Memorial Day Swim

Yesterday was Memorial Day and, even though it is a day late, thank you
to all the veterans who happen to read this! On Memorial Day we
usually have a BBQ and swim in the pool. At the end of last week it was
"iffy" as to whether or not the pool would be ready. But, thanks to KFD, it
was.

I went down to the Killeen Water Department on Friday and picked up a
hydrant water meter ($650 deposit, which I get back today when I return
the meter, less the charge for the water). I went to the fire
department to see if I could borrow some 1 ½ inch fire hose to fill my pool.
The Lieutenant I spoke with told me that the only person who could
authorize the loaning of the hose was on leave, so I was out of luck. BUT, he
said he could send a fire truck over to fill the pool. GREAT! So when
I got home from work, Holly and I (mostly Holly) finished pressure
washing the pool and pumping out the old water. We got most of it out, but
there was a little we could not get because of the time factor. When
the fire truck arrived (lots of looks from the neighbors), the fire crew
used a 2 ½ inch hose, and had the pool filled in an hour and thirty
five minutes! Only problem, the water was brown! No problem I assured
everyone, who looked at me skeptically. I tested the water before I
treated it and found the PH level to be extremely high. No problem, when I
shocked the pool I would add a half gallon of muriatic acid, which
brings down the PH. But, when I went to get a gallon of acid, I couldn't
find it. So I just shocked the pool. The next morning the brown water had
turned to green. Now the skeptics were out in full force. I tested the
water and the shock had brought the PH level way down, so I actually
had to add PH increaser. A few hours later, I added some flock to clear
the water. On Sunday morning the water was crystal clear and BLUE! I am
so good! Then on Memorial Day I vacuumed the pool and now it is blue,
clear and swimmable.

We had been invited to Brett and Cindy's for a Memorial Day BBQ, but
Mom had worked and was very tired. I was doing the yard and was beat
myself. So we begged off going. Then at the last minute, Heather changers
her plans and had a BBQ. so we walked over and had dinner. Earlier in
the late afternoon, I was in the house cooling off and resting a bit when
Tyler came in and asked if they could swim in the pool and use the
diving board. I told them sure, and then went out and joined them. Later,
Maddie came and I swam with her. After an hour, older kids decided to
go back over to McCourt's Pool. A few minutes later, Kimber and Maddie
went to Heather's too. I got dressed and Mom and I went over then, for
dinner. So we had a BBQ and went swimming on Memorial Day...tradition
unbroken.

Next big thing is when Hilary and her kiddos come down for a couple of
weeks. The pool will be ready!

SWIMMING POOL

Definition: Swimming Pool – a hole in the ground into which you continually throw money.

I have heard of pants wearing out; and I have heard of shoes wearing out; I have even been worn out myself. But who ever heard of water wearing out. Does it feel dry when it is worn out? I don’t know. Actually, I did know water could wear out. When I was in the pool business we warned people about their water getting to the point where you couldn't’t control it. This happened more in hot tubs with the constant heating, but it also happens to pools. There is a test that can be run to test for chlorine demand, but in the end it us usually cheaper to drain the pool and refill it than it is to bring it back up with chemicals.

I was unable to properly care for the pool this year because I was laid up with my knee. So the pool got out of hand. The water looked like it came from Belton Lake, and smelled that way too. Scott and I shocked it and got it looking good. Before I could clean the pool, here came the rains. Nothing will use up available chlorine in the water faster than a good rain dumping all those contaminants into the water. So after the rain, we shocked it again. Then came round two of the rain. Last Wednesday evening I super shocked the pool. Then on Saturday I shocked it again and added PH increase and flock. When I tested the water on Monday I got a negative reading. The reading should have been off the chart with the amount of chemical I put it, but it was not showing any chlorine and the PH was still extremely low. I decided that it was enough and I got out the old pump and drained the pool. Last night Shawn Mc and I used our pressure washers and pressure washed the pool. We have just a little to finish up tonight. Then I will go to the city and get a hydrant meter and hook it up to the fire hydrant and, using 200 feet of 1 ¾ hose, I will fill the pool. It takes 4 hours this way, compared to 5 days with a hose. And bulk water from a hydrant is much cheaper than coming thru the hose. The meter I get from the city attaches to the hydrant and measures the water we use. With any luck, the pool will be ready for swimming by Saturday.

Mother's Day Talk

This is Mother’s Day, the day we honor our Mothers and the Mothers of our Children.

Brother Lower must be having a “pay back” day for something I must have done because I know he knows that there is no way I will get thru this talk without tears.

The Mothers role in life is one of the most important. President Harold B. Lee said, “The most important part of the Lord’s work that you will do, is the work that you do within the walls of your own home”. You mothers struggle each day to balance your lives between children and everything else, and it is not an easy task. I know because I have had to pinch-hit for my wife on more than one occasion. One time was when my oldest daughter was twelve; it was a Saturday evening and time for baths and hair. Now, I had watched Jannie put curlers in the girl’s hair for years, so I figured I could do it. Heidi still has nightmares of the results. If you were to ask her today about it, she will have flashbacks, “And he made me go to Church”. I am reminded of what I was once told; The Lord never promised life would be easy, only that it would be worth it. Elder Ballard gave a beautiful talk at the last General conference titled “Daughters of God. Among the wonderful points he made, he said, “There is no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each situation is unique. Each mother has different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different children. The choice is different and unique for each mother and each family”.

One of the best examples to me of the results of motherhood is the story of Helaman’s Stripling Warriors. Now, my wife is nervous about now because I have a joke I tell about them, and she asked me not to use it, so I will refrain today. Helaman was asked to lead this band of 2000 young warriors…The Army of Helaman. These young men had great testimonies of the Lord and knew their cause was just. When Helamen asked these young men about their faith, they responded that their mothers had taught them.
In Alma 56:47 we read, “Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; and they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives; yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them.”
And in 57:21, “Yea, and they did obey and observe to perform every word of command with exactness; yea, and even according to their faith it was done unto them; and I did remember the words which they said unto me that their mothers had taught them.”

When Brother Lower asked me to speak today he told me that he knew I had a wonderful relationship with my own mother and thought I could share a few stories about her. Right off, I can say without a doubt that she was probably the gentlest person I’ve known.

I am the oldest of my Mothers three children, and the only one still living. My brother, Henry died when he was 8 years old; and my sister, Evelyn when she was 32. In 2000 when I was diagnosed with cancer in my right eye, she bemoaned her fate saying that she wasn’t supposed to outlive her children. Obviously, I survived my bout with cancer. When she was 80, in 1998, she moved into our home where we could help care for her. What a blessing it was to have her with us, and what a close relationship my younger children were able to develop with their Grandmother. She was with us until December 2000, when she passed away in her room. I have many, many stories I could tell about her, but I have picked just three, to show the influence she had, not only in my life, but in the lives of my children.

Who would ever think that their Mother was a pool shark? We were vacationing at the beach in Capitola when I was about fourteen. There was a penny arcade in Capitola where we kids spent some time. This was before video games, but we could play pool. It cost a dime a game. I would play a few games everyday and I thought I was pretty good. One afternoon I was at the arcade when my mother came in looking for me. She watched me play pool and listened to me tell her how great I was at the game. So she challenged me to a game. This would be great, I thought, and immediately accepted her challenge. After all, what fourteen year old boy doesn’t look for the chance to crush and adult in anything? I even let her break. She then almost cleared the table. I think I got one turn before she finished me off. Stunned, I asked her where she learned to play pool. When my Dad with was in the Army, she used to play pool a lot at the Officers club with the other wives. I was schooled. I don’t think I was so braggadocios after that. With a game of pool, she had taught me humility.

My oldest daughter, Heidi, told me the other day of her story with her Grandmother. When we lived in Alaska, Heidi was 13. Gramma had come to spend a few weeks with us, as she did often when we were up there. Gramma loved movies and she and Heidi were going to go one afternoon. There was a movie playing that Heidi wanted to see, but Gramma said that she was afraid that Heidi wouldn’t understand the movie. So they saw something else. Heidi told me that now she is 38 and has never seen that movie. She said that it comes on television quite often and she is always going to watch it. But, when she sits down to watch, she remembers her grandmother telling her that she wouldn’t understand it. So she turns the TV off.

My mother was very conservative and a proud Republican. I tell you this to set up the following story. She also enjoyed playing the devil’s advocate. A few months before she died, and during the 2000 election season between then Governor Bush and Vice President Gore, she and my son, Brett, were having some discussion at the dinner table, in which Brett seemed to be gaining the point. She looked right at him and said “Why, you’re no better than Al Gore! Brett was stunned and we all laughed. Brett told me a story recently when I was sitting with him at his new office. He had told this story to me before, but felt to share it again that evening. Gramma visited Brett shortly after she died. He will not say he had a vision, but he had a dream in which his Grandmother came to him and told him that she loved him. She was smiling. She was afraid that he might have thought that she was mad at him. After they talked for a minute or two, Brett asked her if she had seen Evelyn and Henry. He said that she looked forlorn and then said that she had and that they were well. Brett learned that she regretted that she had spent most of her adult life mourning their deaths; that she had missed out on so much happiness in this life because she was always so sad. And all along, they were well.

To me, one of the greatest examples of Motherhood comes from my wife, Jannie. We had 8 children, and it was not easy. I was in the Army, and was enlisted, and though I was fortunate in that I didn’t have many long deployments, I did have a couple, and a few TDYs along the way. Elder Ballard said, “We need to remember that the full commitment of motherhood and of putting children first can be difficult”. Jannie made her full time job being a full time Mom. This was her commitment to her family. As the Priesthood holder, husband and father, I presided in the home. But, as wife and mother, she conducted. She was the organizer and kept our home and our children immaculate. She took time to teach her children. We always had music in our home, although the only musical instrument either one of us played was the Stereo. She used music to teach. She had all of the Janine Brady cassettes and my kids knew all the words of all the songs. “I’m a Mormon, yes I am”, Be a Friend, The Words You Speak, and Maybe You Laughed. We sang songs about telling the truth and not being afraid. Today, some of my children are teaching their children these same lessons and using the same songs. And for the most part, my daughters and daughters – in – law, learning from Jannie, have chosen to be stay at home moms, or to work from the home. When I was deployed to Korea for a year, she took the time to record Family Home Evenings, and then send me the cassettes. I would get cassette tapes of weekly Family Home Evenings, and listen to my children talk to me. I think the first words I heard Hilary utter was on one of those cassettes. Without a lot of money to work with, Jannie made sure our children were always neatly dressed and pressed and well fed. And she could stretch a dollar better than anyone I ever knew.

Elder Ballard said, “I am impressed by countless mothers who have learned how important it is to focus on the things that can only be done in a particular season of life,” What a joy it is for me to see the growth in my Grandchildren every day. I am in awe with the time my daughters and daughters-in-law take to teach their children. Jared is 15 months old and Valerie has taught him how to sign. When we were tending him the other night, we were impressed that he could communicate in sign language when he wanted a drink, or that he has had enough. At the football game last evening, Jared spent most of the evening with Mimi and Grandpa. When we gave him back to Val, he signed “thank you”. I wish we had known that we could have taught our own kids to sign when they were babies. Maddie seems to me to be far beyond her years (maybe I am just a proud Grandpa), and this comes from the things Kimber takes time to teach her. I can’t help but chuckle when I think of the stories all my children to tell me about the things their kids have done. And these stories are not just limited to my children and Grandchildren. Kids today are growing up far ahead of where children were just a generation ago. And this because you Mothers are recognizing the seasons of life that your children are in.

When Gramma lived with us, Scott was her driver. She wasn’t supposed to drive anymore, so if she needed to go somewhere she had Scott take her. Boy, where the older kids jealous. Scott was sixteen and driving her Lincoln! The night before she died, it snowed here in Killeen. Scott helped her outside so she could see the big snow flakes. The next morning, after we found that she had passed away, we notified the authorities. During the time before the ambulance took her, Scott sat by her bed and held her hand. What a great influence she had on our children. Now, each year, on the anniversary of her death, the family gathers at her grave and remembers Gramma.

Elder Ballard asked this question: What can you do, as a young mother, to reduce the pressure and enjoy your family more?

Recognize that the joy of motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times. But amid the challenges, there are shining moments of joy and satisfaction.

Author Anna Quindlen reminds us not to rush past the fleeting moments. She said: “The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one that most of us make. . . . I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages six, four, and one. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less”(Loud and Clear [2004], 10–11).
Mothers make things. School projects, lunches, snacks, desserts, arrangements, and even clothes. One thing I challenge you mothers (and fathers) to do is make memories for your children. On Sunday evenings after dinner, the smaller children like to go in the front yard and play. So Mimi and Grandpa will sit out on the front porch so the little ones can romp and play in the front yard. You see, we want the memories our grandchildren have to be the happy times they had at Mimi’s house. The older ones like to swim and on days they are over to use the pool, we get in with them. Ask any of my grandchildren what all the steps are in doing an Olympic class cannonball, and their faces will brighten up as they remember and tell you all the steps, of which there are not a few. There are times my own children, now all adults will sit at the dinner table, or wherever we may be and someone will say “do you remember when, or do you remember this or that?” In many cases, I don’t. But the important thing is that they do. Make memories with your children.

If my mother were alive to give you some advice, I can’t help but think it would be this: Mothers, love your children. Teach your children. Help build their faith. Be a part of their lives. Don’t spend half your life bemoaning things you’ve missed. Mourn the tragedies, then let yourself heal and then live your life and don’t miss out on the fun times with your family. Then, when your children are grown and face obstacles in their lives, like those young men in The Army of Helaman, they will remember that they, too, were taught by their mothers.

May this be a joyous day for all the Mothers here today, and everywhere. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen

My Night at the Pizzeria

I wasn’t going to the Pizzeria today until 5 pm when I was to deliver an Italian Cream Cake. I have been at the Pizzeria every day for over two months, ever since I injured my knee. Most days I worked the register because that was all I could do. We sat a high bar-type stool at the register and I would sit there and ring in the patrons orders. We started out with a cash register and order tickets I had to write out. Then the POS (point of sale) system came on line and life got easier at the register. A touch screen allowed me to just touch the entrée, or pizza. I could touch Spaghetti and Meat Balls or a Primo Pizza. Add two sodas and the total was displayed. Very nice. BUT, I wasn’t going to be there today!

I had plans. I was going to fix a leaky water faucet. I was going to fix my ovens in the kitchen. I was going to make that Italian Cream Cake and a dessert for the social at the Church tonight. And I was going to the social at the Church this evening with some of my grandchildren. So, the Pizzeria was the furthest thing from my mind. I was working on the oven when the phone rang. It was Chad. “Can you come out and deliver an order for me at One Killeen Center?” Reluctantly I agreed. Mostly because I needed to go to the Pizzeria and pick up some lard for the cake, and the delivery was near the house, and I could use the tip for spending money. So, off to the Pizzeria I went.

I arrived and loaded the order into the car, along with a tub of lard (I always thought that was my nick name growing up.) But, as I was leaving, Chad asked me to come back because there was another order to be delivered to Sears at the Mall. I said okay. I delivered the lunch to the office in the One Killeen Center building and got stiffed on the tip. Returning to the Pizzeria, I was willing to just cover the register if Chad made the delivery to Sears. Getting stiffed once in a day is once too often. BUT, I acquiesced and took the delivery to Sears. I got a good tip this time. I took the payment back out and put it in the register and headed for home.

At home I jumped right in and made that Italian Cream Cake and the dessert for the social. Because I had grandchildren at the house, I called Chad and ordered a couple of pizzas for dinner. I told him that I was on a tight schedule and would pick up the pizzas at 5 when I delivered the cake. And I did. And all went well. We had pizza for dinner and I was about to go change my clothers for the social. Then the phone rang.

“Dad, I really need you out here. I have 10 tickets hanging and a line”. So Jannie went to the social, and I went to the Pizzeria. Now, I am not complaining, mind you. I was only there for an hour or so and still made it to the social before it was over. But my experience there tonight is the subject of this writing. I was in awe tonight at what I saw. I have worked there for months, but tonight was pure poetry in motion. It was a symphony being conducted by a master conductor. Chad was in his element.

He had the line working, and was even short staffed. But he directed like a master. “Three eggplant parms all day,” he shouted as the order was coming up from the printer. “How is that Bruschetta coming?” or “Bread coming out of the oven”. Then he announces to the “audience” (dining room), “Spaghetti and meatballs, Chicken Parmigiana for Richard”. This went on for the entire time I was there. For me, it was worth the time I was there to see this production.

I don’t mean to make it sound like this is the exception to the rule, because this goes on every night at the Pizzeria. Just that tonight it just struck me as something beautiful to behold. As I said, Poetry in Motion.

Henry James

I really don’t know how to write about Henry James. His is such a sad story and it breaks my heart when I think of his short, pain filled life. I don’t have a lot of stories to tell because there were not a lot of happy incidents that come to mind. He was born on November 10, 1955 in San Jose, California. He was loved greatly and I remember he had huge eyes and a captivating smile. He was born a few months before his cousin; Lisa Susan Magnon Scherer was born on April 30, 1957.

He was not quite a year old when we moved to Dallas in the fall of 1956. We lived in the house my parents rented before they purchased the home two doors down. At about 3 PM on April 2, 1957, a Category 3 tornado hit Dallas. My mother was in the kitchen and had told me to watch Henry as I watched TV in the den. Evelyn was also in the den watching TV. An announcement on TV warned of the tornado. I ran and told Mom and she tuned in the radio to KLIF and listened to the Tornado Warning. We were told to go to a shelter or into the smallest room in the center of the house. That was the hallway. Sitting in the hall, Mom held Henry and Evelyn and I huddled together. Mom couldn’t hear the radio very well, but was afraid to go to her bedroom to turn it up. Finally she broke to the radio and turned it up.

It was about that time when Evelyn and Henry came down with the Chicken Pox. Evelyn was covered with spots, but Henry had only a couple of pock marks. He hardly was sick during that bout. Between then and our moving back to California after my Dad lost his job with Slick Airways, I have almost no memories of Henry James.

We moved back to San Jose in the spring of 1958. We stayed with Aunt June for a few days. I remember waking up with my Mother screaming “MY BABY”. Aunt June wouldn’t let us come out of the bedroom. An ambulance arrived and left. It was the next morning I would learn that Henry James was taken to the hospital. He had gone into convulsions when my Mother started screaming. He stayed in the hospital for a few days and was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. He stayed in the hospital while the doctors regulated his insulin levels. He came home after a few days and apparently didn’t have many more problems at that time.

We went to Clear Lake, CA on vacation some time later. Aunt Bell had a place there and they let us go up there for a few days. I had been there with Aunt June and Uncle Lee sometime earlier. I must have been 15 because Evelyn was 12, and that is a whole other story. Evelyn and I had a lot of fun. We went out in Uncle Jim’s boat and there was a dance almost every night in the park where we were staying. We had planned on staying longer than we did, but Henry got sick. He was in pain and she took him to a local doctor. When they got back, we packed up and headed back home. He was admitted to the hospital again. He was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis.
This disease would take its toll on his frail body. He was in and out of the hospital several times, then seemed to settle down and he came home and went back to school. He was 6 and in the First Grade.

One of my favorite memories of Henry, perhaps the only one, happened one summer day when we were at home. Our house was not air conditioned, like most homes in Central California then, so we had a screen door on the front, back and patio doors. I was sitting on the front porch steps doing something. Henry was in the living room on the other side of the screen, and we were talking. As we were talking, a girl about 16 walks by the house on the sidewalk. At the top of his lungs he yells, “HELLO THERE CUTIE!” She looked up and kept walking. She could not see through the screen door, so all she saw was me. Had no idea who she was, never saw her again, as far as I know, but I could have crawled under a rock and just died. She never said a word, He thought that was the funniest thing he ever did.

It is sad, but that is about the only thing I remember about Henry without him being in the hospital. Evelyn and I could never go see him while he was in the hospital in San Jose because of the rules about kids going into the hospital. A few months after the incident at the screen door, he had another health crisis and was back in the hospital. It seems that the treatment for the diabetes and the RA conflicted. Every time the doctor’s got one disease under control, the other flared up. His little body was showing signs of the RA. His joints were huge. He spent several weeks in the hospital, then came home. He went back to school again, but only for a short time. Then he was admitted again. This time the doctor made arrangements for him to be transferred to the Stanford Children’s Hospital at Stanford University. He would never come home.

The doctors at SCH tried to regulate the two diseases, but made very little headway. He seemed, in fact, to be worsening. At some point, because of the intense affect on his body, his immune system began to shut down. He was diagnosed with Relapsing Polychondritis a disease that causes inflammation of the joints, particularly the cartilage. As I have read some about this disease, it is rare and the symptoms could easily be mistaken for RA. I wonder if he wasn’t misdiagnosed from the beginning.

My mother would drive to SCH every day to spend time with Henry. Evelyn and I were teenagers and spent a lot of time home alone. On Saturdays we went up to the hospital with Mom, We also went on some Sundays, but usually we stayed home. I remember how frail he was. He laid in bed all day and had developed bedsores. Mom had gotten him a sheep skin to lie on, but it only helped somewhat. If he wanted to sit up in a chair, I would carry him. He could no longer walk. On some visits we could actually take him on an outing for an hour or so. We would load him up in the car and put his wheel chair in the trunk. Then we would go to the mall and walk around and buy him some ice cream. Once we took him to Crystal Springs Reservoir so he could be out doors for a little while. I remember picking him up so he could see something and could feel his heart just racing. I thought how it was not right for his heart to be racing that fast.

At the hospital I would play cars with him. He had lots of Hot Wheels. He was in great pain and I would hold his arm or leg and softly tickle his foot or arm. It relieved the pain to have his foot tickled. When I came in he always wanted me to tickle his foot.

It was about 10 PM one evening after Mom had come home from the hospital. The phone rang and Mom answered it in the kitchen. I heard her call out and collapse on the floor. I took the phone and it was the doctor. He told me that Henry “had expired” a few minutes earlier. Then he told me we needed to make arrangements to have him picked up before the morning. I remember how impersonal he seemed, and how incredulous I was. First, I called the mortuary and made arrangements to have him picked up. Then I called my Dad. He had been talking to Mom earlier that evening and thought it was the operator calling him back. He said he would fly out the next day.

His funeral was three days later at the San Jose Stake Center. I remember the chapel was about half full with family and friends. Henry had an open casket and at the end of the service those present passed by him, paying their last respects. As the family lingered, I stood by his casket and thought how peaceful he looked. As I began to leave, I laid his favorite toy in the casket with him – a little brown monkey with a yellow t-shirt with red letters across the front spelling the monkey’s name – Zip. He was buried at the Santa Clara County Cemetery, next to his Great Grandmother.

I remember how upset I was over his passing. I remember his frail body and the pain he was in. I would hear people say he was in a better place, that he was no longer in pain. I wanted to believe those things I professed to be true, but he was the first person I was close to who died. The night of the funeral I went to bed and Henry appeared to me in a dream. I remember is as vividly now as I did when it happened when I was 18. He stood at the foot of my bed and said that I shouldn’t be sad, that he was okay now. He moved his arms and legs to show me he was without pain. I woke and had a peaceful feeling come over me. I have never doubted since. Years later I would have that same peaceful feeling again, in the Dallas Temple, when I was diagnosed with cancer…but this is not about me,



I have written about Evelyn and Henry. My mother never got over their loss. She mourned Henry all the rest of her life and Evelyn from when she died.

I don’t know how to end this, so I will just say that I wish I could have known Henry James better – and as an adult.

Evelyn

I don’t actually remember her being born. In fact, I don’t even remember my mother being pregnant; but at age three I was too young to even understand that. But as I watched my 4 year old granddaughter, Madelyn, anxiously awaiting the birth of her little sister, I probably was as aware as she was, but I just don’t remember. The earliest recollection I have of Evelyn was when she came home from the hospital. I remember people looking at her and all were wearing masks. I gazed into the bassinet thru the curtain like cover and saw this little baby.

We lived in an Oakland apartment when she was born, but must have moved to San Francisco shortly after that. My next vivid memory of Evelyn was when we lived behind the grocery store. I had climbed into Evelyn’s crib and she was crying. I was trying to comfort her when my mother came in and lifted me out of the crib. I don’t recall her being mad, but I do remember being told I couldn’t get in the crib again.

We moved from the grocery store to the chicken ranch when I was 4 or 5, and Evelyn was three years younger than me. I have good memories for the chicken ranch days and my adventures with my older cousin, Kathy, but I cannot remember anything about Evelyn or Christine. Christine was my cousin, Kathy’s sister, and was about the same age as Evelyn. I guess I don’t remember much about them because at that point they were still babies and I didn’t have much interaction with them – we didn’t run around the chicken ranch together.

Evelyn became a part of my life when we moved to Monroe Street. I turned 6 on the day we moved in, and Evelyn was 3. Her birthday was August 22nd and mine was the 27th, so we were almost exactly 3 years apart. My dad and the other dad’s in the neighborhood helped each other pour patios and build fences. I remember “helping” with ours. Our house faced west, so our backyard was on the east side. Between our house and the Lemus’ house on the south of ours, my Dad built a little play house for us. Evelyn and I would play in that house on and off over the years we lived there. It was our home or our hideout, depending on if I was the father or the Sheriff.

I remember once when Evelyn was in bed asleep that my Mom couldn’t find her among the dolls. She had more dolls that Toy-R-Us. (Except there was no Toys-R-Us in those days.) Her favorite doll was one almost as big as she was and her name was Judy Carol. She dragged that doll everywhere. If we were playing house or going to Capitola, along came Judy Carol. And it wasn’t just Judy, and certainly not only Carol – the name was Judy Carol. She had lots of dolls, but I only remember her playing with her favorite. I am sure when Christine was over they played with them all.

When Henry was born we were at school. Dad came and told us about Henry being born. We didn’t get to go home because Mom’s stayed in the hospital for a few days. And kids certainly couldn’t go into the hospital to see the baby and Mom. The best we could do was go with my Dad to the hospital and he pointed out Mom’s room and we waved at the window. Don’t know if she was really at the window, but we sure thought she was.

Henry was born on November 10, 1955. By the end of 1956 or early in 1957, we were on our way to Dallas. When we first moved in to the house, Evelyn and I had our own rooms. Henry was still small enough to be in Mom and Dad’s room. But a few weeks later, Henry and Evelyn were sharing a room. When the tornado hit, I was with Evelyn in the TV room. Mom grabbed Henry and gathered up Evelyn and me and we sat in the hall until we got the all clear. Evelyn and I thought it was a great adventure.

The summer we spent in Capitola was fun for all of us. Evelyn especially enjoyed being back with her cousin and best friend, Christine. At some time during that summer, Joyce Slider came for a few days from San Jose. We all would go to the beach and the old train station. I noticed that my mother shed a lot of tears that summer as she and Dad were having troubles, but Evelyn seemed to not notice She had fun thru the summer. When summer was over we went back home to Dallas. By the end of the school year we were moving to Southern California. One evening my dad came into my room where Evelyn and I were and told us he was leaving, that he would always love us, but that he and Mom couldn’t live together any more. We cried and cried all night. Then in frustration, Mom ran out the door and took off in her car. No explanation. And we cried more. We had just lost our father and now we seemed to have lost our Mother. We were frightened. We held little Henry, and clinging to each other we cried more. After what seemed a long time, Mom came home. We all cried together. Then, when Evelyn and I were alone we decided that Dad left because she and I fought too much and that he was tired of it. So we pledged that we wouldn’t fight any more. When our Dad came back for some of his things, we told him that he could come home because we weren’t going to fight anymore. He still left and we cried again. It took several days before the tears finally stopped.

We moved back to San Jose and eventually back to the Monroe Street house. Henry had become very sick and began spending much of his time in hospitals. He had been admitted to the Stanford Children’s Hospital at Stanford University. At the same time, Mom had gone to work for Uncle Henry as a waitress in his new restaurant, The Hi-Life. Evelyn and I began spending a lot of time at home alone. We were both a little older at that time. I was 15 and Evelyn 12. One night we were watching television and she kept having to go to the bathroom. So she decided to test her urine with Henry’s test kit. She came up with a high positive reading for sugar in her urine. Mom took her to the doctor and she was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. She would spend the rest of her life taking insulin shots.

As a teenager she loved life. Our city was growing and new places of business were coming in. One was just down the street - Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream. Evelyn would get and ice cream and then adjust her insulin. She wanted to be a normal teenager and not let her illness slow her down. It may have taken a toll that she would pay later with her life.

Evelyn was a talented pianist. She had taken piano for years and years. I took piano lessons for a while and all I could ever play was a simplified version of Suwannee River, but she could play the Bumble Boogie – by memory! The only other pianist I have ever known with that much talent is my daughter, Holly. Once at a Saturday Night Dance, Evelyn found a piano in one of the rooms of the Stake Center. She started playing Bumble Boogie and soon had a crowd cheering her on. She really got into the music and put out a lot of energy. When she was done, she looked at me and put out her hand. I always carried a candy bar in my coat pocket for her in case her sugar levels were low – and The Bumble Boogie took it all out of her.

When I received my Mission Call, Evelyn was my biggest fan. She followed me around like a puppy. I was leaving home and perhaps she was having difficulty with that given our history of family leaving. She followed me around like a puppy. I started calling her Arf and when she sent letters to me on my mission she put “Arf” in the return address. She was faithful in writing me. One letter she told me she was engaged to Tom Patterson, but wouldn’t be getting married until I got home. When I got home, so did Scott Smith and now she had a dilemma – she was engaged to Tom, but Scott had been the love of her life and her childhood sweetheart. She came to me for advice. I told her that it was the rest of her life and eternity she was facing and that she needed to face that with the one she really loved. In the end, she broke up with Tom and married Scott.

Evelyn and Scott were married in 1969, while I was in Vietnam. Scott was going to be going to dental school and was accepted to school in Saint Louis. After I was stationed in Hawaii we were assigned to Fort Rucker in May 1973. We rented a mobile home until we could move into quarters. Evelyn and Scott came down for Thanksgiving. Now, I need to tell a story here for the reader to understand what happened here.

After I returned home from my Mission, Mom, Evelyn and I spent a few days in Capitola. While there, Evelyn injured her left foot. When we got home, classes were starting at San Jose State, where she went to school. Evelyn had bought a car, a 1950 Pontiac – and it was a boat! It was a big and heavy car that had a standard transmission. I was using Mom’s car, which was an automatic. Evelyn asked if we could trade cars for the day because it hurt her foot to use the clutch. So we traded. I was going to go to Aunt Jean’s for lunch, so I drove off. I got three blocks from and I see the flashing lights in my rear view mirror. The Officer asks for my driver’s license. I reached for my wallet, and nothing. I had left my wallet in the other car. The officer tells me the reason he stopped me was for excessive smoke and out of date registration. He also informed me that since I had no identification he could take me in if I matched the description of anyone wanted by the police. I told him that I had just returned from my mission and that this was my sister’s car, that she had mine because of her foot. He issued me two warnings: one for the excessive smoke and out of date registration, and one for no driver license. I could show any officer my license and get them to sign the back of the ticket and then turn the ticket in and that would be okay. I had 15 days to get the repairs done or show proof that the car had been disposed of.

It is now a year or so later and I am married and living in Southern California. I had to fly up to San Jose to take care of some business and I borrowed Evelyn’s car again. This time she had a later model Mercury Meteor. I am about 6 blocks from home and I get stopped again. This time it is for safety violations on the car. I had to start laughing and told the officer I had driven my sister’s cars only twice and both times I have been stopped to problems with the car. She had driven both cars forever, had gotten parking tickets at college, and never was ticketed for safety violations or out of date registration.

Now, we are in Alabama. Evelyn and Scott came down for Thanksgiving driving their little Volkswagen Bug. Scott and I were sent to the store by Jannie and Evelyn. Since I had never in my life driven a Bug, I asked Scott if I could drive. He tossed me the keys and off we went. During the drive to the store I mentioned to Scott that I noticed that they had California plates on the VW, and I thought they had bought the car in Missouri. He said they did, but they couldn’t afford to renew the license plates, so he took the plates off their old car because they were still valid in California. I stopped the car and made Scott drive. Three for three. I never drove another of my sister’s cars again.

We visited Evelyn and Scott once while they were in St. Louis with Scott in dental school. We were on our way to Fort Rucker and stopped to visit for a few days. They lived in a mobile home, but were house sitting for a family in their Ward. We visited them at that house. One evening Evelyn wanted Scott to bar-be-que some steaks on the grill. He measured the stakes and figured out exactly how many briquettes he would need to cover the area of the steaks. The fire never got hot, so she had me take over and teach him to bar-be-que. One Christmas they came to visit us at Fort Rucker. The trip was planned around my Mother’s arrival. They had only little Benjamin and we had a good visit. Benjamin was born after Brett, but before Todd. The boys were very young. Brett was 3. That would be the last time I would spend time with my sister while she was alive.

In June 1981 I had just returned home from a TDY trip to Oklahoma City. The night I got home I received a call from my mother telling me that Evelyn was not expected to live more than a couple of days. She had suffered complete kidney failure some months earlier and was on dialysis. The dialysis was taking its toll on her ability to recover from anything. Then one day she cut her foot. She was so run down that her foot did not heal and she had to be admitted to the hospital. I learned later that she had been in and out of the hospital often in those final days. I flew out to Sacramento and was met by Mom and Aunt June. We drove straight to the hospital in Chico. Between the time of the frantic phone call and my arrival in Sacramento a mere 24 hours later, she had had three amputations…part of her foot, then her entire foot, then just below the knee. Gangrene had set in and was nearly impossible to stop. Three amputations in just a few hours would be difficult for a healthy person to under go. When I arrived she was in a coma. She came out of it briefly. She knew I was there. Then she drifted back. She passed away a few hours later.

She was buried in the cemetery in Chico. The funeral service was attended by many, many people, including both Mom and Dad. Difficult as it was, I spoke at her funeral. Her father-in-law quoted from a play, My Turn on Earth. He said that Evelyn had had her turn on Earth. I recalled the younger years of the Fish Club and that she was Starfish. She was a “star” in all she did. I miss my sister and hardly a day goes by that I don’t at least briefly think of her. One day we will meet again and Arf and her big brother, together again.

A FIRE IN THE PASTURE 2007

A Fire in the Pasture 2007

Traditions in our family die hard, but even more, we develop traditions very quickly. Cornish game hens will always be served on Christmas Eve, but our Thanksgiving tradition is new and will last a long time. As a kid, my Thanksgiving was at the Capitola House. That tradition lasted until all the kids were gone. Our tradition is now going to Heidi and Shawn’s farm in Arkansas. Hopefully each of these trips in the future will give me things to write about – more fires in the pastures of our lives.

Shots rang out from the woods. Cell phones began sending texts. “Was that you?” “Did you shoot a deer?” No deer. Not yet. The boys are out hunting, spurred on by Shawn’s 8 point buck shot on opening day. Then just two days later, 12 year old Lauren shot a three point and “buck fever” had its grip on the boys. Thanksgiving was just too far away, but soon it was here and the family’s third annual migration from the south and the east begins. Once again Mom and Dad, 6 kids, 5 spouses and 13 grandchildren descend upon the farm in Arkansas. Add that to Heidi and Shawn and their 7 kids, and you have more than a houseful. Oh, and did I mention the dogs?

How do you keep 8 boys entertained for hours on end without electronics? Build a fire in the pasture. Pap-paw Miller did just that the morning we all arrived. And from then on, from the early frosty mornings to well after dark in the chilly evenings, the fire is stoked, stirred and fed by the boys, and an occasional girl cousin. As I look out the glass door as I write, I can see two boys adding wood and stirring the embers. As an adult I fondly remember playing in the sand and the waves in Capitola; these boys will always have a fire burning in their memories, the fire in the pasture on the Thanksgivings of their youth.

The girls do all the things little girls do. Dressing up as cheerleaders and gymnasts, they rehearse most of the day for their evening performance. . In the evening they put on a show in the living room, showing off the routines they choreographed and practiced all through the day. Much like the shows my cousins put on every year, requiring me to sing a rendition of Sixteen Tons. And the babies – they spend hours toting babies and playing with them, freeing up their mothers to do more important things, like baking pies! Of course, the girls are attracted by the fire as well and every so often you look out the window and see them watching the boys and giving advice on how the make the fire better, which the boys naturally, and promptly, ignore.

Of course, there are the games of Scrabble, Up Words and Trivial Pursuit that are ever present and seemingly always in progress. “I AM THE CHAMPION, MY FRIEND,” the winner sings out at the top of her lungs, or arms fly up in the touchdown symbol as a winner of Trivial Pursuit rubs it in to the loser. Memories we will have forever.

And the food! Turkey, turkey and more turkey! Fried turkey, smoked turkey and roasted turkey. And ham! Homemade rolls, Mimi’s dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, sweet potato something with pecans on top, ambrosia salads, and olives! And much more food than I can remember, and more than I could eat! And desserts! The pies – apple, cherry, pumpkin and pecan – and the pumpkin cake! And tons of whipped cream to put on all of it. What a feast! With lots of people to eat it! All of us and all of Shawn’s family! I lost count at 30, but in the end, a lot of food was eaten and lots of stories told. Then, round 2: the evening meal. And we ate more turkey! Turkey sandwiches were the fare of the evening! And of course, the pie! And then breakfast in the morning – and more pie! And then all the pies were gone and everyone well filled. And we survived Thanksgiving once again … and already looking forward to next year!

Once again it is early morning and the boys head to the woods to hunt deer. “We need to shoot a deer.” “Heck, we just need to see a deer!” “I’d even settle for a squirrel!” Brett settled for a squirrel and shot it with his cannon, not a trace of that squirrel was left! Then Chad comes into the house, too early to be home from hunting. “Why are you home?” he is asked. “I GOT A DEER!” He is almost too excited for words. He shot a large doe and he and the boys went out and retrieved it. With the deer hung in the tree, Chad began the task of skinning and quartering his prize. A task he had never before done. He had help and “got ‘er done”. His, the only deer shot the entire weekend. All the hunters in their new cammos; and Chad in blue sweat pants and a brown jacket…got the only deer. His first deer – priceless.

Miller’s Pond doesn’t exactly bring images of Huck Finn or Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the imaginations of 9 and 11 year old boys, it is high adventure! A farm pond out the back door of Heidi’s house with a row boat and it doesn’t get any better than that! The boys pulled the boat off the shore, climbed in; they paddled all around the pond. I remember the row boats in the Capitola River and have the same fond memories of my adventures that these three boys will have with theirs. I was fortunate enough to be -outside when the boat was launched and went down to the waters edge and took pictures and gave words of encouragement to the boys as they crossed the pond. What a memory!

As kids, we dreamed of the go-carts we would never ride. What adventures we had on our imaginary motorized wheels. This year it was go-carts in the pasture. During the summer, Heidi acquired a go-cart and it was a nice one. The older boys and girls tore around the pasture at “break-neck” speeds. “Grandpa, I can’t wait until Nathan gets here so I can take him on the go-cart” Tyler said to me as he was taking a pit stop. And the little kids all got rides, too; the older ones driving them all over. Then the dare-devil took over and down to Miller’s Pond! What fun darting around the pond. Then they hit the soft mud and, “STUCK!” someone cried. The boys and Rebekah pushed and pulled, being cheered on by a couple of the little girls. Finally, free at last and the adventure could continue….all they had to do was start the motor. “Try and try again” seemed to be the tactic, but it just wouldn’t start. I had seen their predicament and wandered down by the pond to see what assistance I could provide. “Grandpa, it just won’t start. I have the choke on full, but it just sputters”, Tyler told me, his eyes knowing that Grandpa would have the remedy. “Close the choke”, I said. I then gave a good pull on the rope and the engine jumped to life. “Thanks, Grandpa,” Rebekah and Tyler shouted as they jumped into the cart. They accelerated, but they were still stuck. Pulling and pushing a little more and they were soon free of the mire. As I walked back to the yard, I looked back to see them at full speed on the levee of the pond. Then back up into the pasture; and the rest of the afternoon I could hear the tell tale hum of the Briggs and Stratton and laughter in the air.

Laughter. What a joy it is to hear it. Especially the laughter of children. Whether it was in the house or in the yard, there were lots of young laughs filling the air. The house isn’t that big and you could easily tell when there are 15 adults and 20 children under one roof. Conversation went on, games were being played, tales of deer shot, missed, and unseen filled the air. But above it all – laughter. Kids having the time of their lives. I believe that there was not a cross word spoken the entire weekend between cousins and siblings, or between anyone for that matter. Just fun and laughter! And nothing is sweeter than the sound of laughing children.

It’s Friday; it’s the last day for some of us. Tomorrow some will be going home and back to the grind of daily living….BUT today; we have today! And tonight is the bon fire! All weekend the fire in the pasture has been stoked and stirred by the boys. Now another fire. The fire pit is in the yard and Uncle Shawn has been preparing for it. Logs are stacked and kindling is placed so it will ignite the logs. Benches surround the fire pit. All is ready. Inside preparations are made for the weenie roast. Packages of hot dogs are opened and dogs put in a big bowl. Chips of every kind abound. Chili is heated and cheese grated. And mounds of olives! We sure do love the olives! Weenie forks are ready and now it is time. We ask for a blessing on the food and for safety in our activities of the evening. Kids grab the forks and skewer the weenies and head to the fire. Everyone else follows. Weenies of every degree of doneness are brought in for buns, ketchup and mustard. And many are topped with chili. In a manner of a few minutes, the dogs are gone, the buns are gone and everyone is stuffed. Then S’mores! Chocolate covered graham crackers with a toasted marshmallow smashed between. Mothers worry about the nutritional value – but this is a weenie roast! We can eat greens tomorrow. We made dinner and made memories … memories that will well up in the minds of these little ones many years down the road.

Saturday it rained. And it rained. And it rained. The fires went out, except in conversation and memories. The burning of buck fever also was doused by the rain. Brett felt like he was coming down with a cold and they quickly packed and left for home. Heather and Shawn planned to leave at about one o’clock … as soon as her car got out of the shop. The kids were quickly gathering their things and getting ready to pack cars. Then, it was time. Hugs and kisses and then the kids and dogs were gone. But not all the kids. Still, there would be plenty for fun. The kids had to entertain themselves in the house. The moms, along with Lauren, all went to lunch in Texarkana. So the dads and grandpa were here. I was apprehensive about all these kids with no place to let out their energy, but they were great. Laughing and playing with each other all afternoon. Dinner was tacos and the house was alive with kids talking and eating. Then pajamas and the house quieted down for the night.

If there ever was an ideal family gathering, this was it. We don’t know what the future will bring, but we will always have the memories of this Thanksgiving on a small farm in Southwestern Arkansas. We will always remember the fire in the pasture.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 6

This blog entry is part 6 of the entry of my Mission experiences.

In March I got my notice that I was to be transferred out to Patchogue, Long Island, New York. I arrived at the Mission Home ready for my new assignment. President Eldridge called me into his office for an interview. He said he was calling me to be the District Leader of the Patchogue District. He told me that the area I was going into was a very difficult area. He said that the Church has put so much emphasis on the Worlds Fair that a lot of areas in the Mission had not had many Missionaries for a long time. To make things interesting, Patchogue was a resort town on the Long Island Atlantic coast, and I was a resort kind of guy! A boy from California, raised on the beach was now being sent to the beach. Talk about sending a dog into the butcher shop! I accepted the call and met up with my companion, Elder Stock, and we headed east to Long Island.

Our apartment was a second story walk-up in a private residence in Patchogue. The family downstairs owned the building, and as such were our landlords. They loved us. The lady was 25 years younger than her husband, who was in very poor health. He was a former major league baseball player who had played for the Yankees. I cannot remember his name now, but he was quite famous in his day. Their 17 year old son, Jack, was our permanent investigator, and wanted to join the Church. Because his dad would not give his permission, he had to wait until he was 18. Whenever we needed an investigator to justify something we were doing, we took Jack with us.

One of the first people I met in Patchogue were Brother and Sister Hoyman. She had been a member for 14 years. Their children had been baptized at age 8. Brother Hoyman told me that he was the longest investigator in the Church; he had been investigating the Church for 14 years. When I got there he had been a member for a little over a year. He told me the story of his long process of joining the Church. They had come in contact with the Church many years before and had the discussions. They both loved what they heard and were ready to embrace the restored gospel. Then the Missionaries gave the 6th and final discussion on tithing. Dirk made a good living and earned a lot of money. His response was, “What ever Dirk Hoyman makes, Dirk Hoyman keeps”. Two weeks later he lost his job. Coincidence? You be the judge. He doesn’t think so. But it took him another 14 years to come around. He always attended Church though. And when he traveled with his new job, he found the local Ward and attended. Once he could only find The Church of Christ and thought that must be the place. He introduced himself as Brother Hoyman. They thought he was a CofC preacher and invited him to come up an preach. He declined.

One evening Dirk asked his wife what plans she had on Saturday evening. She said she had none. He said good because he wanted her to be at his baptism Saturday evening. She just stared at him a minute then burst out crying. A short time before I came to Patchogue, they had been sealed as a family in the Salt Lake Temple.

Lake Ronkonkoma, LI, NY was a little town on the banks of Lake Ronkonkoma, a pretty, picturesque lake not far from Patchogue. We had an appointment there one afternoon and we headed out. I was driving and must have been going at a pretty good clip because the police pulled me over. The officer asked for my driver license and registration. I kept my license in the packet I had for my Ministerial Certificate. The car was registered to The Corporation of the Presiding Bishop of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I handed him the documents and he looked them over. He asked if we were ministers, and I told him we were and were on our way to visit with a family in Lake Ronkonkoma. He then handed me back my documents and asked me to slow down and stay within the speed limit. Then he apologized for pulling us over. Maybe he figured that if he gave us a ticket he would offend the Man Upstairs. I never again had a police officer apologize for pulling me over, although I did have one stop me once for doing a wobble, which is another story for another time.

When I arrived in Patchogue, there were several members who knew about a supposed prophesy predicting Long Island would break off and fall into the depths of the sea. (I had always heard that same prediction about California. I keep hoping!) There were families who actually left Long Island for Utah to be safe. One sister took her children and moved to Utah alone because her husband didn’t believe in the pending disaster. He ended up going out the Utah and bringing his family back. The source of this false doctrine was the book by Duane Crowther called “Prophecy, Key to the Future”, a book referred to by President Packer as “Prophecy, the Key to Crowther”. I actually heard Mr. Crowther speak a couple of years later at the Institute at San Jose State where he said everything he wrote was his interpretation and not any way doctrinal. In this book, the author predicted the catastrophe for Long Island. This hysteria migrated into all parts of Long Island and to parts of Manhattan. This would have a direct influence on the future of the New York Stake.

The Patchogue Branch met in the Seventh Day Adventist Church. It worked out great because they didn’t use the building on Sunday. And the building was similar to most small LDS buildings and had all the facilities needed. We also had the building on Tuesdays for the auxiliary meetings. The Branch President had his hands full trying to convince the members that it was okay to stay on Long Island!

At Stake Conference, Elder Harold B. Lee came to divide the New York Stake and create the New York East Stake. Instead of taking care of that business, his address was a call to repentance. He addressed the problem caused by the book. He told the members to quit reading that book and spend more time in the scriptures.. He then asked if the members thought the Brethren (First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve) were a bunch of ignoramuses. If Long Island was to fall into the ocean, why would the Church spend millions of dollars on the new chapels now under construction? The meeting concluded without dividing the Stake. Six months later, two weeks before my Mission was finished, the entire attitude of the members of the Stake had changed and you could feel it in the spirit of the Conference when Elder Lee came back and divided the New York Stake and created the New York East Stake.

One of the sets of Elders in our district told me that they had to move out of their apartment for a few days because it was being fumigated. So the Elders moved in with us temporarily. One Elder was new and was a Utah sheep farmer. He was sleeping on the floor in the living room and had an old wind up alarm clock that he put on the stove in the kitchen. At 5:15 AM on P-Day his alarm went off. I shot up out of bed and was in the kitchen turning the alarm off before the new Elder finally stirred. Very loudly, I asked him what he was doing setting his alarm so early for, and especially on P-Day. He said he wanted to get up early and study. (Greenies) I looked at him right in the face and said, “Elder, it’s P-Day and we don’t have to get up early. On any other day we don’t get up until 6:30. If that alarm ever goes off again in this apartment I am going to throw it out the window!” I slammed the alarm down on the kitchen table and went back to bed. That poor Elder didn’t know what to do.

That young Elder has lost an eye in a farm accident when he was a little boy. He had a prosthesis in his right eye. He showed me all the eyes he had collected over the years, different sizes for different ages. He said he wanted to have them made into cufflinks. He would take is eye out and try to get me to look. I wouldn’t look. I don’t know what I thought I would see … some farm kid’s brain, I guess. The story seems much funnier to me now because of my having had my right eye removed and now wear a prosthesis. I think of all the pranks I have pulled with my eye, and I guess no one wants to see my brain either.

One day, following a trip into the Mission Home to drop off Elder Stock, who was going to Pittsfield; and to pick up my new companion, Elder Hill, we made a stop on the way back to Long Island. We stopped in Flushing Meadows at a place called SHEA STADIUM! The Giants were coming to play the Mets. These were the Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda Giants. They were playing on P-Day and the stadium was only 30 miles or so from Patchogue. And it would be a fellowshipping opportunity because Jack was coming with us! Poor Elder Hill. He didn’t know what to think. I hope we didn’t corrupt him too badly. Anyway, we went and the Giants won. And we didn’t get caught. Need I say more?

Elder Hill, and I went to the Hoyman’s for dinner one Sunday after Church. Sister Hoyman was a good cook and that night made a meatloaf. Her meatloaf was much like the one Jannie makes and was covered with a sauce. Elder Hill’s experience with meatloaf must have been much like mine with my Mother…. all meat and no juice, and covered with ketchup to make it edible. As Elder Hill took a piece of meatloaf from the platter as it was passed around the table, he innocently asked if they had any ketchup. The 13 year old Hoyman daughter was devastated. She stopped what she was doing and, looking hurt, asked my companion, “What’s the matter, Elder Hill, don’t you like it?” We all had a good laugh.

It had been two years since I left on my mission and it was time to go home. I had grown a lot during those two years. I had gone from a green Elder who hoped the Church was true to a servant of the Lord with a strong testimony. I had seen growth in my family at home. My mother had gone from skeptic to believer. She would still have times in her life when she doubted, but at that time she had her own testimony.

On Wednesday, September 20, 1967 I left Patchogue for the last time. We left early because of the time it took to drive into mid-town Manhattan on the Long Island Expressway. I arrived and was interviewed by President Eldridge. He released me to return home, but said my formal release would come from my Stake President when I next met with him. He thanked me and then it was over. Like so many Missionaries who were going home every time we had transfers in Manhattan, we stood around on the steps of the Mission Home glad handing each other as we promised to keep in touch when we got to BYU. The APs took us to JFK and I caught a non stop flight to San Francisco International Airport. I had gone from a nervous Missionary giving the second conclusion of the first discussion in the living room of a row house with no air conditioning to a confident missionary and leader. As I looked back, the change was astonishing.

My family met me at the airport. I came down the ramp wearing my suit and the summer straw business hat I had purchased so many months ago in Hartford. I just knew they wouldn’t recognize me, but Evelyn came running up the ramp and thru her arms around me. We stood and hugged, Evelyn, Mom, Aunt June, Aunt Jean and me. Then we went to baggage claim, picked up my bags and headed down the Bayshore Freeway to San Jose.

When we arrived at the house I went into my bedroom. Mom had gone all out. She had purchased all new furniture for my bedroom and had washed and pressed all my clothes. I remember I was alone in my room, the first time I had been alone in two years. As I stood in front of my dresser, taking off my tie, I felt alone. Uncomfortably alone. I don’t know if I was missing my companion or having the feeling that somehow the Spirit had withdrawn when I no longer had the mantle of a Missionary. The feeling passed in a few minutes. Mom and Evelyn had planned a big Welcome Home party for that evening and were fluttering around getting it ready. I laid down and took a nap.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 5

This blog entry is part 5 of the entry of my Mission experiences.


I remember well a lesson taught to us at the Mission Home in Salt Lake City all those many months earlier. “Don’t expect that you can sit around your apartment everyday and have the phone ring with a convert baptism on the other end”. Well, that is exactly what happened. Elder Frear and I drove back to Yonkers and he immediately went to bed. He had been sick for quite a while, and at one point had spent a couple of days in the hospital. But as soon as he could get up, he was back out doing missionary work. He apparently did too much too soon and was back in bed. The Mission President told him to stay in bed for a few days, and he stayed for over a week. The DLs came over to visit us often, and to take me to the store to get groceries. But other than that I was in the apartment all day, every day for over a week. I read a lot and slept a lot. I couldn’t even telephone contact because we were on message units and each call cost a nickel per unit. Towards the end of my companion’s confinement to bed, we got a phone call. It was the Bishop of the Westchester Ward, the Ward we served in. He had received a phone call from a man in New Rochelle, NY who wanted to be baptized, so the Bishop called us. I took down all the contact information and we called to make an appointment. Nothing helps a sick missionary recover faster than someone calling on the phone asking for baptism!

When the appointed day and time arrived, we drove to New Rochelle and met Brother and Sister Cohen. Brother Cohen was Jewish and his new bride was an inactive member of the Church. The Cohen’s were in their late 40s or early 50s and both had been married and widowed. Sister Cohen was from Boise, but had lived all of her adult life in New York. She has stopped going to Church before she left Idaho. On their first Christmas together, they went to her parent’s home in Boise. There Brother Cohen picked up a copy of The Book of Mormon. Not having any previous contact with, or knowledge of, the Church, he had no negative opinion of The Book of Mormon. He picked it up and began reading. The spirit of the book touched him and after long conversations with his father-in-law, he knew he needed to join himself to this Church. His father-in-law suggested he contact the Bishop when he got home. He did. And the Bishop contacted us…just sitting around the apartment waiting for the phone to ring with a convert baptism on the other end!

Over the next several weeks we taught the Cohen’s the gospel. On the evening of the sixth discussion, they invited us to dinner before the discussion. The sixth discussion is on tithing and the word of wisdom. At dinner Sister Cohen offered us wine with our meal. Elder Frear and I looked at each other, then I explained briefly the word of wisdom and declined the wine. Sister Cohen, somewhat embarrassed, said she thought the Church had done away with the Word of Wisdom.

Brother Cohen was ready to be baptized, so we baptized him. Sister Cohen was already a member, but was much slower to coming around. Brother Cohen accepted the gospel enthusiastically and told the Bishop to put him to work. And he was put to work. Brother Cohen told us that his goal was to get his wife strong enough in the Church that when he was sick and couldn’t attend that she would want to attend without him. We hadn’t even taught them about the Temple! I am sure that as soon as she was ready, they went.

There was one family in the ward who decided to invite the Westchester Elders over for dinner. There were 4 of us serving in the boundaries of the Ward. The couple was Italian and was famous in the Ward for their homemade spaghetti. They had a quite the system. She made the spaghetti noodles from scratch and he made the sauce from scratch. We looked forward to the dinner. The evening of the dinner we rode together to the appointment. When we sat down they served baked chicken, a veggie and potatoes and gravy. We figured that they decided against the spaghetti. We finished and they took our plates. A few minutes later they came out with plates of spaghetti. So we ate some more. After the spaghetti they brought out dessert. She had made a lemon meringue pie and cut it in fourths and gave us each a piece. I have never been so sick in my life. It turned out that they had never fed the missionaries before and heard that missionaries ate a lot of food. They didn’t want us to go away hungry. We went back to our apartment and just lay on our beds.

Westchester County, New York is an interesting place. Located in the county is the town of Briarcliff Manor. Near the town is the Sleepy Hollow Bridge, made famous by Washington Irving in his story, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. We knew the story of Sleepy Hollow from Walt Disney feature called The Headless Horseman. Our DL’s lived about a half mile from the bridge. I never saw any horsemen there, headless or other wise. Just north of Westchester County is the location of West Point, although I never got up there. The Westchester Ward was a cross section of the area. There were blue collar types who attended the ward, as well as white collar, professionals, and even members of the entertainment industry. One fellow in the ward was a producer or director for CBS Television in New York. He was in charge of many of the soap operas of the day. In those days it was all broadcast live. Another fellow was a chiropractor and the missionaries had a standing appointment with him every P-day. He had a good testimony, although he didn’t attend regularly. There were several medical doctors in the ward and they would give him a hard time because they thought his medicine was quackery.

One lady who stands out was Melva Niles Barborka. She was a Broadway performer and was in many plays in the 1940s and 1950s. She was a soprano and sang beautifully. To a 20 year old, she was old, but as I think back, she was in her early 60s. Brother Barborka was a movie producer and I have seen his name in the credits of some church movies over the years. Melva loved the MOTAB and she loved hymns. She made an album of hymns she recorded with Robert Peterson, another Broadway singer and member. They sold the albums as a building fund project, but gave one to me, autographed. See the following website.

http://www.heartrisemusic.com/Artists/PetersonR/ThingsLovely/index.html

We baptized a lady, and for the life of me, I cannot think of her name. She was an older lady and was French, although she was from Belgium and not France. She was a widow and really quite well to do, but she was working as a housekeeper for a family in Scarsdale. After her husband died she went back to Belgium for a visit. While there she got very sick and had to be hospitalized. In the hospital she was treated with morphine for pain and became addicted to it. So they had to leave her in the hospital to get her off the meds. She was in the hospital for several months. While there she ran thru all her available cash as she was there nearly a year longer than she had planned. She had a lot of real estate holdings and other investments in Illinois, her home. Communications being what they were in the 60s, and being an older lady, she was not up on technology, such as it was. She had no idea how to access her money. Wanting to return to the United States, she met a couple form Scarsdale who happened to need a housekeeper. They agreed to pay her passage back to the United States if she would work for them for a year. And since she had worked hard all her young life in Europe, she took the offer. Upon returning to the US, she went to Illinois and got her affairs in order and returned to Scarsdale to work out her contract. The Elders met her and taught her the discussions. I got there in time to baptize her. She loved the Church and the Missionaries and took the Elders to dinner every Thursday night. We always went to a fancy restaurant. Elder Frear and I felt bad that she always paid so much for dinner. So one night we suggested that we go to a Chinese restaurant. We walked in; she walked out and took us to an expensive French restaurant.

After dinner we took her to a new members fireside that was held in a member’s home every Thursday night. After the fireside she took us to Nathan’s World Famous Hot Dogs for a late snack. Usually I had a roast beef sandwich or one of Nathan’s famous hot dogs. She loved Nathan’s hot dogs. It was the only place she would eat that didn’t cost a fortune.

The Stake Mission President was in the Ward and held an investigators fireside at his home every Sunday evening. He had developed a 12 lesson cycle for investigators and new members to be involved in. You could come in anytime and never be behind. There was no starting point, no ending point. It was a pretty effective tool. He wrote it all up and submitted it to the Presiding Bishopric, suggesting that they think of coming up with something like that for the whole Church. Don’t really know if it had anything to do with his proposal, but a couple of years later the Church came out with the new member lessons. The original new member lessons were twelve in number.

Shortly after my arrival in Yonkers there was a blizzard of major proportions. It literally shut New York down for the day. It was also transfer day, but we had been told the day before that we had no new Missionaries coming to our area. A new bunch of Missionaries had arrived and normally would have headed out to their areas of assignment later that day. Our Zone had no transfers, and since we couldn’t do any Missionary work we decided we would go see a movie. We wanted to see “Is Paris Burning”. (We rationalized that it was appropriate because it was about a true event and contained actual news real footage.) In the end, though, only Elder Frear, Elder Riding (DL) and I wanted to go. A phone call told us the theater was open and the start time of the movie. The DL’s junior companion, Elder Webb, didn’t want to go. The other Elders in the district were going over to the Church to play basketball, and he wanted to do that. So the other Elders were going to stop by and pick him up. We waited and waited, but they never came. We finally got a hold of them and they were going to come and pick up Elder Webb, but they had been delayed because they had to dig their car out of the snow before they could go to do their laundry. If we were going to make the start of the movie, we needed to go. So we coordinated with the other Elders to be sure to pick up Elder Webb; and then left Elder Webb at our apartment, waiting for his ride, and went to the movie. When we returned later in the afternoon, Elder Webb was at the apartment waiting for us. What he told us made our blood chill. Right after we left, the Mission President called. He asked for Elder Frear. When Elder Webb told him he wasn’t there, he asked for Elder Pritchard. Not here. Elder Riding. Not here either. Then who is with you Elder? Elder Webb then told the story of our going to the movie. The President praised Elder Webb for upholding his principles and not going to the movie. Then Elder Webb told him he was waiting for the other Elders to go play basket ball. The Mission President had wanted us to come into the Mission Home and pick up some of the new Elders to put them up for the night.

The next day was transfer day and we ended up having to go into the Mission Home and face the music. We got there expecting the worse, but nothing was ever said to us. As it turned out, other Elders had committed a greater infraction of the rules. These Elders, including a former AP, decided to tour the mission and visit members they knew, before they headed home. All were short timers. These Elders were in Connecticut and had left the previous Sunday right after Church. One of the Junior Companions refused to go, so they left him alone, with instructions not to answer the phone. When the phone rang he answered it. It was President Eldridge. He had called to inform the ZL that transfers had been postponed and not to come into the City. The lone Elder spilled his soul to the President. The traveling elders made it to the Mission Home, braving the elements of the blizzard. The former AP told me that when they entered the Mission Home that the staff avoided eye contact with the Elders. He then turned to his fellow travelers and announced, “Brethren, we’ve been found out”. All the missionaries were transferred to New Jersey.

By the time we made it into the Mission Home, our infractions must have seemed minor to what the President was dealing with the preceding day, plus trying to get all these new Missionaries out to the field. I figured I would never be a DL, but time heals all wounds and I was later called to be a District Leader.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 4

This blog entry is part 4 of the entry of my Mission experiences.


Our transfers came in the mail, usually on Wednesday. Transfer day was Friday or Saturday. That gave us a couple of days to pack, put in a change of address, write our folks and say good-bye to the members. My transfer said I was going to Norway. Norway, Maine that is. I was to catch a bus from Hartford to Boston. Then change busses in Boston for Lewiston-Auburn, Maine. There I would be picked up by my companion and go on to Norway. The District Leaders were in Lewiston-Auburn. I was no stranger to riding the bus as I had ridden the bus from San Jose to San Francisco a few times when I worked for Uncle Lee. I even took a date to San Francisco on the bus once. Real romantic. I only did it once! Anyway, I packed everything I owned in my suit cases and headed for northern New England. It was March and Spring was in the air, but there was still snow on the ground.

My trip to Maine was uneventful, as was my layover in the Boston Bus Terminal. I knew that lots of missionaries were being transferred that day and was surprised that I didn’t see any. I had to go to the restroom and not wanting to leave my bags unattended nor wanting to drag them downstairs to the restroom, I needed an ally. I sat next to a group of Nuns and struck up a conversation. We didn’t wear name tags in those days and I wasn’t about to tip my hand as to whom I was until after I used the restroom. I asked if they would mind watching my stuff. I figured that if I couldn’t trust them, then who could I trust? They graciously said they would watch my things. When I got back, the Nun’s and my things were still there. I thanked them and we exchanged pleasantries, then they got up and went to their bus.

Arriving in Lewiston-Auburn, I was met by the DLs and my companion, Elder Buchanan. I was coming as the newly assigned Senior Companion. I soon found out that Elder Buchanan wasn’t thrilled at the idea of his Senior Companion being out barely 5 months when he had been out almost a year. Our time together went downhill from there. In Maine he was like a fish out of water. He was a city boy and he hated the country…and Norway, Maine was out in the country. The town of Norway and its neighboring town, South Paris, were not quite as large as the Boston Bus Terminal! Well, okay, larger, but not by much. He had come up to Maine from Boston and had loved tracting in the apartment buildings. You could spend an entire day going from door to door until you got kicked out. If you couldn’t tract, you could sit in your apartment and telephone contact…boy that was effective! But in Maine, we had no apartment buildings of any size, and each phone call cost a nickel. I loved the outdoors, so we tracted. The towns of Norway and South Paris had been tracted out entirely several times in the preceding months, so I suggested we go into the country an visit some folks on the farms. We would drive out to the country, park and then walk back to the farms we had passed. Then we walked back to the car. The area was breathtaking, full of white birch trees and pines. The snow was melting, the temperature was mild, and it was like being in a picture postcard.

We stopped at a farm wanting to visit with the people who lived there and teach them the gospel. Elder Buchanan was deathly afraid of dogs. We entered the gate of the farm and were just inside the gate when we were met by a large black dog. My guess is that it was either a Rottweiler or a Lab. The dog came bounding up barking. My companion froze and the dog squared off with him. I told him to ignore the dog and keep walking, but he wasn’t moving. He was frozen with fear…and I think the dog sensed his fear. Then a woman came to the door and asked what we wanted. I told her, and she said she was the babysitter and the family would be home that evening. I asked her about the dog and she said she didn’t know if the dog was vicious or not. I thanked her and looked at my companion, who was still face to face with that dog, about 4 feet apart. Then both the dog and Elder Buchanan flinched at the same time. Elder Buchanan did a 180 degree turn precisely at the moment the dog did the same and the both headed in opposite directions as fast as they could go. The woman on the porch and I laughed so hard my side hurt. That, of course, ended tracting in the country.

The Branch President suggested we might want to try doing work in a neighboring town, Bridgton, as there were some members there. So we went and met the Mayor and a few other people, and decided we could do a lot of work there. We called President Packer and got permission to move to Bridgton. So the next day we went back and found an apartment. We stopped by the newspaper and had our pictures and a story about the missionary efforts run, and then we moved. After moving our stuff in, I figured the best thing to do would be to stop at the local diner, have lunch and ask for directions to somewhere, just to start a conversation. We ended up talking with a couple of folks and then left. When the next edition of the weekly newspaper came out, we were in it. Downtown we were stopped by a shop owner whose shop we had visited the day we moved to Bridgton. . She came out to apologize to us because she had thought we were the con men she had read about in the Boston paper. She had told others to watch out for the two young guys in suits because they were con men. When she read the article in the paper, she was embarrassed. But she became our friend, although she wasn’t interested in hearing the discussions. And nobody else ever mentioned our being con men.

The local branch was in Norway and met in the Grange Hall. The only Priesthood in the Branch was the Branch Presidency and some Aaronic Priesthood holders. One Sunday the Branch Presidency had an early morning meeting in Bangor, Maine with the District President and the Mission President. They expected to be back in time for Church, which started at 10, but didn’t make it. Elder Buchanan and I were the only Melchezidek Priesthood holders, so we decided to go ahead and conduct the meeting. The program was already set, so we went ahead and started. About the end of the meeting the Branch President came in. They thanked us for taking charge.

Maniacs (what people from Maine call themselves), speak with a distinct accent, almost their own dialect. They really emphasize and extend out the “ah” sound in the letter “a”. Father becomes Faaaahhhhhther. The Branch President’s son was a student at BYU and was home for a few days over spring break. He had totally lost his Maine/New England accent and sounded like a westerner. Being a Priest, he was one who administered the Sacrament that Sunday. When he began the blessing on the bread he did fine until he came to father. Then that old Maniac Faaahhhhther came out. I jerked my head up and it was all I could do to keep from laughing. It was the only time I ever heard the faintest accent from him.

Our apartment in Bridgton was right on Long Lake. Bridgton had a population of about 1500 to 2000 in the winter, and nearly 10,000 in the summer. It was an ideal vacation spot. We could go to the backyard of our apartment building and walk right down to the waters edge. I would highly doubt that if we were to go there today that we would find those apartments any more. More likely we would find expensive vacation homes with boat docks. Southern New Englanders spend a lot of summer months in Maine, and Bridgton was a popular spot. But before the influx of summer people came, my transfer notice arrived, and I was on my way to Pittsfield, MA.

What a joyous day it was to leave Maine, or at least my companion. Funny thing, while we came close to fisticuffs one evening, after we parted ways, we became good friends. I left Maine and arrived in Pittsfield on a beautiful spring afternoon one day in May. My companion was Elder Thurman and we would be together for four months. While Pittsfield was a good sized small town, we had lots of opportunities to tract in the country. There were two sets of Elders in Pittsfield and the other Elders, Elders Monson and Orton, had the town in their area. We lived in an apartment on West Houstatonic Street, a couple of doors up form the A and W Root Beer stand. We would drink a lot of root beer in those few months. Lots of empty calories that packed on some weight!

Elder Thurman had a girlfriend, and she wrote to him every day. The mail came at 11 and all he could think or talk about was going to get the mail. Mission rules were 1 letter per week. I told him to write his girlfriend and tell her to only write once a week. He refused at first. So when we would get back to the apartment each afternoon I grabbed the mail and would not give him the letters from his girlfriend. I told him he could have them on P-Day. After a few threats of physical violence, he finally began to settle down. Once he quit worrying about the letters and his girlfriend, he started to enjoy his mission. After a couple of weeks he wrote her and told her to only write once a week. She did and he became an outstanding Missionary. Before he got off his Mission, she sent him a “Dear John”.

One afternoon Elder Thurman and I were tracting in the country and were about a mile from our car. In the distance we heard the rumble of thunder. We looked at the mountains and saw the first white puffs of clouds coming over the range, and we headed hurriedly for our car. It usually took about ten minutes from the first rumble to a full blown afternoon thunderstorm. On that day we barely made it back before the rains came. We remembered we had left the windows in the apartment open, so we headed home. By the time we got there we were engulfed in rain. We ran upstairs to our apartment and the curtains were blowing horizontally to the floor; and the floors were soaking wet. We closed the windows and waited out the storm. Then we opened the windows again and began mopping up the water. All of the water was limited to the kitchen and dining area, so our bedrooms were dry.

The Pittsfield Branch met downtown on the 2nd floor of the YMCA. The Branch President was a professor at one of the colleges in Adams or North Adams, MA. On some Saturday evenings the Y sponsored a dog show. When we got to the Y on Sunday mornings, we would help the Branch Presidency clean up the place for church. Mostly we had to rearrange chairs, put away tables and floor mats. The Branch rented the building, but the Y did nothing to make our use of it easy.

Brother Boland was one of those perennial investigators. He loved discussions with the Missionaries, but never had any intention of joining the Church. He was the drama professor at Berkshire Community College and was a well educated and pleasant man. He was a widower of several years. He invited us to the dress rehearsal of The Fantasticks, which we thoroughly enjoyed. The music was fantastic! However, Brother Boland, as educated as he was, was a UFO freak! He believed in them and knew they were out there. The east coast blackout the previous November was a direct result of UFO’s sucking up power off one of the New England power grids just outside of Pittsfield. We would listen as he would tell us of the UFO sightings that night. One included a farmer’s field right outside of Pittsfield that had a perfect circle burned in the middle of the pasture. By the time he got there the Sheriff’s office had people bulldozing the area. They said they found a body there. No body finding was ever reported in the local paper. Brother Boland was a hoot, very creditable and we loved him and his theories as much as he loved the Missionaries.

Transfers came and I was to get a new companion. Elders Thurman and Monson were going to new areas. One companion of each set of Elders was going and leaving me and Elder Orton as companions. Pittsfield would have only one set of Missionaries. I was not thrilled because he was an extreme introvert and never talked much at all.

I had been in Pittsfield for 4 months and it was time for District Conference. This was a special conference because the Hartford Stake was to be organized. Elder Herald B. Lee of the Quorum of the Twelve was presiding with President Packer assisting. When we got to Hartford for the meeting, the Branch President told me that I was in for a big surprise. I asked him if I was being transferred. When the business portion of the conference was conducted, President Packer, in his role as a General Authority, transacted the business. He announced that the area of the New England Mission comprised of all of Connecticut and Western Massachusetts, including all 40 missionaries serving in those areas, was being transferred from the jurisdiction of the New England Mission to that of the Eastern States Mission. The Branch President leaned over to me and said, “You’ve been transferred.”

The Sunday afternoon meeting Missionaries were to have with Elder Lee was postponed until the next morning so that the business of organizing the Stake could take place. Missionaries were farmed out to families to spend the night, although Elder Orton and I went with the West Hartford Elders and stayed in the place I lived on my mission. The next morning at 9 we were in the Hartford Ward building. During this meeting, each missionary had the opportunity to meet personally with an Apostle of the Lord. Elder Lee interviewed each Missionary individually. When it was my turn, I went into the Bishops office and sat across the desk from Elder Lee. He was a very pleasant man and had a warm demeanor about him. He had pictures of me and of my companion. He told me that I had learned a lot from President Packer and would now be able to learn a lot from President Eldridge. He said that most missionaries don’t serve under two different presidents, and it was very rare to serve in two different Missions, and I was doing both. Then the looked at my companion’s picture and told me all about him. He described him to a tee. Then he gave me some ideas on how to help him come out of his shell. Then the interview was over. I don’t remember all that was said, but I can still feel the spirit when I reflect on that meeting.

Elder Orton and I were together in Pittsfield for 4 months. We taught a lot of discussions, but we didn’t baptize. It was a tough area – blue caller mostly, an area highly concentrated with Eastern European immigrants, and very Catholic. The only family baptized while I was there went inactive pretty quickly. We visited with them after they quit coming to Church and they had never taken down symbols of their former religion, including holders for holy water. Thirty years later I visited Pittsfield and the Pittsfield Ward met in a modern building just outside Pittsfield. I didn’t know anyone, but several younger adults told me they were in primary in the days when the branch met in the YMCA.
Transfers were conducted differently in the Eastern States Mission. My transfer notice came by telephone and I was being transferred to Yonkers, NY. I was to be a Zone Leader. In the Eastern States Mission, when the President called Zone Leaders, he called one former District Leader and one who had been a Senior Companion, to gain more leadership experience. That Zone Leader would generally then become a District Leader. In stead of catching a bus, my District Leader, Elder Bunting, came to Pittsfield from Greenfield, MA and drove me to the Mission Home in Manhattan. There we had a short meeting with the Mission President, met the Mission staff, including the APs, and then had a short interview with the Mission President. He told me I was going to Yonkers with Elder Frear. After meeting Elder Frear, we loaded up and we were off to Westchester County.

TO BE CONTINUED