A MORMON MOTHER, the fascinating life story of a most remarkable woman, Annie Clark Tanner, is not only "one of the monuments of Mormon literature," in the words of the historian Dale Morgan, but may now fairly be judged to be a true American classic. Written in simple, direct, and unadorned prose, not for publication but simply as an intimate memoir for her family, Mrs. Tanner's story has the power to capture the interest and sympathy and drain the emotions of the most sophisticated reader. Here, in its fifth printing, is a remarkably frank retelling of a life marked by authentic piety, courage, devotion, hard work, and an almost obsessive sense of duty. But it was a life that was robbed of any sense of material security, of normal relationships, and, perhaps most cruel of all, that was endured without romance and companionship.
In her commitment to moral and spiritual values, her enthusiasm for the life of the intellect, and in the strength of her spirit, Mrs. Tanner may well be seen as a paradigm of the American woman. Against the most severe obstacles and opposition, her firm resolution and determination transformed a life of privation to one of fulfillment.
Annie Clark Tanner was the second of several wives of a leading Mormon educator. She married into polygamy in 1883, seven years before the Mormon Church, driven by the most intense pressure from the federal government, officially discontinued plural marriage in the United States. She entered the polygamous order at its most difficult time, one year following the passage of the federal Edmunds Act of 1882, which levied severe criminal penalties for polygamy, and four years before the Edmunds-Tucker Act of 1887, which was aimed not only at Mormon polygamy but at the destruction of the Church itself. Her early years of married life were lived under an assumed name to conceal her husband's identity, and later, with young children, she lived in almost constant hiding under threat of the law.
It is reasonable to ask why a highly intelligent, sensitive young woman from a leading and prosperous family, with a good education, intellectual and artistic talent, and all the graces that adorned an att[r]active person of her time and place, would become involved as she did in a polygamous marriage. Mrs. Tanner's memoir gives the answer to that question. Only those who can sense the depth of her religious commitment and her devotion to duty, and who have some grasp of the meaning and purpose of plural marriage in the Mormon faith, can understand her decision.
It is a strength of Mrs. Tanner's writing that she refuses to desert her narrative by excursions into background or correlative information considered necessary to the reader's understanding. She stays with her story, with only a few sentences here and there to connect her account with the current events and affairs that are the occasion for her decisions and actions. Readers with an interest in Mormon polygamous beliefs and practices should read the relevant essays in Lawrence Foster's Religion and Sexuality (Oxford University Press, 1981), the most competent and penetrating analysis of this matter. Foster's study shows clearly the futility of any attempt to answer the question of the origin and strength of Mormon polygamy by single, simple explanations.
But Mrs. Tanner's almost casual comments indicate the theological foundations of polygamy in the Mormon religion and the great, even cosmic, implications of the extended family system in Mormon belief and moral idealism. When she entered the polygamous relationship, that system had become thoroughly institutionalized, and the fateful step which she took followed the pattern and admonition that was laid down by her Church and society for the most faithful and worthy. However, her lively intellectual interests, which involved her in studies of the social, moral, and religious problems current after the turn of the century, led her to a critical appraisal and understanding of her Church and its theology and social system, and, accordingly, of her own predicament. But her story, written in later years, gives no evidence of crimination or even of serious regret—not even unkind words for the husband who so severely neglected her or for the other women with whom she shared him. Her life had increasingly centered on her children, whose good future she was determined to guarantee against all odds, and in this she was eventually the victor.
To say that the Tanner story is an American classic is to recognize that in its substance, its narrative, and its personages, it embodies those qualities of individual and social life that authentically represent an important segment of American experience, with its ideals and failures, its hopes and frustrations, its triumphs and tragedies—all the emotions and passions of life lived in its fullness. It treats them faithfully with neither overstatement nor inordinate constraint. By its cultural inheritance and origins, as well as its moral foundations, Mormonism is a Puritan religion, in numerous ways an expression of the traditional American character, and in her personality and experience, Mrs. Tanner clearly exhibits the Puritan values and virtues.
The literary style of the autobiography follows naturally from her character and the substance of her narrative—direct, honest, without the slightest suggestion of pretense or artificiality, a work of genuine integrity. All these factors have conspired to give the Tanner volume the power to deeply affect the lives of its readers and have assured it a permanent place in American historical biography. Where in any literature of any time or place is there a passage that has more power to elicit the sentiments of pathos and compassion than the simple description of the wedding night—a picture that no sensitive reader can ever erase from his mind?
October 1983
STERLING M. MCMURRIN
University of Utah
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Annie Clark Tanner
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Joseph Marion Tanner
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The Tanner home in Farmington.
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ALONE WITH THE CHILDREN
We returned from Provo after a single school year there. All of us were conscious now that we would have to make our own way, if possible, independent of help from Mr. Tanner. I decided to realize an income from our big home in Farmington. When we arrived back there, I found that orchestras were employed by the manager of Lagoon to entertain the public. The Conway Band of New York had just arrived for that purpose, and were pleased with the accommodations that I could furnish them. As one of these musicians sat down to our piano and played Schubert's Serenade, I told him that I had a little boy who could play that.
"And where is the child?" he asked.
"He is on a farm in Canada," was my reply.
"He should not be there. He should be here studying music," said the man.
"Yes," I said, "sometimes I dream that he is here."
It was with much indifference, after the experience that Sheldon had had, that I listened to Canadian plans proposed by Mr. Tanner.
One of Mr. Tanner's younger wives, a cultured and educated young woman, had been induced to leave the educational field where she was an eminent success, and move to the Canadian ranch where her work changed to supervising a kitchen and cooking for hired men. She was young and in love with him, and nothing had happened to mar her confidence in her husband's judgment.
The New York band had no sooner left than the Philippine Band came and took their place at Lagoon and in my home. My income was about a hundred dollars a month during the summer. I made arrangements for some lumber and built a little frame house, which was rented furnished, part of the time, and was an income for many years. On the other side of the big home I made an addition to the one room which had been connected with the old adobe house. I rented that furnished to a man who was working at the Miller Floral for $10 a month. I arranged our big house for two families so that half of it was rented for many years.
The Manifesto brought many changes. It was formerly taught that the purpose of increasing one's family, by marrying several wives, was to have a numerous posterity. It was taught that the larger the family, the greater would be the Kingdom over which the father in the Celestial order of marriage would rule and reign in Eternity. Birth control was considered an evil when polygamy was advocated by the Church. But now that polygamy had been abandoned even those who were still living in the principle of plural marriage began to doubt the propriety of a large family.
Besides, economic conditions were changing and people began to argue that a few children well cared for and educated was more desirable than a large number; hence, four or five, or six at the most was considered a large family. In former days, ten or twelve was the ordinary size. The cost, in cash, for the whole family in those earlier days was less than one confinement at the present time. Three dollars was the customary price for a midwife who would call each morning for ten days.
The passing of the old ideal, to strive and sacrifice for the next world, was followed by a new ideal:
"The Earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof."
People began to live for this world. This earth and the fullness of happiness here was a new emphasis.
I sometimes think my strict orthodoxy in religion may have seemed rather naive to Mr. Tanner. There was, indeed, a wide difference in our age[s] and experiences. However, he respected my sincerity. Once he told me that I was too religious. While his extreme self-confidence greatly impressed me, my admiration dropped just a little after I recovered from this criticism. There was indeed a contrast in our makeup; he with positive confidence in his own judgment; while I was disposed to mistrust myself in the broader conclusions of life.
In our home, we adhered closely to the teachings of the Church. My own children always went to Sunday School and Primary, and had a tithing account. Naturally, they were proud of their father, who sometimes visited the Sunday School, as a member of the General Superintendency, and who also gave sermons in our Ward.
Then, because of his persistence in practicing polygamy, the time came when the Church had no use for their father. This changed policy of the Church created a difficult situation for young people who were born in this principle and reared to believe it Divine and everlasting. The Bishop told me once in a complaining attitude that one of my boys actually took the Doctrine and Covenants on a working job, and during the lunch period, proved from the book that the principle of polygamy was eternal. Because of that great offense to the Bishop, I nearly failed getting a recommend to go through the temple when the next younger son, Kneland, went there to be married. The Bishop's interview concerning this offense lasted until the first hours of the morning.
I give this illustration to show the opposing influence which affected half-grown children in that period of adjustment in the Church after the Manifesto became a law. It took the wisdom of Solomon to uphold the Church in its anti-polygamy policy and at the same time to induce the children to honor their father. I am sure that the actual trials of polygamy did not affect the children. They felt no humiliation because of being in polygamy. In arguing for and against the principle, my boys, as a rule, would defend it.
The following letter which Herschel sent to me after he left the Canadian farm illustrates this point:
Essex, Montana,
August 25, 1912.
Dear Mother:
I just received two letters from you, also the ones you sent to Browning. The guide is going to take Mrs. Evans in town so I will get a chance to send this letter in. I'll write every chance I get.
I have just been talking religion with Mrs. Evans. They all know I'm a Mormon. They knew the first day I started work. They also know that father has five wives, for I told them so. When Mrs. Evans asked how I felt about telling people, I told her I was proud of the fact. I wish I had some Articles of Faith to give her. There is not one in our outfit that uses tobacco. I think I have formed my opinion of that. I know what it will do for me and also know what it leads to.
Well, I am on my own hook now and I don't always want to be going here and there. I want to go to the Telluride Power Company and see if I can get on there. If I can't at present, I will go to school until I can and study along that line.
I just got a letter from Aunt Josephine. It was the first letter from the farm since I left.
I just read a story in the Saturday Evening Post. It was sure fine. It was "The Man Who Wouldn't Marry." The number was August 24.
I have just written to Brother Harris and Jennie.
Your loving son,
Herschel.
Those in polygamy with half-grown children will never forget the effect of the Manifesto upon young reasoning minds. The history of the Manifesto and the need for it could not be appreciated by the children of that age. They knew little of the struggle for statehood and the humiliating condition of the Church at that time. The doctrine giving justification for their birthright had been abandoned. Even those who gave staunchest support to these doctrines, were losing some of their old self-assurance. The formerly used phrases describing the rewards of those faithful to the principle of polygamy, such as, "Everlasting Dominion" and "Eternal Glory," were beginning to lose their force. Young people were more easily affected by this shift of position.
Yes, the theological structure of Mormonism was badly shaken when polygamy, the capstone, was thrown off; in fact, if all had felt as Myron did, the whole structure would have fallen.
"If one of Joseph Smith's doctrines can be discarded," he said, "why not all of them?"
"If polygamy was ever true," many argued, "it is true now."
"I'm willing to pay the price for the Celestial Kingdom," said those who refused to accept the change. The old conclusion that "God is the same yesterday, today, and forever" was apparent in all this argument. To let go of that ideal created so much uncertainty.
"After all," they said, "to whom shall we give our allegiance—the government or the Lord? As for me, I'll be on the Lord's side. He never changes."
The Church members were going, for a time, in both directions. However, the great majority followed the leaders who supported the government.
College students laid aside one illusion after another as they desperately tried to harmonize some of the teachings of their religion with their education. B. H. Roberts, one of the Seven Presidents of the Seventies of the Church, was a friend to the college boys of that day. LeVinz never failed to visit with him when they were on the train together going to and from Salt Lake.
Many asked: Would polygamy ever be restored? Other teachings were questioned. One of my sons, who was fourteen years old, doubted the Sunday School teacher when he was taught: "The tithepayer shall not be burned."
The teacher was so bothered by the class discussion on this subject that he asked the Bishop, who was passing, to give a talk on tithing.
"After all that," complained the Bishop to me, "Kneland still persisted in expressing doubt about this doctrine of the Church."
"I tell you," he went on, "your boys are not like the ordinary boys."
"I know the difference," I replied.
"What is it?" he quickly asked.
"They are extraordinary," was my answer.
"Maybe they are; maybe you're right," he mused.
Young people with a tendency to analyze things are not always good followers. My own children were not reared under the old tradition, namely, that obedience is the greatest of all virtues. Rather, they were encouraged to think things out for themselves. I never would or could believe that the institutions of learning would produce a lack of faith in our young people. I thought that if our Church would remain true to its ideal of "eternal progression," it could never be adversely affected by study. Hence, I was never fearful that any amount of education would shake the faith I had tried to instill in the children.
However, my own personal experiences were not free from occasionally questioning some of the old beliefs. Perhaps this is true of all who reflect upon the process of one's development. For example, I had always been taught and had read in sacred scriptures that calamity, and misfortunes generally, were a punishment from God for one's sin and wrongdoings. I supposed this doctrine was verified in the following experience:
I had planned to rent rooms of my large house to the race track people at Lagoon who were to arrive at the time the musicians moved out. A jockey and his wife had already taken one of my light housekeeping apartments. My rooms were all cleaned. Stacks of sheets, pillow cases, towels, etc., were ready for another crowd. I expected to go on with my enterprise of making money from my comfortable, attractive home.
One fine evening on the 27th of September, my sister Sarah's birthday, I started on a mile walk to Sarah's home with a gift for her. As I hurried along over the railroad ties past Lagoon and through the fields already tinged with the autumn colors, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a flaming red which reflected a rosy hue on the eastern mountains and the billowy clouds above them. I observed the changing formations of the blue patches of sky between the tinted clouds, and the scarlet background in the west which reminded me of ever-changing lakes of a beautiful blue. I was pleased with my achievements that day and with the immediate prospect of my money-making scheme. Yet they seemed so small now, compared with the grandeur of the earth and the gorgeous sky which seemed to envelop me.
After a short visit with Sarah it was dark. I did not know that a deep cut had been made for a new road near one of the sidewalks in front of my sister's house. I had entered by a different way. In the darkness I stepped off a five-foot embankment.
"My poor foot," was all I could say, as I sat there in the road.
As I stood upon one foot, I realized I could not walk.
I called to my niece, Alta. Her brother, Dick, heard me and carried me to the house. I insisted on being put down when we reached the door, as I did not want to alarm my sister. It was no use; I could not take a step, so we sent for the doctor. Both bones above the ankle were broken.
I had a tendency to try to account for things, so I began to apply the Mormon philosophy that in some way I had done wrong. I remembered later of sitting on our front lawn and telling one of my neighbors how confident of success I had been; how happy I was to have such good health and above all to have the opportunity to make money so that, with the children's help, we could carry out our plans for their education.
"Perhaps it was coming to me to be humbled," I argued. I confessed to this neighbor that I would never be so sure of myself again. Then, too, I reflected that I should be charitable to those who do not succeed financially. Perhaps it is because some misfortune has overtaken them for their transgressions as it did me for my conceit.
Our concept of God, then, was taken largely from the ancient Hebrew and the Book of Mormon. It has since changed in some measure as the New Testament has become more influential. He is now a God of love; not of jealousy and arbitrary punishment.
Myron was working in Bingham the winter of 1912. He was twenty-two years old. This letter was written just prior to his marriage and refers to Welby, the place of his first home.
Bingham, Feb. 9, 1912.
My dear Mother:
I have been here for the last four or five days fixing shay engines or cog wheel engines. I am now on a work train. I expect to go to Welby any time. Another fireman and myself have rented a house in Welby for $13.50 a month. We do our own cooking. I will be home for a short stay in a week or two.
I wish you could see Bingham. It is certainly a wonderful little place. About a mile and a half long and 100 feet wide. I am in a hotel now 700 feet above the town. There are about fifteen steam shovels working every day and the mountain is covered with little shay engines. Each engine handles two cars and in places goes up a fifteen[-]degree grade.
I will be home in about two weeks, so I guess I'll get to see father before he goes back. I'm going to lay off a day or two and go to Brigham.
Your loving son,
Myron.
The following is a letter written by Mr. Tanner to me from the ranch in Canada. It gives a true picture of conditions there. Year after year it was the same story: "Next fall, he can go to school."
November 28, 1912.
My dear Annie:
This is Thanksgiving. We finished threshing yesterday and started to get up hay. We shall have a week of that and the season's rush will be over. I am going in town in the morning and make arrangements with the bank for a loan. I am planning to let LeVinz go to Utah. I wrote to Bamberger and LeVinz wrote the Floral Company. If no work can be obtained it would be better for him to remain. He ought to have some definite idea about employment. You say Clark will give him work; you said—but you don't know. Have you seen Clark? It will cost $60 for him to go down and one of the boys to come up. You better have that, than to have an extra one to board and no work for him. We shall talk it over as soon as we are through haying. I know how difficult it is to get work in winter. There is work here to be done and 1 want to plan affairs for LeVinz so he can go to school next fall. If Herschel does not go to the A. C. I want the place for LeVinz.
Bless your soul, I did dirty janitorial work when I went to school and never complained about it. Myron did all he could to help himself and I greatly appreciated it. He made good headway. I am sorry I could not do more for him. This farm has done well by us; but West's operations were a ruination to me, and the loss I sustained was tremendous. I think I shall come out clear next year. Prospects are good for next year. Last fall, prospects left me little to hope for. It is different now. We have just had twenty little pigs born and they are doing well. I should have twenty-five more in a month. If all goes well from our small start I shall have fifteen sows to breed soon and twenty-five in the spring and fifty or sixty next fall. It is wonderful how pigs increase. Next fall I shall have quite a few to put on the market. If my crop does anything at all I shall be able to clean up here next fall and from them and the horses and pigs I shall have to sell will just about support my family.
My folks at home don't seem to realize what it meant to me when West summer fallowed 200 acres when he should have been planting and planted 300 acres when he should have been summer fallowing. He caused me a loss of at least $10,000. I shall be sorely pressed financially till next fall, or until I can have time to recover.
Affectionately,
Marion.
One can understand the situation from Mr. Tanner's point of view. The farm was about all he had. He was surrounding himself with cattle and all that goes to make a year-round job for a family. Yet I was at the other end of the railroad inducing the boys to come home and go to school. I had strong convictions and persisted in my own plans for the children's education even above the welfare of the farm. The only proper place for young folks as they grow to man and womanhood was in school, I reasoned. So my letters were full of such sentences:
"Our youth is so soon gone."
"The school years are so short."
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[This is only a portion of the chapter which continues for another 23 pages.]
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