basketball. The big drawback was Ralph Hegstead Jr.

Why Ralph Jr. was so unpleasant, I will never understand. Maybe it was because his father would complain to him so much about the babies coming out wrong or at the wrong time. Whatever the reason, he was, which was hard to understand, because his sister Millie, who was a good friend of my sister, Loni, was not that way at all. At any rate, we, that is, Bucky Petersen and/or Johnny Trimming and I would be playing ball and Ralph would come out and start playing with us. It was pretty hard to tell him that he couldn't play with us, because, first, it was his driveway we were playing on and second, he was older and bigger--in height, a little, in width, a great deal, than any of us. The one thing about Ralph was that no matter what we were playing, it was essential that he win, or if we were playing on teams, that he be on the winning team. Whenever a competitor would make a basket, Ralph would swear and "give him the finger". Sometimes he would do that to one of us for no apparent reason, other than possibly he was afraid that if he went for more than a few minutes, he would forget which words or even which finger to use.

Be that as it may, no matter what I had to put up with in the neighborhood or at school with respect to swearing, I could be sure that I wouldn't have to worry about it at home, that is, until That Day.

I'll never know, I don't think any of my family will ever know, exactly what caused it. It was a Saturday and Mom was having a bit a problem getting us all to do what she wanted us to do. I can't even remember what Dad was doing, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't The Problem. I was a bit slow in doing my chores, and I will admit to occasionally slipping away and reading a book. Loni, who usually was a real eager-beaver-household- cleaner-and-chore-doer had just started reading "Gone with the Wind" and was, therefore, more eager to get back to reading that than in performing her usual eager-beaver-chore-duty. My brother, Gavin could not have been the problem. He was only 8 or 9 years old, but he always did what he was expected to do, only better. Everyone always said that Gavin would amount to something because he always did what he was expected to do, only, as I mentioned above, better. And, of course, he has, as everyone always said he would, amounted to something, but, of course, that is pretty much off-set by the fact that he has amounted to something in banking. Whenever I go anywhere, people are always eager to shake my hand when I casually (or, at least, as casually as possible) mention that my brother is in State of Idaho Governor's cabinet. If, however, after I have shaken everyone's hands, someone happens to mention that he is in charge of banking in that state, I notice that they immediately head to the restroom to wash their hands. At any rate, it could not have been Gavin who was The Problem because she knew, like everyone else, that he would amount to something, and at that time of his life there was no way to know that it would be in banking. (Actually, she seemed awfully proud of him and the fact that he amounted to something, even when she knew it was in banking, but then, that's the way mothers--or at least, my mother--are). Then there is my youngest brother, Erin. He was, as all youngest children are, terribly, terribly spoiled and a great problem right from the get-go. Everyone always comments about how cheerful and optomistic my brother Erin is. Well of course he is. Anyone who has been spoiled and a great problem from the get-go during their formative years is bound to turn out to be cheerful and optomistic. Of course, he didn't get by entirely unscathed. His problem is his name. My parents, who had given Gavin a Scottish name, felt that it would be terribly clever to give his younger brother an Irish name, little knowing that by the time it finally came across the ocean to America, it would wind up as a girl's name. Fortunately, for Erin, during his sensitive years, in school and college, no one else knew it would wind up as a girl's name either. I don't think he realized it himself fully until he found out that the reason his company, for which he was an executive, treated him so well was because the government assumed that with an executive named Erin they deserved the Female Executive subsidy. He was not amused and promptly began calling himself "E. Preston" instead of Erin. Now whenever he goes to work for a company, they immediately make him a top executive, "E. Preston" being even more impressive than "J.P." which, after all, is getting to be a bit overdone. At any rate, because he was always a great problem, it is doubtful that Erin could have been The Problem.

I suspect when the roll is called up yonder we will find out that it was either Loni or I who was it but whoever, or whatever was it, the fact of the matter is that my mother let go with the Big Big D. At first we went on with things as though nothing had happened and then all of a sudden it hit us. Everything, and everyone stopped dead. Even Erin, who was only a little baby, suddenly stopped being a big problem. There was dead silence. Then Loni yelled out in shock, "Mother!" And Mom burst out in tears, "Oh its been so so hard this morning, and we went to party last night and everyone was using that word." She sobbed for a minute then continued, "Can you all ever forgive me?" Well, we didn't know what to say. Someone, probably Gavin, muttered sure and then we sort of drifted away. I went back to my book, Loni went back to "Gone with the Wind", Gavin went back to doing whatever he was supposed to do, only better, Erin went back to being spoiled, Mom forgot all about chores and went away, I suppose to think about what she had done, and Heaven only knows the absolutely gut wrenching emotions that were going through my dad's mind. All of us could only pray and hope against hope that our mother would never do anything that bad again. Which, as far as I know, at least, she never did.