Cornell, 1952

Our writing assignment in our personal history class was to write about an object. Since our bedroom is literally piled with treasures taken from our newly painted closet, I grabbed the first thing I could see - Dad's diploma. I thought the rest of you might like to read my remembrances of Dad.

Rex LeRoy Hurst, Cornell University, September 23, 1952, Doctor of Philosophy

It is a simple document. It doesn’t even state his department, college, or research area. It has been preserved for nearly 60 years. I wonder if it has even been out of its protective carrier. Simple as the document appears, it has had a profound affect on my life and on that of my Father. Receiving this diploma was truly a life-altering event. While Dad loved many things (family, handball, boating, gardening, and genealogy), education was his core value. Whatever he did, he was learning. Graduating from an Ivy League school was no small achievement for a farm boy from Payson, Utah. He had virtually no money and a family to support, while trying to hold his own against “rich kids” with no financial stresses. That is Dad – he never viewed any challenge as precluding or any barricade as permanent. He had succeeded at a top school. He was unstoppable.

Dad had learned how to learn, and would apply that attribute to a myriad of tasks. He taught himself about Computers and became head of the Computer Science Department at USU. He learned numerous computer languages and studied foreign languages as well. In the evening, we would find him propped in an easy chair with a board across the arms of the chair, forming a makeshift desk, studying well into the night. His breast pocket (lined with a pocket protector) always held two mechanical pencils and a collection of discarded punched cards (for note taking). He was always jotting down ideas.

Dad was an avid reader who thought purchasing a book was a complete waste of money as he read several books each week. He was curious about everything and could retain an amazing array of facts. He remembered everything - making encyclopedias unnecessary. Dad just knew.

Dad was a life long learner, taking formal classes, watching the history channel, always thinking, analyzing, and creating. He took institute classes and studied about ancient history, evidences of the Book of Mormon, and world religions. His PhD degree was literally the beginning of a life-long love affair with learning. When I was a child, I thought my father was the most educated person on earth - always studying, always learning. As an adult, my impression of him hasn't changed.

Whenever I would come home from high school saying I could take a course in basket-weaving or adult lifestyles (that all my friends had registered for), Dad would say, "There will be lots of time to take classes like that through Relief Society. Now you need to take math, physics, and chemistry." He always stressed the value of education. Not one of us children ever considered not getting a college degree. He supported us financially and emotionally through the ups and downs of reaching our dreams. No one was more pleased than my Father when I brought home my PhD diploma.

I remember having him help me with calculus. But it was always an extremely difficult thing. Though it had been twenty years since he studied calculus, he would read the chapter, and teach it to himself again, so he could teach me. I was hoping just to be told the answers, but he made me derive the calculus from the discovery of zero and then work our way forward. It took all night long. I had to be desperate before I would ask him for help. But, you know, that ability to think through a problem, to derive the answers, and reason the parts together has been an invaluable asset in my life.

His hands were more comfortable in work than in play. Many a day he would put in a full day at work and then spend five or more hours working at home. During his last months, when it was no longer safe to leave him alone, Mom and I would play tag team as I arrived at the home (in Logan) just in time for her to run to an appointment, and leave as she pulled into the driveway. One day as I was gathering my things to return to work, Dad asked “Where is your office?” And I said, “Dad, it is in Old Main, just next to your old office.” He looked at me and said, “You are so lucky – to have something to do and somebody to do it for.” I thought it was profound. Even in the nursing home, he had plans for the other residents. And he was talking to them about genealogy and doing work – and they were not very cooperative.

Ithaca, New York – the home of the Ithaca Gun Company, the Finger Lakes, silent films, and Cornell University. And my birthplace. But, although Dad’s birth certificate says, “Payson, Utah”, I think his life began in Ithaca, New York too.