My Brother Leroy
Grandpa Pete gave each of my brothers when they turned six a complete cowboy outfit including chaps and spurs. Richard also received his own horse, a mare named Molly. Richard’s future as a cowboy was assured until Leroy came along to spoil it.
When Leroy was about 5 years old and Richard was 12 going on 13, Mom put an end to Richard riding off alone. Perhaps in desperation to have a little peace, Mom insisted that Leroy be allowed to ride behind Richard. Richard had a twofold dilemma. Not only was little brother hanging onto him but Molly had to stop periodically to nurse her colt. No cowboy worth his salt should have to put up with such goings-on! How was he going to resolve the problem without hurting Mom? After a few stops for the colt’s sake, a bright idea came to Richard. Says he, “Leroy, you will never be a cowboy without a horse of your own. The next time Molly stops to nurse her colt, all you have to do is slide off Molly and on to her colt and you will have your own horse.”
Leroy thought that was a great idea, but the moment he landed on the colt, he was promptly thrown into the dirt. With typical Pratt enthusiasm, Richard jumped off of his horse, dusted Leroy off, and declared: “Leroy, you almost had him! That was a great ride, let’s try it again.” This went on for six or seven times until poor little Leroy had rivers of mud on his face where the tears had coursed down his cheeks through the dirt. But both brothers persevered and both finally achieved their goals.
Thereafter, the two boys would ride off happily, and as soon as they were out of sight, Leroy would transfer to his horse. When the right time arrived, Dad announced to the family that it was time to break in the new horse. The two boys followed him to the corral and watched anxiously as Dad put a saddle on Leroy’s horse and stepped gingerly into the saddle. When Dad came into supper, he exclaimed: “Mother, I just don’t understand it. That was the easiest horse I have ever broken!” The two brothers made a pact to never tell Dad why they were all such great cowboys.
Leroy left for the Navy a few months after I was born. My earliest memories of him are his coming home to Crescent Street in Wenatchee on leave. He would borrow Bob Burris’ car and carry me off to the Colockum, usually singing something like “I want a paper doll to call my own.” He instilled a love in me for family, sagebrush landscape (although mine was flat and not as hilly), meadowlarks, the flag and country; but I suspect the corny sense of humor is genetic. I obviously had a case of hero worship as I collected the stamps of the USS Tuscaloosa from his letters and avidly followed the voyages of the USS Coral Sea. I came close to joining the Navy the year Dad died, but somehow knew that Leroy would have advised me against it.
We spent a day together in New York City when I was 16. Leroy made it extra special by introducing a spiritual element. Our spiritual ties increased in the early 1960s as he would stay with Bev and me as he came for General Conferences as a young bishop. We three brothers preached together at our mother’s funeral in 1964. Perhaps the crowning events were in 1974 and 1975. I was having a particularly difficult time while we were living in Lincoln, Neb. I longed for a blessing from my brother Richard, whom I considered to be the natural patriarch of our family. I had a dream where I asked Richard if it would be all right for Leroy to stand in his place. In the meantime, Leroy told Cecelia that he felt prompted to travel to Nebraska to visit his brother David, and just showed up at our door unannounced to bless me. The next year I was able to travel to Virginia and bless them. Cecelia was promised that she would be protected by the priesthood until her appointed time to leave this life, which she would know. In Leroy’s blessing, we felt an overwhelming sense of the presence of our earthly father.
No comments:
Post a Comment