A BIOGRAPHY OF JOSEPH
A. REES
On the 14th of August 1840 in the town of Fishguard, South
Wales, I first breathed the breath of life. I was the fourth and
last child of my mother. My father’s name was William Rees. My mother was
Elizabeth Leijshon Evans. My father was a
professional business man, honest in his dealings, kind and courteous.
My first recollection was that of being carried Welsh
fashion to the market place by my mother.
When five or six years old I was kicked by
a jackass on the left cheek. Figuratively the act has been repeated
often since. It is wisdom always to consider the source and let it go at that.
When I was very young I remember standing on a wooden box
reciting the ten commandments and parts of the Sermon
on the Mount for which mother gave me a penny. This was in Sunday School.
I was not nine years old when two elders of the LDS Church
came to our town to preach. Mother was busy washing, but she hastily changed
her dress and apron, took me by the hand, and we went to hear the strangers and
find out what they had to say. She received the word of God from those very
humble elders, servants of the Lord who had been sent forth without purse or
scrip.
One night my mother’s sister Mary appeared to her as she lay
in bed and said, “Elizabeth,
this year the Lord has something to do for you.” It came to pass, surely.
In 1849 my father embraced the gospel. He fed and sheltered
the many missionaries willingly and gladly, and did all he could to defend them
against the bitter assaults of the members of other churches.
I well remember the mobs – how they followed us with jeers
and insults, and at one time broke every piece of glass in our house while
Elder Sykes was preaching.
My parents gave freely of cash, clothes, and food to the
elders.
I remember going with mother to a meeting conducted the
Mormons when all of a sudden a howling, jeering, hissing mob came in to disturb
the sermon. They acted in a most degenerate way, and yet they were called
Christians. President Phillips arose to his feet, then raising his hands and
pointing toward the howling crowd he shouted, “Ye people of Fishguard,
I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to be still at your peril.” A quiet
calm followed, and Brother Jenkins continued his sermon without further
trouble. Those who came to mock remained to pray.
I went with an elder to preach in Cardigan without purse or
scrip, trying to spread the principles we so devotedly believed. Accustomed to
good regular meals at home, to go without food for twenty-four hours at a time
was hard, and I surely was glad to be released and return home. I was then
fourteen years old.
We always
attended Conference, walking from six to fourteen miles both
ways. There were no radios, no automobiles to hurry you there and bring you
back in a few hours. I took my part in the services preaching and praying.
Education was not general in those days. Schools were often
held in teachers rooms or homes with little system,
poor methods, forced order and miserable furniture. Teachers were, as a rule,
broken down soldiers or sailors, or at best a woman too frail to perform hard
work. To one of these I was sent. I remember standing for hours with a dunce
cap on. I hated school then. Could you expect a lad to love school under such
poor uninviting conditions? Later I attended a national school with some degree
of success – walls with maps, books in plenty, backless seats, splinter side
up. Here all study was out loud, and there was arbitrary discipline. Here I
learned the “three R’s”. This was in Fishguard. When
young I loved to read to inform myself. It was a feast for me to read a good
book.
My father became quite wealthy in Wales. We were a happy and
contended family, but my mother desired to come to Utah. Her great faith and her determination
decided my father to sell everything. We sailed for America,
arriving in Salt Lake City
October 29, 1855. I can picture the scenery crossing the plains even now quite
vividly – the buffaloes – thousands and thousands of them stampeding, causing
loss of life, loss of cattle. I can almost hear the “Gee” the “Whoa” and the
crack of the whip. We would scramble through the woods gathering wild grapes
and eating luscious, ripe plums.
The Indians, at times, were quite hostile. We children would
gather the firewood while the grown folks did the cooking. A double guard was
placed around our grazing herd to keep the buffaloes from mixing with the
cattle. Our camp consisted of nine wagons. Evening and morning prayers were
said. Cursing, swearing or vulgarity I did not hear during the entire journey.
On, on we wended our way, now slowly traveling over the boundless prairies,
climbing sand hills, crossing rivers, up steep mountains, down steep rough
grades, winding through canyons, sage brush, snakes, vile insects everywhere,
and at last entering the valley
of Great Salt Lake. I
felt the spirit of the pioneers, and in my boy heart felt as the Prophet
Brigham Young did, “This is the place.”
Our first winter was bitterly cold, snow very deep; cattle
were dying and food was scarce for man and beast, but the people generally
enjoyed good health. Peace and contentment were supreme. I remember going to
school in the Fifteenth Ward. The teacher was a big, rough Texan. One day he
asked me to read. I read the first Psalm, or rather, tried to read it. Before I
got through he shoved me to one side and said, “For God’s sake quit reading so
fast.” I stopped and I never read aloud again that winter. What encouragement!
In 1856 and 1857 I took small jobs sawing wood. I hauled
wheat, wood and did anything to earn a few dollars. We caught fish by putting
willows into the riverbed, obstructing and catching them as they swam upstream.
One day I fell into the river and was carried downstream quite rapidly, and had
it not been for a net that had been stretched from side to side of the river
the possibility of living until this day, 1913, is very doubtful.
In 1856-57 were the days of reformation among the people.
This had a decided uplifting effect upon all. Missionaries were appointed
throughout the whole territory whose calling it was to
invite all to repent of their sins, acknowledge them and turn to God, seek his
forgiveness, and live near Him in the future.
I remember when the U. S.
troops came to Utah to discipline the Mormons
into obedience to the laws of the United States. Words fail to
describe such ignomious folly. Here in the mountain
dales were a people who had been ruthlessly despoiled of home and possessions
of various kinds; a people whose great leader, Joseph Smith and his brother
Hyrum had been cruelly and wantonly murdered; a people who had furnished 500 of
their men to defend their country against Mexico after suffering the results of
maddened mobs, and driven into a wilderness. Uncle Sam, you may well and ought
to blush with shame because of your defiance of common sense. Brigham Young,
who was then the governor, issued a proclamation recounting some of the
sufferings of the Saints. Their right as free men under the Constitution,
forbad any and all armed forces to enter into or go through the territory
without permission. The coming of Johnston’s
Army caused a great stir in Salt Lake
City. I was in Echo Canyon
standing guard. While on duty there some of my companions had their feet
frozen. We stood guard alternately. When we were ordered home the war was over.
Salt Lake City
was almost deserted, the people having moved South.
Loneliness and silence was everywhere. My family had gone south, so I bundled
my bedding and started to find them. For the first time in my life I heard the
name of God blasphemed, but not by a Mormon. Brigham Young had ordered a number
of Saints to locate in different sections of Utah. Having confidence in their church
leaders and an unfaltering trust in God they left their homes rather than
submit to a crushing persecution, not in the least deserved. God bless the
memory of those self-sacrificing honest American citizens! They needed no
discipline by U. S. troops
into obedience to the laws of the United States.
I found my folks at Spanish Fork. This was in December 1857.
Soon after my father became dissatisfied, disgusted and
discontented with conditions here. He was not accustomed to hard,
laborious work such as digging ditches, fencing, canyon work, rough farming methods prevalent here in those days. So that
with a few more dissatisfied ones the family started back to Wales, taking me with them, although I begged to
remain here in Utah.
Ever since I have regretted going back and do so now.
Our return to Wales was hard and rough, and we
were caught in a hurricane, its fury lasting two days. We met a dismantled
vessel with no one on board. Evidently they had all perished.
Our trip across the plains was made in wagons drawn by oxen
to Nebraska City from St. Louis to New Orleans, and
then across the mighty Atlantic to Liverpool and thence to our old home in Fishguard.
My mother, however, determined to return to Zion with a number of her friends. She left
father in Wales.
He would not again endure the hardships of the times. I left Wales a year later for Utah and Mother.
How I loved my mother! She stands next to God on earth to
me! How I cling to her memory. Neither time nor distance nor death, nor the
grave can ever divorce me from her. Whatever condition in life we may have,
whether a king or an outcast, a millionaire or a pauper, exalted or condemned,
he is her boy. There all argument ceases.
My mother had a hard time to get along in early days in Utah. Sometimes she felt
the burden of life hanging heavily but with faith in God, and in herself, with
courage to do right, and a testimony of the gospel, she had won the great prize
of life – she had become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints in her fortieth year.
Time sped on. I find myself a young man doing a man’s work,
thinking as a man, trying to act the part of a man.
On February 1, 1863, I married a beautiful Welsh girl by the
name of Mary Ann Jenkins. We had no furniture or wares of any kind to start
housekeeping. We purchased a few cups and saucers and bowls, some provisions
and other necessities, a bed, a bench, and we felt as rich as Rockefeller.
Later we bought a one-room house. In 1864 our first babe, Katherine, was born.
To us were born five lovely children, now all deceased (1913). My dear wife
died in confinement. The babe died the day it was born. On her mother’s breast
she was laid to rest in the cemetery at Grantsville. Here I was left with four
little children.
In the course of time I met a beautiful young woman by the
name of Amelia Hassell. We were married in the
Endowment House in Salt Lake City
June 24, 1872. During the whole of our married life she proved herself to be a
true and noble wife, kind to my children, loyal to her friends, and dear
devoted mother to her thirteen children who love her dearly. Her life is an
inspiration to them.
After her death in Spanish Fork I was assigned to teach in Santaquin. There I met a widow by the name of Catherine
Olson who mothered my little girls with true affection. To us were born four
children, three of whom are living.
How I became a School Teacher:
While laying rock on a culvert on North Temple I was asked
to teach school in Salt Lake City.
I was an optimist. I thought, “God gave me a few brains – why not use them?” This
was the turning point of my life. Was I educated and capable of teaching
school? No! My knowledge was ridiculously poor. I had very little education,
but I was willing to do my best.
For my pay I got carrots, potatoes, bacon, butter, molasses,
flour, sage brush, and wood or whatever the good people had to offer. This you
might say was the happiness of ignorance. At the opening of school, good old
Brother James brought with him a bunch of willows. In the presence of the
school children he handed them to me saying, “Joseph, here is your authority.
If any of these big fellows don’t mind you, you lam them like hell!” I didn’t
lam them like hell! Nor did I have occasion to do so, but how I studied myself
to keep ahead of my pupils.
I had a wonderful memory and easily retained what I had
read. I attended the University
of Hard Knocks. In 1877 I
passed my first teachers examination. How thrilled I was to receive a
flattering certificate. I was not fully competent to teach the common branches
of the district school in the territory
of Utah. I had mastered
the subjects by my own efforts. No tutor to assist me. I burned the midnight
oil away into the night, and even into the small hours of the morning.
Sometimes I slept not more than five hours until I received a High School
certificate.
I also served as a member of the examining board of teachers
of Utah County. I taught school in Spanish Fork
for twenty years. George H. Brimhall was principal.
After his resignation I became principal. Besides teaching and supervising the
schools at Spanish Fork I was honored by my Church as High Priest and Superintendent
of the Sunday Schools. I held civic positions as City Councilman, City attorney
and Alderman.
I never was happier than when working with young people.
They were an inspiration to me. We organized dramatic clubs, spelling matches
and at my home I taught book-keeping, mathematics, and some of the common
branches to older people who could not attend day school.
They paid me in provisions out of their granary, and meats
of all kinds, but very little cash. Those were jolly times, and I love to
ponder over them. I tried to find out what each individual person was fitted
best for in life, and then put all my energy forward to train, cultivate and
direct him to fulfill his ambition.
Wonderful people I found in Spanish Fork,
and loyal friends whom I will love to my dying day. I hope to meet them beyond
the grave.
I was principal of Santaquin in
1900 for four years. Then I was principal in Sandy for two years. I returned to Santaquin after receiving a flattering offer to come back
with additional salary.
In September 1914 I taught in Payson half time. Then because
of a serious illness Prof. John C. Creer and the
Board of Education thought I could not stand the strenuous application of
school work, and for that reason I was retired and put on half pay.
I want to testify here that my Father in Heaven has indeed
been a father to me. For forty-six years I have devoted my best energies to the
school room, the church and to public affairs.
The Board of Education, so loyal to me, keeps me on the
payroll, sort of a pension. However, I visit schools often and give suggestions
and advice when required.
A wonderful banquet was given in my honor in 1918, and a
beautiful school building was named for me, THE REES SCHOOL in Spanish Fork.
John P. Creer was master of ceremonies at the banquet
and said that Prof. Rees has turned out more land better graduates than any
other principal in the State.
To the multitude of men and woman, once boys and girls in my
classroom, now in active life, I feel blessed for having been your teacher, for
the sunny times we have had together in profitable employment, and for the
inclination and determination we have to press forward and discharge every duty
we owe to home, to country, and to God.
On my birthday my old-time graduates surprised me at Santaquin bringing supplies for a big banquet. We enjoyed
it on the lawn. How we enjoyed each other’s company and talked of by-gone days!
Nothing eventful of importance has happened in my life
since. I am tired, physically weak and handicapped for future labor. I love my
home, my children and my friends. God only knows how long I will be with them.
This account was written March 1, 1923. Mr. Rees died
suddenly March 21, 1923, just three weeks later. A funeral was held in Santaquin and another at Spanish Fork Pavillion,
one of the largest ever held there attended by friends, former pupils and
educators from all over the states.
