Dale L. Jewkes, age 69, died December 28, 1992 while serving a full time mission with his wife in the Philippines for the LDS Church.
He was born March 24, 1923 in Orangeville, Utah to G. Lee and Jenny Curtis Jewkes. He married Lucile Thornton May 14, 1945 in the Salt Lake LDS Temple. He served as a pilot in the European Theater of War in World War II. He was a devoted husband, father and grandfather and loved to support his family in all their activities. Dale was a dedicated church worker. He was a bishop, served on Temple Square for 10 years, a counselor in the stake mission presidency and served a full time mission in the Singapore Mission.
Survivors: wife, Lucile; sons and daughter, Wade G. and wife, Connie; Gregory W. and wife, Fredwyn, all Sandy; Gary D. and wife, Becky, Dunwoody, Georgia; Kendell J. and wife, Lorri, Murray; Clinton M. and wife, Kathy, Plain City, Utah; James P. and wife, Caralee, South Jordan; John K. and wife, Heather, Centerville; Jana Null and husband, Bryon, Fort Worth, Texas; 37 grandchildren; brothers and sisters, Jenalee Butterfield, Riverton; M. Curtis, West Jordan; Richard G., Price; S. Grant, Pleasant Grove; Anne Lockhart, Huntington Beach, California.
Funeral services will be held Friday, Jan. 8, 1993, 12 Noon in the Union 12th LDS Ward Chapel, 7784 So. Highland Dr. Friends may call at Goff Mortuary, 8090 So. State, Midvale, Thurs. 6-8 p.m. and Fri. at the church, 10:30-11:30 a.m.
Interment, Mountain View Memorial Estates. In lieu of flowers, the family requests contributions to the LDS Church Missionary Program.
Salt Lake Tribune, The (UT)
Date: January 5, 1993
January 30, 2001
I (the Sunflower Lady) received permission to add the following letter that I received from one of Dale's sons who is on a mission in England with his wife. He told about a beautiful experience that he had with his father many years ago. I think it should be preserved for all his family to read so I will include it on this memorial.
The first part of the letter about a poor family is not included. I will just include the part about Dale.
"Dear Family and Friends,
The Parable of the Boneyard
When I was walking along the Poole harbor one morning, thinking about the Parable of the Vineyard, or the tame and wild olive tree I had just read about…..compared to the work we were doing in this mission. I noticed some parallels to this family we are teaching, and an experience from my youth about the "Boneyard" in the back of my father's Ford dealership in Richfield, Utah, back in the early 1960's. A boneyard is the lot behind a dealership where old cars are stored which are too old to sell, or in great disrepair, or have been wrecked. They begin to heap up in piles as mechanics looking for spare parts, begin to strip them over the years. My Father, the owner, had been a Bishop for some years then, and he had recently been assigned by the Stake President to be the transient Bishop for the Stake. That meant that when people were passing thru and needed help…they were referred to him and the resources of the church could be brought to bear. One Saturday when I was probably about 14 and helping around the place washing cars….a family came in….towed by our wrecker. They had an old automobile with 5 or 6 children piled in the backseat with dirty faces pressed against the dirty windows. They were well behaved as the father explained to my father that they had left Illinois or Indiana, or somewhere "out there", and had started out for California. We all realized that they might as well of had a sign on the back of their car saying, "California or Bust." We were well acquainted with Route 66 and the steady stream of people who had migrated west to California…."or bust". Well….this family crossing the desert had strayed farther north to route 55 or whatever they called the route across Utah. And…this one was bust. His engine had thrown a rod or "blew up" as we called it. He explained that he had no money or food and his car was broke down and he needed help. I remember my father told them to wait in the car and he told me to come and we'd see if we could help them. I was wide eyed, impressionable, and curious what he would do. He grabbed a mechanic and we all walked out to the boneyard, behind the dealership, and surveyed the lot for something that might help. They picked out an old Plymouth of a style no longer popular, (having no fins) and the mechanic told him the engine was fine. Of course it wouldn't start and didn't run…and had flat tires and the seats were torn and a window was broken. Dad asked me to get a tire iron, and the mechanic handed me the right wrench and told me how to take a starter and a generator off of another car. I got a couple of wheels off of one car, and had to take the tires from another and "graft them together". Under dad's direction, I helped get the starter off and the generator, and a fan belt and we replaced them with parts from another. I remember we pushed it inside and put it on the lube rack and changed the oil and lubed it. We took a battery from another wreck and we gassed it up and the moment of truth arrived. The mechanic joined us once more and after several tries….some fiddling with the carburetor and tinkering with the wiring….it coughed and started. The day was spent. I lovingly washed it, and then taped the torn slits in the seats and taped cardboard in the broken window. We threw a spare and a jack in the trunk and took it out front and presented it to the family. Dad had sent them, with some money, to the restaurant around the corner for a meal, and somehow, some bags of groceries had appeared. They were ecstatic. We helped them transfer all their belongings to the "new" car and dad dutifully filled out the paperwork on their "trade-in." With tears of gratitude in their eyes, a promise to send payment…and a fresh map….they rode off into the sunset on highway 89…headed for California.
Now all the parts don't match the Parable of the Vineyard or the tame and wild olive tree. But the master of the boneyard, very much, represented the Lord to me that day. I, along with the mechanic, was his servant….digging and dunging about….obediently cutting out branches, and grafting in new ones….to remake that car….some from the nethermost parts of the boneyard. The "children" of Israel became very real for me that day. Sometimes, here in England, it seems that we are working on the scrapheap of humanity. Some tossed out and piled up, and forgotten by their own ward's, by society, and even by their families,….having no one to "salvage" them. We find ourselves digging and dunging about as we lift up their arms….grafting in teachings which change lives….ordinances which save….and hope for the future…all in an effort to "remake that life"….for some sweet young family from the "boneyard".
Love, Elder and Sister Jewkes
He was born March 24, 1923 in Orangeville, Utah to G. Lee and Jenny Curtis Jewkes. He married Lucile Thornton May 14, 1945 in the Salt Lake LDS Temple. He served as a pilot in the European Theater of War in World War II. He was a devoted husband, father and grandfather and loved to support his family in all their activities. Dale was a dedicated church worker. He was a bishop, served on Temple Square for 10 years, a counselor in the stake mission presidency and served a full time mission in the Singapore Mission.
Survivors: wife, Lucile; sons and daughter, Wade G. and wife, Connie; Gregory W. and wife, Fredwyn, all Sandy; Gary D. and wife, Becky, Dunwoody, Georgia; Kendell J. and wife, Lorri, Murray; Clinton M. and wife, Kathy, Plain City, Utah; James P. and wife, Caralee, South Jordan; John K. and wife, Heather, Centerville; Jana Null and husband, Bryon, Fort Worth, Texas; 37 grandchildren; brothers and sisters, Jenalee Butterfield, Riverton; M. Curtis, West Jordan; Richard G., Price; S. Grant, Pleasant Grove; Anne Lockhart, Huntington Beach, California.
Funeral services will be held Friday, Jan. 8, 1993, 12 Noon in the Union 12th LDS Ward Chapel, 7784 So. Highland Dr. Friends may call at Goff Mortuary, 8090 So. State, Midvale, Thurs. 6-8 p.m. and Fri. at the church, 10:30-11:30 a.m.
Interment, Mountain View Memorial Estates. In lieu of flowers, the family requests contributions to the LDS Church Missionary Program.
Salt Lake Tribune, The (UT)
Date: January 5, 1993
January 30, 2001
I (the Sunflower Lady) received permission to add the following letter that I received from one of Dale's sons who is on a mission in England with his wife. He told about a beautiful experience that he had with his father many years ago. I think it should be preserved for all his family to read so I will include it on this memorial.
The first part of the letter about a poor family is not included. I will just include the part about Dale.
"Dear Family and Friends,
The Parable of the Boneyard
When I was walking along the Poole harbor one morning, thinking about the Parable of the Vineyard, or the tame and wild olive tree I had just read about…..compared to the work we were doing in this mission. I noticed some parallels to this family we are teaching, and an experience from my youth about the "Boneyard" in the back of my father's Ford dealership in Richfield, Utah, back in the early 1960's. A boneyard is the lot behind a dealership where old cars are stored which are too old to sell, or in great disrepair, or have been wrecked. They begin to heap up in piles as mechanics looking for spare parts, begin to strip them over the years. My Father, the owner, had been a Bishop for some years then, and he had recently been assigned by the Stake President to be the transient Bishop for the Stake. That meant that when people were passing thru and needed help…they were referred to him and the resources of the church could be brought to bear. One Saturday when I was probably about 14 and helping around the place washing cars….a family came in….towed by our wrecker. They had an old automobile with 5 or 6 children piled in the backseat with dirty faces pressed against the dirty windows. They were well behaved as the father explained to my father that they had left Illinois or Indiana, or somewhere "out there", and had started out for California. We all realized that they might as well of had a sign on the back of their car saying, "California or Bust." We were well acquainted with Route 66 and the steady stream of people who had migrated west to California…."or bust". Well….this family crossing the desert had strayed farther north to route 55 or whatever they called the route across Utah. And…this one was bust. His engine had thrown a rod or "blew up" as we called it. He explained that he had no money or food and his car was broke down and he needed help. I remember my father told them to wait in the car and he told me to come and we'd see if we could help them. I was wide eyed, impressionable, and curious what he would do. He grabbed a mechanic and we all walked out to the boneyard, behind the dealership, and surveyed the lot for something that might help. They picked out an old Plymouth of a style no longer popular, (having no fins) and the mechanic told him the engine was fine. Of course it wouldn't start and didn't run…and had flat tires and the seats were torn and a window was broken. Dad asked me to get a tire iron, and the mechanic handed me the right wrench and told me how to take a starter and a generator off of another car. I got a couple of wheels off of one car, and had to take the tires from another and "graft them together". Under dad's direction, I helped get the starter off and the generator, and a fan belt and we replaced them with parts from another. I remember we pushed it inside and put it on the lube rack and changed the oil and lubed it. We took a battery from another wreck and we gassed it up and the moment of truth arrived. The mechanic joined us once more and after several tries….some fiddling with the carburetor and tinkering with the wiring….it coughed and started. The day was spent. I lovingly washed it, and then taped the torn slits in the seats and taped cardboard in the broken window. We threw a spare and a jack in the trunk and took it out front and presented it to the family. Dad had sent them, with some money, to the restaurant around the corner for a meal, and somehow, some bags of groceries had appeared. They were ecstatic. We helped them transfer all their belongings to the "new" car and dad dutifully filled out the paperwork on their "trade-in." With tears of gratitude in their eyes, a promise to send payment…and a fresh map….they rode off into the sunset on highway 89…headed for California.
Now all the parts don't match the Parable of the Vineyard or the tame and wild olive tree. But the master of the boneyard, very much, represented the Lord to me that day. I, along with the mechanic, was his servant….digging and dunging about….obediently cutting out branches, and grafting in new ones….to remake that car….some from the nethermost parts of the boneyard. The "children" of Israel became very real for me that day. Sometimes, here in England, it seems that we are working on the scrapheap of humanity. Some tossed out and piled up, and forgotten by their own ward's, by society, and even by their families,….having no one to "salvage" them. We find ourselves digging and dunging about as we lift up their arms….grafting in teachings which change lives….ordinances which save….and hope for the future…all in an effort to "remake that life"….for some sweet young family from the "boneyard".
Love, Elder and Sister Jewkes
Dale L. Jewkes, age 69, died December 28, 1992 while serving a full time mission with his wife in the Philippines for the LDS Church.
He was born March 24, 1923 in Orangeville, Utah to G. Lee and Jenny Curtis Jewkes. He married Lucile Thornton May 14, 1945 in the Salt Lake LDS Temple. He served as a pilot in the European Theater of War in World War II. He was a devoted husband, father and grandfather and loved to support his family in all their activities. Dale was a dedicated church worker. He was a bishop, served on Temple Square for 10 years, a counselor in the stake mission presidency and served a full time mission in the Singapore Mission.
Survivors: wife, Lucile; sons and daughter, Wade G. and wife, Connie; Gregory W. and wife, Fredwyn, all Sandy; Gary D. and wife, Becky, Dunwoody, Georgia; Kendell J. and wife, Lorri, Murray; Clinton M. and wife, Kathy, Plain City, Utah; James P. and wife, Caralee, South Jordan; John K. and wife, Heather, Centerville; Jana Null and husband, Bryon, Fort Worth, Texas; 37 grandchildren; brothers and sisters, Jenalee Butterfield, Riverton; M. Curtis, West Jordan; Richard G., Price; S. Grant, Pleasant Grove; Anne Lockhart, Huntington Beach, California.
Funeral services will be held Friday, Jan. 8, 1993, 12 Noon in the Union 12th LDS Ward Chapel, 7784 So. Highland Dr. Friends may call at Goff Mortuary, 8090 So. State, Midvale, Thurs. 6-8 p.m. and Fri. at the church, 10:30-11:30 a.m.
Interment, Mountain View Memorial Estates. In lieu of flowers, the family requests contributions to the LDS Church Missionary Program.
Salt Lake Tribune, The (UT)
Date: January 5, 1993
January 30, 2001
I (the Sunflower Lady) received permission to add the following letter that I received from one of Dale's sons who is on a mission in England with his wife. He told about a beautiful experience that he had with his father many years ago. I think it should be preserved for all his family to read so I will include it on this memorial.
The first part of the letter about a poor family is not included. I will just include the part about Dale.
"Dear Family and Friends,
The Parable of the Boneyard
When I was walking along the Poole harbor one morning, thinking about the Parable of the Vineyard, or the tame and wild olive tree I had just read about…..compared to the work we were doing in this mission. I noticed some parallels to this family we are teaching, and an experience from my youth about the "Boneyard" in the back of my father's Ford dealership in Richfield, Utah, back in the early 1960's. A boneyard is the lot behind a dealership where old cars are stored which are too old to sell, or in great disrepair, or have been wrecked. They begin to heap up in piles as mechanics looking for spare parts, begin to strip them over the years. My Father, the owner, had been a Bishop for some years then, and he had recently been assigned by the Stake President to be the transient Bishop for the Stake. That meant that when people were passing thru and needed help…they were referred to him and the resources of the church could be brought to bear. One Saturday when I was probably about 14 and helping around the place washing cars….a family came in….towed by our wrecker. They had an old automobile with 5 or 6 children piled in the backseat with dirty faces pressed against the dirty windows. They were well behaved as the father explained to my father that they had left Illinois or Indiana, or somewhere "out there", and had started out for California. We all realized that they might as well of had a sign on the back of their car saying, "California or Bust." We were well acquainted with Route 66 and the steady stream of people who had migrated west to California…."or bust". Well….this family crossing the desert had strayed farther north to route 55 or whatever they called the route across Utah. And…this one was bust. His engine had thrown a rod or "blew up" as we called it. He explained that he had no money or food and his car was broke down and he needed help. I remember my father told them to wait in the car and he told me to come and we'd see if we could help them. I was wide eyed, impressionable, and curious what he would do. He grabbed a mechanic and we all walked out to the boneyard, behind the dealership, and surveyed the lot for something that might help. They picked out an old Plymouth of a style no longer popular, (having no fins) and the mechanic told him the engine was fine. Of course it wouldn't start and didn't run…and had flat tires and the seats were torn and a window was broken. Dad asked me to get a tire iron, and the mechanic handed me the right wrench and told me how to take a starter and a generator off of another car. I got a couple of wheels off of one car, and had to take the tires from another and "graft them together". Under dad's direction, I helped get the starter off and the generator, and a fan belt and we replaced them with parts from another. I remember we pushed it inside and put it on the lube rack and changed the oil and lubed it. We took a battery from another wreck and we gassed it up and the moment of truth arrived. The mechanic joined us once more and after several tries….some fiddling with the carburetor and tinkering with the wiring….it coughed and started. The day was spent. I lovingly washed it, and then taped the torn slits in the seats and taped cardboard in the broken window. We threw a spare and a jack in the trunk and took it out front and presented it to the family. Dad had sent them, with some money, to the restaurant around the corner for a meal, and somehow, some bags of groceries had appeared. They were ecstatic. We helped them transfer all their belongings to the "new" car and dad dutifully filled out the paperwork on their "trade-in." With tears of gratitude in their eyes, a promise to send payment…and a fresh map….they rode off into the sunset on highway 89…headed for California.
Now all the parts don't match the Parable of the Vineyard or the tame and wild olive tree. But the master of the boneyard, very much, represented the Lord to me that day. I, along with the mechanic, was his servant….digging and dunging about….obediently cutting out branches, and grafting in new ones….to remake that car….some from the nethermost parts of the boneyard. The "children" of Israel became very real for me that day. Sometimes, here in England, it seems that we are working on the scrapheap of humanity. Some tossed out and piled up, and forgotten by their own ward's, by society, and even by their families,….having no one to "salvage" them. We find ourselves digging and dunging about as we lift up their arms….grafting in teachings which change lives….ordinances which save….and hope for the future…all in an effort to "remake that life"….for some sweet young family from the "boneyard".
Love, Elder and Sister Jewkes
He was born March 24, 1923 in Orangeville, Utah to G. Lee and Jenny Curtis Jewkes. He married Lucile Thornton May 14, 1945 in the Salt Lake LDS Temple. He served as a pilot in the European Theater of War in World War II. He was a devoted husband, father and grandfather and loved to support his family in all their activities. Dale was a dedicated church worker. He was a bishop, served on Temple Square for 10 years, a counselor in the stake mission presidency and served a full time mission in the Singapore Mission.
Survivors: wife, Lucile; sons and daughter, Wade G. and wife, Connie; Gregory W. and wife, Fredwyn, all Sandy; Gary D. and wife, Becky, Dunwoody, Georgia; Kendell J. and wife, Lorri, Murray; Clinton M. and wife, Kathy, Plain City, Utah; James P. and wife, Caralee, South Jordan; John K. and wife, Heather, Centerville; Jana Null and husband, Bryon, Fort Worth, Texas; 37 grandchildren; brothers and sisters, Jenalee Butterfield, Riverton; M. Curtis, West Jordan; Richard G., Price; S. Grant, Pleasant Grove; Anne Lockhart, Huntington Beach, California.
Funeral services will be held Friday, Jan. 8, 1993, 12 Noon in the Union 12th LDS Ward Chapel, 7784 So. Highland Dr. Friends may call at Goff Mortuary, 8090 So. State, Midvale, Thurs. 6-8 p.m. and Fri. at the church, 10:30-11:30 a.m.
Interment, Mountain View Memorial Estates. In lieu of flowers, the family requests contributions to the LDS Church Missionary Program.
Salt Lake Tribune, The (UT)
Date: January 5, 1993
January 30, 2001
I (the Sunflower Lady) received permission to add the following letter that I received from one of Dale's sons who is on a mission in England with his wife. He told about a beautiful experience that he had with his father many years ago. I think it should be preserved for all his family to read so I will include it on this memorial.
The first part of the letter about a poor family is not included. I will just include the part about Dale.
"Dear Family and Friends,
The Parable of the Boneyard
When I was walking along the Poole harbor one morning, thinking about the Parable of the Vineyard, or the tame and wild olive tree I had just read about…..compared to the work we were doing in this mission. I noticed some parallels to this family we are teaching, and an experience from my youth about the "Boneyard" in the back of my father's Ford dealership in Richfield, Utah, back in the early 1960's. A boneyard is the lot behind a dealership where old cars are stored which are too old to sell, or in great disrepair, or have been wrecked. They begin to heap up in piles as mechanics looking for spare parts, begin to strip them over the years. My Father, the owner, had been a Bishop for some years then, and he had recently been assigned by the Stake President to be the transient Bishop for the Stake. That meant that when people were passing thru and needed help…they were referred to him and the resources of the church could be brought to bear. One Saturday when I was probably about 14 and helping around the place washing cars….a family came in….towed by our wrecker. They had an old automobile with 5 or 6 children piled in the backseat with dirty faces pressed against the dirty windows. They were well behaved as the father explained to my father that they had left Illinois or Indiana, or somewhere "out there", and had started out for California. We all realized that they might as well of had a sign on the back of their car saying, "California or Bust." We were well acquainted with Route 66 and the steady stream of people who had migrated west to California…."or bust". Well….this family crossing the desert had strayed farther north to route 55 or whatever they called the route across Utah. And…this one was bust. His engine had thrown a rod or "blew up" as we called it. He explained that he had no money or food and his car was broke down and he needed help. I remember my father told them to wait in the car and he told me to come and we'd see if we could help them. I was wide eyed, impressionable, and curious what he would do. He grabbed a mechanic and we all walked out to the boneyard, behind the dealership, and surveyed the lot for something that might help. They picked out an old Plymouth of a style no longer popular, (having no fins) and the mechanic told him the engine was fine. Of course it wouldn't start and didn't run…and had flat tires and the seats were torn and a window was broken. Dad asked me to get a tire iron, and the mechanic handed me the right wrench and told me how to take a starter and a generator off of another car. I got a couple of wheels off of one car, and had to take the tires from another and "graft them together". Under dad's direction, I helped get the starter off and the generator, and a fan belt and we replaced them with parts from another. I remember we pushed it inside and put it on the lube rack and changed the oil and lubed it. We took a battery from another wreck and we gassed it up and the moment of truth arrived. The mechanic joined us once more and after several tries….some fiddling with the carburetor and tinkering with the wiring….it coughed and started. The day was spent. I lovingly washed it, and then taped the torn slits in the seats and taped cardboard in the broken window. We threw a spare and a jack in the trunk and took it out front and presented it to the family. Dad had sent them, with some money, to the restaurant around the corner for a meal, and somehow, some bags of groceries had appeared. They were ecstatic. We helped them transfer all their belongings to the "new" car and dad dutifully filled out the paperwork on their "trade-in." With tears of gratitude in their eyes, a promise to send payment…and a fresh map….they rode off into the sunset on highway 89…headed for California.
Now all the parts don't match the Parable of the Vineyard or the tame and wild olive tree. But the master of the boneyard, very much, represented the Lord to me that day. I, along with the mechanic, was his servant….digging and dunging about….obediently cutting out branches, and grafting in new ones….to remake that car….some from the nethermost parts of the boneyard. The "children" of Israel became very real for me that day. Sometimes, here in England, it seems that we are working on the scrapheap of humanity. Some tossed out and piled up, and forgotten by their own ward's, by society, and even by their families,….having no one to "salvage" them. We find ourselves digging and dunging about as we lift up their arms….grafting in teachings which change lives….ordinances which save….and hope for the future…all in an effort to "remake that life"….for some sweet young family from the "boneyard".
Love, Elder and Sister Jewkes
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