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The Life of Joseph Dee Winmill Born December 18, 1921 As told by Richard Winmill |
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Joseph Dee Winmill
Joseph Dee Winmill
Joseph Dee Winmill
Joseph Dee Winmill
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One of the least enjoyable things I can
remember about my childhood on the farm in
Pingree, Idaho, was hoeing those infernal sugar beets. That
is, unless Dad was working beside us. He always had stories to tell, which made
the burden easier. Of course, Dad couldn’t always be there and as a result our
beets where undoubtedly small and had a much higher “tare” weight than others
processed. I’m afraid I didn’t have much stick-to-itiveness in the sugar beet
field. 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 to Little Lost River, Idaho where dad spend his formative years.Dad told of having two prized animals in his life. One a grey horse whose name I can’t remember now 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 Depression combined to impoverish his family. He came home from school one day to find Grandpa Joe had sold the grey 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. 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.
One can visualize Dad as a teenager with Ole’ Mungo tagging along behind. You 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 very often 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.
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 CollegeHaving 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 by the Portneuf 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. He elected to stay in the water until dawn, as the water was warmer than the air temperature. Off to WarShortly before Dad’s birthday in 1941, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Dad immediately joined the Marines and began participating in the V-12 education program which was designed to develop and officers corps among college students. He finished another year at ISC 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 fell in love with a Polish girl from South Bend. 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 shipped off for basic training at Camp Pendelton, near Oceanside, California.
While in transit, Dad took leave at home. Ole’
Mungo had nearly die 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, 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 headquarters company headquarters and
“liberate” some canned goods to
supplement their hard tack. 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. It was now time to ship out. First to Hawaii and then on to the volcanic island, Iwo Jima.
Iwo JimaDad’s unit was held in reserve during the first landing. After the island had been reduced to sand and ruble by five months of continuous 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-one thousand defenders of Japanese soil, burrowed in the volcanic rock of Iwo Jima, anxiously awaited the American invaders. The United States sent more Marines to Iwo than to any other battle, 110,000 Marines in 880 Ships. The convoy of 880 US Ships sailed from Hawaii to Iwo in 40 days. When Dad’s reserve unit disembarked on to the
beaches, there was little to scout and no Japanese troops at whom to snipe. The
Japanese were the only ones who could snipe as they were hunkered down in well
designed cement caves and “pill boxes.” Dad was assigned the next
most dangerous job available, stretcher bearer. His job was to sprint over the
hot volcanic ash (so hot they dug holes in the sand to cook their C-ratios)
between fox holes and shell holes, dodging snipers and shrapnel to collect the
wounded. Admiral Nimitz said of the Marines on Iwo, “Valor was a
common virtue.” Secretary of the navy, James Forrestal, said of them,
“I can never again see a
For two weeks, Dad sprinted among the rock and sand hills trying to avoid Japanese snipers and machine gun emplacements answering the fearful cries of medics and the wounded they tended. During this time, he witnessed the first and second raising of the American Flag over Mt.Suribachi. Teamed up with an Indian who went by the name of “Red Dog” he made his last scramble to pick up wounded. Their only notice of a new enemy machine gun emplacement was several bursts which stood “Red Dog” straight up and refused to let him drop. The 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 heavy machine gun rounds. That round was sufficient to send Dad out of the war, to rest and recuperation in a Hawaii base hospital in Honolulu. While Holland “Howlin’ Mad” Smith’s Marine Division cleaned out the island’s bunkers and caves with flame throwers and shape charges, Dad gained strength to return home. His war wound was a foot long above his shoulder blade. 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 over seas 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.
Work and Service
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 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 generally involving a long bus rider. Dad had two full-time jobs and works 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. The contract included the USS Nautilus and USS Enterprise (CVN-65.) Dad worked as a radiation control technician. Dad was a 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. Though he railed against liberal causes, he betrayed his own conservative rhetoric by invariably treating any man or woman with whom he came in contact with the same respect he would give the banker or wealthy merchant. He was an original 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,
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 Off on Another MissionDad 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. A few years after Dad’s death a new scripture was placed in the Doctrine and Covenants recording 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." ---Doctrine and Covenants 138: 53-60” “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.” |
Each Fall in Lost River, many of the farmers
and ranchers joined forces for a wild horse round up. In those days, they
probably ended up keeping them and “breaking” them or selling them to others to
be used as riding stock. It was only later that the horses’ value was 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.
