Remembering Myrtle Greer Brown

Myrtle Greer 1886-1965

by her sister Florence Leoma Greer Crosby

Myrtle was the first child born to John Harris and Orpha Nicoll Greer. She was born 18 February 1886 in Concho, Arizona. Her brother John and sister Sabina were close in age and her sister Lillian was born when Myrtle was five, so the “young’uns” had built-in playmates to grow up with. Myrtle learned to play the mandolin, to paint, and to do many kinds of handwork. She attended school in Concho and in St. Johns. 

 

It was in St. Johns that she met Benjamin Brown. Ben and Myrtle kept company when Ben took a missionary preparation class at the LDS Academy in St. Johns in 1904. Ben served a mission in Liverpool, England, and on his way home from England he stopped at the Greer Ranch to visit her. After Ben proposed and Myrtle accepted, Loe Burgess drove a team and wagon to take them and Jay Burgess & his fiancee, Jessie Wiltbank, to Holbrook. At the Holbrook train station, the two couples entrained for Salt Lake City and were married in the Salt Lake Temple 9 October 1908.  

After their marriage they lived in Eagar until 1920. Ben was elected treasurer of Apache County and the family moved to St. Johns with their five children. Their last child, Benjamin, was born in St. Johns in 1924.

In 1923, Ben discovered he had diabetes. It became worse and in 1933 he was admitted to a Los Angeles hospital for several weeks to get it stabilized. He died 14 July 1935 in St. Johns. Myrtle raised the family in her little home in St. Johns just west of the elementary school. While visiting her sister Bina in Salt Lake City in March of 1965, Myrtle fell ill and told the doctor she had a gallstone that hadn't passed. She was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday 24 March and died 45 minutes later.

My Mother, Myrtle Greer Brown

by her son Errol Brown

Myrtle was the oldest child of John Harris and Orpha Nicoll Greer and was born in 1886. A finer cook you could not find; she could take almost anything prepare a meal you would enjoy. It would satisfy your finest taste, any time of the day or evening, made even more enjoyable by her talking and laughing. She was always well-informed and up on current events, and nearly always positive.

She baked thousands of loaves of bread by hand in a wood-fired cook stove--some to be sold, others given away, but always plenty in that old breadbox for our family. Her bread tasted as good (or better!) than cake. Hot or cold, it would melt in your mouth. The last years of her life, her hands bothered her and ached quite often from the many years of mixing dough by hand. It’s a wonder to me as I think of it.

She did several kinds of fancy needlework—tatting, embroidery, etc. When she sat down, she usually had a pile of old clothing to tear apart, sew in strips, and braid for rugs. I am sure they numbered in the hundreds. I have seen her stand on her feet by the hour washing clothes the “old way.” She often made her own soap out of grease she’d saved—that job alone took hours over a hot tub outdoors.

She was a master at making just about any kind of wearing apparel with her foot-operated Singer sewing machine. I often sat and watched her as she slid the cloth and thread around to end up with something worthwhile and wearable. Before we kids got into a quarrel and broke her mandolin, she used to sit and play. She was a member of a musical group at one time. She did artwork and painting, which she enjoyed right up to her last days.

We had a hand-operated phonograph and several classical records that she enjoyed. In her later years, I would often drop in to visit her. She had a modern phonograph by then with a few classical records that she called “real music.” She had fine taste in everything.

In her early days (before I knew her), she was known as a fine rider—always sidesaddle. I spent quite a lot of time with Uncle Tom at his ranch. He told me she could best most of her brothers in races. She often went with her father and brothers to help with the cattle and horses. She told me that after she and Dad were married, she helped him with the cows at Coyote Homestead (east of Eagar).

Mother was an excellent housekeeper—a trait she passed on to her daughters. She also helped them to become fine cooks. How she missed the fine home we had in Eagar! None of the homes we rented or the one on Water Street in St. Johns could compare. She was always painting, wallpapering, or just about anything else she had to do to improve them. Most had wooden floors that she kept in good condition with linseed oil. She was constantly cleaning and working.

My mother started cooking in restaurants at age sixteen. She cooked at the Indian School in Leupp, a hotel in Cameron, and at the Holbrook Hospital. For Christmas each year, she made eight or ten delicious fruitcakes. I watched her when she wrapped them and where she put them away. Without her knowing, I occasionally slipped a slice or two. I remember other delicious cakes, puddings, pineapple upside-down cakes, four or five-layered enchiladas, tamales, homemade ice cream, hot biscuits, and Dad’s home-cured hams and bacon.

When I was staying in Los Angeles with Carl and Louise Hancock, my mother and I went to some stage plays starring Will Rogers and Al Jolsen. The stages were large enough to have cars and horses right on the platform!

Mother always wanted an indoor bathroom and she never gave up on this goal. Finally, just before she sold the home on Water Street, she managed to install one by doing a little bit at a time. She kept at it until she had her long, sought-after bathroom. I have receipts showing small amounts up to $15 to different people for wiring, carpentry, plumbing, etc. She did the painting and the finish work on her own. She seldom gave up when she wanted something.

The week before she passed away, she visited with us for a few days in Kanab. One morning, she was combing her hair. It had a reddish tint and she wore it long in a bob. She asked me if I thought her hair was too red. She said she had had the beauty shop do it, though she usually took care of this herself. Even at age 79 she managed to keep the gray out of her long, beautiful hair. I told her I wished I had her spunk and grit, and that her hair was just fine and suited her to a “t.” It did, even if it was a bit on the reddish side.