For the next couple of blog entries I am going to return to the spirit of some of my earlier blogs about growing up in Pocatello and tell about some of my high school experiences.
THE GREAT SPEECH
I was always rather shy, something did not bother me much until I reached 9th grade. It was then that I noticed that girls were not much attracted to shy guys--or at least, so it seemed to me. My father was a lawyer and seemed not shy at all. I determined that it must have been the fact that he was a good public speaker that got him over any shyness he may have had, so I determined to become a good public speaker. Hence, I began to volunteer to give talks in Church, took a speech class in high school, and entered a couple of speech contests. By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I rated myself as a pretty good public speaker.
Like all sophomores at Poky High, I was required to take a biology class. There were two biology teachers--Mr. Whitmore, who was considered a biology fanatic, and Mr. Glendiman, who was considered, when he was considered at all, a pushover. Fortunately, not being much interested in biology anyway, I drew Mr. Glendiman. Mr. Glendiman was an elderly man, large of stature, but very leisurely of habit, and very--even extremely— short of sight. He had glasses whose lenses resembled the proverbial coke-bottle bottoms more than any others I have ever seen. His easy-going nature and his near-sighedness resulted in his being taken advantage of most terribly, I thought. He would take the role at the beginning of the class, but shortly thereafter many of the students would reseat themselves toward the back of the room and then when he had his back turned writing on the board, simply leave class. Later, if he called on someone who had left, a friend would call out, "He got sick" or " she had to go to the office", or, more often than not there would be no response at all. I doubt that it was as bad in his other classes as it was in mine, but since ours was the last class of the day, there was an irresistable temptation for many in the class to get away from school early. Mr. Glendiman knew, of course, what was going on more than most of the class members gave him credit for, but I think he felt that he was about to retire and it was not worth making a great fuss about if some class members decided to sneak out. Of course, if he called on them and they didn’t respond, then they simply lost class participation credit.
Mr. Glendiman decided that the best way to cover our section on conservation would be to assign class members to give a five minute verbal presentation on any aspect of the subject they chose and hope that the class members would choose enough diverse topics that we would get a good over-view of the subject. He gave us an entire week to prepare our presentations, but the whole thing totally slipped my mind until I was sitting in geometry class--the class I had before my biology class. At first I was in a state of shock, bordering on panic, but shortly a calming wave of rationilization swept over me. "I’m a really experienced public speaker," I assured myself. "I’ll just wing it. I will simply wax eloquent on the tragedy of the disappearing buffalo and explain how a good conservation program would have prevented the tragedy." With my speech thus adequaltely prepared I allowed my mind to return to the complexities of geometry.
As I actually entered Mr. Glendiman’s class I became a bit nervous about my presentation and was, therefore, relieved to discover that he intended to spend the first part of the period finishing a previous unit. After he had taken role--there were, as usual, many students absent, but no non-responses, since friends of the truants responded "here". I delayed the speeches as much as I dared by asking several questions, but finally, about half=way through the class period, Mr. Glendiman said, "I think that we’ve covered that unit enough. Now let’s begin with your speeches."
It actually looked like I might be given a reprieve, because the very first girl he called on actually had a speech prepared. It was a sort of capsule history of Yellowstone Park. It was short of the required five minutes, but it obviously had been prepared in advance because she read it verbatim. He then called on several others, who either responded with "Not prepared" or failed to respond altogether. I became very nervous as he was getting very close to my name. Just before me, however, was Ralph Harper. Ralph was, next to myself, the most diligent student in the class, which, in that class, meant that he was prepared about half the time. I expected, therefore, that he would be prepared, but I was in for a surprise--not only was he prepared, but he was prepared like a law student facing his first real jury. He had charts, pictures, graphs, and a speech so well rehearsed that it sounded like he was entering a contest. Suddenly, my planned harangue on the disappearing buffalo palled into insignificance and I prayed fervently that I might be given a day’s grace in which to prepare.
To my relief, he skipped over my name. Obviously, I was to be the grand finale, but since there was only about five minutes left in the class, I felt a surge of gratitude and relief. Surely, even in that class there would be at least one other person prepared.
No such luck. Mr. Glendiman read through the entire rest of the role with no takers. He layed down the role and said, "Well, that’s it. We’ll now hear from Merrill. We know he’s prepared."
Trying to look as confident as possible, I walked to the front of the room and launched into my speech. "We all know how terribly important conservation is," I began. "A tragic example of the lack of an adequate conservation program can be seen in the buffalo, which, due to lack of conservation, is almost extinct."
With a shock, I realized that I had just delivered the prepared part of my speech. The rest went something like this. "We used to have buffalo everywhere in this country--especially on the plains, but even in the mountains and other places too, but what happened? People starting killing buffalo right and left. They should have known that they needed a conservation program to save the buffalo, but they didn’t and now we hardly have any buffalo."
I paused as if to let this terrible truth sink in. What I was actually doing was hoping for some kind of inspiration. It came in the form of a book title I had seen my grandfather reading. "Most of you have heard of Zane Grey’s book--or possibly you saw the movie, "The Thundering Herd". Why did that herd thunder? Because there were thousands--probably millions of buffalo thundering and thundering." Of course, I had neither read the book or seen the movie--if there was a movie--so I had no idea if the thundering herd refered to horses, cattle, or even goats, but I hoped that it was refering to buffalo or that everyone in the class--especially, Mr. Glendiman, didn’t know either. "And," I continued with an increasing tone of desperation in my voice, "why did we need all those buffalo? I’ll tell you why. People depended on them for food and clothes. A hungry Indian would put his ear to the ground and hear the millions of buffalo thundering thundering toward him and he knew he would have food and a new buffalo robe and buffalo skin for his tepee and he would smile. But now what does he do? Because we had no conservation program, he cries. When was the last time you saw a tepee made from buffalo skins? And why? Because just at the time when we needed a conservation program we didn’t have one." I paused again, mostly because my voice was getting as high pitched as the top of the buffalo-skin tepee.
I was about to throw in the towel when I suddenly got a flash of inspiration. "Not only the buffalo, but the passenger pigeon and some kind of wild duck. Buffalo, passenger pigeons and special kinds of wild duck were common in this country. You saw them everywhere--on every prairie, on every mountainside, almost in every town and even on the streets. And what do we have now? Not a buffalo, not even a passenger pigeon or a wild duck in sight.There were plenty of them to enjoy and everyone loved having them around, but they’re all gone now. And why? We just didn’t have the conservation program we needed in time to save the passenger pigeon, the wild duck and, above all, the buffalo."
At that point the bell rang and never was a sound so welcome. "I’m afraid you’ll have to stop," Mr. Glendiman interjected. Then hastily added, "The three who gave their presentations get "A"’s the rest of you fail the assignment. Class dismissed."
I dived for my desk, grabbed my books and bee-lined as fast as I could out of the class and out the front door. I headed for the most secluded spot I could find--behind the gym building, hoping that no one would see me. I sat down to pein away the time until the bus came, wondering how I was ever going to face my classmates again. I was sitting there brooding, when a familiar voice sounded behind me. "Say that was a pretty good speech." I turned to see that Ralph Harper had followed me to my spot of seclusion.
"It didn’t sound too bad?" I asked hoping that it might not have been as bad as I thought.
"Didn’t sound bad at all." He reassured me. He paused for a moment to let his assurance sink in, then he added, "And you sure were right about one thing."
"Oh yeah? What was that," I asked hopefully.
He raised his hand to his forehead as though he were a hunter scanning the horizon, "Not a buffalo in sight." With that he laughed and ran off leaving me all the more to wonder how I was ever going to face my classmates again.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Romance--Epilogue
Epilogue.
It was my parents 40th wedding anniversary party. They had moved to Salt Lake just a month or so before. In fact, shortly after we moved into our house, Dad had parked his motor home in our driveway and lived there until Mom could sell their house in California.
I remember the party so vividly because it was the first one I had really enjoyed in years. Always before, I had felt like ‘odd man out" as I would look at my siblings with their spouses and children, but now I had my own wife--the most beautiful of the lot and I felt a feeling of sweet contentment.
Many years later, I was working for a fellow with a wonderful collection of Mormon books. Among them I found a history of the Ensign Stake. I looked through it and there I was shocked to see the name of the current (at the time of publication of the history) of the 5th ward, Carl Okleberry, with a picture of his family. I began to weep silently as I gazed at the picture--a handsome young man with a beautiful wife and 5 angelic looking boys. I felt almost as if his loss of life had given me the courage to get my own. As a I looked at the picture and remembered how much of a push it had been for me to ask Shauna to marry me, I muttered silently, "Thank you, Carl Okleberry."
It was my parents 40th wedding anniversary party. They had moved to Salt Lake just a month or so before. In fact, shortly after we moved into our house, Dad had parked his motor home in our driveway and lived there until Mom could sell their house in California.
I remember the party so vividly because it was the first one I had really enjoyed in years. Always before, I had felt like ‘odd man out" as I would look at my siblings with their spouses and children, but now I had my own wife--the most beautiful of the lot and I felt a feeling of sweet contentment.
Many years later, I was working for a fellow with a wonderful collection of Mormon books. Among them I found a history of the Ensign Stake. I looked through it and there I was shocked to see the name of the current (at the time of publication of the history) of the 5th ward, Carl Okleberry, with a picture of his family. I began to weep silently as I gazed at the picture--a handsome young man with a beautiful wife and 5 angelic looking boys. I felt almost as if his loss of life had given me the courage to get my own. As a I looked at the picture and remembered how much of a push it had been for me to ask Shauna to marry me, I muttered silently, "Thank you, Carl Okleberry."
Romance--X Our Wedding Night
X. Our wedding night; in which I explain why I have never written a best-selling book.
Every now and then someone will suggest that I should write a book. This, I feel is an excellent suggestion. I’m sure I would be very good at it, having gotten an "A" in penmanship in Mrs. Rowe’s 3rd grade class. But there is a real snag. If I were to go all the trouble of writing a book, I would, of course, want it to be a bestseller. The problem is that the bestsellers are always about--well, to be perfectly blunt, after all, we are living in the up-to-date age--well they are about, well, to be perfectly candid, they are about the thing that almost rhymes with the 6th letter in the numbering system--you know, the one between 5 and 7. I have no doubt that I could write a very interesting, very informative and most helpful book on that subject, except for one small problem. I know almost nothing about it. The reason for this woeful lack of information is what I am about to relate--and it is a very sad story indeed.
I was sitting in Priesthood meeting--as I always did on Sunday morning since being ordained a Deacon, but at the time about which I write I was a Priest, i.e. considerably advanced in age and in outlook from the time I first began sitting in Priesthood meeting on Sunday morning. I was thinking about such uplifting topics as what my mother would likely be serving for lunch, when our Bishop, Bishop Chester Dorsey, (we Priests, because we felt we were close to him and could be more informal when we talked with him called him by his first name--"Bishop", except my friend Richard, of course, who called him "Dad"), after first dismissing the Deacons--and you will be able to figure out why he dismissed the Deacons when I tell you the topic, which I will do about 3 pages from now--announced that the Teachers and Priests would have a special guest speaker, Dr. Lloyd Call.
We all knew of Dr. Call, of course, and admired--or more correctly, envied him, the reason being that he was married to Beverly Call. Although, she seemed a bit too old for us personally to have married her (she was probably 9 or 10 years our senior but at Priest’s age that is like a couple of generations removed), we all hoped to marry someone like her. Beverly was the Pocatello equivalent of Jeannette MacDonald, that is, she was very attractive and could sing, although, unlike Jeanette, who went in more for Hammerstein and Herbert, Beverly was more into Verdi and Wagner. In Pocatello, at least it seemed to me, that most ladies who could sing Wagner, tended to look like, well, like Wagner.
At any rate, we all respected Dr. Call. We could visualize him coming home after a hard day’s work of separating innocent children from their tonsils and saying, "Honey, I’m really tired. I need something to pick me up." To which Mrs. Call would reply, "Sure thing, dear, I know just the thing. I’ll sing you an aria from Madame Butterfly."
"No, no." We could hear him protesting. "I’m not up to Madame Butterfly tonight." To which she would respond, "I have it!" She would then don a grass skirt and sing Annette Funicello’s latest hit, "Pineapple Princess" (in, of course, her best Wagnerian style--a sort of Class with Grass). (As an aside, I just wanted to point out that I thought of that, i.e. "Class with Grass" all by myself which proves that if I did write a book it would be loaded with all kinds of clever tid bits like that one).
But as I mentioned, we all admired Dr. Call and were, therefore, impressed that Bishop Dorsey could get him to speak, since he wasn’t in our ward, or for that matter, even in our Stake. (As another aside, this may come as a surprise, but back in those days Pocatello actually had more than one Stake--in fact, it had several--a condition that I doubt exits today, because we were constantly being admonished to leave the world behind us, which most people in Pocatello interpreted to mean that as soon as you possibly could somehow manage it, you should move north to Idaho Falls or Rexburg or south to Logan or Provo.)
Bishop Dorsey then announced that Dr. Call would be speaking to us on the subject of "the birds and the bees". The announcement of that subject brought both relief and excitement to me.
It brought relief because all too often medical doctors--even speaking in Church--tend to wax professional. Of course, if they confine this professional carrying on to the sniping of tonsils, it didn’t much bother me; since having been separated from mine at an early age, I didn’t take the talk personally. But all too often they would get carried away and start talking in a most unseemly manner about kidneys, livers, hearts, and worst of all, blood. As soon as any discussion began drifting in that direction I could prevent a most horrible attack of nausea by only two methods. The preferred method was to stick my fingers firmly in my ears and lay my head on my desk. If that was too embarrassing, I would concentrate with all my might on the most pleasant thing I could think of--usually our family’s most recent trip to Yellowstone Park. I would revisit every geyser and hot pool (I loved them) mentally and then count the bears we had seen. Usually, by the time I had done that, the danger was past.
I was excited about the topic, "the birds and the bees" because I felt I pretty much knew all about it, the topic having been covered very thoroughly by my 9th grade Seminary teacher, Richard Clark, in his lesson on Joseph and Potiphar’s wife. I can still remember how eloquent he was as he told about how wonderful Joseph had acted when Potiphar’s wife had grabbed his shirt (or whatever it was they wore in Egypt back then and no doubt still do today). His voice still rings when I remember his stirring "he got him OUT!" (He really hit the "out" hard). Of course, he used this story to make it clear about the whole "birds and bees" thing. First, if we were ever working for an attractive, rich lady and she started to pull on our shirts, we were to "get us out". Which, of course, we promised to do. But he went far beyond that. Realizing, I suspect, that the number of attractive, rich lady employers (especially attractive, rich lady employers with the shirt-pulling tendency) in Pocatello was severely limited, he made it quite clear that if we were alone with any girls and she started to pull on our shirts, or even if we started to feel like pulling on our own shirts, we were to "get us out" and quickly. Well, of course, I can’t tell everything he said, but I can say that I felt very well grounded in the whole "birds and bees" thing, as I mentioned above.
But the reason I was excited to hear Dr. Call talk about the subject, was the thought that maybe he would bring something up that Br. Clark had left out of his lecture. Although he was no longer my teacher, I saw him frequently hanging around the seminary building, and I thought that if I did get some new insights, I could pass them on to him. While his lecture was very powerfully convincing, these seminary lectures can always do with a bit of sprucing up. Well, for example, Br. Clark never did make it really clear whether it was Joseph or Mrs. Potiphar who was the bird or the bee, so I was never quite clear who was which, in fact, I’m still not too clear on that point.
So anyway, I was sitting back listening attentively to Dr. Call, when it suddenly became painfully apparent to me that Bishop Dorsey had not been sufficiently explicit when he was drawing up the contract about the subject. Dr. Call was not talking about the birds and the bees at all. He was talking about the red corpuscles and the white corpuscles. Desperately, I began trying to focus on our last Yellowstone trip, but it was too late. I was not even to the entrance gate at West Yellowstone, when I felt myself falling.
The next thing I remember was the feeling that all the fire engines and police sirens in Idaho were sounding in my ears. I felt that my head would split. Then the noise died away suddenly and I felt such a feeling of peace that I have never experienced before or since. Through the welcome quiet, I heard "Merrill, Merrill, are you OK?"
It turned out I had fainted. The Bishop took me into a classroom where Sister Comstock was preparing her Teacher Development lesson.
"Please keep an eye on Merrill. He just fainted", he requested of her, and handing me a glass of water, he returned to Dr. Call’s lecture, leaving Sister Comstock to eye me nervously.
At any rate, that is how I missed out on learning all about the birds and the bees and hence, how I came to lack the necessary information to write a really juicy bestseller.
However, I mention all this because the extreme importance of having heard that lecture struck me forcibly as Shauna and I finally arrived at the Little America motel where I had made reservations. Here I was going with a beautiful young girl into a motel room and one or the other, probably both, were bound to begin taking off his/her shirt. And yet, it suddenly dawned on me that Br. Clark’s advice to "get thee out" didn’t seem entirely adequate--or even appropriate and I found myself wishing desperately that I hadn’t fainted at that crucial moment in Dr. Call’s lecture. Of course, it was as much his fault as mine--maybe even more--for letting his professional habits ran away with him and getting sidetracked by corpuscles. But, naturally, at that time assessing blame was the least of my problems.
You, the patient reader are doubtlessly asking yourself, "Faced with this terrible crisis, what did you do?"
The answer is, fortunately, I married Shauna. She has her master’s degree in Child Development. Those people know all about that "birds-and-the-bees" stuff, so she knew just what to do; actually, she knows just what to do most of the time anyway. The proof of that is the fact that exactly 9 months and 1 day later we had our first child. Of course, I suspect that the 1 day is somehow significant, and I’m sure that Shauna, with her master’s degree in Child Development could explain it all to you if you ever asked. I never have.
But I will say this--and I say it with some conviction--if you happen, for whatever reason, (hopefully not due to fainting) to miss Dr. Call’s (or whoever the officially designated "birds-and-the-bees" lecture giver in your community happens to be), as I say, if you happen to miss that lecture, then by all means, take my advice, and marry someone with their master’s degree in Child Development.
Of course, I am sure you are asking yourself, "Why doesn’t Shauna write the book?" Well, actually, she has thought about it, and even mentioned that she might do it, but, what with having to take care of 7 children (8 counting you-know-who) and having frequently to manage on rather slender resources, she has been rather too busy. But what with the children leaving, she still may get around to it--and a very interesting and enlightening book it will be too, but, (and I don’t mean to boast) I can’t help but feel that it won’t be quite the outstanding book I could have written if only I had heard the rest of Dr. Call’s lecture.
Every now and then someone will suggest that I should write a book. This, I feel is an excellent suggestion. I’m sure I would be very good at it, having gotten an "A" in penmanship in Mrs. Rowe’s 3rd grade class. But there is a real snag. If I were to go all the trouble of writing a book, I would, of course, want it to be a bestseller. The problem is that the bestsellers are always about--well, to be perfectly blunt, after all, we are living in the up-to-date age--well they are about, well, to be perfectly candid, they are about the thing that almost rhymes with the 6th letter in the numbering system--you know, the one between 5 and 7. I have no doubt that I could write a very interesting, very informative and most helpful book on that subject, except for one small problem. I know almost nothing about it. The reason for this woeful lack of information is what I am about to relate--and it is a very sad story indeed.
I was sitting in Priesthood meeting--as I always did on Sunday morning since being ordained a Deacon, but at the time about which I write I was a Priest, i.e. considerably advanced in age and in outlook from the time I first began sitting in Priesthood meeting on Sunday morning. I was thinking about such uplifting topics as what my mother would likely be serving for lunch, when our Bishop, Bishop Chester Dorsey, (we Priests, because we felt we were close to him and could be more informal when we talked with him called him by his first name--"Bishop", except my friend Richard, of course, who called him "Dad"), after first dismissing the Deacons--and you will be able to figure out why he dismissed the Deacons when I tell you the topic, which I will do about 3 pages from now--announced that the Teachers and Priests would have a special guest speaker, Dr. Lloyd Call.
We all knew of Dr. Call, of course, and admired--or more correctly, envied him, the reason being that he was married to Beverly Call. Although, she seemed a bit too old for us personally to have married her (she was probably 9 or 10 years our senior but at Priest’s age that is like a couple of generations removed), we all hoped to marry someone like her. Beverly was the Pocatello equivalent of Jeannette MacDonald, that is, she was very attractive and could sing, although, unlike Jeanette, who went in more for Hammerstein and Herbert, Beverly was more into Verdi and Wagner. In Pocatello, at least it seemed to me, that most ladies who could sing Wagner, tended to look like, well, like Wagner.
At any rate, we all respected Dr. Call. We could visualize him coming home after a hard day’s work of separating innocent children from their tonsils and saying, "Honey, I’m really tired. I need something to pick me up." To which Mrs. Call would reply, "Sure thing, dear, I know just the thing. I’ll sing you an aria from Madame Butterfly."
"No, no." We could hear him protesting. "I’m not up to Madame Butterfly tonight." To which she would respond, "I have it!" She would then don a grass skirt and sing Annette Funicello’s latest hit, "Pineapple Princess" (in, of course, her best Wagnerian style--a sort of Class with Grass). (As an aside, I just wanted to point out that I thought of that, i.e. "Class with Grass" all by myself which proves that if I did write a book it would be loaded with all kinds of clever tid bits like that one).
But as I mentioned, we all admired Dr. Call and were, therefore, impressed that Bishop Dorsey could get him to speak, since he wasn’t in our ward, or for that matter, even in our Stake. (As another aside, this may come as a surprise, but back in those days Pocatello actually had more than one Stake--in fact, it had several--a condition that I doubt exits today, because we were constantly being admonished to leave the world behind us, which most people in Pocatello interpreted to mean that as soon as you possibly could somehow manage it, you should move north to Idaho Falls or Rexburg or south to Logan or Provo.)
Bishop Dorsey then announced that Dr. Call would be speaking to us on the subject of "the birds and the bees". The announcement of that subject brought both relief and excitement to me.
It brought relief because all too often medical doctors--even speaking in Church--tend to wax professional. Of course, if they confine this professional carrying on to the sniping of tonsils, it didn’t much bother me; since having been separated from mine at an early age, I didn’t take the talk personally. But all too often they would get carried away and start talking in a most unseemly manner about kidneys, livers, hearts, and worst of all, blood. As soon as any discussion began drifting in that direction I could prevent a most horrible attack of nausea by only two methods. The preferred method was to stick my fingers firmly in my ears and lay my head on my desk. If that was too embarrassing, I would concentrate with all my might on the most pleasant thing I could think of--usually our family’s most recent trip to Yellowstone Park. I would revisit every geyser and hot pool (I loved them) mentally and then count the bears we had seen. Usually, by the time I had done that, the danger was past.
I was excited about the topic, "the birds and the bees" because I felt I pretty much knew all about it, the topic having been covered very thoroughly by my 9th grade Seminary teacher, Richard Clark, in his lesson on Joseph and Potiphar’s wife. I can still remember how eloquent he was as he told about how wonderful Joseph had acted when Potiphar’s wife had grabbed his shirt (or whatever it was they wore in Egypt back then and no doubt still do today). His voice still rings when I remember his stirring "he got him OUT!" (He really hit the "out" hard). Of course, he used this story to make it clear about the whole "birds and bees" thing. First, if we were ever working for an attractive, rich lady and she started to pull on our shirts, we were to "get us out". Which, of course, we promised to do. But he went far beyond that. Realizing, I suspect, that the number of attractive, rich lady employers (especially attractive, rich lady employers with the shirt-pulling tendency) in Pocatello was severely limited, he made it quite clear that if we were alone with any girls and she started to pull on our shirts, or even if we started to feel like pulling on our own shirts, we were to "get us out" and quickly. Well, of course, I can’t tell everything he said, but I can say that I felt very well grounded in the whole "birds and bees" thing, as I mentioned above.
But the reason I was excited to hear Dr. Call talk about the subject, was the thought that maybe he would bring something up that Br. Clark had left out of his lecture. Although he was no longer my teacher, I saw him frequently hanging around the seminary building, and I thought that if I did get some new insights, I could pass them on to him. While his lecture was very powerfully convincing, these seminary lectures can always do with a bit of sprucing up. Well, for example, Br. Clark never did make it really clear whether it was Joseph or Mrs. Potiphar who was the bird or the bee, so I was never quite clear who was which, in fact, I’m still not too clear on that point.
So anyway, I was sitting back listening attentively to Dr. Call, when it suddenly became painfully apparent to me that Bishop Dorsey had not been sufficiently explicit when he was drawing up the contract about the subject. Dr. Call was not talking about the birds and the bees at all. He was talking about the red corpuscles and the white corpuscles. Desperately, I began trying to focus on our last Yellowstone trip, but it was too late. I was not even to the entrance gate at West Yellowstone, when I felt myself falling.
The next thing I remember was the feeling that all the fire engines and police sirens in Idaho were sounding in my ears. I felt that my head would split. Then the noise died away suddenly and I felt such a feeling of peace that I have never experienced before or since. Through the welcome quiet, I heard "Merrill, Merrill, are you OK?"
It turned out I had fainted. The Bishop took me into a classroom where Sister Comstock was preparing her Teacher Development lesson.
"Please keep an eye on Merrill. He just fainted", he requested of her, and handing me a glass of water, he returned to Dr. Call’s lecture, leaving Sister Comstock to eye me nervously.
At any rate, that is how I missed out on learning all about the birds and the bees and hence, how I came to lack the necessary information to write a really juicy bestseller.
However, I mention all this because the extreme importance of having heard that lecture struck me forcibly as Shauna and I finally arrived at the Little America motel where I had made reservations. Here I was going with a beautiful young girl into a motel room and one or the other, probably both, were bound to begin taking off his/her shirt. And yet, it suddenly dawned on me that Br. Clark’s advice to "get thee out" didn’t seem entirely adequate--or even appropriate and I found myself wishing desperately that I hadn’t fainted at that crucial moment in Dr. Call’s lecture. Of course, it was as much his fault as mine--maybe even more--for letting his professional habits ran away with him and getting sidetracked by corpuscles. But, naturally, at that time assessing blame was the least of my problems.
You, the patient reader are doubtlessly asking yourself, "Faced with this terrible crisis, what did you do?"
The answer is, fortunately, I married Shauna. She has her master’s degree in Child Development. Those people know all about that "birds-and-the-bees" stuff, so she knew just what to do; actually, she knows just what to do most of the time anyway. The proof of that is the fact that exactly 9 months and 1 day later we had our first child. Of course, I suspect that the 1 day is somehow significant, and I’m sure that Shauna, with her master’s degree in Child Development could explain it all to you if you ever asked. I never have.
But I will say this--and I say it with some conviction--if you happen, for whatever reason, (hopefully not due to fainting) to miss Dr. Call’s (or whoever the officially designated "birds-and-the-bees" lecture giver in your community happens to be), as I say, if you happen to miss that lecture, then by all means, take my advice, and marry someone with their master’s degree in Child Development.
Of course, I am sure you are asking yourself, "Why doesn’t Shauna write the book?" Well, actually, she has thought about it, and even mentioned that she might do it, but, what with having to take care of 7 children (8 counting you-know-who) and having frequently to manage on rather slender resources, she has been rather too busy. But what with the children leaving, she still may get around to it--and a very interesting and enlightening book it will be too, but, (and I don’t mean to boast) I can’t help but feel that it won’t be quite the outstanding book I could have written if only I had heard the rest of Dr. Call’s lecture.
Romance--IX Our wedding.
IX. Shauna and I get married.
On June 29, 1978 I was married and sealed to Shauna H. Bowman in the Salt Lake Temple.
Some days before I had noticed my roommate, David Lamb, pressing his pants before going on a date. This, it had seemed to me at the time, was rather disloyal, probably un-American, and certainly in violation of some sort of rule. After all, all pants and shirts sold in America state specifically on the label, or somewhere that they are non-wrinkle and need no pressing, so no matter how many wrinkles they might appear to have, by definition, they have none. But since it was my wedding day, and since my suit pants did appear to have a good many wrinkles, I decided that on this one special occasion, it would be permissible to follow my roommate’s example and press my pants. (I hasten to add, should this manuscript fall into the hands of an enforcement official of The American Ladies Garment Union, that I have never pressed anything since then). This took rather longer than anticipated since I had not done it for several years, but I still managed to finish the task in time to get myself to the temple on time for the wedding.
The wedding itself, what little I actually remember of it, was wonderful. All my immediate family and much of Shauna’s extended family were there.
The man who performed the sealing was a stranger to both of us, but he had all kinds of wonderful advice. As soon as she could get alone for a minute or two, Shauna took extensive notes on that advice, an example I wish I had followed. The reason is that, not remembering anything he said, I never am able to say for sure whether Shauna is living up to all that advice. She, on the other hand, is always bringing up little tidbits of admonition that she implies I shook my head in agreement to in those moments of rapturous anticipation. It is the recognition of these little "if-only-I-had-acted-more-wisely-at-time insights that make one realize that life had more bumps than are absolutely necessary.
What I do remember perfectly--other than the obvious fact that I married Shauna--was that the man who married us was the guest speaker at our ward the very first week after our honeymoon. This was much too much of a coincidence to be one. It was clearly meant as a sign. I must confess, however, that I have never quite been able to figure out what it was a sign of.
What I have since learned, having attended several weddings at the temple in the interim, is that, not only did I marry Shauna, but I did so--as is clearly pointed out in the ceremony--of my own free will and choice. Now whether I was aware of that fact at the time, I really don’t remember. I mean by that, whether I was aware that it was part of the ceremony. I was willing, and I feel, as eager as any bridegroom, and maybe more than most, but at the time, if I was aware of it, I would have it was most superfluous to bring it up. But since then I have known so many--mostly bridegrooms, but some brides--who after a few years of marriage announce that they no longer love their companions, and indeed, they never did. They claim at that point that they only married because they were "forced" to do it, usually by pressure from parents, or a Bishop or Stake President, or "the Church", whoever that is, I mean, it is hard for me to imagine "the Church" being able to apply much pressure. At any rate, I have heard this so often, that whenever I attend a wedding in the temple, I can’t help but look around to see if there is someone present with a suspicious looking bulge in this clothing that would indicate a pistol, a shot gun, or a pair of brass knuckles ready for use in case the party being "forced" should become recalcitrant. I am happy to report that I have never seen such. Indeed, I must say that at the marriages I have attended, the bridegroom has seemed, if not quite as willing and eager, almost as eager as I myself was on the occasion of my own marriage.
After the wedding, we (as in the royal "we", neither Shauna or I took any pictures) took pictures. We then went to the wedding breakfast. It was the custom (I believe it still is) for the groom’s parents to pay for the wedding breakfast. My dad got off rather easy because Shauna and her friends stayed up most of the night preparing most of the food for the occasion.
After the wedding breakfast, which I will admit I have mostly forgotten except that I do remember being impressed with the quality of the food, and was wondering why my father-in-law was so often frowning. I concluded that he was probably thinking how very expensive the breakfast might have been had Shauna married the doctor’s son, Herbie, to whom she was earlier engaged. At any rate, a good time and much good food was had by all before I went off to get the tuxedos for the reception.
The reception was, of course, mostly Shauna’s friends and family. A few people from my ward and my work came so I did know some people there. The most vivid memory for me was the U of U folk dance team (of which Shauna had been a member) weaving in and out among the guests doing an Israeli Snake dance. The most lasting memory was a picture taken by my brother-in-law, Allen, of Shauna’s grandparents. If I had painted the picture, I would have titled it "Love at Sunset". I later saw a copy of it framed in several of her family’s homes.
I enjoyed the reception, but was glad when it was over. Shauna and I went out to her VW and found the customary wedding reception treatment. We had to remove newspaper and confetti in order even to get in to it, but we left the cans dragging until we got a couple of blocks away. We kissed and headed off to the Little America Hotel, where we had reservations to begin our life together.
On June 29, 1978 I was married and sealed to Shauna H. Bowman in the Salt Lake Temple.
Some days before I had noticed my roommate, David Lamb, pressing his pants before going on a date. This, it had seemed to me at the time, was rather disloyal, probably un-American, and certainly in violation of some sort of rule. After all, all pants and shirts sold in America state specifically on the label, or somewhere that they are non-wrinkle and need no pressing, so no matter how many wrinkles they might appear to have, by definition, they have none. But since it was my wedding day, and since my suit pants did appear to have a good many wrinkles, I decided that on this one special occasion, it would be permissible to follow my roommate’s example and press my pants. (I hasten to add, should this manuscript fall into the hands of an enforcement official of The American Ladies Garment Union, that I have never pressed anything since then). This took rather longer than anticipated since I had not done it for several years, but I still managed to finish the task in time to get myself to the temple on time for the wedding.
The wedding itself, what little I actually remember of it, was wonderful. All my immediate family and much of Shauna’s extended family were there.
The man who performed the sealing was a stranger to both of us, but he had all kinds of wonderful advice. As soon as she could get alone for a minute or two, Shauna took extensive notes on that advice, an example I wish I had followed. The reason is that, not remembering anything he said, I never am able to say for sure whether Shauna is living up to all that advice. She, on the other hand, is always bringing up little tidbits of admonition that she implies I shook my head in agreement to in those moments of rapturous anticipation. It is the recognition of these little "if-only-I-had-acted-more-wisely-at-time insights that make one realize that life had more bumps than are absolutely necessary.
What I do remember perfectly--other than the obvious fact that I married Shauna--was that the man who married us was the guest speaker at our ward the very first week after our honeymoon. This was much too much of a coincidence to be one. It was clearly meant as a sign. I must confess, however, that I have never quite been able to figure out what it was a sign of.
What I have since learned, having attended several weddings at the temple in the interim, is that, not only did I marry Shauna, but I did so--as is clearly pointed out in the ceremony--of my own free will and choice. Now whether I was aware of that fact at the time, I really don’t remember. I mean by that, whether I was aware that it was part of the ceremony. I was willing, and I feel, as eager as any bridegroom, and maybe more than most, but at the time, if I was aware of it, I would have it was most superfluous to bring it up. But since then I have known so many--mostly bridegrooms, but some brides--who after a few years of marriage announce that they no longer love their companions, and indeed, they never did. They claim at that point that they only married because they were "forced" to do it, usually by pressure from parents, or a Bishop or Stake President, or "the Church", whoever that is, I mean, it is hard for me to imagine "the Church" being able to apply much pressure. At any rate, I have heard this so often, that whenever I attend a wedding in the temple, I can’t help but look around to see if there is someone present with a suspicious looking bulge in this clothing that would indicate a pistol, a shot gun, or a pair of brass knuckles ready for use in case the party being "forced" should become recalcitrant. I am happy to report that I have never seen such. Indeed, I must say that at the marriages I have attended, the bridegroom has seemed, if not quite as willing and eager, almost as eager as I myself was on the occasion of my own marriage.
After the wedding, we (as in the royal "we", neither Shauna or I took any pictures) took pictures. We then went to the wedding breakfast. It was the custom (I believe it still is) for the groom’s parents to pay for the wedding breakfast. My dad got off rather easy because Shauna and her friends stayed up most of the night preparing most of the food for the occasion.
After the wedding breakfast, which I will admit I have mostly forgotten except that I do remember being impressed with the quality of the food, and was wondering why my father-in-law was so often frowning. I concluded that he was probably thinking how very expensive the breakfast might have been had Shauna married the doctor’s son, Herbie, to whom she was earlier engaged. At any rate, a good time and much good food was had by all before I went off to get the tuxedos for the reception.
The reception was, of course, mostly Shauna’s friends and family. A few people from my ward and my work came so I did know some people there. The most vivid memory for me was the U of U folk dance team (of which Shauna had been a member) weaving in and out among the guests doing an Israeli Snake dance. The most lasting memory was a picture taken by my brother-in-law, Allen, of Shauna’s grandparents. If I had painted the picture, I would have titled it "Love at Sunset". I later saw a copy of it framed in several of her family’s homes.
I enjoyed the reception, but was glad when it was over. Shauna and I went out to her VW and found the customary wedding reception treatment. We had to remove newspaper and confetti in order even to get in to it, but we left the cans dragging until we got a couple of blocks away. We kissed and headed off to the Little America Hotel, where we had reservations to begin our life together.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Romance--VIII I become engaged for real
VIII. Shauna and I become engaged--for real.
That night I got no sleep. It seemed to me that I was locked in a nightmare. "I thought I knew her so well, and then she does this to me." I thought as I tossed and turned. "It just goes to show you that no matter how well you think you know a person, they are likely to surprise you--especially at some crucial juncture of your life, like when you are proposing marriage."
I agonized over the whole situation all night, or at least, until early in the morning. Just before time to get up, the solution finally came to me--break the engagement.
I, of course, had heard of broken engagements. I had even had roommates who had broken their engagements. In fact, I had one roommate, (admittedly he was a bit strange) who broke three engagements in as many weeks (actually it was his finances who broke the engagements when they realized how strange he was). But in telling about him, I digress. The point was, people do break engagements. This it seemed to me was the perfect solution. Indeed, it was the only solution. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. But, or course, under the tremendous strain occasioned by Shauna’s absolutely stunning (and, I thought, rather thoughtless) surprise acceptance of my proposal, the obvious solution had somehow eluded me. But with it firmly in mind, I slipped off into peaceful slumber for the few remaining minutes of night.
As is so often the case, what seems like a perfect solution to a terribly knotty problem when viewed from the perspective of the middle of the night in a sort of half-dream world, loses a good deal of its glamour when viewed in the cold hard light of day.
As mentioned above, I have personally known several men and women who had broken engagements. But it had not been easy for any of them. Furthermore, none of them that I know of had broken the engagement less than 24 hours after entering into it. But worst of all, I imagined what Shauna’s reaction might be. The worst case would be if she waxed tragic, like the end of an opera and went into the kitchen, took out a carving knife, and stabbed herself. Of course, worse still, would be if she stabbed me first. Almost as bad would be if she went into hysterics and began yelling, "You will hear from my lawyer!" As I thought of that scenario, I took some comfort from the fact that my father was a lawyer himself, but upon reflection, I realized that he was getting a bit impatient with my postponement of marriage, and might very well offer to represent Shauna in a breach of promise suit.
At any rate, no matter how I thought about it, the picture was not pretty. I decided that the very best I could hope for would be something like, "Well! I like that! One day you propose and the next day you change your mind. What kind of a jerk are you?" That, as I said, was the best I thought I could hope for. Worse were the responses described above and a dozen others, almost as bad, that I envisioned during the course of the day.
Finally, the moment of truth arrived. With a heavy heart and apprehensive demeanor, I went to Shauna’s apartment.
"How was your day?" she greeted me cheerfully as she opened the door.
"It had its ups and its downs," I responded trying to sound as gloomy as I felt.
"Oh, really. What were its ups and what were its downs?"
"Its ups were when I remembered that we were engaged and its downs were when I remembered that we were engaged."
The extremely perceptive reader will note that I was exaggerating, if not down right lying when I said that the day had its ups, but, I felt I had to say something that would soften the blow that was about to come. Having said that I broke into an impassioned appeal stating that being engaged so soon was too much for me. To my surprise--and delight--there was no blow to soften. Shauna just laughed. "Well, maybe it is a bit soon. If you want to date longer, that’s fine. Whatever you want."
It was at that moment that I decided I really did want to marry her--only not right away.
We resumed our previous dating pattern. For Easter, which came early--in March I believe--that year, Shauna went up with me to meet my sister, Loni and her family. Shauna found out about my bringing JoAnn up for Thanksgiving when my niece, Jenni, against the express orders of her mother, said, "I like you better than the girl he brought up at Thanksgiving."
I decided that if she could survive that, she could survive anything, so I asked her again to marry me. And again, she accepted. Except this time it was her turn to call up and change her mind--or so I thought. She says now that she merely wanted a more definite proposal, but whatever the case, once again, we were engaged for only one day.
We had resumed dating for only a couple of weeks when I noticed a large lump in a lymph node. The doctor said it was either tuberculosis, an abscessed tooth or cancer, since, he claimed, it was much too large to be due to bacteria. He sent me to the clinic for a TB test and to the dentist to check for an abscess--both of which I did with great promptness. And both came back negative. There followed a very agonizing week.
On the weekend I had a date with Shauna. Her old boyfriend, Herbie Ungricht, who was, by this time dating Shauna’s roommate, Yvonne, was waiting for his date on the couch. Since he was in his last year of med school, Shauna decided to get his semi-expert opinion on my condition. He felt my lump.
"Bad, very bad," he muttered. "I can’t say for sure if it is cancer, but if I were you, I wouldn’t start listening to any long playing records, or start reading any to-be-continued serials." On that cheery note, Shauna and I went on our date. I must confess to being greatly discouraged--not, of course, as discouraged as the night I first proposed to her--but greatly discouraged, nonetheless. I must also confess to being more than a little annoyed when the doctor announced that it turned out to be only a bacteria after all. He gave me an antibiotic and the lump disappeared the next day.
I was so relieved that I decided to celebrate, but rather starting to listen to a long playing record or reading a to-be-continued serial, I went over to Shauna’s apartment, and for the third time, asked her to marry me. This time it took.
A few days later it was my brother, Erin’s, graduation form BYU. Shauna and I along with my parents, my other brother, and my sister and their spouses had dinner and then went over to Erin’s apartment where everyone presented him with graduation trinkets. After that ritual, I blurted out that I had an announcement. I then reported our engagement. Immediately after making this announcement, Shauna and I left. As soon as we stepped out of the house, we heard and loud spontaneous, "Hurrah, finally."
That night I got no sleep. It seemed to me that I was locked in a nightmare. "I thought I knew her so well, and then she does this to me." I thought as I tossed and turned. "It just goes to show you that no matter how well you think you know a person, they are likely to surprise you--especially at some crucial juncture of your life, like when you are proposing marriage."
I agonized over the whole situation all night, or at least, until early in the morning. Just before time to get up, the solution finally came to me--break the engagement.
I, of course, had heard of broken engagements. I had even had roommates who had broken their engagements. In fact, I had one roommate, (admittedly he was a bit strange) who broke three engagements in as many weeks (actually it was his finances who broke the engagements when they realized how strange he was). But in telling about him, I digress. The point was, people do break engagements. This it seemed to me was the perfect solution. Indeed, it was the only solution. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. But, or course, under the tremendous strain occasioned by Shauna’s absolutely stunning (and, I thought, rather thoughtless) surprise acceptance of my proposal, the obvious solution had somehow eluded me. But with it firmly in mind, I slipped off into peaceful slumber for the few remaining minutes of night.
As is so often the case, what seems like a perfect solution to a terribly knotty problem when viewed from the perspective of the middle of the night in a sort of half-dream world, loses a good deal of its glamour when viewed in the cold hard light of day.
As mentioned above, I have personally known several men and women who had broken engagements. But it had not been easy for any of them. Furthermore, none of them that I know of had broken the engagement less than 24 hours after entering into it. But worst of all, I imagined what Shauna’s reaction might be. The worst case would be if she waxed tragic, like the end of an opera and went into the kitchen, took out a carving knife, and stabbed herself. Of course, worse still, would be if she stabbed me first. Almost as bad would be if she went into hysterics and began yelling, "You will hear from my lawyer!" As I thought of that scenario, I took some comfort from the fact that my father was a lawyer himself, but upon reflection, I realized that he was getting a bit impatient with my postponement of marriage, and might very well offer to represent Shauna in a breach of promise suit.
At any rate, no matter how I thought about it, the picture was not pretty. I decided that the very best I could hope for would be something like, "Well! I like that! One day you propose and the next day you change your mind. What kind of a jerk are you?" That, as I said, was the best I thought I could hope for. Worse were the responses described above and a dozen others, almost as bad, that I envisioned during the course of the day.
Finally, the moment of truth arrived. With a heavy heart and apprehensive demeanor, I went to Shauna’s apartment.
"How was your day?" she greeted me cheerfully as she opened the door.
"It had its ups and its downs," I responded trying to sound as gloomy as I felt.
"Oh, really. What were its ups and what were its downs?"
"Its ups were when I remembered that we were engaged and its downs were when I remembered that we were engaged."
The extremely perceptive reader will note that I was exaggerating, if not down right lying when I said that the day had its ups, but, I felt I had to say something that would soften the blow that was about to come. Having said that I broke into an impassioned appeal stating that being engaged so soon was too much for me. To my surprise--and delight--there was no blow to soften. Shauna just laughed. "Well, maybe it is a bit soon. If you want to date longer, that’s fine. Whatever you want."
It was at that moment that I decided I really did want to marry her--only not right away.
We resumed our previous dating pattern. For Easter, which came early--in March I believe--that year, Shauna went up with me to meet my sister, Loni and her family. Shauna found out about my bringing JoAnn up for Thanksgiving when my niece, Jenni, against the express orders of her mother, said, "I like you better than the girl he brought up at Thanksgiving."
I decided that if she could survive that, she could survive anything, so I asked her again to marry me. And again, she accepted. Except this time it was her turn to call up and change her mind--or so I thought. She says now that she merely wanted a more definite proposal, but whatever the case, once again, we were engaged for only one day.
We had resumed dating for only a couple of weeks when I noticed a large lump in a lymph node. The doctor said it was either tuberculosis, an abscessed tooth or cancer, since, he claimed, it was much too large to be due to bacteria. He sent me to the clinic for a TB test and to the dentist to check for an abscess--both of which I did with great promptness. And both came back negative. There followed a very agonizing week.
On the weekend I had a date with Shauna. Her old boyfriend, Herbie Ungricht, who was, by this time dating Shauna’s roommate, Yvonne, was waiting for his date on the couch. Since he was in his last year of med school, Shauna decided to get his semi-expert opinion on my condition. He felt my lump.
"Bad, very bad," he muttered. "I can’t say for sure if it is cancer, but if I were you, I wouldn’t start listening to any long playing records, or start reading any to-be-continued serials." On that cheery note, Shauna and I went on our date. I must confess to being greatly discouraged--not, of course, as discouraged as the night I first proposed to her--but greatly discouraged, nonetheless. I must also confess to being more than a little annoyed when the doctor announced that it turned out to be only a bacteria after all. He gave me an antibiotic and the lump disappeared the next day.
I was so relieved that I decided to celebrate, but rather starting to listen to a long playing record or reading a to-be-continued serial, I went over to Shauna’s apartment, and for the third time, asked her to marry me. This time it took.
A few days later it was my brother, Erin’s, graduation form BYU. Shauna and I along with my parents, my other brother, and my sister and their spouses had dinner and then went over to Erin’s apartment where everyone presented him with graduation trinkets. After that ritual, I blurted out that I had an announcement. I then reported our engagement. Immediately after making this announcement, Shauna and I left. As soon as we stepped out of the house, we heard and loud spontaneous, "Hurrah, finally."
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Romance--VII I propose
VII. I propose, and learn that no matter how well you think you know someone,
sometimes you are in for a shock.
In the back pocket of my trousers I carried the small card I had filled out during the meeting described in the previous chapter. As the date on that card approached, as I mentioned, I realized that I had somehow gotten myself into a position that I could fulfill the challenge I had set for myself on that card and I determined that I would do it.
I was, of course, nervous about the whole thing. After all, I had only known Shauna for 6 months. We had only dated for 4 months or so and I had dated her exclusively for only a month and a half. There was, naturally, the possibility that she would react with absolute shock and say something like, "Don’t tell me that you are one of those nuts who goes around proposing at the drop of a hat? My answer is no! Absolutely not. Take me home right now. I never want to see you again." As I say, she could always say that or something like it, and I will admit that I would be hurt, deeply hurt, if she did, but, I confess that I thought it most unlikely.
I assumed that her most likely response would be something like, "This is a bit sudden. We need to date more and think about it while we get to know each other better." That, I felt, would be her most likely response, but I was determined to do all I could to prevent the first response. I made reservations at the restaurant rated by Utah Holiday Magazine as #1 in Utah, Balsam Embers. I sent her a dozen roses, and told her to be sure to wear a dress.
I picked her up and she was absolutely stunningly radiant. I think I said something terribly clever and wonderfully romantic like "You look nice", but I’m not sure I said anything that clever because I was terribly nervous. I probably said just "Hi."
At any rate, we went to the restaurant. I’m not sure what we talked about, or even what I said--if I said anything. As "the great moment" approached I became increasingly nervous, so much so that as I stood up to leave, I smashed into a trayful of glasses being carried by a waiter. Shauna burst out laughing, which was really a relief, because I was so nervous that were it not for the comic relief of the head-to-tray encounter, I’m afraid I might have crashed on the way to the chosen site to pop the question--temple square.
The plan was--i.e. my plan--to ask her to marry me as we strolled around, and gazed up at, the temple. Unfortunately, for my plan, as we stepped out of my car, we were met by Harold-----, a new convert from my ward. He was obviously glad to see us.
"Oh, you two came down to Temple Square. How wonderful! Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just walk around with you. I’m sure you know ever so much about everything here."
Of course, I did mind, I minded very much, but what could I say? To my annoyance, Shauna was not only kindly, but encouraging. After walking around for a bit, it was evident that Harold had no intension of leaving us. Now, it is not always true, as they say, that three is a crowd, but when you are planning to propose marriage, it is.
After, what I deemed a rather decent interval, I said, "Harold, actually we are going to a dance, so I’m afraid that we will have to leave you." But, it became immediately clear that we were not going to lose Harold until we actually did leave.
They say that all the great moments of history--and of life--never turn out exactly as you plan. If Napoleon had not had a toothache at Waterloo, no one would even know who Wellington was, (of course, not many know who he was even with Napoleon’s toothache, but you get my drift). Anyway, just as a toothache botched Waterloo (for Napoleon, not Wellington), so Harold more or less botched my plan of proposing to Shauna as the two of us gazed blissfully up at the stars above the temple spires. But I was determined to go ahead with the proposal anyway. So just as I opened the door of the car and was helping her into it, I blurted out, "And by the way, will you marry me?"
I then closed the door, jauntily stepped around the car and braced myself for her response as I slid into the drivers seat.
"I can say it!" she exclaimed enthusiastically as she grabbed my hands. "I prayed that I would be able to say ‘yes’, and I can! Oh, yes! Yes! YES!".
When I was growing up going to school, occasionally I remember being shown a picture of a large hole in the ground. The caption below the picture reported that this was a large hole in Arizona where a meteor had struck. Someone in the class--possibly even the teacher--would say something like, "Just think. If you lived 300 miles farther south and 3000 years ago, you might have been struck by that meteor." This was undoubtedly true, but I must admit that I felt like this was not something I needed to spend much time worrying about. But I can honestly say that if I had actually been struck by that meteor, I would not have been more surprised than I was when Shauna said "yes" to my proposal.
I consider myself a rather astute observer of the human condition, and admittedly, that rather astute observation has led me to the conclusion--which I arrived at after a great deal of looking around with close (and again, astute) observation of what was going on around me--that there are a great many women who have said "yes" to marriage proposals. It just never occurred to me that Shauna might be one of those.
The meteor had struck. I muttered something like "Oh, wonderful." Then, having seen in a movie, or, maybe a play, or something, that you should kiss the girl when she accepts your marriage proposal, I kissed her. But I can say with some assurance that if the kiss had been filmed, it would have passed the strictest censorship by early Puritans, or Amish or my mother.
We drove to the dance in total silence. I didn’t know what to say, but doubt that I would have felt like saying it if I had. I sensed that I was supposed to be happy, but I wasn’t happy. I was miserable beyond words. Only 2 months since my 35th birthday and I was engaged to a girl I hardly knew.
We danced in total silence. Shauna, who earlier in the evening, in my mind, combined the best looks of Maureen O’Hara, Jean Simmons, and Audrey Hepburn, now looked to me like the Wicked Witch of the West--only worse.
After a couple of dances, I suggested we stand the next dance out. While we were standing together a young man (who neither of us knew) came up and asked Shauna to dance.
"I’m sorry," she said. "I can’t. You see, I’m engaged."
"Well don’t let that stop you," I said quickly, almost insistently.
She shook her head. "I’m sorry," she repeated softly.
I felt a little foolish, but I suppose I was sort of hoping that he would propose, and, although I had the prior claim, I would, at that point, have very quickly surrendered it.
At this time, I simply threw in the towel. I took Shauna home, said "good night" with a very mild kiss, and headed home with an unbelievably heavy heart.
sometimes you are in for a shock.
In the back pocket of my trousers I carried the small card I had filled out during the meeting described in the previous chapter. As the date on that card approached, as I mentioned, I realized that I had somehow gotten myself into a position that I could fulfill the challenge I had set for myself on that card and I determined that I would do it.
I was, of course, nervous about the whole thing. After all, I had only known Shauna for 6 months. We had only dated for 4 months or so and I had dated her exclusively for only a month and a half. There was, naturally, the possibility that she would react with absolute shock and say something like, "Don’t tell me that you are one of those nuts who goes around proposing at the drop of a hat? My answer is no! Absolutely not. Take me home right now. I never want to see you again." As I say, she could always say that or something like it, and I will admit that I would be hurt, deeply hurt, if she did, but, I confess that I thought it most unlikely.
I assumed that her most likely response would be something like, "This is a bit sudden. We need to date more and think about it while we get to know each other better." That, I felt, would be her most likely response, but I was determined to do all I could to prevent the first response. I made reservations at the restaurant rated by Utah Holiday Magazine as #1 in Utah, Balsam Embers. I sent her a dozen roses, and told her to be sure to wear a dress.
I picked her up and she was absolutely stunningly radiant. I think I said something terribly clever and wonderfully romantic like "You look nice", but I’m not sure I said anything that clever because I was terribly nervous. I probably said just "Hi."
At any rate, we went to the restaurant. I’m not sure what we talked about, or even what I said--if I said anything. As "the great moment" approached I became increasingly nervous, so much so that as I stood up to leave, I smashed into a trayful of glasses being carried by a waiter. Shauna burst out laughing, which was really a relief, because I was so nervous that were it not for the comic relief of the head-to-tray encounter, I’m afraid I might have crashed on the way to the chosen site to pop the question--temple square.
The plan was--i.e. my plan--to ask her to marry me as we strolled around, and gazed up at, the temple. Unfortunately, for my plan, as we stepped out of my car, we were met by Harold-----, a new convert from my ward. He was obviously glad to see us.
"Oh, you two came down to Temple Square. How wonderful! Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just walk around with you. I’m sure you know ever so much about everything here."
Of course, I did mind, I minded very much, but what could I say? To my annoyance, Shauna was not only kindly, but encouraging. After walking around for a bit, it was evident that Harold had no intension of leaving us. Now, it is not always true, as they say, that three is a crowd, but when you are planning to propose marriage, it is.
After, what I deemed a rather decent interval, I said, "Harold, actually we are going to a dance, so I’m afraid that we will have to leave you." But, it became immediately clear that we were not going to lose Harold until we actually did leave.
They say that all the great moments of history--and of life--never turn out exactly as you plan. If Napoleon had not had a toothache at Waterloo, no one would even know who Wellington was, (of course, not many know who he was even with Napoleon’s toothache, but you get my drift). Anyway, just as a toothache botched Waterloo (for Napoleon, not Wellington), so Harold more or less botched my plan of proposing to Shauna as the two of us gazed blissfully up at the stars above the temple spires. But I was determined to go ahead with the proposal anyway. So just as I opened the door of the car and was helping her into it, I blurted out, "And by the way, will you marry me?"
I then closed the door, jauntily stepped around the car and braced myself for her response as I slid into the drivers seat.
"I can say it!" she exclaimed enthusiastically as she grabbed my hands. "I prayed that I would be able to say ‘yes’, and I can! Oh, yes! Yes! YES!".
When I was growing up going to school, occasionally I remember being shown a picture of a large hole in the ground. The caption below the picture reported that this was a large hole in Arizona where a meteor had struck. Someone in the class--possibly even the teacher--would say something like, "Just think. If you lived 300 miles farther south and 3000 years ago, you might have been struck by that meteor." This was undoubtedly true, but I must admit that I felt like this was not something I needed to spend much time worrying about. But I can honestly say that if I had actually been struck by that meteor, I would not have been more surprised than I was when Shauna said "yes" to my proposal.
I consider myself a rather astute observer of the human condition, and admittedly, that rather astute observation has led me to the conclusion--which I arrived at after a great deal of looking around with close (and again, astute) observation of what was going on around me--that there are a great many women who have said "yes" to marriage proposals. It just never occurred to me that Shauna might be one of those.
The meteor had struck. I muttered something like "Oh, wonderful." Then, having seen in a movie, or, maybe a play, or something, that you should kiss the girl when she accepts your marriage proposal, I kissed her. But I can say with some assurance that if the kiss had been filmed, it would have passed the strictest censorship by early Puritans, or Amish or my mother.
We drove to the dance in total silence. I didn’t know what to say, but doubt that I would have felt like saying it if I had. I sensed that I was supposed to be happy, but I wasn’t happy. I was miserable beyond words. Only 2 months since my 35th birthday and I was engaged to a girl I hardly knew.
We danced in total silence. Shauna, who earlier in the evening, in my mind, combined the best looks of Maureen O’Hara, Jean Simmons, and Audrey Hepburn, now looked to me like the Wicked Witch of the West--only worse.
After a couple of dances, I suggested we stand the next dance out. While we were standing together a young man (who neither of us knew) came up and asked Shauna to dance.
"I’m sorry," she said. "I can’t. You see, I’m engaged."
"Well don’t let that stop you," I said quickly, almost insistently.
She shook her head. "I’m sorry," she repeated softly.
I felt a little foolish, but I suppose I was sort of hoping that he would propose, and, although I had the prior claim, I would, at that point, have very quickly surrendered it.
At this time, I simply threw in the towel. I took Shauna home, said "good night" with a very mild kiss, and headed home with an unbelievably heavy heart.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Romance--VI A brief interlude
VI. A brief interlude in which I explain why I proposed to Shauna after so short a courtship.
It was toward the end of August. I was sitting in the single’s ward in the Ensign Stake. We met in the old 20th ward building at 2nd Ave and J--a beautiful old building with antique stained glass windows.
My roommates and several others were waiting with me for Priesthood meeting to begin when Larry_____, the 2nd counselor in the Bishopric, walked in. "Hey, Larry," someone called out, "what are we talking about in Priesthood meeting this morning?"
We were a close group. We enjoyed a great camaraderie and even in Priesthood meeting exchanged a good deal of good-natured banter. Most of us were well into our thirties with a few even into their forties. All of us, I believe, wanted to marry, but were either frightened at the responsibility or for some other reason, just not ready for it yet.
Larry looked at us with a serious expression. "Take my advice and don’t try to joke with the Bishop this morning," he said. "He is nothing but dead serious. His best friend died this week. This is going to be one earnest lesson."
Our bishop, Bishop Stephen Nebeker, was so easy of manner, that I couldn’t help but feel that Larry was certainly exaggerating his seriousness. He wasn’t. Bishop Nebeker came in late--during the opening song. I, and almost everyone in that room, felt the sense of oppression in his manner.
After the opening prayer, Larry stood up and announced that the Bishop would be giving the lesson that morning.
"Brethren," he began in a very solemn tone of voice, "for some time now I have had the feeling that many of you are simply drifting. You are simply going no where, constantly postponing making important decisions. Ask yourself, ‘If I continue doing what I am doing now, where will I be in a year--in 10 years?’ I am not talking just about getting married--important as that is--I’m talking about every aspect of your lives. The lack of marriage is quite frankly merely symptomatic of the pattern of your lives.
"I feel deeply about this because this past week one of my dearest friends, Carl Okleberry, passed away from cancer. He was only 37 years old--younger than some of you. Was it because he was not living righteously? He was the Bishop of my home ward" (as he told us this, he was weeping). "He and I served together in the Young Men Presidency. He leaves behind 5 young sons and a beautiful wife."
Suddenly, he stopped speaking, paused for several moments, ceased weeping and looked out at us with a rather stern expression. "I don’t know why someone so young, so righteous, with so much to love for and so needed by family, Church and community would be struck down by so dread a disease, but this much I do know." Here he paused again, looked out at each of us individually, and then raised his voice and spoke slowly and deliberately, "Carl Okleberry may have lost his life, but he still has, and always will have, a beautiful wife and 5 wonderful sons, and the way things are going that is a great deal more than many of you will have unless things begin changing, and rather quickly, in your lives."
I wish I could convey the powerful spirit that was in that meeting. I have seldom, if ever, been so deeply moved.
Bishop Nebeker passed out cards & told us he wanted us to write down something we wanted to achieve in the next 6 months. I wrote that I wanted to meet someone that I could feel I could marry and that before 6 months passed, I would ask that girl to marry me.
As that 6 months date approached, I remembered the spirit of that meeting and I simply felt I had to fulfill my commitment. I realized that I had met someone I could feel good about asking to marry me, so I determined that I would ask Shauna to marry me.
Looking back on my life, I really wonder if would ever have found the courage to ask anyone to marry me without the tremendous push of that meeting. Bishop Nebeker was right--certainly about me, at any rate. I was simply drifting, postponing, dreaming, hoping, but doing very little.
And I was not alone. The counselor, Larry, was older than I, but the same pattern was, outwardly, at least, apparent in his actions. He had dated, probably dozens of girls in his life, but, as soon as things began to get serious, something, and I suspect his case was similar to mine and many others in that room, came up that ended the relationship. I doubt very much that without the impetus of that stern admonition that he would have changed course. He had dated, rather casually for several months, a particularly attractive English girl. She had an absolutely delightful British accent. After the meeting, he moved rather quickly (for someone in that group, at least) and within a month or so, he was engaged and shortly thereafter, he was married to the English girl.
And a good thing too. Within a year, he and his English wife had a child. Within another year, he was dead of a brain tumor, but he, like Carl Okleberry, would face resurrection knowing he had a family.
It was toward the end of August. I was sitting in the single’s ward in the Ensign Stake. We met in the old 20th ward building at 2nd Ave and J--a beautiful old building with antique stained glass windows.
My roommates and several others were waiting with me for Priesthood meeting to begin when Larry_____, the 2nd counselor in the Bishopric, walked in. "Hey, Larry," someone called out, "what are we talking about in Priesthood meeting this morning?"
We were a close group. We enjoyed a great camaraderie and even in Priesthood meeting exchanged a good deal of good-natured banter. Most of us were well into our thirties with a few even into their forties. All of us, I believe, wanted to marry, but were either frightened at the responsibility or for some other reason, just not ready for it yet.
Larry looked at us with a serious expression. "Take my advice and don’t try to joke with the Bishop this morning," he said. "He is nothing but dead serious. His best friend died this week. This is going to be one earnest lesson."
Our bishop, Bishop Stephen Nebeker, was so easy of manner, that I couldn’t help but feel that Larry was certainly exaggerating his seriousness. He wasn’t. Bishop Nebeker came in late--during the opening song. I, and almost everyone in that room, felt the sense of oppression in his manner.
After the opening prayer, Larry stood up and announced that the Bishop would be giving the lesson that morning.
"Brethren," he began in a very solemn tone of voice, "for some time now I have had the feeling that many of you are simply drifting. You are simply going no where, constantly postponing making important decisions. Ask yourself, ‘If I continue doing what I am doing now, where will I be in a year--in 10 years?’ I am not talking just about getting married--important as that is--I’m talking about every aspect of your lives. The lack of marriage is quite frankly merely symptomatic of the pattern of your lives.
"I feel deeply about this because this past week one of my dearest friends, Carl Okleberry, passed away from cancer. He was only 37 years old--younger than some of you. Was it because he was not living righteously? He was the Bishop of my home ward" (as he told us this, he was weeping). "He and I served together in the Young Men Presidency. He leaves behind 5 young sons and a beautiful wife."
Suddenly, he stopped speaking, paused for several moments, ceased weeping and looked out at us with a rather stern expression. "I don’t know why someone so young, so righteous, with so much to love for and so needed by family, Church and community would be struck down by so dread a disease, but this much I do know." Here he paused again, looked out at each of us individually, and then raised his voice and spoke slowly and deliberately, "Carl Okleberry may have lost his life, but he still has, and always will have, a beautiful wife and 5 wonderful sons, and the way things are going that is a great deal more than many of you will have unless things begin changing, and rather quickly, in your lives."
I wish I could convey the powerful spirit that was in that meeting. I have seldom, if ever, been so deeply moved.
Bishop Nebeker passed out cards & told us he wanted us to write down something we wanted to achieve in the next 6 months. I wrote that I wanted to meet someone that I could feel I could marry and that before 6 months passed, I would ask that girl to marry me.
As that 6 months date approached, I remembered the spirit of that meeting and I simply felt I had to fulfill my commitment. I realized that I had met someone I could feel good about asking to marry me, so I determined that I would ask Shauna to marry me.
Looking back on my life, I really wonder if would ever have found the courage to ask anyone to marry me without the tremendous push of that meeting. Bishop Nebeker was right--certainly about me, at any rate. I was simply drifting, postponing, dreaming, hoping, but doing very little.
And I was not alone. The counselor, Larry, was older than I, but the same pattern was, outwardly, at least, apparent in his actions. He had dated, probably dozens of girls in his life, but, as soon as things began to get serious, something, and I suspect his case was similar to mine and many others in that room, came up that ended the relationship. I doubt very much that without the impetus of that stern admonition that he would have changed course. He had dated, rather casually for several months, a particularly attractive English girl. She had an absolutely delightful British accent. After the meeting, he moved rather quickly (for someone in that group, at least) and within a month or so, he was engaged and shortly thereafter, he was married to the English girl.
And a good thing too. Within a year, he and his English wife had a child. Within another year, he was dead of a brain tumor, but he, like Carl Okleberry, would face resurrection knowing he had a family.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)