The Day I Ditched School - Elijah Made Me Do It (part 1 of 3)

Although it has almost been 34 years since I was in graduate school at BYU (before it was even called the Marriott School) during my last semester, which would have been Winter 1978, I had an experience that I consider one of the top ten of my entire life.  (Don't ask me to name the other nine).  I am going to dedicate the next three blogs to that experience and its significance.  And yes, to this day, I am convinced that Elijah made me do it.

I distinctly remember that it was a sparkling blue and shimmering white morning.  Days like this presented a serious temptation for me. On winter mornings when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun glistened off the freshly fallen snow, when the only sounds to be heard emanated from the drops of water falling off the icicles hanging from the roof, I could think of several dozen other things I’d rather do than go to class. Most of the time the good judgment I fortunately inherited from Grandpa, who was always at the appropriate place five minutes before the appointed time, usually prevailed and I would go to class. This day, however, was different; although it would take me nearly eleven years to fully realize the significance of what I would discover this day.

I arose as usual and began to get ready for school.  It was a crystal clear winter morning and again Mother Nature had painted a pristine panorama of ice and snow that could easily grace the cover of any Utah travel brochure.  As had been the case on many other days like this, I was sorely vexed to cut class. Today the feeling to stay home was much more intense than ever before, it almost seemed to have a righteous element to it, if that is possible; so I decided to relent, although I must admit that my “good judgment” didn’t put up much of a fight.

So now that I was going to ditch school, I had to decide what I was going to do for the day.  As most of you know, I don't ski and snowboarding was not in vogue yet.  There were not video games and PCs were still on the drawing board.  What to do?  In the middle of breakfast I felt impressed that I should take the opportunity to visit the Genealogical Library in Salt Lake City. I had never been there before. While growing up in the Los Angeles area I had heard people talk about going there and Brother Stephenson in a Genealogy class I had taken said it was a good place to visit, but until today, I was not much interested.  I thought you had to be age sixty-five and retired to get in.  My purpose in going, I determined, would not be to add names to my pedigree charts or family group sheets. Most of that had already been done by other relatives long before I was born. Instead, I wanted to search through the books to see if I could gather stories and other biographical information about any of my ancestors - not just dates and places. I wanted to find out who these people were, what made them tick, what they did for a living, and what they accomplished in their lives. Remember, for the 4 years I lived in Reams Apartments I was voted "Prankster of the Year" and on my last year I never did anything (although I was usually blamed when something happened.)  So this may seem like an odd thing for a somewhat mischievous college student to want to do on a beautiful winter morning; but a still, small voice was whispering from within the depths of my soul that this was something I really needed to do.

I had a wonderful day at the library and was able to collect many accounts of deceased ancestors. But one touched my heart more so than the rest and caused me to spend many subsequent hours in reflection on the events of that day in 1708.

Next week:  The 1708 Massacre of Haverhill, Massachusetts

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Here's a couple of pictures of me from my college days:



Family Home Evening Group.  I am front middle.  Can you spot Richard?




Kim, Me and Cheryl as I prepare to perform in the Belle of the Block contest