Common Sense - August 3, 1994

COMMON SENSE - August 3, 1994

Joe B. Lyman


The White House. All but a very select special group of people think of Washington D.C. when someone mentions The White House. But there are some, and you know how you are, who think of another house much more special and ultimately more important. Not a house in fact, but something much more -- a home. The rest of you know it as the house across the street from Motor Parts.

For our family, many of whom have lived in The White House at one time or another, it is one of the most special places on earth. I started life there nearly 33 years ago. I remember my sister Jeanette coming home from the hospital when we lived there. All she could do was sleep and hold on to your finger real hard but that was enough. I brought my first child home there. All she could do was sleep and hold on to your finger and it was still enough. I remember playing games out on the big lawn in the shade of a messy tree, especially when the Big Cousins came up from California. I remember going there to visit my cousin Kelly when Francis’ family was making memories there. Most of all, though, I remember Granny.

Many of my memories of Granny took place in the Cliff Palace Motel that she and Grandpa built in 1955. Granny was a constant in a world of change. I remember sugar cubes, the cookie jar, honey candy and hot home made bread. Somehow that bread seemed to come out of the oven about the time the afternoon swimming session ended. I remember mountains of Spudnuts. The way I recall they numbered in the thousands. The Big Cousins could eat fifty or so at a sitting. I cherish memories of The Lyman Christmas Party during which the walls of the old house must have stretched out to allow all of us in. In the later years the center piece of the decorations was the doll she brought from Mexico. She’d rig a stand for her in the middle of the tree. Those parties would have lasted all night except they were held on Christmas Eve and Santa Claus insisted we be home by midnight. I remember playing hide-and-go-seek with your imagination because Granny was “too old and tired” to play for real. Some of you who know me have learned how to play as well. Jeanette hid in a wrinkle on Granny’s face one night. I remember those wrinkles on a kind and gentle face. I was old enough to think she should be offended but she just laughed. Her sense of humor never dimmed. I remember the box of toys reserved for her favorite grandchildren. The best of the box was the barrel of Lincoln Logs. Her eyes were always bright with love and the light of the Lord. Despite and because of her many challenges in life, Granny had a strong testimony. She loved the Lord and was meek, prayerful and humble to the last.

For myself, and at my wife’s prompting, I have wanted to dedicate this weeks column to Granny. I feel inadequate to the task. I have learned more about Granny and Grandpa by reading my copy of “Pages from the lives of Marvin and Margie Lyman” than by personal experience. I’m not sure I have it in me to write a fitting tribute to this great lady. My memories are those of a young boy taking the kindness, love and caring of a grandmother for granted. I hope she knew how much I loved her. I wonder if she felt I have in some small way given her something back. The most fitting gift would be to live up to the standards she exemplified.

She loved Grandpa more ever day as she tells it in their book. “I am grateful that the older we got the more I felt love and tenderness for him. While we were still living at the motel, he went many times each day across the street to check on the car wash and the ice machine. Each time I saw him walking back, his step getting slower, I would watch him and get a thrill of happiness. One day I told him that and he smiled slightly and said, ‘It sure don’t take much to give some people a thrill.’ But to me Marvin was much.”

I remember the day Grandpa died on October 8, 1972. It was raining that day. A warm gentle soaking rain. I think the storm was sent in honor of a great man who had spent a great deal of his life digging the tunnel through the mountain and further developing water for Blanding. It is fitting that Granny passed away on Pioneer Day. She was a pioneer indeed.

Good-bye Granny -- God be with you ‘till we meet again.


The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart.
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, Lest we forget.
                                Rudyard Kipling