Leslie Marie FAIRBANKS: Birth: 4 Dec 1935 in Council, Adams, Idaho, USA. Death: 14 Feb 2002 in Hospital, Walla Walla, Walla Walla, Washington, USA
Leslie Marie FAIRBANKS: Birth: 4 Dec 1935 in Council, Adams, Idaho, USA. Death: 14 Feb 2002 in Hospital, Walla Walla, Walla Walla, Washington, USA
Note: t synthesized my own relationship to her, My first memories were of my mother singing. She loved to sing. She pacified the surging passions within by singing. She sang in the car as we travelled and it brought peace to the discomfort of travel. Sometimes she would read to us. I think Willard loved that more even than the rest. Perhaps because as the years passed, she read less, possibly because ot the severe headaches she suffered. Mom always seemed to have a supremely tender head, which, if bumped even slightly caused her severe pain. She had a strawberry birthmark in her forehead, faintly visible always, but when she had a migraine, it became bright red. I always knew what that meant. I loved to hear my mother sing. When it's Springtime in the Rockies was one of her favorites, a theme from the movies. She was the only person whom I ever met that knew all of the words. The kids kind of picked up on the music, and we would sing when we travelled. I think it is one of the memories of my own children. I loved to sing. We used to sing when we were snapping beans or podding peas. I used to sing when I milked the cows. I remember singing at the top of my voice when I milked at the pasture around the corner from Albion toward Pullman. I knew all the songs in the hymnbook by heart, and sang them to the cows, along with any patriotic ditty I knew.
I remember mom screaming twice. Once when I told her that "Jonny got his head runded over!" in Payette. We were children then, I was not quite five. Jon and I were playing "dad" in copying my father working on the cars. We would lie down under the car, with only our feet showing and pretend we were fixing the car. It was hot and dusty in Payette, Idaho in the summer. We lived alongside the road to Emmett, just out side Payette, in the old unfinished basement of a house. The only heat in the place was a heater that worked so well, that as an infant, Leslie said, mom put my cradle right on top of the heater. I got up from the dirt, having thought about it, and went around the house to get a gunny sack to lie on, like dad did. Meanwhile, Leslie, who was learning to drive got into the car. She was under strict orders not to drive the car, but like any teenager, couldn't stand it. She put the clutch in, and the car rolled forward, down the driveway, and the rear wheel ran over Jonny's head. I came around the corner of the house just as it happened. I knew it was something bad, so I shuffled into the house, like any kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and muttered to mom the aforementioned statement. She screamed. I think she thought someone else was screaming. She ran out, and I began to cry. Mom jumped in the car, without even time to yell at Leslie, taking Alice with her, because Alice ran out to see, and was at hand. She laid Jon in Alice's lap, and took the wheel. Alice dutifully reported that he had stopped breathing. Trying to drive and care for the child at the same time, she noticed that when Alice moved him he began to breath again, so she had Alice keep vigil and move him when necessary as they sped to the Hospital in Ontario. The rest of us prayed, and when we tired of praying we sang hymns. Jonny did come home again, to the relief and increased faith of us all.
Mom worked. Mom worked all the time. She was quite the homemaker, canner, preserver, gardener, etc.. She marshalled the kids to get the work done. As kids, we sometimes murmurred, but we learned to work. Years later she told of an incident that I found intriguing and instructive. One day, having reached the end of her tether, with ten children under foot, she found herself mentally and physically exhausted. In the faith her parents taught her, she prayed to God to send her some help, she just couldn't go on by herself. And she got up, sat down and waited for God to answer her prayer. After a while, she thought "This is silly!" and remembered the adage 'God helps those who help themselves', so she got up and went back to work. She said that it was years later that she realized that he did strengthen her so she could go on.
I remember the old shed on Ed's farm in Weiser that Mom said Grandpa Hansen built for her when Elmer Burl mcCall abandoned her. Most of us store our lawnmowers in sheds bigger than that "house". The main house wasn't much better. Yet I mourned when David tore it down as an eyesore when he and Pete built the house he lives in now. It is a shame to destroy family history and memories. I visited the old granary in Hiko where mom lived as a child. She was born in Barclay, Nevada, a jerkwater town in the high plains of Nevada. A jerkwater town is a town where the trains rewatered without stopping, catching water from a trough alongside the tracks as it passed. Uncle Pete told me they lived in three tents in Barclay, one for the kitchen, one for storage, and one for sleeping. In the hot Nevada summers, when Grandma Hansen suffered from the heat, he and Ed would take turns getting buckets of water to throw on the tent canvas for 'air conditioning' in the desert summer. One of Alfred's boys, Ed or Darrell, told the story of when Grandpa left Barclay. He had thrown in with several other men to buy a herd of sheep. It was bigger than a flock, he owned several thousand. One day he walked in on the 'partners' plotting how to kill him and Pete. They figured they could catch Pete, but they never quite knew what Grandpa would be doing at any given point in time. It is one of the joys of narcolepsy, though they did not know that word at the time. Figuring that his family was worth more than all the sheep, he loaded his family in the wagon, with the tents and supplies, and drove down to Hiko, where he took residence in the old stone granary. His partners, not satisfied with their deed, followed him, and sued him in the county court, claiming he stole their wagon and supplies. The judge said he knew Jim Hansen, and threw the suit out.
From there, they moved to Canada, where mom's memories of school come. Mom was eight years old when her mother died. She had a vivid memory of her lovely mother. Mom loved her family, she loved Marie, who took on the chores of raising the family. She loved her father dearly. But her sense of loss in the death of her mother left her feeling alone, out of place. In her journal, in high school, she noted, in her self-deprecating style, "The owner of this book is pretty in two ways - pretty ugly and pretty apt to stay that way." After they moved to Payette, she married Elmer Burl mcCall. She says she thought things would be like in the fairy stories: Happy ever after. But it didn't work that way, and when things got tough, he abandoned her. A young man from the Oregon Slope, whose brother was dating her younger sister Anna, took interest in her, and accompanied his brother when he came to call, and they soon fell in love. In the midst of this, Elmer returned, and mom agreed to give him another chance. But she did not co-habitate with him, nor cover for his shortcomings, and he soon despaired and left again. I have meditated on this in later years, but am not sure I could stand by and wait in such a circumstance, so my hat is off to my father for his perseverance.
We moved from Payette to Moses Lake, where my grandfather had a farm out in Mae Valley. Dad took a job surveying on the East Low Canal. Charlotte was born in Moses Lake, delivered by a Dr. Fairbanks. She was ill the first months of her life, but mom would not let her die. It was a gift that she had. We moved to Warden as the canal progressed east and south. There the whole family got hepatitis. Imagine thirteen children, all sick at the same time! Not just a flu virus, but sick for two and a half months - the better part of one summer, and mom was sick too. A local farmer let us have all the melons we needed out of his field, and I still can barely stomach watermelon, we at so much.
The contractor on the East Low Canal promised dad a job in Pullman, so he moved there, only to find the promise hollow. But he got on at WSU, and we stayed. The second time I heard mom scream was when the bench fell on the arch of her foot. Some of us were playing, and knocked the bench over, a bench about six feet long that six or seven of us sat on behind the table for dinner. She said afterward that she thought it was Leslie screaming at first, it seemed so unreal. Mom was deathly ill for the birth of Emma Karen, even moreso than usual. Karen came home before she did. We lived out passed the airport then, on the Moscow-Pullman airport road, with an address in Idaho, though we lived in Washington (Rural Route 3, Moscow, Idaho). Dad did crop dusting in the summer, worked at WSU, and surveyed in the evenings.
I used to get spankings. We called them lickings. I probably got more than all the rest of the children put together. I am sure I was a particular burden to my mother. Musing on it over the years, I never resented the spankings I received. A couple of years ago, now being about fifty years old, Alice voiced a resentment at the physical abuse we received from our mother. Alice only got spanked twice that I can remember. But she remembered every spanking that I ever got, as if she were the recipient. I chided her, and told her that she misunderstood the relationship I had with my mother. I needed my mother desperately. But in a family of sixteen, with all the responsibility that she had, I needed to make a place that my mother noticed me. I knew how to push her buttons, to get under her feet. She called me a chatterbox, and told me I talked till my head rattled. And I pushed her buttons till she spanked me, then I went and played with the other children. Sometimes I would do absurd things, like take her clock apart, and try to put it back together, Of course, those pesky extra parts didn't help. I took her mechanical pea podder apart, so the other kids knew it was my fault we had to sit and pod peas. Whenever I got an assignment out of sight, I would slip away and play. I didn't know then, and neither did mom, that I was allergic to the molds in the dirt, and the barn, etc.. And it got me extra attention, that I did not resent, even though it was at the end of a stick. Mom would send me out to "get me a stick!" I would return with a raspberry twig, or the like. Once she laughed so hard she couldn't give me a licking. When she sent me to get a "real stick" I returned with a six foot two by four. Mom would send me to the fruit room to bring her some beans, and I returned with four or five beans in a bowl, so back she would send me to "get me a lot of beans", so I brought a five gallon bucket full. This was the interplay between my mother and I. She would get me up to milk the cows, but when I was on the stairs putting on my boots, I would go into a reverie. She would find me there fifteen minutes later, and learned to check to ensure I had gone out. We didn't know that was part of the narcolepsy complex. That was also part of the reason I sang to the cows. It kept me awake. After I got the Priesthood, one day - I was probably fourteen then-she took me aside and told me I was too big to spank, that I was now responsible myself, and I never again did anything I thought my mother would disapprove of. I loved my mother with all my heart. I needed her. I would skip school in high school, when I knew mom was home alone, and walk the seven miles to Albion, to sit on the table, swinging my legs, and talking to my mom. She had this tremendous practical sense of the application of the gospel to real life. I learned the gospel sitting on the table, swinging my legs as mom worked in the kitchen and taught me. Seminary was never so enlightening, nor so sweet. No, my mother did not brutalize me. I needed her attention and knew how to get it. I know I frustrated her, but I needed her that much. She has always been my connection to eternity.
Emma Hansen Fairbanks
Emma Hansen Fairbanks died in the Whitman Hospital Center & MedicalCenter after a massive cerebral hemorrhage suffered Thursday night.
Emma was born 22 February 1915 at Barclay, Lincoln, Nevada, the ninth child of James Edward and Bertha Lamb Hansen. Her mother died when she was eight years old, and she deeply felt that loss in her life. Emma married, 1st, Elmer Burl McCall in 1933. Divorced in 1942, she married Marvin Varge Fairbanks 6 March 1942 in Elko, Nevada. Their marriage was solemnized in the Salt Lake Temple 9 Mar 1942. Emma is survived by her husband of 57
years, Marvin Varge Fairbanks, Engineer, retired from Washington State University Physical Plant, Pilot and Professional Surveyor. Emma was retired from her position as Baker at the Housing Department of W.S.U. She was the Lewiston Stake Relief Society Spiritual Living Instructor for years
She was preceeded in death by all of her brothers and sisters, James Alfred (Jewel) Hansen, of Hiko, Nevada, Peter Nelson Hansen, Bertha Marie (Wyman) Jensen, Mary Hansen, Joseph Edward (Verena) Hansen of Weiser, Idaho, stillborn son Hansen, Eliza Arline (Norman) Feik of LaGrande, Oregon, Arthur Wilson (Amanda) Hansen of Orem, Utah, Anna Hansen (Sterling Voy)
Fairbanks of Paradise, California, Earl Morgan (Verna) Hansen of Brigham City, Utah, William leRoy Hansen, Tailgunner who died in World War II, and John Frank Hansen, her daughter, Bertha Maxine Fairbanks, and her son, James Dean Fairbanks. She is survived by her children Bonnie Jean Fairbanks, Leslie Marie Hunting of Endicott, Washington, Willard Varge (Carol) Fairbanks of Walla Walla, Washington, Marva Dee (Phillip) Taylor of Dayton, Washington, Dr. Alfred Mark (Gayle) Fairbanks, Dentist of Pullman, Washington, Alice Fairbanks MFA (Kean Wilcox) of Pullman, Joseph Neil (Valerie) Fairbanks, of Albion, Washington, Kathryn (Harold) Hatcher, of Nampa, Idaho, Jonathan Lee (Kathryn) Fairbanks, Electrical Contractor, Salem, Oregon, Mary Elizabeth Fairbanks of Pullman, Charlotte Ann (Joe) South of Mesa, Arizona, Ruth Ellen (John) Riggs of Logan, Utah, Thomas
Marvin (Debi) Fairbanks Electrical Contractor, Redmond, Washington and Emma Karen (Lee, DMV) Hammerquist of Nampa, Idaho, 87 grandchildren, 61 great grandchildren, and 15 great great grandchildren Including in-laws, she has over 250 living descendants spanning four generations.
A memorial service celebrating the life of Emma Hansen Fairbanks and the influence of this beloved friend, mother, wife, nurturer, teacher, grandmother, aunt, great grandmother and great great grandmother who was never too busy for a kind word, loving advice, a sheltering hug and a bite to eat. She will be surely missed by her family and those that felt her humble, loving and kind
influence. The memorial service will be at the Pullman Ward Chapel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1055 NE Orchard Drive, Pullman, Washington at 11 am. Saturday, May 8, 1999, preceded by a family service at 9:30 am. Interment will be at the Endicott Cemetery following the funeral and the dedication of the last resting place. L. L. Bruning Funeral Home, North 109 Mill Street, Colfax is in charge of the arrangements.
SSDI: EMMA FAIRBANKS 22 Feb 1915 01 May 1999 83687 (Nampa, Canyon, ID) (none specified) 519-20-1166 Idaho
A talk by Emma Hansen Fairbanks, written by herself, an example of the Spiritual Living lessons she gave as the Stake Spiritual Living Instructor for the Relief Society, position which she held for 35 years:
MELODY IN OUR HEARTS -- Emma Fairbanks We read in Ephesians 5:18-19, "...Be filled with the spirit; Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord."
There are many examples of the "Makers of Melody". I like the inscription that used to be on the M. I. A. song books which reads "I hear America go singing to her destiny." Music, and especially singing, has an especial place in inspiring people. There are many great and beautiful songs from American authors, and I won't eliminate even Rock and Roll, because in every age, youth makes music to suit their own particular, enthusiastic needs; but certainly all music should have an uplifting quality, and the music that is chosen for our Sacrament meetings is of an especial reverent nature. One of the greatest music makers of all times was David, the psalmist. From his youth he possessed a rare talent of giving voice to joyful expression of praise thru song. He was chosen by Saul, King of Israel, to sing to him when he became worried and troubled. His psalsm have inspired later generations. Countless magnificient hymns, anthems, and chorals have been written and sung as a direct result of inspiration received from this psalmist.
The greatest event that happened in this world since its beginning was heralded by a choir of angels singing and praising God. At the time Joseph Smith was in jail at Carthage, he felt he was going to be killed, and asked one of his friends, John Taylor, to sing to him. The song must have brought great comfort to him because when it was finished, he asked him to sing it again. [A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief]
Latter-day Saints are a singing people. We worship the Lord in song according to his expressed desire. The scriptures are replete with admonitions to make melody in your heart to the Lord. He tells us, "...For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart. Yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me,...[and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads." D&C 25: 12, quoted in virtually every hymnbook the Church has ever published]
Knowledge of the Gospel Plan and membership in the Church of Jesus Christ serve as guides to us in these perilous times, and bring such joy into our lives that it certainly adds melody to our hearts.
In the early trials of the Church, the pioneers gained much courage and strength to bear their trials by singing faith promoting hymns: O My Father; Come, Come ye Saints; The Resurrection Day, and many others.
Latter-day Saints make music through Ward and Stake Choirs, groups and congregational singing, choruses of young people, primary, Sun. School--in whatever group or meeting we have singing. This allows each person present the opportunity to express his own worshipful feeling, and bring each closer together in greater unity. Singing brings peace and comfort to people's hearts.
The Relief Society has always had mothers that sing. Thru the years they have sung as they cared for their children and performed household tasks, whether living in tents, dugouts, wagon boxes, log cabins or beautiful homes; so it was fitting that the name of "Singing Mothers" be given in 1934 to the ladies who furnished music at Relief Society meetings in Wards, Stakes and General Conferences.
Singing together this way carries over into the homes and makes melody in the lives of our husbands and children. It provides for cultural and spiritual development of Wards and Stakes, and makes them more beautiful. We can certainly thank these ladies who devote so much time and effort to help so many ladies gain these benefits. Our own Stake Leader, Fonds Eastman, and her organist, Lola Williams, have a lovely program planned for the Singing Mothers in this stake; and we are thankful for their
[page 2] encouragement and help; and also the remarkable help of our General Board Leader, Florence Madsen; and last, but certainly not least, our own Branch Leaders who have the remarkable ability of making much of little, and encouraging us to greater efforts, because where no start is made, there is no progression.
I would certainly encourage everyone to make the most of the melody in their hearts:
The melody in my heart is one of thankfulness for the rich and bounteous blessings that are mine. Thankfulness not for just a house, of walls and fine things, but for a home, a real home where there is husband and children and love--a home where we can live and work out our lives in a pattern that has been set for us.
The melody in my heart is one of gladness--gladness for the good things and happy things of life. The melody in my heart is one of sweetness--sweetness because of children--sweetness because of friends, because of purity, because of flowers, and birds, and of all the lovely things in life.
The melody in my life is one of Joy--Joy because of the deep and soul-satisfying accomplishments one is able to attain thru labor in this Gospel and among one's fellow men. Joy when we see progression in the lives of our friends--joy to see children grasp and understand precious truths. Joy in the attainment of heights and goals long sought, and honestly and earnestly worked for among friends and ourselves. Joy in just plain being alive.
The melody in my heart is one of sorrow--sorrow when we see someone choose the wrong way--sorrow because of ills and hurts, sorrow because of sickness and death, and trials and burdens. The melody in my heart is one of sadness--sadness because of war and hate and wrong; sadness because one who has light chooses to walk in darkness; sadness because of faults and weaknesses that I have.
The melody in my heart is one of sufferings and distress. The melody in my heart is one of grief--grief because of things and loved ones lost.
The melody in my heart is one of weariness--weariness because of labor and work and responsibilities. The melody in my heart is one of remorse and repentance--remorse for the things I have done, the wrong roads I have chosen, and for the good works I might have done, and neglected to do, or chose not to do; remorse and repentance...and the melody in my heart is one of determination--a firm determination to change the ways wherein I am doing wrong, and to set myself in a straighter course; a determination to make my life as perfect as possible.
The melody in my heart calls me to labor. There is a work in this Church for me to do. The melody in my heart compels me to action: it tells me I can, I must, I will! The melody in my heart leads me to worship. It guides me in paths of righteousness. The melody in my heart is one of overwhelming gratitude for the Gospel; gratitude for the sacrifice of our ancestors, the labor of our leaders, the guidance of our teachers-- all that we might understand this Gospel well enough to use it to perfect our lives, enough that we may gain the life eternal that is within the reach of all who will work for it. The melody in my heart is one of love.
Now, I pray this melody of my heart may grow into beauty and harmony until it becomes perfected enough to be acceptable as a prayer unto our Father in Heaven. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Note: I guess I never set about to specifically write a history of my mother because I had not ye
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