Grandpa Bangerter

My computer crashed a few months ago and I lost a few of my favorite pictures of Grandpa, so here are some other great ones. However, I wish I had some from when he was younger because he was gorgeous! I can totally see why Grandma and Mildred were smitten; they had very good taste.

My greatest memory of Grandpa from when I was little is how big and strong he was. I remember being nervous when he would roughhouse with the "big boys" on the family room floor when we came to visit. I was a little bit nervous about that, but always wanting to join in and never had the guts. I was totally in awe that Grandpa was able to take so many people at one time!

I used to love going to Alpine for Christmas when we lived in San Diego. To this day when I smell or taste snow (yes, I still eat snow) for the first time each year I'm transported back to the farm as a five year old. It all sparkled so much and seemed so magic. We'd venture out into the wonderland and Grandpa would hook a sled up to one of the ponies and pull the cousins around the field.

Once when I was about six I let the goats out. In an attempt to correct the situation I grabbed a bucket of grain to make a trail back to their pen. One bucket turned to two, and a grain silo later I had a trail about 50 feet long, six inches wide and three inches deep for the goats to follow. Those poor goats filled up rather quickly and then didn’t want to eat the rest of the grain leading to their home. Finally I resorted to asking Grandpa for help, and he was not happy. After a couple minutes frustration over all the grain he’d lost Grandpa helped me catch the goats and clean up as much of the grain as possible. I knew I was in trouble, but I appreciated Grandpa’s love, help, and forgiveness, and I never over-used grain again.

I always think of Grandpa at the Memorial Day or Labor Day breakfasts, sitting by the fire, making sure that everything was cooked to his liking. It's this same image that I remember from Black's Fork. I also loved when we'd all pile into the yellow truck (you could fit a million people in that thing!) and head up the mountain to get water. I was never nervous as long as Grandpa or my dad were driving. I loved playing at the top, but I remember Grandpa would never let us go above the water! This was a criminal offense.

Having Grandpa perform my sealing was a choice experience, and while I don’t remember as much of it as I would like, I’m grateful that I got to hear him do it over and over again. “It’s not a ceremony, it’s an ordinance,” I remember him saying, and “here’s the title to your new property,” as he handed over the certificate. But I will always remember his smile. Grandpa had a smile that he gave when it was the right time for a smile, and then he had a smile that lit up his face and my soul. It shown through his eyes and radiated right to my heart. Grandpa would smile that smile when he was with his family or in the temple or riding a horse or singing camp songs or when Grandma walked by.

A couple years ago Grandpa was going to drive the tractor to my parent’s home and Grandma and Peggy were supposed to pick him up. They got to the house and waited a bit for Grandpa, but he never showed up. We finally began to panic a bit and I jumped in a car and started looking for him and Peggy and Grandma did the same, and even called the police for help. After about half an hour of driving I decided to check the farmhouse. I walked in to find Grandpa sitting on a bar stool cooking breakfast. When I inquired as to why he didn’t drive the tractor over he said he’d changed his mind. I told him that Grandma was worried sick and she had even called the police. He replied that she always gets upset over little things and that he just wanted to have some breakfast. He certainly always had a mind of his own!

At least two of my children will remember Grandpa and the other two have pictures with him. I’m grateful for the time he spent with my children singing songs or picking raspberries or talking about horses or planes. It was obvious to me that he loved his posterity and his life and I count myself blessed to be his granddaughter.

One of the things I love most about Grandpa is that while he accomplished so much in his life and associated with so many amazing people, he was never egocentric or attention seeking. He had a quite presence that would immediately draw people’s attention. They could feel the Spirit was so strong with him and there was a natural respect for that.

When I was in Grandpa’s hospital room and President Monson came to visit I was impressed with the Spirit that attended the prophet, especially as he laid his hands on Grandpa’s head and gave him a blessing, However, the prophet wasn’t needed for the Spirit to be felt in that room. It was there before he arrived and it remained after he left because Grandpa was a humble, sincere, honest man of God who always had the Holy Ghost as his constant companion.

As a credit to Grandpa, when Grandma knew that the chances of him coming home to her again were slim, she told Gerilynn and me that she just wished that she could do it over again because, “It was so much fun.” Grandpa was fun, Grandma is fun, and any time with them would be worth repeating, just for the fun of it.