Life History of Marcel F. Lauper
Sixty-five years ago, a little 'mutt' was born and his parents named him Marcel. Now that, as a beginning, would be all right for me; but since we are talking about the father of my children and the grandfather of their children, I must make this sound a bit more dignified.
MARCEL FRANKLIN LAUPER was born September 24, 1911, to Emile Louis and Emma Wissing Lauper, in Elwood, Box Elder County, Utah. I think I have seen the place where I was born after some sixty-years. Serge and Ivan accompanied me last year back to that starting place, our granddaughter Lynette went along, from her home in Riverton, Utah. Serge pointed out the place where I began life. While I cannot remember any details of those early beginnings, I hold that period sacred as an important, intimate relationship with my mother. Yet I feel that the meaning of life and the important things my parents hoped I would accomplish in life began after I met the mother of my children, so I wish to dedicate this portion of my story to my wife: FRANCES ELLEN BARNEY LAUPER.
I was the seventh of ten children and I recollect my mother referring to me as a very pleasant child, smiling a good deal. The first memories I have, of my own, are of Penrose homestead where I would go as a youngster out on the hillside to pick sego roots to eat, and I also remember vividly the beautiful buttercups that grew profusely on the side of that hill, as well as some lovely, lovely primroses to be found down in the gulch. We lived there in a tent beside a lean-to cabin. One graphic memory comes of my sitting on the ‘potty’ as a very young boy, when a heavy wind storm tore the tent away, and there I sat exposed to the elements until my mother came to my rescue. What a lasting impression I have of that experience to this day. I seem to have less appreciation for strong wind than any other show of weather or climate. Many years later, I was to voluntarily take to living with a 'hair piece', an item that only intensified my antipathy for wind.
1917, Sugarville, UT
We leave Penrose [having moved from Elwood in about 1914], with its water barrel from which we obtained drinking water; and I am found living in Delta, Millard County, Utah [or rather, Sugarville, 8 miles north of Delta]. In route, during our move, we stopped briefly in Salt Lake City and Lehi, Utah. during which time I first became acquainted with Uncle Julius and Aunt Lena Sorensen; and I remember too, Farrell and Vera Sorensen, two of their children. It was during these visits that I first saw electric lighting, indoor plumbing, carpeting, and the like---such beautiful and noteworthy experiences. I remember walking the streets of the small community of Lehi, where our Phillips relatives lived, and there saw roses in profusion growing and blooming in banks along the fences of our Aunt Alice's yard as well as her neighbors, the Broadbents. These were thrilling, beautiful moments which still linger in my memory.
On to Delta, to what was known as the Kinney place, and it seems to me I remember a rug, about 9 x 12, on the floor there, an innovation in our living. Here, and later at the Hunter 'red house' was to be the living quarters of my entire youth. Our family experienced some very bitter, as well as memorable good times during this period, and at these two locations. I have always thought of us as being very, very poor; but now I wonder if the legacy of good memories is as rich for my children as it has been for me.
I'll talk a little about the animals. We saw horses, cows, goats, sheep, antelope, dogs, cats, badgers, coyotes, skunks, ducks, chickens, turkeys, pigeons, weasels, wild horses, rabbits, rats, and mice. We saw thousands of sparrow birds—“spugs,” crows, owls, eagles, and black birds. Not until this moment, I had not realized we were exposed to so much wild life along with the domestic life --- there in that forsaken, near-desert country —Sugarville, Utah. I should mention the gopher and snake variety. My first encounter with a snake was while we were still at Penrose —and this was found inside the house! Now some of the animals we became intimate--attaching pet names to the domestic animals. 'Muley’ the name of the cow I milked —and from which base, I engaged in milk fights with my brothers. In our disconcert, we would squirt milk at each other, aiming for the face, down the neck, ears, etc. while milking side by side. Then there was little 'Nanny', a goat that Dennis milked, along with many others for each of us: ‘Buck' was the little club-footed horse to which Dennis laid claim, not large but a pretty good little galloper. He grew old under our constant use and had to be extinguished----much to Dennis' heartache. We had 'Fan' and 'Pet', a good team of workhorses, and 'Quince', bred from racehorse stock that served us well. I might add with pride there was no one in the Pahvant Valley who could outrun me when I was on 'Quince’, a supreme feeling. This pony could not be held back and I could feel the surge under me as that mare began to take the lead, and for a moment I was a winner. Then there was another excellent pony named 'Flash', who was a real wild horse tamed for Felix's predominant use. “Flash” was used to the prairie and the rough country, and served my trapping brothers in great fashion. On the straight-of-way, finished roads, he was not the fastest, but out in the open 'Flash' would pass them all. (Lumps come to my throat as I recount some of these memories.) It was on January 1st, 1927, my brother Felix left this world, after several agonizing days of suffering from a fatal hunting accident. Afterwards I had more use of the fine animal, 'Flash'. One day I was galloping slowly toward our 'red house' home, when suddenly this pony suffered a heart attack or some related congestion, and he slumped, buckled under me, fell to the earth and died within a minute. I scarcely had time to remove the bridle-bit from his mouth before rigor mortis had set and the good old wild horse, turned domestic, was dead.
Every once in a while a Gypsy family would pass our Sugarville home. On one occasion we saw a family with a little coyote tied to their wagon – using a wire, of all things. That wire had literally penetrated the pelt of the animal and its poor neck was raw and bleeding. This was evidence of sharp cruelty. My brothers interceded by trading one of their coyote pelts to the Gypsy group in exchange for the coyote, which our family affectionately named 'Queenie’. We kept her in a pen, built by my brothers, and this animal became a playful pet for all of us. Once in a while she would be let out of her pen and she would run and jump all over the chickens and turkeys – by instinct, not out of hunger, until she was apprehended. We did enjoy this animal and fed her well on rats and mice and the like, but her nature was such that she was prompted to try to catch the domestic foul. It was a good while until the influence of some kind of before-our-time ecology measure brought my brothers' and parents' decision to turn her loose on the prairie. Ironically, it was not long thereafter when we heard of someone shooting a very tame-like coyote, which came as despicable news to those of us who had enjoyed her so much as a pet.
On another occasion, brothers Felix and John captured a little skunk. We called him 'Tabby'. I can still hear my mother’s shrieks - more particularly when someone dared bring this animal into the house, but he was very nice, playful and tame, and a friendly little fellow. Mother was much more practical on the subject, always fearing that something would excite this little animal and he would “cut loose”. Then, of course, we'd have to move out —— at least for a good time until that stench disintegrated. This was too grave a chance to take.
We had many hounds during my days on the farm. Those that I remember especially and particularly were Dot and her pup Coalie. I was little Coalie's master, at least I thought so. Such a cute little black dog with a touch of white. Dot was brownish yellow, as I remember her, with strains of a thoroughbred Collie. She was a wonderfully smart dog. One morning when one of our cows was bloating, Dot kept barking to awaken our Sunday morning sleeping family, to call attention that there was something wrong. Many attempts were made to quiet her, only to learn later that she had an important message for us. If the warnings of that faithful dog had been adhered to, a valuable cow might have been saved. Finally, this loving friend of the family, 'Dottie', was poisoned by a cruel neighbor, Pap Campbell. He was an eccentric elderly bachelor who lived nearby, and had no feelings for pets and the like. He also managed to exterminate several hundred of our pigeons. The raising of pigeons was another of my brother's projects. This neighbor was rather extreme in his reasons for not wishing the birds to fly over or linger near his property. In his efforts, many chickens fell prey, along with our favorite, though innocent, pet dog. This incident had such a profound influence on my sensitive nature that I, for a long time, could not eat chicken or eggs or other foods, wherein eggs were used.
My little dog, 'Coalie' was a fine little hound. He truly was 'Marcel's little friend'. I'd take him along going out to get the cows and especially when it was growing dark. I always felt comforted to have my lil' 'Coalie' along for he seemed to be my last bastion against coyotes, wolves, or other harm. I never encountered a danger that materialized if I merely said, "Get him Coalie!” How I loved that little dog. One night I came home in a pelting rain, and having my coat pulled up about my face, 'Coalie' didn’t recognize me immediately, and he came forth growling, and barking fiercely until I pulled down my coat and shouted his name, saying, "It is your little master.” He bounded forward to get close to my wet figure and trying to lick me, even in that torrent of rain. There were times when returning on Sunday with my best Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes on, this loyal friend came bounding with muddy feet, I fairly had to kick him away to save my clothes. 'Coalie' always liked to go with me wherever I went; and always welcomed me from school or whatever. On occasion when going with my father to the Cedars —a distance of some 25 to 30 miles away, for the purpose of obtaining fuel wood and cedar posts, I was allowed to take 'Coalie'. This made me happy, and as I set forth in exploration of those heavily wooded areas, I was not afraid with my protector. It seems I have given quite a space to birds and animals, but they truly were a large part of my boyhood life.
My first schooling began in Sugarville, in September 1917, near my sixth birthday. My mother in anticipating whatever disaster could befall me, had written my name on a slip of paper, and tucked this into the small watch pocket on the bib of my overalls. The inevitable happened when I reached school that first day. The teacher asked my name and I couldn't utter it, nor could I remember where mother had put that note. To this day I feel that horrible embarrassment. (NOTE: Six year olds of that day seemed so lacking in confidence, even sophistication as exists in the equivalent aged children we know today). You'd think in such a 'metropolis’ as Sugarville” that someone of those 20 or 30 children would have recognized and bailed out that little red-headed, freckle-faced, small-of stature Marcel Lauper, but none of them felt so inclined. Other members of my family were absent from that schoolroom, for those who could help with the harvesting always made a late start to school. It was a terrible experience!
We'll skip a few years, but not many. (It is curious that this stands out in my mind) I remember a day when sister, Viola, and I were trudging to school ——I as the big brother of the two. This was a day following a tremendous snowfall, and now the temperature was sub zero. The snowdrifts were above the top of the fence posts and all with a heavy frozen crust, which enabled us to walk on these high drifts in the direction of our schoolhouse, some 1-1/4 miles in distance. Imagine, a world of snow, such was that! White everywhere, and so encompassing that all low level objects were blanketed. The story goes ——we both were frost bitten when we reached the schoolhouse. There was no way of notifying our parents, so the teacher secured a pan of snow. placed our hands in the pan—which is a proven method to assist in thawing frozen limbs. Viola was crying, and badly bitten, so we gave most attention to her, while I attempted to be manly and heroic -even so two of my fingers were badly frozen and it was a dangerous episode. Viola lost the skin from all of her fingers and they were a long time in healing, even leaving both of her thumbs stunted in growth so they are peculiar looking to this day. Only our Heavenly Father saved those two little urchins from a worse fate that day, which is the coldest and snowiest weather I can remember of Sugarville. (Another NOTE here; at this writing, during January 1977, my daughter Susan who lives on the Eastern seaboard, reports the coldest weather there in over 100 years). So my schooling at Sugarville continued first through eighth grades. At the beginning, the whole school met in one single room, but finally expanding into a two-room school house, 1st thru 4th in one room; and the “big kids” in another – 5th through 8th. When I graduated from the 8th grade, our class was a total of six: four girls and two boys. I think I could modestly and easily claim first place, in the whole school, in the subjects of reading and arithmetic; while last place in spelling and geography.
I have two short animal stories, which should have been noted previously. One. I was a Trapper. I inherited Felix’s traps and set out a line, catching a badger, skunk, I think a muskrat, some squirrels, and many coyotes. One day I returned from the trap line, riding Felix’s pony, Flash, (and I should add that I Inherited his trap equipment while Felix was still alive), bringing in three (3) coyotes attached to my saddle. I did experience near-harm that day with my pony becoming frightened -where I could have been kicked and killed; but I’ll leave that account to another time. We sold these coyote pelts for $5. to $6.00 each; and that was a lot of money for us. Two. The other animal story concerns little 'Trixie', the colt to a wild mare, brought in by Dennis and Ralph from the desert. The boys turned the mother back on the prairie, keeping the colt; and finally came the day to break-for-riding. Dennis mounted ‘Trixie’ and I held the halter rope —holding it fast to the saddle of the horse that I was riding. We went out into the ploughed field, the place where Dennis actually did mount. The little colt couldn't buck easily in such rough terrain, so reduced herself to a very fine and tame behavior – the easiest method we ever used. We kept and used this fine little pony for many years, even taking her along when we moved to California, Dennis and Ralph finally sold her. Curiously enough, the last we heard of 'Trixie', colt of the wild horse, she was performing in Vaudeville shows.
I started early with 'puppy loves'. During my elementary school years, I managed to have several. There was LaVon, Elma, Myrna, Bessie, and one I shall never forget was Leola. Mind you this is up to and including the 8th grade and shortly thereafter. I say this as a warning to my children who are parents so they will not overlook the seriousness of when their children express deep feelings. Two more grade school experiences that should be noted: One. My athletic prowess. Sugarville played Sutherland in a game of basketball. The score ended 6 to 2 in favor of Sugarville. I was the star guard, and the only two points they made were over my head. Two. The 'Cadillac' story of my young life was when I received a Crusader bicycle. It was so beautiful. It would be most difficult to give me as much a thrill today with a brand new Cadillac, as it was to receive that new bike with all of its accessories. As a preview to this, mother had told me to write to big brother Serge, telling him how much it cost, and what I had to contribute toward it ----- such a very small amount.
Serge, in extremely generous brotherly fashion responded to my letter, sending enough to bring up the cost of the bike -- $30. Unaccustomed as we were in buying such items, we didn't realize it was to come by freight and be held at the Delta freight office for further funds. My dear mother had to scrounge around with egg and cream sale monies to raise another nearly $8.00 and then boy, oh boy, oh boy, I had my new Crusader in pretty red and blue, with a light on it, with batteries, and a little fog-horn type of thing, and a carrier and a basket, a coaster brake. It is really impossible to relay to anyone the thrill of that fine vehicle and my pleasure. I was the envy of the township I am sure.