Memories
of
Ezra Grover Carter
Written by his second daughter
Carol Carter Hansen Nelsen
Page 1 of 1

I was thirteen when my father Ezra G. Carter, died. It was the saddest day of my young life. It is still so vivid in my memory. My sister Marilyn and I were sitting outside waiting for Mother (Pearl Geneva Johnson Carter) to come home from the hospital. We knew that Daddy had a stroke but of course we didn't really know how serious it was.

A big black car came up the street and stopped in front of our home and mother and Aunt Clara got out. Mother was crying. She walked past us without saying a word but Aunt Clara turned to us and quietly said, "Your Daddy just died," Marilyn and I just hugged each other and sat out on the steps crying. Childhood ended that day.

My childhood was a happy one until that time. I was the fourth child born to Ezra and Pearl Carter. I had two intelligent, interesting, older brothers, Grover and Mark. I also had a sister Marilyn who was four years older than I and was very talented. But the person that meant the most to me growing up was my adored father. He called me his "little honey." I still have an autograph book wherein he wrote, "Little Honey, you are worth a million to your Pop."

I remember him as being tall, blue eyes that crinkled up when he smiled a little half-smile. He was very gentle with me. I loved the feeling of walking hand in hand with him to our garden plot, about a block away. We had a cow and sometimes he would let me try to milk her. I don't recall him ever talking cross or spanking me but I do remember that one time he was embarrassed with one of my ventures. My neighborhood friend, Sara MuCullough, and I had not been too successful with making money with a lemonade stand. We decided it would be easier to just stretch a rope across the sidewalk and not let people pass until they gave us money. Daddy came home from teaching at the college and immediately put an end to our scheme by taking the rope away and telling me that no daughter of Ezra Carter would take money without earning it in a proper manner.

Even though I don't remember him getting cross or upset with me, he must have had a temper at times. because I have always had a lot of spunk and many times I was told, "you have a temper just like your father!" I liked to be told that and didn't ever work on controlling it while I was growing up as I wanted to be just like my Dad.

I always felt he loved me no matter what. This was very evident when my new baby brother, Phillip, was born. When mother came home from the hospital with the new baby, she left him wrapped up in a blanket lying on our big, round dining room table. I was too short to really see him and I think it was curiosity more than jealousy that made me accidentally pull on the blanket and bring it so close to the edge of the table that the baby rolled out, and fell to the floor. I still remember that awful sound of "thud" and hearing my baby brother cry. I ran out the door and hid in the bushes between our house and our next door neighbor's. It seemed like I was hiding there for hours. As it started to get dark I heard my father call "little honey" and his big strong hands reached in and lifted me up. He carried me into the house and we sat in the big oak rocker and he rocked me for a long time. The incident was never mentioned. I knew he loved me unconditionally.

My father was from Idaho and still had two brothers who lived in Preston Idaho. Uncle Myrin and Uncle Noel had daughters who were close to my age. One summer I was going to visit my cousin Irene for a few days and then finish the week at my cousin Ellen's house. I had only been at Ellen's one day and that night we had gone upstairs to bed but I wasn't asleep yet. Then I heard my father's voice downstairs. He had been to his dryfarm and had decided to just stop by and see how I was doing. That did it. Terrible feelings of nostalgia and homesickness swept over me and I was down the stairs in a flash and almost leapt into the warm comforting arms of my father and could not be persuaded to stay at my cousin's any longer. My father had to take me home that same night.

I think I was about ten years old when my father said to me one fall, "Carol, I'll give you a silver dollar if you are not sick on your birthday this year." My birthday was December 17. I think that is the time that the flu bug usually hits northern Utah. Quite often I was sick about the time of my birthday. I followed my father's advice and remember washing my hands very often, especially before eating. It worked! That year I was well on my birthday and my best present was a silver dollar from my Pop!

I wish I still had that silver dollar and I also wish I could recall more memories of my wonderful father but I'm grateful for the good memories I do have of him.