by Gordon Ryan
Over the years, Cumberland, Stottle, & Stromberg became one of Salt Lake City’s premier law firms, representing banking interests in Utah, as well as affiliate financial interests on the east and west coasts. When the elder Cumberland died, and his original partner, Frederick Stottle, became disaffected with the church, Magnus Stromberg bought out Stottle’s shares, and by 1886, Stromberg, together with his new partner, Jacob Thorensen, represented clients from throughout the western United States. Along the way, Magnus Stromberg Jr. had become a highly respected and influential member of the community, while continuing to be a devoted member of the church.
Harold Stromberg’s return in 1895 from his mission to Scandinavia and his enrollment at the University of Utah, was all part of his father’s plan to see the continuation of the law firm of Stromberg, Thorensen, & Stromberg. Harold’s pending marriage to Katrina Hansen would provide the young man just the kind of responsibilities his father felt Harold would need to ensure his professional and spiritual growth.
Magnus Stromberg’s lasting desire, however, was that the church follow the will of the Lord in the matter of plural marriage. He had understood the political expediency of the issuing of the Manifesto, but with statehood now securely in hand, he had no doubt the Prophet would reinstate “the principle” as a matter of official or unofficial church policy and practice. The will of the Lord could now be carried out by His people.
That assurance, and a strong desire to help the process along, was the reason behind the meeting Magnus Stromberg had arranged for early one morning in March, 1896. With statehood now an accomplished fact and General Conference scheduled to begin the following week, Magnus was certain that President Wilford Woodruff would reinstate the Principle and all would be right again in Zion.
“Good morning, Sister Adams. I believe I have an appointment this morning with President Cannon,” Stromberg said, entering President George Q. Cannon’s home, which was situated two blocks west of Temple Square.
“And a good morning to you, Brother Stromberg. The President is just meeting with one of the Brethren. I’m sure he’ll be right with you. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” he said.
George Q. Cannon served as First Counselor to President Wilford Woodruff in the First Presidency of the church, the senior ruling body that, together with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, determined the policies of The church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In earlier years, President Cannon had been a fugitive from justice and was briefly imprisoned for practicing plural marriage in violation of federal laws forbidding it.
The church’s practice of polygamy isolated the church and angered many in the United States, but none more than those congressmen and senators who opposed Utah’s quest for statehood. Along with the institution of slavery, polygamy was popularly referred to by the enemies of the church as one of the “twin relics of barbarism.” The church was also viewed nationally with suspicion for what was perceived as the exercise of inordinate influence in the affairs of Utah government.
In Magnus Stromberg’s mind, the Manifesto, in which President Woodruff declared the end of the practice of polygamy, was but a capitulation to mobocrats, notwithstanding their congressional titles. Now that statehood had been achieved, he felt that error could be rectified. And the sooner the better, Stromberg thought. The church had endured enough government intervention. It was time for the will of the Lord to be upheld.
“Good morning, Brother Stromberg,” President Cannon said, wrapping a huge embrace around his old friend. A large man, whose silver hair curled around the edges of his gentle face, President Cannon was beloved by his people and by those of his household. A publisher by trade, Cannon had founded in 1866 a retail bookstore and publishing house that did business under the name George Q. Cannon & Sons.
“And what brings you to my humble home this beautiful morning, Magnus?” Cannon smiled.
“Just a friendly visit, President, and one long overdue, I’m afraid. I haven’t taken the opportunity to shake your hand since statehood became a reality. I’m most appreciative of the role you played in our success.”
“It was a long time coming, Magnus. A very long time,” Cannon said, motioning for Stromberg to take a seat.
“And how is Frank progressing toward becoming our United States Senator, President?” Stromberg asked, aware that President Cannon’s son, Frank, was a prime prospect for appointment.
Cannon smiled broadly. “It seems the state legislature thinks he’s the man.”
“Good. Very good. Anything that my law firm can do to assist, President, you know we’re only too glad to help.”
“Thank you, Magnus,” Cannon offered. “That’s reassuring. And your son, Harold, is about to be married, so I hear.”
“Indeed he is. To a lovely girl from a new family. The Hansens from Norway. A family he baptized, I might add.”
“Fine thing, Magnus. Wonderful news. So,” he said, “what can I do for you this morning on the eve of our first general conference since statehood?”
Stromberg smiled a wide, happy smile. “We’re in, President. After all the bickering, infighting, and opposition from all quarters, even the Gentiles agreed with us that it was time for statehood. How does the President see it?” Stromberg queried, referring to President Woodruff.
“He’s very pleased, Magnus. He believes that now the people can get on with their lives, turn their hearts toward the Lord and go on about His work.”
“Exactly,” Magnus Stromberg stated, rising and crossing to the window of Cannon’s front room office. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s a wonderful piece of news, President.”
Turning to look at Cannon, Stromberg said, “So, we might expect some formal announcement from President Woodruff on the matter in conference?”
“Announcement?” Cannon said.
“Perhaps not an announcement, but some . . . clarification maybe,” Stromberg offered. “I can imagine that you, of all people will be most relieved. Your steadfastness in keeping the Principle has been an inspiration to us all. I am heartily pleased that you will now profit from its reinstatement. It will be a blessing for your family, George.”
Cannon rose and came to stand alongside Stromberg at the window. They were about the same height and they stood now, eye to eye. “I don’t follow, Brother Stromberg. What reinstatement?”
“Well, . . . the President . . . the Manifesto. I mean, I’ve supposed there will be some kind of declaration of the church’s intent, but perhaps only an informal understanding is to be given.”
President Cannon looked away then moved back to his desk. Taking his seat, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands comfortably on his ample stomach. Stromberg followed him from the window and stood in front of the desk.
“President?” Stromberg asked, leaning forward and seeking confirmation of his assessment.
President Cannon leaned forward. “I mean no offense, Brother Stromberg, but you are mistaken. President Woodruff intends to do nothing more than what the Lord has already given him to understand. There is to be no modification of the principles stated in the Manifesto.”
Stromberg was stunned. Embarrassed by the reprimand and confused by President Cannon’s refusal to acknowledge what needed to be done, Stromberg was for the moment speechless.
“Magnus,” Cannon said, rising and coming around to the front of his desk to stand next to the attorney, “we are following the will of the Lord. He has spoken and President Woodruff has declared the direction the church must take. There is to be no announcement to the contrary.”
“And the rest of us—those families who have already left for Mexico and exile?”
Cannon smiled. “They’re not in exile, Magnus. They’ve formed another branch of the church and are furthering the process of expansion that Brother Brigham initiated so long ago. They are fully in accord with the Manifesto and intend to remain so.”
“But I thought . . .” Stromberg began.
<
br /> President Cannon assumed a serious expression, stepped forward, and placed his hands on Stromberg’s shoulders. Looking tenderly into his friend’s eyes, he said, “President Woodruff has been shown what would have befallen the church had we not ceased the practice, and the Lord is the author of that revelation.”
Stromberg was not convinced. “Perhaps I need to see the President and discuss the matter. It seems so clear what has happened. The way has been opened to put things right. We needn’t let the government dictate how we live our religion.”
Cannon’s eyes grew stern and his voice firm. “There is no need to steady the ark, Magnus. It is in good hands.”
Stromberg turned and headed for the door, pausing in the opening just long enough to smile back at his longtime friend and say, “Let us not part in anger, President. I have only the best feelings for you. And, please, give my regards to young Frank. I hope his senatorial bid goes well.”
“Thank you, Magnus. And a good day to you.”
25 April 1896
Dear Nana,
I never imagined getting married without you here. Today I will marry Harold Stromberg and will leave Poppa’s house. I am very frightened, Nana, but excited too.
Harold’s father, Magnus Stromberg, seems a nice man, and has kindly welcomed me into his family. Our two families had a formal dinner at the Stromberg home on Wednesday. Mother and Father Stromberg, (that’s what they want me to call them, Nana) gave me a lovely china set for a wedding present. Harold has obtained a nice house not too far from Poppa’s.
It is only four-thirty in the morning, Nana, and the household is fast asleep. In six hours, at ten-thirty on this Saturday morning, I will enter the Lord’s temple and receive my endowments, and when I leave, I will be Mrs. Harold Cumberland Stromberg. Harold is a good man, Nana, and I know he will care for me. I will do all I can to make him a good wife.
Be with me, Nana.
Jeg elske du,
Trina
PS. I do love Harold, and I know he loves me.
As the horse trudged slowly up South Temple Street, Tom let her have her head. The clear, springtime night sky was blanketed with stars, made more bright by the absence of the moon. It was dark, but the mare had no trouble finding her way. She had become as used to these early morning deliveries of food as Tom had.
“Seven families will eat better tomorrow, Sister,” Tom said.
“They will, indeed. And how are you eating, Thomas?”
“Sister?” he asked.
Sister Mary Theophane remained quiet, waiting for Tom to answer her query.
“I’m eating fine, Sister. And I’m feeling fine.”
She raised her eyebrows, and looked at him a moment longer, exercising the skill that enabled her to entice a person to talk freely without her having to probe for information.
Tom raised his hands in his defense, holding on to the reins in the process. “Really, Sister.”
“And food for the soul, Thomas?”
“Ah, c’mon, Sister. I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“I know you are, Thomas. But have you given any further thought to what we discussed on St. Patrick’s Day?”
Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, Tom clicked his tongue at the mare and slapped the reins, urging her up the hill. “I’d rather not love someone, Sister Mary, who doesn’t love me.”
“That’s an understandable feeling,” she said. “But, Thomas, if we were all able—”
“Sister, someone’s walking up ahead,” Tom interrupted, as the horse continued to plod along. In the early morning mist, Tom could make out what looked like a man and a child walking at a brisk pace in the shadow of the trees on the side of the road. As the buggy pulled even, they turned, the man taking care to keep the young boy away from the road and out of the path of the horse.
“May we be of some assistance, sir,” Sister Mary offered.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” the man responded, “but we’re not far from where we’re going.”
Tom thought there was something familiar about the man.
“D.O.?”
The man approached the buggy, smiling as he recognized Tom. “Mr. Callahan? A most unusual time and place to meet, I’d say.”
“Can we help you, D.O.?”
“Well, this young lad here came to roust me out of bed. His uncle is ill. I’m just going to see if I can be of some assistance.”
Sister Mary looked at Tom. “I’m sorry, Sister. D.O., this is Sister Mary Theophane from Holy Cross Hospital. Sister, this is David McKay, a friend I met on the day I arrived in Salt Lake.”
D.O. removed his hat. “My pleasure to meet you, Sister.”
“Mr. McKay, if we wouldn’t be intruding, lift the young lad up and we’ll give you a ride to your friend’s home.”
“Thank you, Sister, that would be most kind. He lives about four blocks up the hill, and half block down Eighth East.”
Lifting the boy up and climbing aboard himself, D.O. sat down on the backseat of the surrey. “Have you settled in well, Tom?” he asked.
“Well,” Tom laughed, “Sister Mary was just asking me the same thing, in a different way. I guess I could say I’m comfortable. I’ve been worse,” he laughed again.
“We’ll have to get together for that dinner I spoke of.”
“I’d like that, D.O. South on Eighth East, you said?”
“Yes. About halfway down the block, on the right side.”
Tom reined in the mare in front of the only house on the street showing any lights. “Hurry, Brother McKay,” the young lad said as he hopped down from the surrey. “Uncle Robert’s bad sick.”
“Let’s go see what we can do,” D.O. offered, taking the young boy’s hand, stopping only to thank Sister Mary and Tom for the ride.
Sister Mary spoke up. “Mr. McKay, might I be of some assistance, please? I am a trained nurse.”
D.O. paused for a moment, then said, “That would be very helpful, Sister.” He stepped back to the buggy and offered his hand as she descended from the seat. Sister Mary looked briefly at Tom, who waved her on. “I’ll just stay here with the mare, Sister. You go ahead with D.O.”
Inside the house, a young woman in her late twenties sat by the bedside of a man who was perspiring and writhing in pain. The young woman had been wiping the man’s face with a wet cloth, but she stood when D.O. appeared. The man on the bed looked to be in agony. He raised one hand in greeting but said nothing as he continued to roll from side to side, groaning as he did so. The young woman gave D.O. a questioning look as she glanced quickly back and forth between McKay and Sister Mary.
“Sister Thurston,” D.O. said, “this is Sister Mary from Holy Cross Hospital. She was kind enough to pick us up and give us a ride. She’s a nurse at the hospital and asked if she could help. Sister Mary, these are the Thurstons, Robert and Alice.” D.O. bent over Robert to see if he could determine what was wrong with his friend.
Alice Thurston’s face was pinched with worry, and she said to D.O., “He’s been like this since bedtime last night. He’s got a fever too. I haven’t known what to do.”
Sister Mary stepped to the other side of the bed and leaned over Robert. “May I?” she asked as she put her hand to his forehead then reached for his wrist to take his pulse. Her professional demeanor was evident.
“What seems to be the complaint, Mr. Thurston?” she asked.
Robert Thurston tried to rise, his desire to be courteous outweighing his discomfort. Sister Mary smiled, and gently pressed his shoulder down against the bed. “Perhaps it would be best if you remained at rest, Mr. Thurston. Where is the pain?” she asked.
“In his lower abdomen,” his wife responded for him. “He’s been sick to his stomach almost all night too.”
Sister Mary looked at his midsection, covered by the bed clothes. “May I?” she asked again, placing her hand lightly on the blanket. Robert nodded, gritting his teeth.
Sister Mary turned back the covers, allowing Robert
a modicum of privacy as she did so. Pressing gently on his lower abdomen, she watched his face as she released the pressure. He grimaced and groaned out loud.
“Ummm,” she murmured, glancing over at D.O. Tom had come into the house and was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching the situation develop. “He needs a doctor to confirm, Mr. McKay, but I believe Mr. Thurston has appendicitis and should immediately be taken to a hospital. We are very close to Holy Cross, and I know Doctor Benedict, a fine surgeon, is remaining overnight to observe a very ill patient. He is an excellent doctor, and has performed other appendectomies.”
D.O. turned to look at Alice Thurston, whose concern had increased as she listened to Sister Mary’s diagnosis. Alice looked to D.O. for direction.
“Holy Cross will be excellent, Sister. May I have a few moments with Brother Thurston? And then, Tom,” he said, turning toward the door, “perhaps you could help me get Robert into the buggy.”
Sister Mary rose from the bedside and exited the room, motioning Tom to come with her and closing the door behind them. D.O. and Alice remained in the room with Robert.
Tom was curious at the delay. “Sister?”
“I believe Mr. McKay is going to give a priesthood blessing to his friend. I don’t think it will take long,” she smiled.
“A priesthood blessing? Is D.O. a priest?”
“Not as you understand it, Thomas, but as I told you, I’ve been here nearly twenty years. I’ll explain later. Let’s get a few blankets and have the buggy ready.”
“Right, Sister.”
Later, as dawn began to lighten the hallway through the hospital windows, D.O. and Tom were sitting with Alice Thurston outside the surgery as Doctor Benedict walked toward them, a tired smile fixed on his face. “He’ll be fine now, Mrs. Thurston. He just needs a few days to rest, and he’ll be fine.”