The Church

For the majority of my time on this earth (up through at least 2013 and to some extent through 2017), a major focal point in my life, around which nearly everything else revolved, was my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As recently as 2011, I wrote a short bio for the "I'm a Mormon" campaign that was active at the time (unfortunately, the next President of the Church, Russell M. Nelson, declared that campaign (instituted by his predecessor Thomas S. Monson) to be a "victory for Satan" (he didn't say this explicitly. What he did say was "To remove the Lord's name from the Lord's Church is a major victory for Satan", followed by what I would describe a quite vigorous effort to remove the term "Mormon" from everything that was practical, so draw your own conclusions. I would have thought that if President Monson were actively helping Satan, God would have told him as much, or removed him from his position, which I guess he did eventually, when President Monson died in 2018...at the age of 90)).

Those who have read my blog frequently (or who live within my current ward boundaries) are aware that I know longer participate actively in the Church. I plan to write about my journey away from the Church next week, but today, to give some context to that forthcoming piece, I wanted to write about some of my memories, mostly, if not all, positive, that I have of growing up in the Church.

As the oldest child of parents who were active adherents to the faith, my instruction on all things related to the Church began at a very young age. I don't recall exactly how old I was, but do know that before I knew the alphabet or could count to a hundred, I could recite the names of all of the Prophets of this dispensation, in order, up to and including the Prophet at the time of my birth, Spencer W. Kimball.

In the house I grew up in, we followed the enhanced version of the Word of Wisdom, where we not only eschewed alcohol, tobacco, coffee, and tea, but caffeinated soda was also forbidden. Like most families, we weren't perfect, but we did strive to hold weekly Family Home Evenings and would read the scriptures every morning before school.

My social life in my young years, such as it was, was based very much on Primary activities and parties. I have a distinct memory of attending a Primary Halloween party one year and I had dressed up as PeeWee Herman. I was asked to give a prayer to start the activity and when the other kids failed to quiet down and I stood ready to pray, I paraphrased one of PeeWee's lines from the movie and said "Shhhh! I'm trying to say the prayer!"

One of my fondest memories when I was young was attending my dad's church softball games. I can't remember where they played (I want to say Erda, but can't picture where that field was in present-day Erda. Maybe it was Pine Canyon? I know it wasn't in Grantsville). Our ward had a good team in those days and I can still remember most of the men who played on those teams. Arlo Fawson, who was the bishop of the our ward, the Grantsville 2nd, when we moved to Grantsville, was the pitcher. Bishop Fawson was a terrific horseshoes player, and that talent served him well in softball. He had a high-arching, spinning pitch that was difficult to hit but always seemed to find the mat behind home plate to indicate a strike. Al Chatwin played first base, Jerry Lees was second base, Kendall Sandberg was short-stop and Brad Sandberg (I think) played 3rd. My dad played left field (where he would occasionally draw the ire of the opposing team for "showboating" because he would imitate Willie Mays basket catch (catching the ball underhand at waist-level, almost nonchalantly, for the uninitiated)).

The men who played the other positions probably changed, but a particular team I remember featured Doug Drury (who never came to church, but loved to play softball and was probably the best overall player) at center field and Albert Boulard in right field. John Ed Millward played catcher.

As I got older, I participated in Young Men's and Scouts, and have memories of various campouts (to Simpson Springs or Brad Clayton's Kamas cabin during the winter). I remember going skiing at Nordic Valley (the only time in my life I have been skiing, and which ended with me taking quite a tumble down the bunny hill near the end of our outing) and chasing raccoons with Russell Johnson and his hounds.

As I entered my teenage years, I moved from Primary into Sunday School and have a couple of humorous memories from those classes.

In the Book of Mormon, there is a story about a prophet named Abinadi (uh-bin-uh-DIE is how I always heard it pronounced and I believe that is correct). One week in Sunday School, our now former bishop, Arlo Fawson was filling in and the lesson was about Abinadi. But Bishop Fawson was pronouncing it "aa-bi-NA-dee" and I remember being so confused. Since the details of the story matched those that I was familiar with, I finally raised my hand and asked, "Do you mean uh-bin-uh-DIE?"

A few years later, I was in a Sunday School class taught by Nelda Eggett. We were watching a movie one week and I was sitting at the back of the classroom with my leg extended through the hole in the back of and my foot resting on the chair in front of me. After turning out the light and starting the movie, Sister Eggett came back to sit down and, unable to see clearly in the semi-darkness, went to sit on the very chair I had my foot resting on. I quickly attempted to pull my foot back, which I did, but I didn't get it cleanly through the hole in the back of the chair, and inadvertently pulled the whole chair back, causing Sister Eggett to fall as she went to sit down. Thankfully, she wasn't badly hurt and she forgave me (it really was an accident), but I always felt bad about that.

One year, I attended a Fathers and Sons outing (again at Brad Clayton's family cabin in Kamas) and ended up sleeping in a tent with my buddy John and his dad and brothers. But during the night, his dad started snoring quite loudly and after a while I couldn't take it anymore and took my sleeping back outside the tent and spent the rest of the night sleeping just outside the door of the tent.

My family used to sing the Church hymn "Teach Me to Walk." The kids would sing the first verse, my mom and dad would sing the second, and then we'd all sing the third. I don't know how good it was, but I do remember singing it in multiple sacrament meetings, including at my farewell, before I left on my mission.

One of my favorite memories from my later teen years was blessing the sacrament with by good friends Dave, and George, and John. We were all in the same ward and over the years that we were priests (from sixteen to eighteen or so) were able to bless and administer the sacrament together on multiple occasions.

For the most part, I felt that I did what I was supposed to do. I read my scriptures, I attended seminary, I didn't swear, I said my prayers. Since my dad was unable to while he was disfellowshipped, I baptized my brother Kevin and confirmed my brother Brent. I served a mission.

After I returned from my mission, I continued to be what I considered to be quite devout. Jeanell and I married in the Salt Lake Temple. I held various callings in the Church, including Elder's Quorum President and Ward Clerk (twice). I also taught Primary, youth Sunday School, Gospel Principles, and probably my favorite calling while I was active in the Church, teaching Gospel Doctrine.

As a family, we weren't perfect, but much like the family I grew up in, we went to Church, and had weekly Family Home Evenings, and would read the scriptures as a family.

But while I sincerely feel that I tried my best to do the things the Church taught that I was supposed to, I wasn't always 100% in. There were stances the Church took that I struggled with and episodes from Church history that I had a hard time reconciling. And eventually I left. But I'll get into that next week.

Nauvoo Temple with Jefferies Family (2003)

Jeanell and I at the Nauvoo Temple (2003)

Logan Temple (2012)

Brigham City Temple (2012)

 

Callie

For the first several years of Jeanell's and my marriage, we didn't have any pets. At some point when we lived in Ogden, Jeanell decided to get an aquarium with a few fish and a lobster named Mikey. We had that for a while, but eventually the fish (and Mikey) died off and the aquarium was scrapped.

That would all change in the summer of 2008, when our neighbors' (Kirk and Vickie Day) cat gave birth to a litter of kittens and Kirk and Vickie put it in our kids' heads that they should convince Mom and Dad to let them have one. I believe our initial answer was "no," but that didn't last long and it wasn't long before Jeanell went with the boys and picked out a beautiful little calico that would join our family. We would name her Callie.

Callie was just months older than Lila and while in general Callie wasn't a particularly friendly cat, especially to people outside of our immediate family, she had amazing patience with Lila, who treated Callie more like a baby doll than a cat for most of her early years.

Unlike our current cats, Callie almost always slept with Jeanell and I, usually nestling herself above Jeanell's head. She always seemed to be there for our kids, and would seem to sense when they were sad and needed some comfort, on which occasions she would nuzzle into them or cuddle up with them.

Also unlike our current cats, Callie like to be outside, and would watch for opportunities to dash out when someone opened the door. At times, she would be gone for a day or two at a time, roaming the fields behind our home in Elwood.

My relationship with Callie was more distant. I rarely sought her attention, which if you know anything about cats, you know that means I frequently got it. I would just be sitting somewhere minding my own business and she would jump up on my lap and sit until I got up or moved her. When I first started working from home, my computer was in a little nook in our basement and during the day Callie and I would be the only ones there. She would frequently jump on my lap and sit there while I worked (which I've joked made me feel like Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget).

My main cat-related job was then, as it is now, to empty the litter-boxes. I would also sometimes help to take her to the vet, but that was the extent of my involvement.

When we made the decision to move back to Grantsville, Callie came with us. She moved into to Grandma and Grandpa Jefferies house with us for several months while our house was built. Grandma Jefferies already had a cat, Tisha, who was nearing the end of her life and would pass away while we lived there and Callie did not tolerate Tisha very well.

If you wanted to get on my kids' bad side, one sure-fire way to do it was to bother Callie. At one point, we were holding a practice for a Sociable number at Grandma Jefferies house and some of the kids who came for the practice started teasing Callie. My kids were about to lose their minds. We quickly removed Callie from the room so she wouldn't be bothered.

We moved into our own home in 2015 and Callie again went with us. She adapted to her new surroundings and continue to be an important part of our family.

In the spring of 2018, we suddenly noticed a change in her behavior. Since she was already an older cat and wasn't particularly active, we maybe didn't notice as soon as we might have that she was moving and eating less. But finally Caleb said that he thought something was wrong with Callie and with very little reflection, we realized he was right.

We got an appointment with the vet, but she continue to deteriorate and we worried that she wouldn't make it to our appointment. But she did, and Jeanell and I took her up to the vet to see if we could find out what was wrong. The vet could immediately see that she was jaundiced and after running some tests, confirmed that her liver was failing. There were some things that could be tried, but nothing was likely to be successful. I hadn't considered myself particularly emotionally attached and was surprised as my voice cracked and tears came to my eyes as I asked, "So are we just supposed to take her home and watch her die?"

The poor vet we were talking to was brand new and Jeanell asked to talk to the more experienced vet who had been more involved with Callie's care. The conversation was helpful, but the results were the same. Together, we decided the best thing we could do for her at this point was to put her to sleep.

We went through that painful process and after she was gone, wrapped her in a blanket to take her back home so the kids could say goodbye. Everything happened so fast and I don't know that we were really able to communicate with the kids beforehand what was happening. I know that Lila in particular was not aware of what had transpired.

When we got home, I remember Jeanell carefully carrying Callie into our bedroom and lying her on the bed. Lila burst in and immediately started sobbing as Jeanell said, "Come and tell Callie goodbye." We had called Devin, who was living in Salt Lake at the time, on our way home, and he immediately drove out to Grantsville to be with us.

We spent an hour or more just being together, shedding tears and being sad. Eventually we placed her into a box with a blanket and buried her in the flowerbeds in our backyard. We then went to Home Depot and bought a tree that we planted in the same spot where we buried her.

Devin would call Callie "Bashuga" and Jeanell had a sign made that said "Bashuga Tree."

Our cat family has expanded since then, and we love our current Sammie, Charlie, Maggie, and Gerdie a great deal, but I don't know if any other cat will ever have quite the same impact on our family that Callie did.

We love and miss you Callie.

Callie with baby Lila

Sleeping above Jeanell's head

Christmas Eve

Sammie showed up about six months before Callie died and is the only of our current cats who knew her

The Bashuga Tree

Caroling

This last Sunday, the Dick and Kathy Mouritsen family went caroling, as we have every December for as long as I can remember. I know people have mixed feelings about caroling and can acknowledge that when people you don't know, or don't know well, show up at your door to sing you Christmas carols, it can be awkward as you feel compelled to stand at the door, in the cold, and listen to them sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in its entirety. But for us, and the select few families that we carol to each year, it's a special tradition. (We even made it happen the year my parents were on their mission in Connecticut, I'm sure much to their surprise).

Before I continue, I have to give my brother Brent credit for suggesting that I write about this topic as I had not planned to. In fact, I think Brent would have been happy if I would have skipped the second half of my siblings post and just gone straight to caroling (after all, he'd already been covered in the first half).

I haven't always kept track, but I think this last Sunday we had a record turnout. By my count, we had 32 carolers, at least at our peak (some arrived a little late, some had to leave early for other commitments). This included all six of my siblings, all but seven of my mom's grandkids, and most of my siblings' spouses (this included Jeanell, who accompanied for the first time ever. The joke was that it was the first time for her and Jude, my nephew who was born in June).

The list of families we carol to hasn't always stayed the same. I believe those that we still go to really seem to enjoy it and look forward to us coming so either they genuinely do enjoy it, or they are good actors.

We have our system pretty much down to a science. We sing the same two songs every year and at every house. It goes like this: We ring the bell. As soon as we see someone coming, we begin singing "Angels We Have Heard on High" (one verse plus the chorus). We finish that song, say hello, exchange some pleasantries, then we sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" (again, one verse, nothing about figgy pudding or refusing to leave). One of the grandkids hands you a treat from my mom and we say goodbye.

Years ago, we were caroling to Lynn Cook. As we finished the first song, he leaned forward and in his quiet voice that those who know him are familiar with, whispered "Would you like to come in?" I'm not sure if my mom didn't hear him or just didn't want all of us trekking into his house, but before anyone could even respond, she broke into "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." Then we left. We didn't go in.

Another time, we went to Karen and Merrill Nelson's house, but they weren't home and their son Aaron answered. He wasn't quite as enthusiastic about our caroling as Merrill and Karen usually are, but he dutifully stood in the doorway until we were done.

The funniest was one year when we went to Kathy Cummings, and she wasn't home, but her son, who we didn't know, answered. We probably should have just foregone the caroling but old habits die hard (we'd probably already started singing before the door was answered as well). So we're there crowded on the porch, singing to someone we don't know and who doesn't know us, and then the dog gets out. So the son runs out and starts chasing the dog to get it back into the house and we're just belting out "Angels We Have Heard on High" through it all.

While I know not everyone enjoys caroling or being caroled to, I'm glad it's a tradition we continue. Until next year!

(All videos courtesy of Tracy Beckett)

2018

2023 - Angels We Have Heard on High

2023 - We Wish You a Merry Christmas

2024

My Brothers and Sister (part 2)

Last week, I wrote about my three youngest siblings. This week, I'm turning my attention to my three older siblings (meaning that they are older than by three youngest siblings. Unfortunately, none of them are older than me).

While we all get along and have good relationships with each other, in some ways, there is a difference between the older four kids and the younger three kids. The older four were all born before we moved to Grantsville. There is roughly a six-year gap between myself (the oldest of the older four) and Carl (the youngest of the older four). There is then a three-year gap between Carl and Kevin, and then there is a six-year gap between Kevin (the oldest of the younger three) and McKell (the youngest of the younger three).

We older four grew up when our family had less money, but part of that was that Mom didn't work when we were young. The younger three grew up with more money (in part due to Mom returning to teach school, and also due to more of the older siblings moving on and being financially independent), but maybe had less of Mom's time. At the end of the day, my point is that the younger three were pretty spoiled. (None of them were working all summer at the age of 12).

I love all of my siblings, but definitely grew up more with the older three, so have a few more memories that involve them.

Carl

I've already written about some of my early memories with Carl, mostly about me accidentally (purportedly) injuring him, whether with a dart or a baseball bat. Despite these early mishaps, as far as I can remember, we've always gotten along pretty well, maybe because we were always teammates in the Sunday-morning two-on-two basketball games we'd play against Scott and Alan in our basement on our toy hoop.

I don't recall exactly how it happened (and I guess it is their story to tell anyway), but sometime in the early part of 2000, after Jeanell and I were engage, Carl took an interest in Jeanell's younger sister Rachel. She was a year ahead of him in school, but he asked her to Prom, she accepted, and by the time Jeanell and I got married in May, I believe they ware dating. That was always fun, and became even more fun, when Rachel and Carl were married, four years and two days after Jeanell and I were (it would have four years and three days because Jeanell and I were going to be married on May 9, but Jeanell's cousin Jay was getting home from his mission on the 9th, so we bumped the wedding back a day).

Another vivid memory I have of Carl is attending a quarterfinal state playoff football game against Millard his senior year. The game was played at Grantsville, and Millard was driving late, looking to make a go-ahead touchdown and win the game. Carl started at inside linebacker and was key to a heroic goal line stand that sealed the victory for the Cowboys. I remember him raising his arms triumphantly after stopping Millard on their 4th down try.

With Carl being both my brother and my brother-in-law, I've spent more time with him than any of my other siblings as adults. But that hasn't been limited to just family interactions. At the beginning of 2012, both Carl and I left our previous jobs (Carl from Xactware and me from Vulcraft) to join a small custom software firm called [io]development, owned and run by Carl's friend Chad Francis. We worked together in that for four to five years, and eventually worked together again at 365 Retail Markets until Carl left a few years ago.

(I still work at 365 and Chad is still my boss. I have now worked with Chad longer than any other person).

When Jeanell and I moved back to Grantsville, we opted to purchase the lot next to Carl and Rachel's home and built our new home there. Consequently, there was a time where Carl was my brother, brother-in-law, co-worker, next-door neighbor, and a counselor in our ward bishopric.

On one occasion, we traveled with the Jefferies men to attend a baseball game in Los Angeles. Carl and I roomed together at the hotel we stayed at and were amused by the fact that the door to the bathroom in our room didn't have a lock on it. Anytime either of us would go to use the bathroom, we'd turn to the other and say, "Don't come in." before we slid the door closed. Sounds silly but we got a kick out of it every time.

Carl playd an important role in my life. Despite him being my younger brother I will often turn to him for advice or to get his perspective on something. He's always there to help me out when I need it and I treasure the close relationship that we have.

Carl and Rachel with Jeanell and me at a Christmas party when we worked together at [io]dev

Alan

Alan was the brother that I most clashed with growing up. I'm not sure exactly why that was, but I know that he had a talent for saying something that I would have no retort for, and so I would resort to violence. (Alan: Did you just comb your hair? Me: Yes. Alan: Doesn't look like it. Me: [throws punch]). While Carl was on the receiving end of some unintentional violence, I would have to say that Alan far and away suffered the most intentional violence from me.

That isn't to say that we never had our moments. I have a memory of going over to the elementary school behind our Nalder grandparents' house and playing basketball on an eight-foot hoop on one occasion. Another couple of kids came over of similar ages and we challenged them to play two-on-two. We destroyed them! I remember Alan hitting shot after shot in the early part of the game until at one point I didn't feel I was getting enough shots and suggested he should throw me some lobs. He immediately began doing so and threw me so many perfect lobs leading to so many dunks that I got blisters on both of my hands.

Alan was always the most competitive of my siblings and for my money, was the best athlete (though it's possible Brent just faced stiffer competition). I was on my mission during Al's amazing junior football season when he scored a record 42 touchdowns and helped lead Grantsville to its third state championship of the 90s. But I was back for his senior year when he continued his run and was able to be at the game at South Summit when he broke the all-time touchdown record.

I always felt that Alan was the most ambitious of us and the most willing to step outside his comfort zone. While the rest us did college in-state, Alan went to Iowa and Pomona (in part to continue his football career) and ultimately earned his law degree from Stanford Law School.

Being back in Grantsville together, I've enjoyed seeing his service to the community, serving on the school board for several years (I always enjoyed his speeches at high school graduations. He did a great job) and volunteering as a football coach.

Like Carl and myself, Alan also married his high school sweetheart, Meghan (who was Lila's wonderful kindergarten teacher). I've enjoyed being able to watch their kids grow up and cheer them on in their athletic careers.

Alan is extremely well-read and informed on a wide variety of topics. I always appreciate being able to give him a call and pick his brain on different issues. We don't always share the same opinions, but we do always have great discussions. Grateful for Al and the important role he plays in my life.

Al and I with his two oldest boys, Noah and Gabe, after what I have to assume was a Cowboy win

Scott

Scott is the next oldest and I believe we are the closest two in age of any of my siblings, with me being just over 21 months older. So at least to the extent I can remember, Scott has always been there.

While I'm sure we did at times, I don't have any memories of us fighting as kids. When the basement at our parents' house was finished, we both moved downstairs and shared the basement until we left home.

My buddies Aaron and George both had brothers in Scott's grade and in high school, some of my fondest memories are of times where we'd get together and me and my friends (the seniors) would get together and play basketball or ultimate frisbee against Scott and his friends (the sophomores). While we were older, Scott and his friends were great athletes and I remember many competitive battles. When we'd play at the church, we'd often listen to music (Billy Joel's greatest hits is something I distinctly remember). On one occasion, President Rose poked his head in and icily told us to turn it off. (I mean, fine, I guess, but it's not like we were listening to anything different from what was played at Stake Dances and I don't remember there being anyone else in the building at the time that we were disturbing. Maybe President Rose just really didn't like Billy Joel).

I again missed it while on my mission, but Scott was a starter on the 1996 state championship football team and was in on the final tackle that sealed the victory over our most intense rivals, the Morgan Trojans. (I was going to say "most-hated" rivals, but I don't hate them. I just really hate losing to them and I really, really like it when we beat them).

When Jeanell and I were dating, we'd sometimes double-date with Scott. As I've described elsewhere, Scott was the only of my parents and siblings who lasted through the night and was present when Caleb was born.

Scott actually did the career that I thought I wanted to do when I was finishing high school. He went to Utah State and got a degree in Math Education and came back and has been a math teacher and coach at Grantsville High School for many years. While I don't regret the path my career has taken, it has been rewarding to see Scott take the path I once thought about and see the impact and influence he has had on so many hundreds of students. He coached all of my older boys, some in tennis and others in cross-country and I always appreciated how he worked with and encouraged them.

Scott is the brother that most shares my love and running and is also the brother I just can't seem to beat. While there have been years when I've trained more intensely than he has and I'll manage to get him at the Ray Barrus 5K, if we've both been running consistently, it's not much of a contest. I've run seven or eight half marathons, Scott ran one (or at least at one point he had only run one), but his time in the one was better than any of my times.

Every year around Christmas time, Scott makes a big batch of chocolate chip cookies and with his wife Shannon and their kids, brings them around and carols to us. It's something we look forward to every year.

Scott is always responsive when I need to ask him a question or need his input on something. I also feel that he's always been my biggest fan, defender, and supporter. Love him and so grateful he is a part of my life.

Not sure what year this was, but Scott took first and I took third in our age group

 

My Brothers and Sister (part 1)

A special bond exists between siblings. I am the oldest of seven children, and while circumstances of course vary from family to family, my younger siblings and I grew up in the same house, in the same town, and went to the same schools. While I am more than 15 years older than my youngest sibling, my little sister McKell, we all still have many shared experiences and interests.

Five of my six siblings currently live in Grantsville, where we grew up (McKell lives 45 minutes away in Midvale) so we see each other often. Monthly gatherings at Mom's, taking turns using Brent's tickets to attend BYU football games together, Grantsville Cowboy football and basketball games, annual Turkey Bowl on Thanksgiving morning, and many more occasions and activities that bring us together.

Wanted to write today about my six siblings and my memories and relationship with each of them.

McKell

McKell was born in the spring of my freshman year of high school, when I was 15. After six consecutive boys, the whole family was extremely excited to be getting a little girl. My mom would have to say for sure, but I think McKell was the only of my mom's children where they were able to learn the sex beforehand so we knew Mom was having a girl (though I don't think my mom really believed it until she was born).

McKell would have been four when I left on my mission in 1996. I don't know if I was beforehand, but when I left I definitely became her favorite brother. I think that trend continued and whichever brother was on a mission at the time was McKell's favorite. (Not sure how that always worked when we overlapped, but when Scott and I were both out, pretty sure I remained the favorite until I got home).

I don't have a lot of memories of McKell's growing up years. I got married when she was eight and had mostly been out of the house since she was three so I can't claim that we spent a lot of time together when she was younger.

As she became an adult, we didn't always get along the best. As an older brother, I liked to tease, and McKell didn't always appreciate that. But I think over time, we found a middle ground and I feel we have a good relationship now.

McKell has had some challenges in her life and I've always admired how she just keeps working and moving forward. She is a wonderful mother to two great kids, has a great partnership with her husband Alex, and has built a career for herself as a woman in tech.

McKell taught herself to crochet and has made many wonderful creations. My favorites are her Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the baby Yoda she made for Jeanell.

Proud of McKell and grateful to have her as a sister.

McKell and I at the airport following my mission

Brent

Brent was born the spring of my 5th grade year, when I was 11. Like with McKell, we didn't spend much time living in the same house. Brent was always his older brothers' biggest fan and spent his childhood on the sidelines of Grantsville football and basketball games.

When Brent got into high school, he became quite an athlete in his own right, and I have fond memories of attending some of his games. He likes to point out that he played at Grantsville after they went 3A and faced tougher competition than some of his older brothers. He probably has a point.

Brent also participated in theater and played a memorable Gaston in GHS's production of "Beauty and the Beast", which I had the privilege of attending.

In high school, Brent won a car for being the student that attended the most GHS events and that passion has continued into adulthood. He runs the clock for both football and basketball games. I don't know if he's still able to do this, but at one time he had a rule that if a GHS sporting event was happening within 45 miles of his house, he would attend. When Grantsville won the state championship in baseball in 2014, Brent famously posted on Facebook: "We had a baby today, but the cowboys taking state is still the best part of my weekend."

Despite that, Brent is a great dad and always seems to have one or both of his girls with him as he indulges in his fandom. It's easy to see that his girls adore him (as I'm sure his son will too, eventually).

Brent has equal passion for his BYU Cougars. While we grew up BYU fans, most of us ended up attending USU. Brent started at USU, but transferred after his mission, and is the only of my siblings to have graduated from BYU. He's had football season tickets for several years and never misses a game. He used to arrive home from a late game in Provo and immediately rewatch the game. He says that since he became a bishop, he doesn't have the stamina for that anymore.

Speaking of which, Brent, while the youngest, was the first of my brothers to become a bishop. Not that it's a competition, but I believe President Killian did tell him he could rub it in a little bit, but not to take it too far. When Brent was called, he told President Killian, "I think all of my brothers would be better at this than me, including my brother who doesn't go to church." I've had multiple people tell me what a good job he's done and I can tell he enjoys it, especially working with the youth.

At a meeting he did with the youth not long after becoming bishop, he did a slideshow of his life, in part to show them that he had grown up and had many of the same teachers and experiences that they had. Part of his presentation showed him in a Superman costume he had obtained on his mission and sometimes wore because people in his mission told him he looked like Superman. One of the youth asked him, "How much would we have to pay you to put that on for us?" to which Brent replied, "Not as much as you might think."

While Brent is generally kind, he is not always empathetic and not very emotional, while his wife Hannah is as sweet and sensitive as they come. I sometimes worry about that contrast, but it seems to work well for them. They are both a blessing in my life.

I love Brent's spontaneity and passion for life. He's always up for an adventure. Grateful that he's my brother.

Brent and I (and Kevin) at the Las Vegas Ragnar

Kevin

Kevin was born a couple of months after my 10th birthday, on the same day as the Challenger tragedy.

Like the others in the younger half of my siblings, I don't have many memories that involve them during their childhood. Like all of my brothers, he participated in a lot of sports, but as I recall Kevin was maybe more of a performer than his older brothers. I don't know if I saw him perform in anything, but I seem to remember a VHS recording of him singling "Get Me to the Church On Time" from "My Fair Lady." If I recall correctly, he was also in "Pirates of Penzance" at some point.

His senior year of football, he (along with Paul Clark) was part of the formidable linebacking corps that anchored the Cowboy defense. That Cowboy team pulled off an improbable run to the state championship game (before falling to Bear River). That run included a win over Park City, who had blown them out in the regular season, in the quarterfinals and a last-second field goal to beat Morgan in the semis. Despite a loss in the finals (against a school with more than twice the number of students), it was a fun season and I was glad I got to attend some of the games.

Kevin got a bachelor's degree in English from Utah State and then continued on to get a Masters of Information Systems from Weber State. Like all but two of my brothers, he works in tech.

Kevin is the organizer in our family. He lays out the agenda for our yearly Mouritsen Reunion and spends a lot of time preparing activities, such as Jeopardy or a treasure hunt throughout Grantsville. One year, we were trying to decide which movie to watch as part of our reunion so Kevin setup a bracket and we voted on the different movies until a winner was declared, with "Newsies" narrowly defeating "School of Rock" in the championship. As I recall, once the reunion rolled around, no one had much interest in watching the movie, but we had a lot of fun determining which movie we would watch.

When I was asked to do the PA at the football games, Kevin was quick to volunteer to help me as a spotter. I said that I didn't want to be responsible for playing music, so Kevin took the initiative to put together a playlist and became responsible for playing the music during the games. He also filled in for me when I was gone and did a great job.

Kevin is a terrific husband and father. He frequently has his kids in tow and has a sweet relationship with them. When his wife Natalie wanted to go live in San Antonio to be near her sister, Kevin was supportive and they moved to Texas for a couple of years.

Kevin rarely if ever calls me intentionally, but I have received numerous "butt-dials" from him over the years. I would always laugh because if he called, I could pretty much count on getting a text shortly afterward that it was accidental.

I so appreciate Kevin's organization, love of family, and sense of humor. Glad that he's my brother.

Kevin and I performing with the other brothers at my wedding

I fully intended to write about all six of my siblings today, but ended up writing more than anticipated. I'll have to leave another cliff-hanger. If you're big fans of Scott, Alan, and Carl, be sure to check back next week.

Dad Goes To Prison

I don't know if I'd write this if my dad were still alive. But I look at it as a significant event in my life and want to share my memories of what occurred. I thought there was a more detailed newspaper article, but all I could find when I searched today was this short article that came out after he was sentenced. The article contains some of the details, but I will mostly focus on my memories of that time (which may not be entirely accurate).

As I have mentioned before, my dad was the branch manager at the Zion's Bank branch in Tooele. That ended abruptly in the fall of 1991 (my freshman year of high school). Initially, he told us that he had quit. (I remember telling other people that he had quit before I learned what had really happened. A distinct memory I have is telling Terri Linares, who was my English teacher at the time, that he had quit and her saying "What a loss for Zion's Bank!" and telling my friend George (who was with me at the time) and me about how she would go up and talk to him at the bank about religion and how he'd saved her soul may times, or something to that effect).

I don't remember how much time elapsed, but it wasn't too long, before my dad told us the truth. I still remember my parents calling us back into their bedroom and telling us that in fact Dad had been fired and that he would be charged with criminal activity and that prison was a possibility. I remember asking him how long he might have to go to prison and him saying that it could be up to thirty years (thankfully it ended up being much less than that).

To back up just a bit, my dad had become involved with a man by the name of David Brockbank. I don't know or remember how Dad knew Dave or how they became connected. Brockbank is my Grandma Mouritsen's maiden name, but I don't know if Dave was related somehow.

Looking back, Dave was always a little sketchy. There was a time we had his Porsche parked in our garage which I later learned was to hide it from being repossessed. But Dave could also be charming. I remember him going to some of my Junior Jazz games. He would give us courtside tickets to Jazz games.

I don't know the details of what happened but my understanding is that Dad approved some bad loans to help Dave, and then when things didn't pan out, made increasingly risky moves to try to recover from the initial mistake. My memory is that one of the loans/schemes involved some vending machines back in Ohio, but the machines didn't perform as anticipated and the financial problems were only exacerbated. (This is somewhat funny to me because in my current job, I develop software that is used on credit card readers for vending machines).

(Dave was eventually convicted as well in 1995 and sentenced to two years in prison).

At the time this happened, my dad was serving as the bishop of the Grantsville 8th Ward. He would be released from that calling and ultimately was disfellowshipped from the Church. My recollection is that one counselor in the Stake Presidency thought he should be ex-communicated, the other counselor thought he should just be put on probation, so they compromised and disfellowshipped him. I wasn't involved in that much, but know that that was probably more devastating to him than the eventual prison sentence.

(When my dad was released as bishop, the ward made him a quilt with each family contributing a square. This quilt still hangs on the wall in my mom’s basement study).

While there was some initial shock, it seems like for the next year or two, things mostly went back to normal, at least from my perspective. It could be a little uncomfortable as knowledge of what was going on with my dad spread throughout the community. Jeanell and I started dating during this time period and I remember asking her if she was aware of my dad's situation and she informed me that she was. Dad went to work for a friend of his at Toolbox Rental in Tooele and at least for a time, life went forward much as it had previously.

My dad retained an attorney by the name of Rod Snow and prepared to face the charges that would be brought against him. The prosecuting attorney was Tena Campbell (who in 1995 would be nominated by Bill Clinton to serve on the United States District Court for the District of Utah. Despite being the prosecuting attorney and not being a member of the Church, she would later write a letter to the Church, urging them to restore my dad’s membership.) and the judge was David Sam, who was nominated to serve on the United States District Court for the District of Utah by Ronald Reagan in 1985. My dad knew he was guilty, cooperated with the investigation, and ultimately pleaded guilty. By this time it was 1993 and we now awaited the sentencing.

Leading up to the sentencing, letters of support were solicited from friends, family, and members of the community, and there was a tremendous outpouring of support in that regard (another reason I love Grantsville). Judge Sam, who read the letters, commented on the quantity and quality of the letters and said that he was quite certain he wouldn't receive that kind of support in that situation.

One other memory I have from the time leading up to the sentencing is my dad bearing his testimony in church. He had been disfellowshipped and so he didn't speak from the pulpit, so he stood on the floor of the chapel, near the sacrament table, but I think he did have a microphone. He gave the "Parable of the Boil" by comparing his situation with having a giant boil on his face. The community knew about the boil and talked about it. The media wrote about and took pictures of the boil. But through Jesus Christ, the boil could be lanced and didn't need to define him.

Ultimately Dad was sentenced to a year in prison. The sentencing guidelines were for closer to three years, but the prosecuting attorney had recommended less than that, but the sentence was even less than that recommended by Ms. Campbell. We had still been hopeful for probation, but my recollection was that we felt a year was something we could handle. The sentence was later changed to a year and a day because for some reason that would allow him to be released early due to good behavior. When Judge Sam sentenced him, he said that it would be easier for Dad to return to the community if they could see that he had paid for his mistakes.

My dad would serve his sentence at the federal prison at Nellis Air Force Base near Las Vegas. He entered on October 31, 1993, on my brother Alan’s birthday. He had to miss the last football game of my junior year. It seems funny now, but my mom drove him to prison ("Umm, you think you could find a ride down here?"). My Uncle Les and Aunt Judy accompanied them as far as St. George and then my mom drove him from there. She describes the drive back from Las Vegas to St. George after dropping him off as one of the traumatic experiences of her life.

The other thing I remember about that day is that Jeanell came to visit me that morning after my parents had left.

My dad has shared that in the first few nights of his stay, while walking around the track at the prison, he offered a prayer and received what he considered an undeniable confirmation that he had been forgiven.

While obviously I would have preferred my dad avoid prison altogether, I've always admired the way that once that was what was going to be the reality, my dad turned it into an opportunity for self-improvement. He probably weighed somewhere around 250 lbs when he went into prison, but committed himself to exercise and a better diet and was 175 lbs when he came home. Despite making a ridiculously low wage for the work he did at the prison, he saved what he could, traded his cigarette rations, and sent money home every month.

While the situation was difficult at home, we were supported by great friends and neighbors, including our next-door neighbor Warren Archer, who worked my dad's job at Toolbox Rental both so that the job would still be there when my dad returned and to help my mom with the bills. I also specifically remember Jerry Aldridge servicing and keeping our cars running and making sure our big blue van (the Komfort Koach) was in good working order when we were going to visit Dad. Willard Hammond paid for my brother Carl to play little league football. Robin Baird gave my mom a gift certificate each month to get dinner at Nettie’s.

My mom says that I would pay for my own school and sports fees with the money I earned working on the ranch because I didn't want to do a fee waiver.

I only remember visiting my dad twice. The first was on New Year's Day, 1994. We spent New Year's Eve at Circus Circus. I think I've mentioned it before but my mom initially pulled into a parking lot that was too low for our van and the van was scraping on the ceiling. We were able to get out and park in an outside lot. I don't remember much about the actual visit.

The second time I visited was later that summer when the Esteem Team (an anti-drug/alcohol group I was a part of) made a trip to Vegas to see Starlight Express. Several of my friends went with me to visit him on that occasion. We went to MGM before we left to see my dad, but because of the schedule didn't have much time to spend there. I remember my friends and I sprinting from attraction to attraction to make sure we got it all in before leaving to visit my dad. I've always appreciated my friends' support at that time because I think it would have been easy to just say they didn't really want to go or to complain that we couldn't stay at MGM longer.

The prison was strict about what we could send my dad and he needed some new running shoes. On this visit, I wore his new running shoes in, we swapped shoes under a picnic table during the visit, and I wore my dad's old shoes out.

Due to good behavior (I guess they never caught on to the smuggled shoes), my dad was actually only in prison for about nine months. He temporarily was in a half-way house as he transitioned back. He missed the first football game of my senior year (he was in the half-way house by that time but the game was in St. George and he wasn't authorized to travel that far), but was able to attend the rest.

I remember the day my dad came home, neighbors had strewn yellow ribbon throughout our yard and the neighborhood, another example of the great support we received from the community.

My dad's attorney said that my dad was a great example of rebuilding your life after a circumstance such as this. He could have been tempted to move somewhere else where people weren't familiar with his past, but he opted to stay in the same community. I also credit my mother for sticking by my dad, forgiving him, and allowing us all to move on. What could have been a tragedy ended up being a hiccup and ultimately something that we would joke about. We didn't drink caffeinated beverages growing up and my dad, at one point explaining that to someone, joked "We do prison, but we don't do Pepsi."

My advice would be to try to avoid going to prison, But if you end up going, do it like my dad.

My dad ran a 10K not long after returning home

 

Grantsville

Do you ever think about the random events that drastically alter the course of our lives?

My 3x great-grandfather, Isaac Brockbank was converted to the gospel in Liverpool by Parley P. Pratt and his wife at the time, Elizabeth Mainwaring, was a devout Methodist, who very much opposed his joining the Church. See ultimately agreed to accompany the rest of the family to America, on account of their children, but became separated from the company near Fort Laramie and was never seen again. He married my 3x great-grandmother, Sarah Brown, a few months later.

My 2x great-grandfather, Oran Lewis married a woman named Ellen Gillespie. Less than three weeks after they were married, she was leaving for choir practice and was somehow mistaken for a fugitive that law enforcement was looking for and was shot and killed. Four years later, Oran married my 2x great-grandmother, Laura Larsen.

My great-grandfather Glendale Mouritsen married my great-grandmother, Nettie Maybell Crane on December 23, 1914 and died mere months later from a burst appendix on July 12, 1915, almost three months before my grandfather was born.

If those events don't happen, I don't exist, or at least not as the same person I currently am.

When I was born, my parents lived in Kaysville, Utah. My mom had grown up in Layton and had graduated from Davis High School so we lived near her old stomping grounds and near to her parents. We also lived in the same neighborhood as my Uncle Robert and his family, who lived in a cul-de-sac just across the street from our house. We could have lived there for many years.

But when was six, my dad, who had graduated from BYU with a degree in finance and was working for First Security Bank, applied for and was hired as the manager of the Tooele Branch of Zion's Bank, which sat at the southwest corner of Main Street and what is now Utah Avenue in Tooele.

My parents began looking for a home to purchase in the area and after looking in Tooele and Stansbury Park ultimately purchased a red-brick home on the corner of Main Street and Eastmoor Drive in Grantsville.

Looking back, things could have easily gone differently. A branch manager position could have opened up in another part of the state, or in another state. My parents could have easily decided to buy in home in Tooele since it would be closer to my dad's work. [Shudder]

If things had gone differently, I may have never met the love of my life. I would have never met the guys who have been my life-long friends. Sure, it's easy to say that I would have met other friends and married someone else, but it's hard for me to imagine that I would have loved that person as I much as I love Jeanell. Or that the friends I would have made in this alternate scenario would have impacted my life in the same way.

Suffice it to say, I'm glad we ended up in Grantsville. Grantsville has had a profound impact on my life and has become a place that I love dearly, and hope to never leave again.

Prior to moving here, I guess the one familial connection we had to Grantsville was that my Grandpa Mouritsen and Uncle Robert both had profound respect and admiration for J. Reuben Clark, a Grantsville native. My dad's oldest brother was named Dale Clark and two of Uncle Robert's sons, Stephen Clark and Joshua Reuben, also got their middle names from Grantsville's most famous son (Ron Johnson and Bart Hamitake were both in Independence Day, Amy Christiansen Palmer was an Olympian, Ray Barrus an All-American runner, but I'm still going with J. Reuben).

Why do I love Grantsville? It's obviously not without its Quirks (see what I did there). For starters, we have the gnats. In total, I've lived here about twenty-five years and I've never been able to figure out why Grantsville has gnats, and the other cities in the valley, only a few miles away, do not. But every spring, from about mid-April to the beginning of June, the town is beset by gnats. And while a cap of nylon or Avon Skin-So-Soft can help mitigate, to a large extent the residents of Grantsville just deal.

When I was in elementary school, we had to shutdown for three days due to a lice epidemic. Mayor Keith Brown used to shoot dogs if they were wandering around unattended. In the early 80s, the high school was burned down. Center Street in Grantsville is technically 200 West. My mom, who lives on what you'd expect to be a quiet corner in a rural community, has had not one, but two multiple homicides within half a mile of her house. In 2019, USA Today determined Grantsville to be the worst city in Utah.

But I love the people. I love the sense of community. I love that I went to school from first grade through high school graduation with the same hundred or so kids. I love that we have that shared history and greet each other warmly when we see each other around town. I love the traditions like the Old Folks' Sociable (now the Grantsville Sociable) and the Junior Prom and egging in the weeks leading up to Prom (This no longer a tradition, but when I was in high school the fields south of town where South Willow Estates now is were called Hollywood and we'd all go up there and throw eggs at each other. It was great!).

I guess the best way to say it is I love feeling like I belong somewhere. While I wasn't born here and don't have ancestors who lived here (unlike Jeanell, who has forty-seven direct ancestors buried in Grantsville Cemetery. By contrast, the most ancestors I have who are buried in any one cemetery is 13 in Spanish Fork), I feel welcomed and embraced by the community. I routinely see people who I knew thirty or more years ago and think about the interactions I've had with them and the impact they've had on me.

I love that my mom is here. I love that all of my brothers and five of my six siblings are here. I love that Jeanell's parents are here and for the deep roots they have in the community. I love the members of the extended Jefferies family who are still here.

While circumstances caused Jeanell and I to live away from Grantsville for the first 13 years of our marriage, I'm glad that we made it back. I hope to be here until I die.

Heading south on Cooley Lane at sunrise

Deseret Peak from my backyard

Snow-capped Deseret Peak from my backyard

Stansburys in the distance on a sunny day following a snowstorm