Happy Birthday, Joseph!

This is my Grandpa Bill. He's my Dad's, Dad's, Dad. His full name is William Matthew Pelo and he was killed in the Montana Coal and Iron Company's Smith Mine disaster in 1943. My grandpa Dale was his third son and third child, and was only six-years-old at the time. 

This man and his story is part of my rock. I never knew him, and even his own son has few memories  of him, but he has played an essential role in my life nonetheless. 

For as long as I can remember, my family has taken their summer or winter or spring or fall vacations up to the tiny town of Red Lodge, Montana. It's a little tourist place now, with one main street called Broadway and an eclectic mix of shops, restaurants, and bars all along the way. Long ago it flourished as a mining town, but the Smith mine disaster was its death knell. This was the hometown of Grandpa Bill. 

Born in Michigan after his father had immigrated from Finland, Grandpa Bill eventually came to Red Lodge as a farmer and miner. It's where my Grandpa Butch was born, and the place we still call home. My Daddy was born not far from Red Lodge, in Missoula, and each year we visited we got to know Grandpa Butch's older brother, Uncle Marnie. But that's a story for another time. 

I was maybe ten-years-old when I can first recall stopping at the remains of the Smith Mine and hearing the story of Grandpa Bill. The place is haunting, yet there is something about it that denotes a fierce strength in this wilderness town. It still stands. Time has not fully broken it down yet, and it stands sacred to those who lost family in the tragedy. It reminds me each time I see it of the effects that have come down through the ages and how much that tragedy has blessed my life. 

Grandpa Butch says that he remembers that fateful day as the first time he really prayed. He pled with God to bring his father home safely. He didn't know that his dad was already gone as he prayed with all the faith of a little six-year-old. 

They said he was found just feet from the safe place he and his brother-in-law, Arthur Halpin, had built for just such a tragedy. He was killed the instant the gas reached him. 

Grandpa Butch tells me of the little things he can remember, like bringing coffee out to his dad in the fields, and a treat along with it. Grandpa Bill always shared with him (Grandma Bertha usually sent along a second helping for just such an occasion). These little tender memories were to be all he ever had of his dad. 

I don't tell this story to be tragic. I want to recount how much this tragedy has blessed my life, and been the rock upon which so much of my life has been built. 

Grandpa Butch grew up strong and fierce. He might laugh at the description, but I consider him a warrior. His older brothers, Ray and Marvin, raised him alongside his super mother, Bertha Cunningham Pelo. She worked, he worked, they all worked. The little town of Red Lodge continued to be home, even after others moved away. He has a multitude of funny, touching, and teaching stories from his time there (for another post). But the point is that because my Grandpa Bill was killed in the mine, my Grandpa Butch was raised by others that became a great influence in his life. My Great-Uncle Marnie has been and will always be my surrogate great-grandfather. We visited him each time we went to Red Lodge. He was the jokester and the funny man, but he cared about us. He wrote me a letter every birthday, a real, handwritten letter. I have countless memories of his influence in the lives of our big, extended family. Maybe our relationship with him wouldn't have been the same had Grandpa Bill been there to raise my grandpa. 

I don't even know how many other people stepped in to care for Bertha and her boys. I'm sure there are many people I have to thank for the love and support they gave to my Grandpa's family. But there is one other point that I do want to mention that has changed my life for eternity:

When my Grandpa Butch was twenty-two, he was working in Yellowstone National Park. It was there that he met and fell madly in love with Renae June Duffin, my spitfire grandma-to-be. This friendship and romance brought him into contact with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through a series of events (for another post) his heart was touched and he gained a testimony by the Spirit of the Lord, bringing him to baptism into the church and consequently marriage in the temple of the Lord. 

Isn't that incredible?! That's definitely a story I'm going to tell another day, because it's so fundamental to where I stand today, but the reason I'm putting it in Grandpa Bill's story, is because it IS his story! Grandpa Butch was later able to perform temple ordinances for many of his family, including William Matthew Pelo. It may seem that he brought the gospel to his family, but the main point of this story is that my Grandpa Bill brought the gospel to my Grandpa Butch. Grandpa knows that. He told me so himself. 

Grandpa Bill may not have been there for the tears, trials, joys and growth of Butch's formative years (at least not in person), but he was there to guide him to the greatest blessing of this large and growing family - the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I don't know the details of his work on the other side, I just know that because of the faith of my Grandpa William Matthew Pelo, my Grandpa Butch was brought into the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the many eternal blessings found therein. We are sealed as a family in the temple of God. We continue to search for and extend blessings to all of our family, past, present and future, in the temple and through family history and missionary work. Countless members of our family and many others have been blessed because of one man being brought into the church. Isn't that miraculous!?

This is one of the fundamental stories that have made me who I am today. Grandpa Bill worked and sacrificed for his family on this earth, and continued to do so on the other side of the veil. He brought the gospel to our family. He continues to follow Jesus Christ and serve him, blessing our family through eternity. 

I love this man. He is real to me. He is part of my rock.