Biographical Sketch of Loyal Dee Hastings-April 2009

This is the presentation that my sister Deena gave at our father's funeral service in Mapleton, Utah, this past Tuesday.

I have been asked to give a biographical sketch of my Dad. As you can imagine, trying to summarize his life in just a few minutes is quite a challenge. So I will try to highlight the significant accomplishments in his life.

Loyal Dee Hastings was born on October 28, 1932 in Norman, Oklahoma to Joel Henry Hastings and Alvaretta Marie Haynes.

He was the youngest of six children with two older sisters and three older brothers.
His early years were spent in Norman, where his family operated a laundry service out of their home and took in occasional boarders.

Dad was raised during the great depression and the lessons of thrift and industry that characterized his life began there.

Dad's uncle Monroe Hastings was introduced to the gospel in Pietown, New Mexico by Mormon Missionaries from across the border in Springerville and Eagar, Arizona. He convinced his brother, Joel, my grandfather to leave the dustbowl of the depression laden Oklahoma. He sold everything they had in Normon and subsequently moved to a small farm in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Joel and Alvaretta and their younger children listened to the missionaries and were baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In High School, Dad was the lead in several musical theater productions and was known for his glorious singing voice and larger than life personality.

Upon completion of High School, he went to Provo, Utah to attend BYU. While there he was president of the Tausig social unit and participated in the Air Force ROTC program.

Work and self sufficiency were always important to Dad. He painted houses, mowed lawns, and worked as a soda jerk at B&H pharmacy in downtown Provo to work his way through college.

Dad was anything but shy and late one winter night after losing a bet to his room mates he went to pick up ice cream at the Malt Shop. Dressed in a coat and boots pulled over his pajamas he walked into the shop and met the love of his life, Janice Mendenhall, a petite black haired beauty from Mapleton Utah.

For Dad it was love at first sight. He actively pursued Mom and would call down to her from his bedroom window at Mrs. Baird’s boarding house and walk to school with
her.

After a year long courtship they were married and sealed for time and all eternity in the Manti Utah temple on June 18, 1953.

He graduated from BYU with a degree in political science finishing near the top of his class and was commissioned as a 2nd lieutenant in the USAF.

Their first son, Danny was born while they were at BYU.

Flying was one of Dad’s passions. His distinguished 22 year military career as a fighter pilot was the highpoint of his life. Patriotism and loyalty to his country were a key part of his character.

He was a highly decorated officer and quickly rose though the ranks in his chosen profession.

As their family grew, they began the tradition of naming their children beginning with the letter “D.”

“D” number 2, Diane was born while they were stationed at Bartow Florida for basic pilot training.

As basic training contiued at Williams AFB in Arizona, “D” number 3, Debby joined the family.

“D"s 4 and 5, David and Douglas were born during the time they lived in Clovis New Mexico where the family was stationed at Cannon AFB. There he flew the F100 fighter.

During their time at Cannon, he was selected as an air training officer and had an assignment to go to the newly created Air Force academy at Colorado Springs.
Upon his return to New Mexico, he received a new assignment sending them overseas to RAF Bentwaters in England, where they lived for three years.

Upon returning stateside they settled once again in Utah where Dad taught in the AF ROTC program at BYU and obtained his Masters Degree in Public Administration.
Then came “D” number 6, Deena.

Dad’s next assignment took them to Davis- Monthan AFB in Tucson Arizona, where Dad served as a flight instructor, for pilots training to fly the F4 Phantom jet.

He willingly served a year in Vietnam at Cam Rahn Bay. This was a time of great personal and spiritual growth for Dad. He was called to served as the LDS serviceman's group leader, which provided Sunday services and spiritual support for servicemen in that area. They had several conversions. ONe of the men who attended Dad's funeral service was a man athat Dad baptized 40 years ago in the South China Sea.

After he tour of duty in Vietnam, the family left Tucson, but stayed in Arizona and moved to our current home in Glendale where “ D” number 7, Dawna was born.

The early 1970’s brought change once again as the family was stationed for 3 ½ years in Japan.

This was a time of great professional and church responsibilities for Dad. He was called to serve as the LDS serviceman's District president when the Tokyo Temple was announced.

In 1976 the family returned home to the states and spent 6 months at Hill AFB in Ogden Utah where Dad retired from his military service.

When they returned to Glendale our 8th “D” Deanna or Annie was born and our family was complete.

Post retirement he continued to work hard including being managing partner of a Lube and Oil change business, and as a project manager for the painting contractor at the SRP pumping stations. He also taught business classes at Glendale Community College.

After the children were grown, he retired and in 1999, Dad and Mom realized a lifelong goal to serve a mission with his sweetheart to the Washington D.C Temple.

Dad loved to visit temples and perform temple ordinances. It was his goal to perform ordinances in all the temples in the continental United States and Canada, a goal he and Mom accomplished.

Service to others was a way of life for him. Although he served in many capacities over the years, one of the most important to him was being a Home Teacher. There was no service too small or inconvenient for Dad.

His gospel knowledge was broad and extensive and his love of the gospel and the scriptures, total and complete. But most of all, Dad loved the Lord.

As the family grew, so did his love for our mother. Dad loved and enjoyed his 36 grandchildren and 18 great grandchildren. They were the joy of his life and he spent countless hours in service to them and in fun with them.

Dad passed away unexpectedly April 21, 2009.
Our hearts are broken and we will miss him, but we stand united as his children and loved ones, to the gospel and values he taught us and to his legacy of lov

Poverty

One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son
on a trip to the country with the express purpose of
showing him how poor people live.

They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm
of what would be considered a very poor family.
On their return from their trip, the father asked his son,
'How was the trip?'

'It was great, Dad.'
'Did you see how poor people live?' the father asked.
'Oh yeah,' said the son.
'So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?' asked the father.

The son answered:
'I saw that we have one dog and they had four.
We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden
and they have a creek that has no end.
We have imported lanterns in our garden
and they have the stars at night.
Our patio reaches to the front yard
and they have the whole horizon..
We have a small piece of land to live on
and they have fields that go beyond our sight.
We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.
We buy our food, but they grow theirs.
We have walls around our property to protect us,
they have friends to protect them.'

The boy's father was speechless.
Then his son added,
'Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are.'

Isn't perspective a wonderful thing?
Makes you wonder what would happen if we all gave thanks
for everything we have,
instead of worrying about what we don't have.
Appreciate every single thing you have, especially your friends!

Anchored by Faith

1839 some members of the Quorum of the Twelve left for missions in England under very trying circumstances:" 'Wilford Woodruff and John Taylor were the first to start out. Wilford, in Montrose, had been suffering for days from chills and fever. His infant daughter, Sarah Emma, also seriously ill, was being cared for by friends with more suitable accommodations. On August 8 he finally bade [his wife] Phoebe a tender farewell and walked to the banks of the Mississippi. Brigham Young paddled him across the river in a canoe. When Joseph Smith found him resting by the post office, Wilford told the Prophet that he felt and looked more like a subject for the dissecting room than a missionary. . . .
" 'It took Elders Woodruff and Taylor, traveling together, the rest of the month to make it as far as Germantown, Indiana. . . .
" 'By the time they arrived in Germantown John Taylor was so desperately ill that it was impossible for him to continue. . . .
" '[He] remained ill, sometimes near death, for about three weeks. His optimism was tenacious, however, as suggested in a tender letter to [his wife] Leonora, dated September 19 [1839]:" ' "You may ask me how I am going to prosecute my journey. . . .
I do not know but one thing, I do know, that there is a being who clothes the lilies of the valley & feeds the ravens & he has given me to understand that all these things shall be added & that is all I want to know. He laid me on a bed of sickness & I was satisfied, he has raised me from it again & I am thankful. He stopped me on my road & I am content. . . .
If he took me I felt that it would be well. He has spared me, & it is better" '
(James

The Love Letter

Stephina Roos.
Indeed, as children we were all frankly terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage out in the South African countryside, and her solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house out to the little cottage where Aunt Stephina and an old maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him - or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant anticipation.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt, the moment she entered, that something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would greet us and take our hot little hands in her own beautiful cool ones, with blue veins standing out on the back of them, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.

Tnate Sanna would bring in dishes of sweet, sweet, sticky candy, or a great bowl of grapes or peaches, and Great-aunt Stephina would converse gravely about happenings on the farm, and, more rarely, of the outer world.
When we had finished our sweetmeats or fruit she would accompany us to the stoep, bidding us thank our mother for her gift and sending quaint, old-fashioned messages to her and to Father. Then she would turn and enter the house, closing the door behind her, so that it became once more a place of mystery.

As I grew older I found, rather to my surprise, that I had become genuinely fond of my aloof old great-aunt. But to this day I do not know what strange impulse made me take George to see her and to tell her, before I had confided in another living soul, of our engagement. To my astonishment, she was delighted.
“An Englishman,” she exclaimed.” But that is splendid, splendid. And you,” she turned to George,” you are making your home in this country? You do not intend to return to England just yet?”
She seemed relieved when she heard that George had bought a farm quite near our own farm and intended to settle in South Africa . She became quite animated, and chattered away to him.
After that I would often slip away to the little cottage by the mealie lands. Once she was somewhat disappointed on hearing that we had decided to wait for two years before getting married, but when she learned that my father and mother were both pleased with the match she seemed reassured.

Still, she often appeared anxious about my love affair, and would ask questions that seemed to me strange, almost as though she feared that something would happen to destroy my romance. But I was quite unprepared for her outburst when I mentioned that George thought of paying a lightning visit to England before we were married. “He must not do it,” she cried.” Ina, you must not let him go. Promise me you will prevent him.” She was trembling all over. I did what I could to console her, but she looked so tired and pale that I persuaded her to go to her room and rest, promising to return the next day.
When I arrived I found her sitting on the stoep. She looked lonely and pathetic, and for the first time I wondered why no man had ever taken her and looked after her and loved her. Mother had told me that Great-aunt Stephina had been lovely as a young girl. Few traces of that beauty remained, except perhaps in her brown eyes; yet she looked so small and appealing that any man, one felt, would have wanted to protect her.
She looked up, and then paused, as though she did not quite know how to begin.

Then she seemed to give herself, mentally, a little shake. “You must have wondered “, she said, “Why I was so upset at the thought of young George’s going to England without you. I am an old woman, and perhaps I have the silly fancies of the old, but I should like to tell you my own love story, and then you can decide whether it is wise for your man to leave you before you are married.”
“I was quite a young girl when I first met Richard Weston. He was an Englishman who boarded with the Van Rensburgs on the next farm, four or five miles from us. Richard was not strong. He had a weak chest, and the doctors in England had sent him to South Africa so that the dry air could cure him. He taught the Van Rensburg children, who were younger than I was, though we often played together as well. I saw that he carried out their instruction for pleasure and not because he needed money. Our friendship ripened into more, as time passed, though we did not speak of our love until the evening of my eighteenth birthday. All our friends and relatives had come to my party, and in the evening we danced on the big old carpet which we had laid down in the barn. Richard had come with the Van Rensburgs, and we danced together as often as we dared, which was not very often, for my father hated the Uitlanders. Indeed, for a time he had quarreled with Mynheer Van Rensburg for allowing Richard to board with him, but afterwards he got used to the idea, and was always polite to the Englishman, though he never liked him.
“That was the happiest birthday of my life, for while we were resting between dances Richard took me outside into the cool, moonlit night, and there, under the stars, he told me he loved me and asked me to marry him. Of course I promised I would, for I was too happy to think of what my parents would say, or indeed of anything else.

A fortnight later, Richard was not at our meeting place as he had arranged. I was disappointed but not alarmed, for there were many things could happen to either of us to prevent our keeping our tryst. I thought that next time we visited the Van Rensburgs, I should hear what had kept him and we could plan further meetings…
“So when my father asked if I would drive with him to Driefontein I was delighted. But when we reached the homestead and were sitting on the stoep drinking our coffee, we heard that Richard had left quite suddenly and had gone back to England . His father had died, leaving Richard as the heir and requiring him to go back to look after his estates.

“I do not remember very much more about that day, except that the sun seemed to have stopped shining and the country no longer looked beautiful and full of promise, but bleak and desolate as it sometimes does in winter or in times of drought.

Late that afternoon, Jantje, the little Hottentot herd boy, came up to me and handed me a letter, which he said the English baas had left for me. It was the only love letter I ever received, but it turned all my bitterness and grief into a peacefulness which was the nearest I could get, then, to happiness. I knew Richard still loved me, and somehow, as long as I had his letter, I felt that we could never be really parted, even if he were in England and I had to remain on the farm. I have it yet, and though I am an old, tired woman, it still gives me hope and courage.”

“I must have been a wonderful letter, Aunt Stephina,” I said. The old lady came back from her dreams of that far-off romance. “Perhaps,” she said, hesitating a little, “perhaps, my dear, you would care to read it?” “I should love to, Aunt Stephina,” I said gently.
She rose at once and tripped into the house as eagerly as a young girl. When she came back she handed me a letter, faded and yellow with age, the edges of the envelope worn and frayed as though it had been much handled. But when I came to open it I found that the seal was unbroken. “Open it, open it,” said Great-aunt Stephina, and her voice was shaking. I broke the seal and read to myself.

It was not a love letter in the true sense of the word, but pages of the minutest directions of how “my sweetest Phina” was to elude her father’s vigilance, creep down to the drift at night and there meet Jantje with a horse which would take her to Smitsdorp. There she was to go to “my true friend, Henry Wilson”, who would give her money and make arrangements for her to follow her lover to Cape Town and from there to England , where, my love, we can he be married at once. But if, my dearest, you are not sure that you can face life with me in a land strange to you, then do not take this important step, for I love you too much to wish you the smallest unhappiness. If you do not come, and if I do not hear from you, then I shall know that you could never be happy so far from the people and the country which you love. If, however, you feel you can keep your promise to me, but are too timid and modest to journey to England unaccompanied, and then write to me, and I will, by some means, return to fetch my bride.”

I read no further. “But Aunt Phina!” I gasped. “Why…why…?”
The old lady was watching me with trembling eagerness, her face flushed and her eyes bright with expectation. “Read it aloud, my dear,” she said. “I want to hear every word of it. There was never anyone I could trust…Uitlanders were hated in my young days…I could not ask anyone.”

“But, Auntie, don’t you even know what he wrote?”
The old lady looked down, troubled and shy like a child who has unwittingly done wrong. “No, dear,” she said, speaking very low. “You see, I never learned to read.”