Great-Grandpa Mouritsen's Death

In what I would maybe describe as mildly ironic, I have become more interested in family history since leaving the Church than I ever was when I was fully-invested. While I'm not focused on making sure the temple work is done for my ancestors, I do find learning the details about their lives fascinating. Especially when there are different accounts, and the details vary enough to make you wonder what the real story is.

Growing up, I had often heard the story about how my Great-Grandpa Mouritsen was hit in the side during a baseball game, leading to appendicitis, and ultimately his untimely death, roughly two and a half months before his first child, my grandfather, was born. When I later read actual accounts, I learned that Grandpa had abdominal pain prior to being hit with the baseball and that the hit seemed to exacerbate, but didn't cause, the appendicitis.

A while ago, I got from my Aunt Kathy two documents that contained the story and I found it interesting the details that were different between these two accounts and also between those and the account with which I was more familiar in the Mouritsen Family History Book.

I am going to reproduce the three accounts I am familiar with here, along with some of my interpretation and commentary on the differences (in bold).

This is the account from the Mouritsen Family History Book (which I believe was written by my Uncle Stewart):

"On June 8, 1915 Glen purchased a resident fish and game license at Montpelier, Idaho. From this we get a better idea of what he looked like. On this license he affirmed that, 'I hereby certify that I am twenty-three years of age, am five feet and eleven inches tall (I'm 5'10 1/2", but sometimes I round up), weight two hundred pounds (I was 196 this morning), am light complexioned, have light hair and blue eyes, and that my residence is Bennington, County of Bear Lake, State of Idaho.'

Glen played on the Bennington baseball team as catcher. (His son Glen (my grandfather) still has his father’s catcher’s mitt. (This would have been true at the time this was written, but my grandpa passed away in 2000. I'm not sure who has the catcher's mitt currently)) One day in early July, the team had an important game to play in Fairview, Wyoming (I don't know how many people lived there in 1915, but as of 2020, Fairview, Wyoming was home to a whopping 277 people). When he left he had some stomach pains which he thought were from indigestion. During the game he was hit in the side with a fastball, and he immediately got much sicker. It was undoubtedly a long, painful ride back home. At the Montpelier Hospital it was determined that his appendix had ruptured. Dr. George F. Ashley did everything he could for him. It soon became apparent that Glen would not live. He signed a will dated July 10, 1915 which said that, 'In consideration of my love and affections for my wife, Nettie M. B. Crane Mouritsen (my Great-Grandma), I, Glen Mouritsen, give, grant, deed, and deliver all my property. The will was witnessed by L. T. H. Hottendorf, Susan E. W. Mouritsen (Great-Grandpa Mouritsen's mother, my 2x Great-Grandma), Lester Lindsay (Great-Grandpa Mouritsen's brother-in-law, husband of his older sister Vara), and James G. Crane (Great-Grandpa Mouritsen's father-in-law, my 2x Great-Grandpa). Glen asked his father-in-law if he would take Nettie back into his home, which James Crane consented to do.

Bertie Rich (Great-Grandpa Mouritsen's younger sister, who would have been 16 in 1915) recalls that:

'Nettie begged Dr. Ashley to let her go in and see Glendale. He said he would on the condition that she would not break down while in Glendale’s room. Nettie took some time to compose herself. She went in, picked up Glendale’s hand, and just stood and looked at him for a few minutes. She kissed him, said goodnight and turned to leave the room when Glendale said, "So-long Kid." They both knew that was good-bye.

'After Nettie left, Glendale turned to his father and asked him to pray for him to go. Mourits (Great-Grandpa Mouritsen's father, my 2x Great-Grandpa) cried and couldn’t talk. Then Glendale turned to Dr. Ashley and said, "Doctor, you’ve done everything you could to save my life. Now please pray for me to go." Lizzie said they all knelt down, and Dr. Ashley prayed that Glendale could be free from pain, and for God to please relieve him from his suffering and let him go. Mother said Dr. Ashley gave the most humble and beautiful prayer she had ever heard. After that, all the pain and misery stopped; and when they asked Glendale how he felt, he said, "I am not in one bit of pain anymore."

'Nettie had some relatives who lived just across the street from the hospital. She went there and sat by the window watching. Finally, she saw Mourits and another man leave the hospital and she knew they were coming to tell her Glendale was gone. Lizzie said Glendale was too perfect to live on this earth, and that God had a greater mission for him on the other side.'

Glen died July 12, 1915. He was buried in the Bennington Cemetery. Nettie was buried next to him when she died in 1960."

This account I was most familiar with growing up. It doesn't include a lot of dates, so my impression was that everything happened in pretty quick succession, the baseball game was one day, was in the hospital the next day, and died the day after that. But it does mention the will being signed on July 10. Since July 12 was a Monday, this is the first indication that Glendale was actually in the hospital for some time before he died. The final account makes that clear.

Here is my Aunt Kathy's account from her history of my grandpa and grandma:

"Nettie was expecting in early July (Great-Grandpa Glendale and Great-Grandma Nettie were married December 23 (Joseph Smith's birthday), 1914. My grandpa was born October 2, 1915. Not a lot of time was wasted. You do the math.) and the Bennington baseball team had an important game in Fairview, Wyoming. Glendale had a rig in which he made the forty-mile trip. It would take a day to get there and a day to return. When Glendale left for Wyoming, he had some stomach pains which he thought were from indigestion. During the game he was hit with a fastball and he immediately felt worse. Glendale began his trip home with a boy named Hall (Was this his first name or his last name? How old was this kid? And why did Great-Grandpa take him with him?). By the time they neared Montpelier, he was feeling much better (not sure if this is what happened here, but it seems that after your appendix bursts, there is some temporary relief from the pain) and, being concerned about Nettie, he drove to the Crane Ranch north of town instead of to the hospital (we'll see that this is different from what is said in the third account, which says that he didn't go to the hospital because it was closed on Sunday). Glendale felt very sick in the middle of the night. Nettie got George (George would have been 17 at the time), her youngest brother (George is not Nettie's youngest brother. That honor goes to Nathaniel. Nathaniel would have been just a few days short of four at the time), to ride to Montpelier to get the doctor. George rode Patty, thought to be the fastest horse in Bear Lake County (was there a county-wide race that Patty won?). The doctor came in a horse drawn buggy out to the ranch. When he saw Glendale his tone became urgent. 'He needs to go to the hospital immediately.' The doctor took Glendale in his buggy. The next day Nettie, her father and Glendale’s father and mother went to Montpelier to see Glendale (from this account, I am again assuming that Nettie went to see Glendale on Monday). At the hospital, the doctor determined Glendale’s appendix had ruptured. Dr. George F. Ashley did everything he could for him but it was soon apparent that Glendale would not live.

(I wonder about the timeline on the return trip. I guess we don't know what day the baseball game was on or what time but if it took a full day to make the trip home, seems that Glen wouldn't have made it back to the Bennington/Montpelier area until quite late on Saturday night. How many hours does it take to go 40 miles in a horse-drawn rig? What were the roads like?)

Glendale’s sister Bertie recalls:

'Nettie begged Dr. Ashley to let her go in and see Glendale. He said he would on the condition that she would not break down while in Glendale’s room. Nettie took some time to compose herself. She went in, picked up Glendale’s hand, and just stood and looked at him for a few minutes. She kissed him, said goodnight and turned to leave the room when Glendale said, "So-long Kid." They both knew that was good-bye.

'After Nettie left, Glendale turned to his father and asked him to pray for him to go. Mourits cried and couldn’t talk. Then Glendale turned to Dr. Ashley and said, "Doctor, you’ve done everything you could to save my life. Now please pray for me to go." Lizzie said they all knelt down, and Dr. Ashley prayed that Glendale could be free from pain, and for God to please relieve him from his suffering and let him go. Mother said Dr. Ashley gave the most humble and beautiful prayer she had ever heard. After that, all the pain and misery stopped; and when they asked Glendale how he felt, he said, "I am not in one bit of pain anymore."

'Nettie had some relatives who lived just across the street from the hospital. She went there and sat by the window watching. Finally, she saw Mourits and another man leave the hospital and she knew they were coming to tell her Glendale was gone. Lizzie said Glendale was too perfect to live on this earth, and that God had a greater mission for him on the other side.'

Glendale Mouritsen died July 12, 1915, and was buried in the Bennington Cemetery."

This account is also light on dates. Just from reading it, I would assume that the baseball game was on Saturday, Glendale went to the hospital on Sunday, and then died sometime on Monday.

And this is the account compiled by my grandpa's sister, Thelma, and her husband (technically, Thelma is my grandpa's half-sister, daughter of my Great-Grandma Nettie and her second husband, Roy Boulter. I find it sweet that she put forth the effort to compile this history of her brother's father):

"On June 8, 1915 he purchased a resident game and fish License at Montpelier, Idaho. Here he affirmed that, 'I hereby certify that I am 23 years of age, 5 ft. 11 in. tall. My weight is 200 lbs., light complexion, light hair and blue eyes and that my resident is Bennington, County of Bear Lake, State of Idaho.' (again, includes Great-Grandpa's self-description for his game and fish license. I guess photos were too cumbersome to include on these licenses at the time, so you'd instead describe what you looked like).

In early July there was an important ball game in Fairview or Afton, Wyoming. Glen played with the Bennington town team. When he left home he had stomach pains he thought was indigestion. During the game he was hit in the side by a fast ball and immediately became worse. The doctor diagnosed him with appendicitis and said since it was Sunday for him to go home and they would operate on Monday (This of course differs from the previous account which says he didn't go to the hospital because he felt better. I hope it wasn't truly the case that hospitals were closed on Sunday. I hate to think that my Great-Grandpa died because he got appendicitis on the wrong day of the week.) Nettie was six months pregnant and stayed with her parents while Glen was gone. They brought Glen back to the Crane ranch. That evening he was holding Cornelia (Cornelia was Nettie's youngest sister and was eight at the time) on his lap when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a 'Steely' marble that was his taw to play marbles (I don't know enough about marbles to know what a "taw" is.). He always carried it with him. He put it in her hand and told her he wanted her to have it in case he didn’t see her again (This seems a little out of place, where in this account the doctor told him to go home and they would operate on Monday, but he's giving his eight-year-old sister-in-law his marble in case he won't see her again). She says that was the last time she saw him. His Grandson, Seth (umm...Stewart), has the marble now. Alice (another of Nettie's younger sisters, 15 at the time) said he was always holding Cornelia on his lap. During the night, Glen’s appendix ruptured (damn those Sunday hospital closures!). Bill (In the previous account, it was George who road to town to get the doctor. In this account, it was another of Nettie's brothers, Bill (who I'm sure went by William later in life), who would have been ten at the time. Note also that instead of going into town to get the doctor, he went to get the horses and wagon to take Glen to the hospital. No mention of the fastest horse in the county.) said his father got him up and sent him to get the horses and wagon. He said they carried Glen on a mattress to the wagon. His father, mother and Nettie got in the wagon and went to the hospital. This was in the early hours of Monday, July 5, 1915 (Note that this was a full week before Glendale would die.). Bill said that was the last time he saw Glen. When his father came home Glen had sent a message to thank Bill for getting the horses.

Doctor Ashley confirmed [he had a] ruptured appendix and said it had gone too far to operate. As the peritonitis increased daily his body became more swollen. Alice said they wouldn’t let Nettie see him. In the Mouritsen Book his sister, Bertie, reported that Nettie begged to see him and Dr. Ashley agreed on one condition, that she would not break down while in Glen’s room. She took time to compose herself, then went in and picked up Glen’s hand and stood and looked at him for a few minutes, then kissed him and said, 'Goodnight' and turned to leave the room and Glen said, 'So long, kid.' (With the context that Glendale was in the hospital for a week before he died, I wonder at what point this final meeting took place. Was Nettie only able to visit him once the entire week he was in the hospital? Once the doctor determined it was too late to operate, were they just waiting for him to die, or were there still steps that could be taken to save him? There was an antibiotic, salvarsan, that was available after 1910. What that used in his treatment? I've researched a bit and a ruptured appendix is not necessarily a death sentence, though I'm sure survival rates then were lower than they are now)

In the Mouritsen book it states that when Nettie had gone, Glen turned to his Father and asked him to give him a blessing. His father was overcome with grief and felt that he couldn’t so Glen told Dr. Ashley that he knew that he had done everything he could and asked him to give him a blessing and ask the Lord to relieve him of his pain and let him go. Dr. Ashley did as requested and Glen then asked Nettie’s father if he would take her back into their home. Her father readily agreed.

Glen had written a will, properly witnessed. His son, Glen, has that will and also his father’s catcher’s mitt. (again, I'm not sure who now has the will and mitt, since Grandpa died in 2000. I have this vague memory that my dad had it at one point, but now I'm not sure).

Glen died Monday, July 12, 1915. He is buried in the Bennington Cemetery.

Mama died October 22, 1960 and was placed next to him. (Glendale and Nettie were married for less than seven months before Glendale died)"

Despite the discrepancies in the accounts, I find this story to be very poignant. I often wonder if it could have been prevented and how different Nettie and my grandpa's lives might have been, if not for Great-Grandpa Glendale's early death.

Glendale Mouritsen

Glendale is third from the left, holding the catcher's mask

Glendale Mouritsen

Looking Back

With last week's post, I achieved my goal of posting for 52 consecutive weeks. I also seemed to strike a chord with several as last week's post got more than twice as many views as any other post I wrote over the past year. I doubt I will surpass that any time soon.

When I began this writing journey a year ago, I didn't know exactly where it would take me. But I have to say that I have found the experience extremely rewarding. I've had people tell me that they feel like they know me so well now, through reading my blog. I've been gratified when people have reached out and let me know that a particular entry resonated with them. And I have been thrilled when people have messaged me excitedly about being mentioned.

When I started out on this endeavor, I put together a long list of various topics I could write about. I still have 17 of those potential topics I haven't written about. As of now, I plan to continue writing at least until I run out of topics.

But for today, I'm going to do what any decent sitcom would do after 52 episodes, and punt with a "clip show." In case you've missed any, here are my Top Ten most-read posts of the last year (in descending order, number of reads in parentheses. Incidentally, not many read about our cat, Callie):

10. Childhood Chaos (207)

9. Caleb (219)

8. Voice of the Cowboys (220)

7. Dave (224)

6. Meeting Jeanell (248)

5. The Mission (266)

4. The Church (269)

3. Dad Goes to Prison (310)

2. Dating Jeanell (the high school years) (346)

1. Leaving the Church (741)

Thanks for reading.

Leaving the Church

I want to start off with a disclaimer. If you're an active, believing member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, this might not be a post you want to read. While I don't intend to harp on anything specific or attack the Church, I do intend to explain some of the thoughts I had that ultimately led me to decide the Church wasn't true (and ultimately that there isn't a God, at least not a God that takes an active interest in the affairs of humankind).

As detailed in last week's post, I spent most of my life as an active, believing member of the Church. My first encounter with what I would consider to be anti-Mormon information came my first year of college, amid one of my first forays onto the Internet. I remember being in a computer lab at Utah State and opening a web browser (Internet Explorer, probably, but possibly Netscape) and being impressed that I could search for information on any topic, innocently typed "Mormons" into the search box (since Google didn't exist yet, must've been AltaVista).

I was initially shocked by some of the information I read that day. While I guess on some level I obviously was aware that not everyone believed in Mormonism, I don't recall ever having contemplated that people took exception or questioned specific claims that the Church made. Seems naïve to me now.

I remember returning to my apartment and just feeling sick. I didn't feel that I had ever had my faith questioned in this way and I wasn't ready for it. I even remember questioning if I would be able to serve a mission. But over time, and with scripture study and prayer, I overcame these doubts, and ultimately followed through with serving a mission, which I'd always thought I would.

To some extent during my mission and to a greater extent after I returned home, I became interested in apologetics. I spent time on the FAIR Mormon site and took comfort in seeing the scholars who would give necessary context to explain the claims made against the Church.

But as I became more educated, my faith was forced to evolve. When I was younger, I rejected evolution. But as I learned more, I adapted my views and decided that God used evolution to bring about the creation of the animals. When I was younger, I believed that the Prophets and Apostles talked directly to God as they would do another person, but as I got older, and looked at some of the mistakes made by church leaders, I adapted my view and decided that it was just as hard for Prophets and Apostles to receive revelation as it was for the rest of us. I would say that pattern continued for many years, with me continually learning new information and then me trying to fit that information into my belief system, adapting my beliefs in God and the Church to fit with the scientific information that I also believed to be true. I considered myself an informed member of the Church. I was familiar with many of the issues raised in the Gospel Topics Essays and had made my peace with them, and was able to continue living my faith.

Sometime in 2013, the doubts I had became more intense and I had a harder time reconciling my secular knowledge with my religious beliefs. While I had doubts about some specifics of Mormonism, my doubts were really broader than that. I found myself continually revising my concept of God, trying to make Him (or Her) and His attributes make sense with the realities in the world. So I imagined a God who had set these natural laws in place (or perhaps was subject to some natural laws) and for the most part allowed those to play out. That is why there was so much suffering and tragedy in the world. At certain times, he would intervene with the natural laws and cause something different to happen. Why or under what conditions he would intervene, only He knew.

But ultimately these explanations fell short of giving me peace of mind. This life seemed too chaotic and full of contradictions for me to believe that it was all the plan of an omnipotent, omniscient God. Under God's plan, why would it be most beneficial for some people to never hear the Gospel and spend their lives suffering while for others it would be better for them to hear the Gospel and live their lives in relative comfort. I became familiar with Occam's Razor (the simplest explanation is usually the correct one) and realized that a simpler explanation for the realities we observe in the world was that there was no God, rather than that there was a God, but He helped some people find their car keys while he allowed others to die of disease or starvation.

From there, I started thinking about Moses 1:39 "For behold, this is my work and my glory, to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man." If that was God's whole purpose, why did he create a universe and allow it to sit empty for billions of years before man even came on the scene. And if the universe hadn't really sit empty for billions of years, why did God try to make it appear that it did? Was he trying to deceive us? ("I'm going to make it look like everything happened naturally, but then if you decide not to believe in me, you're damned!") I also thought about 2 Nephi 2:25 - "Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy." If God wanted man to be happy and happiness came from living the Gospel, then why did God's plan result in the vast majority of humans who lived not ever even hearing about the Gospel. We're talking about a God who is omnipotent and omniscient and this is the best he could come up with?

Either there was a God who had this amazingly complex plan for the benefit of His children that only He could understand or there was no God. I ultimately decided that the universe and the world made more sense to me if there was no God than if there were a God.

I started having other doubts as well. I read part of Richard Bushman's biography of Joseph Smith, "Rough Stone Rolling." Bushman is an active Church member, but also a good historian. He would write the factual record, but then try to put a positive spin on it. For example, he talked about Joseph's treasure hunting and his family's spiritualism, but then opined that he needed to have those characteristics in order to be open to the experiences he would have. I found myself surprised by the facts and unconvinced by the spin.

Other items have bothered me. The Church's opposition to gay marriage. The priesthood ban. And I also began to question, if we are actually a Church of continuing revelation, why does it seem we are always on the trailing rather than leading edge of social change?

I also began to question the Church's epistemology (way of obtaining knowledge). We're taught that we can know if something is true by the Spirit, but ultimately we can only experience the Spirit through our mind. And being told we're supposed to feel a certain way in certain situations can have a powerful effect on our minds. I've certainly had experiences that I would describe as "feeling the Spirit," but have reached the conclusion that the emotions I might feel about something has very little to do with its veracity.

Despite deciding the Church wasn't true, I continued to participate in the Church. It was all I knew. I was the ward clerk in the bishopric in Elwood and then when we moved back to Grantsville and were living with Jefferies I again served as the ward clerk in the 5th ward. I started to pay less tithing and never attended the temple, but I still went to church every week.

It wasn't until we moved into Carriage Crossing and I met with then-President Collings and told him my feelings that I began to really step away from the Church. To his credit, he was somewhat supportive and suggested I tell my family how I felt (meaning my parents and siblings, my wife and children already knew where I was religiously, or at least Jeanell did). I met with Bishop Allred on multiple occasions and talked through what I felt with him. I taught a youth Sunday School class for a time. But we separated ourselves more and more. Lila chose not to be baptized, and we supported her in that decision. Tyler and Brayden both briefly flirted with the idea of going on missions, and Jeanell and I tried to support them while they considered it, but when they ultimately decided not to, everyone stopped attending but me. I only continued to attend because I still had a calling as a youth Sunday School teacher. I would go and teach my class and then leave for a while, but finally Bishop Allred released me in the summer of 2017 and I haven't been back (other than to support family when the occasion arises).

Having said all that, something that separates me from a lot of the fo-mos (my preferred term for those of us who have left the Church) I interact with is that I don't hate the Church. I'm not resentful of the money I paid in tithing. I don't regret having served a mission. I don't think the Church is a scam. I think even Joseph believed (or at least came to believe) in his own prophetic calling (Joseph is tough for me. I think there had to have been times when he knew he was deceiving people, but I also believe that on the whole, his life (and death) make more sense if he truly believed in his prophetic calling). I think Russell M. Nelson really believes the Church to be true. And I'd go as far as to say that even as an atheist, I think living a life that follows the principles of the Church is a perfectly valid way to spend mortality, especially if it provides purpose and makes you happy. Most of my extended family continues to participate in the Church and I don't try to dissuade them from doing so. If it makes them happy, I support them in that.

But I don't believe that living the Gospel is going to result in any reward in the hereafter (nor do I believe that there is a hereafter) so if participating in the Church is not how you want to spend your time, money, and energy, then I don't think you should. That can be tricky if different partners in a marriage have different feelings on the subject. (Jeanell and I were pretty much on the same page when we left). If Jeanell had wanted to continue in the Church, I would have tried to support her in that because ultimately my marriage and my family is more important to me than being in or out of the Church.

I feel like I'm basically the same person I've always been. I'm still happy. I still find purpose and meaning in my life. The people I loved when I was involved with the Church, I still love. And as far as I can tell, they still love me. I still try to be good and kind. I still have standards as far as what I consider to be right and wrong. I'm still just Rich(ard).

I guess if there's anything I hope to achieve by writing this, it's just that we should love and respect each other, regardless. In the Church or out of the Church shouldn't matter in our relationships. If someone decides to leave the Church, don't assume they are weak or that they have failed, and if someone decides to stay, don't assume they are uninformed. Ultimately, we're all just trying to figure life out and find happiness for ourselves and those that we love. Let's focus on helping each other do that.

And whether you've left the Church or you are still in and have someone you love who has left or you've left and are concerned about someone you love who is still in, just love and respect each other and I promise you it's going to be ok.

I love you all.

(I didn't have a good picture to accompany this post so I had Meta AI generate this image of me leaving a church building. I don't think I'm that tall. Don't zoom in on my eyes).

(Alternate image that my son Brayden created, using AI to merge my face with Ryan Reynolds').

 

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