Leo P. Leonard was born October 28, 1882 in Kamas, Utah, the
youngest of five children of George Bradford Leonard and Julia Hillock. He
married Zoe Ellen Powell of Price, Utah in 1904. He died March 1963 in Salt Lake City, Utah.
This is not a short biography of my father because I have
not been able to collect sufficient data on his long and eventful life to do it
justice. What I have recorded here are a few of my most vivid memories and
anecdotes and some reflections about his impact on my life over a period of
approximately 37 years from 1926, when I was slightly over three years of age
until March 1963 when he died.
One of my first recollections of my father was meeting him
after work as he came off the Peerless Mine tipple, walking with him to the
miner’s bathhouse where he bathed before going home and sitting on one of the
benches used by miners to undress while he removed the coal dust and sweat from
his body with the other miners working that shift. The odor of sweaty bodies
mingled with steam and soap are still clearly etched in my memory. It seemed,
however, that no amount of soap and water completely removed the coal dust that
collected on my father’s and the miner’s eyelashes and eyebrows, and around the
fingernails. This contrast of white faces against dark eyebrows and eyelashes
made a distinct impression on a three year old; Our walk home from the bath
house was always enjoyable because dad would hoist me up on his shoulders and I
could sit there and ask him all kinds of questions about his job as a Tipple Foreman
and Weigh Boss, which he always patiently answered.
My father was a multifaceted musician having learned to play
the trumpet at the early age of seven and by the time he was ten he was playing
in his father’s orchestra for the local dances in Kamas, Utah. Later he learned
to play not only the sousaphone and trombone, but the violin and such string
instruments as the banjo, mandolin, and guitar. He organized his own orchestra
at an early age in Kamas and when he moved to Price, Utah he organized an even
larger orchestra called the Nighthawks, of about eight members which in later
years always included his sons, sometimes as many as three at one time. Six of
dad’s nine children played in his orchestra at one time or another. The
Nighthawks became famous throughout Carbon, Emery, and Uintah Counties in Utah
and the Western Counties of Colorado where they played for dances.
My first recollection of my father as a musician was on the
day I contracted poliomyelitis at the age of four. Dad was taking his orchestra
on a lengthy schedule of dance engagements throughout Uintah County that day.
Mother told my brother Clair to wake me up and get me ready to go on the trip.
I got out of bed and my left leg collapsed under me causing me to fall to the
floor. Clair picked me up and placed me on the bed, when I told him I couldn’t stand
on my left leg he immediately told my mother and she asked me to try standing
on my legs again and once again my left leg buckled under me. Mother discussed
my condition with dad and told him he would have to cancel his dance
engagements in Uintah County.
Dad torn by his love of playing for dances and his concern
for my well-being suggested to Mother that we seek the diagnosis of doctors
along the route of the scheduled tour. His thinking being that doctors in such
large towns as Duchesne, Roosevelt, and Vernal would be more accurate in their
diagnosis than the doctor of a small mining town like Peerless. Mother
consented to this arrangement and so dad’s orchestra played their engagements
at night and I was examined by all of the prominent doctors along the way.
Ironically, it was the local mining town doctor who correctly diagnosed my ailment
when we returned to Peerless.
My next recollection of my dad as a musician that is still indelibly
imprinted on my mind was when I was learning to play the piano and mother would
have dad practice with me many of the pieces his orchestra played. This helped
me greatly in keeping the correct musical tempo and stood me in good stead when
I began playing in dad’s orchestra at the age of 16.
Dad loved to play for dances. He loved it so much that I
think he would have played for nothing if he had to or travel any place under
the worst weather conditions. I remember playing with dad for a New Year's Eve
dance at Clear Creek, Utah in 1939 when the snow was piled on each side of the
road higher than the car and the temperature was 20 degrees below zero and the
only heat in the dance hall was coming from a pot-bellied coal stove.
My adventure began when five of us started from Price, Utah,
the car loaded to capacity on top and in back with musical instruments and
inside with musicians. The distance from Price to Clear Creek was approximately
50 miles over roads that were covered with ice and snow and that traversed
serpentine canyons with gradients of 12 degrees or better.
Upon arrival at Clear Creek after a 2-1/2 hour trip that was
exhausting as well as hair raising we had to unload the car and set up the
instruments in a dance hall that seemed to be about 1 degree above zero. We
started playing at 9:00 P.M. and expected to stop playing at 2:00 A.M.
Unfortunately, when 2:00 A.M. arrived everyone was having such a good time that
dad was offered all kinds of inducements to play for another hour. After
negotiating what everyone in the orchestra felt was more than adequate
compensation we played for another hour. Once again there was the hue and cry for
one more hour with rich monetary rewards and once again we played another hour.
Fortunately, dad selected some very lively pieces for us to play the last 15
minutes of this hour in order to make everyone happy and warm and exhausted.
After 7 hours of steady playing everyone except dad was ready to go home. By
the time we arrived back in Price it was about 7:30 A.M. and daylight. I was
exhausted and ready for some much needed rest. Dad and some of his musicians
went to a local restaurant for breakfast and some lengthy discussions. I and
other members of the family who have played in dad’s orchestra could relate
many more experiences similar to this that showed how much dad loved to play
for dances.
KIND AND CARING PERSON
I remember my father as a very kind and caring person who patiently
and lovingly cared for his children when they were ill. In my case, polio had
left my left leg paralyzed from the hip down. The leg muscles had no control
over the use of the leg. To help restore strength to these muscles and the use
of my leg, daily message and exercise was recommended by my doctor. It was my father
who faithfully each morning and evening massaged my leg with coconut oil and
exercised it for about 30 to 40 minutes per session for over five years from
the time I was four until I was nine years old.
At the time my father was caring for me I accepted it
without giving it much thought but when I reflect back on this aspect of my
father’s character I am filled with gratitude, respect, and love for him. I
only hope that I repaid him in some small measure during the last six months of
his life when he stayed with my family in Wiesbaden, Germany. During that time
he was in and out of the hospital with pneumonia and required continuous care
both in and out of the hospital, which my wife Jean and I were more than happy
to give.
MAN OF MANY INTERESTS AND TALENTS
My father was a man of many interest and talents. He was a sportsman,
musician, salesman, business manager, farmer, and handyman, all of which he
excelled at due to his natural talents and pride in doing them to the best of
his ability. Whether it was foot racing, playing the violin, playing shortstop,
selling farm equipment, or fishing and hunting, he excelled his competition.
During his younger years, dad ran the 60 and 100 yard dashes
faster than any of his competition and he competed with athletes from all over
the state of Utah. When he attended B.Y.U he held the State record for the 60
yard dash and had the second best time in the 100 yard dash. At the local track
meets the gambler’s money was usually on dad to win and he never lost a race in
the 60 yard dash and only one in the 100 yard dash.
In baseball dad played shortstop on a number of
semi-professional teams. He was a natural for this position because of his swiftness
of foot and fielding prowess. His lifetime batting average was 380. Dad told me
he seldom hit the long ball (home run) but excelled in getting the single and
double hits. I never tired of listening to him relate stories of his foot races
and baseball exploits. These stories are the stuff that legends are made of.
INVETERATE FISHERMAN
Dad was an inveterate fisherman and musician. Fishing and
playing for dances were his main sources of recreation after he became too old
to play baseball and compete in footraces. Dad’s love of fishing began at an
early age when he was growing up in Kamas, Utah with its many good fishing
streams and it remained with him throughout his life. He not only indoctrinated
his own sons with his love of fishing but his grandsons as well.
During the depression years finding money to finance his
yearly fishing trips became more of a challenge than ever before. Nevertheless,
dad always seemed to find or save enough money to take these trips even though
he faithfully gave mother his salary and orchestral earnings. I was sure the
challenge of getting money for these trips and obtaining mother’s consent to
take them kept him going during the difficult times of the depression years.
In reflecting back on the hardships of living through the depression
as the primary provider of the basic needs of a fairly large family and the
tremendous burden it placed on the bread winner, because he never knew when and
how long he would be employed, makes me understand why dad needed an occasional
escape from the immense responsibility. And I can better understand why mother
eventually gave her consent for his trips because she knew he needed some
relief from his burden.
I have some very fond memories of my fishing trips with dad
and my brothers and nephews. We always started out by loading the car with
enough food and bedding for two weeks in the wilderness, miles from the nearest
villages. Our first stop along the way was to gas up the car and get a large
supply of licorice which we munched as we traveled. Dad loved his licorice and
naturally we were more than happy to share this love. Most of our fishing was
done along the Freemont River and the lakes and reservoirs that it and its tributaries
emptied in to. This was the rugged country of Boulder Mountain, Fish Lake,
Freemont, Loa, Bicknell, and the fringes of what is now Capitol Reef National
Park, about one hundred fifty to two hundred miles from Price over mostly
narrow, dirt mountain roads with spectacular scenery and shear drops of one
thousand feet or more in places.
Upon our arrival at our campsite, dad supervised the
unloading of the car and the establishment of our sleeping facility which did not
include a tent or mattress, but the best cover of all, the bright stars in the
dark blue sky and a mattress of small branches from the available pine trees
which weren’t always the softest because of their size.
After the camp was established and everyone was fed, dad
started to fish and he fished until late at night and began again early the
next morning well before daylight; however, not before he had cooked us a
delicious breakfast of trout, mulligan stew, and freshly baked biscuits. How
dad was able to cook such delicious, albeit limited, menus with such basic
utensils as a cast iron skillet and pot, I will never fathom.
At the end of each day’s fishing, dad would have anywhere
from 100 to 120 fish and the other family members would have from 10 to 50 fish,
after a week’s time the accumulation of fish over and above what was eaten each
day was staggering. Without any refrigeration, you would think preventing the
fish from spoiling would be a problem, fortunately, it was never a problem for
dad, at the end of each day the daily catch was cleaned and salted inside and
out and placed in a cardboard box on top of a layer of tree leaves, followed by
a layer of leaves and then fish until the box was full. During the heat of the
day these boxes were kept in the coolest place we could find. At the end of the
two weeks, we would be taking home approximately 2,000 fish which was divided
amongst the members of the party, if they lived with someone other than my dad.
On one particular trip everyone had gone fishing very early
in the morning, leaving me to tend the camp. I hunted rabbits for a while and
then sat on the river bank fishing. Since it was mid-day the fish weren’t
biting so I fell asleep on my stomach, when I awoke, my back was sunburned
severely. To cool off I jumped into the river and when I got out my back was
covered with giant water blisters. When dad returned to camp that night he put
ointment on my blisters and told me to sleep on my stomach. The next day I was in
so much pain I asked him if we could go home. Even though he was sympathetic to
my request, he said your back will hurt just as much at home as here until it
heals in a few days, so you will just have to tough it out here. In a few days
most of the pain had gone from my back and I felt almost as good as before. In
refusing my request to go home, I wasn't sure whether my dad wanted me to learn
how to endure some minor hardship or whether his great enjoyment of fishing
took precedent over my presumed needs. In looking back at this incident, his
decision to remain was probably based on both reasons and I now can see it was
the right decision. I have many other fishing stories to relate, but will leave
these to other members of the family who were on the trips with us.
FAMILY PROVIDER
My father was a good provider for his family all of his
life. His earnings were seldom from just one source and no job was too demeaning
if it was all that was available. No matter what type of job he held, he
performed it to the best of his ability. Dad had high standards and quality
performance was most important.
Throughout his life dad supplemented his daily income with earnings
from multiple sources. For as long as I can remember he sold men’s suits by
mail order and he was never without a source of income from his orchestra’s
dance engagements. During the time I lived at home, he maintained four rental
units plus his own house and farmed one and a half acres of land. Dad’s day
started about 5:30 A.M. when he built the fires in the morning to heat the
house in the winter and to cook the breakfast, followed by an hour in the garden
weeding and watering vegetables during summer months, and then back to the
kitchen where he would whip up some hot biscuits, hot cereal, eggs, and bacon.
After breakfast he would go to his regular job. When he got home about 6:00
P.M. he would clean up, eat, and then start selling suits or playing for
dances. He was an indefatigable worker who never complained.
In his early years he held some very responsible and
important positions. He was employed by the Consolidated Wagon and Machine Company
in Price to sell their farm equipment throughout the Rocky Mountain States and
through his exceptional salesmanship he became the company’s top salesman. When
the manager of this company retired dad was given his position which he held
for a number of years. During the coal mining boom in Carbon County 1921 -
1928, dad was the Tipple Foreman and Weigh Boss at the Peerless, Utah coal
mine. Upon his return to Price at the beginning of the great depression of the
thirties, dad held many different jobs because they were hard to find. What was
most important to dad was providing a comfortable standard of living for his
family, regardless of the status of the position. He didn’t seem to have strong
ego needs and job status was secondary in importance to family needs. However,
no matter what type of work he was employed at, he always seemed to be the one
in charge of the work crew.
I remember working with dad one summer when I was on
vacation from college, we were painting the yellow stripes on the state roads
in Southeastern Utah. Dad was in charge of the painting crew of six men. I had
the responsibility of steering the paint cart so it made a straight stripe down
the middle of the road, around curves and up and down hills, while dad released
the flow of paint, yellow for center stripe and white for passing and non-passing
stripes.
The other members of the crew put markers down to stop cars
from driving on the wet paint, flagged cars to slow them down and drove the
paint truck. This particular summer was especially hot and to add to our
discomfort, we were painting that section of the state highway from Woodside
through Green River and Thompson on to the Colorado border and from Crescent
Junction to Moab, some of the hottest and most arid and desolate parts of the
state.
Daytime temperatures were consistently over 115 degrees and
the heat factor was considerably higher due to lack of shade and the reflected
heat from the road. Not once did dad ever complain about the heat and working
conditions, even though the younger crew members were continually complaining.
Dad was just happy to be working and doing a good job and I was enjoying being
with him.
I had the opportunity while living at home in Price to work
with dad in a number of different capacities: playing in the orchestra, working
in the garden, painting and maintaining the rental units, working on the state
road, regardless of what type of work we were engaged in, dad was easy to
relate with, as long as you met his high standard of job performance, if you
didn’t, he was helping you meet these standards.
EDUCATION
In regards to the amount of public school education dad
received, I am not quite sure. Mother told me he was a well-educated and talented
musician and sportsman or she wouldn’t have married him. I do know dad received
a scholarship to attend Brigham Young University so it can be assumed he must
have completed the required high school education in order to be eligible for
this scholarship. Whether he completed four years of education at B.Y.U., I do
not know.
LIFE AFTER MOTHER DIED
After mother died in April 1962 dad lived alone in Price, it
was obvious to me when I came to see him during the summer of 1962 that he was
terribly lonely, he missed his partner of over 50 years, it was so evident in
his mental and physical condition. I arranged to take him back to Wiesbaden,
Germany with me when I returned in August. I was attending the University of
Utah summer school at the time.
Dad had never flown in an airplane and when I told him we
would be flying about 7,000 miles to my home in Wiesbaden, he was eager for the
experience. When we were in the air high above the clouds I asked dad if he
knew where we were and he said yes, we are on the ground waiting for the plane
to take off. He had been so relaxed he hadn’t realized the plane had left the
ground. Dad thoroughly enjoyed flying and especially the service and food. He
was easy to please and no wonder when this was one of the few times he was waited
on. Perhaps, that is why he loved going to restaurants to enjoy the food and
service.
Dad lived with us in Wiesbaden, Germany a little over six
months and when he was well enough to travel, we took him on a number of trips
to places I thought he might enjoy. He absolutely loved the mountains (Alps) of
Southern Germany and Austria with their beautiful lakes, crystal clear streams
and colorful chalets with balconies spilling over with red and pink geraniums.
Dad always asked, when he saw the lakes and streams, what kind of fish they had.
He kept saying if my health was better I would love to fish them. He loved the
architecture of the old mansions that lined the route I took when he had to
visit the doctor at the U.S. Air Force Hospital in Wiesbaden. No matter how
many times we passed that way he would say to me, "Son, those homes are so
beautiful, thanks for letting me see them".
Dad was completely enthralled with the castles, quaint
walled villages, and the twisting country roads that traversed the lush green
countryside around where we lived. He couldn't get over how green and well
cared for the vegetation was. He kept asking if we were travelling through a
large park. He especially liked travelling through this countryside in Jean’s
Renault convertible with the top down. Since dad always liked to wear a hat, we
had to frequently caution him about holding on to it. Nevertheless, more than
once we had to run back up the road to retrieve his hat before it was crushed
beyond recognition by passing cars.
During those periods when dad was not in the hospital but convalescing
at home under Jean's care, he would occasionally sink into a semi-conscious
state, when he would come out of it he would tell Jean that he had been
visiting with mother and Birdie.
On a number of occasions, dad told us he was dying and asked
to be sent home so he could spend his last few days with his children in Utah.
He was not afraid of dying, in fact, he was looking forward to it so he could
be with mother. Not long after this, dad had to be readmitted to the Wiesbaden
Hospital because of the congestion in his lungs. He needed to have continuous
medical care and antibiotics for his condition. After several weeks of no improvement,
the doctor told me dad wouldn't last more than a week and should be medically
evacuated to a hospital near his home in Utah. I agreed and on 7 March 1963, I
said a tearful goodbye to dad just before he was placed on a military plane to
be flown to Hill Air Force Base, Utah. From there he was taken by ambulance to
the L.D.S. Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. He died about one week after
returning home. Fortunately, he was able to see all of his children before he
died.
They had nine children from this union as follows:
Leo B. Leonard, Born August 17, 1905
John E. Leonard, Born April 22, 1907
Birdie Leonard, Born April 26, 1909
Clair Leonard, Born January 25, 1911
Evelyn Leonard, Born May 28, 1913
Stanley F. Leonard, Born June 23, 1915
Max G. Leonard, Born December 21, 1922
Paul B. Leonard, Born April 18, 1925
Robert B. Leonard, Born September 1, 1930
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