A Year of Contrasts

A Year of Contrasts

Starting College and Going on a Mission

One of the painful discoveries for adolescent boys is the realization that girls grow up faster than they do.  It was especially noticeable during MIA dance lessons, as we boys, tried to learn dance steps in a couple of minutes that girls, who were 3 inches taller, had been practicing for a long time. Eventually I outgrew that awkward stage but it never occurred to me that the same maturational differences carried over into other things, like school. I just assumed that girls were naturally smarter at everything until I reached the 12th grade and noticed that I was catching up.  But then I had to deal with college.  I was a B and C student and in the top half of my class but in those days only 20% of the graduates went to college.  I did the math and concluded that B and C grades would translate into C and D grades, or worse.  I had to find a major that was easier.  i was already a devoted Popular Mechanics reader and that devotion led to the purchase of a book entitled,  Forty Power Tools that you can make.  Until then having shop tools was a way of having fun - not for a career but it     occurred to me that having fun in a major that would be easier was maybe the way go. So I impulsively choose industrial arts as my major. My first required class was auto mechanics and it was a disaster.   I got a D.  If the instructor hadn’t felt sorry for me, I would have failed.  There were some modest successes, such as a class in architectural drawing, but overall the year was a wash.  I had already received a call to serve in the Mexican Mission on May 26th from the prophet, George Albert Smith, left Fresno on June 18th with Vern Lamoreaux and Ken Johnson (a couple of days after my last exam)), arrived in SLC on the evening of the 19th before entering the Mission Home on Monday the 20th so I didn’t have much time to brood about it.  We didn’t actually enter a mission home because there was no building to enter.  I was billeted in the basement of a house around the corner from church headquarters with missionaries going to Mexico and Israel. Ken Johnson, for example, was in a hotel somewhere on South Temple. Years later I ran into one of the Israeli missionaries and learned that upon their arrival, Israel was under bombardment so they became French missionaries instead.  Classes were held in Barrett Hall, part of the  LDS Business College, which we shared with them for ten days.  I remember two of the instructors, Bruce McConkie, who taught us about the apostasy, and Gordon Hinklely. The other noteworthy things that happened were: attending the Salt Lake Temple twice, being set apart as a missionary by Ezra Taft Benson and compensating for the non existent missionary food plan.  Usually we patronized the local delis but one day we stood in line to eat at the Lion House which was next door to the Church Office building. While in line we spent our time staring at the front of the church building hoping to see someone important coming in or out, before we realized that George Albert Smith was at the side of the building chatting with one of the gardners.  Becoming a temple goer had a long learning curve for me so two temple sessions only scratched the surface.  I had two and one half years to think about it before I returned and went to the temple again.  The only thing I remember about being set apart as a missionary by Elder Benson was that it was powerful. Ken Johnson, who was present, agreed with my impression but I didn’t have the presence of mind to record a single word of the blessing.  President Arwell Pierce, the Mexican Mission president requested that Mexican missionaries get to Mexico City as soon as possible so Elder Dean, Vidmar, Luke and I  caught a bus for El Paso, Texas on Monday, June 27th.  Elder Vidmar and I made the mistake of taking a bathroom break in Albuquerque and were left behind by a bus driver who was either drunk or simply in a hurry to leave. We caught up with them the next day in El Paso..  

The next step was to get across the border.  Mexico banned foreign missionaries from coming to Mexico because they had a long history of having foreign clergymen serving in Mexico, expecting  to be paid for their services and siphoning off lots of contributions for other places like Rome.  The Church obtained a verbal agreement with Mexico to be exceptions to the rule since we paid our own way and, therefore, not a threat to the economy but border agents were still free to expect a handout.  A couple of missionaries with border experience were assigned to handle the process.  I think I made a $10.00 contribution to the bribe fund.

The train ride to Mexico City lasted about two days.  Watching the world change before our eyes was a once in a lifetime experience.  The villages that we passed were quaint and picturesque.  The changes in vegetation were dramatic. We were met at the train station by mission personnel, whisked off to the mission home in Lomas de Chapultepec where we spent the next couple of days before being assigned to a location and a companion.  During that interval we were given a one-day tour of the pyramids at San Juan Teotihuacan as well as a 4th of July tour of the Castle of Chapultepec.  I realized how little I knew about Mexican history - like not knowing that France had once invaded Mexico, established an emperor in the form of Maxmillian along with his wife Carlotta, who lived in the castle before being overthrown. 

Elder Vidmar and I were assigned to Cuernavaca, a touristy town near Mexico City.  One of my early  concerns about going on a mission was the feeling that the world would pass me by while I was gone but that feeling disappeared when I met my first companion, Joe J. Christensen.  He was smart, good looking, musically inclined, athletic, devout and affable so he was easy to admire but the thing that made the difference was the self discovery that resulted from getting acquainted.  We were so out of touch with the outside world that the only thing left to talk about as we walked to and from visits was what was going right then, such as: Spanish language tips, Mexican cultural differences, the purpose of life, how to  treat investigators and swapping personal thoughts. Instead of feeling like the world was passing me by, I felt as though I was where I was supposed to be  and doing things that really mattered.

I had other good companions but the feelings I experienced in Cuernavaca were in such sharp contrast to my low self worth at Fresno State College that it introduced new insights into who I really was.  Insights that would continue to unfold for another fifty plus years - but it was a beginning.