Saturday, October 30, 2010


Life Sketch
DELBERT WILLIAM ALVEY
22 April 1919- October 23, 2010

Losing a loved one is one of the most difficult things we have to go though. I had my dad in my life for fifty-something years and have not had him for just seven days so it is hard to put into words all I am feeling right now, but I hope to share with you enough of his life so that you can see some of why he had a profound and lasting impact on the lives of his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren.

But first, let’s start with the facts
Delbert Alvey was the fifth child in a family of eleven children born to Bertha Roth and William Levert Alvey in St. Leon, Idaho Falls, Idaho. Delbert was the first born son of this family, so a lot of responsibility fell upon his shoulders.
When Deb was about five or six years old his family moved to Utah and his father ran the Smith Farm located between Smithfield and Richmond. The family was trying to make a living on this farm when the Big Depression of 1929 came along. Farmers couldn’t sell their crops and what they did sell brought in very little money.
Thus, the memories of his youth are ones filled with work and hardship. Even as a very little boy Deb had big responsibilities. He had to herd cows every day before and after school. The winters were very hard then, with lots of snow, and very cold. The road from the farm never got cleared with snowplows, so they had to haul the milk with a team of horses in order to deliver the milk cans to the highway. After completing this chore, Deb would then tie the horses up and either walk or hitchhike to school from there. It was about four miles each way.
One of his best memories of this time was when his dad bought a sorrel horse and brought it home for him. Its name was Flax. Deb loved this pony and was able to herd their cows on the city road using this most loved animal. Being the Depression years, as time went on it became hard to continue to feed Deb’s pony. The family needed all of the money coming in for food and necessities, there was none left for luxuries. So one fateful day his mother sold the pony and Deb was heartbroken.

Deb was in the ninth grade when they moved to Logan. During the era, due to the Depression, children worked. Only about one third enrolled in grade school and less than that graduated from high school. Deb was among this group and went to work on a farm in Smithfield for a man named Smith. At this time he would work all week for $2.00, a small wage for such hard work. Then on payday, he would hitchhike back to Logan and give his mother all the money he earned to help with the support of the family, keeping only 20 cents for himself, which was enough for two show tickets as a treat for himself and his brother Fred. Eventually, Smith lost his farm and Deb began working on a nearby farm for a man named Gunnell. Deb worked on this farm for a year when it was discovered that also due to the Depression, Gunnell was facing the possibility of losing his farm. Deb saw a perfect option for his family and he talked his father into renting this piece of land. Times were still really hard, but this was the start for the family to get something around them. Later when the farm came up for sale, they were able to acquire it by making the back payments and taking over the contract. Things got better for the family from then on.
It was at a community dance that Deb met his future wife, Mary Jane Price, and eventually they married. He was nineteen and she was seventeen years old. They actually eloped to Brigham City, Utah with two of his sisters as witnesses, and had to stretch the truth by a few years in order to obtain the marriage license. The funny part of this story was that they were afraid to tell Mary’s parents that they had made such a bold move at her young age, so Mary lived at home and attended high school as if nothing of the sort had happened. As I see it, that’s thinking like a 17 year old. Eventually the high school rumor mill caught up with them and it became evident that they would have to fess up and let their parents in on their secret. Their marriage was openly celebrated and they started married life together on the Alvey family farm in Richmond.
After a few years it became evident that there just wasn’t enough money coming in from the farm to support their young growing family. It was the spring of 1942 that this young family with two children moved into a tiny trailer house in the desert, a place called Dell, Utah. Here Deb worked on a government building project near the Nevada/Utah border. It wasn’t clear exactly what they were building, but it was a top security area. It was somewhat later that they found that they had been building an airstrip where the United States Government was testing the atomic bomb. With good wages and a tight budget, after only a matter of months they had scrimped and saved money enough for a down payment on a farm of their own.
Deb was just 24 years old and Mary was 22 when they bought their farm. They were very young and not very experienced as they looked at property with a real estate agent. At one point this man asked if they actually had enough for a down payment. Deb opened his wallet and showed the man the money. The realtor took the money and promptly wrote out a receipt. Almost before they were aware of it they had purchased their 80-acre farm in Lewiston, Utah. The property didn’t even have a home on it. They seller gave them a tiny house that had to be moved onto the land.
As is evident, Deb was a hard worker and it took a lot of work and cooperative effort to make a go of it. They eventually got electricity, but water had to be hauled in milk cans for several years before they got city water to the house. Then World War II came along, and what looked like a disaster. In the winter, either late 1944 or early 1945, Deb received military induction papers with instructions to report to the induction center in Ogden for a physical and processing into military service. Mary was pregnant with their third child and things looked bleak. The couple went to Logan and spent the night, then Mary had to put her husband on the train heading for the induction center in Ogden. Deb went through this ordeal, hating every minute of it, then was told he could return home for a few days to make final arrangements. With a farm and cows, a young family and a pregnant wife, he felt pretty discouraged and desperate. Then a miracle came. A telegram was sent to Ogden, from the President of the United States, instructing them not to induct any more farm boys into the service. Deb got a deferment from military service and somewhat soon thereafter the war was over and the country was celebrating.
It was hard to get the farm in Lewiston productive. It needed a field drain and the ground built up. They couldn’t make all the payments required for building onto their home, which was necessary to accommodate their growing family, and to also build up the farm, so they continued to crowd into the two rooms. With a young family and a baby, they needed a refrigerator to keep the milk fresh and that purchase stretched them further than what was comfortable. So in 1947, Deb again found a solution and took a job at Cache Valley Dairy to supplement his farm income. He was earning $1.25 per hour. Eventually, they were able to obtain a loan and they put their first addition onto the house because with 4 children the house would stretch no more.
Needless, to say Deb worked hard at both his jobs, spending all day at the factory and much of his nights milking cows and working the land. After years of pushing himself, he developed a little health problem and it was clear that something had to give.
A neighbor came to inquire about his renting the farm. The deal was made and the land was rented out and life started to get a little easier and much better. His career at the dairy began to rise also-- he was promoted to Packaging Manager. After a few years he became Production Manager and later when a new Plant Manager came on board, Deb was also put over Maintenance. During the last years of his career he became a Field Man for Cache Valley Dairy and then happily retired at the age of sixty-five.
For Deb however, retirement didn’t mean rest, relaxation and endless travel. He studied and passed the tests and requirements to be a horse trainer, at the scoffs and disbelief of some who thought it couldn’t be done at his age. For many, many years the horses kept both his mind and his body fit and toned.

That is the simple bio of an uncomplicated and modest man. But you don’t measure the life of a man by simple facts, simply told. It’s been said that you measure it in the truths he learned, or in the times he cried, or in the bridges he burned, or the way that he died.

In his 91 years, my father learned much, rarely if ever cried, never burned a bridge and pretty much knew how he wanted to make his exit.

Here are a few things that my father learned:
Dad learned the value of hard work. He woke up everyday, put on his shoes and went to work to provide for his family. He truly believed that if you worked hard and treated people honestly you could have a good life. It’s a lesson he has passed along to his posterity.

He learned to be generous with himself and with others. My father didn’t always have much but he shared what he had with anyone that he saw a need to help. I remember him once bringing home a couple of little children of some migrant farm workers, to join our family for dinner simply because he knew they were hungry. My older siblings recalled there being a migrant work camp not far from our house and in the cold winter months dad would bring several along on the family outing to the picture show because he knew they didn’t have those opportunities. In war time German prisoners of war were brought to work on the farm. He was left “in charge” with the instruction to be humane but no special treatment was to be given. Despite that, dad took the Orange Cake meant for the family dinner and gave each a piece of the best tasting cake they had ever eaten. And I swear word must have gotten out that dad would feed any stray animal that could be dropped off at our corner in the middle of the night.

My dad learned to live life, period. My father worked hard, but he played hard too. My older siblings remembered Dad dressing up as Superman, with mom’s help, complete with long underwear died red and the big “S” on his chest. When money was tight the family picnicked in the mountains and when it was not he bought a boat and we fished and water-skied and had great fun as a family. Dad was an avid hunter. He snowmobiled. He grew the best looking and most productive gardens. He cheered on sports teams---Go Royals!! He cheated at pinochle and challenged his sons-in-laws to arm wrestles. He babied his animals, especially those horses.

He learned to live life with optimism and ruled with unconditional love. I know he was truly proud of his children and the way we all have grown up. His chest puffed out with pride over his grandchildren and then over his great-grandchildren. He gathered under his wings and shared his nest with any child, grandchild or great-grand child that needed a hand up or help of some kind from time to time. And once you got into this family through marriage, there was nothing---not even divorce—that would emotionally count you out.

Finally, as to how he wanted to make his exit….he really never wanted to. He wanted to live to be a hundred. He wanted a passel of great-great-grandkids. It was important to dad that he maintained his independence and his dignity and he did all of that and more. Dad’s was not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body. Nope, our dad skidded in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out and I am sure he arrived on the other side loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a ride.”

How does a girl say goodbye to Superman? I love you daddy. Always have, always will.