George Goates Farm

“Winter came early [in 1918] and froze much of the sugar beet crop in the ground. My dad and brother, Francis, were desperately trying to get out of the frosty ground one load of beets each day…. It was slow and tedious work.

… our eldest brother, George Albert, [called], bearing the tragic news that Kenneth, 9-year-old son of our brother Charles … had been stricken with the dread “flu” and after only a

few hours of violent sickness, had died on his father's lap and would Dad please come to Ogden and bring the boy home and lay him away in the family plot in the Lehi Cemetery.

When [Father] arrived … he found “Charl'', sprawled across the cold form of his dear one, the ugly brown discharge of the black plague oozing from his ears and nose and virtually burning up with fever. “Take my boy home,” muttered the stricken young father, “and lay him away in the family plot and come back for me tomorrow.”

Father brought Kenneth home, made a coffin … and then Dad went with Franz and two kind neighbors to dig the grave.

… when the telephone rang again … another terrifying message: Charl had died….

They sent [Charl] home in a railroad baggage car. … The next day my sturdy, inconquerable old dad was called on still another of his grim missions—this time to bring home Vesta. … Before Father arrived home … the dread word had come again. Elaine had gone to join her daddy…. Father made another heart-breaking journey to bring home and lay away a fourth member of his family, all within the week.

… After breakfast Dad said to Franz: “Well son, we had better get down to the field and see if we can get another load of beets out of the ground before they get frozen in any tighter. Hitch up and let's be on our way.”

Francis drove the four-horse outfit down the driveway, and Dad climbed aboard. As they drove along the Saratoga Road, they passed wagon after wagonload of beets being hauled to the [Lehi Sugar] factory and driven by neighborhood farmers.

As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: “Hi ya, Uncle George,” “Sure sorry, George,” “Tough break, George,” “You've got a lot of friends, George.”

On the last wagon … Jasper Rolfe … waved a cheery greeting and called out: “That's all of 'em, Uncle George!” My Dad turned to Francis and said, “I wish it was all of ours.”

When they arrived at the farm gate, … there wasn't a sugar beet on the whole field.

Then it dawned upon [Father] what Jasper Rolph meant when he called out: “That's all of 'em, Uncle George!” Then Dad got down off the wagon … this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child … and said: “Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward!”

—Excerpts taken from George’s son, Les Goates’ account, called “A Welfare Story.” Entire account can be found in our online catalog.