I was born August 2, 1899 in a little home on "I" Street in Salt Lake City, Utah on a Wednesday. I weighed 8 pounds. I was one of nine children, the sixth child, of my Mother’s and the last one to be attended by a midwife. The Samuel was a popular family name, two of my great grandfathers being named Samuel. The Ross came from the Bishop of the Ward in which we lived when I was born, Bishop Ross Lyon. My mother was a plural wife and the Bishop was so kind to her that she wanted me named for him. He was one of the pioneer printers of Salt Lake City, founding the Magazine Press.

In 1900 when I was a year old, we moved out on Grandfather Fox’s farm in South Taylorsville, later called Bennion, on the Redwood Road. I was a sickly child, having what was called ‘summer complaint,’ which was a common ailment for little ones in the hot weather, but I survived. Our home was a two room log cabin and Father added a large living room and two bedrooms and the kitchen was added as a lean-to on the side. During these early years, we had many Indians come to our farm looking for food and hay for their horses. They would take what they pleased, thinking that all of the land was theirs and that we were the intruders.

On the farm we had two ponds: one called the ‘Horse Pond’ - the other called the ‘Cow Pond.’ Near the Horse Pond we had an ice house, and in the winter months we would cut ice from the pond and store it in the ice-house, then cover it with sawdust. That gave us ice to both use and sell all through the summer months. That was a cold job. The ‘Cow Pond’ was where we skated, beginning usually around Thanksgiving.

When I was six years old, I started school in a little 3 room schoolhouse called the 64th District School and later Madison School. We had 9 classes: Beginners and then first through eighth grades. This school house served also as a church meeting house and our only mode of travel was either to walk or ride in a buggy, surrey, wagon or horseback. We didn’t see automobiles until a few years later. Three classes met together in each classroom with one teacher in each room and one of the teachers was the principal. I well remember that I knew more about the other classes lessons than I did about my own, so I guess I wasn’t much of a student. There was a coal furnace in the basement for heating.

As we passed into the fifth grade, we were taken in a school wagon pulled by a team of horses to the Plymouth School about 2 1/2 miles to the north. If we were kept after school for any reason, the walk home alone was a long one with probably a scolding waiting for us at home.

I "graduated" from the eighth grade as class poet and received a large diploma (the only school diploma I ever received). We had a large fruit orchard on the farm and inasmuch as the harvest of apples always came just when school was starting, I stayed home and helped with the harvest for five years before starting high school. This made it so that I turned 21 years of age in my Junior year and had a position as guard on the varsity basketball squad but couldn’t play because of my age. Father was supporting me in school and that year he had an attack of hardening of the arteries and so I had to drop out of school and go back to work on the farm. Two years of high school and 3 months in business college consisted of my formal education. My brother F.Y. Fox encouraged me to go to business college and "prepared myself" inasmuch as I was digging sewer trenches at this time. It paid!

One summer, when I was about the age of fifteen, we were in hiding from the Federal Marshals, who were trying to arrest the polygamist families. I, as well as other plural children, were sent to different ‘Aunts’ homes to avoid detection. We had to stay inside and could only leave the home after dark to get exercise. It was during this summer that I read the entire works of Shakespeare. It was very interesting to me and not as tough to read, as after the first few pages, you could understand what they were saying.

When I was seventeen, it was the middle of World War I. We had automobiles, but horses and buggies were still in use. Our mailman delivered the mail in a horse-drawn covered cart. Our first car was a two passenger red Maxwell. Then we got two International Harvester pickup-trucks, with wheels about five feet high, with solid tires. They were no good in the mud, because they would sink easily. About this time, we were ‘cocking’ hay on the farm when the first airplane flew down the valley toward Provo. It was a ‘pusher’ plane with the prop at the rear and the pilot sitting on a single seat in the open among the struts. He was flying about 50 to 100 feet in the air, and my guess would be he was traveling about 50 to 60 miles per hour. At this time I traded a calf I had earned for a 1915 Harley-Davidson motorcycle, but that is a story of it’s own.

I had moved into town to live with my Father at 130 East Vidas Avenue. I was attending the Stake graduation for the M.I.A., and as President of the M-Men, I was asked to give the closing prayer. Blanch South, being 16 years old, was graduating from the Beehives. She received the majority of awards and halfway through the ceremony, my sister Maude leaned over and whispered to me that that South girl was quite a catch. On the way home, Blanch and her friend were walking in front of me and my friend, Albert Butler. We walked by Blanch’s friend’s home and when we got to Commonwealth, I went up and took Blanch’s arm and escorted her home, leaving our friends to walk home together. I went to Church one Sunday and found Blanch sitting by herself. I slid in next to her and asked if she wanted company. She smiled and said that it would be all right if I sat there.

I went with a group of friends and we called ourselves the Burton Ward Gang. We would meet every morning on the street car and would divide up the girls to see who would be going out with them. Soon after sitting next to Blanch in Church, I announced to my friends that they could take who they wanted, but to save the South girl for me.

Later I sat next to Bishop George H. Soderborg on the street car, and he gave me the paperwork to go on a mission. I took the paperwork home and Father said that I had better wait. Two years later, Bishop Soderborg gave me an ultimatum to either go serve the Lord or get married. Blanch was in New York City with her Father, visiting her sister VaLois, who was on a mission there. I told her that I had decided to serve a mission. She came home, I had my hernia fixed and then went on my mission. Blanch waited for me and when I returned, we were married 4 years after we started dating. Then our family started to come, bringing many blessings and great happiness. My special interests have been Family, Church and Job. My civic service has been mainly as an advisor to the officials of my town, South Salt Lake City, through my Church positions.

Ross was involved in many events and jobs with church service, as well as civic service to South Salt Lake and City. He was a bookkeeper, receptionist at Seagull Press, in Salt Lake City, Utah. In March 1923 this work was Interrupted to go serve his mission to the Central States Mission, where he was the District President of the Southwest Missouri District. from 1925-28. After his return to Salt Lake, he went back to the book keeping job at Seagull until 1930. His next occupation began his sales career for the Deseret News Press, from 1930 until 1946. During this time, Ross was called to be the 2nd counselor in the Bishopric for Burton Ward (1938 until 1939). He was then asked to be the 1st Bishopric counselor in 1939 until 1941. His next assignment was the 2nd Counselor in the South Salt Lake Stake where he served for ten years, (1941-51). During this time, Ross went to work as the Manager at Giles Press from 1946 until 1949. In 1949 Ross moved back to the Deseret Press, working as the sales manager. Over the years, he continued to move forward in his roles to effectively manage parts of this large company. His next assignment was the duty of Purchasing Agent, followed by Assistant Manager and then Office Manager. The 10th of September, 1951, Ross was placed as the 1st counselor in the Stake until the 18th of May of 1952. He was then set apart as the president of South Salt Lake Stake in May of 1952, serving until May of 1957. Ross fulfilled many other church callings, one serving a mission with his wife Blanch to the Florida Mission from May of 1967 until the end of February, 1969. He also served as the Stake Patriarch, giving many of us cousins our Patriarchal Blessings.

When Ross and Blanch had moved from West Temple and 2nd North to live with Joyce and T Buehner, Blanch became sick and was placed in the L.D.S. Hospital. Ross went to stay with her and remained at her bedside 24 hours a day. During Blanch’s stay, Ross went for a walk in the Avenues to get some exercise, and had a mini stroke. He was not able to find his way back to the hospital. Blanch recovered, and she and Ross returned to live with Joyce. Ross began to have a series of mini strokes. Blanch and Joyce attended to his needs, giving love and support.

Ross passed away January 24, 1987. Many friends and dignitaries attended his funeral, as his influence had touched many lives.

My Name: S. Ross Fox

You might be a South if...... Uncle Ed hadn’t failed at his life project. It was his feeling when I was young that at age 13 all children should be put in a wooden barrel and the top nailed shut, and they should be fed through a knothole. Then, at age 16, the knothole should be plugged.

you are such an incorrigible tease, and a straight answer is always difficult.

Special events have occurred when you were with your cousins, Aunts or Uncles...... The South family reunions were held up Logan Canyon, at some type of a girls camp or lodge. We went there annually. Most if not all of the Southcousins would be there. It was always a pleasant experience.

On New Year’s Day, the basketball games have held pleasant memories for me. All of the first, second, and third generation Souths gathered together for a little gladiation and visiting. The bonding was delightful even though the quality of basketball was not.

My mother, Blanch, was an incorrigible genealogist. She spent many hours a week doing research on her ancestors. The project always included enough paperwork and books that there was no available space in the kitchen. She would have the kitchen table, and all other available horizontal surfaces covered with genealogical materials. The result of this was that when we dined we had to sit on the floor. I on many occasions, teased my mother about the fact that she made of me a genealogical orphan.

Parental interest in the family was high at our home. We always were encouraged to attend the family reunions, and as a result we got to know our cousins quite well.

You might be a South if...... you turn right while headed East. If your British relatives think Salt Lake Streets, like 2140 South, were named after our illustrious family.

Your spouse, partner and sidekick knows you are a South because... I said, "Surely every family has its reunion on New Years Day."

1. Doing claims work with Uncle William on Grandfather South’s asbestos mine claims.

2. Playing music arranged by Aunt Ruth in an orchestra conducted by Aunt VaLois.

3. Hauling bales of alfalfa hay in Pocatello Valley, near Malad, Idaho with Uncle Ed.

My Mother Blanch was reassured by a life long dream that her parents would reconcile and live happily together in the next life.

My Name: Joyce Fox Buehner

You might be a South if...... you don’t watch the Bowl games on New Years Day. If you have a current phone number, address and kids names, WOW!!!

You are the last one out of the building, whatever the occasion. You make audible comments at reunions!

1. Grandmother South had a large wooden barrel. She would buy small gifts all year long and at Christmas time we would all gather at her house, reach in and find a gift. There was one for everyone. I never knew where she kept the barrel, but it was always full. We always looked forward to just being with everyone.

2. Seeing my mom and her siblings talk, remember and laugh with each other. Or cry at the loss of someone they loved.

3. Realizing how much you all mean to me every time I see any or all of you.

4. Uncle William wrapping his arms around the younger basketball players to compensate for the age difference.

5. Listening to the Soderborg Family Band with only one rehearsal.

6. Mike and Gwenny’s taking video memories for us.

Mom’s care of Dad during his last few years was unbelievable. She had such a positive, caring, uncomplaining, almost enthusiastic way of returning all the years he cared for her. Mother never quit learning, making notes on any kind of paper. And most of all, dying with such dignity.

---

My Name: Tom Fox

You might be a South if......

1. You attend the funeral of a family member and it turns into Comedy Central.

2. You loose money for the second time this year on another "sure thing", get rich quick scheme.

I say what others are really thinking but are too dignified and civilized to say. "In Puritan settled New England you just don’t say that, Honey."

Aunt VaLois came to our last Fox Family Reunion in Seattle which consisted of days of athletic events, endless reminiscence and great food..... and, remarkably, no Jell-O dishes.

Something special about my parents that I would like to share.....

While no one in the family would have questioned my parents devotion to Mormonism, in their later years they made it unquestionably clear that they valued family above all else. Mother even reluctantly allowed Palliative surgery for a slow growing metastatic cancer of the colon so that she might live long enough for her children to say good-bye to her as they wished. For years she quietly, even cheerfully, bore a protracted and painful death by slow starvation.

My Name: Chuck Fox

You might be a South if...... you use the password "John Taylor" to get into the temple instead of using a current Temple recommend. The Temple worker: "...you’re the 20th John Taylor today -- you must be with the South party."

of your "scratching" -- levi rear end wear out --!

Eating Aunt Jane’s Czechoslovzkian "kened lakei?" at their home on our birthdays (along with blackbean soup). Uncle William driving us to school everyday, being my Bishop and Stake President.

Overnighters at Aunt VaLois and Uncle Paul’s during the summer. Jumping off the barn with an umbrella for our parachute, swimming in our birthday suites and water-skiing in the old West Jordan gray canal. We often waited for the dead chickens to float by, once we even had a dead sheep pass before we went in.

Going for ice cream at Al Harris’s dairy each time that Uncle Taylor would come to town, he always bought for everyone.

Watching football games downstairs at Uncle Lloyds" "always under construction" home. Playing in Millcreek stream by their home and enjoying Aunt Ruth’s beautiful organ/piano music.

The greatest ever South reunion at Uncle Ed and Aunt Marge’s home in Graeagle, California, with night swimming in the millpond. Uncle Ed’s impromptu organ recitals.

Tom, myself, Joe South, Frank South and Bob Clark kept leaving our Priesthood quorum meetings on Sundays to go bowling at the Classic Bowling alley. Some anonymous informer told mom about this, she in turn contacted our Stake President (Dad). He caught us "black ball in hand" ready to finish the 9th frame. Tom suggested to Dad that he might let us finish the game. Dad suggested otherwise. "Put that ball down right now" he suggested firmly. "Your Mother has given me hell for this... we are going home NOW!"

That was the only time I ever heard my Dad even come close to swearing. It shocked all of us so much that Tom actually stopped and dropped the ball on his foot. We quickly left the bowling alley forthwith.

I don’t think that I ever heard Mom swear. However, she may have used a couple of colored words that Sunday on Dad. Anyway, both Dad and Mom felt so bad about their "firmness" that day that for the next 6 or 8 Sundays they had all of us "convicts" over to our house for homemade ice cream. It almost made us consider doing another crime. But Dad’s "hell" and expression of concern has many times remained in my memory as a deterrent to other possible unwise acts. And, mom’s recipe for homemade ice cream still cools my memories on hot summer days.

My Name: Edward Fox

You might be a South if......

1. You can be reduced to tears by phases like "Fine here," or "Mother of mine."

2. Or a smile comes when you hear the names of "Portola Graeagle, Island Park, Elko."

3. If you know more musicians than Elton John, or more comedians than Jay Leno.

4. If, as a kid, you wondered why all the adult Souths around you cried so easily and as an adult, you’ve discovered that a conduit runs directly from life’s mournful magnificence to your heart.

5. True Souths are capable of weeping in 4 part harmony,.... or at such special occasions as .... a child’s smile, Tuesdays, or the changing of a traffic light. There are more weepers at a South family reunion than at an onion peelers convention.

6. If the best golfer you know used only 4 clubs and wore Wellington boots when he golfed.

7. If you remember Chip (Taylor) in a tutu, or Uncle William’s "rainbow method" of catching a fly ball.

8. If you think the Rose Bowl is what your wife floats flowers in to make a summertime centerpiece... or you wake up New Year’s day with an overwhelming desire to dribble.... you might be a South.

9. If you think pre-basketball game warm-ups include aerobic elbow throwing... or you argue during the game that holding someone’s belt loop isn’t a foul because you never physically make contact with you opponent, you might be a South.... but more likely a Peisley....that should be deleted wrote Ed to the Editor

She knows that New Years means two late nights with one early morning in between.

Uncle Paul and Aunt VaLois invited a camper full of cousins and me to vacation with them in California, Oregon, and Washington... ending up at the Seattle World’s Fair. We went through Death Valley in the heat of the day, cooling ourselves by holding wet towels over the camper windows and cooling the pick-up by driving in second gear. We made a nature stop at the Ranger Station there, where we discovered a large scorpion had fallen into the male-oriented porcelain facility. So we escorted all the ladies in to see it.

I remember what a fun place Soderborgs’ was for kids.... complete with a creek running through it, and a soft ice cream maker in the basement.

My folks whistled. Mother did it from the next room as we practiced a musical instrument, holding loud and long the correct version of the note we were miss-playing on said instrument. My Dad had a whistle he used to call us home. It said so much more than "come home." We imitate it still in our family now. I miss my Dad’s whistle.