Meet My Dad by Cherrie Newman Dyer

Meet My Dad

By Cherrie Newman Dyer

The Family called him ‘Pappa Joe’. He came from an immigrant family from Germany. He was the number 10 child – 3 brothers died in Germany from unperfected D.P.T. shots. My Father said he was born on the railroad tracks … actually my grandparents arrived in Salt Lake City in March and he was born in May. My grandparents were converts to the church. I think they were converted by a couple of homesick missionaries.

My grandparents thought they were coming to Zion … which turned out to be a far ‘cry’ from Zion. At the time there was a great anti-German feeling in the U.S.  When my Grandparents arrived in Utah … none would hire my Grandfather being he was German. My Grandfather went to work at the salt flats shoveling salt. My Aunts quit school in the 3^rd and 4^th grade and went to work cleaning houses for 25 cents a day. Grandma also went to work cleaning also.

My father said he supported himself from the time he was 12 years old. My father went on a mission to Germany … when he came home no one wanted to hire a German … (probably 1935) … so he changed his last name for Naumann to Newman. H was really a ‘go getter’. He worked for his brother –in-law who had a 7-up bottling company. Then when the war broke out he go a job working for Railroad Express driving a delivery truck. This made him so they would be able to not be drafted. I don’t think he wanted to go to war … and fight against his cousins. To make extra money he started to sell Insurance on the ‘side’. He was lucky to get into selling for a good company … ‘State Farm’.

My Father was always the life of the party with his countless jokes.

Well, you take a farmer’s daughter and the son of a poor immigrant family and what do you have  … two workaholics!!

I always remember my parents getting up at around 5:30 – 6:00 am and working most days except Sunday till around 8 or 9 at night. (My father had his Insurance Office in our home)

My Father has a bad temper – He never hit us but I was a bit of a brat … and I remember him yelling at me … in fact my cousin who lived two housed away … remembers my Father chasing me out the front door … and I ‘flew down’ a number of steps!!!

My parents never hugged me or told me they loved me … but I just knew they did love me.