Farrell R. Collett Farrell and Martie Collett It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, December 7, 1941. Farrell and I sat comfortably on the sofa in our landlady's parlor enjoying the New York Philharmonic Orchestra radio broadcast when the program was interrupted by the announcement that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. Ogdenites were horrified at the news. Our family doctor's son, Howard Merrill, was one of the more than 2,800 Americans who lost their lives during the assault. Posters, encouraging the help of the entire civilian population in bonds, donating services and material resources, went up everywhere. Without second thoughts, we joined others who willingly gave spare automobile tires and metal kettles, purchased bonds, rolled bandages, and served in military canteens to aid the war effort. Buying bonds, food stamps, gas rationing and blackouts in coastal cities became a way of life. Patriotism was at an all time high. People took pride in depriving themselves so they could give to their country. The day Farrell reported to the naval base at Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay area, my heart broke. When I returned to our apartment I felt numb. I walked into the bathroom and noticed he had left both toilet seats up. I put them down, sank to the floor, and cried. That night, I took his new fishing waders (my Christmas gift to him) to bed with me. He had worn them Christmas Day walking back and forth in the bathtub singing, 'Don't Cry Little Fishy, Don't Cry.' Life brightened considerably when Farrell was granted permission to live off base, and I was allowed to join him in San Francisco. Rentals were non-existent, but Farrell's cousin insisted we stay with her in her tiny apartment. After three short months, Farrell received orders for transfer overseas. Once again I kissed him goodbye and returned to our Ogden apartment feeling lucky that it was still available but miserable with loneliness. I couldn't eat or sleep well because I was worried about Farrell. I became very ill after Thanksgiving. Doctors were inaccessible during wartime, but, miraculously, I managed to see Dr. Merrill, who put me to bed with a diet of soup and medication. (Farrell had made a handsome charcoal for Dr. Merrill's son's memorial.) There I lay in early December, when a telegram came from Farrell. Because his ship wasn't ready, the admiral had changed his orders and he was in Port Townsend, Washington. The telegram read, 'Six days, six weeks or six months. Stop. Pigeon. Stop.' 'Pigeon' meant 'Come if possible.' Dr. Merrill came to the house and checked me and said if circumstances were different he would never let me go to Port Townsend. But with all things considered, I should go anyway. I arrived in Seattle at night. The black-out seemed so dark and thick, I could see the insides of my eyelids more clearly than the city around me. Somehow I managed to board the shuttle bus that would take me to Port Townsend. As I left the bus, a kind serviceman told me to hold onto his belt, and he'd get me aboard. Someone else took hold of my coat, and I realized I had become one link in a chain of servicemen going aboard. I cannot visualize one aspect of that trip through blackness, not even the serviceman's face. I remember the penetrating chill of coastal December humiditya sharp reminder that we were individuals still, no matter how closely crowded we might beand the sloshing sound of the waves. On the other side of the channel, the serviceman helped me board the bus to Port Townsend and disappeared into the darkness. We rode through a forest; and finally, when the bus emerged at Port Townsend, a little moonlight slipped through the clouds, and I was able to find my way to the hotel. I have never been so happy to see what should have been a condemned building in all my life. In just a few minutes I would be with Farrell! 'We have no reservation for a Mrs. Collett,' the desk clerk insisted. Every nerve ending in my body crackled with unexpected shock. How could it be? There was only one Port Townsend, and in a town of 6,000, only one hotel. Where was Farrell? 196 The clerk found me a room, and I spent the night wondering if the whole trip had been a feverish hallucination while listening to soldiers practice Morse code on the inside plumbing. The next morning I dressed early and came downstairs wondering how I should begin looking for Farrell. On the other side of the window, the sky was white; and for the first time in fifty years, according to the desk clerk, delicate flakes of snow swirled to the ground. The song 'White Christmas' had recently been released, and Bing Crosby's rich baritone voice warmed radios throughout America. I stood at the lobby window watching the soft crystals glide to the earthand I felt Farrell behind me. Before I could turn around to see him, I was in his arms. When the how's, what's and why's had been satisfied, it turned out Farrell's reservations had been made for a Mr. & Mrs. Farrell, not Collett. He'd spent the night wondering what had happened to me just a floor below where I tossed and turned. We spent a few days in the hotel and then moved into the home of a local newlywed couple, who answered our newspaper ad for housing. They moved in with family, gave us their house, and even urged us to use their wedding present furnishings. Farrell was a newly commissioned officer; and he had duty every night, but Christmas was still wonderful. Our relatives sent us fourteen fruit cakes, so we made punch and invited every serviceman we could find on the streets to come and share our goodies. The following day Farrell was called in by his commanding officer who firmly explained that Navy protocol forbade officers to entertain enlisted men. We received one of the greatest Christmas blessings of our lives that year. Before Farrell's orders overseas were finalized, the admiral learned from Farrell's base commanding officer that he was an artist and a teacher. Instead of being transferred out of the country, Farrell's orders were changed to San Pedro, California, where he was assigned to design training aids for the U.S. Navy. He was transferred to Santa Barbara, and later to Long Beach as the officer in charge of training aids for the 12th Naval District. I followed him from assignment to assignment. Our experiences would fill many pages. Being together is still very important to us. Wartime sharpened our capacity to feel, to treasure loved ones and to appreciate life's simple pleasures. The experiences we lived through then made the rest of our life together, though rough at times, nevertheless, 'marriage easy.' Submitted by Martie Collett, wife Helen Horne Farr Helen attended Weber College during the years 1941-1943. Early in WWII, I served as president of the Associated Women Students (AWS). This group successfully sponsored selling defense stamps and war bonds. Due to rationing of gas and shoes, I attended many 'Shoeless Shuffle' dances. AWS also sponsored Charm Week and the original 'Preference Ball.' I became a member of the Whip Club, and was voted 'Sweetheart of the Wildcats.' The La Dianaeda slumber parties were always fun. In April 8, 1943, the majority of male classmates left Weber for the armed services. The next morning, service flags were on each of their lockers. On May 13, 1943, the Naval cadets began studying at Weber. On May 21, 1943, President Henry Aldous Dixon arrived late for Whip Club Sunrise Ceremony. We made a dog house and presented it to him. He truly made all of us feel like we were special in the 'Weber family.' June 4, 1943, graduation was held in the Moench Building. I received a nursing scholarship. We danced with the Naval cadets whom we hardly knew. Those two years, filled with many special memories, enriched my eternal loyalty and fondness for Weber State University. Dean Hurst The true story behind the 'Polygamist Prance' Or 'I Led Six Wives' While awaiting my entry into the armed forces in 1944, I enrolled for the fall quarter of Weber College 197