Beach Haven

Memorial by Crystal Dunn for her Father, Fred Beach

We found a copy of Cris’ remarks at the time of our dad’s passing. She has ok’d this reprint:

Fred Beach, whose mother called him Freddie, was a happy guy. He was handsome, charismatic, and full of life. He had a love of eagles and frogs, and his favorite color was blue. He was an avid fisherman and loved the ocean.

He enlisted in the Navy as soon as he turned 18 and went to Korea. His mom had to pick up his diploma at graduation and take it to the recruiter. He was a UDT frogman (the first SEAL team). He saw a lot of combat and also received his share of injuries. He had shrapnel all through his back, and a wooden knee. He had teeth knocked out by the butt of a gun, and an ear drum blown from swimming too low after diving from an exploded boat.

Between active duty and reserves he served 42 years. He used to take me to reserves with him. He was very active in the Veterans of Foreign Wars post and loved to help and teach others. I personally thought the idea of him teaching code of conduct classes was hilarious, but the Navy was a huge part of what made him the strong, determined man he was. When his mind was set he had the willpower to see anything through.

When he was younger, he was a professional roller skater and won the Pennsylvania state championship several times. He played bass guitar in a country band, even though he was tone deaf. When he was a teenager, he raced motorcycles, and he has always had one ever since. My parents have traveled across the country on his tour bike a couple of times.

He loved roses and always had a bunch of different-colored rose bushes. He was really happy having his own farm with a huge garden and ducks and chickens. He always had a dog to keep him company too.

My family are converts to the LDS faith and were one of six families to start the first branch in Berwick, Pennsylvania. He was baptized in January of 1973 at the local YMCA and was so excited that he swam the length of the pool. He held many callings over the years and his most recent calling was Sunday School President. He also worked at the Family History Center.

He was very supportive and proud of his children and grandchildren’s many talents of accomplishment. My daddy was my rock, my hero, my superman, and my life will be very different without him.
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During our move process we came across an interesting piece of paper with a poem on it. No name is written. Emily seems to think it was a group effort. Please comment below if you have any insight. Here is the poem, and a scan is above:

Here we come walkin' down the street.
We got no monkeys, but that's what we eat.

Hey hey, I'm the alligator.
I'm just walkin' around.
I comp and bite and swing my tail,
Trying to knock you down.

I'm just tryin' to eat cause,
That's what I live for.
I eat, sleep, and hunt all day now,
'Til I don't as for more.

So just stay out of my way,
Or your doom will be sure
I'm a grumpy camper.
Don't try to ask for more.

This is Mike pinch-hitting for Michelle. 

My mother’s father is Lester Miller. When I was growing up in PA, he was part of a local country band. My father Fred Beach, and uncle Carl Miller were also in the same band. Carl played the drums and eventually got me started doing the same. My dad played the base guitar. Pap Miller was versatile. He could play pretty much anything he picked up. In the band he was primarily the mandolin player, but he also did some songs on the harmonica. Of all the family, I was the only one who showed any interest in harmonica. I had several of my own starting in middle-school. When Pap Miller died, Grammy Miller gave me all his harmonica stuff. It all came in a case with Pap’s nickname on the outside… ‘Shorty’. It was fitting. The case was full of several dozen harmonicas of varying musical keys. He even left a homemade belt in the case with little pockets in it for carrying many harmonicas on stage with him. Each pocket holds one ‘harp’. I still tinker with playing a little from time to time, but not as much as he did.
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While getting things ready to move from VA to GA, I went through the case and found a number of documents, but the most intriguing are a number of song lists with associated key selections. My guess is when the key is not specifically listed it's probably 'C'. This makes up a sort of library of songs Pap played with the band. It might be a fun project for one of you more musically inclined in the family to find the artists and songs listed just to see what they had in their repertoire. Here are the lists:

A recent scan of Family Search came up with two memories of Frederic A. Beach. These were both posted by Emily (Beach) Coates. 

Posted 11 May 2014
After Grandpa Beach had passed, they were preparing the body for burial. His cart ended up rolling down the hall, and those who were working with him had to chase him down. Imagine the scene!

Also posted 11 May 2014
I remember that Grandpa used to have a little plot of land when he lived in Honeyville. And when I was in high school, he had a chicken that we called Cluckzilla. This thing was just a mean old chicken. One time, Cluckzilla was being mean, and Grandpa kicked it. I don't know how far it went, but needless to say, it respected him a lot more after that.
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We were going through boxes in the basement and found the note below. It's clearly from one of our children during the time we lived in Lincoln, NE. We did a considerable amount of landscaping when we first moved into the home. The effort is clearly what the writer is referring to. We believe we know which of our child laborers produced the note, but it might be interesting if he or she might come clean in the comments section below.

Quite a few years ago I (Michelle) put this jar together. It's simple, but contains a powerful tool. You can see the curled up small pieces of paper. On each one is a task that relates to family history. Periodically we will pull one strip of paper from the jar, write here in this feed what it says, and each family member is to write a comment below in response. We have been holding virtual FHE monthly via Zoom during the pandemic, and this idea was discussed this month (March 2021). We decided to proceed in this manner. So here it goes. 

Tell about your favorite uncle.

This is Mike. I scanned a booklet shared with me by my sister Cris Dunn (she doesn't like it when I call her Crystal). She gave this booklet years ago to our father, Fred Beach, and encouraged him to fill it out. He did, and she kept it all these years. There are nuggets in here I hadn't heard before, and the writing is personal as it's done in his own handwriting. His personality also comes out in some of the answers. Click any picture and you can scroll back and forth through enlarged images.

Mike here. This is another story about our early church membership as I remember it, at the request of my little sister Crystal. I was young then and I'm old now so take anything I write about that time with a grain of salt.

Two of the founding families of the Berwick Branch were the Schmidt and Smethers families. They were related to each other. I believe the mothers of these two pioneer groups were birth sisters. The patriarch of the Schmidt family was someone I only knew as ‘Pappy Schmidt’. To someone as young as I was he seemed ancient, and likely actually was so. Some years after we joined the church I remember someone showing me the typical picture that showed all the head-and-shoulders pictures of the general authorities of the church at the time. Down in one of the bottom corners was Pappy’s picture with several other ‘emeritus general authorities’. At the time it seemed impressive, though I had no idea what those words meant, or even really what a general authority really is. I’ve done some searching on the church website and have had no luck finding those ‘class pictures’ from back then (early 1970s) to see what more I can find out about him. I’m sure if I chased down any of his surviving progeny they could fill me in.

The Schmidt family lived out in the woods. A good part of their property was a swamp. I remember spending time at their house with the other young men my age. Billy Schmidt was part of our deacons quorum. We occasionally got time wading around in waist-deep swamp water at his house. Billy was into trapping back then. Between Billy’s traps, snakes, muskrats, beavers, and other sorts of risks, our time playing in the swamp was sort of a form of Russian roulette. For boys of 10 through 13 or so it was a form of heaven.

The Smethers family lived within a few miles of their Schmidt relatives. Unlike the wooded swampy space of the first property, this place was tamer. I remember it to be all on the side of a hill of maybe 10 acres or so. The top part of the hill was an open grassy pasture. About halfway down the hill to one side was about a half-acre pond and a substantial barn. Below the barn was the Smethers home. Below the pasture, pond, barn and home was the bottom of a hollow with a clear cold stream running through it. The land on either side of this creek and up leading to the house was wooded.

The Smethers home was a regular venue for branch activities. I remember summers swimming in the creek and the pond. We also enjoyed fishing in both. The barn was quite large with a hay loft above, and a shop and hay stack on the main floor with a large open area in the middle for the tractor. All sorts of dangerous metal farm implements hung on the walls. In the lowest level were indoor stalls for animals. This barn made for a farm-kid play area without all the safety features. It was not unusual for us kids to jump from the loft down into the hay stacks. The tractor would get taken out leaving a large open area that made for eating, dancing, or similar group fun. In the winter the pasture portion of the hill became a favorite sledding run. The pond froze over thick enough that we could ice skate on it.
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One year at a winter party, after sledding and skating, someone got the idea to take a group picture on the pond ice. It was quite thick so there seemed to be no concerns since we had been skating on it all day. I was in the gaggle closing in for the picture. While posing I remember the distinct sound of ice cracking underneath me. We had maybe 30 or 40 people in the center of pond standing close together concentrating the weight. It was obvious I wasn’t the only person to hear the cracking sound as everyone gasped with panic and scrambled in every direction for the pond bank, slipping wildly cartoon-like. We all made it off safe and sound, and laughed about the whole thing for a long time. I think I was a little slow to try my luck skating again that day.

This is Mike sharing some early church memories as requested by my sister, Crystal Dunn.

Although each of our baptisms were the same in that the ordinance is a consistent priesthood act, yet for each of us the journey and experience was different. To be clear, I certainly don’t assume to speak on behalf of other members of our family regarding their baptismal experience. I only have a few flashes of memory of my own. Witnessing those of the others my role was as a third-party observer, and a young uninformed observer at that. There is a lingering story out there that I may have greeted the missionaries on occasion with a shot or two from my bb-gun. I may have even perpetuated that story, but in reality I don’t remember that happening. Others may have their own recollections.

My mother and sister Lisa were first to be baptized. They were actively participating in the missionary discussions. My father sat in on the discussions mostly as well, though likely less engaged in the conversation. I don’t really remember participating in the discussions more than the typical rough-housing with the missionaries before and after. I was only seven years old at the time. The missionaries that taught us at the time was Elder Drew Smith from Montpeiler, ID and Elder Jackson (don’t remember his first name) from Draper, UT. My mom managed to stay in contact with Drew Smith, but we lost touch with Elder Jackson. That’s always saddened me a bit as Drew was able to see some of the fruits of his labor. His companion has not had the pleasure.

That first experience with baptism in our family took place in an indoor pool at the Berwick YMCA. It was winter time and cold. The pool was a typical lap-swim style with four or five lanes. There was a shallow end and deep end with diving boards. The baptisms were at the shallow end of course. That’s really about as much as I remember about the event. At the time we were still attending the Sunbury, PA branch.

My baptism happened later. I turned eight in April. Sometime after, my parents and local church leaders realized my birthday had passed and I should be considered for baptism. There must have been some agreement that I needed to have my own experience with the missionary discussions, so I met with the newest set of missionaries. I didn’t remember either of them and have since felt bad about that. As I sifted through the picture book my mom left for me I found a baptism picture. She wrote in the caption that it was Elder Rick Hart doing the baptism. I really don’t remember much about the discussions other than I remember understanding the basics, and more importantly I felt baptism was the right thing to do. By this time the Berwick Branch had formed and we were meeting in the local justice-of-the-peace court building.

The ordinance took place in June in wonderfully warm weather. Unlike my mom and sister, I was joined by another youngster from our branch. I don’t remember his name. We did not go into the YMCA pool, or any other man-made structure. Rather, we wandered out into the woods outside of town and held the baptism in a creek. To give you an idea, on the edge of town was a large dairy. The dairy was surrounded by large corn fields where they raised feed for the cows. I was very familiar with this area as it was a regular place for kids in our part of town to ride our bikes. We would often run through the rows of corn when it got high. We also sometimes ‘procured’ ears of corn in late fall to fill bags of the hard seeds for Halloween ‘corning’. This would be something very familiar to kids of that area and era. I assume the idea of corning is probably lost on most readers of this little history (if there are any readers). I don’t remember the name of the dairy, and a quick look on the ‘net seems to suggest it no longer exists. If you look at a map it was located about where Orange St. and Freas Ave. cross each other. The stream in question is called East Branch Briar Creek.

I remember we all just parked off of the side of the road on a little dirt patch. At the edge of the dirt there was a small narrow footpath leading through a green weedy field for a short distance before entering the woods. There was a little bit of effort walking along the creek bank until a sufficiently deep pool was located and the bank was easily accessible for getting into and out of the water. I don’t remember which of us were baptized first. I felt very special all dressed in white. I remember my parents were both smiling. After the ordinance was done and I climbed out of the creek, someone put a towel over me and my parents both gave me a hug. The feelings were peaceful. I felt very happy and I knew immediately I had done the right thing.

My dad took more time to make the commitment. He participated in branch activities and attended church regularly. I’m not sure what all he wrestled with. I do know he was able to agree to tithing, and living part of the word of wisdom, putting aside coffee and alcohol pretty much immediately. The one struggle I do remember was his addiction to tobacco. He smoked cigarettes mostly, though he would entertain the occasional pipe while sitting on the front porch on a summer evening. As a kid, one of my chores was to roll smokes for him. He would buy the white paper with a little bit of paste on one edge, much like one would find on a letter envelope. He would buy shredded tobacco from a company called Bugle and it came in small cans. He had a little rolling machine that was essentially a strip of paper that was rough but flexible. It had a lever on a frame that was a little shorter than the rolling paper and a little wider than the length of a cigarette. My job was to lick the paper, put it into the roller, add enough tobacco, then move the lever until the paper rolled around the tobacco. I did hundreds of these for him.

Eventually he decided to try to quit. He tried cutting down gradually. It didn’t work for him. He got some sort of drug from the doctor. It didn’t help either. Eventually he went cold turkey. Mom warned us to stay away for a few weeks as he would likely be short-tempered as he went through withdrawal. I don’t actually remember him being any different other than he seemed to take up constant gum chewing during the transition. I don’t remember how long he went after that before his baptism happened, but it must have been winter time again because we were back at the YMCA. The only unusual thing I can remember about his baptism was after the ordinance, he was so excited that he swam a lap back and forth across the pool.

My brother Dan had an experience similar to my own. A young girl from the branch joined his service to be baptized at the same time. We drove up to what was Harmony, PA in early church history to visit the area (if not the specific site) where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were the first people to be baptized in this dispensation of the gospel. What was the town of Harmony is now the two towns of Oakland and Susquehanna. When we arrived, the only footprint of the church was a historical marker along the road. There is much more to see there now. We parked near the marker and followed the footpath through the woods heading to the bank of the Susquehanna River. A short walk along the bank led us to a small spot where an eddy had formed on the side of the river. The water swirled in and out of the eddy to such a point that it formed a small circle in the bank almost exactly the size of a baptismal font. I’m not sure if this was natural or someone dug it out that way. In either case, we were alone as family of the two, and some additional branch members. Dan will have to say more than that if he has a mind to. I know I really enjoyed the surroundings and the event.

Finally, our youngest sister, Crystal, was baptized after our move to Utah. Her ordinance was in a fount at a chapel and scheduled in with other youngsters of similar age from around the Brigham City North Stake. She too will have to fill in more than that. I don’t remember anything unusual except that I remember her as being very happy. As her big brother I was happy for her.