Donna Benson

1910 - 1997  (87 years)  Submit Photo / Document    Has more than 100 ancestors and 5 descendants in this family tree.

• Name	Donna Benson
  Census	1910	Whitney, Franklin, Idaho, United States
  Image Transcript Ln Hhold Given Surname Relation Gender Race BirthDate Age Status Years Married Children Born/Living BirthPlace BirthPlace of Father BirthPlace of Mother Immigration Year Occupation 20 35 Fred W Rallison Head Male White abt 1867 43 Married 0 England England England 1888   Transcript ID is  dbid=7884&iid=31111_4327542-00190
  Birth	16 Mar 1910	Whitney, Franklin, Idaho, United States
  Christening	1 May 1910	Whitney, Franklin, Idaho, United States
  Gender	Female
  Initiatory (LDS)	2 Oct 1929	LOGAN
  FamilySearch ID	KWCB-CMH
  Death	5 Dec 1997	Provo, Utah, Utah, United States
  Burial	9 Dec 1997	Orem City Cemetery, Utah, Utah, United States
  Headstones	Submit Headstone Photo
  Person ID	I333	mytree
  Last Modified	25 Feb 2024

  
  

  Father	Serge Ballif Benson,   b. 2 Oct 1877, Logan, Cache, Utah, United States d. 18 Jan 1959, Logan, Cache, Utah, United States (Age 81 years)
  Mother	Melinda Caroline Nelson,   b. 8 Sep 1881, Milton, Morgan, Utah, United States d. 27 Jun 1971, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States (Age 89 years)
  Marriage	2 Oct 1903	Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States
  Family ID	F343	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

  
  

  Family	Lawrence Lee,   b. 26 Jan 1903, Rigby, Jefferson, Idaho, United States d. 5 Jun 1976, Provo, Utah, Utah, United States (Age 73 years)
  Marriage License	1 Oct 1929	Logan, Cache, Utah, United States
  Marriage	2 Oct 1929	Logan, Cache, Utah, United States
  Children	1. Lawrence Benson Lee,   b. 8 Dec 1931, Provo, Utah, Utah, United States d. 7 Jun 2014, Orem, Utah, Utah, United States (Age 82 years)   2. Karen Louise Lee,   b. 12 Dec 1933, Logan, Cache, Utah, United States d. 27 Mar 2005, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States (Age 71 years)   3. Patricia Fae Lee,   b. 17 Jan 1937, Rigby, Jefferson, Idaho, United States d. 30 Jun 2017, St. George, Washington, Utah, United States (Age 80 years) + 4. Zetta Maurie Lee,   b. 18 Sep 1938, Montpelier, Bear Lake, Idaho, United States d. 10 Nov 1985, Springville, Utah, Utah, United States (Age 47 years)
  Family ID	F348	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart
  Last Modified	21 Apr 2024

  
  

• Event Map

  Census - 1910 - Whitney, Franklin, Idaho, United States Birth - 16 Mar 1910 - Whitney, Franklin, Idaho, United States Christening - 1 May 1910 - Whitney, Franklin, Idaho, United States Marriage License - 1 Oct 1929 - Logan, Cache, Utah, United States Initiatory (LDS) - 2 Oct 1929 - LOGAN Marriage - 2 Oct 1929 - Logan, Cache, Utah, United States Death - 5 Dec 1997 - Provo, Utah, Utah, United States Burial - 9 Dec 1997 - Orem City Cemetery, Utah, Utah, United States  = Link to Google Earth

  
  

• Notes

  Donna Benson Lee’s Personal History I was born March 16, 1910. Dr. Cutler, Preston, Idaho, delivered a fat 1 1 -lb. baby just a few minutes after midnight. My mother, Melinda Caroli n e (Linda) Nelson Benson, wanted to say I was born on my older brother' s b irthday (the 15th), but my father, Serge B. Benson, said, "But she wa s bo rn on the 16th." So statistically my birth was accurately reported . Di d I escape the foreboding Ides of March? My brother, who became dail y mor e dear to me had his birthday celebrated on the 15th and I was hono red t o share his festivities. It's a compliment to him that I never reme mber f eeling anger nor envy nor jealousy for him in my entire life. Whe n I wa s small, I slept with him. I shed bitter tears when my aunts nagge d my mo ther into separating us, and then I had to sleep with my sister C onnie- 2 years my senior. My mother, who had had an appetite for sweets during the pregnancy, wa s s everely torn in the delivery. She reminded me of that throughout my l ife- -never thinking to blame herself or the large head size of the Benso n anc estors I had. Her memory of that huge baby always got in the way o f reali ty. This idea of hers actually clouded my self-confidence most o f my life . It wasn't until after my own marriage that I was able to exon erate myse lf from guilt. I felt responsible for the many illnesses she s uffered an d always blamed myself for being big and ugly. As a very smal l child an d throughout my life I loved and respected my mother. Never di d I do or s ay anything that I thought would make her unhappy. My fathe r so impresse d me with the necessity for saving her any worry that I lea rned rigid sel f control very early. Hoping to give me musical talent, sh e studied the g uitar during her pregnancy and named me Donna from "Prima donna." When I c ould not sing naturally in tune, she refused to give m e music lessons. Al l the rest of the children were encouraged to take le ssons. My first memory is of waking from an afternoon nap and noticing the ti n y golden lines crisscrossing the dark green blinds where they bad bee n ro lled and unrolled for so many years. The deep breathing of my four-y ear-o ld sister Connie punctuated the quiet of the afternoon. Quietly I l ay i n my crib waiting for my father to come from his country store nex t doo r to take us up from our nap. He had taught me not to cry and not t o clim b out of bed lest I disturb my sister who always seemed to sleep m any min utes longer than I. No fear troubled my mind. I knew my father wa s near a nd my mother, teaching school across the street, would be home a t noon t o give me my lunch. If she were too busy my father or his hire d girl woul d run over from the store next door and take us up. Our earl y home stoo d close to my father's general merchandise store, which he ha d purchase d from his sister's husband, George Alder. It was the only sto re in town , a small establishment also housing the post office for Whitn ey. Whitney, Franklin County, Idaho, was listed as my birthplace. Whitney w a s in the Oneida (L.D.S.) Stake, a farming community with fewer than 20 0 p eople. The small frame house immediately west of the store and separa te d from it by a driveway and a thick hedge housed the Benson family, and that's where I was born. North and back a hundr e d or so yards from the store lot was a fair-sized frame house where George T. and Louis a A . Benson, parents of Serge, lived. A variety of fruit trees, flowers, and vegetable gardens and berry bush e s covered about two acres of land. Farther north, down a little slop e b y a small stream were barns and sheds and corrals for a few animals. Across the street south of the store was the stone church, and further s o uth, the red brick school house. This area included play grounds an d a sm all grove of trees. It was called the school house lot or the chur ch lot . Ball diamonds were marked out and areas for foot races measured . Area s were smoothed for marble playing which was a favorite recreatio n durin g school recess. School and community recreation activities wer e aided an d encouraged by the storekeeper. As their own children approached school age, Mother (Melinda Caroline Ne l son) Benson, an experienced elementary school teacher, and Dad (Serge B al lif Benson) became interested in school politics. For most of their ye ar s in Whitney one or the other of them served as a school trustee or me mbe r of the school board. Mother often substituted for absent ill teache rs. My sister Sergene, six years my senior, cared for me a great deal of t h e time. I took advantage of her. She said when we were grown that I w a s a bawl-baby as a young child. I remember crying and complaining to he r , realizing at a very early age that she would always give in to me. When I was nearly four years old my sister Fae was born—Valentine nigh t 1 914. My grandmother, Stake Relief Society President, assisted Dr. Cut le r with the birth, and I stayed with my grandfather George Taft Benson . Ne ither of us could sleep. He, being a very tender, loving man was evi dentl y worried about the ordeal my mother was enduring. I, sensitive t o the te nsion surrounding me, stood with my small hand in his looking ou t at th e cold February sky, clear and spangled with stars. He repeated t wice th e words to two verses of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and was a mazed wh en I repeated the two verses without faltering. He later told m y father t hat I had an exceptional mind and my father always believed th at about m e for the remainder of his life. When church visitors or impor tant guest s were at our home, my father would call on me to give the fam ily praye r because I could repeat big words and religious phrases that h ad appeale d to me while listening to my elders. At this time my mother w rote tha t I had a quiet, amenable disposition but that when I though t I was righ t nothing could change me. She added in parentheses ("and sh e usually i s right.") The years in between us evidently were difficult for Mother who had on e m iscarriage, and when Fae was about one year old, Mother suffered a co mple te breakdown. I do not know how long she was away from home. My fath er to ld us she had an appendicitis operation and complications. From he r old l etters and papers I conclude she was away at least three months . I can re member my father's walking the floor with Fae until she woul d sleep. I wo ndered then "Why?" because I had always lain awake for hour s at night mak ing up my own dreams. My father had taught me not to cry o ut or do anythi ng to upset Mother. We had a horse named Nellie that Dad used on a white-topped buggy to ha u l freight from the railway station, which stood on the tracks a half mi l e away. We also had a black one seated buggy and sometimes Dad would pile all of us in and drive us to see near b y relatives. Sometimes we were taken to the Saturday afternoon movie s i n Preston. The movies were continued from week to week. One series ca lle d "Ruth of the Rockies" left the heroine hanging from a cliff or in s om e other precarious predicament each time and my older sister would be g m y father to let us go the next week. My parents were active in bringing educational Chautauqua to Preston . M y oldest sister would walk--shepherding the younger ones up the railr oa d tracks to Preston. I'd always promise to walk all the way, but I'd g e t tired coming home. I'd howl and she would carry me on her back. The n Co nnie, the sister two years older than I, would bawl and Sergene woul d car ry her. How I worked Sergene! She took me on her picnics and partie s. I' d always promise I could walk all the way then she'd end up carryin g me . I'd climb the trees and get afraid to come down, and she would hav e t o rescue me. My mother got out of patience with my imposing on her, a nd o nce when I had seriously cut my leg on a nail on a bridge I'd improv ise d to cross the ditch, she stood in the doorway shouting, "Get up, yo u bi g boob, Sergene's not going to carry you.” I was just four, and ten- year- old Sergene, near enough to see the spurt of blood from the deep ga sh, gr abbed me up and ran into the store to my father. Dad stuck it toge ther a s best he could and bandaged the wound. It really needed stitchin g and I' ll carry the scar to my grave. I always wanted my mother to sa y she was s orry, but she never did. My Benson grandparents lived just north of the store in what we called " t he big house." My two youngest aunts, Jennie and Kinnie, were married f ro m that house. Carmen, just older than they, worked in Hotel Utah in Sa l t Lake City, and I remember my father paying part of her expenses whe n sh e went on a mission. My grandparents moved to a small stucco house o n 1s t West in Logan next to the old home my grandmother's father had ha d whe n he brought his family from Lausanne, Switzerland. We moved into the "big house" in Whitney. It really seemed big. It ha d a n upstairs, and in the wintertime a coal heater in the upstairs hal l kep t the chill off the bedrooms. In a big windowless attic room on a r aise d platform was the upstairs toilet. We used coal oil lamps and tha t roo m was mighty scary without a lamp. In one wall an opening led int o the ea ves of the house. Sand was used for insulation and often I'd sne ak in the re with a small lamp, crawl in the attic, set the lamp on th e 2 x 4 joist s, sit by the side of the lamp, and read for hours or unti l I'd finishe d my book. Thinking back I'm amazed that I didn't set the h ouse on fire. In the kitchen there was a dumb waiter. We would put fresh vegetables, l e ftovers, and even pans of milk on the shelves. The pulleys worked so sm oo thly that the shelves could be let down into the basement to keep th e foo d cool. Sliding doors separated the two front rooms. The best room had uncomfort a ble mahogany furniture with leather seats and backs. My older brother a n d sisters used the piano in this room. I loved to sing, but evidently c ou ldn't hit the tune, and when I heard my mother say, "The poor girl, sh e'l l never be able to carry a tune," I became very self-conscious and ne ve r let anyone hear me sing. A song, "Dear Old Ma," a slushy, sentimenta l , ballad was one of my favorites. My voice was loud and piercing an d I re ally belted our the words. Perhaps if I'd chosen a more suitable m elody m y mother wouldn't have been so critical and who knows, I may hav e had a f ew music lessons. I had the desire, unrequited, perhaps that i s why I wa s always susceptible to the charms of male vocalists. The same serene security experienced as a toddler waiting for her moth e r and father to pick her up, generated in me by my wonderful earthly pa re nts, stayed with me my entire life. This assurance did not permit me t o s it still and wait for things to happen, nor to expect someone else t o d o anything for me, but it encouraged me to use my native intelligenc e t o accomplish as best I could the task that needed to be done. My memories of our Whitney home are very happy ones. In my father's stor e , he would put his tall ladder up to the shelves of merchandise, an d I wo uld perch on the ladder rungs and count the cans of this and boxe s of tha t, "taking inventory," he told me. He taught me to add and subtr act and m ultiply and how to sit quietly and not interrupt when he was bu sy. I lear ned then how to listen quietly, too, a habit which enhanced m y teaching c areer. It's surprising how learning to listen furthers a chi ld's educatio n. I believe there in my father's store is also when I lear ned to read an d write. My mother said no one taught me to read, yet I co uld read whe n I was four years old. I knew most of the nursery rhymes b y heart an d a great many simple poems my mother had read to me. The vers es my olde r sisters and brothers learned at school stuck in my memory wh en I hear d them practicing at home. Most of them I can still remember. M y family t hought me an extraordinarily bright child. When I began school , I was rea ding Barrie's Peter Pan. When George Taft and Louisa Benson moved to Logan where they planned t o d o temple work, Mother and Dad moved our family into the big house. Th e sm all house was rented generally to school employees. Mother saw to i t tha t the teachers had a good place to live. Sometimes she had to tak e them i nto her own home. School trustees—we call them board members now —had to b e elected by the school patrons. My father or my mother alway s served o n the board. My birthday came in March, so I couldn't go to sc hool unti l the next fall. I started school at the age of six attending t he Whitne y Elementary School. My first grade teacher, Miss Wilson, had d ark hair a nd brown eyes. I thought that she was beautiful. My mother sub stituted fo r her toward the spring of the year. When she returned, she h ad been marr ied, and we had to call her Mrs. Miles. The second year I co mpleted the 3 rd and 4th grades. My teacher wanted to move me into the 6t h grade. My si ster Connie didn't want her younger sister in the same gra de. I went int o the 5th grade. Some of my close friends in elementary sc hool were Gertr ude Dunkley, Sarah Beckstead, Alvin Hull, Stella Swainsto n, and Eldora Al der. Two grades met in each room. When I had discovere d reading for pleas ure, a whole new world opened up for me. From then o n I read voraciously . I'd have several books started and stash each on e in a place where I ex pected to be assigned to work. When I heard someo ne coming, I'd slide th e book under me, a habit that became entrenched . My husband years later t ook delight in catching me doing this. He too k pride in my reading compre hension and speed. He said it took a lot o f effort when he had to compet e with a book for my attention. During that 5th grade year my father sold the Whitney store and home t o h is uncle, Louis Ballif. He bought a home on 5th North in Logan, Utah . Wit h his brother-in-law, Leo Peck and with Leo's brother, he bough t a butche r shop. As soon as the business prospered, the two Peck brothe rs put th e pinch on my father. He could buy them out at a greatly inflat ed price o r he'd lose what he had invested. From then on for some year s our relatio nship with the Pecks seemed awkward. My father's business prospered. He became Bishop of the Logan Fourth War d . He had little time to relax or spend with his family. Our lives real l y changed when he bought the home his grandfather, Ezra Taft Benson, h a d built when Pres. Brigham Young sent him to Cache Valley in 1860. Thi s g rand old home, 139 East 1st North, entranced me when I first visite d my f riends Anna and Mary Oldham who lived there. Now it was going to b e our o wn home! It seemed immense. A hedge enclosed and surrounded the h uge fron t yard. Bridal wreath and other beautiful shrubs dotted the slop ing gree n lawn. The imposing and inspiring Logan Temple on the block eas t of us s eemed to preside over the back yard. Many times during the nex t eight yea rs, in sunlight and in moonlight, I stood at the rear of thi s dear home a nd watched the light and shadow stream over the gray ston e walls and turr ets of the temple. Most of my serious decisions were res olved there. Th e western slope of the temple hill was not cultivated whe n we first move d to 1st North. With my butterfly net I caught flying ins ects and butterf lies for my 9th grade biology class. I think I passed o n to my children m y own love for that wonderful home. So much love was f elt there that whe n my young son's Sunday School teacher asked "Who in t he class wanted t o go to heaven," 3-year-old Larry answered, "I'd rathe r go to Grandy an d Grandpa Benson's house." I was baptized in the Logan Temple. I attended Logan Jr. High school. So m e special teachers I remember were Mr. Tibbetts, my Aunt Mrs. Mable Fr y , and Mr. R Morris. My most special teachers in high school were Miss A ld yth Vernon and Miss Thain. When World War I ended, I was eight years o ld . In our primary we had learned to knit, and we made wool scarves fo r sol diers. I remember my grandmother and mother helping the Relief Soci ety bu y wheat for storage. We even used potato flour in quantity to sav e the wh eat for the soldiers and the poor. All the older boys and youn g men wer e volunteering. Patriotism was at a high pitch. For two years I attended Seminary at the Logan B.Y.C., and I attended co l lege at Utah State Agricultural College for 3 years, one quarter spen t a t B.Y.U. in Provo, majoring in English and minoring in history. My father, Serge B. Benson's teaching at a great university or on a boa r d of education did not bestow credentials upon him. He had no beautiful l y lettered diplomas nor were his teachers thus endowed. His parents, ea rl y Cache Valley pioneers, direction by Church doctrine and following th e d irections of the General Authorities helped him develop the qualitie s tha t made him, my dear father, the greatest teacher I ever had. My dear cousin, Ezra T. Benson, in 1977 (just prior to the April 1977 gr a duation at B.Y.U. when the College of Family Living bestowed their Dist in guished Family Living Award on me) spoke to me about the great influence his uncle, Serge B. Benso n , had had on his life. During the impressionable time in his youth, h e sa id my father had taught him in three separate church classes each we ek. H e asked me if I knew what a great teacher my father was. His glowin g acco unt of my father's abilities brought to my attention the greatnes s of thi s loving, unselfish, gifted teacher who was my own father. He gave me the perfect example of a man who loved his neighbor as himsel f . He shared all he owned: his flowers and vegetables, products of his o w n hands, with the sick and the needy; his money with worthy students a n d all who asked. Most of all, he had love and kind words for everyone . H e gave all this while caring lavishly for his wife and eight children . Wh en I see my children and grandchildren taking such pleasure from ser vin g others, I realize the great value of his teaching. He taught me to care for the sick. Many times I knelt with him at the be d side of my unconscious mother rubbing her limbs to keep the ebbing spa r k of life in her cold body, listening to his fervent prayers and hopin g G od would listen He taught such love and respect for our wonderful mot he r that she was able to say just before her death that I had never spok e n a cross or unkind word to her in my life. He taught me to value honesty and truth. As a frightened ten-year-ol d I s tood before the school principal as he interviewed one by one all 7 th gra ders in my class seeking to find which one was guilty of a petty t heft. T he principal asked me my father's name. When I answered, "Serge B . Benson ," he said, "You are excused." Right then I resolved to marr y a man of hi gh integrity and so live that our children could receive th e same reward. When he placed his hands on my head rebuking a painful illness and plead i ng that the pain would never return, I had such a faith burn in my hear t . When accredited doctors tried to diagnose the painful illness which t he y said would take my own life before the morning, when they wanted t o ope rate on they didn't know what, my father said, "What for?" They wer en't s ure of the cause. My father called my young brother. Together the y place d their hands upon my head and asked God to help me. My father re buked th e illness and, using the power of the priesthood, commanded th e pain neve r to return. In a few minutes I fell asleep and the pain neve r again trou bled me. In this and many other instances my father taught m e the power o f this great priesthood in our lives in so many ways tha t I was certain t o marry a man with the same sweet reverence and testimo ny. Through wise direction and generous support, he encouraged all of his ch i ldren to get a college education. True humility to him meant a seekin g mi nd open to all good teaching. He taught us to seek after "anything v irtuo us, lovely, of good report or praiseworthy." The lives of his eigh t child ren show how efficacious was his teaching. He taught us the valu e of a go od home and how love and lovingness enhance life. He loved music and gave praise and, when needed, financial aid to indivi d ual performers and musical groups. He had a beautiful baritone voice . I m arried a talented musician and know the great value of music in th e home . My children and grandchildren now sing the many charming folk so ngs m y father taught his own children. Some of the songs we’ve never fou nd in print, but they are part of our family traditions. I never knew of his losing control and speaking in anger, though he taug h t us to be righteously indignant at all unfair dealings. "Have the cour ag e to oppose all wrong or evil behavior, but you lose your power for go o d when you speak or act in anger" My thirty years of teaching teenager s p roved his teaching right. Like the great oceans hug the land, so his love poured out through all h i s teachings for all people. "Don't worry so much about whether someon e lo ves you, just see that you love them." "I don't worry about your doi ng wr ong," he'd say, "but your sins of omission trouble me." It's almost twenty years since he left this life, and I'm still tryin g t o follow his teachings, and so are his grandchildren and his great-gr andc hildren. I was fortunate to be reared in a prosperous middle class family, the fo u rth child to graduate from Utah State Ag. College. I turned 19 in Marc h a nd graduated in May. Then on the 2nd of October I married Lawrence , a mus ic student from B.Y.U. who had left school to pursue a singing ca reer i n Southern California. Before we reached California, the depressio n hit a nd the little money left in the bank was wiped out. Lawrence ha d work i n a cold storage plant. He sang special engagements for small su ms, for p art of a year he was tenor soloist on Sundays in the All Saint s Episcopa l Church in Pasadena, which was supposed to be the richest chu rch in th e U.S. at that time. I had received an offer to teach in one of Utah's junior colleges - bei n g one of the three highest in an English exam given to graduates. Becau s e my offer was for the largest jr. college, I assumed I had passed high es t. However, women were not given teaching or equivalent jobs during th e d epression. My husband and I registered for free night classes offere d b y California's public school system. I studied Public Health and Hom e Nur sing under the director of nursing at the Los Angeles Hospital, th e large st nursing school in California at that time. The second night w e both to ok journalism. We were very active in church work and most all our social life center e d around the Church. With four other young couples we camped on the bea ch es and in canyons available in 1929-30. I especially enjoyed swimmin g i n the ocean. I was very buoyant in sea water and more than once frigh tene d my husband by venturing out too far. Our first year in California passed uneventfully. The young couples deci d ed to have babies. All were fortunate in becoming pregnant but us. Th e do ctor said I had too high blood sugar count. I tried to eat no suga r food s and very little starchy foods. In the summer of 1930 we visited our parents in Logan, Utah and Rigby, Idaho. My parents decided to ren t their home and move for a 2 year vacation in California. The four young sisters and brother with my parents wer e fitted into a bungalow we had rented and unti l March of 1931 we lived together very happily. My husband had agreed to purchase his father's Lone Pine Ranch, which w a s in the mountains above Ririe, Idaho. We bought a tiny Ford truck, pu t i t and all our belongings on the back of a large farm truck, and drov e t o Idaho. We fixed up a small house, more like a 2-room shed, put al l far m equipment in one room, and our household goods in the largest roo m. W e made a straw tick and put it on an old bed frame. It served as spr ing s and mattress. An old iron range served us for heat and cooking. W e plan ted acres of grain, etc. That year, 1931, there was a severe droug ht. Th e creek dwindled to almost nothing. We dug out an old well to ge t drinkin g water and water to wash. Lawrence tilled the land with his se cond-han d tractor and sang grand opera to the birds and rock chucks. I m ade frien ds with water snakes that hung around the almost dried out spri ng. By June, being 3 months pregnant, it was a bit difficult for me to run a f ter the few sheep and cattle. Someone gave me a small pig. I named hi m Vo ltaire. He followed me wherever I went. Once he ran away when Grandm a Le e came to visit and I'd not paid him any attention. Grandma and Lawr enc e chased him through the almost dry creek bed. I laughed and laughed . Whe n I got control of myself, I called to him and he trotted up to m e quickl y. Because of the drought, the crop was a failure. Grandpa Lee and Lawren c e couldn't agree about anything. I needed to have medical attention, s o i n September Lawrence moved me with all my things to Provo. He went ba ck t o salvage what he could. The little truck was repossessed along wit h th e tractor and machinery. Grandpa Lee was determined that he was goin g t o have anything available, so Lawrence drove away with nothing but th e ha lf paid for truck and my pig Voltaire. That winter Voltaire was th e onl y meat we had. Even the smell of pork cooking made me sick for year s afte r. Lawrence audited B.Y.U. classes, used the truck to haul coal, and delive r ed it. If Sergene hadn't lived with us that winter we couldn't have liv e d through the trying times. If we hadn't found a good doctor to delive r o ur baby both mother and baby would have died. In March 1932, we moved to Preston, Idaho. Our truck was soon after repo s sessed. For $15 we bought an old roofless decrepit touring car. We ha d n o money for a license and drove on back roads to avoid state patrolme n. W e raised vegetables and strawberries and sold them for almost nothin g . I would work in the garden with "baby son” sleeping in a basket nearb y . But we were always active in the Church. Lawrence directed the stak e ch oir. When the Benson family moved back to Logan, Father went into coal sale s , and Lawrence drove a truck and delivered coal. When he had work, my y ou nger sister or brother stayed with me on the Preston Sandcrest farm. T he y cared for the cows and pigs. Thieves stole one suckling pig each we e k I used to watch with a loaded 22 rifle. Once I shot at the feet o f a th ief who was racing across the field. The thief dropped the pig an d neve r came again. At the end of the summer, there was no sale for th e vegetab les—we dumped a truck load of beautiful onions on the side of t he canyo n road and sold a car load of radishes all washed and bunched fo r 35 cent s, then paid 50 cents for 100 lbs. of flour. We worked togethe r and had l ots of happy times on no money. After the second summer, we f ixed an apar tment in the Logan house on 5th East and 4th North and too k care of the r est of the apartments for our rent. Lawrence went to Utah State Ag. College and sang the tenor role in the o p era. On Dec.11, I went to see the production in the Logan Tabernacle. A l l of the Benson family proudly attended to hear the golden tenor voic e . I attended a reception after the performance, went home and washed m y h air, put it in pin curlers. When the pains were coming 3 minutes apar t, I took our young son to Mother. At 3 a.m. I went to the hospital one blo c k from the Benson home where Karen was born around 8 a.m. on Dec. 12, 1 93 3. During the Second World War, men were not so eager to enlist. My husba n d and I were living on a farm in Ammon, Idaho, and Lawrence tried to vo lu nteer. He was turned down because of age, occupation, and number of de pen dents. He tried to get in the Navy as a bandmaster aboard a ship—the y tur ned him down—no openings. Five hundred Mexican laborers, brought in to Ida ho to harvest the potato crop, went on strike and refused to work . Govern ment officials learning of my husband's facility with the Spanis h languag e took him to the labor camp. In a very few minutes he settle d the strike , and finding food was the problem, he had made hot salsa an d the men wer e back at work. When the work in Idaho was completed, he mo ved with the m to their next job in California, leaving me to tend the fa rm and four s mall children. When it became necessary to move to Californ ia, Lawrence c ame home long enough to sell the farm and move his famil y to Logan. My pa rents had been called on a mission to California, an d I was to take car e of my youngest sister Jacque, an 18-year-old colleg e student and five b oarders. Larry was 12, Karen 10, and Ticia turne d 7 in January. Zetta wa s 4. There is no formally written story of Donna Benson Lee’s life between 19 4 2 and 1978. In 1978, my baby sister Jacque took me to the Salt Lake Airport on Jun e 1 3. We arrived early and waited for Donna Maree Bradshaw. Finally I go t i n a line and checked my bags verifying my ticket and got a seat. I as ke d the agent to save a seat by me for my granddaughter. They were the l as t seats in the non-smoking section. About 15 minutes before flying tim e , Donna Maree arrived in company with her friends April and Jennifer. T h e plane arrived one hour late from Denver, so we still had a long wait . J acque had to leave, but Donna's friends stayed until the plane left . Beca use we were late, the wait over in Chicago wasn't so long. Our lug gage ha d been checked through to Luxemburg, but by p.m. we were on our f light. B ecause of the 7-hour time change it was 2:30 when we met Karen a nd famil y in Luxembourg. Their Fiat had a rack on the top. My big suitca se had t o be hoisted up with their big suitcases. It was a difficult jo b to get e verything on and the small cases, etc. in the trunk. We reall y fitted snu gly in the back. Luckily none of us have long legs, so we we re fairly com fortable. NOTE: Donna Lee spent the remainder of 1978 living with her daughter Ka r en Bradshaw’s family while they were there on Sabbatical leave from BYU . Ticia just left Donna Lee on Aug. 17, 1981. What a daughter! With all h e r multiplicity of tasks she attends to all the needs of her mother whi l e skillfully manipulating a complaining 9-year-old son and worrying abo u t her 5-year-old son at a friend's. The 5-year-old has a fever and sh e ha s a guest coming to dinner. I'm X-rayed, blood and heart tested, and after twice postponed, prepar e d for cataract surgery in the morning at 10:30. This is a Catholic hosp it al. I have a private room on the 5th floor near the desk. The city noi se s are intensely loud so that the routine hospital noises aren't very n oti ceable. I am not nervous or afraid, perhaps because of the wonderfu l bles sing given to me by my Uncle Paul. However, the experiences of th e last f our months of my husband's life flood my memory. How dear he wa s to me. C aring for him never was a burden. The moments away from him se emed so lon g. Now five years have passed, the longest years of my life . Donna lived in the Cove Point Retirement center for the last 13 year s o f her life and died in December 1997 .