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He was born at Santa Monica, Los Angeles County, California, on the 29th of April 1893. His mother had been previously married, bearing four children to her first husband, Edward Lucas. He died and three of these children died in early childhood. The youngest child of this marriage, a son, Ralph Edward Lucas, was our eldest brother. The family at the birth of Alma was as follows: Father Edgar, 40 years old, Ralph Edward Lucas, 11 years old, Taylor Bentley Sessions (Ben) 9 years old, Martha Louise Sessions, 6 years old and Cecilia Olive, 3 years old.
We lived in the South portion of town, at the time called South Santa Monica, though in later years it was renamed Ocean Park.
I remember that when our tiny brother cried, mother had someone put father's four by four drafting board onto the foot of the bed, then my doll cradle with a pillow in it was placed on the drafting board so she could gently rock the cradle to soothe the baby.
The house we lived in was on a hillside. The down hill end of the house was high above the ground and that made a nice shady place on the grass to play. Every time we played there, mother would come to the window and ask us to be more quiet, for the baby was asleep. The elder brother, Ralph, was the only one of the children that was allowed to hold or carry the baby, though mother would prop him among the pillows on; the sofa and let the little sisters sit on the forward edge to keep him from falling. He was then to;o young to roll off, but we felt very important. Mother was always in the room with us.
The 7 rooms of this house were all on one level, large and comfortable with high ceilings. The outside was ornamented with fancy wooden moldings and grillwork.
Mother cooked on a wood burning stove and the rooms were heated with wood and coal burning heaters. We used oil lamps at night for lighting. There was one in each room and in the parlor and dining room there were large lamps suspended from the ceiling by small brass chains that allowed the lamps to be lowered for lighting or cleaning. They were ornate with large white glass globes for oil and larger white glass shades with painted flowers and crystal prisms, like pendants all around. We had nice carpets and upholstered furniture in the parlor, oak furniture in the dining room. The beds were oak with fancy wood carvings on the head boards, coil springs and horsehair mattresses.
A strange thing happened that year. I do not know what time of year it was. Hundreds of thousands of fish washed up onto the beach, many deep sea fish—alive, but stunned into inactivity. Everybody, rich and poor alike gathered the fish, carted them home, killed, cleaned and dried them. Many were thrown back into the water, but a great many died on the sand, with a consequently foul odor.
In 1894, we moved to a house that faced the sea, though it was not too close to it. It was near the top of the hill. We could stand on the porch 12 steps high or at the sitting room window and looking over the tops of the trees at the base of the hill, see the blue ocean. It was a pleasant sight on bright days, but during storms with lightning and wind, the pounding of the surf was distressing.
At Christmas time we had a tall cypress tree that reached from the floor to the ceiling. It was always decorated with lighted candles about 1 ˝ inch in diameter by 3 inches long. These were placed at the very end of the boughs, placed with care so that nothing inflammable was above them. Each candle was in a tin holder. On Christmas Eve we, children, tied cookies, gingerbread men, animals, apples, oranges, paper chains, strings of pop corn and walnut shells covered with tinsel that had been saved all year after which father lit the candles. While they were lighted, we were not allowed near the tree. We sang songs while mother played the piano. Then Christmas morning, after breakfast, we opened our presents. Before Christmas 1894 mother took all five of us children to spend the holidays with her father, Allen Peter Bentley who lived at Compton, California. Father could not leave his work. I worried for fear Santa could not find us, but Christmas morning on mother's dresser in her room was one present for each of us. When we returned some days later, to our surprise and joy, there stood in the parlor, a lovely tree and presents. The only one of them that I can recall was sister's birthday present, which was always at the tip-top of the tree. It was a yellow metal kitten that would run across the floor when we pulled a string to wind it.
We moved from this house to Arizona by train. Left California 30th of May 1895; that is, mother and we five children, with no furniture (though mother had packed it before we left}."Allie" learned to speak his first two word sentence, "Ere depot, ere depot" as the train stopped at the station.
Mother had been studying the gospel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and had decided it was the truth. There were no branches in Southern California so we moved to Arizona to be among church members. Father belonged to the church before he met mother. We went to our Grandmother, Sally Session's home in Pima. Our life there was different that it had been. There was no large town or city near, no city improvements or conveniences. There were no paved streets, board side walks, no gas lights, no electricity. The Gila River flowed through the valley and it was a farming community with adjacent farms and orchards that were from 3 to 6 miles apart. In the town, there were two general merchandise stores, one rooming house, a livery stable, and a blacksmith shop. In the corner of one of the stores was the post office. There was a church and some member of the community owned a hall which was used for community entertainment, such as home theatricals, dancing, political rallies and for voting. They had schools but they were not graded according to present national standards.
Through that summer mother taught piano and oil painting. She received for payment farm, orchard produce and vouchers on the store as there was little money in circulation. By her industry, she had acquired a milk cow and hay for it, our winter supply of fruit and flour and also two young pigs.
Before father joined us in September, mother began to fear Allie would become ill, for he was grieving for his father. He would stand by the window watching when it was train time, until it would pass out of sight, then he would sadly turn away. We children tried to keep him interested in playing at train time so he would not notice, but it was to no avail. He became more listless each day. We were all overjoyed when father joined us in the early part of September. He brought the furniture, over 400 books and the piano. It was the first piano in the valley.
That winter father worked as a carpenter in Thatcher a town 6 miles away, receiving as payment a building lot in that town. Mother taught school in Pima. On the 7th of November 1895, my mother, my mother, my two brothers and I were baptized into the church. It was in the river and the weather and the water was very cold.
In February 1896, there was an epidemic of diphtheria in the town. Our sister, Olive, 6 years old and Alma (Allie) not quite 3 years old and I, contracted the disease. The town physician asked mother to let him use "anti-toxin" against the disease. She consented, though it was new and had not been used in the valley. On the morning of the 12th of February, the doctor received his first shipment of the serum and came immediately to our house with it, but the little sister had passed on in the night. Alma was critically ill, so the doctor used the anti-toxin on him. As he began to get a little better, he said, "I will kick that doctor, he hurt me." Father and mother had to hold him up, he was so weak, while the doctor held out his leg to be kicked by the small weak child.
Our sister's body had to be prepared for burial in our home for there were no morticians in the valley. Neighbors helped father make the small casket. The Relief Society sisters made the white clothes, for mother was so bowed with grief and had two sick children to care for. The funeral also was held in our home with only two Relief Society sisters and two elders present, because of fear of spreading the disease. The sisters sang appropriate songs, "Your dear little Rosebud has left you" and "Sometime we'll understand". The elders prayed and talked to us. After the casket was closed and placed in it's outer box, all was wrapped in a quilt and put into Uncle John Sessions springless wagon and taken through the bitter cold to the Thatcher cemetery six miles away, as we expected to make our permanent home tin Thatcher. Mother and Father sat in chairs beside the casket while Uncle John stood to drive the team of horses.
When spring came, we children played with the neighbor children in the side yard. Cat-ball was the favorite with the side of the house being "home base". Allie, almost 3 liked to be in the middle of the games. Our brother, Bentley, was afraid Allie would be hurt by the ball or the piece of board we used for the ball bat. If I tried to hold him, he would scream and kick, so Bentley sat him against the wall and told him to "stay there". Then stepped up to bat. While Bentley was watching the ball, the bat scrapped along the top of Allie's head. Bentley picked him up and carried him, limp and bleeding to mother and said, "I guess I've killed him." He was unconscious, but by the time mother had dressed the wound, he had rallied. This injury left a scar about three inches long where his hair never grew again.
We moved to Thatcher on the 30th of May 1896 in order to have our home near father's work. We lived in a rented house. Mother, Allie and I returned to Compton, California in July to the bedside of mother's father. He died the 30th of July 1896. His burial was supervised by the Masonic Lodge of that locality, as Grandfather was of high degree in that organization. We stayed a month after his death. It was a pleasant summer. Grandfather's shady lawn, the sweet perfume of the Oleander blossoms, the gold fish and the fountain, days at the beach and evenings at our Aunt Feens (mother's sister) in her Los Angeles apartment.
In Grandfather's office (he had been Justice of the Peace) was a steel safe with a door three inches thick. Allie liked to slam this door shut. He was 3 and did not always mind what mother told him. She tried to keep him from playing with the safe, but one day he caught his finger, as the door slammed. It was very painful and he screamed and screamed. Mother did what she could for him and insisted that he stop screaming so she could take him to the doctor to have it dressed. After ten minutes, he was able to control the screams, but was still sobbing as they walked down the street. He lost his fingernail, but there was no permanent damage to the finger.
This is a quotation from Alma's journal concerning grandfather's place at that time. "Among my earliest recollections are two pictures: In one, I see a small boy with his mother at the seashore on a pebble beach. The waves are rolling lazily in, while the boy, perhaps 2 ˝ years old (really he was 3) amused himself by throwing rocks into the water to see them splash, although the little splashes are insignificant compared to the natural action of the waves. The waves can go unnoticed and almost unremembered, but the insignificant self-created little splashes remain to this day. The other picture contained an old fashioned wall, having a walking beam to which a horse was hitched. The children could ride the beam behind the horse occasionally as a special privilege. The whole pump was supervised by a large boy. My mother has since told me that these experiences both were had in the summer of 1896. The old fashioned pump was located in the rear of my Grandfather's place in Compton, Calif."
We returned to Arizona in time for school. Mother took Allie out of dresses that summer. Father had a stack of green lumber in the yard, on; which Bentley, a cousin Irving, myself and Allie played. We climbed up and jumped down. We helped Allie up, then caught him when he jumped. Once he climbed before we were ready. He fell and his teeth cut his tongue clear through, half the width of the tongue. It healed nicely.
We moved to the other side of town, where we spent two winters, again renting. The summer of 1897, father, Ralph and Uncle Frank Cutter began working at Hyrum Clarson's sawmill on Mount Graham. Mother's health was poor. The heat in the Valley was severe, so father insisted that she pack her oil painting materials and with us three younger children go up there to "rest and paint". She took the paints and us and we joined them in the coolness of the mountains. Her health improved rapidly. She felt splendid when she returned for school. She unpacked her paints just once all summer long.
The shack we lived in that summer, I mean ate and slept in, for we did most of our living out of doors, was so small, only about 12 feet square. One room, grey weather beaten, unfinished pine board walls centered by a rough rock fireplace, where mother was soon doing the cooking. The two sidewalls had no openings. In the 4th wall there was one window each side of the door. Outside the door was a small porch, no roof, a bench to hold a bucket of water and wash basin. Inside there were two double size beds each side of the door with space enough between to put the table at mealtime. Some of us could sit on the bunks while eating. The water bench was brought in and someone sat on it at one end of the table and another bench which was used for preparing food was placed at mealtime at the other end of the table. Three rough board shelves near the fireplace were for the dishes and food.
How mother did work to keep enough food cooked to feed us all. There were 8 of us and the food was cooked at the fireplace and was of the plainest kind. Every day we had a large black iron pot of pink beans with salt pork, a slightly smaller one of Irish potatoes and one of stew. Bread would have been a problem, but one of the women in another cabin had a wood burning range stove. For the privilege of baking our seven loaves of bread every day, mother molded and baked this lady's bread and Bentley replenished the wood box. Of course this took two hours or more out of every day but Sunday. A few times during the summer, we had cake or pie for Sunday. We had to make and keep fresh our own yeast for bread making. Before we peeled the potatoes, we scrubbed them very clean with a stiff brush, saved the peelings, then after breakfast boiled them until tender, forced them through a sieve and used the pulp to make the yeast.
The work was much like pioneering for there were no conveniences. It was fun for us children. We gathered wood, carried water from the creek, washed dishes and did anything we could to help. We set the table for meals and each of us made a habit of secreting a nice heel from the bread loaf under our own plate.
After the evening meal, Ralph and Bentley unrolled their bedrolls on the floor between the bunks. Uncle Frank and Irving unrolled theirs in front of the fireplace. During the day the bed rolls were pushed under the bunks. One evening as we settled down to sleep, Irving insisted that there was a little bird in the wood stacked beside the fireplace. When he reached for it, there was a whirring rattle and his father jerked him back, then promptly killed the large rattlesnake. To dispose of it, he placed it on the coals of the fire to burn, adding a few sticks of wood. The resultant odor was so disagreeable that we all had to go outside and sit along the edge of the porch.
During the summer we children found flowers that we had never seen before and birds that seldom came to the valley. Mother and we children returned home to our rented house in time for school. Mother was in good health. When father and Ralph returned, they had enough lumber to build the first room of our home on our own property.
That fall we heard an Edison Grammaphone with ear phones. Three persons could listen at one time at a price of ten cents apiece. The instrument was hand cranked and played by cylinder recordings.
Mother taught school as assistant to the elementary school teacher that winter, and the following winter, she taught the beginner's grade. She took Allie with her, and he amused himself with letters and numbers without disturbing the other children.
In the spring of 1898, father had one room of our home built, and into it we put the piano, parlor furniture, the books and beds. Under and between some large mesquite bush near the house we set up the cook stove, kitchen cabinet and dining room table, thus making a cooking and eating place. We children enjoyed it much more than mother did. The lack of convenience only made it different and fun for us. We made mud pies and rose stick horses, tried to bat a ball and spin tops. There were duties to perform, dish washing, carrying wood from the chopping block to the box by the stove, carrying water from the well. About sundown, we carried water to mother's flowers.
By next winter, father had added to the house and we moved in, then Grandmother Sarah Sessions came to make her home with us. Mother insisted that we children all learn to play the piano. The older boys learned to play a little. I learned to play the piano fairly well, but Allie was the one who really had a musical talent. He played difficult music, composed and improvised. He sang in the church choir with mother. When a small boy, he played melodies on a harmonica while I accompanied him on the guitar. He was twelve years old when I married and left home.
One of Alma's best friends was a neighbor boy by the name of SpencerW. Kimball. They had many happy days together. Spencer took piano lessons from Alma's mother. In later years, Spencer became the President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and inquired from other family members about him.
Alma attended the church owned high school, called the Gila Academy. He played a cornet horn in a dance band (working his way through college) and was the center on the college basketball team. He met a young lady in his class named Roselind. Her mother had died and she came to live with her brother in Thatcher. He taught math and science in the Academy. They had classes together and became sweethearts. They were close friends of Spencer W. Kimball and his wife-to-be. They double dated together. Alma wrote music and she wrote poetry, so they collaborated to write school songs. She wrote a tribute to Alma when they were sweethearts. "He is honest, brave, true, gentle, generous, tender, kind, self sacrificing, constant, considerate, straight forward, wholly above board, heart of gold, and of general sterling worth". They graduated in 1912. He went on to the University of Arizona and obtained his degree as an electrical engineer. She and her sister Lilian attended the Tempe Normal School (teacher's college) so they could learn to be Grammer Schoolteachers. She graduated in 1914. Her Aunt Emma had paid for the girls schooling.
Roselind got a job in Pima, Arizona teaching the first grade for two years. She also taught a class of teenagers in Sunday School with Spencer W. Kimball. They alternated Sundays teaching the class. Roselind was on the stake Sunday School Board and often had to be gone to other wards, then Spencer taught the class.
Alma graduated from college in 1916 and shortly after he married Roselind Leila Wixon on 7th of June 1916 in the Salt Lake City temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
They lived in Thatcher at first where he taught math and science at the Academy. Rupert had left for California so he took his place until they got another teacher. They moved to Fort Grant, Arizona. He had been asked by his friend, Mr. Larson, to work for him in a reform school for teenagers. Alma was in charge of the water works, plumbing, electrical stuff and the laundry which he ran with the help of the teenagers. He was also in charge of showing motion pictures once a week. He organized a Christmas party and dressed up as Santa Clause. They were also the postmasters for a couple of years. While they lived at Fort Grant two children were born to them: Lilian Louise was born 18 May 1918 and Alma Grant was born 27 March 1920 at Thatcher, Arizona.
A change in politics expelled Alma from his job and the new governor wanted to give one of his friends the position. They moved to Los Angeles where his half brother Ralph Lucas and he were joint owners of several houses. Ralph was a carpenter who built a house in his spare time.
Alma followed his career as an electrical engineer. He was an executive for the Southern California Edison Power Company. He also was a self-taught geologist. He discovered and developed an asbestos mine near Globe, Arizona. During the depression years, he paid for, and his half brother, Ralph Lucas, built Ralph's home and 4 other homes on Downey Road in East Los Angeles where he supported his mother and father, and provided homes for his sister Louise Huntzinger and other relatives. Alma and his family lived in one of the houses. His daughter, Arleen Rose born 11 November 1927 and son Rupert Wixon born 10 February 1930 were born in Los Angeles, California. In 1937, Alma came down with leukemia. The doctor gave him two years to live, which was mostly in the hospital. He died on August 25, 1939. Alma was an active and faithful member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints all of his life. He had musical talents and was very inventive.
Lilian had to return from the Southern States mission after 7 months due to her father's death. Alma had provided a good insurance that paid Rosalind $80 a month. He gave Lilian $100 a month to attend Marinello Beauty College to learn to be a beautician, so she could be self supporting in a year's time. She was not able to get a good job in Los Angeles. In June 1941 she went to visit her Uncle Rupert and Aunt Selma for the summer. She got a job in the fall and stayed in the area. When Alden Robert Ayers, a convert, returned from his mission, they were married on 31 March 1942 in Salt Lake Temple.
Grant attended a radio trade school and had a part time job to pay his expenses. Later he joined the US army air corps as a radio operator. He was also a ham radio operator. He fought in WWII as a technical sergeant. He flew five months with General Ike Eisenhower in North Africa as part of his plane crew. In September 1943 the bomber Grant was on while bombing in Italy was shot up. The plane limped back to Sicily and belly landed without landing gear. Grant went into a M.A.S.H. Unit. He was terribly wounded and just barely lived through it. He had disabled his right arm and body was full of shrapnel.
That left the two younger children for Roselind to support. Alma had told Rupert before he died, to always take care of his mother. Rupert was only 9 years old but he took it to heart. When he was 12 he got a paper route and gave his money to his mother. This money paid for his clothes and his teeth braces. She also gave him back some spending money.
Several years later Arleen married Jack Larkin Finnigan on 23 February 1946 in Los Angeles. Grant married Marguerite Rita Rioux 12 June 1946 in Idaho Falls temple, Idaho. They had 3 children: Dennis Grant born 19 April 1947 in Bell, Ca., Steven Richard born 8 May 1950 in Los Angeles, Ca., and Shirley Jean born 9 May 1953 in Oxnard, Ca. He died 29 October 1991. Arlene had two sons by a second marriage to Bob Bogue in the Salt Lake Tempe. They were Scott and Keith Bogue.
A year after Lilian's husband, Alden, was killed in a logging accident at Forks of the Salmon August 3, 1949, Roselind went at her daughter's invitation to live with her for ten years. Lilian had six children. The youngest died in an accident August 2, 1951. Roselind sold her property in Los Angeles and paid for Rupert to go on a mission to the Central States. He married Irene Pompa when he returned from his mission on 6 June 1955 in the Salt Lake City Temple.
Roselind lived alone after the 10 years but needed help. Lilian dropped everything to be with her. She was in several nursing homes and when was well enough, Lilian moved her to Sacramento, to be near her. She died of congestive heart failure. She was almost 92 years old and was nearly deaf and blind and had no desire to live longer. She passed away January 11, 1984, on her mother's birthday.