President Lorin C. Woolley

Testimony of Bishop Fred M. Jessop, Second Counselor to the President of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Concerning the Keyholders Under Whom He Has Served

In September 1923, my oldest sister Genevieve died, and father invited Uncle Lorin to speak at her funeral. Uncle Lorin bore his testimony of the resurrection, stating, "This girl will not lie in the grave long. The resurrection is going on. There are those I have known in life who have passed away, and I have since seen and shaken hands with them." This really stirred up some hot feelings among the Church members in Millville, they not believing that Uncle Lorin had actually seen resurrected beings.

My father's mother passed away. She was an acquaintance with Uncle Lorin. In fact, she being a widow, he stayed at her place sometimes when they came up from Salt Lake Valley up to Cache Valley. Our place was the main place that they came because it was Rich or Lyman that brought him.

He came up with Rich to grandmother's funeral, and they were late. They came in the old meeting house and it had seats all around the wall, fixed seats. Somebody got up and gave this old man his seat.

My mother's brother, Fred Yeates, was up speaking at the time that he came in. Fred Yeates was well acquainted with Lorin Woolley, as my father was, and there were two or three special ones that would sit up all night, sometimes, talking Gospel. But Uncle Lorin told this after the funeral. He said: "I said, 'Lord make him say it.' 'Fred, why don't you say it?' 'Lord, make him say it. '"

What he wanted him to say was that grandmother lived the Patriarchal order; and he finally came out with it. Now. Uncle Lorin had a personality that he just chuckled a little bit, almost a little laugh when he told us about it.

The part that I feel real precious about was that after the funeral, father asked Uncle Lorin to speak grandmother's funeral sermon to the family in the old house at Millville. It was at night, and I well remember the room where the family was congregated. I remember where Uncle Lorin stood as he talked. I can't remember all the things that he said, but he bore testimony of this wonderful work.

My sister Mattie was married to John Y. Barlow this same month, and this, along with what Uncle Lorin said, really set the gossip going. These things eventually led to our family being excommunicated from the Church, as also Uncle Lorin and Uncle John.

Uncle Lorin related in my hearing that one of the Church authorities in Salt Lake said to him, "Lorin, since your father has been cut off he is not suffering enough, we may have to have him put in jail for six months." This irked Uncle Lorin and he told me that he said to the Church authority, "You put that old man in jail for six months, and I will see that you go in for five years. You fellows started this thing, and by the Gods, we'll finish it." He then said to me, "I can say that, you can't say that, but I can! "

Lorin told me this story. It was Sunday morning Conference in the Tabernacle, and he was at the Kemich home, some German people. Lucy Musser was the oldest daughter of the Kemich parents. I think I one time saw them. They lived at 744 East South Temple, on the south side of the street. I was there when Uncle Joseph was there one time, and the ladies wheeled out a little cart that had sandwiches and other snacks. So I had been in the home.

Lorin was up there listening to the radio. Lorin was sitting at the Kemich home listening to Conference. It was the morning session, near the close of the session. Brother Grant was starting to vilify his father, John W. Woolley, and the people. He, Lorin, was feeling it. Lorin just said: "Stop!" Brother Grant stammered, fumbled around in his speech, and sat down without closing his remarks. Then Uncle Lorin, telling about it, he chuckled and said: "I didn't know you could do that a mile away."

In 1930, my younger brother, Millward, was killed in a train accident. He left home early in the morning, and was headed to Dayton, Idaho to help our brother Dowayne in the beet harvest. He caught a ride to Logan, and on to Smithfield. The railroad ran right up Main Street in Smithfield; and the railroad went to Preston, Idaho. He would take that additional eight miles as best he could.

There was an open box car in the train, and it was going north. He tried to lunge himself into that open door. It was quite high, and the train was moving, and he couldn't make it. He fell down, he picked himself up --the train was accelerating in speed --and he made another real attempt to go and do that, but he fell back and rolled around. It looked like he was going to get his head on the rail. But there is a brake shoe there that spun him around, and it cut off both his legs below the knee.

This happened in the street in Smithfield right in front of a doctor's home. So he was taken to the hospital in Logan. We got word that there had been an accident and he was involved, but we didn't know what the extent was. But father and I got to look through the window at the operating room, and I could see he was working on what looked like a piece of meat, and I wondered if it was his foot. I had a cousin that was a nurse. She said both legs were taken off.

Later when they got his stumps bandaged up, they wheeled him to the room, and mother was there. She approached the doctor and said: "I want to know. " We hadn't told her. The doctor told her, and she just collapsed. They put her on a hospital bed. This was Monday morning, and he passed away about four a 'clock on Wednesday morning. He almost gained consciousness just for a moment, and then he was out all the time.

We had his funeral in the door yard at home. Prior to this time, Rich's wife, Veda, died of peritonitis after a miscarriage. She got infection and died. This happened in Salt Lake. They brought her up home to Millville, for funeral and burial. We had the body at our home prior to the service They took the body and headed for the meeting house. Then some of the rest of us were there. Lyman was there, Rich was there, father was there, and I was there, and the Bishop was there. Father told the Bishop that we wanted Uncle Lorin to speak at Veda's funeral. The Bishop said his orders were that anybody that had been cut off the Church was not allowed to speak at the funeral. Lyman had been cut off. I said: "We can get the Pope of Rome to speak, but Veda's brother-in-law could not speak." Well, the casket had left, We went on to the funeral, and because he couldn't have Uncle Lorin speak, or Dan Bateman speak, they had Chase Kimball speak at that funeral.

So, later when Millward died, we didn't even want to go to the meeting house, We held the funeral on the back porch, just a little platform by the kitchen door at the back of the house, Father had Leslie Broadbent conduct the funeral, and Uncle Lorin spoke at the funeral in the usual wonderful way.

Another occasion with Uncle Lorin. It was after my sister Violet went to work --this is the background story preceding what I am going to say --but Violet went to work for this widower. The man had six children. His wife had died previously. Violet went to work and kept house for the man and took care of the children for a course of time, then married the man. In the course of time she had four children by him, and another one that wasn't born until this man, Clarence Wayman, had died. The six children that he had before she married him, the Church and Welfare decided to take the six children that were not hers, and divide them out among his, the dead man's, brothers and sisters. One of the boys, which was Don Wayman, crawled out the window of the place he was assigned to, took his clothes with him and came back to Violet, my sister.

She being a widow, had to come home with us to live with us at home. This was a night when Uncle Lorin had come up from Salt Lake to Cache Valley, and we were sitting around the table after supper. Violet, in the meantime, had married I. W. Barlow. She didn't speak of it openly, but Uncle Lorin perceived her worriment. Uncle Lorin was such an interesting man. I and my younger brother often times would sit and listen and listen, and yet we had chores to do. We would say: "Well, now don't say anything until we get the chores done." because we wanted to be there.

While he was talking, mother had grieved over Millward's death so badly, she wanted to dream of him or something --it just hurt her heart so badly. She was saying that to Uncle Lorin, and he says: "Well, I think if you could see everything, you might see him sometime standing close by you." As he was talking along, he stopped, turned to Violet and said: "Sister, you are right where the Lord wants you." She wondered if she had acted too hastily in accepting I. W. Barlow as her husband. These are things that Uncle Lorin did that sticks in my memory, experiences I had with him.

I had the grand experience of riding from Millville down to Centerville, Uncle Lorin and I, in the back seat of the Broadbent car. Aunt Rula Broadbent was driving. Irene, who became Irene Christensen, was a Broadbent at that time. They were in the front seat of the car, and Uncle Lorin and I just had a wonderful visit by ourselves. He was just cordial as could be and he told me about his coming home on an occasion.

By the way, his wife Maryanne, that would sometimes come with him, would sit off somewhere while we were visiting with Uncle Lorin. She, I guess, didn't agree with him, but she never made any fuss about it. On this occasion, he would go from wherever he had been to home, and he got home first, and he built him an eggnog before the folks came home for supper. They came home and said: "Pa, did you have anything to eat?" He was telling me this story. He said: "I said, no I didn't have anything to eat.' (Turning his head, showing how Uncle Lorin turned to his folks, whispering to me:) 'I didn't say I didn't have anything to drink. "

Somewhere along the line, I had my eye on a lady friend that I thought sure I was going to marry. He knew about her; somehow it got mentioned. He said: "I can marry you two." He says: "There are Apostles that are not the Twelve Apostles." Then I began to get the concept of the Priesthood work.

In my senior year in High School, our physics class took a tour just before the end of school. We went to Ogden to the Deaf and Dumb School. We went to Salt Lake to the Murray Smelter. We went to the Harris Dairy, and a few places of interest. As we were coming down South Temple, (we had been to the University of Utah), when we got to Sixth East, I had them stop, and I got out, and they went on to Cache Valley. I walked down the street south, on Sixth East, to where my sister Mattie lived. I hadn't seen her since she had her goiter removed. and I was shocked to see her so thin and pale. But I was going to take a few days, which I did.

Uncle John Barlow took me down to the Kenyon Hotel, and we went in to where the guys were playing pool and sat there. He told me then that I should be married, and that Don Wayman should.

Then he took me to the mezzanine floor. There was a little room out over the sidewalk, big window on the south, on the west, and on the north. part of the big hotel; and there were seats all around there. Uncle Lorin frequently spent a lot of time there, and the fellows would go and visit him. He took me there. So I had that experience.

Lyman had a Ford car, It didn't have a top. He had Uncle Lorin in the front seat with him, had Uncle John on one side, Uncle Anthus Barlow on the other side, both big men, and I was a skinny senior at that Time. I remember putting my arms around them and I said: "I am going to hold you fellers in." Anyhow, we went out to West Jordan to where Dan Bateman lived. He had been sick and in bed. His wife was May, --Uncle John's daughter by his first marriage-- and she, May, had four children at the time. While we were there we administered to John. He was a backward boy. Among other things, Uncle Lorin said to that boy, "Your father will yet ordain you to the Priesthood." But he said to Dan: "Dan, do you know what today is?" "No." It was May 15, 1929. He told Dan: "This is one hundred years today since the Aaronic Priesthood was restored." So I had that special privilege to be there at that time.

He was a hard man to quote. Lyman, Rich, Brother Zitting, and Uncle Lorin came up one time and stayed in our house overnight. As the boys got up and Brother Zitting was shaving, and said "you said such and such," they were discussing. I heard Uncle Lorin say: "No, I didn't say that. What I said was this and this and this." So, it was very easy to be misquoted. But he was very particular in what he said.