The Early Life of Franklin D White

From the autobiography written by Franklin D White

I, Franklin D. White, was born April 1, 1885 at Mona, Juab County, Utah in the family home.  My father was Robert White, born at Hartsgrove, Ohio, November 21, 1835.  His father’s name was Joseph White who was born at Boston, Mass. 30 May 1801.  His mother was Ruby Elnora Stearns who was born in 1798 in Massachusetts. They were married on 5 July 1829 in Henderson Connecticut.  Joseph White's father was Robert White who was born 26 May 1774 at Warren, Worcester County, Massachusetts.   His mother's name was Jane, born in 1732 and died 11 May 1851.  Robert White married Betsy Russell who was born September 18, 1773.

My mother's name was Amy Evans who was born 15 April 1860 at Shamorgan, Wales, and died 2 April 1921 at Mt. Pleasant, Sanpete County, Utah.  Her father, Job Evans, was born January 1833, in Cartige, South Wales.  His father, David Evans, was born 15 August 1810 in Cartige, South Wales.  His father and mother are unknown.  Job Evans married Harriet Tiara Thomas. To them were born eight children.  Franklin David Evans, Amy Evans (my mother), John Evans, Elizabeth Evans who is still living at 250 North 8th West, Salt Lake City and is 95 years old at the time of this writing.  The other four children died in infancy.  Harriet Thomas' father's name was Gabriel Thomas.  Her mother's name was Sarah Pollee.  David Evans married Amy Hughes.

Now I must go back to my birthplace.  I was born in a small two-room house made of round logs, with a dirt roof and one small window in each room-- a real pioneer cottage.  I only lived there about one year, then we moved to Indianola, Sanpete Co., Utah.  There my parents lived the remainder of their lives.
Bishop John Spencer blessed me in Indianola, October 18, 1887 (this date was obtained from church records at church archives).
   
When I was three years old, my sister Elnora White died of croup very suddenly and I have always had a picture in my mind of something dreadful happening to a beautiful girl with long red hair in ringlets.  I may have gotten this impression from hearing people talk about it, but it seems to be a reality to me.  Then on April 5, 1890 my younger brother Edward Delroy died.  I can remember that event very clearly.  I remember the homemade casket, and going to the cemetery with father's mules and hard lumber wagon.  Those were hard times for poor pioneer folk.  At this time there were very many Lamanites in Indianola--more than there were white folk.  I remember times when mother would see a large cloud of dust rising in the air near the Little Clear Creek Canyon, and would call all the children in, for the Indians were coming.

We lived two miles out of town on the trail that they always came and went on, and many times some of them would stop and give us children some of the wild berries that they had gathered on their way through the mountains.  They always seemed friendly with us, yet we were always afraid of them.  I can't remember very much about that early period of my life, just one more thing.  When I was about five years old, my mother took a trip to Salt Lake City to visit her sister, Eliza Hills and took me along.  I can still feel the jolting of the old wagon over the rocky roads as we come down Thistle Creek Canyon to Thistle Junction to get the train as the railroad was not complete into Sanpete at that early time.  Then I remember that the streetcars in Salt Lake were drawn by six head of mules.  It was a great sight for a small country boy like me.  But the thing I remember most was that I stepped on a carpet tack and it went into the side of my foot and made a terrible sore on that foot that I carried for nearly seventy years.
 
 The place where we lived didn't have any culinary water.  So father hauled our water from town in fifty gallon wooden barrels.  Yes, we were poor people as far as worldly things were concerned.  Shoes to wear were unknown for about eight months a year.  But we all had love for one another and plenty of hard work.   We had to walk two miles to Primary and Church on Sunday.   I remember many a time we would see coyotes following us through the sagebrush as we went to school.  The first school that I attended was when I was six and a half years old and it was held in a one room round log house with a dirt roof and an open fireplace in one end.  I only went there one year as a new ward church was built of brick and they held school in it.