(Written by Michael William Tolman about his father, William Odell Tolman).
The love my father had for my mother and his family was always there no matter what was going on in his life. As long as I can remember there was love in our home. My father was always kissing and hugging my mother. If you know the Tolman Clan there is a lot of hugging and kissing going on.
There are a lot of families that do not like to be together. But my family has always enjoyed each others company. I know this is because of the love my parents passed on to their children.
My father never got physical with me. When I did something wrong, he would say, “Come into my study, I need to talk to you.” These words would send chills down my spine. He would feel lower than a snack’s belly. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint my father. He deserved only the best I could give him. Being the last of seven children, I don’t know if he had been through it all with my brothers and sisters, but I know he overlooked a lot of my faults.
When I was four years old and we lived in Spanish Fork, my dad asked me if I wanted to help him give hay to the cows. He sat me on his lap and we drove the tractor with a flatbed trailer in back. He would have to stop the tractor whenever he would throw hay to the cows.
This got old in a hurry. He asked me if I could drive the tractor straight while he threw hay off the flatbed. I said I would try. Of course I was too small to reach any pedals, but I could drive the tractor down the field. To trust a four year old to do this was something my father just knew. All the time growing up, mostly when we were alone, he would drive the family car. When I was big enough to reach the pedals he taught me how to operate a car. I would drive around town, away from most people. What fun I had!
When I was a sophomore in high school and ready for driver’s education, somehow I took driving with boys who had birthdays in November. My birthday was in March. I think I started early because I was the only sophomore on the varsity football team, and most of the driver’s ed teachers were coaches. The first day of class we had to meet in the Bountiful High School’s parking lot. The two boys I had class with, their parents dropped them off. My dad let me drive the car to class. When I pulled up by my instructor he asked what I was doing driving a car I told him I had been driving for a long time. He just shook his head. He would teach the other two boys the ins and outs of driving. Most of the time he would be slamming on the break so we wouldn’t die. When it was my turn to drive, my instructor would say, “Let’s go to Park City or Odgen Canyon.” Then he would take a nap.
My father kept in touch with men that were in the car business that he had known when he had the Kaiser-Fraser Dealership in Pocatello and Idaho Falls, Idaho. When I was in high school, my father started a company called Tullan, Inc. This company was stared so dad and other seminary teachers could buy cars at the auto auction, drive them and resale them. When someone wanted a car and dad couldn’t find it in Utah, he would call his friends in different parts of the country. My father would trust me to fly to those different places and bring back these cars. This was a great responsibility for a 17 year old – to carry cash, transfer to different flights, find motel rooms, read maps, and find my way home.
The summers of 1969, 1970, and 1971, I went to Chicago three times, Denver three times, Seattle twice, and Las Vegas twice for cars. One time dad was doing paperwork at the Tullan office and was too busy to go on a test drive with two men he had sold cars to before. This car was a nearly new Lincoln Continental. These men took the car for a test drive and never came back. A few weeks later the police from Atlantic City, New Jersey called and said these two men tried to rob a bank. There was a shootout. One of these men was killed and the other was in jail.
Father sent me to pick up the car. When I saw the car there were some bullet holes in the side. Father had sent a letter with me, along with the title of the car, for the police in which he asked them to help me get on my way back home. They asked me if I was going right home or what? I said that I just wanted to see the Atlantic Ocean before I left. They told me that if I had anything worth value to lock it in the trunk. This made me nervous because Atlantic City was a really bad place back then. I saw the Ocean and left town.
Somehow the trunk key ws lost. I called dad and asked him if I should find a locksmith and have a key made in case I had a flat ire. Dad told me to have a key made. I stopped in a small town called Coatesville, Pennsylvania and asked a gas station man if there was a locksmith in town. He gave me an address to a house where this man had a shop out back of his house. He tried everything to get the trunk open. He had a key ring that must have had 1,000 keys on it. He would not stop until he had a key for me. It was getting late and his wife made us stop and have dinner. After about four hours we had a key made. These nice people wanted me to stay the night with them, but I told them I had two and a half days to get home for a baseball all-star game I was in. I wish so much I would have remembered these people’s names and address, so I could sent them a letter and thank them for all their kindness. But I was young and stupid.
All of my trips were such a great education, and I met some wonderful people. I owe so much to my father for giving me these life lessons.
Every day I miss my father for his love and wisdom. Growing up in my teen years I would sometimes feel like I had the whole world on my shoulders. All I had to do was talk to my dad and everything would be alright. He always had time for his children to help them with their problems. Father loved the young people that he taught in seminary also. So many people over the years have told me how my father helped them when their parents would not or they just didn’t seem to care. Many people were helped with my father’s counsel, by a talk or lesson he gave. His gift of giving was endless.
I was only 27 years old when my father passed away. I wish I could have had more time with him. He was the hardest working man I have ever known or will know. He was hardly ever around because of his seminary work, or his work in the Tolman family organization, or being on the LDS Priesthood Genealogy Committee and talking all over the country, or his care business, plus counseling with whoever needed his help or wisdom. I missed out on a lot of things son do with their fathers, but I will always cherish the time I did have with him.
I know that I wasn’t the perfect son, but I pray someday I will be again with my father and let him know how much I love him.
(Contributed by the Thomas Tolman Family Organization. Excerpt from William Odell Tolman: Patriarch, Genealogist, Teacher compiled by Loraine Tolman Pace, First Edition, 2009, page 547 to 549).
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