:Family Matters

April 6, 2008

The phone call came from Eldon Brown last week to MGH. “Burton died yesterday, Carol (HGW) would like the missionary chorus to sing at his funeral. Will you be able to come?” This same call went out to the surviving members of a group of friends who have known each other, well most of them anyway, from their earliest years as they grew up in the small farming village of Draper, Utah which is tucked away against the edge of the Wasatch Mountains at the southern most end of Salt Lake County. No one ever went there unless they had to which meant that this pretty little town was not ‘discovered’ until fairly recently but when it was it did so with a vengeance making it almost impossible to recognize even if you grew up there which helps keep MGH mentally alert whenever he visits as he tries to find the spots near and dear to his heart from his boyhood.

Wild horses couldn’t have kept MGH, who picks very carefully the places he goes these days, away although a good snow storm would have easily worked for me as I have long since lost what little desire, if I ever had any, for white knuckle driving though the high mountain passes between hither and yon. My dad would have told me that I was letting myself be buffaloed with my dread of ‘what might happen’ which is an affliction I have fought my whole life and at this point looks like I will take with me into the eternities.

Marie, bless her heart, has always made room for us in her home to stay overnight. MGH husband tells me that his mother earned her reward in heaven for all the bread she baked for her large family. If this is how it is done then I want to put in my two cents worth for Marie as she provides ‘bed and breakfast’ for a multitude of in-laws and out-laws on a regular basis even though this means coming home from work and scrubbing every surface in her home within an inch of its life when she has other activities she would rather be doing. She always apologizes for what she perceives as a lack of order but, to be honest, I have never been there when she didn’t have everything neatly placed where it belonged. But then Marie’s search for perfection in this life sets the mark for the rest of us to aim for — if only it weren’t so darned high I might have a chance but life is what it is, or so I tell myself.

MGH husband and I were at the chapel early Saturday morning, as per instructions, so that the three songs, carefully arranged by Dale Sorenson, could be practiced. There was some anxiety expressed by the first to arrive over how many of the others would be able to make it but fears were sent scattering as one by one they arrived until all were there except for Dick Orgill who has been quite ill. MGH formed an especially close relationship with Dick, who is four years older, during the war years when Dick was sent home by the army with a medical discharge after smashing a knee during specialty training which meant that he missed being sent off to war like the rest of the young men in the community. They spent hours together attending games or talking about the standings of their favorite teams both local and nationally—a habit they fall naturally back into when they are together for even a few minutes.

The wives of this group of friends have become friends as well and so I found myself sitting there with them as we anxiously listened to our husbands practice. I must add here that this anxiety was well deserved as all our good husbands are now somewhat deaf which results in some interesting dissonance as they struggle to find their pitch. When they were young men they sang A Capella getting their note from a pitch pipe which was given to them by their director Blaine Andrus. Their close harmony was a delight to listen to and kept them singing on a regular basis at many Sacrament Meetings in the southern part of the county. While I would dearly loved to have heard them when they were young as they sang with all the optimism of youth their theme song, “We’re the Mormon boys from Utah, sons of pioneers. . .” I find myself reaching for a tissue as I listen to these, now old men with their white hair and stooped frames singing this song once more, with families raised, careers behind them and very little time left to them here, they radiate the decency and goodness of lives well lived.

The service was full of all the kinds of things that make a Mormon funeral so touching. Lots of stories of good memories, mention of doctrinal points about the hereafter that help soften the loss as the knowledge of being reunited with loved ones is once again reaffirmed and for Burton’s his six grandchildren, who he adored, each saying a tearful sentence or two—at least the older ones did—with the youngest three saying simply, “Grandpa, I love you”. The littlest one who I am guessing couldn’t have been more than three stole the show, if such a thing is possible at a funeral, with her “Hi, Grandpa, I love you”. Oh how Burton must have beamed at that one, as I am sure he was there with his love and support for his family.

At the Draper cemetery Ray’s wife Delfa commented to me isn’t Mary buried here? I replied, “Yes”, and that MGH had two other plots beside her as well. She then asked, “Is that where you will be buried? “ I must admit that this statement took me rather aback as that time has always seemed so far away but for the octogenarians, which is the age most in this group have now reached, it is a given that their turn will soon come. She went on to say that she and Ray will be buried as well in plots they own next to family who have gone before. I couldn’t help thinking to myself, what a strange but matter of fact conversation to be having with its recognition and calm acceptance that time here is running out—that for all of us ‘the time at longest is not long’.

We used to sing on the long trips back and forth to Utah to visit family when we were living in the middle west. MGH who has a vast repertoire of memorized songs would sing them and we would join in on the ones we knew. Hymns were a part of this musical feast one of which was “For the Strength of the Hills” which has a fifth verse in the old blue hymnal which is no longer included in the new one. I remember him singing this verse alone as the rest of us having long since dropped out, listened. This is the verse “For the shadow of thy presence, Our camp of rocks o’erspread; For the canyons’ rugged defiles and the beetling crags o’erhead; For the snows and for the torrents, And for our burial sod; for the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers’ God. Strange isn’t it how words can take on different meaning depending on where one is in the life process—when I first heard the line ‘and for our burial sod’ I associated it with the pioneers but now when I sing it I know it means mine too.

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Do you remember the story your dad told about President Hinckley giving a priesthood blessing to Kyle? Well this is the story as written by Kyle for his son Mike who is currently serving in the Knoxville, Tennesse Mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Dear Elder Andrus,
Many years ago, in a galaxy far away…….there was a young missionary who loved his mission. It was Fast Sunday and we had been to church and came home to break our fast before going to visit a couple of investigator families. As we were eating, I began to get a horrible stomach ache. My companion was asking if we needed to cancel our appointments. I said no, I just needed to lay down for a few minutes and get rid of this pain. A few minutes didn’t help at all. Soon we decided to run down to the local hospital to see if we could get some help. As we walked in there were several people ahead of us…. a snake bite victim, some older folks, and a young girl. The doctors seemed to be paying the most attention to the girl, while the others just suffered. When I came in, I was an American, and so all attention was turned my way. I asked if they needed to look after the other people first, but they said no. I had four doctors around my bed who were poking and prodding and talking amongst themselves in low voices. Finally, they said, in very poor english, ” you have appendicitis!” That’s the point where I knew I was in trouble. I had, had my appendix removed two years earlier. I also realized I had four young interns, not 4 seasoned doctors. I said “No dice, Sherlock. I don’t have any appendix.” So they went back to poking and prodding. They would poke me in the gut and say, “does that hurt?” I would say, ” owwww!!! Of course it hurts! That’s why I came down here.” Finally they decided they couldn’t figure it out and they wanted to put an IV in my arm and do some exploratory surgery. I could understand most of they’re Chinese at that point and could see where they were headed, so I said, “I need to go to the bathroom. Where is it?” They told me it was just down the hall. I grabbed my companion and said quietly, “Go outside and grab a taxi now, and meet me at the end of that hallway!” He gave me a strange look, but I said, “Go do it now, and hurry, I’ll explain later!” I went down the hall pretending to go to the bathroom, but instead just kept going all the way to the door at the end. I went outside and McGavin had found a taxi. We hopped in and I said,”the phone company, and be quick!” [To place a long distance call in those days, you couldn't do it on your phone, you had to go to the phone company.] I phoned the President and explained the situation and he said, ” Elder Andrus, get down to the train station and get on the fastest train you can and get up to Taipei, now!” We went to the train station where you could pay more or less for different speeds of trains. The cheapest slow ones stopped at every watering hole. The most expensive only stopped 3 or 4 times on the whole trip. We got tickets for the fastest train that fit the current schedule and then had about a twenty minute wait. I was in dire pain and getting worse. I made the mistake of moaning and groaning a little [......little things that one does when in pain.] One of the trainmasters heard me and said “if there’s a chance that you might die on our train, that would be too embarrassing for Taiwan, so we can’t let you on the train.” I soon convinced him that it would go away and I would be fine by the time the train arrived. I had a chat with my companion and said, “look, there’s no way we’re not getting on that train. You keep your eyes peeled for train people and just say ‘#3′ [just a code word] if you see any train personnel coming our way. I will do my best to sit up and smile and tell them I’m fine.” Well that worked and we had them convinced I was okay, and we boarded the train. As we were approaching the first stop, they again came and said they would have to put me off the train, because it would embarrass them to have an American die on their train. I told them I was fine, and sat up and smiled just to show them. That hurt like crazy but it worked and we pulled out of that station. They would come checking twice more at each of the next stops, but we were ready for them. Meanwhile, I really didn’t know if I could make it. Once we pulled out of the last station and I knew the next stop was Taipei, I told McGavin to let them know I was in bad shape. He said, “why?? they ‘ll kick you off!” I said, “They can’t. There are no more stops. Now their only choice is to hustle as fast as they can to Taipei.” So he told them and they were upset that my condition had suddenly worsened, but they knew their only hope was to speed up the train. I was in desperate shape as we arrived in Taipei. I remember being helped off the train [the train people were absolutely thrilled that I hadn't died, and they very anxiously helped me off the train as fast as they could] and looking up to see the AP’s [assistants to the president] and then I collapsed into their arms and passed out. They loaded me into their van and wisked me away to the best hospital in Taiwan. I was back in the city I had spent 13 months in and had loved. The saga continues………

Dear Elder Andrus,
Another in a long saga……..a long time ago, in a galaxy far away……
The AP’s carried me to their van and we took a trip to the hospital, where apparently, I had some surgery. I recall none of that but I do remember waking up in a strange hospital bed, groggy as could be. I had an IV in my arm and I felt like crap. As I looked around the room, I soon discovered Elder McGavin. I was in and out most of the afternoon, regaining consciousness from time to time. By day 2, I was fully awake and alert and I remember they brought me a tray of chinese food. I asked, “what’s this?” and the nurse answered, “food…..good….you eat…make strong.” I said, “whoa, wait a minute! You don’t have stomach surgery and then start right back on solid foods.” Before long, the hospital dietitian showed up and wanted to put together a ‘menu’ for me. She wanted to know the ‘american way.’ I said you started with clear liquids and then moved to non clear liquids, and then soft solids, etc. She wanted to know what were ‘clear liquids?’ I said they were things like jello, beef broth, chicken broth, etc. Then she wanted to know what jello was. and beef broth, and at that point I realized……….they don’t have jello in Taiwan. They didn’t have cows either. [ I immediately thought, "there's no way I'm going to have water buffalo broth."] So I went with the chicken broth. She didn’t know what it was, so I was explaining how it was chicken water off the soup, but the longer we went, it seemed she was thinking chicken water was something else that didn’t seem like anything I’d ever want to drink…..so I said scrap the clear liquids. I noticed a small refrigerator in the room and said, “if you will keep this refrigerator full of milk, I’ll take care of myself.” So for the next week, I drank milk for every meal.
By the third day, a family we had taught and baptized the four children in, sent their oldest daughter up to take care of me. I was a little resistant and told the mission president, but he said it was fine, since my companion was a live-in roommate of mine. So the three of us began a fun week of feeding me milk, then I would throw up this horrible looking/smelling black gunk, Mei Mei would clean me up and we’d start over……and over……and over. After awhile, McGavin grew tired of the game and was soon re-assigned to a new companion, back in our old city of Taichung. His replacement was a former roommate of mine, in an apartment of 4 we had in Ilan the year before. We used to call him Doc Richardson [Elder Richardson was how the rest of the world knew him.] So Doc would sleep in the chair. Mei Mei was a terrific beside assistant who never grew weary of the horrible clean-up jobs and soon got very good at seeing when I was about to throw up, and was there with a bowl, which started making her role in this threesome a lot more enjoyable. [A year later, Mei Mei would serve a mission in Taiwan, herself.]
After a week of hanging around like that, I could feel that things weren’t really working, and sure enough, the Doctor came in that morning and said, “we need to take you back into surgery. We’ll start in 15 minutes.” I said, “Whoa! I think I need to make a phone call.” I phoned the mission president and said, “stall as long as you can, we’re on our way.” Now I have traveled the streets of Taipei many times, and it was a well known fact that even on empty streets, it would take 20 minutes to get to the hospital. The President was there in 10 minutes. He talked with me. He called the Brethren in Salt Lake City. It was determined that I was going to be sent to SLC, Utah for further surgery. I told the president I wouldn’t go unless I could come back when I recovered. He said okay. He next called my father and told him what was going on. I remember getting on the phone with Dad, and him sounding like he would never see me alive again. But the miracles bagan to happen. The President talked with the Doctors and they said I would never survive the trip. The bottom line was, I ended up signing three papers…….one, releasing the Doctors from any liability if I died……….two, releasing the hospital from any responsibility……..and three, releasing the Country of Taiwan from any liability. Then I saw things that I had never seen. The President called in all the Elders in the city of Taipei [12 in all] and he assigned them to go in twelve different directions. That’s how I remember it, but they probably went in pairs. One went to get plane tickets, one went to work on government stuff. Two Elders got told they were going home two weeks early, to be my nurses, and they got sent home to pack immediately. And I have no clue where all the others went.
One Elder got sent to purchase plane tickets…..but you need to understand some things, here….. it normally takes two weeks of paper work to get someone out of the country of Taiwan. The church had set a record by pulling lots of strings, and we had once got someone out of the country in 3 days. I was on the plane taxiing down the runway in 4 hours!! But many miracles occurred to make that happen. So, the Elder buying plane tickets went up to the window and explained that he had an Elder who was sick and needed 3 tickets right away. The airline girl helping him asked, “Who is the Elder?” He replied that it was Elder Andrus. She said, “You’re kidding?! Elder Andrus baptized me about a year ago.” She turned out to be the key in bringing about the miracles needed to get on the plane. She personally walked my paperwork [or ran it] through 27 different government departments, in absolute record time, allowing us to even get on the plane. The Lord works in mysterious ways. To be continued……………………………………..

Dear Elder Andrus,
I got a little short sheeted time-wise on The Hospital portion, so I may have to go back later and ‘embellish’ it a bit, but needless to say, many miracles occurred in a very short period of time for me to get onto the airplane.
……….Long ago, in a galaxy far away………I was put onto an airplane with two other Elders [Steve Terry and Alan Werrett] who had sacrificed the last two weeks of their missions, packed all their stuff in a whirlwind, and jumped on that plane. They were to serve as my nursemaids. I had just signed my life away, was told I would not survive the trip, had an IV in my wrist with it’s accompanying bottle, as well as a tube up my nose that went down into my stomach, and a long flight ahead. It was a strange feeling. Not the way someone would want to leave their mission field. And yet my heart was calm. Inside, I knew I was tougher than all of the naysayers.
We were put up in the front of the plane, in the middle seats. The airline boarded us first [I guess so everyone else could come by and gawk at me.....cause that's what they did.] Every half hour, Werrett and Terry had to use a huge syringe that they would hook to my nose tubing and ‘pump out the stomach.’ I’m sure that was a treat for the nearby passengers to gawk at as well. We made the first 3 hour leg of the trip to Tokyo, Japan. All ahd gone well, so far. In Japan, the country policy was everyone had to de-board the plane. We were continuing on in the same plane, and begged them to allow me to stay on the plane, but they said rules were rules, so we got off the plane and went into the terminal. The problem was, it was freezing cold in Tokyo that particular day, and as we went into the terminal, the IV line froze up. We had a long trip ahead, and to lose the IV this early in the trip could prove disastrous. The cold weather had caused stuff to stop flowing through the line, and then the needle clots over in the blood stream. I told the others that the only way to unclog the IV was to take a syringe and force fluid back up through the blockage, then it would it work again.We didn’t have a syringe, and we couldn’t find any help, so we did what missionaries do……..we put our faith and trust in the Lord. Three little Elders gathered in prayer in the Tokyo Airport Terminal, to beseech the Lord for divine intervention. We let Him know we were in trouble and didn’t know what to do, but we needed His help. Then it came time to board the plane again, nothing and no one had rescued us, and we determined to just ‘truck on’ and see what happened. They loaded us on first again, and as people were boarding the plane, an American lady got on and was walking down the aisle, and noticed us and said, ” I’m a nurse, if you need anything just let me know.” Then I said, ” My IV is clogged and we need a syringe to get it unclogged.” Then the most amazing story unfolded……she said as she leaving home the day before to make this flight, while packing her bags, she had the impression that she should throw in a couple of syringes. [That would be against the rules of todays Airlines, but it wasn't then, 1974.] She didn’t know why, and kind of brushed the feeling aside, and continued packing. The impression came again, and again she ignored it. She said she was putting her suitcases in her car when a third time something told her, “put some syringes in your bag.” So she said, ” I ran back in the house and grabbed the syringes, but I’ve been wondering the whole trip, why?? As I was boarding this plane to head home, I was thinking how silly that was for me to listen to that voice, until now.” She went to her carry-on and got a syringe and as we were in flight, she unclogged my IV. I never did get the lady’s name. I’m not sure she gave it. I had never seen her before, nor anytime since then. But for one brief shining moment, at my hour of greatest need, she was an angle sent from Heaven.
The flight continued on to Honolulu, Hawaii, but that particular stretch was11 hours in the air, and I noticed that I was reaching a level of fatigue that was alarming me inside. A little bit of doubt started to creep in…….were they right after all?…….was it too long of a journey for my system to survive??…….could I make it??? I finally shared my feelings with my companions and we determined to do what missionaries do, we prayed for help and strength. As we arrived in Honolulu, a stewardess came up and said that we would stay on the same plane. She said, ” if it would help, it will be quieter and less stressful if you just stay on the plane. You can sleep or whatever you need.” I was very grateful for that. It really did help to be able to just kick back and sleep for awhile.
Soon, the plane filled again, and we were on our way to Los Angeles, CA. We arrived in LA and I was pooped. I didn’t know if I could go on. Once again, we huddled and did what missionaries do…..we prayed, asking for help on our final leg of the journey. No sooner had we finished than a stewardess came to us and said, ” Your plane doesn’t leave for 2 1/2 hours, but it is here on the ground, and I can have you put right onto that plane if you would like to wait there. I said that would be great! Well, they put us on the wrong plane. This one took off 10 minutes after we boarded for Salt Lake City. No one knows how it happened……but the three of us knew. I arrived in Salt Lake City and was met by a General Authority and my girlfriend. We were getting into his car, and I started to get in the front seat. He said, “No, it’s okay Elder, you can sit in the back with her.” [The girl was Carylee Christian, from Santa Clara, Utah. We would later move into her parents ward and her dad would serve as my first Bishop there.] And so it was, that I arrived at LDS Hospital in SLC, Utah. A 24 hour journey that was shortened to 21 by a series of miracles that saved my life. To be continued………

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March 15, 2008

They began talking at the beginning of the luncheon held for Chris and Jessica, newly married that morning in the St George temple. The family of DFA, or at least as many of them who were able to be there, who had not been together for months, trying to make up for lost time as they reminisced together. They continued as the rest of the group surrounding them finished their meal and departed. Pausing for a few minutes to take time to help clear tables or fold chairs as the cultural hall was emptied of the festive decorations that had graced it earlier, regrouping into a circle, in the exact same spot where they had earlier sat together as if afraid that by leaving that area for more comfortable accommodations they would break the precious sliver of time they were sharing to be sent splintering off to other activities bringing to a halt the delight they felt in one another’s company. Their conversation continued as the floor was swept clean of the inevitable debris that accompanies a meal even when the partakers are of the most fastidious persuasion, which no one there was, being just normal every day folk having a good time together. (By the way how did the cultural hall of their chapel rate a hardwood floor? I thought that was supposed to be reserved for stake centers with the rest of us suffering through spills and stains on carpets. Could it be that they have a friend higher up—If so our ward could use his number.) In the kitchen dishes were washed, counters wiped clean, leftover food carried to cars, floor mopped as everything was carefully restored to its original pristine condition. Silence fell upon the building as all left except for the group still gathered in the cultural hall.

While the earlier conversation had been taken up by questions asked about this or that child/missionary/schooling/church callings/what have you of general interest the latter part was given over to entertainment pure and simple as provided by the family’s two stand-up comedians, Kyle and Mark, who could probably make their fortunes playing gigs at church activities or family reunions if they ever decide to give up their day jobs.

Grandpa, who rarely leaves the comfort of his chair these days because of severe back pain, was enjoying himself so much that he remained standing along with the rest even though it hurt him mightily, though he didn’t complain, but then he rarely does. Young Brian, down from the cold, sere beauty of Wyoming was persuaded to come from where he stood holding up the wall and join the group of ‘elders’ as they encouraged the two going at it in the center of the group to continue regaling us with their stories. What, you might ask yourself, was the topic that all found so amusing? Would you be taken aback if I told your chickens? That’s right, chickens. More particularly Kyle’s, who have been grandfathered in, as his home stands alone amidst the more expensive houses that have sprung up around him like mushrooms after a rainstorm, which is probably not a good analogy for southern Utah but never the less aptly describes what has happened. A staunch if lonely adherent of the pioneer spirit that settled this country, those brave souls who believed that if you could see the smoke from your neighbors chimney it was time to move on although in Kyle’s case his avocation (optometrist) requires people, which has held him in place even though his heart would much prefer some vast empty land to hunker down in.

When Kyle and family moved to Santa Clara twenty years ago they were able to find a home surrounded by alfalfa fields, lava rock and a few modest homes. Wishing to keep it that way he talked to the owner of the alfalfa field and offered to buy his property at the going price for the land and was rebuffed for having the temerity to approach one of the ‘old timers’ whose family ties went back to Brigham Young which gave him bragging rights in the community. “’Sell, why would he want to sell—that would happen when hell froze over”. With that comment, meant to allay his fears about being overrun, Kyle was forced to be content. Well hell froze over several years ago in the area when refugees from California and Las Vegas sold their homes for mega bucks and started building the huge, mostly mud colored stuccoed homes that soon flooded the area. They did this in the hopes of leaving behind all the congestion/crime/traffic/smog by starting over in a new Garden of Eden only to discover they brought what they hoped to leave behind with them. This fact gave them much grief which led to much hand wringing accompanied by a desire to find a scapegoat for the situation. They didn’t have to look far as Kyle was there with his chickens although it was the males of his feathered flock that caused the greatest grief, for you see, they had the audacity to crow each morning when the sun began to rise in the east as this is what roosters have done since the beginning of time when they accepted the responsibility to see that all arose with the first light so that not a minute of daylight was wasted which no doubt, in its small way, led to Adam and his posterity succeeding in their efforts to tame the ‘lone and dreary’ world they found themselves in after Eve took the first bite of the forbidden fruit and then convinced Adam to do likewise.

Kyle’s neighbors are much like the lady, newcomer to Draper, who indignantly wanted to know why there was a dairy farm in the center of town, not realizing that the dairy had been there long before she arrived on the scene with her sensitive nose. Perhaps the situation for Kyle’s neighbors wouldn’t be quite so bad if the homes were sitting on five acres instead of being so close together that it is possible to look through the window of one home into another and see not only what the inhabitants are eating but what they are wearing, or not, which can be quite informative if one is interested in such things.

I wish I could catch the humor of the occasion but for that you will have to go to the source as so much is dependent on the way the two brothers play off each other as the stories spilled out one after the other. I couldn’t even come close to catching the nuances of their dry humor. (Mark has always loved to hear and tell a good joke, the following being one he brought home when he was a high school student. I can still remember the fun he had telling it to us.) “It seems that there were a group of men who had worked so long together that they knew each others stories and jokes having heard them over and over. To simplify and save time they made a list of all the jokes giving each one a number so that when someone wanted to tell a joke all they had to say to say was it’s number which would bring the joke to mind and everyone would laugh appreciatively. A new man had occasion to work with them and soon catching on to what was happening asked if he could have the list of jokes so that he could also participate. After having read and memorized everything he felt he was able to participate and so with great glee inserted #7, which was one of his favorites, into a conversation at the appropriate time. Instead of the uproarious laughter that usually accompanied the calling out of a number there was only silence. Bewildered he asked why no one had laughed? Much to his chagrin he was told, “some can tell them and some can’t.”

So, okay, you had to have been there that day to fully enjoy the humor but the next time you see Kyle and he has a few minutes to spare, which is about as likely as finding a hen with teeth, ask him to tell you about the neighbor he took to calling Jeffery Dammer because of the digging noise that went on after dark or why his roosters have become so confused by the street lights that they crow at the wrong time which is especially hard for the neighbors to handle, think Chinese water torture here. Will he concede to pressure? Not likely–he already has his order in for next years chicks which bodes well for more stories. . . .

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