Richard Parkinson Monson

Richard Monson, probably age 5

Richard

My brother Richard

By

Weldon P. Monson

I remember well that day in the mission home in Brooklyn, N.Y., when Richard was born.  Keyne was born in the mission home at 33 West 126^th Street in New York City in 1916 (and nearly died of pneumonia) in the second floor front room.  Richard was born in the second floor room just at the top of the main stairs immediately to the left.  Sister Amy Lou Sloan attended my mother and I remember the family all submitting names for this new baby.  We all seemed to like Richard as a name as all the others, except Walter, and possibly Blanche and Maurice, had unusual names.  We wanted a real boy’s name now, and one which might be abbreviated and made less formal, such as “Dick.”

Richard was a wonderful child and besides his handsome and proud bearing, we was very intelligent and, like Maurice, learned easily.  What he might have been we shall never know but he had all the characteristics of one who might some day distinguish himself in one way or another, given the normal chance in life.  He had a wonderful disposition and seemed to always be happy and smiling.

After we moved to Salt lake City and lived in Sugar House, Richard developed leukemia, of a rare kind that the doctors then claimed was almost 100% fatal.  It was known as myologenous leukemia where the spleen enlarges from the size of a walnut to something larger than a grapefruit, and the manufacture of blood cells changes drastically from red to predominantly white.  As the spleen enlarges itself (there are operations now for its removal) it tends to smother the individual having it from the inside, and as the white corpuscles so greatly outnumber the red, the latter finally band together in nature’s defense system and a blood clot is formed then taking the life of that individual.  This is what happened to Dick.

As my mother carried him around in her arms because of his weakness (he could not walk on his own) to receive X-ray treatments, etc., she gradually developed the same kind of leukemia herself.  The doctor who treated both Richard and my mother was a Dr. Parkinson, with offices on East South Temple Street, who also had it, and literally burned out his side with X-ray treatments.  He told my mother that these three cases were the only cases of their particular kind in the history of Utah.  He said it could come from two sources, a foreign germ, which may have been contracted in the mission field, or from extreme worry.  I would not rule out either of these causes in mother’s case, but it must be assumed that in Richard’s case it came from a foreign germ.

I remember Richard watching out the window of our home each day and wanting to go out and play with the other kids his age who were playing near by.  At times he would cry about it and this would cause such pain in his system that he would scream.  One of my great regrets in life was that I did not have either the patience or the understanding that my mother and others in the family did, and I would become impatient and tell him to keep quiet.  Little did I realize the pain he was experiencing and the kind of torment he was going through. 

I remember my mother also taking care of Grandmother Parkinson who found great love and understanding with mother in our humble home, after she had had a stroke in the temple which left her so she could not read or speak.  It was beautiful to watch my mother who could walk, but in her frail way, take grandmother for walks to Sugar House and back, and how smiling and cheerful both always were.  Indeed, they always seemed more worried about me than they were for themselves.  At least, that is the impression I always got. 

At times Keyne would take Richard for little walks and as other kids would jibe Richard because of his emaciated condition, Keyne who was larger and stronger would come to his defense.  In Richard’s mind he was just a normal boy wanting to do the things others boys did, but his body just could not go along with it.

I remember mother carrying Richard to the city for treatment of this condition and how she also carried him to the Z.C.M.I to make her $5.00 payment on the grocery bill incurred upon Dad’s release from his mission.  As I now look back I get a lump in my throat and my eyes begin to well when I think of the difficult times my parents faced – and never with as much as a word of complaint.  These were sturdy people, deeply religious, faithful and loving always.  I am deeply grateful that they were my parents.

It was on Richard’s sixth birthday that he was taken to our front living room where a bed had been made for him.  All of us knew that these were his final hours.  The doctor came and did what he could.  As Richard lay there he was crying, saying that he wanted that little yellow kiddie car he had seen in Sugar House, which cost $3.95, for his birthday.  I am not sure whether we had that much money in the house, but I remember Dad deeply moved and sobbing “Richard, I will get it for you.”  As he said this Richard smiled, a beautiful sweet smile, and passed away.  I had gone upstairs a short time before, I recall, and cried, and cried, and cried.  I was so overcome with grief.  Then Blanche came running up and said, “Weldon, quick, Richard is going,” and when I went down, Dad and Richard were talking about the birthday present he wanted so much – the yellow kiddie car – he was not to be privileged to ever enjoy.  As Richard passed away I saw my father, for the first time, stand by the bed shaking from grief in the loss of his dearly beloved son, Richard. 

He was to experience other moments like this – particularly with mother’s passing, and this followed closely by Lysle’s.  These were some of the saddest moments of my life and, as I look back, perhaps some of the most beautiful for the deep meaning each had in my life and the lessons of love, faith and great courage in the face of almost insurmountable obstacles.  The understand it better, let me suggest that the only thing Dad ever wrote, aside from those wonderful ward teaching lessons on gospel for Hugh B. Brown, be read.  It can be found in the Deseret Book Store and is a chapter in the book entitled “Faith Promoting Instances.”  This was written at this request of James E. Talmage and George Albert Smith as they went to administer to him in the Holy Cross Hospital.  Then after reading it discuss it with my cousin, Uncle Fred’s daughter, Ann Parkinson Scott, who now lives in Salt Lake City.  I think she knows and well remembers the sequel to all that was written.

Blanche will have a 2x2 photo of Richard and if she does not, I am sure that I can find one and will send it.

[Kris' Note: I write this now in 2021. Grandmother held Richard on her lap as he received radiation. Richard, Grandmother and the physician administering the radiation all died of leukemia. We understand more about cancer now (and hopefully will continue to learn more). It seems very possible to me that Grandmother died as a result of Richard's unshielded radiation given in the 1920s before radiation poisoning was well-understood.]