I was a Teenage Mutant Musician

I was a teenage mutant musician.

Mutant (myoot’ nt) adj. of mutation; of, relating to, undergoing, or resulting from change or mutation—an animal or plant with inheritable characteristics that differ from those of the parents; sport; from Latin mutāre to change.

In fifth or sixth grade we were given a music aptitude test. As I recall, part of the test involved the playing of two notes, one being at a higher or lower pitch than the other. I had no idea what that meant. The aptitude test also involved testing our ability to distinguish between two sets of rhythm. I didn’t know what that meant either. Those who did well on the test were invited to take part in the school’s music program. I wasn’t invited.

In seventh grade, Jerry Smith, who just happened to be one of my best friends, began playing the tenor saxophone. Richard Miller, my closest friend (both literally and figuratively) brought this anomaly to my attention and suggested that we join him and join band together. I readily agreed since the three of us rarely did anything apart from the other.

Joining band meant picking a musical instrument. Having done so well with the music aptitude test my vast knowledge of musical instruments included drums and the trumpet. My parents said no to the drums. Richard and I both ended up picking trumpets for band and we sounded great together. Perhaps it might be more appropriate to say that we sounded “grate” together.

Having announced our intentions to join band to the band director, he gave Richard and me our first and only music lesson. “See these five horizontal lines here? See these little black things on the lines? Those little black dots positioned on and in between the lines represent different notes. See those three dots above the notes on the line? Some of them are filled in and some of them are not. If the dot is filled in you push the corresponding valve down. If the dot is not filled you leave the valve open. Practice until you are good enough to come out and join the band.” And, with that lesson completed he turned around and walked out of the practice room and went to work with the high school band.

My first attempt at getting a note out of the trumpet sounded more like the rushing wind through tall grass. Considering that something other than rushing wind should emanate from the bell of the horn I tried humming through the mouthpiece. Needless to say the sound that came forth from this musical wonder sounded more like a dying cow in the blowing wind than what I had envisioned a trumpet making. By the end of the hour Richard and I discovered that by puckering our lips up and giving the mouthpiece the raspberries a genuine trumpet sound-like noise could be produced. Meanwhile, Jerry, who was much more advanced than us on his tenor saxophone than we were on the trumpet, endured all manner of noise until we became proficient at “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. After that the three of us mastered such classics as “Three Blind Mice” and “The Farmer in the Dell”.

After several weeks of practice, at least three weeks anyway, we were ready to join the high school band. Showing no fear or trepidation whatsoever, which clearly we should have had, we ventured out of our little practice room to join the high school band. We took our seats at the end of each section and looked at the next selection to be practiced: “The William Tell Overture”. Things were going great until about the second note. I have no idea how far Richard got but I know I was lost within the first measure and we hadn’t even gotten to the Lone Ranger part of the overture! We returned to the practice room in shame.

Eventually we made it out of the practice room and into our rightful places in the band. In my case it was the last chair of the Third Cornet section. Richard wasn’t that far ahead of me; however, in years to come he would be up in the first chair while I remained somewhere in the middle of the third chair section.

Eventually a benevolent band director by the name of David VanVeld took pity on me and gave me three opportunities to help me with my lack of musical talent. First, he persuaded me to switch to French horn, which consisted primarily of playing what are called after beats or after notes—one at a time with a short rest between each note. Luckily, my move to French horn quickly moved me to second chair! Barbara Lawrence played first chair French horn and she could have played first chair in any band. Then he invited me to pick up the baton and lead the band. Doing so required more than swinging my arms around in the appropriate pattern for the music, but also required me to follow multiple lines of music on the “score”. It was just my luck. I could barely follow my own music let alone the music of dozens of other people all playing something different which when played together is supposed to sound like finished art, or music.

Then came the big break. Mr. VanVeld invited Richard, Jerry, and me to arrange marching band music for state fair competition. It really wasn’t arranging music; it was just transposing music from one key to another, but it became a building block in my own music education.

Later on in my high school career whenever the band director was absent I was the anointed one to lead the band. On a few occasions it got me out of my classes so I could work with the junior high school band (that didn’t exist when I began band). One year I joined with friends Richard Miller, Jerry Smith, Rick (Rafer) Daniels, Gary Bruce, and Mike Shaddy to form a Dixieland band. Since I had been booted out of the trumpet section I pretended to play drums in our little band. We played at basketball games, political rallies, and various other venues. Yeah, we were that good. We were actually invited to perform.

High school was bearable because of band and band was more tolerable because of road trips. We always took a school bus or two wherever we went. We marched in state, county, and city fairs and almost always following our routines there would be time to wander and get into mischief. As band members we were family. We frequently changed out of our band uniforms into street clothes on the bus. No, there was nothing risqué. Noise on the bus reached a fevered pitch on the return trips to the school until we were about a mile away from the buildings, then inevitably somebody would start singing “God Be with You Till We Meet Again”. We all sang that benediction.

High school graduation brings a dash of reality to life. By then it was obvious to me that my seventh grade dream of being a professional musician was exactly that: a dream. But, pushing more than 50 years later I can still tap my foot to the beat of music and when asked I can stand in as a substitute chorister to lead music at church. Yeah, I am that good.

I Was a Janitor

I was a janitor.

I am quite serious. My first full-time job was as a janitor. Actually, the job title was “porter”. I wasn’t a custodian or a janitor; I was a porter. It was a summer job in a rather posh department store that I got after high school. I had looked for a job for two weeks with absolutely no success. I don’t know why I walked into the personnel office of L.S. Ayres in Greenwood. I guess I was getting pretty desperate. I learned a pretty valuable lesson in acquiring that job. I learned that I wasn’t going to get far on a high school education. Others may have been very successful in having careers with only a high school education, but that route wasn’t going to work for me.

I learned a lot of things as a porter a/k/a janitor. I learned the discipline of hitting the time clock at 6:00 a.m. (Actually, I had to clock in within six minutes before six o’clock.) I learned the importance of developing a routine that made sense, like what things to clean first and what to put off until the very end of the routine. As a part of that I learned a principle called Economy of Motion. I learned about it on the job long before I studied it in a college management course. The store had three wings and was a total of a quarter-mile long. I learned how to clean restrooms. I cleaned a lot of restrooms. Since I was the new guy on the job I got to clean ALL the restrooms. There were eight of them spread throughout the department store. The women’s restrooms were always harder to clean than the men’s restrooms. Neither was pleasant.

I learned how to mop and vacuum floors and how to wash windows. I emptied a lot of trash cans and I learned how to run an industrial trash compactor. I learned how to clean up after sick customers and how to take care of poopy diapers. I learned how to clean under counter tops and on top of and inside of light fixtures. I also learned that in spite of what my name badge said on my shirt that my real name was Janitor, although long-time employees knew to call me by my real name, Porter. “Hey, Janitor, come here!” It bothered me at first until I learned that I was making more money than the store clerks.

My boss was one of the most honest, hard-working, diligent, fair men I have ever known. I would go back to work for him today (if I had to go back to work). He always smiled. He showed me my job and taught me the tricks of the trade. He bought me my lunch a couple of times and threw a party for me when I left at the end of the summer to return to school. Not that it matters, but Darrell Peoples was a black man—one of the finest men I have ever known. I learned something about being color blind that summer and I learned how mean-spirited people can be to a person’s face as well as behind a person’s back.

I learned the importance of working hard, showing up to work on time and volunteering to take on the harder tasks, but I didn’t learn that lesson until the following year when I returned home after that first year of college. I walked into the store to see old friends when the store manager asked me if I wanted a job for the summer. He walked me into the personnel office and told the personnel director (this was before they were called human resource managers) to hire me for the summer. The director said that there were no jobs available, whereupon the store manager said he didn’t care and to get me on the payroll. That scenario played out two more times when I was looking for a second job.

I am grateful that I was desperate enough to take that job as it opened doors to other jobs where I learned valuable lessons. I learned how to wash dishes in a campus cafeteria, and along with that I learned how much we appreciate people who have to scrape garbage from plates into trash bins. I learned that no matter how much protective clothing you put on that milk and water and juice and pudding and mixtures and unknown solutions created at the tables in the cafeteria will drip onto your shoes. A good pair of shoes might last a week before you don’t want to touch them. I learned that the smell of what you run through your hands on a daily basis is harder to remove than it is for people standing around you to remove themselves from your presence. I also learned that if you consistently show up to work on time and do your job effectively that other windows of opportunity appear. Thus it was that I learned how to cater banquets and ballgames and other special events.

I learned how to dig ditches in sub-zero weather. As part of that experience I learned that digging through the frozen ground was only slightly easier than running a Ditch Witch through a rock. I also learned that the best way to run a Ditch Witch through a rock is to turn it off and use a pick and a shovel to dig it out. There is no such thing as a small lava rock. I learned that it is possible to get very big bloody blisters even while wearing thick work gloves.

I learned a lot doing those jobs. I learned about the people doing those jobs, but more importantly I learned about the people who make life a little bit harder for those who are saddled with cleaning up life’s messes. The custodian who cleaned my office during my law enforcement career cried when I retired.

I'm a Retired Police Officer

I am a retired police officer. Please take note of the word “retired”. Though I have not spent 30 or 40 years in law enforcement, I’ve been there enough. In the words of my good friend Brad Spaulding, former deputy sheriff turned physician, “we’ve seen what no man should see”. I will spare you the gory details.

I turned to a career in law enforcement after having been an adult probation officer for three years. Frankly, I saw the futility of corrections and the uselessness of honest assessments of convicted felons in sentencing recommendations to judges. It all amounts to plea agreements between prosecutors and defense attorneys. Occasionally probation revocation happens, but the reality is that it is a joke. Probation officers, at least when I carried that title, were not to be feared nor respected nor were they a resource for help in cleaning up a life after serious misjudgments and poor decisions. They were tolerated at best. So, I made the move to policing. Other motivations for making the change sound like a job interview response, but nonetheless were genuine.

I didn’t win any popularity contests as a police officer. I had a few friends on the police department, but as I moved into administration you could say that a certain distance developed. In spite of that distance I knew I could always count on my brother officers to have my back. I found my name scratched into the paint in jail cells. Those were not love notes. I also saw my name spray-painted in the company of four-letter words on the sides of brick walls in town. I assumed that it meant that I was doing something right. In spite of what some may have thought I was able to go home each day at the end of my shift with my head held high and I could look myself in the eyes in the morning when I shaved. I think I can say the same for my good friends Chuck Barone, Gerald Weeks, John Chicoine, and New Mexico Law Enforcement Academy Directory Jim Burleson. There is something to be said for the Mirror Test.

Life as a police officer is different. They carry around an extra 20 pounds (less the bullet-proof vest, which really isn’t all that bullet-proof) with you while on duty. While off duty they might just carry an extra six or seven pounds-plus or minus. Police don’t drive police cars. They drive “units”. And, they don’t stop cars when they make traffic stops; they stop vehicles. Unlike television they do not chase UNSUBS; they go after unknown suspects and unknown subjects. DNA results do not come in an hour after you submit evidence to the crime lab. Generally there is such a backlog of evidence at the crime lab that you are lucky to hear results in months. Also, unlike their television counterparts they don’t all congregate at O’Malley’s for a pitcher of beer every night after work. (O.K., some go to O’Malley’s after work, but not every night.) They go home. At least most of them do. Each year about a hundred (plus or minus) don’t go home. Ever.

Not to belabor the point, but life as a police officer is in fact different. You learn to look at a person’s eyes, hands, and waist. Eyes telegraph movement. Hands carry out that movement. You often find that movement near the waist, but not always. You develop very few real friends outside of law enforcement. When you go to social events the only thing people want to talk about is what happened at three o’clock Tuesday afternoon when they heard all the sirens. “How’s police work?” is a common question. I guess that question replaces, “How’s the family?” Though you may be an expert in criminal law people forget that (1) you are not an attorney, and (2) that you don’t know squat about family law, torts, and patent law. You get a name change when you go into police work. It is brought to you by the letter “F”, and it isn’t Frank or Fred or Felix. It isn’t Officer Friendly, either. You don’t like to eat out in the town where you work because you know who is back in the kitchen. Yes, I’ve found things in my food. When you go out you sit with your back to the wall and so you can see who comes in and out the door. (I still do.) When you drive your kids to the big game on Friday night or when you head out on a road trip you tend to go “on patrol” looking at license plates or at signs that a car might be stolen or carrying something other than passengers and groceries. Trust is something that is earned over years and broken overnight.

There are some good things that help offset the bad. Once in a while you find a lost child. Every now and then somebody thanks you for changing a flat tire. You can be there to wipe away a tear or hold a person in your arms when you deliver a bad message. Sometimes you can solve a crime or return stolen property to its owner. Every once-in-a-lifetime you might be able to save a life.

I am a retired police officer. Please take note of the word “retired”. I loved my career. I wouldn’t go back to it for anything.

I am a Father and a Grandfather

I am a father.  Though I may not always look or sound like I worry about my children and I do not always appear to be concerned for them, I do and I am.  That’s what fathers do.  I may not show my worry and concern for my children like mothers do, but that is O.K.  My “job description” as a father reads a little differently than that of a mother.

I am a father of adult children.  Though they have left home and are all on their own, I continue worry about them and I continue my concern for them.  I’m not real good at the day-to-day events of life, but I’ve been known to travel from one end of the country to the other to be there for the other events of life.

I’m a grandfather of small grandchildren and adult grandchildren.  Though I may not always look or sound like I worry about them nor does my concern always show for them, it is there.  They are children of my children and I love them.

Sometimes I lay awake at night for my children and my grandchildren.  There isn’t much more I can actually do for them when I’m 2,000 miles away from them.  But then, I’m not sure what I could do for them if I lived next door.  So I can lay awake at night and worry and be concerned. 

Most of the time when the phone rings it is for their mother.  I’m O.K. with that because once in a while it is for me and I would gladly travel from one end of the country to the other end if I needed to make that trip.  But generally when the phone rings for me it is simply because somebody wants to talk to Dad or Grandpa “this time”.  I like that.

I am a father and a grandfather, and though I may not always look or sound like I worry about them and I do not always appear to be concerned for them, I do and I am.

Discipleship

                                                                    Discipleship

            Calvin is a true disciple.  On Sundays when the regular chorister is not in attendance at Sacrament Meeting, Calvin's dad gets to substitute.  Calvin's dad is a very accomplished chorister by his own rights.  But, Calvin?  Well, you see, Calvin is about three years old, and when Calvin's dad leads the music in Sacrament Meeting, Calvin gets to sit on the stand with him.  And, when Calvin's dad stands up to lead the music, Calvin stands right next to him.  And, when Calvin's dad raises his arms to lead the music, so does Calvin.  Then, when Calvin's dad starts the singing, Calvin also starts the singing.  And, when Calvin leads the music, we all sing a little louder and with a little more enthusiasm.

            Yes, Calvin is a true disciple.  Don't get me wrong, at three years of age, Calvin is all boy.  But, during the past months that I have watched, I've thought about what it is that makes this little miracle take place and I've decided that there are lessons to be learned from both Calvin and his dad.

            First, Calvin has unquestioned trust in his dad.  That means he must know his dad pretty well for a three year-old, at least as much as a three year-old can know his dad.  It also means that he loves his dad quite a bit.  It is not a simple ordinary love and trust.  It is a love and trust that makes him to want to be with his dad and to be just like his dad.  It is a love and trust that moves him to action.

            Second, Calvin follows the example of his father.  Part of wanting to be just like somebody means following that person's example.  It means learning how to do something just like the person we are trying to emulate.  After we have learned it, the action becomes second nature to us.  It is a part of us and we do it without thinking.

            Third, Calvin's father has been a willing example.  He welcomes his son who wants to follow.  He patiently instructs, guides, and directs.  He overlooks the mistakes, but also corrects and encourages and shows a better way.

            True discipleship of Christ is manifest by the acts of those who say they follow him.  Their acts are consistent and harmonious with those of the Savior.  Let me illustrate with a story of a modern-day "Good Samaritan."

            Vern Payne was the Chief Justice of the New Mexico Supreme Court, the highest court in New Mexico.  While serving in this position he also served as president of the Santa Fe New Mexico Stake.  While traveling between Albuquerque and Santa Fe one afternoon with one of his counselors, he spotted a mother with small children standing outside of her car on the opposite side of the interstate.  With little warning at all, President Payne announced to his passenger that the "sister" on the other side of the interstate needed help.  He made a U-Turn in the median and traveled back down the interstate to the "sister" in need.  Discovering the problem to be a flat tire, this six-foot two-inch man, arguably the most powerful man in the state of New Mexico shed his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt, and changed the woman's tire.  As quickly as he decided to help the woman in need, when he finished the task, he thanked the woman for allowing him to change the tire, got back in his car and headed off to his stake meetings.  He left no card with his name and position engraved on it.  He left no copy of the Book of Mormon nor did he invite her to church.  He did his work and quietly left.

            As the Savior visited with his disciples on the American Continent he entreated them with the following: "(W)hat manner of men ought ye to be?"  Then answering his own question he said, "Verily I say unto you, even as I am" (3 Nephi 27:27).  "Verily, verily, I say unto you, this is my gospel; and ye know the things that ye must do in my church; for the works which ye have seen me do that shall ye also do; for that which ye have seen me do even that shall ye do; Therefore, if ye do these things blessed are ye, for ye shall be lifted up at the last day" (3 Nephi 27:21, 22).

            It seems that a young man once approached the Savior and asked the question, "What good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life?"  The Savior then recited the commandments to the man.  The young man then reported to Jesus that he had kept all of those commandments from his youth.  The Savior, perceiving that the young man's heart was elsewhere told him to go and sell his possessions and give to the poor, and he would have treasure in heaven: and then follow him.  When the young man heard this, "he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions" (Matt. 19:16-22).  The young man, though good and righteous, neither knew nor loved the Savior nor was he willing to serve those in need.  With his heart on his treasure he could not bring himself to follow Jesus.  But, which would have brought him the greatest happiness, keeping his wealth or following the Savior?

            Let me share a personal example from my own life.  I recently retired from a career in police work.  Half of my career was spent as a patrol officer and detective.  As I look back over the years I find that I really enjoyed that part of my career.  A recent look through my personnel file explains why.  In that file are several letters of appreciation from people in the community where I worked.  Though I made several arrests and placed numerous criminals in prison, there is not one single letter of appreciation for those efforts.  Likewise, there are no letters of appreciation for the times I was lied to, yelled at, cursed at, spit on, beaten and kicked, clawed, scratched, or sliced with a knife.  To the contrary, the letters I received from the public are those thanking me for changing flat tires, jump-starting stalled cars, talking with school children, helping deliver babies, finding lost children, guiding lost motorists, and simply caring.  None of these acts are found in the job description for police officer.  Yet, which do you think brought me the greatest satisfaction?

            The latter half of my career was spent as an administrator.  I would guess that I interviewed thousands of young men and women who wanted to be police officers.  I was privileged to hire several good police candidates.  After they are hired, without fail, those who want to help people while they are police officers are the happiest and most successful officers.  They are often promoted and rewarded for outstanding service.  They are happy in their marriages and in their homes.  Those who want to be involved in an exciting career and chase bad guys are constantly being disciplined, receiving complaints from the public, and dealing with low morale.  Often, their marriages are in trouble and their financial status is dim.  Those seeking excitement in stead of service are often asked to resign or are fired.  What is it, do you suppose, that makes the difference?

            Sister Belle Smith Spafford represented the Church when the National Council of Women was organized and for many years served very quietly and unnoticed until she was called to be the Relief Society General President.  Then, she was called upon to address that organization, and for the first time was recognized as a member of the Church.  Afterwards at a luncheon, she went from table to table with vacant seats only to be told that the seats were taken.  Obviously shaken and disturbed, she was about to leave when the president of that organization noticing that Sister Spafford was holding back tears, asked her what was wrong.  Sister Spafford simply said, "Tell me, please, where it is that you would like me to sit."  This gracious lady looked around the room and said, "I understand.  I would like you to sit with me at the head table."

            Upon her return to Salt Lake, Sister Spafford reported to President George Albert Smith that the Relief Society should withdraw its membership from that organization because we, as a Church, were not getting anything out of it.  President Smith repeated, "We should get out of the National Council of Women."

            "Yes," was her reply.

            "We should get out of it because we are not getting anything out of it?" Quizzed President Smith.

            "That is right," she said.

            Then, President Smith asked, "Tell me, please, Sister Spafford, what is it that you are putting into it?"  It was then that she was reminded by a prophet of God of the importance of duty and service to others.  Sister Spafford later became president of the National Council of Women, and upon her resignation from that position was informed that her post would never be filled and that her standards would never be duplicated or surpassed.          

            Near the end of the Savior's earthly ministry he spoke to his disciples about the qualifications of those who would sit at his right hand in the Celestial Kingdom.  "For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.  Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?  When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?  Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?  And the King shall answer and say unto them, verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matt 25:34-40).

            I would like to go back to Calvin for a minute.  Calvin at the age of three is a disciple of his father.  He knows his father.  He loves him and wants to be like him.  He does the things he sees his father do and tries to perfect himself in those actions.  His father, on the other hand is patient with him.  He allows Calvin to make mistakes but also gives him a chance to improve.  Indeed, there is a true discipleship relationship here.  If we were to become true disciples of Christ, we would follow Calvin's example.  First, we would get to know Christ.  We would learn all that we can about him.  Second, we would love Christ and third, we would strive to be like him.  Having studied his life we would emulate his life in every way.  That of course would mean a life of obedience and service.

            Discipleship is not always easy.  It often means sacrifice; giving up what you want in order to meet the needs of others and doing what Jesus would do.  It means being different sometimes.  I know several times I compared my life to the lives of my colleagues and subordinates.  I had (and still have) cars held together with bubble gum and bailing wire, while my subordinates were driving new cars.  I spent my Sunday's and many evenings during the week at Church trying to help others while my friends were busy fishing with their new boats and pursuing other recreational activities.  I have always tithed, lived the Word of Wisdom, and tried to live the commandments, but those around me seem to have the good life.  Have you ever noticed that?  Has that ever happened to you?  If you have, have you ever asked who it is that is getting all the blessings for all this obedience and service?

            I have, and about the time I feel like I am getting left out of the blessing side of the ledger, I get put in my place.  For example, several years ago an undercover police officer moved into our town and needed help in moving into a home.  As you know, moving is not an easy task and this officer needed help.  Asking other police officers to help would have been like waving a red flag and putting a flashing neon light over his house pointing out the man as a police officer.  Arrangements were made for the undercover officer to call me at Church where he would ask for assistance.  When he called, rather than asking for help from the elders quorum like was planned, he asked for my two oldest sons.  Plans were made and the next Saturday, my two oldest sons helped the officer move his belongings into his new home.  At the end of the day, according to the officer, he went to pay the boys and send them on their way.  A few minutes after he paid them, they approached the officer and told him that they had been overpaid.  He had paid them for their lunch hour.  Not only that, but he had bought their lunch and furnished them with soft drinks throughout the day.  The officer then went on to tell me that the boys told him that it was something that they had learned from their parents, not just what they had been told to do, but what they had been taught.  He then went on to explain how he had never seen two young men speak with honor and respect for their parents as did these two young men.  The officer, who was not a member of the Church, then went on to tell me of my activities in the Church and the acts of service that I had, quite frankly, forgotten.  He then spoke of the pride that these two boys had in their father and how they both wanted to be like their dad.

            Yes, about the time you wonder where all the blessings are that come from service, a little reminder just drops out of the heavens.  And "they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint" (Isaiah 40:31).

            Indeed, true discipleship is marked by service to others, by bearing one another's burdens and comforting those in need of comfort; in short, doing what Jesus would do.  The blessings that result are greater than all the material possessions available.

Note: This was delivered to the Binghamton Ward, Owego New York Stake, in March 1996.  Calvin has since graduated from high school, completed two years of college in a single year, and served a two-year mission.

True Discipleship

Missionaries

So, here's the thing.  You see them going from door-to-door, young men in white shirts, dark suits, and ties or young women modestly, but nicely dressed.  They wear black nametags with white lettering.  The young men all share the same first name, Elder, and the young women also have the same first name, Sister.

They are missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Right now there are about 88,000 of them throughout the world.  Yes, they knock on doors, visit hospitals, engage in service in the community, ride the bus, ride bicycles to appointments to teach people about our Church, and try to share a copy of the Book of Mormon with you.  Dogs chase them, passing cars plash cold and muddy water on them, people slam doors in the faces of those pesky missionaries, ministers of other faiths condemn them, and police often stop them to find out who they are and what they are doing.  Yes, people call the police on them all the time.  Over the years some have been shot at, kidnapped, robbed, beaten, and murdered.

They go on their Mormon missions at their own expense or the expense of their families.  Some young men and women save money throughout their lives to finance their missions.  They get to write home once a week and they can call home twice a year--Mother's Day and Christmas.  Sometimes they get homesick. 

Some learn a second language.  Sometimes it's a language they've never heard of before and sometimes it's a language that seems like a disease of the throat.  Some serve as missionaries in well-to-do corners of the world; others find people to teach and love and serve in grass huts, barns, stables, tin shacks, or mud and dirt "houses", all generally having dirt floors.  Some have living quarters that are quite comfortable.  Others share a room with spiders, cats, dogs, pigs, and an occasional snake that passes through.  For some missionaries, cherished Christmas and birthday gifts consist of disinfectant soap and toilet paper.  Those serving missions in foreign lands first tolerate, then embrace, and then love different foods.  When they return home they often enjoy watching the faces of people as they explain what they ate for two years.  More often than not, they eat a lot of beans and rice.  Those serving in the United States eat a lot of peanut butter and macaroni and cheese.

They leave home most often between the ages of 18 and 22.  As a criminologist I can tell you that this age group commits the highest percentage of crimes of all adult age groups.  However, this group of 18 to 22 year-old LDS missionaries does not commit crimes.  And while there are incidents of accidental death among LDS missionaries, their death rate due to accidents is miniscule compared to their non-missionary counterparts.

Missionaries come and go.  Two great missionaries, Sister Brie LeBaron and Elder Ryan Moosman, finished their missions here in Binghamton recently and returned to their homes.  One missionary, Sister Misa Morreall, just came home to Binghamton from her mission in Armenia.  Frankly, the emotions that I experienced from both of these events were overwhelming.

They leave home as 18 and 19 year-old boys and girls and return home as 20, 21, 22, and 23 year-old young adults, ready to be positive contributors to society.  They leave home with a high school diploma or a year or two of college and return home with the Master's degree in humanity, faith, hope, and charity.  What they are asked to do is difficult.  I have yet to find one who wouldn't turn around in a heartbeat and go back for another two years.

I think God loves all missionaries of all faiths.  I am pretty sure that He loves Mormon missionaries, too. I certainly do.

Politics: A Dirty Word

Politics: A Dirty Word

It is easy to become disenchanted with politics.  Being one of the two topics that people don’t like to talk about, the other being religion, it seems to be talked about.  A lot.  Oddly enough, religion gets quite a bit of attention.  And, lately it seems that there is a great deal going on about the two together in the same sentence.  Religion and Politics: What a combination, but let’s not talk about them.

There have been a number of little quizzes going around on social media that helps you determine such things as your aura, the car you should “be”, what kind of flower you are, the type of animal you should be, and so on and  so forth.  There have been multiple so-called analytical questionnaires to help you determine your political persuasion.  I’ve taken a few of them and I’ve been labeled as 100% Republican, being middle-of-the road but leaning slightly to the right, and to the far right of the Tea Party. I’ve always been struck by comments from onlookers saying things like they are an American first (so am I) and are not committed to any one political party or that they don’t believe in politics.

I’ve learned a few things over the years.

First.  Not all politics are at the national and state level.  Quite frankly, the best level of involvement in politics is at the local level.  In spite of all the money that we throw away at state and federal governments (bureaucracies), we receive the greatest services from local government.  Cities, towns, villages, counties, and schools deliver the lion’s share of what we see on a day-to-day basis, and it is at this level where politicians are most likely to actually listen and act on concerns.  Yes, they are interested in your dollar and your vote, but their motivation is more service-oriented than what you find among the ladder-climbers at the state and federal level.  Yes, they may have their own little fiefdoms and be big fish in a little pond, but they also understand that the pond can be drained.  Therefore, from my perspective, if you want to have an impact on the political climate of government, do so at the local level.

Second.  Not all politics is about holding public office.  There are what I would call “king makers”.  These are people who are the life blood of political parties.  They do not run for political office in terms of council member, mayor, governor, town clerk or assessor, or prosecutor.  These are the people who hold titles such as party precinct committee chair or committee member.  These are the people who often look for good candidates for political office and support their candidates.  They often choose political candidates.  More importantly, they are often responsible for determining their party’s “platform” or the things that their little corner of the kingdom stands for, the things they value.  There are a couple of very important things to know about these people.  One is that these positions in political parties often go unfilled.  The second is that these people take their platforms and lobby for them at the state level and when adopted by a state take them to the national level.  These are little fish in a very big sea, but they can make a mighty big splash.  They can be responsible for a state or a national candidate for political office either winning or losing an election in a geographical area.

Third.  Not all political activity is about running for political office.  Being politically involved can be as simple as learning about the candidates and making informed choices before entering the voting booth.  It can be as simple as knocking on doors one afternoon once every two to four years to hand political literature out to people for the person you strongly support.  Political activity can be as simple as attending debates.  Political activity can be as simple as calling or writing letters to office holders expressing your views on current issues.  Being heard is important at the local, state, and national level.  And when somebody does something that you don’t like, that you disagree with, you should let them know-not just on Facebook, but also by letter.  I have found that letters written on paper and sent through the mail receive more attention than e-mail letters.  Political activity can be as simple as volunteering to be an election official on election day.

I’ve often heard it said that we don’t have a right to complain about those holding political office if we don’t vote.  I agree 100%.  But I also believe that we have a responsibility to be politically engaged.  We have no right to complain about our political parties if we don’t participate in them.  Sure, it may take a few years for your voice to be heard.  How much stock is a group to place on a voice that shows up once in 20 years and then only to complain?

That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

Questions from the News

Questions from the News #1

President Bush and VP Cheney contended that there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.  We went.  We found none.  At least so we were led to believe by the Pentagon.  Now we find out that there were thousands of chemical weapons discovered and even handled by our troops in Iraq and have now fallen into the hands of ISIS.

Bush and Cheney certainly had nothing to gain by denying the existence of these weapons.  It would have been the ultimate “I told you so!”

Q-1. Why would the Pentagon not report to the American public that these weapons of mass destruction had been discovered?

Q-2. Why would these chemical weapons be left in a position to be captured by any group that is unfriendly to the rest of the world, let alone the United States?

Questions from the News #2

From the start, the CDC and the Dallas hospital that handled the initial Ebola victim said that the patient was handled properly and that the disease would be contained.  Two nurses that worked with the patient are now diagnosed with Ebola.  Now we learn that they didn’t do anything right.  There was no effective protection afforded to these health care workers and in fact hazardous biological waste was piling up and not disposed of properly.

The CDC now says that they know how to respond.  Incidentally, the military health care system has known all along how to properly respond and protect those who work with infected patients.

The CDC now says that they are looking at 77 people who were in contact with the Ebola patient.  Susan and I counted the number of people that we had contact with since this past Monday morning.  We came up with a very conservative number of 32 people.  We’re talking in terms of people that we touched or items that we touched that would immediately be touched by another person.  Using those criteria we determined that if those 32 people each touched another 32 people, and those people each touched another 32 people, in just three generations of passing Ebola on to others, over 1,000,000 people would have been exposed to Ebola.  (BTW—WE HAVE NOT BEEN EXPOSED TO EBOLA, we think.)  Yes, I know there is a 21 day period before you become contagious.  That’s a nice number if you life in Africa where most people have never been to a doctor in their lives.  Might it be more like 30-35 days in the U.S. where we have a fairly healthy population and where most of us have seen a doctor several times in a lifetime?

Q-1. If the CDC had it wrong to begin with, what makes us think they have it right now?

Q-2. Why are we only looking at 77 people?  Theoretically, exposure only takes place when the infected person displays the symptoms.  Please refer to Q-1.  (Consider now also that health experts are telling us that the Ebola virus is quite capable of mutating to the point where it can be spread through the air.)

Q-3. Why are we not closing the border to all travel from Western Africa?  Great Britain has.

Q-4. If our military health care people knew how to respond to the Ebola crisis, why didn’t the CDC follow their lead?

Questions from the News #3

President Obama now acknowledges that we underestimated ISIS (or in his words: ISIL) and that they are stronger than what we anticipated.  ISIS continues to march onward, beheading western hostages, torturing and slaughtering innocent citizens in their path through Syria and Iraq.  Intelligence reports available to President Obama months before the rest of the world knew of ISIS, reported that ISIS was on its way.  Lest we forget, President Bush, Presidential Candidate Mitt Romney all predicted that if we withdrew that we’d be back in Iraq.

The mainstream media would have us believe that ISIS is composed of a bunch of conscripts running around in black pajamas acting like a bunch of clowns.  The reality is that ISIS fighters are professional fighters led by the second in command of the Iraq Army prior to the Iraq War and that these fighters are using weapons that we left behind and with training that we gave them.  Yes, it’s complicated.

President Obama asserts again and again that we will not commit to “Boots on the Ground” but we will continue with air strikes.  His military advisors and his former Secretary of Defense contend that boots on the ground are necessary to combat ISIS.  To date, we have launched about 200 air strikes against ISIS, much of which has been ineffective. Two-hundred airstrikes is nothing.  That would be spelled N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

Q-1. Why didn’t Obama respect the advice of his top advisors instead of dealing with ISIS as the JV team?

Q-2. If the idiotic, stupid, clumsy, moronic, hated, deceptive President George W. Bush and the “Binders of Women” Mitt Romney could see it coming, why couldn’t Mr. Obama?

Q-3. Experts tell us that it will be a matter of time before we have “Boots on the Ground”.  I don’t really want us over there at all, but it appears that there really is no other alternative.  Why don’t we just do it and get it over with?  (Besides, we already have “Boots on the Ground” there.  There just aren’t very many of them.)

Q-4. Just how much confidence are we to have in the media if they continue to portray ISIS as men running around in black pajamas when in fact we are dealing with a professional killing machine?

Faithen Your Strength

I Gaze Upon the Lighthouse

I Gaze Upon the Lighthouse

Gregory B. Talley

I gaze upon the lighthouse, its great luminous light,

For the work it does at sea is mainly done at night.

I love to see the lighthouse standing against the wave

To rescue lonely seamen, their lives it’s meant to save.

Its work is done in darkness and evening fog that’s near,

Out reaching to the forlorn, the lost, the tired, in fear.

It calls against the storm-tossed sea with help sure and true;

Sets a course that safely guides the lonely seaman through.

It guides the ships through darkness around the per’lous rocks

And shallow graves of other ships sailing to the docks.

It works to save the seamen to keep them from the deep,

Bright its light must shine at night, safe harbors it must keep.

Within each standing lighthouse a keeper lays awake

And keeps the light yet burning for every sailor’s sake.

He keeps the lens well-polished and ever flashing true,

And sends its signal outward to every sailor’s view.

I love to see the lighthouse; with pride it takes a stand.

But the keeper of the lighthouse makes it ever grand.

October 6, 2014

(c) 2014 Gregory B. Talley

Radical Islam

I recently shared on Facebook a conversation that took place on CNN with a person by the name of Reza Aslan concerning Bill Maher’s comments about Muslims and Islam.  I have not heard Bill Maher’s comments, but from the conversation with Reza Aslan it sounds as if Maher was condemning Islam as a radical religion and essentially not worthy of the Twenty-first Century community.  Go to my Facebook Timeline to find the video recording.

The Facebook “share” drew only two comments.  One of those comments simply asked what my opinion is.  The following is my response to that question.

What is my opinion?

First, you must understand that I have trust issues, which come from a lifetime and a career of experiences.

Second, you should understand that I have "faith" in the Bell Curve. There is a normal distribution of any population that defines thought, behavior, actions, and beliefs. About two-thirds of any full population trudges along in the middle. It is the one-third, one-sixth on either side of the standard deviation that grabs our attention. When you go further out two and three standard deviations you find the truly exceptional.  In many cases you could call those who are that far out as being “radical”.

Expression of religious faith can be included in the Bell Curve. I believe that most adherents of the different beliefs trudge along in the middle and that you will find extremists on either end of the spectrum. If you wish, Christian text will give you the excuse to join the Crusades. It will allow the Catholic Church to march through Central and South America and destroy complete populations and eradicate cultures.  Also, the last time I looked, stoning of those caught in adultery is still in print in the Old Testament.  As a large sub-set of Christianity, Mormonism will give you an excuse to participate in the Mountain Meadows Massacre while that general Mormon population and the opposite end of the curve are repulsed at that tragedy.  Then you have the outliers who come together and establish their own population.  This is where you will find the Warren Jeffs of the FLDS group (please don’t call them Mormons or Fundamentalist Mormons-there is nothing Mormon or fundamental about them) and the Westboro Baptist Church (I suspect most mainline Baptists have the same feeling about them that I do of the FLDS).  It is my opinion that these groups are the fundamental equivalent of Radical Islam.

The notion that certain Islamic countries are “modern” and allow women to be involved in government and give women freedom to drive or dress as they please merely represents a larger population—two/thirds if you please, who make up the big middle in those countries.  I assure you that there are radicals within those countries.  They look for documentation, an excuse, to hold and act on the values they have.  Little will convince them to act otherwise.

Convincing me that Islam is a peaceful religion is like telling me that Christianity has had a peaceful history.  It just isn’t so.