This is a short sketch on the life of Thomas Franklin Sevy as assimilated from the memories and facts relayed to his son, Arthur C. Sevy. It is because of the love he had for his father and the desire to have his memory kept bright in the lives of his children that this sketch is drafted at this time.

Thomas Franklin, or Frank as he was called by his friends, was born to Thomas and Sarah Evadine Crosby Sevy on August 28, 1889 in Panguitch, Utah. He was the second child but grew up as the oldest in the family as his brother, Jesse Wentworth, died when in his infancy. The fact of Frank growing up as the eldest, not only on one family but of two, caused many difficult and trying periods in his life.

His mother, Sarah Evadine, died while he was yet a young man, leaving him and his two younger sisters and brother to be raised by a stepmother. It wasn’t that his stepmother was particularly unkind to him, but he was nearly as old as she was (10-15 years) and as she started to have her own family she was heavily burdened and naturally paid less attention to the children of Sarah Evadine.

The fact of Frank not having a mother’s love in his tender years coupled with the fact that his father was extremely strict caused him to be determined to leave home as soon as he possible could. The actual bread-away didn’t come, however, until he had completed a two year mission in the northern states, worked for a while and gotten married. He worked hard and saved diligently so that he could have his own ranch some day. This dream finally came to pass when he purchased 80 acres along Panguitch Creek at White Rocks.

He was called on his mission when he turned 19 years old, and spent two years in Southern Indiana doing the work of the Lord. Because of his singing talent, he spent more time singing the songs of praise than he did preaching. Because of his ability to touch the hearts fo those he came in contact with through song, he was given the title of “the Singing Missionary”.

He went straight to the sheep herd when he returned from his mission, never being given the opportunity to work in the Church. He met his future wife about one year later when he had returned form the herd and she was a guest in his father’s home. His first impression was that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. This impression remained with him all his life, as he relayed it to his son a short time before his death. Dad didn’t see Mother again for another year. This time he was running sheep on the Arizona strip and was in St. George for supplies. She was working in an ice cream shop and he asked to take her home. This was their first date. They were married one year later on September 10, 1913 in the St. George Temple.

After the wedding, the trip back to Panguitch was an experience in itself. The first day saw them as far as Leeds, the second to Parawan, and the third day they made it home. Grandpa met them in Bear Valley and took Mother the remainder of the way in his new Buick while Dad drove the team on to Panguitch alone.

With a new lovely, young wife and a ranch stocked with cattle, it looked like everything was finally well with the world. However, life wasn’t destined to be rosy for Mother and Dad; for just two years after they obtained White Rock, they had an extremely poor year, with too many livestock and not enough feed, and lost practically everything. From then on, Dad worked for Grandpa in one capacity or another. He worked the White Rock Ranch for several years, operated the Sevy Store until it went broke during the depression and then he managed the sheep until Grandpa died. At this time he received the lower farm as his inheritance. He worked the farm for a few years and then sold it when it became evident that he was too old for the hard work and his allergy wouldn’t stand the dust. So he sold the farm for enough to keep he and Mother comfortable for the remainder fo their lives.

Even though Dad’s life was somewhat beset with disappointment and heartache he never let his troubles overshadow his life. In fact, not very many people ever knew of his troubles because of his personality and ability to hide his gloom through story and song. An example of his ability to get others to help him through song was when he was just a lad he would sing and play his guitar while his friends did his chores – he would set on the woodpile and sing while they chopped the wood. This was characteristic of his life – he loved to sing and others loved to hear him. He had another great joy in his early life, too. That was his matched black team (Nig and Darkey). Nig had a white spot on his chest and Darkey was a pure black. Although they weighed about 1300 pounds apiece, they doubled for riding horses on various occasions. Darkey could run pretty well and many were the times that Dad would unhitch him and enter him in a race, which he would win more often than not. Of course, his favorite was Old Joe, a gray saddle horse. He was almost one of the family. If dad had made White Rock a horse ranch instead of a cattle ranch, he probably wouldn’t have lost it when he did.

Dad’s God-given ability to sing was manifest in many ways throughout his life. Early in life, when his friends would do his chores, later as the singing missionary, always with his guitar or the piano at the party, then in later years he would gather his family around the piano during family gatherings and sing for hours. I believe his greatest joy came from singing for others or listening to his children perform.

Dad’s destiny wasn’t to be rich, but his memory will live on among his children and others who knew him as being one of the most kindly and unselfish persons they have or will ever know – and isn’t this a much richer destiny?

Parley Steele wrote a short sketch about Dad at the request of his children when he died and it was presented in the funeral. Since the sketch was written by one who knew him quite well, it seems appropriate that it be included here. Hence, the following is from the hand of Parley Steele:

I deem it a single honor to be in this position at this time and be privileged to express my profound appreciation of the long association with Frank Sevy, his family and many friends.

Not do I think of my self as an-one special in the life of Frank Sevy for it is my impression that everyone to him was special. Only to me was he special. Looking back, I seem to find no beginning of our friendship in association and looking ahead I can see no end to our association. For, though he be dead, yet shall he live in my mind and in my heart to the end of time, or whatever that may mean in my time.

If I was more to him than another, it was in the nature of spelling him out and interpreting his feelings correctly in reference to something and/or in witness to the fact that he was just frankly Frank. Frank’s stock answer to a burning question was “I don’t know but I will tell you how I feel about it.” Just his way of a soft answer that turneth away wrath and lends the lie to one so very positive with a quick, fast-think so. Frank was no sorehead, neither have I ever seen him fighting mad. The part he played was that of peacemaker. I was the one of the team to kick over the traces and kick the end gate out - I was the erratic. He was the calm heart – genial Frank as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I know he did though and he restored my I-Care to me the time I lost it.

Frank Sevy’s interest in life was people. The more the merrier, the bigger the crowd the more he felt to be in his element. While with me, I was entirely out of my element for I am naturally a loner and in that respect Frank was my front, my mentor and go-between. He was my social conscience in defense of social blunders and eccentricities wherein I am prone to error. I probably could have capitalized on that for I am very versatile in that I can do more things more different ways than anyone. There is where Frank meant so much to me. His job was to keep me straight with the world and its environs.

I know Frank Sevy went to school and I went with him. Not that we learned anything but we did have a wonderful time. Frank could say it in song – “Father and Mother paid all the bills and we had all the fun, Oh the fun we had with college life”. One can get an education without going to school. One can get an education after going to school but no one got an education going only to school. Frank was educated to the practical, sensible and down-to-earth workable aspects of life.

Not would I write for you who knew him for he was so honest his life was as an open book for all who would learn let him read. What I would write would be for posterity. That, in that they could say “That is why I like people. I am just like Grandpa.” Just as he was like his Mother Eva Sevy, ‘the most loved woman in Panguitch in her time’ I claim ‘No one is educated until they are public spirited and Frank Sevy was public spirited. He had community interest at heart as all who knew him can testify.

Aside from the relief I find in this thinking of him and the relief I find in doing so, I say it all with one work – principle. To me, Frank Sevy was principle. I would spell principle with words – tolerant, generous to a fault, forgiving. Put those together spells charity and as Paul says, “If you have not charity, you have nothing.” Now add to those words sacrifice and a broken heart and one has what one could call PRINCIPLE. To me, Frank Sevy was principle – that, I believe.

Virtue is but the feature of the fact
Like the faces in the fire of the hearth,
Like the trains are to the track,
Like the rains are to the earth.

Frank Sevy had all the features of the fact – that I believe he is on his way to the Kingdom.

Christ said, “Come to me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” Could I add without distorting the fact, “or you can’t come.” And isn’t that the way that Frank went? Frank died with a broken heart and a contrite spirit in full repentance of every mistake he ever made, and I know that without his ever saying so. He was so honest with me that I could read him like an open book.

In Frank’s stock saying “I don’t know but I have a feeling.” – just to let you know how I fit into his life I will give you a few words of what it summed up to me.

Tho’ there be the vastness of the skies I know not of
But let it be.
Tho’ there be oceans and hidden seas I know not of
But let it be
Tho’ there be mountains yet untrod I know not of
But let it be
Let there be God.

Like the above, the gist of our conversations was something left to think about and worthy of our sincere consideration. Frank didn’t pretend, he was no back slapper. With me, he was matter-of-fact and down-to-earth all the way. Some of him died on Father’s Day, June 17th, 1962, but the Frank Sevy I knew and still know lives in my heart and in the hearts of many an one though they be scattered to the ends of the earth. Yes, our Frank had it – that salient, silent something that savors of something out of this world and the flavor lingers on, and on, and on.

Thus:
Somehow I have come to think of life as but an interlude.
A fretful span of harried hurt, uncertainty, wait and pain
Between the time when we were happy once perhaps
And when we shall be happy ‘perhaps’ again.

(adapted)

Thoughts:
How long and how much does one have to write to say one line to immortal fame? How much lost printers ink for just one line that no challenge can claim?

Stephen Foster, the great song writer, had that distinction. Foster, you know, wrote more than two hundred songs (folk songs) like Old Black Joe, My Old Kentucky Home, Down Upon the Swaney, On the Banks of the Wabash, etc. Our Frank could sing those songs as they should be sung. His life was a song. Years ago with nothing to do I wrote an ode to Stephen Foster that be-speaks of Frank Sevy’s rendition of those songs.

In Foster’s words, his five immortal last
In the tone of Home Sweet Home
Were first the seeds of our hope are cast
The hearth, the world his prayer intone.

With the tenderness he gave the river
Now give we ear the whisperings t’would impart
Bequeath and dedicate to thee O’God forever
(our)
“Kind friend and gentle heart”, Frank Sevy.

I deem it fitting that Foster didn’t get to add to our take away from those last five words that was found in his pockedt after he died. Seems he meant to write a song around them but hadn’t gotten to it. Those last five words that any of us could say are quite sufficient to the whole story of Frank Sevy. They say everything I have to say, though I could write a book of him it could never say more or mean more than “KIND FRIEND AND GENTLE HEART”. Should be on his headstone.