by Carlos Smith, son of George C. – Julina

I was eight years old at Grandpapa Smith’s death which news saddened me
very much. The last time that I saw him was shortly before he died. I was
with my Father and we went into his bedroom. He was lying in his big bed
(I suppose that it was big for so it seemed to an eight-year-old). The covers
covered him to his chin. However, his beautiful white beard lay on top of
the covers. He was pale, yet his beautiful, kind, soft eyes brightened as
usual as we approached the bed. Father lifted me up upon the bed and
Grandpapa held me in his arms and kissed me tenderly as he always did.

My father was secretary of the Tabernacle Choir. Hence he had to attend the
General Conference meetings when the choir sand and he would take me
along. I would sit on the steps leading up to the pulpit close to Grandpapa.
Those were the longest meetings of my life.

Grandpapa used to come to the farm in Holladay where we lived, usually
with Uncle David or Uncle Wesley driving him. I remember so well the
long white coat, goggles, the beautiful white beard and peppermint candy,
but most of all, the warm caress and kiss. He called me Buddy and the name
stuck with me for many years.

One day I went with Uncle David, Grandpapa and my father to visit Aunt
Mary in Taylorsville. We had lunch with Aunt Mary and her sons. The fare
was quite interesting—bread and milk and raw eggs. Grandpapa would
break an egg into a glass and then swallow it whole. I don’t know or
remember about the others but I stuck with the bread and milk.

Upon one special birthday Grandpapa had his older grandchildren, I was
included, to a birthday dinner for him at the Beehive House, his home.
When we arrived, the big table was set and on the plate belonging to each of
us was a silver dollar—a gift to us from him though it was his birthday.
These are my fondest memories of the great man, our Father and Grandpapa.