I am proud to be a Harris and it is a pleasure for me to come here and talk about my grandmother, Nancy Elizabeth Harris Gibbons. She was not only one of my favorite people; she was, for all practical purposes, the only mother I ever knew. My own mother having been taken from this life when I was only eight years old, I don't remember too much about her.
Grandma Gibbons was born in Washington, Washington County, Utah, to John Smith Harris and Nancy Aldridge Harris. After living in the Leeds-Harrisburg area for a while, the family moved to Glendale where old Grandpa John Harris became a somewhat wealthy man.
It was here that Grandma met and married a young man, Andrew V. Gibbons. And it was here that her only two children were born. This would be my own mother, Naomi Gibbons Wilhelm, and LeVon Thurber's father, Judge Andrew S. Gibbons.
The Harrises, five brothers and three sisters, were a close-knit and loving family. But somehow Uncle Bill, or Will as Grandma always called him, seemed to be a little extra special. Fortunately for them both, they were privileged to live as close neighbors here in St. Johns for the greater part of their lives.
Along with the rest, Grandma was a very gifted person and had interests in many fields. An avid reader on many subjects, she was a well educated person by the standards of the time. And today we can see many of her gifts and talents as they crop up in individual members of her posterity.
It is almost impossible to give even a brief account of Grandma's life without bringing Grandpa into the picture. Not only because they were a lifelong team, but on account of them being a high-strung pair, they had a very unusual relationship.
Grandma told of an incident on their way from Utah. She had become worried about the absence of fresh milk in the children's diet. They were growing sickly and peevish. As Grandma was not one to mince words, she jumped on Grandpa and demanded that he furnish the milk. He, in turn, countered that not among his own stock nor those of the other pioneers was there one cow that was giving milk.
Well, Grandma didn't like his attitude and so demanded that he get on the ball and get busy. “I didn't ask for an alibi. I asked for some milk. Now as the family provider, I expect you to furnish it.”
They were hardly on speaking terms the rest of the evening, but next morning Grandpa was up early. Getting a quart cup from the chuckbox, he disappeared into the circle of wagons. In a matter of minutes he was back with a quart of fresh warm milk. Well, this stopped the little kids from crying, and Grandma had won the battle.
Each morning it was the same story; Grandpa would get the cup and come back with a fresh quart of milk. And the children were doing just fine.
Of course, this piqued Grandma's curiosity no end, but she had won the skirmish and decided it best to let him think that she knew from the beginning all about his source of milk.
However, there came a time when she could stand it no longer.
But she was too proud to ask. So after he left one morning, she shadowed him. She was harldy prepared for what she saw. There stood Grandpa alongside the old mare, merrily milking away into the quart cup.
Her first inclination was to jump all over him for pulling such a disgusting trick on his own children. But on second thought she began to realize what might have happened to the kids without that milk. And so it was that Grandpa never realized that his good wife had discovered the source of his supply.
Grandma always felt that our own natural mother had received a premonition that she would be taken from this life at an early aged and had, therefore, wrung a promise from Grandma to ride herd on us boys until such time as we were all settled down and matured enough to escape the pitfalls of this world. With a commitment like this, it is plain to see that Grandma had her work cut out for her right from the start.
Though we always considered Grandma's place as home, we were actually raised on a cattle ranch by my dad, and visits with Grandma were just a some-time thing. But still she made her home our home and was such a wonderful person that we would return as often as possible.
But when the time came that we began working farther out in the logwoods and cow camps, she redoubled her efforts to honor her commitment. On those occasions when we did come back, she would gather us around, and as we drank our coffee she would read to us from the good books. And so it was that the small thread of religion that was instilled in us when we were boys was never quite broken.
Grandma's life was a paradox—sometimes a tragedy and sometimes a thing of joy. But she took it all in her stride. She lost her two children in the prime of their lives. Her husband was a helpless invalid for the last nine years of his life. She endured the frustration of polygamy. And to honor her commitment to her daughter, she raised our youngest brother, Harvey, from a baby to manhood. Well into her nineties and with a realization that her work was done, this wonderful lady slipped quietly from this life.
Again, I am proud that I am a Harris and I have enjoyed talking here about Grandma. I think Grandma would like me to finish by relating what I consider to be her ultimate triumph in her lifetime battle of wits with Grandpa.
When Granddad left for the field one morning he told Grandma to have a hot meal ready for him when he returned because he wanted to go visit his other wife who lived in a little town several miles away. Grandma was not too thrilled about the idea, so instead of cooking dinner, she was sitting in the corner reading a book when he got home from work.
When Granddad got mad, he was like a raging lion. And on this occasion he was certainly mad. Grabbing her book, he stuffed it in the stove. Then in a domineering way, he ordered her to get with it and hustle up some grub.
To his great satisfaction Grandma went meekly about carrying out his order. While he was sitting at the table enjoying his meal and silently congratulating himself on his victory, she was out in the yard with a handsaw cutting the tongue off his new wagon.Source: Given by Roy Wilhelm at the Harris Family Reunion, July 18, 1987
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