Melva Gifford was a storyteller who carried worlds within her voice. Wherever she stood — a festival stage, a Toastmasters meeting, a friend’s cozy living room — the air changed. It quickened, sparked, and shimmered with possibility. “An event in herself,” as Devon and Mary Hokanson described her, Melva was more than a teller of tales; she was the story, embodying humor, heart, and heroism in every breath.

Melva Gifford was a quirky soul that I could always count on to be skilled, engaging, and full of laughs. Her creative spirit shone brightly in oral storytelling, written storytelling, and comedy alike. She was commissioned to write an article on humor for Story Crossroads Memberships entitled “Different Ways To Be Funny & What To Do About It.” Melva had a gift for teaching as much as telling — she co-taught with Kira Larkin for six weeks, once a week for an hour, at the Glendale Community Center, Mountain View Elementary, and Glendale Library. Her performances at the Story Crossroads Summit & Festival were always a delight, bringing that signature blend of heart and humor and usually a bit of history such as of Benjamin Franklin or of fascinating women who made a difference like Molly Pitcher, Sybil Ludington, and Deborah Sampson.

I always smiled when she used casual words like “cool” while praying to Heavenly Father, a sweet reminder that the Lord loves hearing from us in our truest voice. She had the kind of open, personal relationship with Him that we all would do well to strive for. Melva had a way of making you feel seen — she lovingly called me “kid” even as I moved through my mid-40s, a tradition that wrapped every conversation in warmth and laughter, the way only she could.

Melva was a lover of history and true tales of heroines and heroes, as well as a crafter of whimsical, wonderful worlds of her own making. Whether she was regaling listeners at Story Crossroads, spinning magic at the Weber State University Storytelling Festival, or turning a family gathering into a private performance, Melva lived to ignite wonder.

She was a fighter in the purest sense — not only of the battles her body bore in silence, but of the battles every storyteller faces: to be heard, to be believed, to stir a listener’s soul. Even when her health waned, Melva never wavered. “The audience interaction with us shouting out ‘Melva!’ made it a more memorable experience,” one committee remembered after seeing her perform. She kept walking, kept weaving her stories, with a twinkle in her eye and a sturdy walking stick tucked aside during performances. She poured all of herself onto the stage, each telling an act of fierce joy, defiance, and generosity.

Yet Melva’s stories did not end when the stage lights dimmed. Her friendships, too, were legends — enduring, colorful, and filled with laughter. As Martin Hillman wrote, she found a way to make even a bag of homegrown tomatoes or a freshly caught trout into a treasured ritual. Gary Horan remembered late-night pizzas and videos, and countless writers owe part of their journeys to Melva’s cheerleading and quick wit, especially at LTUE, where she became a keystone of the community. She was, as so many said, a “bright energy” who made every gathering richer, funnier, and more meaningful simply by being in the room.

Melva was patriotic, faithful, mischievous, and above all, unfailingly kind. She lived with a readiness to serve, quietly giving rides, lending a listening ear, offering up homemade jokes and outlandish tall tales as remedies for the heart. “You prayed like God was sitting right across from you,” Cathy Ford recalled, and truly, Melva’s connection to others felt that immediate, that sacred. She embraced every inch of life — from Mayan ruins to mall walks, from science fiction fandoms to red apple harvests — and made everyone feel welcome in her world.

Though we ache with missing her, Melva taught us that the truest stories never end. They are retold, reimagined, and relived every time we smile at a joke, chase a new idea, or find wonder in the ordinary. As William Boardman said, “Her eyes lit up when telling a story” — and if we close our eyes, we can still see that light. We will carry her laughter, her stories, and her spirit forward. Until we meet again, dear Melva, in that place where the best tales never grow old.

And somewhere right now, Melva is probably organizing a storytelling guild among the angels, sneaking an extra slice of celestial pie, and chuckling at how seriously the rest of us take things. She would surely remind us not to be too solemn — after all, what’s the point of eternity if you can’t laugh until your heavenly body aches?

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You can see more details on Melva Gifford with the Story Artists Memorial.

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I appreciate Melva Gifford, who knew how to get people to laugh including herself! She promoted creativity through her words, deeds, and guidance. I can’t wait to see her again, and fully expect her to say something like, “Well, there you are, kid!”

Melva Gifford still has a story. You have a story. We all have stories.