Chapter 4
“There Was a Child Went Forth”
February 24, 1994
My entrance into this world was typical of many in the year 1922. I, Betty, was delivered at home
November 18th. Dr. C. C. Olsen is listed as the doctor called in to assist Mom. She was age twenty-six and
Daddy was age thirty-one. (My birth certificate gives the
wrong age for Daddy). The family was living at 570 South 3rd
East in Salt Lake City, Utah. There is a commercial building
there now. I was given a priesthood blessing in the 8th Ward
of Liberty Stake. The building was on that same block and is
still being used. It is on the corner of 3rd East and 6th South.
My brother, George, was eighteen months old at the
time of my birthday. Then the family moved to Provo where
Keith was born and back to Salt Lake City where Monty and
8th Ward Building
Jean were born and where I started school.
I was named Lois Betty, but my parents soon decided Lois slurred to a “Slarsen” when combined
with Larsen. So I became Betty.
Life’s experiences gave me varied useful bits of information by the time I was six, to wit:
To tell left hand from right hand you fact the mountains.
A snow pile does not an igloo make.
Never run with milk bottles in your hands.
Never wear cheap rings on your fingers.
Never get measles on Christmas.
Never hide a baby under clothes in a closet.
If you have a sore throat don’t tell anyone.
Family outings are fun.
Reading is for reading the “funnies” alone
With time one gets tall enough to get a drink of water.
A game on the school playground was the setting for learning my left from my right hand. I
remember standing in a line facing towards the mountains and practicing. For several years I would
visualize myself standing there if I needed to know my right and left hand. Did someone finally point out
to me that I ate and wrote with my right hand?
With other children, during an early snow experience, I helped pile snow against a shed. Our
intent was to build an igloo. I remember it was higher than our heads. But how to get it hollowed out was
a concept beyond us and the idea, like the snow, melted away.
There was a little neighborhood store near where we lived and I was sent with an empty milk
bottle or two to get milk. All milk came in one quart glass bottles narrow at the top. Milk was not
homogenized so the cream rose to the top and filled the narrow section of the bottle. It could be poured off
and used for cereals and desserts. Anyway, on the way to the store I fell and the bottles were broken. I
received cuts on the side of my left hand and on the right elbow. The scars are still visible. Wounds were
not “stitched up” as would be done today.
Another incident that had a permanent impact on my life was getting a broken ring embedded in
the ring finger of my left hand. I have felt the occasion must have caused the aversion I have to wearing or
handling jewelry or metal objects such as small chains. I also have an aversion to safety pins and have
never used this handy gadget except when forced into it by necessity such as diapering babies or threading
elastic through a casing in a sewing project. I have probably never had more than four safety pins in the
house at one time. I rejoiced when pins with plastic coatings were introduced for sale. A quick mend is
much to be preferred to using a pin!!
Picture a little girl confined to a crib with the sides up in a dark room on Christmas Day. Such
was my lot one year. Toys were brought in and handed to me, but the sadness of the occasion made an
unforgettable memory. The prevalent practice of a dark room was to protect eyes during measles of which
I was a victim.
As a child I also had scars on my legs and body which my mother said was from small-pox.
Another early medical experience was having a horrible cloth over my face containing ether before having
my tonsils removed. It was done at home on the kitchen table, which was a common practice at that time.
I was about six when I realized I couldn’t smell the flowers or other items little friends presented
to me. I wonder if that surgery had anything to do with it. I have not missed a sense of smell since I never
had one, but my mother thought it a safety handicap.
My active imagination caused a problem one day when I was left to tend my brother, Monty,
while the rest of the family was gone. I was only six or seven years old. I saw a car come by and a little
boy, who was crying, was picked up and put in the car. Somehow I thought I had better hide my baby
brother from kidnappers. I put him in a closet and covered him with clothes. We lived in what was
probably a flat with a common hallway. A neighbor, no doubt left to check on us, discovered what I had
done. It seemed to me the family had gone to Salt Air and were late getting back. I don’t remember any
scolding, but I remember the neighbor and my mother having quite a discussion.
I recall the fun of an outing to Salt Air with the open-sided train carrying our family over the
water. I also remember an early trip to Lagoon and using the picnic area.
Two memories of my Salt Lake City childhood that thrilled me were being able to read the
“funnies” in the paper by myself and growing tall enough to reach the sink and get my own drink of water.
Thus the words of Walt Whitman in his poem were surely applicable to me; inevitable learning.
“There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he looked upon that object he became
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day,
Of for many years or stretching cycles of years.”
Betty Larsen about 1925
Betty Larsen and George Larsen
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Chapter 5
Goodbye Mother Goose
March 3, 1994
It’s my understanding that with Grandma Larsen’s help my parents obtained a Model T or Model
A Ford “touring” car and in the Spring of 1928 our family joined the hoards of other people headed for
beautiful California. There the ads proclaimed opportunities abounded and the National Depression was
easier to bear.
Mother’s sister, Phyllis, and her husband, Naylor Jones, were in Modesto and her brother, Myron
(Uncle Chris) Christensen was in San Francisco. Daddy’s sister, May, lived in Sacramento area.
In preparing for the move, it was necessary for me to part with a little table and chair set I
cherished. It was white enamel with a Mother Goose scene in the center and other story characters in each
corner. (In recent years the production, “Annie” was presented in a theater in Salt Lake City. In the lobby
there were numerous articles from that period of time and I saw what I feel was my table and chair set!)
However, my doll and buggy were wrapped and tied to the “running board” of the car. (The
running board was a board along each side of the car to assist a person stepping into the car). Also tied on
was the sewing machine, suitcases, bedding, food supplies and spare tire. When all seven of us were piled
into the windowless “touring” car, I’m sure we made a strange picture as we headed south to cross the
Mojave Desert to California. I’m sure we children crawled into the car over the stored items because the
doors couldn’t be opened.
The trip must have been frightening for my parents, but I remember it as a big adventure. It took
us two weeks to make the trip from Salt Lake to Modesto. I recall staying in a little cabins, that were forerunners of motels, and camping.
Quite often the car would have a flat tire. Daddy would have to:
1. Unload all of us.
2. Jack up the packed car.
3. Take the large tire off
4. Take the tube out.
5. Find the hole in the old “bubble method” – water or spit.
6. Scrape the rubber to “rough up” around the area of the hole.
7. Cut a rubber patch and affix glue.
8. Apply the patch with pressure until dry.
9. Insert the tube back into the tire.
10. Blow up the tube in the tire with a hand pump.
11. “Clean up and get us all back in the car.
While Daddy was doing the work, we children would play in the desert sand by the road and build
all kinds of things. Perhaps George, about age eight, was old enough to help Daddy, but I know I played.
There was not as much foliage along the highway as there is today I’m sure.
One time my brother, George, in teasing, made a hissing sound like another flat tire. Daddy
looked back toward the sound and the car got off the road into soft sand. We were partially tipped over and
little Monty went flying out the side of the car into the hot sand. It seemed to me he was slightly scraped or
burned by this accident Some type of a “patrol” came along and helped get us back onto the highway. I
remember they had uniforms.
Someplace along the way, I think near Barstow, the “fear-end” of the car “fell-out”. Those were
the terms I remember my parents using. We were stranded. I believe Uncle Chris sent money for repairs.
I think we were low on food as I remember my parents discussing, and finally deciding, to give us coffee to
drink one morning at camp. That’s the only time I have ever had coffee. What a responsibility the move
was for my young parents ages thirty-four and thirty-eight.
We were in Modesto about six months, but I don’t know what kind of work my Dad did. It may
have been there that he tried selling custom made wool suits. We had many little wool square samples that
were later made into quilts.
The school I attended had wonderful individual desks instead of tables. I was so glad to go to
school.
Something else new was discovered on a visit to Aunt Phyllis’ house. It was margarine. There
was a little capsule in the package of margarine with which the white margarine could be mixed to look like
butter. One could re-form the mixture to fit the carton or use it straight from the bowl. We used ours from
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the bowl as we only had an ice-box and it took a long time for a carton to get cold enough to shape and
slice. My mother carefully kept aside some real butter for herself. I’m sure she missed her milk and cream
from her youth when they had their own cow. The margarine had to be sold white because the dairy
farmers objected to having a butter substitute.
A touching event occurred for me as we were leaving Modesto. A friend of mine and her mother
gave me a handkerchief party! What a thrill! I received handkerchiefs of all kinds. We had live3d there
such a short time and I have often thought how kind that mother was to give the party and make a little girl
feel so loved and important. I had those handkerchiefs for many years and wish I knew who my benefactor
was.
Such parties were frequent in those days before disposable tissues. Handkerchiefs were used by
all the family and some people used squares of old sheets as well. All these had to be washed and ironed!
Too bad we didn’t buy stock in Kimberly-Clark when Kleenex was developed.
Uncle Chris had obtained work for Daddy in San Francisco and had rented a flat for us. It was just
below Twin Peaks on a steep hill. It was furnished, and how strange, dark and “fancy” it seemed to me.
There were windows at the front and the back, but the other walls, I think, were adjacent to other flats so
bedrooms seemed dark. I recall my father got the car into the garage under the side of the house on the hill.
It was a scary experience for him. He never drove again in San Francisco. I certainly don’t blame him for
selling the car. I know I would not want to drive a Model T Ford in San Francisco!
Chapter 6
Life In The Big City
March 9, 1994
Josie Dot, our mom, loved California. She exclaimed everything was so clean and thought the
buildings in San Francisco had a “white-washed” look. (“White-wash” was an inexpensive paint people
used to use to clean up a room in the Spring.) One difference was that in Utah coal was the prevalent fuel.
Coal soot was common on the inside and outside of buildings. In California natural gas was used and the
weather was mild so heating often was not needed.
The hill where our flat was built had little steps cut into the sidewalk so one could more easily
walk up and down as it was so steep. Our school was at the bottom of the hill. My mother, seeing the hills
and cement, ruled as out of the question my desire for roller skates.
Somehow I had heard about the San Francisco earth quake and fire of some twenty years prior to
our being there. One time our parents left us alone and I recall being way up high in the flat looking out
The kitchen window over the city and worrying that there would be an earthquake while they were gone.
We children used to go some distance to Sunday School. We were given car fare to ride the street
car home. We would buy candy with the money and walk the long way home. Along the way we used to
see a yellow roadster. We decided that one day we would own one like it.
A highlight for me was being in a Christmas play where I played the part of Mary. I held my own
doll as the baby Jesus. The special feelings I had in portraying Mary made the experience a life long
memory. On occasion I also was able to attend a mid-week Primary. This children’s meeting was held in a
private home.
I also was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in San Francisco at the
Mission Ward. It was August 1, 1931 so I was age nine. I think we members of Mission Ward had to
travel to another part of the city where there was a chapel with a font. We did not have a church building to
my knowledge, but used a rental hall.
Before being in San Francisco very long, we moved to Eureka Street on the level ground near the
school. We lived in the lower flat and the landlady lived upstairs. I found our house number. It was 464
Eureka Street, and I had a girl friend, Gloria Essman, whose house number was 500 Eureka Street. We
lived just a few houses north. I remember her because I wrote letters to her for some years.
Gloria had one sister and their family was very kind to me and influenced my life. They were rich
by our standards. Their house was nicely furnished. It was not a flat, but a typical San Francisco house
with garage underneath. They had a car. They also had – or rented – a summer cabin. On many occasions
they included me in their family outings to Golden Gate Park, and on week long trips to the cabin which
was in the Russian River area.
The cabin was arranged so that the wall beds folded out into a sleeping porch or into the central
room in case of bad weather. I think it was on one trip there I learned I was allergic to poison oak. They
4
gave me Noxema for it. Mrs. Essman was very “proper”. She kept us on a routine. We had a bath at a
regular time and used two towels! One was for the upper body and one for the lower. She never scolded
even when I wet the bed one time as we were sleeping out on the porch and were frantically trying to get
the sheet dry by waving it in the early morning sunshine. Her patience with me almost ran out when I
balked once when asked to help with dishes. She exclaimed, “Are you going to tell your mother that all
you do here is work!” I still feel badly about that and about taking candy from their candy dish on their
buffet. You can be sure candy would never last around our house with us five children!
We were certain we could make fudge one time when our parents were gone. Of course we didn’t
use a recipe. The pan was burned so badly we couldn’t get it clean and buried it in the back yard. Years
later we told Mom and she said, “I always wondered what happened to that pan.”
Another time when our parents were away we were playing cowboys and Indians in the house.
We had blankets draped over the table for a tepee. The landlady came downstairs and said, “You kids are
making more noise than a bunch of Indians!” We laughed and thought it a compliment to the authenticity
of our play.
While on Eureka Street my sister, Jean, about age three, tumbled off the bed crawling over me and
broke her collar bone. She was hospitalized and had to lie flat. I was allowed to go alone by streetcar to
visit her. Along the way I would pick up empty cigarette packages! The purpose was to retrieve the foil
from the inside. It seemed a common practice to see how big a ball of foil we could get. But I don’t
remember anyone doing anything with the balls.
At the hospital I saw nuns in their black habits. As the nun would try to comfort the crying child
in the bed next to Jean, she would call her “sister”. I didn’t know what that was all about, but to an eight
year old the hospital, with doctors, rules, and crying children, was scary.
I saw my first movie in San Francisco and clearly remember the excitement of seeing a “talking
picture.” There was a song which started, “If I had a talking picture of you”. That may have been the title
of the song. When I attended a movie in San Francisco it seemed I got numerous flea bites from the sand
fleas common in the area. One time I had bites on my legs that became infected. I had to wear long white
stockings to school so I couldn’t scratch.
Uncle Chris and Aunt Nelle had an apartment in San Francisco. Aunt Pearl lived with them. On
one occasion Aunt Pearl was alone and I got to go and stay overnight with her. The apartment seemed so
beautiful to me. The greatest thing was the wall-bed which folded down out of the wall for us to sleep on.
It was during this time in the big city that I was taken to the zoo near the ocean, and also taken
someplace where I was able to walk up to and touch an airplane for the first time. Then we watched it in
the air. It seemed a marvel. It was a little single-winged model.
My city life also included a job! I sold McCall’s magazine. I really enjoyed selling the magazines
because I thought they were so great. I especially liked to point out to customers the paper dolls with
clothes that were in each issue. We did not sell subscriptions, but had the magazines in a bag with us. I
know I didn’t go far from home, but one time a man on the street bought all that I had!
I enjoyed living in San Francisco and just remember it as a happy time. But I know now that my
parents were struggling financially and my mother worked at the St. Francis Hotel part of the time in the
housekeeping. For a time we frequently had family prayer, each kneeling by our chairs at the table asking
for help. It made quite an impression on me and I’m sorry the habit was not enduring. Help did come
when again Uncle Chris was able to get Daddy a job in the Safeway Bakery in Sacramento.
So once more our family was on the move, and my last memory of San Francisco was of eating in
a restaurant on the way to the train. It was the first time I had eaten in a restaurant to my knowledge.
5
George holding Jean,
& Betty Larsen
George Larsen
Betty Larsen
1930
Betty Larsen and Goria Essman – Bolinas,
Caluifornia - 1931
Keith, George, Betty
in back – Jean & Monty
in front – Golden Gate Park
Betty Larsen in Bolinas – June 1931
Sandy Beach, Laqunitas 1931 Mrs
Keith by door, neighbor boy in middle
6
Essman with Gloria’s sister, Gloria & Betty
Monty in foreground 1931
7
Chapter 7
We Became a Rural Family
March 4, 1994
Fog horns from the ferry boats added to excitement as we had to cross the Bay to Oakland to take
the train and to get the truck across. The Oakland-San Francisco bridge was perhaps still an engineer’s
dream in 1931-32.
My mother, sister and I took the train and my father and brothers traveled in a truck. There
weren’t “U-Hauls” then so I don’t know where they got it. The trip to Sacramento took about three hours.
The road went through each little town as there were no freeways. Occasionally there were small stands
along the way that were shaped and colored to resemble an orange. Fresh orange juice was sold from the
stands. There was no such thing as an air-conditioned car or truck.
My first impression as we left the train in Sacramento was that all of the city was a park. Every
street and neighborhood was lined with trees. In San Francisco just about the only place where there were
numerous trees was in Golden Gate Park.
We moved into a little house in Bryte, which is a rural community about six miles west of
Sacramento. I calculate I started fourth grade that fall after a summer move. Fond memories of the cozy
country school are still with me because of the singing we did. We sang songs like “The Bells of St.
Mary’s” and “Ruben, Ruben”. We also set up a post office and as we studied different countries we would
pretend to write to friends telling about “our” country.
Bryte’s citizenry included immigrants from many countries. Uncle Johnny, Aunt May’s husband,
was from Greece. They had a nice home and a large yard with gardens and chickens. “Dress-up” clothes
were kept in their basement and my second cousin, Nathelle Winberg, and I played there a lot. Her father,
Bill Winberg, was Aunt May’s only son and lived near by. We could climb their cherry tree and stuff
ourselves and make dancing dolls of the fuchsia blooms growing in the front yard.
There were many Russian and Italian families who had girls my age so I did not lack for friends.
Next door to us was a large family – perhaps ten children. I observed how they ate in shifts. Then the girls
would sweep and scrub the bare floors after removing all the furniture. On occasion, I was invited to go
into their “steam-house” with them. It was in the yard in a separate tiny shed.
This is the home where I first recall our having a radio to listen to popular programs of the day.
“Amos and Andy”, “Bob Armstrong, the All American Boy”, and “One Man’s Family” are some names I
recall. George was allowed to stay up later than the rest of us and listen to programs with Mom and Dad.
The next day we other children would find empty candy wrappers as evidence of candy that was shared. I
couldn’t wait to be able to stay up until 9:00 P.M.
For some reason we moved across the street. This house probably a bit larger. There was no
inside plumbing. We obtained water from a well in the yard, pumping the water up by hand. I suppose we
all pumped water. I recall we took baths in a round galvanized tin tub placed in the kitchen. Several of us
would use the same water after it was hauled in and heated on the stove. Mom would take hers first – she
was the cleanest - ha! ha!
There was an old car on the property which we thought was wonderful to play in. In our play in
the neighborhood we were warned over and over not to go to the river. Mom explained about hidden holes
and etc. Many people would play and swim there as it was only a block or so away, but I never did. Every
year there were people drowned.
One night we were all aroused from our beds as a neighbor’s house was on fire. Our furniture was
moved out as it was feared our house would catch fire. There was only a rural volunteer fire department.
Rumors spread that the “Russians burnt their homes for insurance”. But I think my parents thought that
unlikely. It was a frightening experience.
When my cousin, JoAnn Amundson, was born her mother, Aunt Pearl, brought her to our home
with her to recuperate. I remember getting to help with the baby and washing the diapers with the scrub
board in our round tub. Aunt Pearl was my mother’s youngest sister. She and her husband, Ephraim
Amundsen, lived north of Sacramento in Rio Linda, a farm community.
There was an occasion when my mother was gone that I decided to surprise her and clean the
house as I had seen the Russian girls do. I moved much of the furniture, including bedding and mattresses
out to air. Apparently I took on a little more than I could handle. When Mama came home everything was
still outside. My efforts were not well received. Mama informed me she did not want to be accused of
breaking child labor laws! I didn’t know what that meant.
8
It was at this nondescript country home I first experienced strong feelings of personal inspiration.
I found on a shelf two black books with thin, thin paper and small printing. They were a wonder to feel and
hold. As I stood there browsing through them, in a special manner, as though someone was speaking to
me, the words came, “These are important and of great value to you.” I read the title. One was the Bible
and the other the Book of Mormon. My parents had not used them in my presence that I remembered and it
was as though I was seeing them for the first time. I started reading the Bible at the beginning, but I don’t
remember getting very far into it.
I have been grateful for the many future occasions when I have experienced undeniable personal
inspirations and a manifestation that have given me a sure knowledge that my Heavenly Father hears my
prayers, loves me, and that Jesus is my personal Saviour. As a poet once wrote: “Anyone might have
heard it, but God’s whisper came to me.”
After awhile the family moved to a larger home on the same street, Yalo Street, but to the east
farther from the river. The house had indoor plumbing! The blessings resulting from permanent
employment became apparent when my parents were able to obtain an automobile. It was an open “touring
sedan” made by Studebaker. I think Daddy still had to use a hand-crank out front to start it. There were
canvas and “ising-glass” sides that snapped on for inclement weather. We used to bundle up in coats and
blankets in cold weather for any ride. It must have seemed good to Daddy not to have to walk or hitch-hike
the five to seven miles into Sacramento to go to work.
We lived in Bryte probably during 1932, 1933, 1934, as I started seventh grade in North
Sacramento the fall of 1934. There were some other “first” for our family that occurred in Bryte. The most
memorable was obtaining a piano! Mama could play for Daddy to sing!
Another big event was obtaining a washing machine for our clothes, which had a wringer to put
the clothes through to get most of the water out.
With the car for transportation we were able to drive into Sacramento to attend Sunday School
occasionally. And on one occasion the family went as far as Del Paso Park, north of Sacramento. It was
the Larsen Aunts and Uncles and cousins as well as the Amundsens. JoAnn, the baby, was brought in a
basket.
A first for me was a permanent wave in my hair! This was a new invention. My mother took me
into Sacramento for this procedure. Pieces of hair were wrapped around round three inch cylinders that
were then attached to an electric cord which was part of a machine reaching taller than ones head. The
operator would keep watch and take them all off before the hair burned. In about forty-five minutes the
hair was curled “permanently” or for several months at any rate. The problem was that it was very “kinky”
unless set with a liquid or water and waved or styled by the operator. I looked lovely when they finished
with me, but alas when I tried to style it at home my lack of talent was apparent. So you will note in any
pictures of me taken in Bryte I have the kinky look. (It makes me laugh to see that in 1993-1994 girls do
that “look” intentionally.)
There was a vacant lot next door to our house and I had a favorite pastime in the spring. I would
take a long stick and draw floor plans of houses in the damp, bare soil. Then I’d place all the “furniture”
and pretend to live in the house. I also spent many hours outside playing school with boxes and crates for
desks.
Outside by the house I had occasion to nurse one our dogs who became ill. I was very concerned
and I remember procedures and what to do for the dog just came to me. It involved hot, wet rags and I
remember being amazed when the dog recovered. On my own I never would have known what to do, nor
would I now. I don’t know if that was “Boots” or not. But she was a wonderful, intelligent female dog we
all loved. Because of her we were able to witness puppies being born.
Our rural experience included a “basic” Thanksgiving Day. Daddy brought home a live turkey. It
got loose and flew all over the neighborhood before being captured. It was quite a process to prepare the
bird for dinner and was handled by Daddy from slaughter to table. The feathers had to be removed. I
helped with that. Then the insides were “drawn” I witnessed and learned a gizzard from a heart. Next pin
feathers had to be pulled out using pliers. These were the hard “celluloid” cores left when large feathers
were pulled. Then Daddy held the bird over the gas flame of the stove to singe fuzz or small feathers off.
Finally it was stuffed and baked, but I’m not certain whether it tasted anything like these pre-basted turkeys
we consume today.
I had a close friend, Rosie Parino, whom I enjoyed. Her family was Italian and spoke Italian.
They had a two story house. In the winter they lived upstairs. In the hot summer they cooked and lived
downstairs. They had a big garden and made their own wine. When I dined with them I, and the other
9
children, were given an ounce with the dinner. They were a nice family and I attended Catholic Mass with
Rosie once or twice which was a learning experience. It was all in Latin at that time.
My parents seemed to think it best to protect us children from financial or other family worries. I
can’t remember feeling “underprivileged”. For one thing so many people were worse off living in
cardboard shacks. So having limited diet, putting cardboards over the holes in our shoes, or not having
commercial entertainment did not seem strange during those depression years. Our wants were minimal as
we didn’t have ads and teen magazines creating a myriad of artificial needs. From necessity we learned
thrift. I continued to sell McCall magazines in Bryte, and have only fond memories of the time there.
Josie Dott and Jean Larsen
Daddy with
Uncle Johnny and Aunt May Dandis
Keith, Monty, George
Our 3rd Bryte Home 1980
10
Back – Betty, George, Middle – Keith, Jean
Seated – Monty and Boots the dog
George, Betty, Keith, Monty, Jean
Chapter 8
The Providential Move North
March 23, 1994
In the summer of 1934, just before I started seventh grade, we moved to North Sacramento. The
house at 825 El Camino Avenue (now 144 El Camino) seemed very large to me. I was very excited. Each
of us children was given a shelf or drawer to keep our own things in. Mine was a built-in dish cupboard in
the dining room.
Wonder of wonders there in the kitchen was a hot water heater! It held about twenty gallons of
water. Daddy would get up and light the gas to heat the water each morning.
Our stove was a gas range with brand name, “Occidental”. We could put bread in the oven to
toast and spell O C C I D E N T A L two times or so and the bread would be ready to turn. Then we would
turn it over and repeat the spelling and presto we’d have toast. An automatic toaster has never been as
much fun.
In the hallway of the house our parents installed a telephone. When we lifted the receiver an
operator would say, “Number please.” We would give her the number and she would connect us. Our
phone was on a party line. (It was cheaper). If it rang once it was for us. It it rang twice we didn’t answer
because it was for some other household. If we picked up the phone to make a call and the line was in use
we would have to wait until the other party was finished before making our call. Mama would say, “No
listening in!”
Shortly our parents had a refrigerator delivered! I had only seen one once. A neighbor in Bryte
had one. Our refrigerator had a box on the side in which Mama would put a quarter a day. As long as the
quarters were put in the refrigerator would work. This was the way the appliance was paid for, at least for a
time. The freezer section held two ice trays and that was all, but we thought it a marvel. We could take the
ice trays out and store a package of ice cream! One quart would fit.
11
There was a couple of shed in our back yard and we could play in one and have “dress-up” clothes
out there. Daddy raised some chickens in the other one for a time. I remember him bringing home little
chicks and keeping them warm in a box with a light globe. They’d first eat mash and then grain. Once,
and once only, I chopped off a chicken’s head and helped prepare it for dinner!
My parents always tried to improve any place we lived and to keep it clean. Their philosophy
seemed to be as the song says, “Brighten the corner where you are.”
They were able to purchase this white frame, two bed room, one bath, home for $1,800.00 from
the Canadian owners. They spent the rest of their short lives improving it and making as nice a home as
possible for us all. (When it was sold, after Mother’s death, about twelve years later, the selling price was
close to $5,000.00, and I and perhaps the other children, were able to use my portion as a down payment
for a home.)
The house was painted, and lawn planted. Rose bushes and geraniums were planted under the
kitchen window on the south side and along the fence on the west. A walnut tree was planted out back and
the sheds torn down. A small pine tree was planted out front, which is a giant tree now.
A knotty pine room was added along the side of the garage to provide more adequate sleeping for
my brothers, and more bathroom facilities. Daddy did this work and I think Keith and perhaps George
helped. Prior to this Monty had a bed in the room with Jean and me and George and Keith slept on the
back porch. The porch was closed in but had a window which provided a short-cut into the bedroom used
by us girls and Monty. I presume the window was to the outside at the back of the house prior to the porch
being added. We loved to crawl over George and Keith’s bed, through the window into our room. On one
such a trip through the window I somehow injured my second toe on my right foot. It became infected and
I had to soak it in hot salt water and suffer no shoe on the foot until it healed. I was about thirteen years
old. The toe nail came off and when it grew back in it was a strange, deformed nail and still is. No
antibiotics available back then for infections.
In spite of his long working hours, Daddy rebuilt the back entry to the house, poured an extra
cement parking strip out front, repaired the fence around the back yard, and made a walk out to the “little
room”.
Our home had what seemed like a large kitchen and was comfortable with good windows. A
colorful lawn swing was placed out back with holly-hocks growing nearby. I loved being out there.
Daddy made root beer each summer. We children helped wash the bottles and cap them with a
special apparatus for that purpose. The bottles were kept in a dark place for a few weeks to age. The root
beet was always ready by the 4th of July.
Our parents were industrious about bottling fruit and jams. Fruit was plentiful in the wonderful
Sacramento Valley. They would drive to the “Swallow’s Nest” farm along the river bank, or other places,
to buy fruit. Mother would put the fruit in lye water to help “slip the skins” as the peaches were not free
stone varieties. I don’t think I was a big help peeling pears or peaches, but I did wash bottles and helped
some, learning to do the canning the open-bottle method that was used then.
Daddy taught Mama to drive the car and I recall she thought 35 MPH was very fast. With us all in
school Mama went to work full time. She worked prior to that at the local cannery during fruit season, and
for a time she did domestic work in elaborate homes in the Land Park area. Then she went to the Senator
Hotel.
I’m sure Heavenly Father was looking out for our family in guiding my parents to North
Sacramento. Being there made possible many opportunities and growth experiences. North Sacramento
was an integral community with a business street, sidewalks, churches, city hall, and recreational facilities.
We were now only sis to eight blocks from a bus line into Sacramento. There was a library to walk to and
a nice elementary school. We were in the Grant Union School District and would be bussed to the new
high school. If we had stayed in Bryte we would have had to go to Woodland to high school.
We walked six to eight blocks to school over
on the “Boulevard”. Del Paso Boulevard was the
main street and the school was one half-block behind
the theater. Everything from stores to bus was on the
boulevard. I felt I had good teachers at North
Sacramento Elementary School for the seventh and
eighth grades. I remember learning to sew in a
portable classroom. We made pink pajamas. She felt
we could still wear them even if they weren’t perfect.
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We learned so many skills, from reading a pattern to
North Sacramento Elementary School
flat-felled seams and a hand constructed button hole. Our teacher was Mrs. Strater, a lovely soft-spoken
woman.
Miss Reese taught English and handwriting, although her pet theme was teaching “selfdiscipline”. She had a system whereby we could write goals for self-improvement and file them away.
Some months later we could get them out to check our progress. We ate lunch in her room and noted that
she would always lift her skirt to sit on her slip and protect her dress. She always ate a red apple and
graham crackers. That was all.
Mr. Johnson taught math. I had a difficult time in mathematics and was frightened I wouldn’t
learn to do square-root and be held back a grade. Mr. Johnson was rather nervous and thin. We were told
he had been shell-shocked in World War I.
Miss Larson taught us music and other subjects. She was very young and cute. I loved singing.
Sometimes she would send me out of class to help the second grade teacher. I thought that a treat.
When it rained the school had a “rainy day session”. For one recess we played games such as a
spelling bee. By time for the next recess we were dismissed to walk home.
I remember I was not one of the group at school who were “cute” and well dressed, but fit in with
most of the students and made good friends in the two years there.
For sometime there was a piano teacher who came to our house and gave me lessons. I don’t
know if the lessons were limited, or my interest, practice and propensity were, but I never became
proficient at playing.
The city library consisted, as I recall, of a couple of rooms behind a store off the boulevard. But I
was so pleased to be able to walk there and take books home! I read a series called “The Five Little
Peppers. These books made a lasting impression on me. There were five children much like our family
and they were ingenious at solving problems of poverty and the like. I could emulate their big sister.
My eighth grand graduation was a joyful time to be remembered. We had a nice banquet at the
Methodist Church. My father made a special cake decorated for the theme, which was the “Navy”.
Then we had an assembly at the North Sacramento Theater. As a total
surprise I was called to the stage and awarded a medal from the Sons of
American Revolution for “good citizenship”. Miss Larson told me I had been
observed picking up papers and helping around the school. I guess I was a born
“picker-upper”. After the assembly we eighth graders had free time on the
school lawn and each ate a carton of ice cream. I’m not sure if it was a pint or a
quart, but it was a lot.
Graduation ceremonies were held in the North Sacramento Masonic
Hall. All the girls wore dresses with a Navy motif. The boys wore blue pants
and white dress shirts with a blue tie. We all had our school and class colors
pinned on. I was one of the graduation speakers. The talk had something to do
with Annapolis. We all sang
“Anchors Away.”
Our parents bought a family membership to the North
Sacramento Swimming Pool. There were no formal lessons, but
I spent many a hot
Graduation Day
summer afternoon there. I thought I
was getting diving learned as a skill, but after injuring my back
slightly, I couldn’t make myself try again.
North Sacramento Swimming Pool
During my seventh and eighth grade years our Church services were held in the nice Masonic Hall
across from Sutter’s Fort in Sacramento. My mother played the piano for Sunday School. There was not a
separate children’s meeting. A march was played as we marched out to classes. Mother also played during
the passing of the Sacrament, as was the custom then.
We made another trip into Sacramento for evening Sacrament Meeting. Those of us who lived in
North Sacramento shared rides.
There were only two Latter-day Saint chapels in Sacramento back then. One was the Sacramento
Ward, I believe in the Oak Park area, and the Homestead Ward out near the Fairgrounds. Our Sutter Ward
met in rented quarters until the Chapel was constructed at 24th and O Streets, during the war years.
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Being in the “mission field” we had ample opportunities to take part. There was music
instruction, speech, and dance and sports available in our weekly M.I.A. meetings. (Mutual Improvement
Association).
At the ward or stake dances everyone went: children, parents, and grandparents. All had a great
time dancing or visiting. The Stake included Stockton, Modesto and towns north of Sacramento.
In my early teen years, I used to baby sit often. I enjoyed tending for Fern and Voyle Quick who
lived two houses from us. They used to buy me something from Sears, where he worked, for pay, or give
me twenty-five cents an hour. They gave me a nice tennis racket once. She was such a clean and
organized homemaker. When the children were asleep, I would us her good china and crystal and mimic
different movie scenes and “dining out.”
This was before television and I was trying to stay awake. Quite often I would fall asleep. On one
such occasion, still sleepy, I walked home and saw two big horses by our back door. I ran back to get
Voyle. He thought I was dreaming as there were no horses in our area. He walked me home and sure
enough they were there. He shooed them away and saw me safely into the house. The horses had
wandered from a distant field.
Fern’s sister, Sheltina Eskstrom, was a good friend of mine. We used to chase each other around
in Fern’s house giggling and acting silly. Fern never got upset. Sheltina’s parents had a potato chip factory
upstairs in their house! I was amazed at that operation.
One day, Fern and Voyle took me with them to Washington Lake near Sacramento to go on their
sailboat. It was a big thrill. Thus far I have never had an opportunity to experience sailing again, and so it
remains one of the “thrills of a lifetime.”
Another family I worked for made a big impression on me. The first thing one noticed on entering
their little home was a framed sign which read, “In this home God is King”.
Our neighbors next door had one baby and my mother asked me to help them out and not expect to
be paid as they were both out looking for work. Theirs was a tiny house. I remember that all they had to
eat in the house was cereal with a little margarine on it, but they invited me to join them. They ate it twice
a day. There was no government welfare or food stamps and so forth at that time.
One summer I rode the bus into Sacramento to tend two little boys. I pretended I was “mom” and
had a schedule. It was breakfast, play, lunch, bath, nap, clean clothes and play inside until their mom came
home. The next morning they would wear the clothes they put on the previous afternoon. I took care of the
“flat” and washing and once even made jelly. She gave me a very nice recommendation in writing. Those
boys were so sweet and the summer pleasant.
A flat was what we’d call a townhouse today. There were two flats upstairs and two downstairs.
They lived downstairs.
Other summers my efforts to please sometimes made me unpopular with my siblings. With my
mother working I decided to “take charge” of the care of the house. I had a schedule of cleaning, washing
windows and etc.
But it seemed to me about the time I was finished and reading or playing with paper dolls, my
brothers would come in from playing football. They would eat lunch and leave root beer bottles and other
items all over the kitchen. Towels and soiled socks were left in the bathroom. Once they shook the root
beer bottles and then took off the caps sending root beer to the ceiling.
Finally, more than once, I locked the doors and windows and passed their lunch out the kitchen
window to them! I wanted the house clean when Mom came home.
Soon, however, I was absorbed in activities and work at Grant Union High School and my interest
in things on the home front was lacking. I commenced a forty-eight year working “career”. Saturday
mornings were about my only time to help at home.
There was nothing fragile, exotic or pampered about my girlhood. Learning about
resourcefulness, thrift, and the value of work was a blessing, however. Thus years later when Dr. Rose of
Fresno State College was giving us a lesson on grooming and design in a clothing class, my ordinary
background became apparent.
“Think of yourself as a flower,” she said. “You’re blooming – creating a picture for others to
enjoy.” She asked each student what kind of flower she could see herself as becoming. One said an orchid,
another a gardenia, another a violet, and several a rose. Then she asked me. I thought of the geraniums
under our south kitchen window. Though bright pinks and reds, they were ordinary, sturdy, growing tall
and dependable year after year. “Dr. Rose,” I said, “Just call me a geranium. I’d like to be like a
geranium.”
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Medal given to Betty Larsen for good citizenship
Eighth Grand graduation Day. Margaret Lessore, Vivian Martin, Miss Burt, Secretary, Betty Larsen. June 3, 1936.
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North Sacramento Elementary School
North Sacramento Swimming Pool
North Sacramento home on ElCamino - 1979
Rear of home with little room Daddy built
Josie Dot and Lawrence Larsen in back yard – 1936
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