“In the course of my life, I have often had to eat my words,
and I must confess that I have always found it a wholesome diet.”
Winston Spencer Churchhill
NOTE: Continued from “My Memoirs: Ch 3, My Daddy, Pt 8″
In the previous blog, we were talking about some more of my father’s accomplishments and sacrifices. Among other such memorabilia is the following: He was a proud Veteran of World War I. He fought with the 308th Engineers from Ohio to the Rhine. There are videos of his Platoon on YouTube, showing them constructing a bridge, among other things.
While with his Platoon in France, during his WWI Service, Daddy got to meet his second cousin: Winston Spencer Churchhill! So he had double the reason, on January 24, 1965, for taking three days off work to keep his ear tuned to the radio all day and into the night when Churchhill died. (Little did he know that in three months he would also die!)
Yes, for three days he listened to the constant end-to-end radio broadcasts about his cousin and world-famous leader, Winston Spencer Churchhill, as Radio Broadcasters expounded upon the many great accomplishments and services this icon had performed for society.
Daddy could especially relate to Churchill’s influence when it came to World War I and World War II. (*See footnote below on Winston Spencer Churchill.) Sadly, I didn’t even know who Winston Spencer Churchill was, then, though he was my third cousin!
It figures, as, at the time Churchill died, I was about nineteen years old, had been married off into an arranged marriage at age sixteen. And had been held captive in the LeBaron doomsday cult in Mexico since August 1960.
Two months before that unfortunate August 1960 day, I had barely graduated from eighth grade, in Hurricane, Utah. Then my parents uprooted our family, lock, stock, and barrel, “to gather to Zion to mingle with the Saints and avoid the calamities that were coming “very soon” to wipe out the wicked.” (Colonia LeBaron was “Zion.” LOL!)
In hindsight, and as an aside, I see it was really quite the other way around: Gathering to Zion was nothing but a calamity! It wiped out and ruined my hopes for a good life, to say the least.
And plenty of wickedness was going on there in “zion,” to mingle with, besides, in that little colony of “saints.” You shall hear what I mean, as my memoirs unfold scenes of my past days in Mexico down past the Rio Grande. It was about fifty-seven years ago, as of March 2017, that my family “gathered to Zion.” I escaped this “gathering place” in 1967. And have been trying to get over it ever since.
Their prophet, my Uncle Joel LeBaron, had prophesied “The destructions foreseen in the Book of Revelations are coming any day now to rain down upon the United States. Mexico is the land of refuge for the Saints.” Mother claimed she, too, had seen this “end of days” — in a dream!
Go figure!! The sky was falling — another Chicken-Little story! Or LeBaron story? If you want to get power, just claim you’ve had a revelation — a dream — that shows the world is coming to an end. The truth is, yours and my world IS coming to an end: We never know the hour of our death. But the world, itself, and new life will continue on as it has for thousands upon thousands of centuries.
Some Millennial’s (i.e., Messianic dooms-dayers who believe the end of the world and “the Millennium” is imminent) will likely believe and follow you if you claim you had a dream the sky is falling. Chicken Little sure got his following. Recall that children’s fairytale?
After being pulled out of school and moved to that secluded, barren, Chihuahuan Desert wilderness, I’d had no chance for any further education. That was a calamity in itself! Quite the end of my world — at least as I had known it. For example, I, a Bookworm, wasn’t even allowed to read, let alone have any contact with the outside world, in any way, shape, or form. So, no: I wouldn’t know who Churchhill was.
Before I was married, while living in LeBaron’s “Zion,” all my family-of-origin had, as far as connections with the outside world were concerned, was Daddy’s little battery-run radio — which only he was allowed to use!
Even worse, all we ever heard about from Mother was mostly cult propaganda. And how great she and her family heritage was: Her father, mother, brothers — especially her brothers, Joel and Ervil, the “prophets” of the cult! Mother had to be number one.
So, sadly, I never even knew how special my father’s heritage was — that through my father’s side, we were related to English royalty — Princess Diana Spencer, for example — and famous poets like Samuel Johnson, Francis Bacon, and Edmund Spencer. For some reason, Daddy never ever mentioned it either. Or maybe he did but I wasn’t around to hear?
NOTE: Though there is more to relate, as to my father’s history, I will relate it in the context of my own continuing Memoirs. So, for now, I conclude my nine-part memoir series,”My Daddy,” with the lyrics of the following comical song I wrote this year — for there is a verse in it about my amazing father:
Dearest friends and fans: Please note:
This “sorta” silly song I wrote
Isn’t finished so I don’t gloat.
I pray my poem won’t get your goat;
But it’s late, my blog’s due “mañana;”
If you check this poem later on … uh …
You may find it partly “re-wrote.”
“It needs work,” ’tis my last quote.
Still, hope you enjoy what I wrote!
And now I humorously emote:
NOTE: The following lyrics are tongue-in-cheek:
Hi! I’m a Hack Who’s
Written a hit
Called “Pretty City-chick,”
A Hee-ha Comedy Song —
A Bit o’ Bio in Verse,
For Better or Worse —
With Truth ‘n’ Exaggeration
Hey, they say I’m a pretty City-chick
And Hillbilly music makes some sick;
But my Hillbilly ways are here to stick;
So you may as well get over it —
And join in ’n’ sing a bit,
‘Cause I’m a city-chick
And shit-kickin’ music is my shtick.
Born in Mexican sticks in 1946.
I’ve dual citizenship,
And that’s pretty hip —
And now I’m a city-chick
I’m an all-American-mongrel,
Apple-pie girl —
A Hines-57 mixed-up mutt,
With apple pie stickin’ to my gut ’n’ butt;
But red-necked reactionary ignoramuses
Ain’t my thing.
I’m here for music and to sing!
Yeah, I’m an All-American-Mexican,
With Welch ’n’ English,
So sure, I’m a Brit;
With French, German,
And Mohawk Indian a bit.
If there’s no Tom Slick hidin’ in the pit,
Far as I know, that’s about it —
That‘s my story
And I’m “shitickin” to it!
My father was a proud Veteran
Of World War I.
Those Vets were well-appreciated
For what they’d done!
Pa was an artist, creative,
Master of a few —
Good at so many things,
There was little he couldn’t do.
Ma was a creative, author,
And artist, thru ’n’ thru;
Trained concert pianist — Whew!
She loved to discuss religious principles
And read religious Lit, old ’n’ new —
Long as it agreed with
What she already “knew.”
She graduated with a BA
In Journalism too;
Quite an accomplishment
‘Cause Ma was sixty-two!
She was runnin’ me competition then,
For I was still in College too,
Strugglin’ to make it up
From the cult she’d put me thru …
If she only knew!
But her motto was:
“Anything you can do,
I can do better;
I can do anything better ‘n you!”
(And she meant it, too!)
Hey, they call me a “pretty City-Chick,”
But Hillbilly music is my “shtick,”
And my Hillbilly ways are here to stick;
So you may as well “git” over it
And join in ‘n’ sing a bit
With this pretty city-chick,
‘Cause shit-kickin’ music is my shtick.
Born in Mexican sticks in 1946,
I’ve dual citizenship
And that’s pretty hip.
Well, that’s my story
And I’m “shtickin’ ” to it —
I’m a pretty city-chick.
(By Stephany Spencer 2016)
In the following video, I am performing the above song I wrote, “Pretty City-chick,” at the California Writers Club, March 2017 (It’s before I recently re-edited it.):
*( My Third Cousin, Winston Spencer Churchhill)
*Winston Churchill: Former British Prime Minister
NOTE AGAIN: This concludes my nine-part Series, “My Daddy.” Thanks for visiting and for sharing my blog site with me. I will be presenting new material in my memoir blogs, as of next Friday.
I love to write. But it’s icing on the blog when I have readers who devour it, on top of my cooking it up! (Puns intended.)
In future blogs, I may tell you a little bit about my maternal grandparents. And then about Mother. And finally about how she and Daddy met — That is, I may tell you about the beginning of my father’s Mormon fundamentalist cult saga that culminated with his bringing me into the world — along with many other children and events — which then culminated in my creating this “Book” — my Memoirs.
Chain reactions, yes? That’s life!