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