On To Pocatello

In 1952, the Call family moved from Ogden to Pocatello, Idaho. The address was 1839 East Clark Street.

Pocatello was founded as an important stop along the railroad in Idaho during the gold rush.  It is named after Chief Pocatello of the Shoshoni tribe, who granted the railroad access across the Fort Hall Indian Reservation, which Pocatello lies partially on.  Fort Hall is the indian reservation for the federally recognized Shoshone-Bannock tribes.

Lois Ann Call Childhood

Ginny Call Christensen: Sister of Lois

My name is Virginia Call Christensen. Call is my maiden name and Christensen is my married name. Mom & Dad said that my siblings named me. My nick name is Ginny. That's the name I go by. I've never liked the name Virginia. I was only called Virginia when I was in trouble or by those who didn't know me, calling roll etc. Mom used to call me "Ginger Peaches". Larry & Mary still call me that. I was born on Oct. 14, 1950, in North Ogden, Utah, where my dad was selling insurance for Prudential. I was born on Vivian's 12 birthday. I was the 6th of 7 children born to Williard Vivian Call and Melba Farnsworth Call. Lois, Vivian, Bill (Willard Farnsworth) Mary Leah, Evelyn and Ronnie (Ronald Fanrsworth) are my siblings.....just a note about them.....they are the best, the finest, the funnest, the kindest, wisest, most loving people on planet earth. We have an undying love & loyalty for each other. I feel very lucky have the brothers and sisters that I do. I used to think every family was this way, but I've learned that it's a rare thing to have the family bond that we do. We were living in North Ogden where my dad was employed by Prudential Insurance Company.

We moved from North Ogden to Pocatello Id. in about 1952. The address was 1839 East Clark. I think I was about 2 year old. The house was huge (in my 2-5 year old brain). My earliest memory was of me crying, asking where my mommy was. I was told she was in the hospital having a new baby boy. Vivian was also in the hospital with a bad case of hepititus. I remember being a very insecure child, but I adored baby Ronnie, 2 and a half years younger than me.

We had 7 kids in the family, their ages ranaging from 15--new born. Lois and Vivi were very active in school and very popular, so we always had a housefull of teenagers ever. Mom especially thrived on the commotion and fun. these friendships have lasted a lifetime for our family. We went to church at the Caldwell Park Building in the middle of town. I remember walking home from church one Sunday with Evelyn. She told me we needed to pick some beautiful flowers for Mom, which we did. We got into serious trouble from Dad we he found out that we had raided someone's flower garden and he took us back to the lady's house who they belonged to and made us apologize. That was my first memory of repentence"....and the first of many of Evy's shananigans.

These was the days of party lines. We picked up the phone and told the operator what number we wanted dialed. I don't remember our number, but I remember our friends' , the Petersens number......5240J "Please". They lived diagonally behind us. They had 5 kids, all the same ages as Bill, Mary, Evy, Mary & Ronnie. They were Bucky, Linda, Margo, Brucy (he was my best friend) and Roger--Roger was born on Jun 29th, the same day as Ronnie. I have lots of memories with that family. The kids were a bit spoiled, but we loved them. We always bragged about how smart and cute Ronnie was & they would brag about Roger.

I remember throwing rocks in a vacant lot by our house and hitting Brucy in the head. He bled pretty bad and had to get stitches--I felt so bad about it. Linda spent the night at our house one night and mom accidently threw her bedtime blandet away. (Mom said she thought it was an old rag). She couldn't sleep at all for weeks.

Anson Call: Great Grandfather of Lois

Anson Call was an early pioneer in the LDS church.  He is largely known for helping colonize many settlements in the West in Utah, Old Mexico, and one town in Arizona located now under Lake Mead between Arizona and Las Vegas known as Callville (now Callville Bay).  Born, in Fletcher, Vermont in 1810, his parents were Cyril Call and Sally Tiffany.  A reluctant convert, Anson joined the Church after reading the Book of Mormon and not being able to deny its truth. Like other saints, Anson and his family became the subject of much persecution, in Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois.

Anson was friendly with Joseph Smith and mentions several meetings and discussions with the Prophet in his journal including a special assignment he and another were given by Joseph to scout out Carthage and report back to Joseph directly the mood and level of hostility that might exist if Joseph were to travel there. Anson returned to report of the likelihood of grave bodily danger and with a warning to the Prophet from the authorities there to not show up as protection would not be possible. This message never got to Joseph before he headed to Carthage, where he uttered his famous line, "I go like a lamb to slaughter". Anson suffered from depression after blaming himself for this personal failure after Joseph's martyrdom.

Anson and his family moved west with the original Pioneers.  Anson and his wife, Mary, buried two children along the trek to the Salt Lake Valley and experienced the hardship of farming with the Mormon crickets and other trials.  In 1850, Anson was called to help build a settlement in Parowan Valley, Utah.  Next, he helped colonize Millard County, of which he was appointed probate judge.  After establishing his ability to settle new areas, Brigham Young called upon him again and again to do the same fulfilling a prophecy Joseph Smith made directly to him that he would assist in colonizing many cities from one border to the other.  There are many church stories referencing the life of Anson Call.  Among them, you will find his name mentioned in the rescuing of the saints of the Martin and Willie handcart pioneers and for recording the "Rocky Mountain Prophecy" in which he was mentioned and present for.

Cyril Call, Anson's father

Margaretta Unwin Clark, one of  Anson's six wives and great grandmother of Lois.

Elders Dallin H. Oaks, left, Earl C. Tingey and Eran Call stand near monument to Anson Call

Visit Anson Call Memorial at This Is The Place Heritage Park in Salt Lake City

Read more about Anson Call:

• Ensign, "Anson Call: Man of Action".  
• Excerpts from his Autiobiography
• Church News
• book:  Anson Call and the Rocky Mountain Prophecy by Gwen Marler Barney. It is very well written and researched, and is filled with photographs, diagrams, maps, and other illustrations.  The book was published by Call Publishing in Salt Lake City, Utah, and its ISBN is 0-9721527-0-9.

Lois' Mother: Melba Farnsworth

Melba Farnsworth was born November 14, 1910 in Ely, Nevada. Melba married Willard Vivian Call on September 13, 1935 in Logan, Utah. She died on February 12, 1998 in Pocatello, Idaho.  Melba's parents were Milford Griffiths Farnsworth (1863-1946) and Lois Rebecca Gunn (1871-1943).  Melba had one sister:  Anna Estella Farnsworth (1900-1987).  Melba was a first cousin to Philo T. Farnsworth and a great grandchild of Parley P. Pratt.  Melba had seven children:  Lois, Vivian, Bill, Mary, Evelyn, Ginny, and Ronnie.

Melba and Vee, 1936

Melba, 17 months

Tribute to Lois by Flossy Benevides

In March, 1991 Flossy Benevides, Melba's cousin (who was raised as a sibling),  wrote a poem in remembrance of Lois, who died 8 years earlier.

Lois Ann Call Smith

Lois Ann is but gone for awhile,

Although these past years we've missed her sweet smile.

The sad thing that has happened to Ray but

there's a tomorrow, a new fresh day - maybe

Ten sweet children she left behind, a

peace of mind each is trying to find

no -- life isn't always kind!

She is the eldest of Melba and Vee

they are the trunk of the big family tree..

Take care of dear Lois while up there with thee

because once again, we'll all enjoy an eternity!

Christmas: Circa New Jersey

Most of our Christmases were similar with few standing out in particular with 2 exceptions. The year we All received new bicycles, and our last as a family. The others followed a similar course.

The average Christmas season started with an abrupt and startling discovery by my mom. One night, sometime in the beginning of December, and only when it started getting late and when she wanted us to our rooms, she would stop mid stream from whatever she was doing and with wide eyes she would freeze and say..."Ssshhhhh. Do you hear that?" We would all freeze. Then she would quickly look in the direction of the closest window and say, "Did you see that?" We would all look in that direction with equally wide eyes. Mom would whisper, "elves." "I just saw elves peeking in the window." This was the beginning of every Christmas season I can remember.

Her penchant for drama was well known and these episodes were constant. As us children got older, we were able to participate, complete with taking bells outside the home to mimic sleigh bells for the little ones. Dad would get involved with making noises of hooves on the roof top, I think with 2 broom handles from inside one of the bedrooms. The older children loved helping with the drama for the little ones. Once the stories began, the questions began. Shouldn't we leave more cookies? Does Santa like home made powdered milk? Shouldn't we put out the fire? As this question and answer session began it all accomplished the same goal and always took place as we were ran up the stairs in succession. We all ran off to bed so as not to be on the naughty list for fear of receiving the dreaded lump of coal, which we truly believed we were all more than worthy of...at least us boys.


The Christmas Eve tradition was to open our one gift from Grandma and Grandpa Call and play with it that night. They never missed sending us a box of gifts. My most memorable gift was a remote control police car that came with a constant siren that was reminiscent of the old English bobbie cars. It was sturdy, built to last, and banged in to everyone and everything with the most obnoxious siren blaring non stop. Wheeeee-Whooooo---Wheeeee----Whooooo; relentless.

Setting up the tree was a family event. I recall going to chop them down, buying them from tree lots and strapping them on the top of station wagons, and ultimately getting the same one down from the attic in the form of a fake tree all depending on the year and our budget. One year we bought a live tree and were able to plant it in the front yard making it the second spruce in the front yard, this Christmas Spruce and a huge Blue Spruce. All had similar goals of family time. Some years we made popcorn tinsel by threading popcorn for hours and putting it around the tree. Other years we would make ornaments etc...The constant was that throughout the years of school ornaments and projects and through gradual acquisitions, we had the most eclectic tree on the planet. Our trees had ornaments ranging from homemade styrofoam candy canes that had stripes made from red tape, to fine glass colorful balls, to 10 different types of lights from the past 3 decades. No ornament was very well preserved, so they all bore their age and in hind sight looked like 10 different cultures and artists with 10 distinct visions for a road show  back drop competing to be the most recognized. At the time, it was OUR tree and each trinket represented distinct personalities without question. No one complained, just admired. I have no idea how we never had a fire.

One year we were gathered at the top of the stairs and were prohibited from coming down until we were all up and ready to come down at the same time. This was like torture as some were harder than others to get up. Our tree was always in the living room, which was situated at the bottom of the stairs and to the left. I say this because we knew our vision was blocked by inches. If we could make it down one or two simple steps we would just be able to make out the beginning of the sea of gifts that Santa had left for us. As the seconds counted down we would try to slide down on our bellies one step at a time, technically still remaining at the top of the stairs because part of our body was still at the top of the stairs. When this part of our body remaining at the top was simply a big toe straining to remain compliant, we could see the gifts and have the edge over the other children. This year was different. No matter how much we had grown over that year, thus increasing our scope of vision, we could not make out the beginning what was usually hundreds of presents. We had often been warned that times were tough, and of the likelihood of coal had reached its peak, nothing could have prepared us for no presents. As permission was granted, we made our way down to find a near empty Christmas tree and were brought in and told to close our eyes. We were then directed to the other room, the family room instead of the living room where we were to simultaneously open our eyes. There, in the house, was a row of bikes more full than any bike rack could seemingly hold. Pink ones and small ones, 10 speeds and 3 speeds, bikes with training wheels...and there it was, an all black Huffy with nobby tires, cool hand grips and pads on the handle bars and center bar all reading HUFFY. This was obviously mine and was the coolest of all the bikes. It was my height, my style, and immediately my greatest possession. This was the greatest Christmas I recall...but not the most memorable.

Mark Lawrence married my oldest sister Monica who lived in Provo and attended BYU. They came back for the Christmas season when it was announced that my mother was not doing very well. As I recall, she had gotten down to a weight somewhere in the 80s and you could barely hear her when she tried to speak. It came out more as a wheeze. Even her makeshift bell, which signified she needed someone to attend to her, was faint. This "bell" was a wooden spoon and the back of a pot she kept near for emergencies. She would bang on it and one or more would come to see what she needed. I recall her hitting it slightly and Mark responding. I believe she had asked for the hospital, or perhaps it was his own assessment, but I remember him carrying her to the car and taking her to the emergency room. I remember how frail she looked, how skinny her naked ankles were, and her beleaguered breaths. This was the last time I saw her alive. I don't recall how many days prior to Christmas it was when she entered the hospital, but I remember being gathered at dusk in the living room with all the kids by my dad. He had a look on his face I had never seen before on him; a distant look that I saw faintly on his face ever since. He expressed to us the best he could, that our mother had returned to her Father in Heaven that Christmas Eve.

I believe Melba and Vee Call were present and then for Christmas day, but gone were the rituals, the feelings, the anticipatory antics shared among the children that unfolded each Christmas morning. Gifts were there, the tree was there in all its hodge-podge glory, each child was present sitting in their pajamas and robes on any couch or chair they could find and in the form of a half circle around the tree. While the little ones stirred, the older ones looked glossy, distant, and transformed. I recall the older children, Darron, Loni, Tony, and Monica there, but not present. As a profound and overwhelming right of passage splashed over us simultaneously, with questions on the grand scheme of things, from Adam in England not yet knowing, to where will she be buried, to how did this happen to us...not this family...not this once vibrant woman, almost simultaneously each of us began what changed from helping with the little ones to what can only be described as rearing. We each came out of it slowly as if in a fog clearing and began our new roles in this family. We encouraged the little ones to hunt for their gifts and open them with all the vigor they could muster. We were the older ones and each of us bid our childhood farewell.