Compiled by Jane Ann Ward from memories of Grandson Daniel Clark Green. There are many men and women who have contributed much to the settling of towns and communities in Idaho and Utah, of whom we know very little. These people leaving no written account of their lives and families are soon forgotten.
All too often we find people who do not know the names of their grandparents. It is not at all unusual to find those who have no knowledge of their great grandparents. It is with the sincere hope that some of the genealogies and the events in the life of my grandfather Robert Green are not entirely lost to his posterity, that I attempt to make this contribution.
Robert Green was born on the 4th of April 1842 in Nauvoo, Hancock County, Illinois. He was the sixth child of John Hyrum Green and Susannah Phillips.
Robert Green was blessed by the Prophet Joseph Smith in Nauvoo. There are two versions of the blessing. According to the story handed down through the Robert Green family, John Hyrum Green and his wife Susannah were driving along the street in their buggy when they met the Prophet and asked him to bless their baby. The baby was handed over to the Prophet who was in his buggy, and the blessing and name were given to him.
The other version was given to me by Inez Preece of Salt Lake City who is a grand-daughter of Ann Green, who was Robert Green’s oldest sister. This story was taken from the minutes of a Relief Society meeting held in Los Angeles, California, in 1916 at which time Ann Green Knell bore her testimony and told of walking on the streets of Nauvoo with her mother who was carrying the baby Robert when they met the Prophet Joseph. She stated that her mother told the Prophet she would like to have him bless the baby. The Prophet said he would be glad to and added “We will do it right now.” She testified that the Prophet lifted the baby in his arms and blessed him.
Just which of these two versions is correct is a matter of not too much importance. That Robert Green was blessed by the Prophet Joseph Smith is.
Robert Green, or Grandpa Green came to Utah with his parents in the Captain Clark Company in the year 1847 or 1849. His father John Hyrum Green was one of the first settlers in Kaysville, Utah. John Hyrum was one of the 600 baptized by Wilford Woodruff in Herefordshire, England in 1840. He was ordained an Elder in Nauvoo, Illinois in 1844. He served as a counselor to Bishop Kay in Kaysville, Utah.
Grandpa Green was called upon when he was sixteen years of age to drive an ox team back over the plains to bring back more of the Saints. I remember him telling that he walked most of the way. It was a hard trip. I don’t believe he ever mentioned any hardship that he had to endure but he told of some of the trials that others had. I remember one particular story he told of a mother of two small children (girls) who became sick and died on the way. They didn’t have as much as a board to place over her, when she was buried by the side of the trail. As an aged man, his voice would break when he told of those two little girls standing barefoot by the side of the grave until the last wagon pulled out. Then with tears streaming down their cheeks they lined up in the wagon tracks and followed along.
Grandpa was one of the men who took his place in Echo Canyon when General Johnston’s Army threatened to come into Salt Lake Valley. I remember his nephew asking him one time if he was drafted or if he volunteered. He quickly answered that he volunteered and added “and I would do it again.” On those nights when he stood guard he used to watch the big dipper. He knew when it was upside down overhead that morning had come. I have watched the big dipper with him many times when I was a small boy, and I don’t believe I ever look up at it that I don’t think of Grandpa.
Robert married Sarah Ann Harris, who was the daughter of Robert Harris and Hannah Maria Eagles, on January 2, 1865, at Layton, Utah. Their first three children were born at Kaysville. In 1869 or 1870 they moved to Woodruff, Oneida, Idaho. They farmed at Woodruff. Grandpa Green was the Superintendent of the first Sunday School in Woodruff. Ten children were born to this couple.
I have heard my father, Dan, tell of numerous incidents in their lives as children. They used to walk from where they lived at Woodruff up to Aunt Lucy Williamses and they would take off their shoes and carry them to save wear on them. They had very little and would eat cornmeal mush for breakfast with just a teaspoon or two of sugar added to a pitcher of milk to serve the whole family.
In May 1882, Grandma Sarah Ann died leaving Grandpa with ten children to raise and care for. The youngest child was just sixteen days old and the oldest, Maria, was just sixteen years. I have often tried to visualize the shock and the hardships brought upon Grandpa and those young children by the loss of companion and mother.
Grandpa rode as a guard for Brigham Young one time when he went up to Bear Lake. There were several that made the trip. I wondered why Brigham Young would ask my Grandpa to take this trip. My father told me that President Young knew Grandma would have a horse that would take him there and bring him back.
When it came to horses Grandpa had the best. At least he owned some of the best available at the time. He would never concede that any had any better than he had. It seemed that at times many of the horsemen of his day were as jealous of their horses as they would be of wives or sweethearts. Not infrequently did they rise to ire over some remark made about a horse. My Grandpa and his brother-in-law Lee Hall, almost came to blows over pulling horses. When Grandpa’s oldest daughter, Maria Gibbs’ first baby was born, he had loaded up the other children and driven over to Portage to see the new baby. While they were there a few of the men, including Grandpa and Uncle Lee, had taken a few drinks. As they climbed on the wagon to go home, someone said something about what a fine mare Grandpa was driving. Uncle Lee said he had a better one. They decided to have a pulling match. Uncle Lee said Grandpa’s mare was heavier than his and added, “We will see her weighed.” Grandpa answered, “No, we won’t see her weighed.” A few remarks passed and Grandpa started to climb down from his wagon. Grandpa and Uncle Lee were going to fight. Just then Uncle Jim Gibbs came out of the house and told Grandpa that Maria was sitting up in bed looking out of the window at them. Grandma said, “That’s all that stops me, Lee. I’ll see you again,” and drove off. As they were driving down the road, about a mile toward home, Uncle Lee came riding after them on a horse as fast as it could run. The children were afraid there would be a fight and began to cry. But Uncle Lee rode up and held out his hand to Grandpa and without saying a word, they shook hands and he rode away. Uncle Lee was over to see them the next morning and had breakfast. They were devoted friends throughout their lives.
I used to argue with him in regard to his horses, Cap and Seal. Cap was a light bay horse, as gentle as a kitten. He moved around quietly and was never excitable. A child or woman could handle him safely. Seal on the other hand, was a nervous type of horse, and anyone had to be careful around him. I liked Seal because high-strung horses fascinated me. Grandpa said Seal had warts in his ears, and it was not easy to put a bridle over his head. Grandpa would never let me get around Seal to harness him, but he would let me harness Cap. Many times I went into the barn alone and put a bridle on Seal. I did this until he got used to me, and I had very little trouble with him. Grandpa was with his horses like he was with his grandchildren. He would never admit he had a favorite, but to most all that knew him felt that Cap was his weakness.
One of the hard jolts of his later years was when Cap and Seal were killed with poison oats that had been mixed for ground squirrels. It happened just after the Armistice of World War I. We were threshing at Uncle Joe Morris’s place. The whistles were blowing over at McCammon and we were down at noon for dinner. We had gone back and had the old machine going. I was on the stack behind the machine. The job of stacking straw was usually the job for a boy. I saw Grandpa driving up the road in his one-seated black top buggy. It was an upgrade and Grandpa had the old horses jogging along which was unusual. We knew something important was on his mind. Uncle Jim was on the old horse poser and he brought the fourth head of horses to a stop.
When the buggy was within fifty yards of the machine, Grandpa stood up with hat and ship in hand and with a yell brushed the whip lightly over the backs of the “old” horses as he sometimes called them. They sprang into a run and circled the thresher a couple of times, then he told us the War was over. About the time he got out of the buggy, my father, Dan, who had been in bed with the flu, came riding over the ridge like Paul Revere to tell us the news.
That was the last ride Grandpa had with Cap and Seal. It was only a day or two later that he got hold of some poisoned grain and gave them a feed on it. He led them out to water and Seal died before he could get back to the barn. They poured melted lard down Cap and watched him through the night, but he died early the next morning. This was a severe tragedy for Grandpa.
I went with Uncle Jim to drag them away. Jim was very careful to pull them by the front feet so the hair would not rub off. I remember when he left them. Jim had pulled them up with their backs together. I recall him looking then moving one up just a little. He said they had been together for a long time. They had good shoes on and Jim said that Grandpa would never pull the shoes off one of his horses when it died. I rode past the place a few days later and saw that someone had taken the shoes.
Grandpa was a little deaf and usually one had to talk rather loud to make him hear. There were times however, when he would hear better than others. Sometimes as a prank some of us would plot some joke on him only to find he could hear pretty well. He enjoyed a good joke occasionally but most of his grandchildren knew when he meant business.
One afternoon when I was just a youngster, we were sitting around doing nothing in particular. Jim and Grandpa were sitting looking out of the door. A man by the name of Warman came galloping by on a horse. Grandpa said, “Who goes there?” Jim answered, “Warman.” For the third time Grandpa asked, “Who?” Then Jim yelled as loud as he could, “Warman, Warman, Warman.” Mr. Warman heard Jim and came riding back. Jim threw up his hands and said, “Here he comes back, what will I do?” My father Dan, who was pretty quick on the trigger and full of wit said, “Tell him to bring the mail in, Jim.”
To the sadness of us all, Grandpa Green passed away on March 18, 1928. He was greatly loved and revered by those he left behind.