The Neighborhood Boys (4th Installment of 8 Close Calls)

Physical activity in the outdoors was the top mission for the boys in our neighborhood, whether playing basketball in the driveway, football in the backyard, baseball in the street and our backyard, or playing different types of war games.

Merrill, holding Trena, in his Pirates
baseball uniform on his birthday with
Troyleen.  Probably Aug. 1 of 1960. 

Sports were the main events for the Hunt Boys – mainly because of Merrill’s athletic abilities.

Merrill taking a shot in a game
at Granger against the faculty.
Coach Griener is at right.

I, on the other hand, was the runt Hunt who couldn’t’ run! Still, I always was trying to become as good as Merrill. Tried hard, but it just wasn’t to be!
Every time Merrill and I got involved in a neighborhood baseball game or football game, Merrill would be the leader, and usually he and Gene Openshaw would pick sides. I was always one of the last ones picked (me and Dennis Paxton) – and usually Merrill had to be the one to pick me. In basketball, it was a little different by the time I was in junior high and high school. Sometimes it would be Merrill and I picking sides. I would go for height first, so that would be Gene Openshaw or more likely Bruce Sharp. Sometimes it would be Merrill and I against the neighborhood, and usually the games were out on our driveway, which had big cracks and crumbling concrete (not cement, as Merrill would correct!). Merrill and I had the advantage because we knew every foot of that driveway and didn’t have to watch our dribbling. We would try to force our opponents into the bad areas and take advantage of the bad bounces. Merrill was incredibly good at flying down toward the garage and making a layup and instantly ducking below the entrance to the garage. If the garage door wasn’t open, then he and everyone else would fly up against the wooden door, banging against it, and then bounce off and go on with the game. That slam-banging would drive Mom crazy. Eventually she would come out and tell us to open the garage door before we broke it. We never did break the door. If the car was in the garage, Merrill had the “privilege” of backing it out of the way. I was always too young!

Bruce Sharp, about 15.

Ralph Sharp, about 14.

The Sharps were a big part of our basketball days in Granger. Bruce Sharp, who was my age but almost as tall as Merrill and Gene, was part of the original driveway players. Then his younger brother, Ralph, joined the games, which included church basketball. We played church basketball for several years, not a lot with Merrill because he was on the school teams from the time he was in 9th grade. During my senior year at Granger, I had a good year personally in church basketball. I was selected to the stake All-Star team and played in the All-Star game. After my mission, I coached the ward young men’s basketball team, led by Steve Sharp, the youngest Sharp boy. I even designed plays and taught them how to run the plays and how to play defense, including blocking out for rebounds. I probably had too much fun being a coach. Later, after getting married and while living in Kearns, I coached the ward boys team. When we moved to West Jordan, I coached the men for a few years, and our team went to church regionals a couple of times.

Our backyard at home in Granger about 1968. Notice the
clothesline and the "bomb shelter"/storage cellar between
the garage and clothesline. Our large garden took up a third
of the yard to the left and out of the photo.

When Merrill and I were young and before Dad and us put up fences along our property borders, we could play baseball in the backyard. We eventually outgrow our backyard for baseball, so we found a spot in the fields north of our homes on 4300 West. When there were only a few kids – including

Brent Gardner, about
8 years old.

Brent Gardner, Bruce Sharp, Gene Openshaw, Dennis Paxton, Merrill and me – we worked on catching fly balls and throwing; also defensive plays, and fly ups. When kids started to come from other parts of the ward, including Steve and Danny Peterson, we added playing work ups.
(From http://www.helpful-baseball-drills.com – The players on the team fill all the nine defensive positions, and the rest are hitters (4 or more) …. Once the defense is set up, you begin pitching to the batters. There is no score kept. All other baseball rules are followed. If a batter makes an out, then he gets his glove and moves to right field. All the defensive players move up – work up – one position…. If the batter gets on base, he continues to run, if you have enough batters.)
We were able to play in that field before a bunch of new homes were built, which eventually filled in all the vacant lots along our road. David Butt and his family bought one of those homes on the west side of the street and lived in the same ward with us for several years. Also, Vivian moved back from California and bought a house in a neighborhood west of us. So, we had three Hunt-Butt families in the same ward for several years.
The neighborhood boys eventually started practicing and playing pickup games at Monroe Elementary. Merrill was amazing at any position – but especially third base and shortstop. He could

Merrill playing community softball after he was married.

cover a huge part of the field, even into left and center field. I usually played right field and later second base. My range at second base was pretty much within about three feet – and those crazy hoppers at Monroe Elementary were dangerous. The field had a lot of spots where the grass on the edges of the running paths were far from level, but Merrill seemed to have memorized the hazards and knew how the ball would bounce on any given spot.
Merrill and Gene seemed to be having a contest to see which could hit the most homeruns and how many they could hit over the fence at the other end of the playing field, which was about the length of two normal playing fields.
I, on the other hand, would try for a hit just beyond the infielders. When I made contact on the ball, the impact rattled my shoulders. Hitting the ball didn’t seem to do that to the other guys.

Gene Openshaw as a teen.

One time while practicing at Monroe, Gene Openshaw was playing first base as usual, and I made a hit and “raced” (people said I seemed to run really fast in one spot!) down toward first base. But Gene had planted himself in the running path about two or three feet before the base. Remember, Gene was a big guy, bigger than Merrill. He was leaning forward, awaiting the toss from the field as I slammed into him. I went flying over him – landing first on my hands and next to the base! I reached out my hand that was throbbing with pain and gentle touched the base. I had hurt my wrist (cracked the bone just above the wrist) and was out of service for several weeks. I actually had a wrist brace and an Ace bandage that I kept in my bedroom drawer for whenever I fell and hurt my wrist, which was way too often.
The last year that Merrill played young men’s church fast-pitch softball, we won the stake championship and played in the Church Regionals in

Playing catch with Merrill at
Liberty Park in 9th grade.

Salt Lake. The experience was really cool. I remember playing right field in the game. I may have gotten on base via a walk (the pitcher probably had a hard time pitching to such a short batter), but

Merrill warming up for a softball game.

also I had a huge hit – almost! Late in the game, my turned came up to bat. A good hit would bring runners in and maybe win the game. I hit a long fly ball to right field! As I ran for first, the fielder backed up and up and – caught the ball! My moment of glory had flown out! We lost the game. The experience would have been memorable! Wait, it was memorable! I do remember the moment, including the excitement and near ecstasy.
I actually played one season of organized community baseball. I was old enough to play Little League baseball, but I played in the Peewee League – probably because of my size and lack of experience in playing community ball. I played catch for our Peewee team, which was a surprise to me, being right there behind the batters. But in this situation, I had a lot of protection: face mask, chest protector and

knee/leg guards. That body protection pretty much made me fearless behind the plate. Besides, I was used to catching throws from Merrill, and these kids were like – kids! I was a pretty good catcher, though I did have a hard time throwing anyone out stealing second. At bat, I was pretty good against this level of competition. I actually had a good percentage and hit a lot of long balls and even some homeruns. They had to be really long balls because I took so long to get around all the bases.
Just at the end of the season, my family packed up and headed to Yellowstone. I was excited about the vacation, but I had been selected to the Peewee All-Star team and wasn’t able to play in the All-Star game. A big disappointment!
Here’s a confession: Merrill was a thief! And it was because of me he got busted! When Merrill was 12 or 13, we would go over to a farm nearby and try to steal pigeons roosting in the eaves of the cow pens. Then we found a shed at one of the homes off 3500 South and just west of Monroe Elementary. Gus Paulos Chevrolet car dealership is now located at the corner of 4000 West and 3500 South.

The shed at that house harbored many homing pigeons. We captured several and took them home and put them in our clubhouse/pigeon coop/chicken coop/rabbit pen/submarine. One evening, I was stationed at the door of the shed. Actually I was always stationed at the door of the shed because I was too little to do much else. I was supposed to scare the pigeons back into the shed if they tried to escape. I decided I’d use a board to shoo them back in. One time I shooed a pigeon so good he ended up in heaven – I smacked him with the board! I felt so bad. I think it was the next time we went to the shed to capture more pigeons that we heard the owner coming after us and we all started running! I thought it was because I had killed one of his pigeons and we had “stolen” other pigeons. Merrill, Gene and Bruce Sharp were bigger and faster and outran the property owner, but I was too slow. He caught me, and I think he also caught Dennis Paxton – a

Stan Bawden on an Explorer trip to Hill Air Force Base.

“runt” like me. It was old Stan Bawden – who had to be 80 years old. He wasn’t that old I know now, but he was old but still fast. He took me by the arm and lead me to Dad. Come to find out, he didn’t care about those stray pigeons but was upset because someone had let his prize peacocks out of their pen that was near the shed. I promised him it wasn’t us and that we would ask him before going after any more pigeons. It’s funny, but I don’t remember going over to that shed again. It wasn’t near as much fun when we actually had permission. Stan later became a good friend of all of us boys and helped many of us and me personally with merit badges and Scouting. He was a nice little man.
Merrill and I liked to play war when we were young. If we weren’t playing football, basketball or baseball, we were playing war. Merrill was always the captain, Gene was second in command, and the rest of us were runts! We used the clubhouse a lot for our fort, bunker or submarine. We actually made a periscope from a toy we got out of a cereal box and plastic pipes we found around the garage.

Nine-year-old Lee in
full Navy uniform.

Also, we had several Navy uniforms that we found from Dad and I think from Uncle Silvan. We even had an Army helmet that Silvan had brought back from Iwo Jima. We were ready for war –- but mostly just practicing and preparing: remember, we were children
of the Cold War years. We thought any time there would be war between the U.S. and the Russians. We had the bomb drills at school and all the Cold War phobias. There was a big ditch across the field behind our house. Actually, the Westcrest Mobile Home Park is now where the field was, and the ditch is where the border is between the trailer park and Pioneer Valley Hospital. That water in the ditch was just a few inches deep, but the ditch banks were about four feet deep and about 12 feet across. We could play all day along those banks and fight off the Germans advancing across the fields. WWII was the war we knew all about – the war our fathers fought in – and it was only 10 or 12 years in the past!

I remember part of the “army training” we did in our backyard involved pretending we were Spartans. I don’t remember which of the older boys introduced the Spartan life to us, but it was a real part of our “training.” We were told the story that in the time of Sparta, the youths were taught to be strong, lean and endure all

forms of pain and not show any pain no matter how bad the pain was. As the story was taught to us, a young Spartan stole a fox and hide it under his tunic when he and others were called into formation. While he stood rigidly in formation, the fox under his tunic started biting and eating away at his stomach. Before he showed any pain, he fell over dead and the fox ran away. As part of this “training,” we took turns hitting each other in the stomach. I was the skinniest kid in the group, but I had strong stomach muscles at the time and endured some pretty good punches even from Merrill and Gene. Of course, Merrill could handle any punches from any of us.
When Dad brought a bunch of wood crates and planks from Hill Air Force Base, which was his place of employment for most of our younger years, he built a shed in the far northeast corner of our yard – within three or four feet of our property line and the small irrigation ditch that ran along that line.

Dad wanted to raise chickens in the “coop,” but we eyed the shed as a military base of operations. However, our plans were put off for several years as Dad experimented with raising chickens and then rabbits. I can’t remember if we had much luck with the chickens, but we did pretty good raising rabbits. We had them running all over in the shed. I remember when Dad killed any of the chickens, he would chop their heads off and the headless birds would flop all over the backyard as they bled out. When it came time to slaughter the rabbits, Troyleen and Trena freaked out as they watched the mayhem! When they saw the process of killing them, gutting them and

ripping their skin off, the girls were distressed and would have no part in eating those poor things! I thought that once they were breaded and fried, the rabbits tasted a lot like chicken but maybe a little tougher. One of the big problems with the chicken and the rabbits, especially the rabbits, was the crap they left all over the floor of the shed. After harvesting the rabbits, we had to dig up all the do-do, load it in the wheelbarrow and spread it in our garden. What a great opportunity!
Soon after the rabbit experiment, Merrill and I cleaned it out completely and started turning it into our clubhouse/military headquarters. As part of the upgrades, we would take bits and pieces of sheetrock and cover the walls and plaster in between them. I eventually got a window put into the front of the shed where the chicken wire had been. Sometime during our remodeling, I created a secret door in the back of the shed that we could lift out, crawl through and then place back in place – thus escaping any “enemy” attack.

One of the big projects early on in the history of the clubhouse was a paper drive by club members, which included Merrill, me, Gene Openshaw, Bruce & Ralph Sharp and Dennis Paxton. We collected newspapers up and down 4300 West and probably the surrounding area. We eventually had the shed virtually full of stacked newspapers. Finally, we loaded all the paper into a truck and took it to a recycling place. We made enough money to buy enough concrete for a floor in the shed and also enough for all of us to go to a movie: Dad took us to Motor-Vu Drive-In where we watched a Tarzan movie with Johnny Weissmuller.
One summer the weeds behind Bruce Sharp’s home across from our home got six feet tall – and we made trails throughout the field of weeds. What a great locale for jungle warfare training! We had a great time – until the weed pollen took down Bruce and Ralph Sharp. Their allergies were too much for our “training” to continue. But we had a great time before the weeds decimated our ranks!
Another summertime adventure that would occasionally beckon us was escaping down to the foreboding canal north of 3100 South. All the moms felt it was too dangerous for us kids to venture down there, but as we got a little older we occasionally made the trip.

Hunting carp with bow and arrow.

That canal is part of the geology of the Granger area, which is important to many of our stories. The Granger area is the bottom of Lake Bonneville (Salt Lake Valley). Thus, there are few rocks in the alkaline clay soil and yet nearly as hard as rock. Yet, break through the top layer and dig down three feet, and we would get muddy: The water table along 4300 West and north of 3500 South was only about three feet down, so no one had basements – just crawl spaces. The area was previously marshland before the canal was put in and the area drained. The whole area north of 3100 South is now full of homes, and even the “new” Monroe Elementary.
So, when we were young and the canal beckoned, we’d try our luck at fishing and actually catch a lot of carb and some catfish. However, we couldn’t eat any of the fish. Sometimes we would go with Bruce, and he would bring his bow and arrows. Then Merrill and Bruce would try to shoot carp with a string tied onto the arrow.

One year we noticed piles of long Chinese Elm tree branches scattered in the lot next to 3500 South, the main thoroughfare in Granger. I decided they would be perfect for building ourselves a large teepee. After a couple days of hard labor, we had a tall teepee with a special tree-branch tunnel leading into its interior, which was about eight feet across. We didn’t do much there, though we discussed a lot of options. I think we pretty much just watched the traffic go by and sometimes some kids walking the sidewalk between us and 3500 South. We may have slept there a time or two, but I think the thrill was more in its construction than in occupying the fortress. I don’t even remember what eventually happened to it.
We often would sleep out behind the house under the shade of the single Chinese Elm. But when Merrill and Vicki Kershaw got “friendly,” sleeping out took on a different kind of adventure and intrigue: We would often sneak down to Vicki’s house to tease her and her friends, including Kathy, her sister. They would often sleep out in their small camper trailer. As the visits continued, Vicki would take a more direct approach and invite us to watch

Nightmare Theater in their living room. The beginning of a very long romance.
Winter was a different type of adventure in the neighborhood. Sometimes when we had a good snowstorm, we would build snow forts and play war by tossing grenades of snowballs or ice balls. Other times, we would challenge each other in snowball fights. Merrill and Gene had a big advantage because they could toss their

snowballs a lot farther and more accurately – well, at least Merrill was more accurate.
One time, we were having a little snowball fight in front of Brent Gardner’s home, next to Vicki Kershaw’s old home on the west side of 4300 West. I must have gotten Gene Openshaw a good one, probably in the face or head, because he grabbed me, threw me down – face down – and held me down in the snow.
I couldn’t breathe!
In fact, I remember I was already out of breath when he shoved my face into the snow, which meant I was quickly struggling to get away and breathe. Of course, I couldn’t break free. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let me go, especially seeing that I was struggling so desperately!
Finally, my guardian angel came to my rescue – again! Merrill pushed Gene off of me and I gasped for air! I really thought I was going to die! Gene didn’t realize I was totally out of breath and truly panicking! Gene was at times a big bully, but Merrill seemed to keep him in check most of the time. I was traumatized by the event. I still have dreams about suffocating in a tunnel, under water – and I swear that that event was what triggered it.

Travis Wilson

We had a diverse neighborhood on our little street. Dave Cabrera and his parents at the southwest end. Sharps lived across the street from us until Heman Sharp and DeVaughn Kershaw built a big nice home for the Sharps in the empty fields north of Kershaws where we had been playing baseball. Lena Newhold, who graduated from Granger along with me in 1968, lived three houses down from the Sharps before the Newbolds moved to a house on 3100 South but still in our ward. She had a brother one year older than us and twin sisters a year older than Merrill. Gene Openshaw, his other brother Blaine and parents lived a couple houses further down the street (north actually). Dennis Paxton, who was my age and small like me, lived on the north side of the Openshaws. Brent Garden lived a couple houses north of Paxtons and next to Kershaws, but they moved – I think it was just before we went into junior high. Then a family moved into the home that had a boy who was
Merrill’s age. I think Travis Wilson was his name. They became good friends in sports and at school.
There were a lot of good times with neighborhood kids, and some bad experiences – and lessons learned. I remember one time going behind Paxton’s place and trying my first cigarette. The first puff choked me so bad and was so foul that I gave it back to Dennis and never touched a cigarette again – except for those candy cigarettes they sold back then.
David Cabrera was a good kid, probably a couple of years younger than me. I remember that one time he brought over one of his dad’s magazines – one titled Playboy. I regret that – and also how we sort of turned our back on him.
Ralph Cloward and family lived across the street next to Sharps on the north side. Very quiet and humble man. He was my Aaronic Priesthood adviser for several years. By the time of my mission, I realized how much he meant in my life – his efforts to get us to reach out to others and excel in the gospel.
One of the things Brother Cloward challenged me to do was to get Dennis Paxton active in the church again. Seems like he had been active when he was younger, but he didn’t have any help or encouragement at home to go to church. He did some to church quite regularly and became good friends with Bruce Sharp.
Our kids my age in our neighborhood had the weird experience of going to five different schools in five years. When we graduated from Monroe Elementary, we then were bused up to Kearns Jr. High. The next year, we were bused to Brockbank in Magna. Then we went to (walked) the new Westlake Jr. High as 9th graders and reconnected with many friends who we had known at Monroe Elementary. The next year we went to Granger. The years at Granger High were the first time since elementary in which I had three years in the same school, which meant reconnecting with many other kids I knew from Monroe and from previous LDS wards.
Granger and the whole area was growing like crazy in the 1950s and 1960s – and onward. When my

Dedication program photo of North Jordan Stake Center, Granger 2nd Ward,
courtesy of  Facebook's "You know you grew up in Granger Utah if....."

family first arrived in Granger in 1955, we were in the Granger 2nd Ward and attended church in the Lighthouse Church, North Jordan Stake Center, for several years. I was baptized there in 1958. I remember in the Junior Sunday School room had a black and white checkered floor, and the baptismal font off to the west side of the room. I played a lot of basketball there as a teen. The floor was so hard, it was like playing on concrete. The floor was eventually carpeted, but that wasn’t much better. I once put my kneecap out playing on that floor. When the ward was split, we

Here's our Granger 2nd Ward Junior Sunday School class. So many of us
graduated from Granger together. IDs (and thanks to Sandy Halladay
for several): Top row: Bruce Sharp, Carol Linton Lavigne, Lena Newbold,
Brent Gardner, Jimmy Jim Hansen, ____ Leafty, Kathryn Sloan;
second row: Afton ____, Susan Obert, Sandy Halladay, Carolyn Winder,
right; Danny Petersen (probably), Robin Bawden?, Steve Petersen,
W. Lee Hunt, Jay _____, and Garth Hardy.

ended up in the North Jordan Ward, then North Jordan 3rd, then North Jordan 7th and ….  I can’t remember exactly what followed, but I know the stake was divided when a new stake center was built just two blocks west of our street. Back then, everyone helped build the churches. Our family helped a lot on the North Jordan Ward building on Harman Dr, now the Harman Ward of the Salt Lake Granger South Stake. I remember cleaning hundreds of bricks after the chapel’s huge front wall was blown over just after it was completed. Our job was to salvage as many of the bricks as we could!
Going to Kearns Jr. was a challenge for me, especially since I started school just weeks after having surgery on my right shoulder. The doctors took a piece of bone from my hip and tried to use it to form more of a complete shoulder socket. The procedure actually worked pretty well. During the recovering period, I learned to dribble with my left hand and shoot lefthanded, which was a plus latter on.
Life at the school was made a little less stressful because Merrill was there and he was a big jock on campus as a member of the school basketball team.
One day while in an assembly in the gymnasium at Kearns Jr. High, I experienced my first big earthquake. The bleachers were full when it hit. We could actually see the floor roll from west to east, and the bleachers we were on began to rattle violently. I don’t remember anyone getting hurt, but it was freaky. Merrill was a jock on the school basketball team and was serving as an usher during the assembly. When he saw the floor start to roll toward him, he started running down the hall. But the quake’s ripple caught him and tossed him up in the air, and he landed on his butt.
Seventh grade at Kearns was the beginning of choir classes – boys glee. My voice had dropped a couple of octaves, and I could sing the lowest and the highest for a while. I remember singing in a quartet for an assembly there. I was excited for eight grade, expecting to be in mixed chorus at Kearns, but then our group was shipped off to Brockbank. Once again I was in – boys glee. However, I did get to sing in a quartet for a girls-only assembly. The song was from South Pacific: “Nothing Like A Dame.”

The first part of the year at Brockbank was pretty rough – new school and new bullies and no Merrill to protect me. I was still a runt – and I was recuperating from surgery on my left shoulder. That one was a mess because I had cracked the shoulder just before going in into surgery. The surgeon used stables to put the shoulder socket back together and more stables to reconnect the socket to the shoulder. Then he tightened the ligaments, which thus limited my arm’s range from then on.
Anyway, about the bullies! Several guys, all of Mexican descent, kept taunting me, calling me names. I remember talking with the counselor about the situation, but there wasn’t anything he could or would do. Bullying back then wasn’t handled like it is today. Anyway, as the year wore on, the bullying continued, but I actually was in the midst of a growth spurt. Before long, I was pushing past 5 feet tall. Wow!!!
One day, those bullies came up to me in the main hallway and started taunting me. By this time, I was as big as they were and fed up with taking their crap. When one of them knocked the books and papers out of my hands, my blood started to boil! When I knelt to gather things up, one of them started kicking my stuff away. A crowd was gathering – anticipating a fight. I stood up and went into my boxing stance. (You need to understand that Merrill and I had been wrestling and fighting all my life. Dad had even bought us boxing gloves. Merrill would pound me, but I wouldn’t give up.) The

Lee in a leading part of Junior High play "Drop Dead."

kid started to come at me and we exchanged a couple of hits. Of course, in all my boxing with Merrill, we weren’t allowed to hit the head or face – nor below the waist. But this kid tried to kick me in my privates, so I turned to my side and punched from that position. Then he hit me in the face! That really ticked me off! So, he’s going to do that, huh! I remember his hits were more like slaps and weren’t very painful. Remember, I’ve been fighting with Merrill for years. This kid didn’t know what pain is really like! Anyway, the next time he came in on me, I swung with my right and caught him in the head and he went flying into the wall several feet behind him. I was ready for more, but his friends helped him up and started yelling that the counselor was coming. I just stood there, waiting for the counselors. The crowd dissipated, and I was left pretty much by myself – and no adults showed
up. The best part was that those bullies never bothered me again. After my clash in the school hallway, I started to realize I wasn’t such a runt after all. By the time I got to West Lake Jr. High, I was 5-feet 4 ½ inches. Can you believe that! Plus I made the junior high basketball team. The one weird thing about West Lake was that because of a class scheduling conflict, I couldn’t take choir – again, no mixed chorus. I did however take a drama class and performed a play in the new auditorium.

My neighborhood friend Dennis Paxton
attending my birthday party Feb. 27 1959.

Now, all of this school and bully stuff is a lead-in to another story.
After that “successful” bout at Brockbank and then the positive things happening in gym and on the basketball court at West Lake – I began to feel like I was some sort of “jock.” Then, I started thinking differently about my place in the pecking order at school and at church.
I mentioned earlier about how Dennis Paxton and Bruce Sharp had become friends and started hanging out together. I had become the odd kid out – by my choice or theirs. I started feeling like they were now the ones taunting me. Paranoia probably.
Anyway, one evening at mutual, something set me off and I started a short fight with Dennis. Didn’t last long, but I really regret how things turned even colder after that. Not many months later, Dennis and his parents moved to Texas. I never heard from him again. I wish I could find him and apologize for being a jerk. Nothing he said could have been bad enough for me to get into a fight with him in church.

Camping & Deer Hunting: “Where Did Dad Go?” (3rd of 8 installments on close calls)

Hunt English Crest

Deer hunting was a tradition in my dad’s family. With a surname like Hunt, it’s a no brainer. Go back far enough, and I’m sure we would find that our Hunt ancestors in England were hunters or had something to do with hunting.

Of course, camping goes with hunting. I have fond memories of the times spent camping as a child with my family as far back as I can remember, including Fathers & Sons overnighters up Big Cottonwood Canyon below Silver Lake. The stake would provide a great dinner, usually sloppy joes and homemade “Mormon beer”—dry ice, root beer extract and a 10-pound bag of sugar. Loved that root beer. Have you ever had home-made root beer made with dry ice?

Clifford, Warren, Doris, Lee (on edge) and Grandpa Butt
playing cards at our favorite primitive campsite up canyon.

Our family had a favorite camping site up above Silver Lake in a spot that eventually was ruined by the expansion of the Brighton Ski Resort, which built a ski lift support pillar right in the middle of what was our campsite! But before that happened, we had many summers there away from the simmering heat in the valley. Dad would pack the car and, as the last item, toss his and mom’s mattress on the roof of the car and tie it down. They both needed the mattress because of their backs. I’m sure we were a crazy sight with that old Buick traveling through the valley and up the canyon all loaded down with us kids, camping gear, clothes, food and a mattress on top.

Generic photo of porcupine from
Catnapin's Mammal Gallery.

Our campsite had a perfect spot for a tent, snugly surrounded by several large pine trees. We had shade inside the tent for virtually the whole day. I still can recall the smell of that heavy canvas tent. Taking an afternoon nap was Mom’s favorite part of camping up there. 

One outing, I remember Merrill and I found a small cave – more like two granite rocks tilted toward each other forming a V-shape. One time, we found a porcupine hiding inside. Merrill took a branch and kept poking at it. The end of the stick ended up with quills all over it. I don’t know how we escaped getting hit with some quills. We finally got bored and left it alone.

Generic photo of Cottonwood Canyons summer glaciers.

Several times during our campouts, Merrill and I – along with cousins and friends – hiked way above camp until we came to a couple of glacier fields below the mountain summit. Most of the others had a blast climbing to nearly the top of the fields and sliding all the way down. I enjoyed watching them, but I didn’t venture more than a few feet up the snow. My slide was more like 10 feet because I couldn’t imagine losing control while sliding down that huge patch of ice.

The air near the glacier was much cooler – and refreshing. I remember watching the water drip off the edge of the glacier, which by that time of the summer was more directly exposed to the sun.

The glaciers probably were the ones feeding the small stream that was just 20 yards away from our camp.

Doris and Vivian Butt, not long after their marriage, with Lee
Troyleen and Merrill at our Big Cottonwood Canyon camp.

One of the first things Dad would ask us to do after arriving at camp was to place the watermelon and cantaloupes (Mom and I preferred cantaloupes to watermelon) in the cool stream. I remember the stream was downhill, maybe at a 20- to 25- degree slope down from camp. Mom often yelled at us to stop running down the trail to the creek. This one time, I was already near the bottom of the trail when Merrill came flying down. He must have stumbled over a root or rock, because he went soaring head first, landing on or near some rocks at the bottom of the trail near the stream. I remember Merrill or me shouting “Superman” as he flew past me. Maybe “Superman” was just what I was thinking, because he made the exact pose – so spread-out and horizontal in his unauthorized mountain flight. Pretty impressive until he sat up and I saw all the blood gushing out of a cut on his forehead. I must have screamed or yelled, because he reached up, felt the blood, looked at it and then started wailing and running back to camp. Dad had to take him down into the valley and get stitches in his forehead.

Warren & Cal Hunt, with Merrill & Lee behind them, after a
good day of fishing at lake in Spokane, Washington.

Another time, Mom had to take Dad down the canyon after Dad had a different type of accident. As any good camper knows, gasoline is a great way to get a fire going, right!? NOT!

Well, I don’t remember exactly how it all happened, but basically Dad was pouring gas on a camp fire when flames flared and caught his sleeve on fire. I don’t remember how he got the flames out, but he returned from the hospital down in the valley with his arm all wrapped in gauze.

Some of my less-traumatic camping memories come from the times when Grandma, Grandpa and several of mom’s brothers and their families joined us at “our” campsite. I remember several family members playing softball out in the field opposite of our primitive campground (There was no paved road, trails or campsites, no running water, no installed grills or firepits – and no toilet facilities, not even a smelly outhouse! Yes, we had to go down into the thicket a ways from camp where Dad had dug a latrine – a hole in the ground for our deposits. The flies swarmed mercilessly as we did our thing!)

Grandma and Grandpa Butt were real troopers to come up and join the fun. I think their thing was enjoying the cool outdoors with all the family. They basically just hung out, visited and sometimes played cards.

Merrill, left; Wayne Hunt, next to Merrill; Ray Hunt, second
from right, at Lloyd's home in Sevier. Lee was left behind. 

Camping as part of deer hunting came into my life when I was probably 10 or 11 years old. Every year from then on, we would head to the hills in October to join the army of men and boys attired in their red hats and vests. I was always a hunter in training – until clear after my mission.

Shauna, Lloyd, Golda, Wayne, Ray and Robert Hunt at
Aunt Myrl's home after Ray Lavender's funeral in 1964. 

One year, Dad, Merrill and I went down to Lloyd’s home in Sevier for the deer hunt. I was excited for the chance to go out with so many of my cousins on the Hunt side of the family. But, guess what, they decided I was too young, too small, too fragile to go on the hunt with them. Besides, they expected a snowstorm and freezing weather. Still, I was devastated – left home with the women and my younger cousin Robert. He was a good kid – but two years younger than me. So, in comparison, I was sure I was going to die of boredom.

But, guess what!? Aunt Golda or Shauna or Robert found me a BB rifle, which I decided would be my hunting tool that Saturday of the opening hunt. Back behind the house beyond the patch of grass was Golda's small orchard. I positioned myself on the grass next to a log or something and stalked the fearsome critters – which were pretty much a bunch of sparrows and a robin! Wow, a robin! I might be able to hit that one with a good rifle – if it shoots straight.

Generic photo of a robin.

Well, I got down in the proper position and took aim and, bang, the bird bit the dust. I cheered at my prowess as I examined my kill, then I ran into the house and was excited to tell Aunt Golda about my great hunting.

“You shot a robin!? Aunt Golda yelled. Up until this point in life I had never heard Aunt Golda raise her voice, but now she was yelling at me and really upset. “How could I kill such an innocent creature as a robin or any bird?” I think that’s what she said – or something like that.

Her words stung me to the core. I was disgusted with myself – I had purposely killed a poor little robin that sings beautiful melodies for us all. Aunt Golda told me I was grounded or something similar. I don’t remember the punishment because I was punishing myself already. I do recall that she made me go out and bury the poor innocent thing.

I don’t think I ever got over that. My relationship with Aunt Golda was strained from that point on. I couldn’t seem to talk to her without remembering that tragic episode. How could I have ever thought killing a robin would be a good hunting trophy?!  

Hunting has always been part of our culture – but I’m not exactly a master of the trade.

Merrill, Troyleen and Lee at Tooele camp.

One year when Merrill was probably 16 and able to hunt, Dad took the whole family up past Tooele to a place he had heard about that was supposed to be a great deer location. We found a nice camping spot and had a good time, though I don’t remember whether we were successful in the hunt itself. I believe if I recall correctly that both Dad and Merrill took shots at some deer, but they were realistically too far away to hit them. I was 14 and still a tagalong hunter in training.

It was on this trip that I had a moment of devilish fright. After hunting in the morning, Merrill and I went hiking not far from camp. We found a steep mountain side that was covered with a huge rock slide. We started climbing up – from one boulder to another – higher and higher. The climb was invigorating. But about two-thirds of the way up, I started getting panicky as I looked behind me. How was I going to get back down? Climbing up wasn’t near as hard as the prospect of inching my way down that steep boulder-strewn hillside. Merrill quickly left me in the dust as he climbed out of sight. I tried to gingerly make my way down over the boulders, but I became very awkward in my attempt. I was afraid I was going to slip and fall headfirst.

Generic photo of rocky hillside.

Finally, I stopped and started to consider my predicament as I stared down at the precipice below me – which I could imagine was a giant monster with jagged teeth just waiting for me to fall into its mouth. I actually don’t like heights – so this was a scary situation. Thoughts of doom swirled in my head – even that Bible story about the Devil tempting Jesus to throw himself down off the mountain.

Climbing higher wasn’t an option, and descending wasn’t going to work either. As I looked for some way out of this mess, I realized that the hillside far to my right was not so scary looking, just a normal hillside without all those rocks.

There’s hope at last!

I slowly moved parallel across the boulders and finally reached the edge of the rockslide. Soon I found a deer trail, which led me away from that jagged-toothed monster. Finally, I found my way back to camp and all was well.

I love the outdoors, but I’m not too keen on all the “dangerous” climbing.

I think I skipped the deer hunt in my senior year of high school because I was so busy in madrigals and choir – plus I had other interests at the time -- a girlfriend. Then during my first year at college, I was a football manager under Coach Hudspeth and Edwards, which meant we were busy with football during October.

Generic photo of Winchester 30-30. Where has it gone?

After my mission, deer hunting became a lot more challenging -- I was now on a leg prosthetic. What a pain in the butt, literally! Several times I tagged along with Merrill on some deer hunts. I even bought myself a Winchester 30-30, which I actually could tote and fire without too much pain. Dad had given Merrill his old WWII rifle – a 30-40 Craig without scope, but the few times I fired it in target practice, the recoil really got to me – felt like my shoulder was going to come apart!

I never had much luck hunting. I saw does now and then, but we weren’t allowed to shoot them – only bucks.

Merrill and Lee playing cards on hunt after Lee was married. 

Later, when my son Jason was old enough, he went hunting with me a couple of times. I remember one time when Merrill, his boys, me and Jason went hunting up on the back slope of the mountain range above Ogden. I had a small haul trailer at the time, which we dragged behind Merrill's truck up the rugged mountain dirt trail – the trailer bouncing madly behind us. We ended up high on the mountain. Early the next morning, Jason and I headed to a spot a couple hundred yards south of camp. I picked a spot on the higher edge of a gulley, hoping some buck would be flushed down to us by all the hunters up above. Well, all we accomplished was almost freezing to death. We just sat there for several hours because it was such a joke trying to get around on my prosthetic on the mountain trails. I think Jason had to have been bored out of his mind – but we were together. I’m pretty sure we had some good treats to eat while the sun slowly rose behind us but eventually started shining directly into our eyes. No deer – no hunters --- no critters. Just loads of quiet solitude.

I’m pretty sure that it was the next year when I was victorious in my quest to bring home some venison for my wife and children.

Nancy's photo of mule deer above Bear Lake, Utah, in 2006.

After several years of failed hunts, I had given up hope of even seeing a buck, let alone getting a shot at one, so I applied in 1989 and received a lottery license to hunt a western mule doe. Utah Wildlife was trying to manage the herds and realized the does were doing a lot of damage to farm crops in certain parts of the state. I remember heading out with Jason, Merrill, Rendall and several others down to an area in central Utah where my license was valid. We hunted together most of the day. I even rode with Rendall on the back of his mountain bike. They had to tie my prosthetic to the bike to keep it from falling off – or torn off. Actually, that little trick was pretty dangerous and scary, but I did survive.

When it was nearly time to head home and I still hadn’t seen a deer that I could shoot, Merrill suggested we go hunt down in the valley near some grain fields were the doe are likely to show up before dusk. We found a good spot, so it seemed, and Jason and I headed down the edge of a harvested grain field about 150 yards away from where Merrill was waiting in his pickup truck. I’m pretty sure that I had left my left leg back in the truck and headed out on my crutches, with Jason carrying my 30-30 Winchester over his back and lugging a lawn chair for me to sit in. Jason sat on
the ground next to me in my lawn chair for what seemed like a long

time – but it actually was probably less than an hour because when we arrived we knew it wouldn’t be long before it would be too dark to see or shoot.

Just when Merrill was getting antsy about leaving, he saw through his rifle’s scope a deer in a small opening across the field from where Jason and I were sitting. He was having a hard time not shooting the doe for me, waiting for me to take my shot. Then BAM, a rifle shot rings out and the doe collapses. But Merrill didn’t fire his rifle – I did! From somewhere around 250 yards, I hit that deer right in the neck and it bled out on the spot. Fortunately, Merrill did all the hard work after that, gutting the deer and hauling it back to his trick. Then when we arrived back at his house, he did all the butchering.

There's nothing like a good fresh
piece of cooked deer venison.

Nancy and the kids were at Merrill’s home when we arrived. I had returned victorious – the great white hunter. Having felled the beast with a single shot from an amazing distance. I was putting venison on the table for my growing family! But wait – not is all well here! When Nancy and the girls saw the doe dragged out of the truck and hoisted up with a rope from a joist in Merrill’s garage, there was pain in their eyes. I had actually shot Bambi’s mother. The proof was right there in front of them. I was now a dishonored warrior, banished to my own thoughts of glory and honor.  My one moment of deer hunting glory was ruined because I shot Bambi’s mother!

That was the last time I went hunting – too much trouble, too much money and not enough satisfaction.

I know, I know! You’re wondering about my near-death experience while hunting! Maybe you thought I had an accident with my rifle. Nope! But my grandfather Levi Alderman Hunt was killed as he crossed a fence and

Campfire photo taken by Nancy Hunt.

his rifle, which he had leaned on the fence post, tipped over and discharged.

My life-threatening ordeal happened way early in my deer-hunting days.

I was eleven years old – just months away from graduating from Primary. Dad, Merrill and I were up in one of the Cottonwood canyons at a campfire site on opening day of deer hunt – just the three of us. We must have been out hunting earlier and had returned to camp. Merrill and I were restless, so Dad told us to go over that hill crest just south of the camp and then go over east a couple hundred yards and then come back up over the hill toward camp. Maybe we could flush out some deer toward Dad who would be waiting in the shade down in camp. Merrill and I headed over the hill and went down a ways before going east the required 200 yards or so. Then Merrill started up and told me to go over another little ways and head back up over. Of course, we need to be very very quiet, because we were hunting a very smart critter (ala Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny).

When I came up over the crest of the hill and look down where the campfire and Dad were supposed to be, neither was there. Where did Dad go? I’m wondering if I went too far and ended up in the wrong place – or maybe I didn’t go far enough. So I started to backtrack down the hill and then went further east and – got really lost. I wandered for a couple of minutes, trying to get my bearings or find someone – anyone! Finally, I realized I was hopelessly lost – and in danger. I was totally aware of the tales of kids wandering off from their families and dying in the mountains. I started yelling for Dad and Merrill, hoping they would hear me. At that point I wasn’t worried about spooking those critters!! There were no yells back from Dad or Merrill, and I didn’t have anything on me to get their attention – no whistle, no gun to fire to alert them to the lost runt!  

Then I remembered what we had recently been studying in Primary about prayer and faith – if we truly have faith and pray, our Father in Heaven will help us.  

I knew I really needed his help, and the time to pray was right then and not later. So I got down on my knees up against the side of the deer trail and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I prayed that I could find Dad and Merrill or that I could just find someone – anyone.

When I stood back up and started down the deer trail, I again started yelling for help. Suddenly in the distance, I could hear (that’s when I had good hearing!) someone yelling back at me. I followed the trail, which was headed toward the person who was hollering back at me. I soon came upon a group of hunters sitting around a fire.

I was finally safe!

One of the men fired his rifle several times in quick succession – which was a signal to other hunters that someone was in distress or danger. A few minutes later, Dad and Merrill showed up! The little runt was safe.

As we headed back to camp, Dad explained that after Merrill and I had originally left camp, he had put out the campfire and headed over to meet up with us. So, in fact, I did come up over the hill correctly, but the site looked different because Dad had left – and the fire was out.

Was it coincidence that I came upon those other hunters? Was it just luck that I didn’t panic more than I did and wander way out of the way? Was it just a coincidence that I prayed and almost immediately found help?

What would you do?

I’ve always attributed my rescue to providence – my Father in Heaven answering a young boy’s prayer. 

Rendall, Merrill, Heather, Jason, Lee, Kenneth in front of
Lee's station wagon and camp trailer.

Nancy and Lee with family outside camper trailer and car.

Epilogue on camping: After Nancy and I were fledgling parents, we were always taking the kids camping. Our favorite camping times were while we owned a 16-foot camping trailer, which we pulled with our red station wagon. I remember numerous trips up Little Cottonwood Canyon to Tanner Flats – our favorite nearby spot. We also camped many times in Provo Canyon. More than once we traveled to Flaming Gorge, pulling our trailer up the steep roads to the giant reservoir in the tops of the Uinta Mountains.

Nancy caught some trout on camping
trip in High Uintas in 2008.

Evie Wentz with Grandpa Hunt on
camping trip in High Uintas in 2008.

Eric Westwood coming out of our
tent trailer on Bear Lake trip in 2005.

One time we had sort of a family gathering with Bruce, Chris and their family, one of Chris’ brother’s family and Phil Scarbrough’s family down in a campground just outside Zions National Park. Most were in tents, but we were in our 16-foot trailer; and Phil and his family, including their two boys Jason and Jared, were in a 30-foot-plus motorhome. Pretty fancy.

Later, we sold our trailer and bought Joann and Dave’s tent trailer.

We only had it for about four years. After that, we bought a two-room large tent, which we used at Red Fish Lake in Idaho and another time when we camped in a Cottonwood Canyon with Brian, Jody Smith and their kids.

OK, kids! Now ask your parents about their memories of camping when they were kids!