Obituary of Dee Mardelle Giles

I was born in Sacramento, California in 1943. We lived there until I was 3, with my mom, my mom's mother, and my little 1 year old brother. My dad had joined the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1940, because the US had not yet become involved in WW II. He was stationed in England for the duration of the war, but visited home briefly a couple of times, returning permanently when I was 2. Our next home was in Great Falls, Montana, where we lived for 3 years. I remember a special babysitter who drew beautiful paper dolls when she came. My mother was an accomplished seamstress, and sewed wonderful doll clothes for me. My mother's cousin also sewed for my dolls, as she had only 2 little boys who were more interested in trucks and trains. One year for Christmas she sent me a large dress box filled to overflowing with gorgeous and detailed outfits and accessories for the blond and the brunette Lingerie Lou 7 1/2" dolls she included in that wonderful surprise. When I was 6, I received as a gift a nursery rhyme stamped picture for embroidery of the Queen of Hearts with a tray of tarts. The cloth was mounted in a red plastic frame, and the set included the skeins of floss needed to complete the picture. I finished it quickly and begged for another. I think I did half a dozen or so of those that summer. While other kids were outside riding bikes, I was inside stitching. My friends' mothers were impressed, and rushed out to buy the sets for their daughters. I don't think any of them were interested enough to try the embroidery, let alone finish the project! Again we moved, this time to Mountain Home, Idaho. By then I had discovered the Sears Christmas catalog. I drooled over the wonderful dolls, especially those who came in wardrobe trunks. Oh, those clothes! I nearly wore out the pages dreaming about dressing my dolls in those magical creations! I also would always carefully return all my dolls to their original boxes and pretend they were still brand new. I also remember watching my mother knit a baby sweater for a shower she was planning to attend. I was fascinated, and asked her to show me how to do it. She said 9 years old was too young to knit, and that I should leave her alone so she could finish the sweater. I begged her to at least show me how the stitch was made, so she gave me a quick demonstration. Then I vanished into my bedroom, and emerged a couple of hours later, proudly carrying a grubby project consisting of two pencils with stitches on them, attached to a ball of string, and about an inch of holey knitting with dropped stitches! When she saw that, she exclaimed that if I could do that well with two pencils and some string, I would have a much easier time with yarn and real needles. So we walked down to the local five-and-dime, and I was the excited recipient of a skein of yarn, a pair of knitting needles, and a baby layette pattern. I finished the pair of little bag-type mittens the next day, and have been knitting ever since. When I was 10 years old, my parents and my brother and I moved to England. My Dad was now a career US Air Force officer, and when the chance came for him to return to the places he had lived during the war, he was elated, and was instantly on his way. We followed some weeks later, in early April of 1954. I was enrolled in the Northampton High School for Girls, where I immediately began studies in French, English literature, history, composition and grammar. Classical art and music were also part of the curriculum. I did well at the school, but it wasn't long before my Dad was transferred to another base in England. I then went to a girls' boarding school to give some stability to my life while my Dad and Mom were moving to various locations around that country. My brother likewise went to a school for boys. My life was quickly interrupted once again. In February of 1955, my parents came to my school and told me that we would be moving to Oslo, Norway. They felt that it was too far away to leave my brother and me at our respective schools in England, so our whole family made the transition to living in a non-English speaking country. There was an American School in Oslo which served grades 1-8. I was 12 years old and in the 6th grade, remaining there until I graduated from 8th grade. It was in Norway that I learned to sew on my mother's black straight-stitch Singer machine. But there was a real problem--my mom could never get me away from it! I remember a few heated discussions about sharing! But because I lived so far from any of my friends at school, and didn't speak Norwegian fluently enough to feel comfortable with the neighbor children, I spent a lot of time by myself, designing and creating my own doll clothes. The Sears catalog was still very important to me, because those wonderful toys and dolls were simply not available in local stores, and the closest PX was in Germany. Anything American was special. I ordered several dolls and then the Revlon doll appeared. Oh, how I wanted one! But my parents didn't think she was appropriate for me, with such a grown-up figure! I begged and wheedled, and then noticed that Sears offered a similar high-heel undressed fashion doll for $3.50. If I were to buy a dozen of them, they would only be $3 each! So my dad told me he would get the dozen dolls if I would sew clothes for them. The catalog also had fabrics and notions, which was important, because there was not much available in Norway, as industry had not yet recovered after the war. So I carefully decided what fabrics, lace, elastic, buttons, etc. I would need, and ordered enough supplies to dress all 12 dolls with 7 identical outfits each. My dad then took my prototype to work, where the Norwegian staff people were anxious to purchase my creations. I made quite a bit of money that summer of 1956. The sewing machine problem seemed to be solved when my dad purchased 2 new Viking zigzag sewing machines, one for me, and one for my mom. I hated it! I refused to use it, because the old familiar Singer was easy for me. So one day it turned up missing, and I had no choice but to sew on the Viking! That machine opened up a whole new world for me. Buttonholes were easy to do, and seams could be finished with the zigzag. I was then told I was wasting my time sewing doll clothes, when I could be making clothes for myself. I wasn't much interested, but as I grew out of clothes, I noticed that only fabric from the catalog, not clothing, was bought for me. So in desperation I began sewing for myself. It was fun, but the dolls still lurked in the back of my mind. We then returned to England when I was 14, and just going into 9th grade. I wanted to return to an English boarding school instead of going to the American High School near London. I felt I would get a better education, so my dad allowed my brother and me to resume our studies under the English system. The first real dress I attempted to make for myself was a Vogue pattern!! It had a bodice with a waist, a full gathered skirt, and the front placket only came to the waist, thus necessitating a side zipper in order to get the dress on. There was a pleated yoke, Peter Pan collar, and short gathered sleeves with set-on cuffs. It was definitely not a beginner's project, but I jumped in with enthusiasm. Our house had doors on every room, so I went into the dining room and shut the door to keep my mom from watching and correcting me. I wanted to do it all by myself! I got the whole dress done, quite well, I must admit, except for the collar. The buttons and buttonholes had been placed on the front placket, and that annoying side zipper was done, too. The only things left to do were to make the collar and stitch the hem. At this point, I thought it might be a good idea to try it on. I put the dress on over my head and inserted one arm into the sleeve, but try as I might, I could not find the hole for my other arm. There I was, standing in the middle of the floor, flailing my arms and jumping up and down and shouting to try to get the dress on. My mom heard the commotion and opened the door into the dining room. She burst out laughing and finally, in frustration, I yanked the dress off over my head and threw it on the floor. I asked her what was so funny and she replied that one sleeve was great, but I had set the second sleeve into the neckhole instead of the armhole! Since the sleeve was gathered, I didn't notice! She said the dress looked like it had a chimney on the top of my head! So I unpicked the offending sleeve and set it in its proper location and finished the dress. It really did turn out very well. At the boarding school, one of the classes was a sewing class. The sewing machines were black straight stitch Singers! Only THESE machines were not electric! They had a big hand wheel with a handle, which we would turn with the right hand while manipulating the fabric with the left hand! If we could cajole another student to crank the wheel, we could have both hands free, but this was a rare treat. I simply could not sew this way, after having become really accomplished with the Viking. So my dad brought my machine to the school, but the Headmistress refused to allow me to have it, because she feared the other girls would feel jealous and disadvantaged. My dad then informed her that I would be leaving the school if my machine were not allowed, so I got my wish. The other girls had never seen such a wondrous machine. They all begged to use it, and I was quite generous, as I got a lot of attention that way! At the end of the school year, there was a carnival, with games, prizes, races, food, a play, music, and a raffle. We were supposed to make little things that people could buy tickets for, and this would raise funds for the school. I volunteered to buy a fashion doll and dress her for the grand prize. The Headmistress thought this was a foolish idea--how could I possibly accomplish such a thing--but I insisted, so I began my project. I was never alone when that machine was out. I was thronged by little girls as they drooled over the creations I turned out, one after the other. The most exciting one was a red velvet skating costume with fur trim, and it even had tiny ice skates. There was a satin and tulle formal, a wedding gown and veil, a ballet tutu with tiny felt dancing shoes and long ribbon ties, a riding habit with jodhpurs and a velvet hat, a nightgown, several dresses and skirts, and a coat. I even created a replica of our school uniform from an old worn-out set. It had a red-and-white pinstriped shirt, grey wool sleeveless dress, our man-style necktie, a felt blazer with a school crest on the breast pocket, and a matching wide-brimmed hat. I knitted a couple of sweaters for her, too. Then I dressed the doll in her wedding gown and arranged all the other items on a poster board backdrop. The display was placed in a position of honor on the table. When the raffle was held, the entire school and the crowd of visitors held its collective breath as the winning ticket was selected. A little girl named Christine won, and she cried for hours because she was so excited and happy. During a school break, I took the bus to London and visited Harrod's Department Store. There was a toy section, so I went to check out the dolls. There, lined up in a long row along the counter, were plastic cylinders with the most amazing tiny mannequins! Each outfit was more wonderful than the one previous! And they only cost 21 shillings, very reasonable. I perused the offerings for quite some time, finally selecting one with the most accessories because I knew I would be unable to recreate those myself. The doll was called "Lili" and I later found out that that she was the precursor to the famous replica, the Barbie doll. I carefully carried my treasure home, and proceeded to make many tiny couturier outfits for her over the next several months. By this time it was 1959, and we returned to the States. I was 16, and had finished my schooling in preparation to go to University. English schools graduate their students at 16, but I decided that I was not ready to go to an American university at that age. I had only associated with girls, and felt I would benefit by attending a co-ed American high school for my senior year. I went to college the next year where I met my husband, married and had 8 children, 5 girls and 3 boys, all of whom are now grown. Most of my married life has been spent in Kent, Washington, about 30 miles southeast of Seattle, where my husband worked for the Boeing Company as a computer systems analyst. However, after he had been with the company for about a year, Boeing laid off a huge percentage of its workforce, and we moved to Arizona for Motorola for 6 years before returning to Seattle. While we lived in Tempe during the 1970's, and my first five children were young, I sewed their clothes, and sewed dolly outfits, too, as fast as I could, especially for Barbie, Crissy, and the 14" Madame Alexanders. My daughters still love Barbie, and enjoy watching their daughters discover the fascinating world of these miniature characters. I had a small dressmaking business for 7 years, specializing in clothing for people with handicaps who were unable to purchase clothes off the rack. I really learned a lot about fitting problems with that endeavor. There was a wonderful store that carried all kinds of mill end leftovers for home dec and other wonderful projects. They even had men's suiting, so I decided to make my husband a couple of suits. I took apart an old one to see how it was made, and actually tailored two suits for him and one each for my two sons. It was probably more work than it was worth, but we were financially challenged in those early days, and any way to save money was attempted. I would never have tried it if the fabric had been regularly priced, but the scent of a bargain spurred on my efforts, and the suits all were completed and worn many times. But it was easier and quite inexpensive to order a suit from Hong Kong, so we decided to do that. When the suit arrived, it was the most beautiful example of fine detail I had ever seen. The fit was impeccable, and it even had an embroidered personal name label on the jacket inside pocket. On Sunday, my husband got out the suit and put it on. It looked wonderful, and he went over to the dresser and put his keys in the front pocket. Jangle, jangle, jangle! Those keys went down, down, down his leg and stopped moving somewhere just below his knee. The front pockets were that long!! All through Church, every time he changed position or crossed his legs, those keys hit his calf. When we got home, I was told I needed to cut off the pockets to a realistic length. But several weeks went by, and my husband got a teeny bit annoyed. One day, I went to the sewing machine to finish an important project for someone, and there were those suit pants, draped over the machine. A cryptic note threatened my health if those pants were not remodeled by Sunday! I grabbed the pants, turned them inside out, and whacked off the 2 pockets and finished them neatly. On Sunday, my husband found the pants in his closet and inquired if I had completed my assignment. Of course, I had, but he didn't really believe me. So he put them on and dropped the keys into the front pocket. Jangle, jangle, jangle!! The keys stopped mid-calf, as usual. Clenching his teeth, he took his wallet from the dresser and put it into his back pocket. It only went in about an inch!! I had cut off the wrong pockets!!!! And they remained that way until the suit wore out years later! We then returned to the Seattle area, and my sixth child was born 2 months later. People at Church soon discovered that I could sew, and I was asked to teach some sewing classes. So I hatched the idea of a doll clothes class, as the techniques would be the same as on full-sized garments, and mistakes would not matter too much. But as I thought about what to do, I realized that everyone would need to use the same doll, as I had planned to draft the patterns myself, and didn't feel that I could handle the complications of individual sizing. So I went doll-shopping. There were 30 people who wanted to take the class, so I needed to find 30 identical dolls somehow. That was not easy--Toys "R" Us was not yet incorporated, and the low quality of discount store dolls did not seem worth the effort we were going to expend on this project. Finally I went to a major large and expensive department store in the area, and they said they could not possibly supply that many dolls, especially within the next few weeks. But they suggested that I contact a manufacturer myself. I had not thought of that, so I chose the doll I wanted to use as a model, a lovely little girl with long dark hair, about 16" tall. Then I went home and called the manufacturer, a MAJOR doll company. They told me that all I had to do was order $1000 worth of product, and pre-pay with a money order, as I was not a legitimate business. I did not have enough dolls ordered to fulfill that requirement, so I contacted about 200 of my "closest" friends and told them that I could get dolls wholesale. The orders poured in, and I soon had many more dolls ordered than the minimum, so I placed my order. About 2 weeks later, a truck pulled up outside my house. No, not UPS. A HUGE truck about the size of a moving van was unloading stacks and stacks of boxes! The boxes were brought into my home and were stacked shoulder-high in the hallways, and in several of the bedrooms! We could hardly move! I quickly got on the phone and called everyone to come and get their dolls ASAP, and so the parade of people began. Then, they told their friends and relatives! I started getting checks from people as far away as Florida and New York! So I ordered 3 more times before Christmas, and then the company called me. They said they could no longer sell to me, because I was selling more dolls than that department store chain, and they didn't want the store to find out. The manufacturer was afraid they would lose their contracts with the stores because of unfair competition! So that little adventure came to an untimely end! But I still needed to do the patterns and samples for the class, so I got busy and designed the outfits and sewed the clothes for a display. When I took the doll and her extensive wardrobe to Church, 2 ladies who were new to the area were looking at the large array of tiny clothes and accessories. I overheard one of them say to the other, "Well, it's plain to see that THIS person doesn't have any children at home!" After the last of my 8 children were born, I began making and selling porcelain dolls, traveling to shows around the country. I remember one show incident in particular. A lady had stopped to admire my display, and commented how much she liked a little Bru. I inquired if she wished to purchase the doll, but she declined, commenting that she didn't like the dress. Upon further investigation, she admitted that the dress was fine, but the color was not to her liking. It was a lovely shade of pale lavender, very Victorian, I had thought. When I asked her why she didn't care for lavender, she replied that it reminded her of a funeral parlor "slumber room"! My 5 daughters really enjoyed the dolls I made. They would exclaim with delight when I finished each new creation, and give suggestions about how they would like me to make the next one. It was always exciting when the brown UPS truck arrived every few weeks with yet another shipment of essential doll-making supplies. Unbeknownst to me, they would peer from the doorway as the truck left our house, and they noted that it stopped frequently along our street. I found out years later that they thought all UPS boxes contained doll stuff, and that everyone on the block was a dollmaker, as the brown-suited man never brought US anything else but doll supplies! I worked with the porcelain dolls for about 10 years, and then became weary of the demands of special orders. It seems I could rarely find necessary items or fabric the second time, and it was all too much for 1 person, let alone 1 person with 8 children! So I waited until they were all in school, and returned to school to study nursing. I worked short morning and evening shifts for 13 years, and felt burned out from the demands of work and home. So I decided to take up quilting and bought a quilting machine. I am still doing custom work for people who bring their tops to me to be finished into beautiful quilts. I did a lot of sewing for the American Girl dolls, but became bored with that type of clothing. So I am back with my first love, the fashion doll, who had nearly vanished from the scene for over 30 years. I am so grateful that there is a real revival in this type of doll, because it is through these styles of the 1950's that I am rediscovering the era of my growing up. I can utilize the skills and ideas I mastered so long ago by recreating my favorite fashions of the great mid-twentieth century designers. Almost everyone I have been associated with throughout my life has tried to discourage me from wasting my time in this area, but I simply cannot control my overpowering craving to create these diminutive fashions! This is my addiction, and now that I am older, I shall do what pleases me. After all, if I have been loving my fashion dolls since 1956, I guess there is no hope for me to ever be able to change. Life is short, so I choose to greet each new day with the joy, excitement and anticipation of creating yet another part of myself through my dolls. Dee Satterlee Giles August 2001 I Just Knew We Were Not Alone By Dee Satterlee Giles Dee Satterlee Giles, “I Just Knew We Were Not Alone,” Ensign, Feb. 2001, 64–65 As a five-year-old child, I lived with my parents in Great Falls, Montana, where my father was stationed in the U.S. Air Force. I used to go outside and lie under the trees, look up at the sky, and think about all those other people just like me who were on other planets out there. I just knew we were not alone. I’d think about it a lot, but I kept it all to myself. When I was about seven, my parents were transferred to Europe, where we lived until I was 16. As a result of my father’s assignments as a pilot, I became fluent in German, Norwegian, and French, and my parents hoped I would acquire a doctorate in languages. Education was a high family priority: my grandfather was an architect, and my mother’s stepfather was a bacteriologist. We returned from Europe in November 1959 and soon visited relatives in Sacramento, California, where I learned that my cousin Dean had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was preparing for a mission. He asked me what I knew about premortal life. I told him I just knew there were other places outside of this earth with other people, that we had wanted to come here, and that we were persons before we came here. His immediate response was, “Where did you hear all that?” He said no other church on earth taught these truths the way the LDS Church did. At that instant I knew his church was true; I just knew it. Then there began hours of talking about the plan of salvation. Soon our family returned to Albuquerque, New Mexico, where my father was stationed. I knew no one in the Church, had never seen one of their meetinghouses, and had never had any Church association except those conversations with my cousin. But I was intrigued and wanted to know more, so I went to the public library and checked out everything to do with the Church. There were about 20 books, some of them fiction, but most of the books were anti-Mormon. I read everything. I know it may be amazing to others, but despite the numerous anti-Mormon expressions in so much of what I read, nothing persuaded me away from what I was thinking about this Church. As I read, good things would come out and stay in my mind, and faulty thinking and erroneous motives became so transparent that all of the negative material just drifted away. Most of the books were quite old. I didn’t care—I wanted to read everything I could about the Church. While I read, I felt what I later learned was the Holy Ghost influencing me. As a result of my library search, I knew I had to make contact with Church members. In the phone book, I saw that there were two Church meetinghouses in town. I memorized the addresses because I thought if I wrote them down, I would lose them. At this time my parents were building a home on the outskirts of Albuquerque. We would visit it nearly every day. As we drove out to our home, there was an open space of desert and then a building about a block behind the open space. As we passed by the building, I had a feeling that it was special. I thought, I wonder if that’s a Mormon church. I asked my parents to drive over so I could see it, but they would not. Finally, weeks later we moved into our new home, and I started riding the school bus to a high school where I was a junior at the time. When the bus passed by that building, I had a burning feeling inside. That night I looked up the addresses again. Sure enough, the building we passed was on Haines, where one of the meetinghouses was located. Every day I would feel the same feeling as the bus drove by. Finally I could stand it no longer. As I was sitting with Gaye Kennedy, a friend from my geometry class, I blurted out, “I think that’s a Mormon church over there. Do you know anything about the Mormons?” She answered, “Yes, I’m LDS. Would you like to go to church with me?” We went to the Second Ward, the ward she lived in. Afterward she said if I wanted to continue attending church she would introduce me to people in my ward, the Fourth. One of them was a fellow student, Earl Bushman, who lived around the corner. He volunteered to take me to church on Sundays. Soon the friends I ran around with were Church youth. They said I really ought to see the missionaries. I asked my parents if the missionaries could come to our home, but they said no, although they let me attend Sunday services and youth activities. Finally I met with the missionaries at the meetinghouse because I could ride my bicycle there, and they asked me what I knew about the Church. I remember saying I knew all there was to know because I had done so much reading. But my response to their very first question brought laughter from everyone. They asked, “Who is the President of the Church?” I said, “That’s easy: Heber J. Grant.” They burst out in giggles. It soon became clear that the books I had read, most of which were printed in the 1930s, were out of date. Heber J. Grant had died in 1945. From that experience, I immediately learned about being teachable. Everything about the missionary lessons only confirmed things I felt I already knew and redoubled my desire to join the Church. But my parents would not permit it until I was 18. However, as I neared the close of my senior year, they relented, as they knew I planned to do it in June, when I turned 18. Yet they would not attend my baptism. I remember that my fourth-year French teacher, not a member herself, attended out of kindness toward me. She knew that to me my baptism was an important step and that I was doing it without family backing. I was always so impressed how the Lord raised up support at this special time. Since then, I have never been without friends and loved ones in the Lord’s family, millions throughout the earth! In the 39 years since my baptism, the blessings our Father in Heaven has given me and my husband, Ivin, and our eight children have reconfirmed countless times my feelings and thoughts about the value of this, the Lord’s Church.