Personal History of Linda Weiser Leeper
Preface:
Why am I writing this personal history one might wonder? I’m not so sure myself even as I write. I feel guilty that I have waited so long. I am 71 years old as I begin this effort and know or hope I will add chapters for decades to come. One always pictures oneself as living forever or at least a long time. What is it in us that says, ‘I am immortal’ – I will go on and on forever. Truth? I believe we each have little glimpses through the veil of eternity that makes us realize we lived long before we reached this earth and will live for ever after we leave this existence. Perhaps it is the spark of the divine which gives me the feeling of eternal optimism. I don’t think I am afraid to die for I got over that fear long ago as my testimony of God’s plan grew and my life was more in line with God’s desires for me.
I have begun my history many times and then never followed through to finish the effort. Some were lost on old hard drives or discs of an ancient computer. This attempt was hand written because no computer is available to me. I write out of a sense of obedience knowing it can be a cathartic experience to analyze and organize a life. Not that that alone can give meaning or import to it but that it may serve the reader to some small extent. Many addendums were added in 2011 as I began a blog and decided the Linda Story needed a little more meat.
Much of the history was written when we staying on Maui, Hawaii for January and February 0f 2003 to escape the cold of Utah. This brings to mind my take on past events may well be influenced by the peace and calm I feel here in this lovely place. However, one tends to soften the pricks of ones past through the process of selective memory no matter where one lives. I personally am a great “Pollyanna” who sees the good and forgets the sad parts of any event or circumstance. This ability hasn’t always come naturally as I might just as easily dwell on the negative such as the failings of my own and other’s personalities. It’s so easy to point out that mote in another’s eye when ones self is harboring a beam (fault) even larger. I have had to ask God for help to see the positive of situations and people in my life. Just when I think I am being nonjudgmental then I am finding fault or wishing for events or people to change to my way of thinking. So my point is that this remembrance may not be a factual account but my take on what happened and how it affected me at the time. As a reader the only thing I hope for you is that you may learn something to improve your life and the relationship you have with our Savior.
Birth and Heritage
I was born a third child to kind and loving parents through a Western European genealogy. My Mother, Ondulyn Eckersell Weiser, was of Scotch/English lines. One line came to the United States through William Bradford who was on the Mayflower in 1620ish. Others like the McPhails came from Scotland as Mormon converts. Archibald McPhail lost his wife in Scotland then remarried and came to America to be with the Saints in the West. He and his family were on the ill fated Willey Hand Cart company when an early snowstorm caught the company in Wyoming. My mother told me the story that Archibald helped an old woman across a creek after she refused to cross and then he died of hypothermia that night of Nov 6 1856. He was buried near what is now Evanston, Wyoming. Henrietta, his 16 year old daughter survived and lived with Brigham Young’s family for 4 years until she was married in 1861.
Rolland Weiser, My father, told stories of the Weiser family’s flight from Germany in the early 1700s. They went to England and then immigrated as indentured servants to America. The Koonce line through Larry’s mother came to America in this same time period from Germany to North Carolina. My Dad was proud of Conrad Weiser who as a young boy lived with Indians, learned their language and later became an interpreter for General George Washington. Both my parents were proud of their ancestors and instilled that pride in us children.
My older brother, Paul, was 9 years my senior and we didn’t have a close relationship due to the age difference. My sister, Ann, was 4 years older and has been a good friend all my life. I admire her kindness to everyone in her life including me. When we would quarrel as children she was always to one to make up first.
20 November 1939 was the day of my birth in a hospital on College Avenue in Rexburg, Idaho. My mother like most women at that time was hospitalized in bed for 10 days following childbirth. I had all four of our babies on a Friday and was home by Monday, which seemed a more reasonable time to me. Today women are home within 24 hours if they have a normal birth.
You may notice I have a hard time staying on track without editorializing about each event but then that is my personality. My children always felt as if I gave them too much information when a simple answer would do. I know there was a lot of eye rolling when I was going on and on.
Growing up in Rexburg, Idaho, a small Mormon farming community was a pleasant and fun. During my early years World War II and the Jewish Holocaust were happening. In fact it was only two months before I was born that Germany invaded Poland to begin that horrific chapter of history. It sobers me to think of the hundreds of thousands of Jewish children who went to the gas chambers and death camps white I lived in such a safe place. I have never had an answer but know as ‘Church Doctrine’ goes that “when much is given, much is expected. “
We were free to do many activities by ourselves in Rexburg and weren’t afraid of bad people harming us. I walked all over town alone while going and coming from school, violin lessons and friend’s homes and never felt afraid. Walked is the key word here as the town was small enough to perambulate edge to edge in 20 minutes.
Elementary School Years
My earliest memories are of grade school days in the Adams School. My November birth date was past the dead line to start school but my mother was a beautician and did the first grade teacher’s hair in a home beauty shop. Mrs. Bitters, the teacher, observed by developmental level and suggested I start school at age 5. I was therefore always the youngest person in my class which really didn’t seem to make much difference socially or academically. My first memory is of my sister, Ann, walking me to the Adams Elementary school which was two blocks away. I was upset that my mother wasn’t taking me on my first day of school. I think lots of first memories for people are connected to a traumatic or singular event like a little brother or sister coming home from the hospital to nudge them off of their thrones.
Adams elementary school has a few special memories for me as I picture the two story red brick building with a classroom on each corner of the building. When I walk around the building in my mind I discover things I haven’t thought about for decades. First I am propelled back by thoughts of the smell of linseed like oil that was used to treat the wooden floors. Its smell was warm and very rich and made the floor shine with a deep luster. Now the clouds of eraser dust billow through my mind as I think about clapping erasers together to clean them. There was also a wheel with brushes to clean chalk off but if you let go of the eraser it would fly around and land in the dust bin at the bottom which was hard to retrieve. Students were assigned to eraser duty as well as bell duty as a reward for good behavior. I remember feeling very proud to ring the bell for the dismissal of school when the clock above the stairs reached the proper time.
Mrs. Tuescher was my feared third grade teacher. She would whack misbehaving children’s hands with a ruler. I was a good girl in third grade unlike first grade when I talked several children in to leaving at recess to go to my home for a party. I got in trouble for that one. Blaine Hilton was a blond haired boy whom I adored in 3rd grade but not as much as his mother’s sugar cookies. She would make them for our class each holiday and they were cleverly shaped and covered with colorful icing. We never had these at home so it was a special treat and sugar cookies remain my favorite.
Darker Memories
A sad thing happened at Adams Elementary when an auto flush toilet swished away my new topaz ring which slipped from my finger when I stood up and triggered the flush. Another time I jumped off of a teeter totter just to see what would happen to the person on the other end. They came crashing down and let me know that was not a kind thing to do.
The biggest deception I can remember is when I was about 8, I wanted an Easter Chick the worst way. They were so cute and fluffy and I knew one would make a perfect pet. My parents said no way and so I schemed up a plan. There was an Easter Egg Hunt at the Ricks College and I went in hopes to get an egg which would have a prize of a chick. Well I found eggs but no chick prize. There were little stickers on the eggs to tell what prize if any one won. I got a sticker and wrote ‘chick’ on it. I then presented it at the King’s Store where the chicks were sold. They didn’t question the tag and gave me a cute chick. I don’t remember if I named it but it grew rapidly and followed me all around the yard like a dog. My father had a mortuary upstairs in the house were we lived. Once there was a Japanese wake upstairs all around the dead body and my chicken wandered in to the middle of the crowd. My father was aghast but the people told him not to worry that it was very good luck and a great omen for the family. I was off the hook. My conscience by then was too much so I saved up the money for the price of the chick and took it back to the Kings Store. My debt paid I don’t think I ever stole or lied again, well not much.
As I read what I have written here I feel uncomfortable with all the “Is and mes”. I am dismayed by people who always turn the conversation back to themselves. Oh well, this is “My Personal History” and you aren’t being forced to read it although I do have sympathy for you as you could probably be doing something much more useful with your time. Remember though that someday you should write your life’s story for your posterity to know what life was really like way back then.
I love the little chick story.
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