24 May 1915 – 25 Jul 2000
2nd-Great-Grandson of Philip Cardon and Martha Marie Tourn
Great-Grandson of Louis Philip Cardon and Susette Stalé
Grandson of Joseph Samuel Cardon and Selenia Mesenile Walker
Son of Junius Welborn Cardon and Mae Whiting
A Brief Autobiography
by Robert Mansel Cardon
I, Robert M. Cardon, was born May 24, 1915, at St. Johns, Apache County, Arizona. I am the second in a family of nine children, five sons and four daughters.
My parents, Junius Welborn and Mae Whiting Cardon, were married Oct. 17, 1912, at St. Johns, Arizona after having been driven from Old Mexico with others of the Mormon Colonies. Mother and Dad had met while attending school at the Academy in Colonia Juarez. Shortly after my birth we moved to the village of White River, which is located near Fort Apache, Arizona in the White Mountains. Dad was a carpenter and worked for the U. S. Government at the Fort. It was here, so I am told, that I became seriously ill with a stomach infection and had it not been for the faith of my family and the power of the Priesthood, my short life may have ended. I must surely have been blessed and have enjoyed good health since those early years. In fact, I am very grateful for the faith of my family and the Lord’s blessings upon the entire posterity of my Mother and Father. Prayer and faith have been used in so many instances of healing that we could never doubt the power of the Priesthood of God.
Besides the building trade, my father loved farming and ranching. When a parcel of government land became available for homesteading, he with several others filed claim on separate locations near the village of White River. Houses and barns were built from rough pine lumber. What you might call a new frontier was established with a school, post office, and country store. Since the schoolhouse was located several miles from our home, my older brother, Welburn (or “Wig” as he was dubbed by a friend) and I were compelled to travel to and from the school on horseback. This situation became quite difficult through the cold winter months when the snowdrifts covered the fence posts. I’m afraid it was more a matter of survival than book learning.
When I was eight years old we moved from the homestead to the location known as the town-site of Vernon. One of the main focal points in the area was the huge sawmill at Mallory, so named for the wealthy owner who also built dozens of two-room shacks along with a large department store, theater and school. Then he shipped in a trainload of “negro” families (as we called them then) from Louisiana to work for him. These people were very much disillusioned when after leaving the sunny south; they were dumped off in three feet of snow. My father who was present at the time of their arrival said there was never a more bewildered people. In time they became adjusted to the mountainous climate and were quite content to be there.
It was a novelty during school season for the teacher and students to be given a tour of the mill, which at that time was milling more ponderosa lumber than any in the nation. It was interesting as well as a deafening experience with the huge crane, ratchets, band saws and planers going at the same time. We also enjoyed some amusing sights in front of the commissary where the darkies gathered to dance and sing in their entertaining way.
Because of a too-short growing season, Dad was not content with dry-land farming. To make a living he had to leave the family and would sometimes be working away from home for weeks at a time, leaving mother with a very heavy responsibility. There was the livestock to care for, water to be carried in buckets or hauled in barrels from a nearby spring. Washings were accomplished with a scrubbing board and a #3 washtub, which was also used for the Saturday night bath. A few modern conveniences were gradually accumulated such as the Aladdin lamp, which was bright in contrast to the coal-oil lamp. We also had a crank-up Victor phonograph that kept us up on the latest tunes of the day. Our schoolteacher was the first to acquire a radio. What a novelty it was to be invited, one person at a time, to listen through the earphones! We also finally acquired a model T Ford which to our disappointment turned out to be much less dependable than our saddle pony and buckskin mule which were traded for it. In 1927 while working on a building at Fort Wingate, Dad became acquainted with two Mormon brick masons from Kirtland, New Mexico, Elmer Taylor who was Stake President and John Biggs. They became friends and when a new stake building was approved Dad was hired to help in its construction.
His first impression of the San Juan valley, which happened to be in the fall with a bumper crop of fruit, was so favorable that he came home and announced his intention to sell out as soon as possible and move to Kirtland. This came as a shock to me. I had become attached to the surroundings of the beautiful mountains and my boyhood friends. It was some time before I became reconciled to the drastic change, which came about in so short a time.
The sad day came for our move. Our family had increased to six children, three boys and three girls. Dad and Mother with the four youngest and anything they could load into the 1927 Chevrolet touring car went ahead to Kirtland leaving Wig, myself and an older boy who lived with us to come later with what belongings we could load on a model T truck. Shortly after starting on the journey we were hampered by a slow but steady rain which hardly ceased for the next three or four days. After heading out of Gallup we found the dirt road had turned into a quagmire. We fought bog holes for two days and nights before we reached Shiprock and found, much to our sorrow, the bridge over the San Juan River had been washed away. We waited until the flood subsided and a temporary crossing was improvised. We were dirty and hungry but relieved to find our family waiting for us after we had crossed to the other side.
The river valley was more inviting than I had expected and has been home from that time until now. We had no more than settled on a small farm at Kirtland when the great depression of the ’30’s hit the nation. Many banks were closed and my father was among the unfortunate who lost his savings over night. We certainly learned to appreciate the worth of a dollar during the next few years. I will always remember the year Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected President of the United States. He seemed to know what to do to provide jobs and get money back into circulation, which our country so badly needed at the time.
One of the local projects had to do with improvement of the grounds surrounding the Aztec Ruins. Six of us from Kirtland were hired to work and rode to Aztec in a Model A Ford pickup. Three of us younger guys rode to Aztec in the back with a canvas stretched over the bed of the truck. This began in November and it was cold. We also had the exhaust fumes to contend with. I remember well working with an ex-superintendent of schools (county) who worked in a white shirt because that was all he had. His job had been done away with when the depression came. Whenever I visit the ruins I notice more than anything else, the high concrete wall surrounding the entrance that I helped to build. (It gives me a greater appreciation of the China wall).
At age 20 I found work with the Bureau of Reclamation for $110 per month working with a survey party in mapping land and classifying soil for the Upper Colorado River Drainage Project which had to do with reserving water for the dams which have since been built. This project ended at the Continental Divide. I then joined my brother Wig at Window Rock, Arizona where we worked as carpenters in building the newly established Central Agency for Indians.
In 1939 shortly after the Farmington Branch had been reorganized into a ward, I was approached on the possibility of filling a mission. I left Salt Lake in October for the California Mission, which at that time was one large mission including Arizona and Nevada with headquarters at Los Angeles. Places of my assignment included Bakersfield, San Francisco and Long Beach districts. Our program for teaching was very inadequate in comparison to present-day techniques. There was no outlined program for teaching and our best tool was the Book of Mormon, but it was a great experience and we did convert a few people. I labored under two presidents: President W. Aird McDonald and president Henry H. Blood who had been a recent Governor of Utah. They were great men!
After my release, I worked at Douglas Aircraft Factory in Long Beach until that fateful Sunday, December 7, when Pearl Harbor was bombed. I then entered the military service at Fort McArthur located on the San Pedro harbor. I was assigned to the Army Engineers and was sent to Louisiana for basic training. Our battalion was sent from there to the Canada-Alaska Theater where we assisted in building the Alcan highway, along with several air bases. I was once assigned with a detachment of ten others to locate and map emergency landing strips in the far north. We experienced a very treacherous winter with blizzard to battle and sub-zero temperature, which sometimes dipped to sixty and seventy below. The sun was constantly hidden behind the barren mountains and the nights were very long.
After two years in that country, we sailed from Boston to France. The war in Europe ended shortly after our arrival there and it wasn’t long until we left Marseille, France on a coast guard vessel. After floundering from place to place we ended up on Okinawa in the Pacific. We hadn’t much more than reached there when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and V-J Day was declared. It was a foggy New Year’s morning when we sailed into the Golden Gate at San Francisco. This was a happy day! I was among the fortunate to be able to return safely home. Many thousands had given their lives.
Now that peace had been established, I decided to think more seriously about getting married and settling down. This, of course, involved my sweetheart of the past several years. We had enjoyed many good times together, but with such an unstable life I had placed marriage far into the background.
Leah Tanner had lived within a stone’s throw of our house and was a special friend to my sister Carmen. It wasn’t until she graduated from high school that she suddenly captured my attention with her winning personality and exceptional qualities. Upon my discharge from the service, I stopped in at a Los Angeles jewelry shop where there was a special offer to ex-soldiers who might be interested in wedding rings. After purchasing a set of these little jewels, I came home with one special thought in mind. Suffice it to say we were married on April 3, 1946 in the Idaho Falls Temple. We are now the parents of four sons and four daughters, with 32 grandchildren with another expected in June.
I have had the opportunity of serving with many wonderful people in different positions in the church including second counselor in the Bishopric, counselor in the Stake MIA, Counselor in the High Priest Quorum Presidency with two different presidents, President of the Ward MIA, Sunday School Superintendent, stake missionary, Bishop of Second Ward, served on the High Council, second counselor in the Ward Sunday School, and currently in the Name Extraction Program, and first counselor in the Sunday School.
The events of our married life would fill pages as yet unwritten. Just let me say here that my life with my family has been great. Each one is special to me as are those they have chosen to marry. Our grandchildren are a source of great joy to us also. As a family we have been truly blessed, especially in the case of Luke and his miraculous recovery.
MEMORIES OF MY MOTHER . . . by Robert Cardon
It is a difficult task to write about the life and personality of that person who brought me into this world. My words fall short of doing justice to so great a Mom. I often scold myself for not giving her more attention while she was still around. From my earliest recollections I have known what an unusual person she was. Loaded down with energy along with every talent imaginable, social events and church activities were most important to her. She just couldn’t understand when we of the younger generation felt we were too tired to kick up our heels and have a good time.
She could do all kinds of impersonations and play-acting was her specialty. Even the different clubs, such as the “Lions”, “Elks”, etc. were always booking her for a reading.
Younger children were so important to her. The granddaughters tell of the outings in the mountains when they would crowd into a tent and spend most of the night talking and laughing with “Grandma Card”; or of her hiring a taxi to take them over to Irene’s house to swim in their pool, where she would put on an old pair of shorts and a T-shirt of Dee’s.
At one time she was nominated “Mother of the Year” and had to compete with another lady from the southern part of New Mexico. LaVerne, Leah and I accompanied her to Santa Fe for the special occasion. First they met at the state capitol with the Governor, and then later had lunch at the Governor’s mansion. The other person was a younger woman, all decked out in fancy clothes and jewelry. She was chosen over Mother, but I wondered at the time, who might have been first if they had judged on such capabilities as cow milking, scrubbing washings on a board, or chopping wood. Mom had her share of this when we lived on the homestead in Arizona. Dad had to leave her there with 5 young children while he worked away from home.
MEMORIES OF MY FATHER . . . by Robert M. Cardon
I’m sure I speak for the family when I say that Dad was a very unusual person with many talents and an earnest desire to excel in anything he was attempting to accomplish. Because of the fact that he was only twenty-one years old when I was born, it may be that I remember a few things about his “prime of life” which those who came later are not familiar with.
To begin with let me describe his physical appearance of those younger days as I remember him, before he became crippled with arthritis and broken in health from a nervous breakdown. I always admired his perfect stature–over six feet tall and usually weighing around two hundred pounds. He had thick, black, shiny hair and a smile that one woman whom he worked for, Mrs. Norman, said would “melt your heart.” His ruddy complexion had weathered many a storm before we knew him.
He spoke of a certain job that he once had in Texas, running a freight wagon between El Paso and Lubbock. The large wagon was pulled by a four-mule team. That is when he learned to crack a whip so that it sounded like a gunshot. He also talked about the ice storms and blizzards when he would be compelled to walk along beside the wagon to keep from freezing. He once brought home a beautiful fishing reel that had a pearl handle. He had won it from a sporting-good’s store at the sawmill town of McNary, Arizona. It was offered to the first guy who with his bare hands could break the especially strong line, which was included with it. He was a strong man in more ways than one.
I know my brothers will agree with me that after these many years in building we have never known anyone who could match his ability as a carpenter. He could do more with hand tools than I ever learned to do with machinery. He took great pride in his tools, which were always sharp, and of the best quality. He had no power tools back then, so he did it the hard way, and he was a master craftsman.
He was an expert in farming and gardening. (We didn’t appreciate it then and learned to hate weeds with a passion.) For several years Dad and a Mr. Goff of Farmington were nominated by the Farmers of San Juan County to prepare and display a booth at the State Fair in Albuquerque. They would always return home with more than their share of blue ribbons for getting first place ratings.
During the depression of the thirty’s while at Kirtland, New Mexico, many of the boys would come to our house for a free haircut. Dad was never too tired to oblige. There was this big, old barber chair in the corner of our living room, taking up most of the space, but was actually the most comfortable place in the house. On several occasions and without warning, Dad would run the clippers right over the center of your skull. Then he would give you the choice of leaving it that way or shearing you bald like a billiard ball. He always got a big chuckle out of this.
He was also a very enthusiastic outdoor sportsman–could talk all night about his hunting and fishing experiences. I remember those times when we would get together with two or three other families and head up the mountain to the trout streams. Some of the first of these campouts were done with team and wagons. Wig and I would always take our pony along. Here again Dad would be the hero of the day by always catching the most fish. There was no limit in those days. He would start up stream at daybreak and return at dusk with his burlap bag filled with fish.
Just one more story–he always said he wasn’t good at giving a sermon, but you only had to stay out late and let him catch you to hear a good one. To top this off I’ll have to tell of a comment I heard just the other day; this from Emer James, age 91, an amusing old guy who belongs to our ward. While visiting him he said, “You know, Bob, your Dad was the damnedest prayer I ever seen!” I’m sure we could all agree. He truly had a way with words.
I can’t finish writing about my father without mentioning Dee. He was with Dad so much of the time. How grateful I am for the influence he has had on all our lives. His presence in our home was always welcomed and he has been so good for all our kids. From him they have learned to be more tolerant of other people and to know that anyone with a handicap is a special person.
Kirtland Cemetery, Kirtland, San Juan, New Mexico
