Walter Glen Morley, who always went by "Glen," was born to Vivian Beatrice Heater Morley and Murrell Ellsworth Morley on April 18, 1931 at the Jackson Maternity Home on the corner of Cottage and E Streets in Salem. He was a descendant of Oregon Trail pioneers Moses Morley, Catherine Watkins, Margaret Cranmer, John Wheeler Thomas, Mary Elizabeth Woods, Lorenzo Dow Heater, Sophia Jane Morley, Jacob Scott and Mary Hannah Wortman. Several other ancestors sneaked in later by way of Canada. All of them settled on Donation Land Claims and farms within two miles of this cemetery.

Glen was the fifth of ten children, which probably explains a lot about his reputation as a misbehaving trouble-maker. One of his brothers told the story of the boys encouraging an innocent young city-slicker to race up the roof of a shed outbuilding on their Morley grandparents' farm just west of here. Not understanding the meaning of "shed roof," the youngster dashed up the roof… and into thin air. As far as we know, he survived.

Glen attended several elementary schools, as his father moved the large family from place to place. He started first grade at the Blodgett School, which had a total of 25 students. He graduated the eighth grade just over the hill here at the Union Hill School. There were two in his graduating class; the other was his cousin, Ann Louise Heater.

In 1943, at age 12, he won first prize for his pet rabbit in the Silverton Legion Parade, and third place for his pet pigeons. His little sister Mary won the prize for the smallest pet, her goldfish.

Glen and Margie met at a Christian Endeavor skating party in Newberg when they were 15 and 17. Glen heard that his cousin, Bob Carter, was going to ask Margie to skate, so he made sure to beat him to it. They married two years later.

When their first child, Linda, was born, they were living in the two-room house Glen had built across Drift Creek Road from his grandparents, Charlie and Pearl Heater. Glen worked several jobs simultaneously to support his little family; Philippi Tire Service in Mehama, Stayton Canning Co-op, Santiam Farmers Co-op, and hauling hay from eastern Oregon with his brother Charles. He also farmed his grandparents' place, raising chickens and strawberries.

Tom totally stole the limelight from Linda when he had the audacity to be born on her first birthday. The family then moved to Canyonville where Glen started building a house and Diana was born. He worked for Canyonville Logging and then co-owned the Morley-Moen Logging company.

This was followed by a move back to the two-room house on Drift Creek Road. Glen continued hauling hay, farming, and also worked for the Rudy Lumber Company in Idahna. Cindy was born at the Silverton Hospital and the young couple found themselves with four children under the age of four in a tiny uninsulated house with no indoor plumping and no running water. They soon moved to a larger home down the road.

In 1958, Glen and Margie moved their family to an old farmhouse south of Salem in the Rosedale area when Glen's construction work took him in that direction. Julie was born a year later and Terry four years after that. Glen was employed in both residential and commercial construction during those years, working for his father-in-law, Guy Miles, and for commercial contractors R.I. Randolph, Fred W. Carter Company, Erwin A. Batterman, Cedar Fab, Tusko, Willis Hill and Town & Country Construction.

In the early 1960s Glen started building their house on Cole Road, south of Salem. It was finally finished and the family moved in nine years later, in 1969. During these years he often worked on big construction jobs out of town that would take him away from home for months at a time, returning only on weekends. In 1977 he began working for Dale Pence Construction, finally retiring in 1993 at age 62. He received several awards and accolades for his carpentry skills, including the 1992 Award of Craftsmanship from the American Institute of Architects for his finish work on the Omnimax Theater at OMSI in Portland.

Glen thoroughly enjoyed his retirement. He was happy to tell his kids, however, that he wanted them to keep working so they would keep paying into his Social Security. He and Margie enjoyed several trips to Arizona in the cold winter months and visited many other popular and even unknown sites.

He liked to tell people that he never cared about having a lot of money or things; all he needed was enough money to pay for gas to go fishing. Fishing and hunting trips with his family and friends were some of his favorite activities. He was heard to brag that after more than 40 years, he almost had Tom and Linda trained up well enough to go hunting on their own--almost.

He was 12 when Granddad Heater first took him hunting with his great uncles and other members of the Heater and Morley clans, 30 miles east of LaPine where Uncle Dolph Morley had worked as part of a logging crew. On that first hunting trip, Glen was with his Granddad Heater when Granddad shot a big buck at the cliffs on Sixteen Butte. Many decades later, he told Tom he wanted some of his ashes scattered there, so we will do that. Tom's ashes have been scattered in several places he loved, and this morning his remaining ashes were mixed with Glen's and a marker will be placed here for Tom as well.

In each of our lives--if we're paying close attention--are seminal moments that may alter the trajectory of our lives and of others, even down through multiple generations. These may be moments of great joy and happiness or horrific tragedy. Going hunting with Granddad Heater is one. Deciding to go to that skating party with the youth group from the Stayton Church of Christ was another. Although he had many happy memories of his childhood, an ongoing tragedy was his father who abandoned and wouldn't support his family, resulting in poverty and deprivation for his wife and children.

Even after dementia stole most of his memories, Glen still worried about the children. Sometimes "the children" he worried about were his own children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren, but often it was his own brothers and sisters about whom he was anxious--and his nieces and nephews. At the age of 88 he wanted to be reassured at times that his mother had baked plenty of bread that day, none of his brothers or sisters were going to bed hungry that night, and they were all home and safe. When going to bed at night, he occasionally wanted to lay out his plans for the next day as if we were part of his construction crew. He said we would get up good and early and get the car loaded with groceries and vegetables from his big garden, then drop by Pat and Robert's or maybe Roy and Sylvia's, just to make sure everything was okay and their kids weren't hungry. It was a waste of good air to try and convince him that nearly all his nieces and nephews are now grandparents themselves—he just needed all his family to know how much he loved and cared about them. And he didn't want them to be hungry.

Another seminal moment was whatever event of pure orneriness on his part that caused him to get booted out and have to go live with his great uncle's widow, Jessie Susan Thomas Carter Brock. Her farm is the one with the two big barns that you can see over there to the east on Drift Creek Road. Her only child died in 1917 when he was just a few weeks old. He is buried a few yards over here to the west with his parents.

Glen worked hard on the farm and he had to go with Jessie to church and other places he didn't like. We don't know exactly when he lived with her, but it was sometime between her husband's death and her move to Salem, when Glen was between the ages of 12 and 15. He was active in the Stayton Church of Christ during those years. She was strict, but she adored him until the day she died at 102, and he always made sure she was cared for.

Glen wanted his family to know how much he loved them, but until a few years ago he wasn't able to say so. (Letter to Tom, 2009).
Dear Tom
I have never had what it takes to tell you how much I love you. I can remember the times when we lived up on the hill. When I came home in the evening from work, you would come out of the house and I would chase you around the house. These were some of the best times of my life. I'll never forget these times. When Gene [Terry] and I put in our driveway, I can remember you running up and down the driveway. I wish I could relive those times over. The times when you were wrestling in school I was never; I can't believe I was not there. I don't expect to ever forgive myself for those times. They were some of the best times of your life. I'm sorry I was not there.
Of all the things that you have given me, there is no way I can ever thank you. When I was 13 yrs. old, I walked up the aisle by myself and I was baptized later. I can't bear to think about leaving this world and never seeing you again. If you ever decide to be baptized, I'll do everything I can to help you. I would like to walk with you.
I love you so much it is difficult for me to tell you.

A couple things he wants you to know. He's grateful to you for coming here today. He's happy to share this beautiful spot with you, and if he could, he'd go around the cemetery and tell you hilarious stories about many of the people buried here—and some of them might even be true. He would want to thank you for everything you have done for him and for his family—fixing his brothers' headstones when his own work fell apart, carrying him when his little six-year-old legs weren't strong enough to walk all the way to school and back, picking him up every time he fell during his last deer hunting trip, raising his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, going the extra mile so many times for him.

The second thing he would tell you if he could is how much he loves you, even though he would get all choked up and probably not be able to say it. Most of all, he would want you to know that the God he worshipped loves you more than you can possibly imagine and there is nothing you will ever do in your entire life that will make God stop loving you, no matter what. He knows this from personal experience. He would want you to know that if you ever think that God can't love you like that, or that God can't possibly forgive you for the things you've done or the people you've hurt, it only means that you think you're smarter than God and he would say that you just need to get over yourself right now! He worshiped a God of exquisite grace who loved him more than he or any of us could possibly imagine and there was nothing he ever did that made God stop loving him like, or that made God stop chasing after him like he chased after a little boy named Tommy all those years ago.