- Date Of Birth: November 12, 1928
- Date Of Death: September 22, 2020
- State: Utah
Carl Dean Peterson
Who will shovel walks for the home-bound? Who will help fix roofs, repair sprinkler systems, mow lawns or meet the needs of his beloved neighborhood? Not sure, because our most endearing, and inspiring Dad, “Gramps”, Carl Dean Peterson, born on November 12, 1928 in Logan, Utah, has been called back home. We have worried for two years that he wouldn’t have long, but this man is tough – American, independent, self-made, “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” strong. So, on September 22, 2020, and at nearly 92 years old, Dad took his final breath and was gone. And, so was our rock. The man we all looked to for leadership, direction, advice and example.
For 15 years, he has missed his eternal companion Helen terribly. The two were sealed in the Logan temple on August 11, 1950. She was “the cutest thing I’ve ever seen” he would say. Even with that void, he relished life and enjoyed every stage of his, except for maybe this last bit. Importantly, Dad had an eternal perspective, was seasoned and accepted the nature of life, its trials, and tests. He endured it with dignity. It’s not that he didn’t experience want or heartache – quite the opposite. He grew up during the depression, shared a bed, one Christmas gift and no money with his four beloved brothers: Louis, Jay Clyde (Bud), Floyd, and Denny, who interestingly, when together looked like a set of quintuplets. He loved his sister Shirley as well, but, she didn’t participate in the “West Fields” antics. Those Peterson boys … they were legendary. When children were free to roam, these did. They were wild, fun, adventurous, mischievous and lightly criminal, (probably the opinion of Logan police officers in the 1940’s).
He put himself through school, obtaining a Master’s degree from Utah State University and with the help of Mom, found his career niche as an elementary school principal. Those kids loved him, and he loved them. Friends tried to persuade him to run for Utah State representative. It seemed so exciting, but he wasn’t having it. He said that his life wouldn’t be his own. He wanted to serve one person at a time and see for himself the good he could do. How admirable that he wasn’t defined by his career. He had lots to do and the energy to do it, which is why he filled so many roles, held so many titles: principal, bishop, counselor, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, war veteran, pitcher, friend, neighbor, builder, teacher, farmer, councilman, roofer, cement mason, fisherman and master gardener.
Occasionally, he remarked that someday he was going to the big fishing stream in the sky, for he was the definition of an outdoorsman. Not that he just liked to be outside. No, he loved the outdoors, saying at one time, “It’s part of me.” Maybe that’s why he had such a great tan that never faded through the changing seasons. Dad didn’t wilt in the heat and he could garden in spring snow. He was a artful skier, and much to our everlasting shame, did so wearing a big, bright, fur-lined orange hunting hat. He loved fly fishing. He fished the same as he down hilled; fast, easy, fluid, surefooted (most of the time), smiling, and at home on the stream and in the canyon. Even picked up a new hobby: putting, at 90 years old.
The outdoors was where he unwound, but he magnified his Church callings by fulfilling his responsibilities as bishop, counselor in the stake presidency, mission leader, young adult advisor and temple worker, with absolute dedication. He never dropped the ball and he always showed up ON TIME. And he did this because he had a strong testimony of his Savior, Jesus Christ. He had been blessed with wisdom, a wealth of experience from which to draw and a sly anecdote to illustrate it.
Carl Peterson was not a vain man, nor was he materialistic. The thing he probably hated most in life was spending money. On summer vacations, we would eat breakfast from a Dixie cup.
Exception! Every three years, he ordered a shiny, brand new Ford F-150 from the factory.
Possibly, the role he fulfilled best was that of grandfather. Mom and Dad were the sweetest grandparents on planet earth. He loved his children dearly, but those grandkids exposed the man’s tenderness that was indescribably endearing. Once, he whispered to his granddaughter, “you can have whatever you want.” He was an avid supporter in all things grandchildren: dance competitions, recitals, baseball, soccer and football games. Literally everything. He endured it all. Not an accomplished chef, he did make the best post-sleepover toast with freezer jam. He would stab a cube of butter and thaw it over the toaster, like roasting a hot dog.
He was welcomed home by his parents, Franklin Olif and Annie Poppleton Peterson, brother Louis (Mattie) Peterson, sister Shirley (Paul) Weller, brother Jay Clyde (JoAnn) Peterson, his companion, his “Happiness” Helen Hurst Peterson and daughter-in-law Annette Barker (Steve) Peterson.
Thank you, Dad, for everything. You gave us so much of yourself. You were so generous with your time. How blessed we are to have had the stabilizing, strong and loving force that was you. You have engraved your love for us on our hearts for the rest of forever. We are so grateful and we miss you so much. Our eyes fill with tears so often that it has been difficult to find our bootstraps. But we will, because you taught us how. You are and will always be our rock. We love you so much. Those left loving and missing him are brothers Floyd (Sharon) Peterson of Layton and Dennis (Marion) Peterson of Logan. His survivors are Steve (Julie) Peterson of Layton, Susan (Stephen) Bennett of Sandy, Ron (Cheryl) Peterson of Syracuse, Richard of Sunset, and Janette (James) Harned of Draper, along with 14 grandchildren and 26 great-grandchildren.
We are profoundly grateful to Richard, our brother, for the care and love which he selflessly gave, enabling Dad to stay in his home. The home he loved and had built himself. And we thank the staff at Applegate Hospice for their tenderness and respect.
