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Monday, June 20, 2011



The other night, as I was telling my sister a story about a distant relative, and how excited I was to know this heretofore unknown story, she asked me when I first became interested in family history. The story is on my Kirkham/Wrigley Blog of how I started doing genealogy with my Grandmother Kirkham when I was eight years old.

She then asked why I thought I had such an unusual interest in Family History – knowing that there are many who do have that interest, and many who don’t.

I’ve though a lot about what she asked.

As a psychology major, I am interested in what makes a person what he is. My favorite model or theory is that we are one-third each of the following: Environment, Genetics, & Inherent Personality.

My environment is determined by my family. My childhood environment has a lot to do with how I see the world and respond to it. My parents and extended family created that environment. They in turn were influence by their parents and extended family, and we go back that way for hundreds of years. So part of me looks to Family History to find out who I am. . My adult environment continues to shape me, and is colored greatly by my family relationships.

Again, genetics creates at least a third of what I am. So I look to my parents, and go back in time, to see where I got the characteristics that made me what I am. Then I look at what my ancestors did with those characteristics they seemed to have, and it gives me clues of what I can accomplish, or how I can circumvent or cope with negative genetic downloads. Even my adopted children and grandchildren can look to the past and compare genetic similarities.

I see Inherent Personality coming from a life before this world – much of it existing forever (though I little understand this concept,) and some of it existing because of who my original Heavenly Parents were. Interesting. Again, family is behind what I am.

A study of family is a study of self, and a study of the extension of self.

I look at the pictures of those people I have known. I remember who they are, how they lived, and how they handled life. It teaches me. I look at the pictures of people who died before my memory. Again, I remember their stories and I am taught. And there are those who have no stories with their pictures. But deep inside I know their story. It isn’t much different than mine. They struggled and made mistakes and had successes. They persisted, and were resilient, and survived. And when there is no picture, their story, or the tales of their times form the picture in my mind. And again I learn.

My mother recently passed away. My father passed away 12 years ago. My grandparents are long gone. But to me, they sometimes walk side by side with me – through my memory of them. And little known to my grandchildren, they walk side by side with them – through me. Their influence goes on forever. I am influenced by myriads of generations past.

Why do I like doing Family History? I decided that genetically, environmentally, and inherently , the desire to know from whence I came, and how, has been deeply instilled in my heart and soul. I learn who I am as I learn who they were.

Monday, June 13, 2011


                              Terrell Leon Clark in 1827.

Ruth Johnson, Terrel Leon, and Denzle James Clark  1927.

             Terrell Leon and Arlene Clark - about 1931-2

                    Terrell Leon Clark  (Could this be a graduation picture?)

Terrell Leon Clark (about 1963?)

The following is taken from “Find A Grave” Website.
This information was submitted by Terrell's half sister.


Birth: Jun. 4, 1927

Bingham County

Idaho, USA

Death: Mar. 2, 1964

Salt Lake City

Salt Lake County

Utah, USA
Terrell Leon Clark was born to Denzle James Clark and Ruth Myrtle Johnson Clark, June 4th 1927, in Jameston (Rural), Bingham, Idaho. He was joined by his sister Arlene January 29, 1929, in Shelley, Idaho. His parents divorced when the children were young. He spent his childhood in the Shelley-Idaho Falls area and especially loved being with his grandparents, Carl Oscar Johnson and Gerda Theresia Hanson Johnson. His Mother moved to Miles City, Montana, when he was 11 years old and later moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived until entering the Merchant Marine Corp at the age of 17.

He married LaRue Robinson September 6, 1949, at Ucon, Bonneville, Idaho. The couple became the parents of six children, Ronald, Marina, Myron, Karen, Jana and Coleen.

He was a numismatist and service station owner; former employee of Standard Oil Co., former apartment house owner; manager of C.M. Coin Co., Merchant Marine during World War II, A Seventy in Bountiful 21st LDS Ward, former Sunday School Superintendent in Winnemucca, Nevada. He was a Bountiful, Utah resident for eight years. He was a sportsman who enjoyed boating, hunting, fishing and baseball.

He owned and operated several different service stations in the areas of Pocatello, Idaho Falls, Ogden, Winemucca, Nevada, Salt Lake City and West Yellowstone, Montana.

Terry was a hard worker throughout his short life. He died suddenly March 12 1964 at the age of 37 years of a heart attack at his service station in Salt Lake City, Utah. He and the family lived in Bountiful, Utah at that time.

In addition to his wife and children, he is also survived by his father Denzle Clark, a sister Arlene Wochner, and the following half brothers and sisters: Gary, Sharon, Phyllis, Daralee, and Garth. Also surviving is his stepfather Kenneth Dean.

Funeral services were held In Bountiful, Utah and original burial was in the Shelley Cemetery.


Family links:

Denzle James Clark (1905 - 1988)
Ruth Dean (1910 - 1956)

Fir Ridge Cemetery
West Yellowstone
Gallatin County
Montana, USA

Created by: Sharon Butikofer
Record added: Jun 02, 2010
Find A Grave Memorial# 53156908

                                          Picture of Cemetery where Terrell Clark is now burried.

Thursday, June 9, 2011


I just received the following pictures from a cousin, Sharon Nuttall.  Thanks you SO MUCH.

Gerda Adelia Johnson 1903 (age 4-6 mo.)

Close-up of Gerda, above.

Gerdal A. Johnson 1918  (age 15)

Warren Wilcox and gerda Johnson 1921 (ages 19 & 17)

Wilcox, Warren, Winona, and Gerda in 1924 in front of the McCune Mansion in SLC. 

Winona Wilcox Schaal
There are pictures I already had.

Warren & Gerda Wilcox
Gerda Johnson Wilcox


Voices in My Heart

It was the first day of census, and all through the land

Each pollster was ready, a black book in hand.

He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride,

His books and his quills were tucked close by his side.

A long dusty ride down a road barely there

Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting up through the air.

The woman was tired, with lines in her face,

And the wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.

She gave him some water, as they sat at the table

And answered his questions the best she was able.

He asked her of children....yes she had quite a few.

The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.

She held up a toddler, with cheeks round and red.

His sister she whispered, was napping in bed.

She noted each person who lived there with pride,

And she felt the faint stirring of the wee one inside.

She noted the sex, the color, the age.

The marks from the quill soon filled up the page.

At the number of children, she nodded her head

And he saw her lips quiver for the ones that were dead.

The places of birth she never forgot.....

Was it Carolina, or Tennessee, or Georgia or not?

They came from Scotland, of that she was clear.

But she wasn’t quite sure, just how long they’d been here.

They spoke of employment, of schooling and .

They could read some, and write some...though really not much.

When questions were answered, his job there was done,

So he mounted his horse, and rode toward the sun.

We can almost imagine, his voice loud and clear,

May Bod bless you all for another ten years.

Now picture a time’s now you and me

As we search for the people on our family tree.

We squint at the census, and scroll down so slow

As we search for that entry from so long ago.

Could they only imagine on that long ago day,

That the entries they made would affect us this way.

If they knew.....would they wonder at the yearning we feel,

And the searching that makes them so increasingly real?

We can hear if we listen, the words they impart

Through the blood in their veins, and their voice in our heart.

Author Unknown