Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Apr 16, 2014
Tripping the Light Fantastic
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
—Bob Dylan
For some reason I have always preferred classic Rock and Roll. Even at the peak of the 70’s Hard Rock craze while all my friends were rockin’ out I listened to “Oldies” radio stations and liked the Beach Boys, Bill Haley & the Comets, Buddy Holly, and Flash Cadillac & the Continental Kids (to name just a few). American Graffiti was (and still is?) my favorite album. I use a question mark because Oh Brother, Where Art Thou, The Beach Boys’ Endless Summer, and Billy Joel’s Stranger are right up there as well. Now I prefer Folk music—not sure why.
Back in the mid-70’s we used to have dance competitions between the wards in the stake we lived in in New Jersey. I think LDS stakes all over the country did the same thing. The first year I can remember the youth in our ward learned to Swing. Our Scoutmaster, Joe McNall, was our teacher and we saw a whole new side of his personality. He was always a pretty easy going guy but when the music started to play he really came alive. We had been on plenty of hikes and canoe trips with him but we had never seen how he could jump and jive. Under Joe’s direction all of us got pretty good at the basic steps and moves of the Swing and, if I remember correctly, we won the competition that first year (1974?). If we didn’t, we should have!
The next year the entire stake learned how to Swing and Joe taught us a full choreographed swing routine to Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” For weeks we practiced in the church gym after MIA/Mutual meetings. We all had a great time and we learned many flips, slides, turns, and tricks. Joe taught us everything we learned. I’m sure he had some help but I cannot remember who it was or who they were. Joe also taught us other dances like the Twist, Loco Motion, and Polka, but for us it was all about the Swing.
Debbie McNall (Joe’s daughter) was, of course, my favorite partner. (She was my girlfriend, on-and-off, all through high school.) Shalynn Murphy and I were technically better dance partners and I always enjoyed dancing with Sandy Johnstone and Susan Eckersley as well, but Debbie was my best girl. Our group later went on to compete in several community dance competitions and marathon dance contests. We always did very well and even won a few.
When Nancy and I started dancing together it took some time to adjust to each other. While I had learned to Swing she had learned the West Coast Swing and Lindy Hop and the footwork was slightly different. Over the years we have become pretty good dance partners but she has never been as daring as my high school dance partners with all the flips and slides. While in college we took a few dance classes together and learned Latin dances; Cha-cha, Rumba, Samba, and other classic dance steps; Waltz, Foxtrot, Box-step, Viennese Waltz, and Polka. We taught all our kids to dance and our son Daniel became an excellent ballroom dancer and even worked as a professional dance instructor for a few years. It must have been genetic.
Nancy and I have been chaperoning church dances for many years and I thought we had seen it all. Last Saturday night we chaperoned a four-stake dance. We usually dance to all the slow dances—and of course any Swing songs. We like to dance together and it shows the kids that they can do something more than the Deacon Shuffle; standing in one spot, holding each other awkwardly at arm’s length, and sliding your feet while rocking from side to side. While we dance together we can also monitor the dance floor and intervene if we see a couple dancing too close. (“You have to leave room for the Book of Mormon!” is the typical Mormon standard of proper dance measurement. They typical youth response is, “We’re using the CD version.”) While we were out 'cutting the rug' we saw a couple in a very tight bear hug. A few other kids were watching them with big smiles as we danced over. All I saw was a small petite blonde’s head buried in the chest of a burley athletic looking kid—and there wasn’t even room for a CD between them! When we moved beside them I leaned over and said, "Hey, break it up." They quickly did, and as they separated I saw it was two boys. Nancy thinks they were just goofing around. I think "the times they are a changin'."
Dec 26, 2012
The End of the World? Or just my Pride
Well, I’m glad the world didn’t end on the 21st. The Mayans got it wrong. But I did have an interesting “Most Embarrassing Moment” experience.
Early in the morning Nancy was blow-drying her hair and tripped a circuit breaker. I was still in bed and as she walked by she said, “Can you help me, the power is out in the bathroom.”
I got up and walked out to the garage and Nancy was flipping breakers. I thought she was just randomly throwing breakers so I told her to stop and let me fix it. It’s a man’s job after all—isn’t it?
I couldn’t see any blown circuits so I thought she might have already fixed it. I went back into the house and into our bathroom and the power was still off. Strange. Back to the circuit board and checked more carefully—still nothing. Back to the bedroom and bathroom to check the ground fault interrupt outlets—nothing. Strange! I kept checking the breakers and nothing worked. The power was out in our bathroom, bedroom, the guest bedroom, the front room, and the den in the basement. Very strange! I couldn’t believe all those rooms were on the same circuit, and WHY were there no thrown breakers? It didn’t make any sense!
The next day all the kids were coming home for Christmas and the power was out to half the house. I did everything I could think of and nothing worked. Finally I gave up and shaved and dressed in the dark and went to work.
Fortunately my council president (and therefor my boss) runs Wheeler Electric, an electrical contracting business. After I had got past the morning rush of emails, phone messages, mail, and other office minutia, I called Jeff and explained my problem. He told me he would send one of his electricians right over. I drove home and took the cover panel off the circuit box while I waited for the electrician.
A Wheeler Electric truck pulled up in front of our house and two guys got out. First I showed them the circuit box then I took them into the bathroom and bedrooms and showed them the problem. They used a gizmo to check the outlets. Some were working and some weren’t. One guy said, “It looks like you might have lost your neutral line.” They went to their truck and got another gizmo then went back to the circuit box and started checking the voltage in each line. The guy pointed to about six double breakers and asked, “Did you turn these off?” I then had one of those awkward “I’m an idiot” moments.
I flipped all six breakers from ‘off’ to ‘on’ and guess what? All the lights came back on! The electricians were very polite—at least until they got back into their truck. I called and thanked Jeff and admitted to being an idiot. He laughed and said, “It didn’t sound like it was anything too bad.”
In my defense, the double circuits were all aligned in the same positions so I assumed . . .
You know the old saying about assuming? It’s true! When the circuits were in the off position I couldn’t see the words ‘off’ because they were covered by the switches and when the circuit box cover was on it blocked the words ‘on’ so it was a bit confusing.
It makes me wonder if the Mayans were predicting the end of my dignity.
Early in the morning Nancy was blow-drying her hair and tripped a circuit breaker. I was still in bed and as she walked by she said, “Can you help me, the power is out in the bathroom.”
I got up and walked out to the garage and Nancy was flipping breakers. I thought she was just randomly throwing breakers so I told her to stop and let me fix it. It’s a man’s job after all—isn’t it?
I couldn’t see any blown circuits so I thought she might have already fixed it. I went back into the house and into our bathroom and the power was still off. Strange. Back to the circuit board and checked more carefully—still nothing. Back to the bedroom and bathroom to check the ground fault interrupt outlets—nothing. Strange! I kept checking the breakers and nothing worked. The power was out in our bathroom, bedroom, the guest bedroom, the front room, and the den in the basement. Very strange! I couldn’t believe all those rooms were on the same circuit, and WHY were there no thrown breakers? It didn’t make any sense!
The next day all the kids were coming home for Christmas and the power was out to half the house. I did everything I could think of and nothing worked. Finally I gave up and shaved and dressed in the dark and went to work.
Fortunately my council president (and therefor my boss) runs Wheeler Electric, an electrical contracting business. After I had got past the morning rush of emails, phone messages, mail, and other office minutia, I called Jeff and explained my problem. He told me he would send one of his electricians right over. I drove home and took the cover panel off the circuit box while I waited for the electrician.
A Wheeler Electric truck pulled up in front of our house and two guys got out. First I showed them the circuit box then I took them into the bathroom and bedrooms and showed them the problem. They used a gizmo to check the outlets. Some were working and some weren’t. One guy said, “It looks like you might have lost your neutral line.” They went to their truck and got another gizmo then went back to the circuit box and started checking the voltage in each line. The guy pointed to about six double breakers and asked, “Did you turn these off?” I then had one of those awkward “I’m an idiot” moments.
I flipped all six breakers from ‘off’ to ‘on’ and guess what? All the lights came back on! The electricians were very polite—at least until they got back into their truck. I called and thanked Jeff and admitted to being an idiot. He laughed and said, “It didn’t sound like it was anything too bad.”
In my defense, the double circuits were all aligned in the same positions so I assumed . . .
You know the old saying about assuming? It’s true! When the circuits were in the off position I couldn’t see the words ‘off’ because they were covered by the switches and when the circuit box cover was on it blocked the words ‘on’ so it was a bit confusing.
It makes me wonder if the Mayans were predicting the end of my dignity.
Jun 11, 2012
Much Ado About Nothing
I'm pleased to report that things went very well at the ElkFest. There were about two dozen protestors there but for the most part they kept to themselves. At the start of the auction the protesters were wondering around the Square and passing out flyers. I took all the flyers that were offered to me and none of them had graphic images or were offensive. At about 10:30 they gathered at the northwest corner of the Square and they started their protest.
One by one they stood up on the base of the antler arch and they read aloud from the Bible. Some of them read mild passages in a normal voice. And some of them read hellfire and damnation verses in a loud voice. The Square was crowded but most people ignored the protesters. Except for the Mets fan.
One guy showed up in a Mets jersey and was holding a cardboard sign that said, “Let’s Go Mets!” Every time the protestors got loud he started to yell, “Let’s Go Mets! Let’s Go Mets!” And the locals would yell with him, “Let’s Go Mets!” The Mets fans were louder than the preachers and the effect was rather amusing.
I spent most of the morning talking to individual protestors to try to understand them and their motivations better. It was obvious to me that someone had made the decision to not disrupt or disrespect the Boy Scout’s antler auction. As they were wrapping things up I went to their leaders and thanked them for being respectful. They appreciated my comments so much that they called all their members over and had me repeat my comments to the entire group.
The leaders told me that they never intended to use their graphic images, flyers, and aggressive tactics in Jackson. They said they love the Boy Scouts and thanked me for the BSA’s decision to maintain its membership standards. (They said some unkind things about homosexuals.) They told me the only reason they got so aggressive last year was because they were told they could not protest and they felt like they had to make a point and exercise their constitutional rights.
So, everything turned out fine. The Elk Antler Auction went well, the weather was fantastic, and the protestors had a minimal impact on the ElkFest.
One by one they stood up on the base of the antler arch and they read aloud from the Bible. Some of them read mild passages in a normal voice. And some of them read hellfire and damnation verses in a loud voice. The Square was crowded but most people ignored the protesters. Except for the Mets fan.
One guy showed up in a Mets jersey and was holding a cardboard sign that said, “Let’s Go Mets!” Every time the protestors got loud he started to yell, “Let’s Go Mets! Let’s Go Mets!” And the locals would yell with him, “Let’s Go Mets!” The Mets fans were louder than the preachers and the effect was rather amusing.
I spent most of the morning talking to individual protestors to try to understand them and their motivations better. It was obvious to me that someone had made the decision to not disrupt or disrespect the Boy Scout’s antler auction. As they were wrapping things up I went to their leaders and thanked them for being respectful. They appreciated my comments so much that they called all their members over and had me repeat my comments to the entire group.
The leaders told me that they never intended to use their graphic images, flyers, and aggressive tactics in Jackson. They said they love the Boy Scouts and thanked me for the BSA’s decision to maintain its membership standards. (They said some unkind things about homosexuals.) They told me the only reason they got so aggressive last year was because they were told they could not protest and they felt like they had to make a point and exercise their constitutional rights.
So, everything turned out fine. The Elk Antler Auction went well, the weather was fantastic, and the protestors had a minimal impact on the ElkFest.
Jul 2, 2010
Deer Tag
I had a great day yesterday—well most of the day was great. My assistant Scout executive, Mark Nelson, and I go to each of the camps during their staff week to train the staff in youth protection and health & safety policies. This week is staff week for two of our camps, Treasure Mountain and Island Park, so we decided to hit them both in the same day. Mark needed to stop by Camp Little Lemhi as well so we made a road-trip out of it.
We started out early and took the hour drive to Camp Little Lemhi. It was a beautiful morning and the drive down into Swan Valley and out to the camp was spectacular. Idaho is in its full Spring-green colors, the mountains were various shades of purple and the blue sky was painted with white clouds. It was stunningly beautiful.
While Mark took care of his camp business I grabbed my fly rod and conducted a little business of my own. I consider it my responsibility to survey and evaluate the aquatic life of each of the camps. I fished off the dock on the south side of the lake and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings as much as the fishing. The lake was very quire with very few fish rising. Across the lake the waterfront staff was practicing their lifesaving skills and that was fun to watch while I waited for a strike. I started with a mosquito fly but after several casts and not even a bump I switched to a pre-emergent stone fly pattern and was casting into deep water and letting the fly sink for about twenty seconds before doing a very slow retrieval. My luck on this particular lake has never been very good so after some time with no action at all I decided to call it quits and bring in my line. Right at that moment I got a strong strike and had a fish on. I played it to the shore of the lake and landed a nice rainbow.
After releasing the fish I went back to the camp lodge and found that Mark was ready to go. We drove over the Palisades dam, down through Swan Valley, up over Pine Creek Pass, down to the quiet town of Victor, through beautiful Teton Valley, into Driggs, and up the Teton Valley to Treasure Mountain. It’s one of my favorite drives and the scenery is spectacular. We arrived at Treasure Mountain right as they were serving lunch—and oh what a lunch. The cook had made her special lasagna, homemade bread sticks, and our choice of cheese cake or frosted brownies. She had saved a special brownie with double frosting for me. (She knows who signs the paychecks.) The food was plentiful and delicious.
After lunch Mark and I taught the staff a session on staff health and safety, facilitated the Youth Protection Quiz Show game Mark developed, and then held a discussion on staff policies. After that we filled my trailer with empty milk crates and filled the truck with the Jamboree tents. Then it was off to Island Park and points north. We drove down the canyon to Alta, MT, north on highway 33 though Tetonia with the Teton Range dominating the view on our right. We turned north on highway 32 and followed it to Ashton. The drive from Driggs to Ashton through the green grain fields is amazing. In Ashton we got on highway 20 and followed it north in to Island Park and out to the Scout camp by the same name. With a little serendipity we arrived just as the staff was eating dinner. This meal was a little more Scout campish; beanie-weenies and hash browns.
After dinner we gave the Island Park staff the same presentations we did at Treasure Mountain. After we were through teaching Mark needed some time with the business manager and trading post manager. Erick the camp director and Chris the ranger took me on a tour of the changes they are making to the camp. They are improving the road to the campsites and have remodeled the handicraft building into a camp office and medical station. The old camp office will become the camp director’s cabin after they clean up the mess the packrats made during the winter. (Gross!)
Once their tour was over I grabbed my rod and hit the lake (since Mark was still in his meetings). I tied on an elk-hair caddis fly and waded out into the lake at the inlet of the creek. I got a couple of strikes before a big thunder storm rolled in and it became unwise to be standing in a lake holding a graphite lightning rod. I’m sure one more cast would have caught a nice brookie but I decided to live to cast another day. Just as it started to rain Mark came to find me and we jumped in the truck and drove out of camp in a heavy thunderstorm.
It was a dark and stormy night (honestly), and we had just pulled onto the highway off Chick Creek Road and I was accelerating up to speed. The forest and underbrush are heavy on both sides of the road. Out of the trees on the left side of the road I saw a doe running towards the road. I jumped on the brakes and barely had time to react before she ran right into the side of the truck. She tore off the driver’s side mirror with her head and smashed into the side panel. I pulled over, put on the flashers, and went to check on the deer and retrieve the mirror. As I was walking down the road another truck came and smashed the mirror into pieces. So, as I walked back to find the deer, I was picking up pieces of mirror. As I picked up one of the pieces my hand felt something soft and warm. It was a chunk of deer!
I found most of the deer lying on the side of the road in pretty bad shape. I was hoping it would not be suffering, forcing me to dispatch it with my Scout knife. No need for that. If the collision with my truck didn’t kill it the eighteen-wheeler that passed by certainly put it out of its misery. He didn’t even hit his brakes, just blew his horn as he tenderized the venison. I drug the carcass off the road far enough so the bears wouldn’t get hit while they ate their breakfast. I thought about throwing it into my truck and taking it back to camp to supplement the food budget but I didn’t have a deer tag and the season isn’t open. Don’t misunderstand, I feel awful about killing the deer, but it was definitely suicidal (or trying to play tag with me) and the accident was unavoidable. It was a sad end to an otherwise great day.
We started out early and took the hour drive to Camp Little Lemhi. It was a beautiful morning and the drive down into Swan Valley and out to the camp was spectacular. Idaho is in its full Spring-green colors, the mountains were various shades of purple and the blue sky was painted with white clouds. It was stunningly beautiful.
While Mark took care of his camp business I grabbed my fly rod and conducted a little business of my own. I consider it my responsibility to survey and evaluate the aquatic life of each of the camps. I fished off the dock on the south side of the lake and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings as much as the fishing. The lake was very quire with very few fish rising. Across the lake the waterfront staff was practicing their lifesaving skills and that was fun to watch while I waited for a strike. I started with a mosquito fly but after several casts and not even a bump I switched to a pre-emergent stone fly pattern and was casting into deep water and letting the fly sink for about twenty seconds before doing a very slow retrieval. My luck on this particular lake has never been very good so after some time with no action at all I decided to call it quits and bring in my line. Right at that moment I got a strong strike and had a fish on. I played it to the shore of the lake and landed a nice rainbow.
After releasing the fish I went back to the camp lodge and found that Mark was ready to go. We drove over the Palisades dam, down through Swan Valley, up over Pine Creek Pass, down to the quiet town of Victor, through beautiful Teton Valley, into Driggs, and up the Teton Valley to Treasure Mountain. It’s one of my favorite drives and the scenery is spectacular. We arrived at Treasure Mountain right as they were serving lunch—and oh what a lunch. The cook had made her special lasagna, homemade bread sticks, and our choice of cheese cake or frosted brownies. She had saved a special brownie with double frosting for me. (She knows who signs the paychecks.) The food was plentiful and delicious.
After lunch Mark and I taught the staff a session on staff health and safety, facilitated the Youth Protection Quiz Show game Mark developed, and then held a discussion on staff policies. After that we filled my trailer with empty milk crates and filled the truck with the Jamboree tents. Then it was off to Island Park and points north. We drove down the canyon to Alta, MT, north on highway 33 though Tetonia with the Teton Range dominating the view on our right. We turned north on highway 32 and followed it to Ashton. The drive from Driggs to Ashton through the green grain fields is amazing. In Ashton we got on highway 20 and followed it north in to Island Park and out to the Scout camp by the same name. With a little serendipity we arrived just as the staff was eating dinner. This meal was a little more Scout campish; beanie-weenies and hash browns.
After dinner we gave the Island Park staff the same presentations we did at Treasure Mountain. After we were through teaching Mark needed some time with the business manager and trading post manager. Erick the camp director and Chris the ranger took me on a tour of the changes they are making to the camp. They are improving the road to the campsites and have remodeled the handicraft building into a camp office and medical station. The old camp office will become the camp director’s cabin after they clean up the mess the packrats made during the winter. (Gross!)
Once their tour was over I grabbed my rod and hit the lake (since Mark was still in his meetings). I tied on an elk-hair caddis fly and waded out into the lake at the inlet of the creek. I got a couple of strikes before a big thunder storm rolled in and it became unwise to be standing in a lake holding a graphite lightning rod. I’m sure one more cast would have caught a nice brookie but I decided to live to cast another day. Just as it started to rain Mark came to find me and we jumped in the truck and drove out of camp in a heavy thunderstorm.
It was a dark and stormy night (honestly), and we had just pulled onto the highway off Chick Creek Road and I was accelerating up to speed. The forest and underbrush are heavy on both sides of the road. Out of the trees on the left side of the road I saw a doe running towards the road. I jumped on the brakes and barely had time to react before she ran right into the side of the truck. She tore off the driver’s side mirror with her head and smashed into the side panel. I pulled over, put on the flashers, and went to check on the deer and retrieve the mirror. As I was walking down the road another truck came and smashed the mirror into pieces. So, as I walked back to find the deer, I was picking up pieces of mirror. As I picked up one of the pieces my hand felt something soft and warm. It was a chunk of deer!
I found most of the deer lying on the side of the road in pretty bad shape. I was hoping it would not be suffering, forcing me to dispatch it with my Scout knife. No need for that. If the collision with my truck didn’t kill it the eighteen-wheeler that passed by certainly put it out of its misery. He didn’t even hit his brakes, just blew his horn as he tenderized the venison. I drug the carcass off the road far enough so the bears wouldn’t get hit while they ate their breakfast. I thought about throwing it into my truck and taking it back to camp to supplement the food budget but I didn’t have a deer tag and the season isn’t open. Don’t misunderstand, I feel awful about killing the deer, but it was definitely suicidal (or trying to play tag with me) and the accident was unavoidable. It was a sad end to an otherwise great day.
Feb 1, 2010
Building Character
Recently the Ucon Stake presidency invited me to speak at their general priesthood meeting—at 7:30 AM on Sunday morning. I’m normally up then for our ward’s PEC meeting so the early hour was no big deal. And I’m not afraid of speaking to large crowds—it’s part of the job—so I was happy and honored to accept.
On Saturday night I called the counselor in the stake presidency who invited me to speak. We confirmed the time, place, and I asked if they wanted a formal talk or if it could be informal with some audience participation. I also asked how much time I had because I have developed a PowerPoint presentation titled “Building Men of Character.” He said that sounded like exactly what they want and I would have at least a half-hour. I told him I would arrive at about 7:AM to set up and asked if there was a digital projector I could use. Every stake center has a projector and a member who knows how to set it up and get things working. I’m okay with technical stuff—unless something goes wrong and then I can get in trouble fast.
I arrived early and turned on my laptop and got everything up and running but there was no projector and no one there who looked like they could help. (For most of the time it was just me and the organist playing prelude music.) I had brought one of the Council’s projectors just in case (Be Prepared) and went out to my car to bring it in. By then (7:15) people were arriving at a steady rate. When I came back into the chapel the members of the stake presidency were taking their places on the rostrum. After the introductions I asked if there was a projector available and someone who could help me get things setup. I was told they would have to dig it out so I said I would just use the projector I brought.
I set up the projector and got it hooked into the computer but, Murphy’s Law being what it is, the projector couldn’t find the signal from the computer. I know there is an f-key you are supposed to hit but I didn’t know which one (I tried a couple I thought might be right) and the normal icon on the f-key was not there. What to do? It was time to start the meeting. They were waiting for me to finish and all eyes were upon me. I told them not to wait for me.
My stress level was rising. When I’m under stress I start sweating. I could feel the sweat on my sideburns and the back of my neck. Someone help me!!! (Silent earnest prayer.)
While they started the meeting I restarted the computer. During the announcements I checked the projector—and it was working!!! (Silent prayer of thanks.) I was the third and final speaker and my projector was sitting on top of the podium. Poor form. So during the opening hymn I moved the projector down off the podium. I had been told there was a musical number between the second speaker and me so my plan was to reposition the projector during the musical number.
The first speaker was a recently returned missionary from Brazil. I’m sure he gave a nice talk but I was distracted. I noticed there was a portable microphone and a stand on the other side of the rostrum. I assumed it was going to be used for the musical number. I planned on setting up the projector on the top of the pulpit and using the other microphone to speak into. But the pulpit slanted the wrong way. I had to find a way to change the slant. The projector had a little foot that popped down in the front to raise the image but I was pretty sure it wasn’t long enough to overcome the slant of the pulpit. I was looking around and racking my brain to figure out what I could use to prop up the front of the projector. Before the meeting I tried the most obvious thing—a hymn book—but the cover was too smooth and it slid down the pulpit dragging the projector with it. I didn’t think that would make a very good presentation. By now the second speaker was warming to his topic. Although I had no idea what his topic was, I’m sure it was good.
There were two stepping stools on either side of the pulpit but they were both flat. The smaller of the two was covered with carpet and I thought that might provide enough traction to hold the hymn book in place. So now I had a plan: computer to the right of the pulpit, projector on the carpeted stool on top of the projector, me to the left of the pulpit with the microphone in my right hand and my remote-control-advance-the-slide gizmo in my left hand. All set, ready to go. Deep breath, calm down, stop sweating, get in the zone.
I looked at the clock in the back of the chapel. The meeting had been going for over half an hour! Where did the time go? And the second speaker was still going strong. He was a good speaker and was sharing a personal story of a life threatening accident and how priesthood holders had blessed him literally figuratively. Good story, nice spirit, but he was eating well into my time and I had to start rewriting my presentation in my head. Skip this, summarize that. Drop my favorite funny Scouting story—too long. No time for audience participation. As he kept going I kept cutting. And there was still the musical number—perhaps it will be a short one—or it might be all seven verses of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” and I could forget my presentation and just bear my testimony and sit down.
The speaker ended and sat down. I relaxed and waited for the musical number. Musical numbers always sooth me and bring the spirit. But nothing was happening. Everyone was looking at me. What’s going on??? The missionary nudged me and whispered, “You’re up.” What?! If I had been listening to the announcements instead of messing around with the projector I would have heard there was no musical number after all.
I jumped up and started messing with the electronics. Some kind soul came over to assist me. The plan was lost and forgotten. Computer on the big stool on the floor, projector on the right, me at the pulpit, where’s the portable microphone? It’s not hooked up? No time, start talking, everyone is staring and waiting. Deep breath, silent prayer, start talking. Who are these people? I don’t know them, they don’t know me—what am I doing here? Forget about all that. I’m a good speaker, I know my subject—START TALKING!!!
“Good morning. I’m Clarke Farrer, the Scout executive of the Grand Teton Council, and it’s an honor to be here with you this morning. This year marks the 100th anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America . . .” Calm, cool, and collected. As I spoke I took out my remote control gizmo and clicked the button to advance the screen to begin my presentation. Nothing happened. I clicked it again with more pressure—nothing. I tried the laser pointer—nothing. The battery was dead. Oh, that’s great, now what?
I asked the missionary if he would serve as my remote control. By now there were only about fifteen minutes left in the meeting. Since the screen was behind be and the computer was on the floor, I couldn’t see what I was doing. I ended up standing beside the pulpit to speak into the microphone and twisting my upper body and neck backwards to look at the screen. I’m sure I looked like a contortionist. And I still held onto my remote control and waved it around like it was some kind of magic wand. Perhaps I was unconsciously hoping it would start working and save me.
Looking back, I should have chucked the presentation and covered the same points in a straight talk format. Is that what the Lord was trying to tell me the whole time? If so, I wasn’t listening. I stumbled through the presentation. No, I sped through the presentation, hitting the high points and skipping about half of it. I doubt it registered on any meaningful level with anyone there—including me. I was dripping wet by the time I sat down.
The Boy Scouts claim the Scouting program builds character. Well, I certainly had my character built that morning. I should probably tear the Public Speaking Merit Badge off my merit badge sash.
On Saturday night I called the counselor in the stake presidency who invited me to speak. We confirmed the time, place, and I asked if they wanted a formal talk or if it could be informal with some audience participation. I also asked how much time I had because I have developed a PowerPoint presentation titled “Building Men of Character.” He said that sounded like exactly what they want and I would have at least a half-hour. I told him I would arrive at about 7:AM to set up and asked if there was a digital projector I could use. Every stake center has a projector and a member who knows how to set it up and get things working. I’m okay with technical stuff—unless something goes wrong and then I can get in trouble fast.
I arrived early and turned on my laptop and got everything up and running but there was no projector and no one there who looked like they could help. (For most of the time it was just me and the organist playing prelude music.) I had brought one of the Council’s projectors just in case (Be Prepared) and went out to my car to bring it in. By then (7:15) people were arriving at a steady rate. When I came back into the chapel the members of the stake presidency were taking their places on the rostrum. After the introductions I asked if there was a projector available and someone who could help me get things setup. I was told they would have to dig it out so I said I would just use the projector I brought.
I set up the projector and got it hooked into the computer but, Murphy’s Law being what it is, the projector couldn’t find the signal from the computer. I know there is an f-key you are supposed to hit but I didn’t know which one (I tried a couple I thought might be right) and the normal icon on the f-key was not there. What to do? It was time to start the meeting. They were waiting for me to finish and all eyes were upon me. I told them not to wait for me.
My stress level was rising. When I’m under stress I start sweating. I could feel the sweat on my sideburns and the back of my neck. Someone help me!!! (Silent earnest prayer.)
While they started the meeting I restarted the computer. During the announcements I checked the projector—and it was working!!! (Silent prayer of thanks.) I was the third and final speaker and my projector was sitting on top of the podium. Poor form. So during the opening hymn I moved the projector down off the podium. I had been told there was a musical number between the second speaker and me so my plan was to reposition the projector during the musical number.
The first speaker was a recently returned missionary from Brazil. I’m sure he gave a nice talk but I was distracted. I noticed there was a portable microphone and a stand on the other side of the rostrum. I assumed it was going to be used for the musical number. I planned on setting up the projector on the top of the pulpit and using the other microphone to speak into. But the pulpit slanted the wrong way. I had to find a way to change the slant. The projector had a little foot that popped down in the front to raise the image but I was pretty sure it wasn’t long enough to overcome the slant of the pulpit. I was looking around and racking my brain to figure out what I could use to prop up the front of the projector. Before the meeting I tried the most obvious thing—a hymn book—but the cover was too smooth and it slid down the pulpit dragging the projector with it. I didn’t think that would make a very good presentation. By now the second speaker was warming to his topic. Although I had no idea what his topic was, I’m sure it was good.
There were two stepping stools on either side of the pulpit but they were both flat. The smaller of the two was covered with carpet and I thought that might provide enough traction to hold the hymn book in place. So now I had a plan: computer to the right of the pulpit, projector on the carpeted stool on top of the projector, me to the left of the pulpit with the microphone in my right hand and my remote-control-advance-the-slide gizmo in my left hand. All set, ready to go. Deep breath, calm down, stop sweating, get in the zone.
I looked at the clock in the back of the chapel. The meeting had been going for over half an hour! Where did the time go? And the second speaker was still going strong. He was a good speaker and was sharing a personal story of a life threatening accident and how priesthood holders had blessed him literally figuratively. Good story, nice spirit, but he was eating well into my time and I had to start rewriting my presentation in my head. Skip this, summarize that. Drop my favorite funny Scouting story—too long. No time for audience participation. As he kept going I kept cutting. And there was still the musical number—perhaps it will be a short one—or it might be all seven verses of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” and I could forget my presentation and just bear my testimony and sit down.
The speaker ended and sat down. I relaxed and waited for the musical number. Musical numbers always sooth me and bring the spirit. But nothing was happening. Everyone was looking at me. What’s going on??? The missionary nudged me and whispered, “You’re up.” What?! If I had been listening to the announcements instead of messing around with the projector I would have heard there was no musical number after all.
I jumped up and started messing with the electronics. Some kind soul came over to assist me. The plan was lost and forgotten. Computer on the big stool on the floor, projector on the right, me at the pulpit, where’s the portable microphone? It’s not hooked up? No time, start talking, everyone is staring and waiting. Deep breath, silent prayer, start talking. Who are these people? I don’t know them, they don’t know me—what am I doing here? Forget about all that. I’m a good speaker, I know my subject—START TALKING!!!
“Good morning. I’m Clarke Farrer, the Scout executive of the Grand Teton Council, and it’s an honor to be here with you this morning. This year marks the 100th anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America . . .” Calm, cool, and collected. As I spoke I took out my remote control gizmo and clicked the button to advance the screen to begin my presentation. Nothing happened. I clicked it again with more pressure—nothing. I tried the laser pointer—nothing. The battery was dead. Oh, that’s great, now what?
I asked the missionary if he would serve as my remote control. By now there were only about fifteen minutes left in the meeting. Since the screen was behind be and the computer was on the floor, I couldn’t see what I was doing. I ended up standing beside the pulpit to speak into the microphone and twisting my upper body and neck backwards to look at the screen. I’m sure I looked like a contortionist. And I still held onto my remote control and waved it around like it was some kind of magic wand. Perhaps I was unconsciously hoping it would start working and save me.
Looking back, I should have chucked the presentation and covered the same points in a straight talk format. Is that what the Lord was trying to tell me the whole time? If so, I wasn’t listening. I stumbled through the presentation. No, I sped through the presentation, hitting the high points and skipping about half of it. I doubt it registered on any meaningful level with anyone there—including me. I was dripping wet by the time I sat down.
The Boy Scouts claim the Scouting program builds character. Well, I certainly had my character built that morning. I should probably tear the Public Speaking Merit Badge off my merit badge sash.
Apr 30, 2009
Casa Grande
Boy Scouts sell popcorn as a fundraiser like Girl Scouts sell cookies. (But the girls sell a LOT more cookies.) Every year the major vendor of Boy Scout popcorn, Trails' End, a subsidiary of Weaver popcorn, hosts a training seminar on the latest and greatest information on popcorn. This year I attended the seminar in Tucson, Arizona. I found it was much cheaper to fly into Phoenix and drive to Tucson than to fly direct to Tucson. So David, my popcorn sales manager, and I flew to Phoenix, rented a car, and drove to Tucson.
After the seminar was over we drove back to Phoenix but we had a few hours to kill before our flight. On the road map I saw that Casa Grande Ruins National Monument wasn’t too far out of our way and we decided to make a detour and visit the Ruins.
Here's what an artist thinks Casa Grande looked like.
So, there we were at the Casa Grande Ruins in the middle-of-nowhere Arizona. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Years ago I visited the Casas Grandes Ruins in northern Mexico, a.k.a. Paquime, and was very impressed with what I saw there—thousands of adobe rooms.
So, we got to sit in the Phoenix Airport for four hours to repent for our two-minute tardiness and reflect on the wonders of Casa Grande and ponder if the ancient bureaucrats were any more customer friendly than their modern US Air counterparts. I wonder if that is a clue the answer to the great mystery of why the ancient ones suddenly disappeared?
After the seminar was over we drove back to Phoenix but we had a few hours to kill before our flight. On the road map I saw that Casa Grande Ruins National Monument wasn’t too far out of our way and we decided to make a detour and visit the Ruins.
I like ruins. They’re cool. I like to try to imagine what things were like when the ancient people lived there and built them. I have spent many days hiking and exploring Anasazi dwellings and ruins in southern Utah and New Mexico. I probably should have been an archeologist.
Here's what an artist thinks Casa Grande looked like. So, there we were at the Casa Grande Ruins in the middle-of-nowhere Arizona. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Years ago I visited the Casas Grandes Ruins in northern Mexico, a.k.a. Paquime, and was very impressed with what I saw there—thousands of adobe rooms.
Casa Grande had an impressive multi-story structure but the rest of the ruins were in bad shape or had not been excavated yet. Here are some photos I took of the main Casa Grande ruin.
The entrance fee included a walking tour of the ruins and the interpretive guide was very good, but a little long winded. As he went on and on and on I started to get a little worried about catching our return flight and finally we had to walk out on the tour and hightail it back to the Phoenix Airport, return the rental car, and check-in at the ticket counter with 45-minutes to spare.
But when we got to the counter the ticket agent said, “Check-in has closed for this flight.” I asked her when it closed, “Two minutes ago.” (We had been standing in line for at least ten minutes.) I asked her if there wasn’t some way she could still squeeze us in. “The computer automatically closes the flight forty-five minutes before takeoff and you are too late. You have to wait and take the next flight.”
But when we got to the counter the ticket agent said, “Check-in has closed for this flight.” I asked her when it closed, “Two minutes ago.” (We had been standing in line for at least ten minutes.) I asked her if there wasn’t some way she could still squeeze us in. “The computer automatically closes the flight forty-five minutes before takeoff and you are too late. You have to wait and take the next flight.”
So, we got to sit in the Phoenix Airport for four hours to repent for our two-minute tardiness and reflect on the wonders of Casa Grande and ponder if the ancient bureaucrats were any more customer friendly than their modern US Air counterparts. I wonder if that is a clue the answer to the great mystery of why the ancient ones suddenly disappeared?
Dec 4, 2008
In My Opinion . . .
11/17/09
There is a Portland attorney who is making a good living by suing the Boy Scouts and the LDS Church for sexual abuse that took place decades ago. I’m told that he made millions suing the Catholic Church for abuses committed by their pedophile priests and now that that income stream has dried up he has moved on to greener pastures.
There is an AP article in our local paper about three brothers from Sunnyvale, CA, who the attorney is representing in a new lawsuit against the LDS Church and the Boy Scouts. The article says, “The plaintiffs, identified only as John Does, claim they were molested hundreds of times by 65-year old William Eugene Knox, who married their mother while the abuse was taking place in Sunnyvale, Calif.” It goes on to say, “One of the plaintiffs was still a devout member of the church, and two have served as Scoutmasters. . . . [and] one was a former FBI agent.”
I have never understood how a “devout” or even a believing member of the LDS Church (or any church for that matter) could sue the Church for money. How can you sue a church if you believe it is the means of salvation? I suppose the Catholic Church could raise the same question but in the cases of pedophile priests that were protected and enabled by their superiors I can understand the outrage and desire for compensation. But in this case the abuser was the stepfather of the victims. How can they possibly impugn fault on the Church or the Boy Scouts for the actions of their stepfather?
The article said the “three brothers claim the church ignored their complaints about being molested by their Silicon Valley Boy Scout and Mormon youth leader in the 1970s and 1980s. These are men who believe in the best of these institutions and believe this kind of lawsuit can help improve these institutions and prevent child abuse.” I think that’s absurd. They can’t get any money from their abusive stepfather so, on the advice of their attorney (who by the way has eleven other lawsuits against the BSA pending), they are going after the deep pockets of the LDS Church and the Boy Scouts. I wonder, is there is a special place in hell for that kind of attorney—right next to the child molesters?
Super Nerd
I’ve worn glasses (or contacts) as long as I can remember. I don’t recall how old I was when I started wearing glasses but I still remember the trauma of suddenly becoming a “four-eyes” nerd. I was definitely in elementary school and I think it was when we lived in Sunnyvale, CA—so I would have been eight or nine.
I can remember getting bifocals when we lived in Freehold, NJ. (I would have been about twelve then.) I remember the crazy visual effect of the bifocals and I kept trying to step up because the bifocals made it look like there was always a step or hill in front of me. I’m sure I REALLY looked like a nerd in grandpa glasses and walking weird. The eye doctor had the crazy idea that bifocals might actually improve my vision. They didn't.
It took me a long time to realize that my eyes were my best feature—big brown pools that girls found irresistible. [A quick jump to my mission: (I was wearing contacts then.) My companion and I were tracting a street in a very wealthy neighborhood when a woman answered the door. I gave her my best door approach and with a hopeful look in my eyes I tried to will her into letting us in. (Picture the scene in Shrek 2 where Puss-In-Boots is holding his hat.) She smiled at me and said, “Not even those big beautiful brown eyes are going to get you into my home.” That’s when I realized the power of my eyes.] Now, back to childhood. I was so nearsighted that I had to wear very thick lenses. The optics of the lenses reduced the apparent size of my eyes and thus I lost my super-powers over females. I’m sure it’s for similar reasons that Clark Kent has to take off his glasses to become Superman.
In addition to the negative social impacts, glasses also seriously hampered my athletic abilities. I’m sure I could have been a super-star athlete if I had perfect vision or wore contacts back then. I might have even been as good as Doug or Josh. But alas, it was not to be. Still, I was pretty active and my glasses were constantly falling off and breaking. I sweat a lot and when I would do anything physical I’d start to sweat, my face would get slippery, and my glasses would fly off at the most inopportune times—usually right before my big chance to make a perfect tackle or game winning jump-shot—and I would fail to achieve glory. That may be the reason I never became a pro athlete. The truth is I was an average athlete but having poor eyesight and greasy sweaty glasses didn’t help any.
I’m sure it got expensive replacing all the broken glasses. I doubt we had vision care insurance or replacement insurance. I remember being paranoid about my glasses and panicked when they got knocked off or broken. I think the classic nerd glasses with the tape on the bridge was patterned after me because it seem like I spent a lot of time with white athletic tape holding my glasses together until we could get new frames. I actually got pretty good at using scotch tape to fix my glasses because I thought that was less noticeable and I could still look cool (as much as a four-eyes can) in broken glasses. Then I discovered the little black strap that hooked onto glasses to keep them from falling off. I started using those and always kept one in my pocket so I could put it on when I did anything active or sweat inducing. But my friends quickly named it a “sissy strap” and I was back to being a nerd.
When I was in junior high I got a pair of unbreakable “athletic glasses.” The temples hooked around my ears to keep them from falling off and they had double hinges to keep the temples from breaking. They were a brilliant idea from a practical point of view—but they were the ugliest glasses ever invented. Wearing them was like wearing a huge sign that screamed “NERD!!!” in blinking neon letters. I kept them in my varsity locker and would put them on at the last minute and take them off as soon as possible after a game or match. As advertised, they never did break—I still have them today and wear them as part of a nerd costume when the occasion arises. [No Liz, not every day.] They worked pretty well for about a year when my eyesight got worse and distant vision was blurry when I wore them.
Then there was the time in the locker room after a high school football game. I was so blind without glasses and was so used to always wearing my glasses that I wore them into the showers once. One of my teammates yelled, “Hey Farrer, why are you wearing your glasses? You want to see me naked?” [and some other vulgar homophobic questions] to which I replied, “No, I’d need a magnifying glass for that.” The truth is that’s just what I wished I’d said, but he was bigger and meaner than me so I just laughed it off. But I didn’t wear my glasses in the showers again.
When we moved to Las Vegas I finally got to wear contacts. I got my super powers over women back! I was good looking and cool again. I was a man about town. Women couldn’t resist me! I wore contacts all through my mission years and I’m sure they were a key to my success. After a few years wearing contacts they were really irritating my eyes. My eyes were always sore, red , and dry and I would actually pull my nose hairs to make my eyes water so I could get a few minutes of relief. (They didn’t have eye drops you could use with contacts back then.) I went to my eye doctor and he told me I had two choices; I could go back to glasses or keep wearing contacts and slowly go blind.
So I wore glasses again for about ten years until we moved to Alaska. My eye doctor up there prescribed a new type of contact lens that allowed more oxygen to get to the eyes. They worked great and I was back to contacts for several years until we moved to Idaho. Then they started to bother my eyes again and as my eyes have aged I can’t focus on close objects without reading glasses. Wearing glasses and contacts at the same time seems bizarre to me (and ironic because I am very nearsighted). When it got to the point where I couldn’t read my computer screen and would have to pull one contact aside to read small print or look at photos, I decided enough is enough, and I’m back to wearing glasses.
I’m fine with glasses now. Nancy is stuck with me so my super powers don’t work on her anymore (and they could be dangerous to my health and happiness). I’m not nearly as active as I used to be and my glasses hardly ever fall off any more. My eye doctor has me in a pair of fancy trifocals without lines and rimless frames. I think they look pretty good (if I do say so myself) and I can see just fine at any distance. When I need to use my super-close-up-vision-powers I just take my glasses off and I can see fine details. But I’m very careful not to look any women in the eyes when I have my glasses off.
February 22, 2009
Flag Waving Racists?
Since when did not putting a flag out on a holiday become a racist political statement?
This past Monday I was at my desk hard at work when our receptionist came in my office and told me there was an angry woman on the phone who thinks the Boy Scouts are racists. Part of my job description is ‘complaint department’ and I get a fair amount of calls and visits from people who are mad about this that or the other.
I answered the call and listened to the lady’s complaint. The only time I could get a word in was when she had to pause to take a breath. “I’m outraged at the obvious bias and religious individualism of the Mormon troops in this town and I want to know why is it that the troop that had a fundraiser to put out flags on holidays did not put a single flag out in my neighborhood for Martin Luther King Day, they ought to be celebrating Civil Rights—especially the day before such an important and historic inauguration, the Scout troop put out flags for the Mormon Pioneer Day but not for MLK Day and I refused to pay for a flag and told them they need to stick with national holidays and not with a Mormon Church holiday, I am not from here I am from a big city and you would never see such blatant racism in big cities where everyone is open and accepting and celebrates diversity and acceptance of all people cultures and religions . . .”
At that point she had to breathe so I told her I agreed with her that the flags should be put up on all holidays. I was carefully trying to explain how the flag fundraisers worked. I told her that each Scouting unit selects their own fundraising projects and many LDS sponsored troops put up flags because they aren’t supposed to sell products door-to-door.
“They were selling flags door to door because they came to my door and tried to sell me a flag and when I saw that they were going to put out flags for the Mormon Pioneer Day I refused to pay for a flag and told them they need to stick with national holidays and not with a Mormon Church holiday . . .”
At another pause I was trying to explain that I think there is a very good explanation for why the Scouts had not put up flags yesterday but she insisted it was a political statement motivated by bigotry and racism. When I disagreed and failed to share her outrage she got mad and told me she was going to call the newspaper. She demanded that I give her the phone number for the National Boy Scout office. I gave her the number and she said, “I’m not being listened to!” and hung up on me.
A couple hours later I got a call from the reporter at our local paper who writes the weekly “You Asked For It” column and we had a good discussion. He told me he thought it was an odd question and he is going to have some fun with it. He said that when he drove to work that day he noticed that everyone in his neighborhood had put their trash out for the normal Monday pick-up, not realizing it was a holiday. He didn’t think everyone was making a political statement, they just forgot it was Martin Luther King Day.
Here is what he wrote:
Julie Zuck of Ammon had a great question for a curious journalist.
She wanted to know why local Boy Scout troops erect flags on every single holiday – including Pioneer Day – but not on Martin Luther King Day, which is a federal holiday celebrated Monday.
"Why do we have to be exclusive?” she asked. “Civil Rights Day is a very important day."
Those questions have all the elements of a great story: A powerful group, religion, exclusion and maybe – oh, maybe – a hint of racism.
Muckrakers worldwide salivate at just such a chance to shine the bright light of truth under the rock of old ideas and long-held prejudices.
Woodward and Bernstein watch out, this You Asked For It columnist was poised to take his place among the pantheon of great journalists.
That is, until Clarke Farrer, head of eastern Idaho’s Boy Scouts, drove a cold stake through our preconceptions.
“The ground is frozen and the kids can’t shove the rebar into the ground here in Idaho in the winter,” said Farrer, the head of the Grand Teton Boy Scout Council, which represents more than 21,000 scouts. “It is that simple.”
You see, the flags are affixed to pvc pipe, which is held to the ground with a stake of rebar. The ground is frozen and the rebar is too hard for an 11-year-old to push into the ground.
“In the winter, it ends up that the adults have to pound the rebar into the ground,” Farrer said. “Then they can’t get it out and it becomes a hazard. Not doing it in the winter is a matter of convenience.”
Farrer said planting flags on federal holidays is a Boy Scout fundraiser that is perfect for troops and packs sponsored by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The church doesn’t allow members to sell products door-to-door, but flags are seen as a community service that ties into the Boy Scout’s goal of promoting citizenship, he said.
“I don’t know of any other scout units that do this other than the LDS scout units,” said Farrer, who has been in scouting for 40 years at outposts from Idaho to Alaska.
He said Boy Scouts should honor Martin Luther King Day and pointed out that a flag flew Monday at his house.
Farrer also said he couldn’t believe any Scouts would be making a political statement.
“I am assuming that they didn’t sit around a smoke-filled room making the decision to ignore the holiday,” he said. “It may be insulting to her and others, but that is not the intent of the people who made the decision.”
So, there you have it. I’m sure Ms. Zuck isn’t too happy with the article or my explanation—but it’s the truth (Scout’s honor).
The article did generate one interesting online comment:
The funny thing is the Boy Scout flags were amazingly placed in that same frozen ground the following day for the inauguration. I think you were on to something with the racism, better keep investigating! -- birds
I asked around and no one I know saw any Scout flags up on Tuesday. (We put our flag up.)
Now I’m afraid that the troops will put the flags up for Presidents’ Day and make me a liar. The fact is we have over 100 units in town that could be putting up flags and they all use their own schedule and approach.
So if troops do put up flags for Presidents’ Day does that mean it’s a vast right-wing racist conspiracy?
There is a Portland attorney who is making a good living by suing the Boy Scouts and the LDS Church for sexual abuse that took place decades ago. I’m told that he made millions suing the Catholic Church for abuses committed by their pedophile priests and now that that income stream has dried up he has moved on to greener pastures.
There is an AP article in our local paper about three brothers from Sunnyvale, CA, who the attorney is representing in a new lawsuit against the LDS Church and the Boy Scouts. The article says, “The plaintiffs, identified only as John Does, claim they were molested hundreds of times by 65-year old William Eugene Knox, who married their mother while the abuse was taking place in Sunnyvale, Calif.” It goes on to say, “One of the plaintiffs was still a devout member of the church, and two have served as Scoutmasters. . . . [and] one was a former FBI agent.”
I have never understood how a “devout” or even a believing member of the LDS Church (or any church for that matter) could sue the Church for money. How can you sue a church if you believe it is the means of salvation? I suppose the Catholic Church could raise the same question but in the cases of pedophile priests that were protected and enabled by their superiors I can understand the outrage and desire for compensation. But in this case the abuser was the stepfather of the victims. How can they possibly impugn fault on the Church or the Boy Scouts for the actions of their stepfather?
The article said the “three brothers claim the church ignored their complaints about being molested by their Silicon Valley Boy Scout and Mormon youth leader in the 1970s and 1980s. These are men who believe in the best of these institutions and believe this kind of lawsuit can help improve these institutions and prevent child abuse.” I think that’s absurd. They can’t get any money from their abusive stepfather so, on the advice of their attorney (who by the way has eleven other lawsuits against the BSA pending), they are going after the deep pockets of the LDS Church and the Boy Scouts. I wonder, is there is a special place in hell for that kind of attorney—right next to the child molesters?
Super Nerd
I’ve worn glasses (or contacts) as long as I can remember. I don’t recall how old I was when I started wearing glasses but I still remember the trauma of suddenly becoming a “four-eyes” nerd. I was definitely in elementary school and I think it was when we lived in Sunnyvale, CA—so I would have been eight or nine.
I can remember getting bifocals when we lived in Freehold, NJ. (I would have been about twelve then.) I remember the crazy visual effect of the bifocals and I kept trying to step up because the bifocals made it look like there was always a step or hill in front of me. I’m sure I REALLY looked like a nerd in grandpa glasses and walking weird. The eye doctor had the crazy idea that bifocals might actually improve my vision. They didn't.
It took me a long time to realize that my eyes were my best feature—big brown pools that girls found irresistible. [A quick jump to my mission: (I was wearing contacts then.) My companion and I were tracting a street in a very wealthy neighborhood when a woman answered the door. I gave her my best door approach and with a hopeful look in my eyes I tried to will her into letting us in. (Picture the scene in Shrek 2 where Puss-In-Boots is holding his hat.) She smiled at me and said, “Not even those big beautiful brown eyes are going to get you into my home.” That’s when I realized the power of my eyes.] Now, back to childhood. I was so nearsighted that I had to wear very thick lenses. The optics of the lenses reduced the apparent size of my eyes and thus I lost my super-powers over females. I’m sure it’s for similar reasons that Clark Kent has to take off his glasses to become Superman.
In addition to the negative social impacts, glasses also seriously hampered my athletic abilities. I’m sure I could have been a super-star athlete if I had perfect vision or wore contacts back then. I might have even been as good as Doug or Josh. But alas, it was not to be. Still, I was pretty active and my glasses were constantly falling off and breaking. I sweat a lot and when I would do anything physical I’d start to sweat, my face would get slippery, and my glasses would fly off at the most inopportune times—usually right before my big chance to make a perfect tackle or game winning jump-shot—and I would fail to achieve glory. That may be the reason I never became a pro athlete. The truth is I was an average athlete but having poor eyesight and greasy sweaty glasses didn’t help any.
I’m sure it got expensive replacing all the broken glasses. I doubt we had vision care insurance or replacement insurance. I remember being paranoid about my glasses and panicked when they got knocked off or broken. I think the classic nerd glasses with the tape on the bridge was patterned after me because it seem like I spent a lot of time with white athletic tape holding my glasses together until we could get new frames. I actually got pretty good at using scotch tape to fix my glasses because I thought that was less noticeable and I could still look cool (as much as a four-eyes can) in broken glasses. Then I discovered the little black strap that hooked onto glasses to keep them from falling off. I started using those and always kept one in my pocket so I could put it on when I did anything active or sweat inducing. But my friends quickly named it a “sissy strap” and I was back to being a nerd.
When I was in junior high I got a pair of unbreakable “athletic glasses.” The temples hooked around my ears to keep them from falling off and they had double hinges to keep the temples from breaking. They were a brilliant idea from a practical point of view—but they were the ugliest glasses ever invented. Wearing them was like wearing a huge sign that screamed “NERD!!!” in blinking neon letters. I kept them in my varsity locker and would put them on at the last minute and take them off as soon as possible after a game or match. As advertised, they never did break—I still have them today and wear them as part of a nerd costume when the occasion arises. [No Liz, not every day.] They worked pretty well for about a year when my eyesight got worse and distant vision was blurry when I wore them.
Then there was the time in the locker room after a high school football game. I was so blind without glasses and was so used to always wearing my glasses that I wore them into the showers once. One of my teammates yelled, “Hey Farrer, why are you wearing your glasses? You want to see me naked?” [and some other vulgar homophobic questions] to which I replied, “No, I’d need a magnifying glass for that.” The truth is that’s just what I wished I’d said, but he was bigger and meaner than me so I just laughed it off. But I didn’t wear my glasses in the showers again.
When we moved to Las Vegas I finally got to wear contacts. I got my super powers over women back! I was good looking and cool again. I was a man about town. Women couldn’t resist me! I wore contacts all through my mission years and I’m sure they were a key to my success. After a few years wearing contacts they were really irritating my eyes. My eyes were always sore, red , and dry and I would actually pull my nose hairs to make my eyes water so I could get a few minutes of relief. (They didn’t have eye drops you could use with contacts back then.) I went to my eye doctor and he told me I had two choices; I could go back to glasses or keep wearing contacts and slowly go blind.
So I wore glasses again for about ten years until we moved to Alaska. My eye doctor up there prescribed a new type of contact lens that allowed more oxygen to get to the eyes. They worked great and I was back to contacts for several years until we moved to Idaho. Then they started to bother my eyes again and as my eyes have aged I can’t focus on close objects without reading glasses. Wearing glasses and contacts at the same time seems bizarre to me (and ironic because I am very nearsighted). When it got to the point where I couldn’t read my computer screen and would have to pull one contact aside to read small print or look at photos, I decided enough is enough, and I’m back to wearing glasses.
I’m fine with glasses now. Nancy is stuck with me so my super powers don’t work on her anymore (and they could be dangerous to my health and happiness). I’m not nearly as active as I used to be and my glasses hardly ever fall off any more. My eye doctor has me in a pair of fancy trifocals without lines and rimless frames. I think they look pretty good (if I do say so myself) and I can see just fine at any distance. When I need to use my super-close-up-vision-powers I just take my glasses off and I can see fine details. But I’m very careful not to look any women in the eyes when I have my glasses off.
February 22, 2009
Flag Waving Racists?
Since when did not putting a flag out on a holiday become a racist political statement?
This past Monday I was at my desk hard at work when our receptionist came in my office and told me there was an angry woman on the phone who thinks the Boy Scouts are racists. Part of my job description is ‘complaint department’ and I get a fair amount of calls and visits from people who are mad about this that or the other.
I answered the call and listened to the lady’s complaint. The only time I could get a word in was when she had to pause to take a breath. “I’m outraged at the obvious bias and religious individualism of the Mormon troops in this town and I want to know why is it that the troop that had a fundraiser to put out flags on holidays did not put a single flag out in my neighborhood for Martin Luther King Day, they ought to be celebrating Civil Rights—especially the day before such an important and historic inauguration, the Scout troop put out flags for the Mormon Pioneer Day but not for MLK Day and I refused to pay for a flag and told them they need to stick with national holidays and not with a Mormon Church holiday, I am not from here I am from a big city and you would never see such blatant racism in big cities where everyone is open and accepting and celebrates diversity and acceptance of all people cultures and religions . . .”
At that point she had to breathe so I told her I agreed with her that the flags should be put up on all holidays. I was carefully trying to explain how the flag fundraisers worked. I told her that each Scouting unit selects their own fundraising projects and many LDS sponsored troops put up flags because they aren’t supposed to sell products door-to-door.
“They were selling flags door to door because they came to my door and tried to sell me a flag and when I saw that they were going to put out flags for the Mormon Pioneer Day I refused to pay for a flag and told them they need to stick with national holidays and not with a Mormon Church holiday . . .”
At another pause I was trying to explain that I think there is a very good explanation for why the Scouts had not put up flags yesterday but she insisted it was a political statement motivated by bigotry and racism. When I disagreed and failed to share her outrage she got mad and told me she was going to call the newspaper. She demanded that I give her the phone number for the National Boy Scout office. I gave her the number and she said, “I’m not being listened to!” and hung up on me.
A couple hours later I got a call from the reporter at our local paper who writes the weekly “You Asked For It” column and we had a good discussion. He told me he thought it was an odd question and he is going to have some fun with it. He said that when he drove to work that day he noticed that everyone in his neighborhood had put their trash out for the normal Monday pick-up, not realizing it was a holiday. He didn’t think everyone was making a political statement, they just forgot it was Martin Luther King Day.
Here is what he wrote:
Julie Zuck of Ammon had a great question for a curious journalist.
She wanted to know why local Boy Scout troops erect flags on every single holiday – including Pioneer Day – but not on Martin Luther King Day, which is a federal holiday celebrated Monday.
"Why do we have to be exclusive?” she asked. “Civil Rights Day is a very important day."
Those questions have all the elements of a great story: A powerful group, religion, exclusion and maybe – oh, maybe – a hint of racism.
Muckrakers worldwide salivate at just such a chance to shine the bright light of truth under the rock of old ideas and long-held prejudices.
Woodward and Bernstein watch out, this You Asked For It columnist was poised to take his place among the pantheon of great journalists.
That is, until Clarke Farrer, head of eastern Idaho’s Boy Scouts, drove a cold stake through our preconceptions.
“The ground is frozen and the kids can’t shove the rebar into the ground here in Idaho in the winter,” said Farrer, the head of the Grand Teton Boy Scout Council, which represents more than 21,000 scouts. “It is that simple.”
You see, the flags are affixed to pvc pipe, which is held to the ground with a stake of rebar. The ground is frozen and the rebar is too hard for an 11-year-old to push into the ground.
“In the winter, it ends up that the adults have to pound the rebar into the ground,” Farrer said. “Then they can’t get it out and it becomes a hazard. Not doing it in the winter is a matter of convenience.”
Farrer said planting flags on federal holidays is a Boy Scout fundraiser that is perfect for troops and packs sponsored by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The church doesn’t allow members to sell products door-to-door, but flags are seen as a community service that ties into the Boy Scout’s goal of promoting citizenship, he said.
“I don’t know of any other scout units that do this other than the LDS scout units,” said Farrer, who has been in scouting for 40 years at outposts from Idaho to Alaska.
He said Boy Scouts should honor Martin Luther King Day and pointed out that a flag flew Monday at his house.
Farrer also said he couldn’t believe any Scouts would be making a political statement.
“I am assuming that they didn’t sit around a smoke-filled room making the decision to ignore the holiday,” he said. “It may be insulting to her and others, but that is not the intent of the people who made the decision.”
So, there you have it. I’m sure Ms. Zuck isn’t too happy with the article or my explanation—but it’s the truth (Scout’s honor).
The article did generate one interesting online comment:
The funny thing is the Boy Scout flags were amazingly placed in that same frozen ground the following day for the inauguration. I think you were on to something with the racism, better keep investigating! -- birds
I asked around and no one I know saw any Scout flags up on Tuesday. (We put our flag up.)
Now I’m afraid that the troops will put the flags up for Presidents’ Day and make me a liar. The fact is we have over 100 units in town that could be putting up flags and they all use their own schedule and approach.
So if troops do put up flags for Presidents’ Day does that mean it’s a vast right-wing racist conspiracy?
Oct 14, 2008
How 'bout them Apples?
Almost everywhere we have lived we have had apple trees in our yard. I'm not sure why. I guess we like apples, or at least houses with apple trees. We had three apple trees in Pleasant Grove, ten apple trees in El Paso, (none in Alaska), and we have two trees in our Idaho Falls yard--a Golden Delicious and a Gala (I think).The weatherman was predicting below freezing weather over the weekend so we decided it was time to harvest our apples. We invited our neighbors over to take as many apples as they wanted and they picked about two bushels. Saturday morning Nancy went to work on the Golden Delicious tree, which looked more like green delicious and was heavily loaded with fruit. By the time I got home to help she was about done. I climbed up the tree and picked the fruit on the highest branches. The cold and snow added a nice fall feeling to the day.
After we finished the first tree I went to work on the Gala tree. It has some kind of fungus problem and didn't produce near as many apples as the other tree. The trees were badly overgrown when we bought the house and I did a two-year pruning project to bring them back under control. We only got about one bushel from the Gala tree but the other tree more than made up for the shortage.So, for the past week Nancy has been busy canning apples. She has forty quarts of apple pie filling, a dozen jars of apple jam, and is now working on applesauce. We are only half way though our crop of apples. She ran out of canning jars and can't find any more for sale anywhere in town. She just worked trade with a neighbor for two-dozen quart jars in trade for a bag of apples.
We still have plenty of apples, so if you want to come over and get some you are more than welcome. Just bring your own jars.
Oct 13, 2008
Punkin'head
For as long as I can remember the Farrers have been carving pumpkins at Halloween time. I can remember as kids we would go to pumpkin patches and we were allowed to pick our own pumpkin. The rule used to be "if you can carry it you can have it." That worked until I was a teenage athlete and could carry a pumpkin that weighed more than I did. Even in the days of dirt-cheap pumpkins that one broke the bank. Dad was a good sport and let me buy it anyway. When I got it home and started to carve it I had to about climb inside to clean it out. It took the full reach of my arm to reach the bottom.
On Saturday Dan, Sarah, Amanda, and Derek came over and spent the better part of the day with us. I was busy installing baseboards in Shawn's room and by the time I finished the kids had gone out and bought five big pumpkins and were ready to start carving them.
Over the years we have progressed in our carving skills from the basic circle and triangle shapes to more advanced shapes and techniques.
On Saturday Dan, Sarah, Amanda, and Derek came over and spent the better part of the day with us. I was busy installing baseboards in Shawn's room and by the time I finished the kids had gone out and bought five big pumpkins and were ready to start carving them.
Over the years we have progressed in our carving skills from the basic circle and triangle shapes to more advanced shapes and techniques.
Sarah got her inspiration from a "How are you feeling today?" chart we have had for years. It has thirty cartoon faces depicting different emotions. She picked "Hysterical."
Amanda went with type casting and carved a singing pumpkin.
A pumpkin singing very loud.
I carved a pumpkin with two faces—a boy and a girl—in love with each other. It's the best I could do on short notice.
Dan went with his favorite superhero and carved the Batman logo on his pumpkin.
Derek cheated and went to the Internet and found a website (carvingpumpkins.com) that had dozens of patterns to choose from. He chose Gollum and started carving. It took him all night and part of the next day but the finished product was amazing. It takes pumpkin carving to a whole new level. It also raises the bar for the rest of us mere mortals.
And what about Nancy? Well, she is carving impaired—or so she thinks. As the family advanced in our carving skills she tried to keep up but kept messing up her creations. Several years ago she got tired of us laughing at her masterpieces and quit carving altogether.
I think the world is a lesser place because of it.
Oct 8, 2008
50s Blues
Nancy’s surprise birthday present worked out wonderfully. We drove to SLC for a Boy Scout art show/reception that was held in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building downtown. Derek and Amanda went with us. (We later dropped them off at the airport. They flew from SLC to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and then got on cruise ship to the Bahamas. Derek earned the trip as a bonus for his summer job.)
The art show featured original paintings by Norman Rockwell and Joseph Csatari. We arrived at 5:30 and found out that the First Presidency came at 4:15 and visited with the early birds. I felt like one of the foolish virgins who arrived late for the wedding feast. After the reception we went upstairs to the Legacy Theater and watched the "Joseph Smith, the Prophet" movie. It was excellent and we all felt the Spirit testifying that Joseph Smith is a prophet.
The next day (Friday) Nancy wanted to return to Idaho but I convinced her to spend another day in Utah. She had the great idea of going up to Park City. We had not been there in years and we spent a wonderful day together. It was a beautiful fall day and we had great fun riding the Alpine Slide and the Alpine Coaster—we laughed our heads off. We drove back to Salt Lake and had a birthday dinner at Benihana’s with Nancy’s parents. I tried to get Nancy to stay up and watch the BYU vs. Utah State football game with me but she is old now and the busy day had worn her out and she went to bed early.
I stayed up reading until her birthday presents arrived. My brother Doug had been out of town on a business trip and flew in at about 11:PM. Stacey was there to pick him up and they waited for Clarke and Bethany to arrive at about 11:30. They all came to the Davises together. I took Benjamin and slipped him into bed with Nancy and started quietly singing “Happy Birthday.” She woke up from a dead sleep and at first she was startled and confused but then she saw Clarke and realized what was going on. Then she started to cry—good tears. It was a sweet reunion and Benjamin is perfect.
After things settled down (~1:AM) Doug and Stacey took Clarke and Bethany to a hotel downtown and then went home. (A thousand Thank Yous! You guys are always there for us.) The next morning we watched Conference with the Davises and then Mom Davis served us a nice lunch. We then drove up to Idaho Falls—listening to Conference on the way. We arrived home and Dan and Sarah were there to meet us. The two Farrer cousins got to meet each other and we all compared babies. Wyatt is bigger, Benjamin is quieter, and they are both unbelievably cute!
Having our kids together and meeting Benjamin helped Nancy get over the 50s Blues.
The art show featured original paintings by Norman Rockwell and Joseph Csatari. We arrived at 5:30 and found out that the First Presidency came at 4:15 and visited with the early birds. I felt like one of the foolish virgins who arrived late for the wedding feast. After the reception we went upstairs to the Legacy Theater and watched the "Joseph Smith, the Prophet" movie. It was excellent and we all felt the Spirit testifying that Joseph Smith is a prophet.
The next day (Friday) Nancy wanted to return to Idaho but I convinced her to spend another day in Utah. She had the great idea of going up to Park City. We had not been there in years and we spent a wonderful day together. It was a beautiful fall day and we had great fun riding the Alpine Slide and the Alpine Coaster—we laughed our heads off. We drove back to Salt Lake and had a birthday dinner at Benihana’s with Nancy’s parents. I tried to get Nancy to stay up and watch the BYU vs. Utah State football game with me but she is old now and the busy day had worn her out and she went to bed early.
I stayed up reading until her birthday presents arrived. My brother Doug had been out of town on a business trip and flew in at about 11:PM. Stacey was there to pick him up and they waited for Clarke and Bethany to arrive at about 11:30. They all came to the Davises together. I took Benjamin and slipped him into bed with Nancy and started quietly singing “Happy Birthday.” She woke up from a dead sleep and at first she was startled and confused but then she saw Clarke and realized what was going on. Then she started to cry—good tears. It was a sweet reunion and Benjamin is perfect.
After things settled down (~1:AM) Doug and Stacey took Clarke and Bethany to a hotel downtown and then went home. (A thousand Thank Yous! You guys are always there for us.) The next morning we watched Conference with the Davises and then Mom Davis served us a nice lunch. We then drove up to Idaho Falls—listening to Conference on the way. We arrived home and Dan and Sarah were there to meet us. The two Farrer cousins got to meet each other and we all compared babies. Wyatt is bigger, Benjamin is quieter, and they are both unbelievably cute!
We spent Sunday watching Conference and holding babies. Bethany’s brother and his family came over for dinner and we had a houseful. It was a great weekend. On Monday morning I drove Clarke and Bethany back down to Salt Lake to catch their flight back to Houston. That night I picked up Derek and Amanda at the airport and drove them home. It made for a nineteen-hour day—most of it driving. They had a great time on their cruise and came back with lots of great photos and sunburns. You’ll have to check out their blog for more details.
Having our kids together and meeting Benjamin helped Nancy get over the 50s Blues.
Oct 1, 2008
The Farrers are in mourning. Well, Nancy is in mourning, I’ve gotten over it. Today is Nancy’s last day of being forty-something. Tomorrow she’s officially old.
I have been officially old for half a year now and am starting to get used to it. Nancy has been having great fun (at my expense) ever since I started receiving mail from AARP. Last week her first AARP letter arrived and all of a sudden it wasn’t so funny anymore.On Sunday we had a Birthday Wake for her. The kids came down from Rexburg and we had a nice dinner in the backyard.
She has another present coming but I didn’t think of it soon enough so it won’t arrive until after her birthday. More about that later—I don’t want to spoil the surprise.
So, send Nancy a sympathy card (or email or text) and let her know you love her and her life is only half over.
Here's a new photo of Benjamin in his Sunday best.
Sep 25, 2008
Can You Canoe?
We had a fun day on Saturday. Amanda and Derek asked me to take them fishing and teach Derek how to fly fish. Then one of my camp directors, Dan Deakin, asked if I wanted to go canoeing with him on the Henry's Fork of the Snake River. We floated the Box Canyon section of the river in rafts about a month ago and both agreed it was pretty tame for rafts but would be a fun trip in canoes. Henry’s Fork drains the Island Park valley (it’s actually a huge volcanic caldera west of Yellowstone) and is only a few miles from Island Park Scout Camp.
I asked Amanda and Derek if they wanted to go canoeing in the morning and then fish in the afternoon and they said that sounded great. In the end eight of us went canoeing. The group included four canoes with two people in each canoe; Dan and Sarah (Nancy babysat Wyatt), Amanda and Derek, Tiffany and Ann Marie (two of Sarah's friends), with Dan Deakin and me in the fourth canoe. The day started off cold and rainy but by the time we were loaded and ready to get on the river the weather had cleared up and it looked like a beautiful day.
After about two hours of easy paddling another storm was growing on the horizon so we started paddling hard to beat the storm. This was a big dark thunderstorm with lots of thunder and lightning. We were almost to the takeout when the storm hit. Dan and I were only in the storm for a few minutes before we got to the takeout where Nancy and Wyatt were waiting for us. Nancy drove us back to the start to get the other vehicles and canoe trailer. We drove back as fast as we could and by the time we arrived everyone else was off the river and looking like wet cats in the rain. Dan and Sarah had gotten broadside to the wind and were blown over and their canoe swamped. Sarah was wet, cold, and mad. Derek and Dan had to portage the last two canoes off the river because the storm was blowing so hard it was impossible to paddle against the wind.
Nancy, Sarah, and Sarah's friends drove back to Rexburg while the rest of us took the canoes back to the camp. By the time we had them unloaded and stored the storm had passed so we spent an hour fly-fishing on the camp lake. But the normally plentiful fish were all hiding (I think the storm scared them) and there were no fish to be seen or caught. So we headed back to Rexburg and stopped at Big Judd's in Ashton for dinner on the way. (Big Judd’s is famous for their “Big Pig” meal of a 5-pound hamburger and a pound of fries. If you can finish it off you get your picture hung on the wall.)
It was a crazy day but we all had fun—except Sarah at the very end. She was a good sport about it though.
I asked Amanda and Derek if they wanted to go canoeing in the morning and then fish in the afternoon and they said that sounded great. In the end eight of us went canoeing. The group included four canoes with two people in each canoe; Dan and Sarah (Nancy babysat Wyatt), Amanda and Derek, Tiffany and Ann Marie (two of Sarah's friends), with Dan Deakin and me in the fourth canoe. The day started off cold and rainy but by the time we were loaded and ready to get on the river the weather had cleared up and it looked like a beautiful day.
We put in just below the dam that forms the Island Park Reservoir and did a little canoeing practice. The worst rapids are right after the put-in and I wanted to be sure everyone could steer well enough to get through the rapids safely. The only canoe that had a problem was ours. Dan had offered to take the stern and steer so I could fish. I have done a fair amount of canoeing over the years but I cannot recall the last time I took the bow—I’m always the stern-man. A guided drift boat had stopped right in the middle of the rapids and we ran smack into them. It was pretty embarrassing. There was plenty of room on either side but we managed to hit them anyway. (A sincere apology to the drift boaters whoever and wherever you are.)
The first part of the river was fairly swift and I helped paddle instead of fishing. Just as it started to slow down and I was thinking about getting my fly rod ready a storm blew up and it started raining on us. We all got wet and cold but fortunately we were close to a take out spot at Last Chance. The storm passed quickly and we had a picnic lunch while we all dried off. Everyone decided to canoe the next part of the river because the weather was beautiful again. We all got back in the canoes and set off for the second half of our adventure. This time I fished almost the whole time but never got a strike. Henry’s Fork is a World Class fly-fishing river but I’m not a World Class fly fisherman. The stretch of the river from Last Chance to the Osborne Bridge was wide and slow—almost boring in a canoe—but breathtakingly beautiful.
The people in the other three canoes decided to entertain themselves by gathering clumps of seaweed. Then they decided our canoe was too clean so they surrounded us and bombarded us with stinky slimy seaweed. I'm not sure what we did to deserve that but they had fun doing it. Dan and I paddled hard and outran their attack.
The only challenging parts of that portion of the river were two sets of rapids by bridges that cross the river. There was an old canoe wrapped around one of the piers of the first bridge. Someone missed the gap and hit the bridge footing broadside and the water pressure wrapped the canoe around the footing like a bumper on a car.
After about two hours of easy paddling another storm was growing on the horizon so we started paddling hard to beat the storm. This was a big dark thunderstorm with lots of thunder and lightning. We were almost to the takeout when the storm hit. Dan and I were only in the storm for a few minutes before we got to the takeout where Nancy and Wyatt were waiting for us. Nancy drove us back to the start to get the other vehicles and canoe trailer. We drove back as fast as we could and by the time we arrived everyone else was off the river and looking like wet cats in the rain. Dan and Sarah had gotten broadside to the wind and were blown over and their canoe swamped. Sarah was wet, cold, and mad. Derek and Dan had to portage the last two canoes off the river because the storm was blowing so hard it was impossible to paddle against the wind.
Nancy, Sarah, and Sarah's friends drove back to Rexburg while the rest of us took the canoes back to the camp. By the time we had them unloaded and stored the storm had passed so we spent an hour fly-fishing on the camp lake. But the normally plentiful fish were all hiding (I think the storm scared them) and there were no fish to be seen or caught. So we headed back to Rexburg and stopped at Big Judd's in Ashton for dinner on the way. (Big Judd’s is famous for their “Big Pig” meal of a 5-pound hamburger and a pound of fries. If you can finish it off you get your picture hung on the wall.)
It was a crazy day but we all had fun—except Sarah at the very end. She was a good sport about it though.
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