The Life of Joseph Dee Winmill as told by his son Richard Winmill
One of the least enjoyable things I can remember about my childhood on the farm was thinning sugar beets. What made it tolerable was having Dad there. I always found Dad’s stories engrossing whether told in that hot, dry beet field, or while resting on the hay stack for the next load to arrive. Here are a few of the stories I remember: Growing Up in Lost River Dad was born to Joseph Smith Winmill and Ethel Mathie in Rexburg, Idaho December 18, 1921. The family moved tothe Little Lost River valley near Howe, Idaho where dad spend his formative years.
Dee at about 20
Dad’s earliest remembrances were of two prized animals. One was “his” grey mare whose and the other an Australian Shepherd named “Ole’ Mungo.” The horse was a gift from Grandpa Joe Winmill in the good times before the big drought and the Great Depression combined to impoverish his family. He came home from school one day to find Grandpa Joe had sold “his” grey mare to help the family through those bad times. The thing that upset Dad most was that Grandpa didn’t tell him before hand and give him a chance to make it his decision. Dad told the story with a little bitterness still in his voice.
Ole’ Mungo was, according to Dad a “super” canine. Dad claimed Ole’ Mungo was part coyote and part Australian Shepherd. He recalled being able to put his gloves or coat down with Ole’ Mungo guarding them and no one could come near them. In one of Dad’s frequent squabbles at school, some larger kids tried to take Dad’s rope away from him. While he held on to the rope, Ole’ Mungo took bites out of the other kids hind ends and a little girl friend kicked them in the same place. Thus distracted, Dad was able to clear the “bullies” off the other end of the rope and reclaim it.
One time Ole’ Mungo did let him down, was when they stood guard over the head gate to the irrigation canal. Irrigation water is has always been and remains today a serious concern in the Lost River Valleys. During these desperate times, the drought had settled heavily in Little Lost River Valley. The Dry Creek dam had been completed and had drawn people to the area with promises of wealth such as was had in other parts of the Snake River Valley. During the height of the drought, water for agricultural use was rationed severely. Water was to be obtained only once per week. Since water rationing also brought water rustling, Dad was entrusted with the task of guarding the head gate and keeping it open when their turn came. Dad felt well prepared for the assignment. He took his rifle and Ole’ Mungo to camp out on the head gate all night. Some time during the night, he fell asleep, and apparently so did Ole’ Mungo. As the sun wandered lazily into the summer sky, they awakened to find some desperate farmer had shut up their head gate. We know they must have been desperate to have braved the twin terrors of Ole’ Mungo and Dad’s rifle.
I can visualize Dad as a teenager with Ole’ Mungo tagging along behind. I can envision Dad pitching wild hay onto the beaver slide, while Ole ‘Mungo chased jack rabbits up and down the canal banks. He’d occasionally have required a little doctoring for paying too much attention to a badger or porcupine.
Since Dad made only a dollar per very long day putting up wild hay (Wild hay was almost entirely timothy with a little clover or alfalfa and so a quite a mess to handle.) He certainly would have had Ole’ Mungo guard his gloves carefully during lunch breaks.
That wild hay and the cultivated alfalfa hay were very valuable. In the winters following a big coyote kill by the sheepmen (probably including Grandpa Joe) in the valley, the rabbits would experience a population explosion and suddenly attack the hay stack Dad would get up before sunrise on cold, crisp mornings, collect his rifle and Ole’ Mungo to clear out the rabbit populations the coyotes should have handled. The previous night, they had placed snow fencing around most of the stack, with only a narrow entrance. In this manner, Dad got plenty of target practice and Ole’ Mungo never lacked for good rabbit meat.
Each Fall in Lost River, many of the farmers and ranchers joined forces for a wild horse round up. In those days, they may have kept them and sold them or selling them to others to be used as riding stock. However even then the horses’ value could also be reduced to a value per pound as the basic ingredients for Jello or dog food. Dad participated in at least one such round up. On this occasion, he became separated from the group and was thoroughly lost as dusk crept up from the valley floor. In the fall, the nights come with icy suddenness to the little valleys huddling round each little creek or tributary of the Little Lost River. Starting with sage brush and juniper at about a mile above sea level, the Lemhi Mountain Range reaches through thick stands of pine up to the gnarled scrub pines at the timber line. With the prospect of freezing temperatures Dad built a huge pile of pine boughs into which he sank pulling the pile in upon himself as he sank. Having taken advantage of insulation nature so generously provided, he spend a tolerable if not comfortably warm night. In the morning, he found his way out of the valley.
Dad never talked much about his religious experiences while growing up. We do know that the family was isolated and that no branch of the church existed in the Little Lost River at that time. Eventually, Grandpa decided that they must have some religious influence and arranged that a dependent Sunday School be set up. Grandpa was set apart as Presiding Elder of the dependent branch.
Grandpa was 38 years old when Dad was born, just one year older than I was at the birth of my seventh child. While there may be more maturity at thirty-eight, there is also less energy and less patience. Add to this the extreme demands of scratching out a meager living in the Little Lost River Valley through drought and depression and one can imagine the limitation on Grandpa’s time, patience and energy for family.
Since there was no suitable high school education available in the Little Lost River Valley and for other reasons, Dad left home to live with relatives in the Big Lost River Valley and start his freshman year of high school. Grandpa moved the family to Riverside to be close to adequate schools for the family.
Off to College
Having graduated from Moreland high school, Dad set off to college at University of Idaho, Southern Branch. Having arrived a day before the dormitory opened and unable to persuade anyone to allow him entrance, he camped in the Portneuf River bottoms that evening. The Portneuf was not the concrete ditch it is today and so was prone to over flow its banks in those years. As Dad slept, the water rose until he was up to his ears in the steamy warm waters. As Dad told it, he elected to stay in the water until dawn, as the water was warmer than the air temperature.
Off to War
Jospeh Dee Winmill as Marine
Eleven days before Dad’s birthday in 1941, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Dad joined the Marines college reserve program and in 1943 began participating in theV-12 education program which was designed to develop and officers corps among college students. He was required to carry 17 credit hours and 9-1/2 hours of physical training each week. Study was year-round. He finished another year at University of Idaho, Southern Branch and then was transferred to Notre Dame. While at Notre Dame, spend so much time partying that he neglected his grades. Much to his mother’s consternation, he also fell in love with a Polish girl from South Bend, Indiana. Referring to one as a Polish Catholic is almost redundant, even today. He continued to correspond with her after they dropped him from the V-12 program and in March 1944
Dad was in basic training at Camp Pendelton, near Oceanside, California. He was recommended for the Officer Candidate School in Quantico, Virginia. and the temporary OCS detachment at Camp Lejeune, South Carolina. While in transit, Dad took leave at home.
Ole’ Mungo had nearly died from refusing to eat when Dad took off for college and the service. It was particularly bad while he was away at Notre Dame. Several days before Dad returned, Ole’ Mungo would run up to the road by the mail box and look up and down the road expectantly wagging his tail. He somehow know Dad was on his way home. This happened every time Dad came home on leave.
While in basic training at Camp Pendelton, Dad endured Marine Corps Drill Instructor’s thrashing designed to winnow out a few good men or kill them in the process. He told of the forced marches on starvation rations. While on maneuvers under such conditions during the long hot days in the Southern California desert mountains, Dad felt particularly put upon because the promised C-rations had not materialized. By this time he and some friends felt sufficiently competent as “scouts and snipers” to hike over the hills to company headquarters and “liberate” some canned goods to supplement their rations. Returning to their bivouac before dawn, they used a bayonet to open the cans. The unit commander made a surprise visit to their tent. Dad, in one smooth, well practiced motion came to attention, smashing his bare foot down on the jagged edges of the can of cherries he had been wolfing. Of course, his wound was too hard to explain to seek attention at the infirmary. Dad carried quite a scar on his ankle as a result.
Before Dad shipped out, he did take in a few dances at the Palladium in Los Angeles with the Big Band sounds of Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey. Dad shipped out from San Diego on November 12, 1944. At that time he was also assigned to a Scout and Sniper company. It was now time to ship out.
From December 1, 1944 until January 1, 1945 his unit trained at Camp Tarawa in Hilo Hawaii for the invasion of Iwo Jima. On February 15, 1945 the V Amphibious Corps under Holland (Howlin’ Mad) Smith embarked from Saipan for Iwo Jima. Iwo Jima A couple of dozen of Dad’s Scout company went in to Iwo Jima two day before the invasion on recon missions. Dad’s unit (the 5th Marine Division) was part of theV Amphibious Corps, reinforced which landed on February 19th during the first landing at Iwo Jima.
The United States sent more Marines to Iwo Jima than to any other battle, 110,000 Marines in 880 Ships. The convoy of 880 US Ships sailed from Hawaii to Iwo Jima in 40 days. After the island had seemingly been reduced to sand and ruble by ten weeks of aerial bombardment and three days of intensive naval shelling, the Japanese still remained firmly rooted in their concrete bunkers. Incredibly, this ferocious bombardment had little effect. Hardly any of the Japanese underground fortresses were touched. Twenty-two thousand defenders of Japanese soil, burrowed in the volcanic rock of Iwo Jima, anxiously awaited the American invaders having zeroed their artillery in all the landing spots.
On February 19th, Dad’s unit, the 5th Marine Division, disembarked wave upon wave on to the beaches with the V Amphibious Corps. By late morning, 6,000 men and vehicle crowded the beach and at this point the Japanese unleashed concentrated artillery fire. The Japanese fire was highly effective once the beaches were crowded. Admiral Nimitz said of the Marines on Iwo Jima, “Valor was a common virtue.” Secretary of the navy, James Forrestal, said of them, “I can never again see a United States Marine without feeling a reverence.” It was one of the bloodiest engagements Marines have fought. To gain a perspective on what Dad and other Marines experienced on Iwo, I recommend the best selling book Flag of Our Fathers, written by James Bradley. Bradley’s father was a Navy Corpman and was among to flag raisers at Iwo Jima’s Mt Suribachi.
For over two weeks, Dad with his unit picked their way among the rock and sand hills trying to avoid Japanese snipers and machine gun emplacements. During this time, he witnessed the first and second raising of the American Flag over Mt.Suribachi. On March 8th (D-Day + 17,) Dad was assigned the dangerous job of stretcher bearer. His job was to sprint over the hot volcanic ash (so hot all they had to do was dig holes in the sand to cook their C-ratios) between fox holes and shell holes, dodging snipers and shrapnel to collect the wounded. Dad teamed up with an American Indian who went by the name of “Red Dog” he made his last scramble to pick up wounded. Their only notice of an enemy gun emplacement was several bursts which stood “Red Dog” straight up and refused to let him drop. The Japanese gunner, having spend far more rounds than necessary to end “Red Dog’s” life, may have saved Dad’s live by allowing him time to scoop deep enough into the volcanic sand to escape all, but one of the machine gun rounds.
The wooden bullets were sufficient to send Dad out of the war, to rest and recuperation in a Guam and then Hawaii base hospital in Honolulu. The wooden Japanese bullet splintered and was massively infected requiring convalescence from March until May. He received the Purple heart and as part of the 5th Division, V Amphibious Corps, reinforced received the Presidential Unit Citation, Dad’s unit suffered more casualties than any other division on Iwo Jima.
Dad gained strength to return home for rest and recuperation in May. His war wound was a foot long above his shoulder blade. Dad then returned to the Marines finally being mustered out on his 24 birthday December 7 1945 at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Finally, he came home to be greeted by Ole’ Mungo and his family. His Polish girl friend from Notre Dame had “stopped” writing while he was overseas thanks to Grandma who intercepted and destroyed the letters. Marriage and Family
After returning, Dad met and dated Carol Jean Barlow. They were married at Pocatello in a civil marriage just before her 18th birthday. They lived near Grandpa and Grandma while Mom finished school. Of course, Ole’ Mungo was there. He didn’t much like mom taking over Dad’s life. After all, Ole’ Mungo had known him longer, hadn’t he? He would snarl at Mom often whether out of old age or jealousy, it was hard to say. When Mom became pregnant with me, Ole’ Mungo began to protect her with the same fervor he protected Dad all those years.
Dad and Mom were sealed for time and eternity in the Idaho Falls Temple December 27, 1946. They became the parents of six children. Their first home in Pingree, Idaho was a refrigerator train car that had doors and windows cut in. The insulation was so thick that a wood stove and oil heater kept it toasty warm in the winter. Of course, there was no pluming other than a single cold water pipe. Mom heated water in the wood stove for our Saturday bath in the galvanized tub. The walk to the out-house was very brisk in the winter. Some years later Dad built a small wood frame house with all the modern conveniences. The box car became a home for hired help after that point.
We regularly had fishing vacations. Each year we hunted down the perfect Christmas tree in Wolverine Canyon just after Thanksgiving. Hot Chocolate and Chili sustained us as we wandered far to find just the right tree. We raised sheep dairy cattle, potatoes, sugar beets and hay on the farm.
Work and Service
At the wedding of Richard Winmill
My recollections of Dad were generally of working with him in the fields on our hundred acre farm in Pingree, Idaho or the summer fishing trip to Antelope Creek, Dry Creek or Cherry Creek. Always there seemed time to tell stories or teach me a new skill for farming. I remember him teaching me to use a rifle and becoming something of crack shot like he was. At least, we both thought we were.
In addition to running our farm and helping grandpa Winmill run his farm, Dad worked for a couple of dozen years at the Atomic Energy Commission (now run by the Department of Energy) site at Arco, Idaho. That involved very long commute involving a long bus ride. Dad had two full-time jobs and worked hard at both. His employer during that time was Westinghouse corporation which had a contract with the Navy to test nuclear propulsion for navy ships and submarines at the Naval Reactors Facility. The contract included ground based test reactors S1W reactor for the USS Nautilusand the A1W reactor for the USS Enterprise (CVN-65.) Dad worked as a radiation control technician. Dad served an Explorer Scout leader in our ward.
Dad was also an avid family history buff. His work extends to four three inch loose leaf notebooks full of detailed and organized research. I remember the trips with the family to the Idaho Falls Genealogy library to do research, but didn’t know the full extent of his involvement until after his death when I fell heir to the material he had accumulated.
What I have been able to retain of the things Dad taught me are the value of working until the job is well done, the value of loyalty, and most importantly, the value all human beings – never giving up on a person even when they have given up on themselves. Though Dad worked hard on the farm, he was not a good farm manager and he may not have been as good of a shot as he thought he was, but he had one of the most open and loving spirits of anyone I have known.
Dad railed against liberal causes and yet his own conservative values invariably lead him to treat any man or woman with whom he came in contact with the same respect he would give the banker or wealthy merchant. He was truly a compassionate conservative. I remember long before civil rights became the fight of the 60’s that he invited a black family working for us to eat with us. He was good friends particularly with Indian people and gained a greater love for them having been called with my family to a mission to the Shoshone Bannock Indians in Fort Hall.
Dad knew how to work hard, but he didn’t know when to stop and enjoy life until just before his death. When Dad and Mom moved into the house on 15th Avenue in Pocatello, Idaho, Mom had by then graduated from Idaho State University and begun working as an RN at Bannock Memorial Hospital. With the farm no longer demanding his time and attention, Dad began to enjoy his family more than work and working for the Lord more than working for men. I was so pleased and proud to have him pronounce a name and a blessing upon our daughter Tressa.
His strong desire to spread the gospel was known by everyone who knew him in those days. He had just been ordained a Seventy and set apart as Stake Mission President before his death. As his presidency was meeting at the new home on 14th Street in Pocatello he suffered a sudden heart attack and died before help arrived. The LDS Institute Choir from Idaho State University sang this song as a tribute to Dad at his funeral. It was recommended by daughter-in-law Madeline Winmill and captured his life and philosophy well:
I MAY NEVER PASS THIS WAY AGAIN (Murray Wizel / Irving Melcher)
I’ll give my hand to those who cannot see, The sunshine or the fallin’ rain.
I’ll sing my song to cheer the weary along, For I may never pass this way again!
I’ll share my faith with every troubled heart, So I shall not have lived in vain.
I’ll give my hand, I’ll sing my song, I’ll share my faith, because I know,
That the time is now to fulfill each vow, For I may never pass this way again!
Off on Another Mission
Dad was eulogized saying he would surely continue missionary work and particularly would be working with the Lamanites whom he loved. It’s not hard to visualize a man with an uncommon love and respect for other people desiring to continue his interrupted work. The eulogy quoted a vision received by Joseph F. Smith in 1913 concerning the Savior’s visit to the spirits of the dead while his body was in the tomb. Speaking of “…many others [who]…were prepared to labor for the His vineyard for the salvation of the souls of men. A few years after Dad’s death a this vision became a new scripture recorded in the
Doctrine and Covenants 138
“I beheld that the faithful elders of this dispensation, when they depart from this mortal life, continue their labors in the preaching of the gospel of repentance and redemption, through the sacrifice of the Only Begotten Son of God, among those who are in darkness and under the bondage of sin in the great world of the spirits of the dead.”