On January 5, 2002, Ivard’s only surviving sister, Donna Cleverly Winters, wrote me a letter with her early memories of Ivard and the family. The full letter was published in the April 2002 issue of the Cleverly Newsletter. These excerpts were published in the April 2005 Family Journal in commemoration of the 90th anniversary of his birth.
My first recollection of your dad (Ivard) and his twin brother Irvin—they were teases.
Our home had no electricity, only coal oil lamps for light. On August 6, 1929, the electricity was turned on, which consisted of one light globe hanging from the middle of the room. A strong cord was attached to the light fixture, causing the light to turn on or off when pulled.
Before we had lights my two brothers frightened me enough that I still cannot walk into a dark room where someone can hide behind the door—and I’m 78 years old.
Ivard and Irvin would have fights almost every day. This summer day Dad got so exasperated—put boxing gloves on them. They fought each other until they were covered with blood and could not get up off the lawn or raise their arms. Being their baby sister, I was screaming and crying hysterically.
Every night we had family home evening, unless we had to go to a sports event, basketball, baseball, or football. Basketball was our number one sport. Our father was very musical. He made records before he married our mother. Dad sang solos, duets, quartets, barbershop, and directed music at the church. Our family was all musical but Stella. Annie, Louie, Sarah, and I all played the piano. Wayne played cornet, Ivard the violin, and Irvin saxophone. We were all good singers.
On Saturday night our relatives brought their instruments, and we had a real hoedown. Our home was a place of good food and beautiful music.
Irvin told me how he and Ivard sang all the music for school plays or whenever music was needed from first grade to junior high school because they were so good.
I got along fine with Ivard, but Irvin and I were too much alike. We always wanted the same things.
Sunday afternoon all the Cleverly clan came home. After lunch we played softball, touch football, sang, and played instruments, played cards—where most of us learned to add and subtract. We had a wonderful life.
On Saturday Dad, Marvin, Ivard, and Irvin milked all the cows by hand. We sold the milk to Moss Dairy in Woods Cross. They started milking at 4:00 a.m. and finished around 7:30 a.m. After breakfast Ivard, Irvin, Wayne, and I were each assigned a room in our house to clean before my brothers could go play with their friends.
The funniest thing that happened to Ivard and Irvin: They took newborn kittens and put them into our outdoor toilet. Dad made them go fishing for them. They lived. I don’t remember which one went down head first through the toilet seat with a rope around him. Both Ivard and Irvin were covered with fecal material. What a mess!! They were happy when they had a hot bath.
The Bamberger [the intercity train that ran from Ogden to Salt Lake] ran in front of our home, and you had to cross the tracks to come into our yard.
On a summer day when I was ten years old (1933), our dog was hit by the train. Some of us kids carried our dog down to the lawn where we wanted to pray for him. Ivard got Dad’s shotgun to put him out of his pain and suffering. We all knelt down and circled the dog. Bobbie Cleverly, five years old, wanted to say the prayer. This is the blessing he said, “Father in heaven, bless the food. Thanks for it. Name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Ivard did not shoot the dog. He lived.
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