3 September 1993 - Excerpt from letter from Anna Jenkins to Elder Brant Lillian

My Dad

Today is my father's birthday. He was born on September 3, 1888. He was the youngest child in his family—he had 7 brothers and sisters and 4 half sisters and brothers. I didn't know his mother but I knew his father, and was with him when he died. My Dad was a loving father, and grandfather. I wish you had known him. He had a very personal relationship with each child and grandchild. I always felt very secure with him as a child, and when I was an adult, I felt that I could depend on my Dad to help me in any difficulty. I still have a blank check in my wallet that I have had for perhaps 50 years or more, a check on a bank which no longer exists, but which my father gave me and said that if I ever needed to, I could write it out, sign my name under his and get some money—the bank would honor it. Of course, that is really only symbolic of his caring for me, and of course I have never intended to use it. But it does represent to me that he felt responsible for my welfare, and I could depend on him. He was a man who had many friends, and he cared for many people. We used to say that every time Dad went out to the sheep herd, he took an extra sack of flour to our Aunt Till in Elsinore—she was a widow with little children. It would be unthinkable for my Dad to know that someone in his family was in need and not do something to help.

My father was one who loved to visit someone he knew if he went to another city, and so when he and Mother were going to Europe, I worried that Dad would not have a good time because he wouldn't know anyone. But he had a wonderful time. Mother said that even when he couldn't speak the language he made friends and brought people to talk with someone in his group who could speak their language.

Yet, my Dad was one who didn't let his children get away with wrongdoing of any kind.

He watched over us. When I was about 16, I was invited to go by horseback up in the canyon near Marysvale with a group of kids in the evening for a party. I went on my own horse with a boy from the neighboring ranch on his horse, and we left the party on time, but when we were coming down the canyon, here came my Dad in the car and met us. He thought we were a little late, and he said I should ride home with him and John should bring my horse home and put her in the corral and take off the saddle. I was embarrassed, but that is what I did and Dad said he just felt uneasy about my welfare.

Brant, I know that if you had known your great-grandfather Walter Ogden you would have liked him. He had a ready smile and blue eyes that looked into yours and you knew he was a man you could trust.