The Era has asked me to write a few remembrances of incidents connected with my personal association with the late President Joseph F. Smith, while they are yet fresh in memory, and it is a pleasure to comply.

The first time I ever remember seeing Joseph F. Smith was in the then little village of Wellsville, in the year 1867. He was twenty-eight years of age, and had recently been chosen one of the twelve apostles. President Brigham Young and company were making a tour of the northern settlements, and the new apostle, Joseph F. Smith, was among the number. I heard him preach in the old meetinghouse at Wellsville, and I remarked at the time what a fine specimen of young manhood he was—strong, powerful, with a beautiful voice, so full of sympathy and affection, so appealing in its tone, that he impressed me, although I was a youth of but eighteen. He was a handsome man.

At that time I was clerking in a little store owned by Father Ira Ames, one of the old Kirtland veterans of the Church. Apostle George A. Smith was one of that company and he was entertained at Brother Ames' home, where I also lived. I recall that at the dinner table, Father Ames asked George A. who of the Smiths this young man Joseph F. was.

George A. replied that he was Hyrum's son; his mother, Mary Fielding Smith.

Brother Ames remarked that he looked like a likely young fellow, and George A. replied in about these words:

"Yes, I think he will be all right. His father and mother left him when he was a child, and we have been looking after him to try and help him along. We first sent him to school, but it was not long before he licked the schoolmaster, and could not go to school. Then we sent him on a mission, and he did pretty well at that. I think he will make good as an apostle."

Some years ago I related this incident to President Smith, and he told me that the reason he had trouble with the schoolmaster was that the schoolmaster had a leather strap with which he used to chastise the children. He was a rather hard-hearted schoolmaster, one of the olden type that believed in inflicting bodily punishment.

President Smith said: "My little sister was called up (Aunt Martha, now living in Provo) to be punished. I saw the schoolmaster bring out the leather strap, and he told the child to hold out her hand. I could not stand for that. I just spoke up loudly and said, 'Don't whip her with that,' and at that he came at me and was going to whip me, and instead of him whipping me, I licked him good and plenty."

At the time of this incident, Joseph F. (for, by that name he was affectionately called) was about fifteen years of age. But he was a strong, powerful youth, and his big heart could not tolerate such punishment, especially if it bordered on the cruel, to be inflicted upon a little child.

Another incident which I have heard him relate which shows his courage and integrity, occurred when he was returning from his mission to the Sandwich Islands, in the fall of 1857. He came home by way of Los Angeles, by what was called the Southern Route. In that year Johnston's Army was on the move for Utah, and naturally enough there was much excitement and bitterness of feeling concerning the "Mormons." In southern California, just after the little train of wagons had traveled only a short distance and made their camp, several anti-"Mormon" toughs rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening what they would do to the "Mormons." Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire, but he saw that the few members of his own party had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. When he saw that, he told me, the thought came into his mind, "Shall I run from these fellows? Why should I fear them?" With that he marched up with his arm full of wood to the campfire where one of the ruffians, still with his pistol in his band, shouting and cursing about the "Mormons," in a loud voice said to Joseph F.:

"Are you a 'Mormon'?"

And the answer came straight, "Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through."

At that the ruffian grasped him by the hand and said:

"Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions."

These incidents show the inherent bravery, courage, integrity of the man, and also tenderness and pity for the little helpless sister. These are the qualities upon which great men are builded.

In the spring of 1877, I was called to accompany President Smith on a mission to Europe. I was called by him to labor in the business affairs of the Liverpool office, and from that time until the day of his death, I think I have enjoyed his personal confidence more than any man living. When I look back on it all now, I can see what a treasure, a blessing, a favor from the Almighty it has been to me.

During the last eleven years, especially, I have traveled with him almost constantly whenever he has gone from home. I have been with him on three different trips to Europe, including the first missionary trip above mentioned, and on four trips to the Sandwich Islands. Everywhere, on all occasions, I have found him the same great, brave, true-hearted, noble and magnificent leader, so simple and unaffected, so entirely democratic and unassuming.

He was always careful with his expenditures, too. He abhorred debt, and no man have I ever known who was so prompt to pay an obligation to the last penny. He could not rest until the Church was out of debt, and though hundreds of schemes, and many of them extra good schemes, too, were presented to him, which no doubt would have meant an increase of wealth for the Church, yet he resolutely set his face against debt; and would not, under any conditions or circumstances, involve the Church in that way. Neither would he himself become involved in debt in his own individual affairs, but he stuck persistently to the old motto, "Pay as you go."

Many of the older people now alive can recall that forty years ago, or even less, he was considered a radical, and many a one of that time shook his head and said, "What will become of things if that fiery radical ever becomes president of the Church?" But from the time he was made president of the Church, and even before that time, he became one of the most tolerant of men, tolerant of others' opinions; and while he would denounce sin with such righteous wrath as you would seldom see in any man, yet for the poor sinner he had compassion and pity, and even forgiveness, if sincere repentance were shown. None more ready than he to forgive and forget.

One touching little incident I recall which occurred on our first trip to the Sandwich Islands. As we landed at the wharf in Honolulu, the native Saints were out in great numbers with their wreaths of leis, beautiful flowers of every variety and hue. We were loaded with them, he, of course, more than anyone else. The noted Hawaiian band was there playing welcome, as it often does to incoming steamship companies. But on this occasion the band had been instructed by the Mayor to go up to the "Mormon" meetinghouse and there play selections during the festivities which the natives had arranged for. It was a beautiful sight to see the deep-seated love, the even tearful affection, that these people had for him. In the midst of it all I noticed a poor old blind woman, tottering under the weight of about ninety years, being led in. She had a few choice bananas in her hand. It was her all—her offering. She was calling, "Iosepa, Iosepa." Instantly, when he saw her, he ran to her and clasped her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed her over and over again, patting her on the head saying, "Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama."

And with tears streaming down his cheeks he turned to me and said, "Charlie, she nursed me when I was a boy, sick and without anyone to care for me. She took me in and was a mother to me."

Oh, it was touching—it was pathetic. It was beautiful to see the great, noble soul in loving, tender remembrance of kindness extended to him, more than fifty years before; and the poor old soul who had brought her love offering—a few bananas—it was all she had—to put into the hand of her loved Iosepa!

On these ocean trips there was much spare time, and we often whiled away an hour or two playing checkers. He could play a good game of checkers, much better than I. In fact, he could beat me four times out of five, but once in a while, when I played more cautiously, and no doubt when he was more careless, I could beat him. If he was beating me right along and I made an awkward move, and could see instantly that I had moved the wrong checker, he would allow me to draw it back if I noticed it immediately; but on the other band, if I had beaten him for a game or two and should put my finger on a checker to draw it back, even though it were on the instant, he would call out with force enough, and that positive way of his, "No you don't, you leave it right there." It is in these little incidents that we show the human side of our natures.

He loved sport—manly sport. He was a natural athlete; and in his youth at foot-racing, jumping, wrestling, which were among the primitive sports of primitive days, he was a match for anyone. In later years I had induced him to take up with the ancient and royal Scottish game of golf. He got so that he could play a very good game, excellent indeed for a man of his years. But on one occasion, down at Santa Monica, when we were playing, we were up within about one hundred feet of the flag at the hole we were making for. A light stroke should have driven the ball nearer the flag, but the inclination to look up as one tries to hit the ball got the best of him, and the consequence was he topped the ball and it rolled only a couple of feet or so. He bent over for the next stroke, and the one thing which all golfers most fear, and the hardest to overcome, is that habit of looking up or taking the eye off the ball just as you go to strike. This he did, the second time, when he topped it again and it moved but a few feet further. The third time he went up to it and hit it a whack that sent it rolling one hundred feet beyond the flag. His son, Wesley, who was playing with us, called out, "Why, papa, what did you do that for? You knew it would roll away down there in the ditch!" The President straightened up and said, with a smile, "Well, I was mad at it!" I have laughed hundreds of times at that, "I was mad at it."

Of course, we agreed well together, otherwise we would not have been companionable during all these years. But sometimes I could not fully agree with him on some matters that we discussed. I recall one night we were on shipboard returning from Europe, in 1906. It was a bright, moonlight night, and we stood there leaning over the railing enjoying the smooth sea and balmy summer night air. The Smoot investigation, which had just occurred a little while before and which had stirred up so much controversy throughout the land, was fresh in our minds, and we were talking of it. I took the position that it would be unwise for Reed Smoot to be re-elected to the United States Senate. I was conscientious in my objection, and I had marshaled all the facts, arguments, and logic that I could; and I was well informed, I thought, on the subject, and had presented them to him in as clear and yet in as adroit a manner as I possibly could. It would take too much space here to go over the arguments, but it seemed to me that I had the best of it. I could see he began to listen with some little impatience, and yet he let me have my say, but he answered in tones and in a way that I shall never forget. Bringing his fist down with some force on the railing between us, he said, in the most forceful and positive manner:

"If ever the Spirit of the Lord has manifested to me anything clear and plain and positive, it is this, that Reed Smoot should remain in the United States Senate. He can do more good there than he can anywhere else."

Of course, I did not contend further with him, but accepted from that hour his view of the case and made it mine, too. Twelve years have passed since that time, and looking back on it now, I cannot help but think how marvelously and splendidly the inspiration of the Almighty has been vindicated, while my arguments, facts and logic have all fallen to the ground.

During the last six or eight years, hundreds of prominent people, Democrats as well as Republicans, passing through Salt Lake City, even Secretary McAdoo, himself, among them, have stated to President Smith that Utah had a great big man in the United States Senate in the person of Senator Reed Smoot. President Smith's judgment, or rather his inspiration in this matter, has been vindicated to the last degree.

As a preacher of righteousness, who could compare with him? He was the greatest that I ever heard—strong, powerful, clear, appealing. It was marvelous how the words of living light and fire flowed from him. He was a born preacher, and yet he did not set himself up to be such. He never thought highly of his own good qualities. Rather, he was simple, plain and unaffected to the last degree; and yet, there was dignity with it all which enabled anyone and everyone to say: "He is a man among men!" I ask, as preacher, leader, teacher, husband, father, citizen and man, who among our mighty ones can be likened unto him?

He loved a good story and a good joke. There was a good laugh in him always. He had no patience with vile stories, but there was a fine vein of humor in him, and could relate incidents of his early life and entertain the crowd about him as few men ever could.

He was the most methodical in all his work of any person I ever knew. Every letter that he received had to be indorsed by him with the date and any other information, and all carefully filed away. He could not stand for disorder. Everything in connection with his work was orderly. He could pack his suitcase or a trunk and line out and smooth every piece of clothing in it so it would bold more and be better packed than if anybody else had done it. His clothes, too, were always clean. Most men as they grow old are likely to have their clothes more or less spotted through dropping food on their clothing. But not so with him. To his last day his clothes were as clean and as well taken care of as if he had been a young man of thirty.

He was a most strenuous worker and never considered saving himself at all. You could go up to his little office in the Beehive most any night when he was well, and find him writing letters or attending to some other work. Perhaps some dear old soul had written him a personal letter, and he would work into the night answering it with his own hand. Indeed, he over-worked himself and no doubt injured his strong constitution.

He was careless about eating—careless as to what he ate and when he ate. His living was exceedingly simple and plain. He rarely got to bed before midnight, and the consequence was he did not get sufficient sleep and rest. He was very fond of music and loved to sing the songs of Zion.

His love for little children was unbounded. During the trip we took last year down through the southern settlements to St. George and return, when the troops of little children were paraded before him, it was beautiful to see how he adored these little ones. It was my duty to try and get the company started, to make time to the next settlement where the crowds would be waiting for us, but it was a difficult task to pull him away from the little children. He wanted to shake hands with and talk to every one of them.

Once in a while someone would come up to him and say, "President Smith, I believe I am a kinsman of yours."

I knew then that we were good for another ten minutes' delay, for that great heart of his, that went out to every kinsman as well as to the little children, could not be torn away quickly from anyone claiming kinship with him.

I have visited at his home when one of his children was down sick. I have seen him come home from his work at night tired, as he naturally would be, and yet he would walk the floor for hours with that little one in his arms, petting it and loving it, encouraging it in every way with such tenderness and such a soul of pity and love as not one mother in a thousand would show.

While he was a hard-headed, successful business man, yet very few in this dispensation have been more gifted with spiritual insight than he. As we were returning from an eastern trip, some years ago, on the train just east of Green River, I saw him go out to the end of the car on the platform, and immediately return and hesitate a moment, and then sit down in the seat just ahead of me. He had just taken his seat when something went wrong with the train. A broken rail had been the means of ditching the engine and had thrown most of the cars off the track. In the sleeper we were shaken up pretty badly, but our car remained on the track. The President immediately said to me that he had gone on the platform when he heard a voice saying, "Go in and sit down."

He came in, and I noticed him stand a moment and he seemed to hesitate, but he sat down.

He said further that as he came in and stood in the aisle he thought, "Oh, pshaw, perhaps it is only my imagination;" when he heard the voice again, "Sit down," and he immediately took his seat, and the result was as I have stated.

He, no doubt, would have been very seriously injured had he remained on the platform of that car, as the cars were all jammed up together pretty badly. He said, "I have heard that voice a good many times in my life, and I have always profited by obeying it."

On another occasion, at a function which was held in the palatial home of Mr. and Mrs. A. W. McCune, he made an extended talk to the gathering. He then said that when a certain brother who had been called to a responsible position in the Church was chosen for that position, he himself had never heard this spiritual voice more plainly and more clearly telling him what to do, than in this naming of the individual who was to be called for that certain office.

He lived in close communion with the Spirit of the Lord, and his life was so exemplary and chaste that the Lord could easily manifest himself to his servant. Truly he could say, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth." Not every servant can hear when He speaks. But the heart of President Smith was attuned to the Celestial melodies—he could hear, and did hear.

What shall I say of the grand and glorious work that he has done in rearing the large and splendid family that he leaves behind? What a noble work for any man! Indeed no man without great nobility of soul could have accomplished it. Is not this bringing up a good family, and a large family of good citizens, good men and women, good for the Church, for the State, and for the Nation? Is not this, I say, about the most God-like piece of work that a man can do in this world? The thinking mind, who goes into this question deep enough, will see that here is the work, not only of a man, of a great man, but of a God in embryo. The whole Church can take pride in the vindication of this great principle which he had so successfully wrought out. No ordinary man could accomplish that. Happy the wife who can call him husband. Happy and blessed indeed the children who call him father. Never was man more moral and chaste and virtuous to the last fiber of his being than he. Against all forms or thoughts of licentiousness, he was set, and as immovable as a mountain. "Blessed are the pure in heart," and as he was the very purest—he shall see God.

It is written that a truly great man is known by the number of beings he loves and blesses, and by the number of beings who love and bless him. Judged by that standard alone, where is his equal to be found in all this world!

I can say of Joseph F. Smith as Carlyle said of Luther, that he was truly a great man, "great in intellect, in courage, in affection, and in integrity. Great, not as a hewn obelisk, but as an Alpine mountain." No heart ever beat truer to every principle of manhood and righteousness and justice and mercy than his; that great heart, encased in his magnificent frame, made him the biggest, the bravest, the tenderest, the purest and best of all men who walked the earth in his time!

"His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, 'This was a Man!'"

—Charles W. Nibley, Presiding Bishop of the Church, Improvement Era, Vol. 22, January, 1919, pp. 191-198.