Clarinda

Clarinda Pevehouse Kegans was one of my ancestors. She lived during some of the most exciting times in Texas history. I recently ran down her memoirs which are incomplete and somewhat disjointed. However, they provide some marvelous insight into the woman and the times in which she lived. Her memoirs were loose and obviously incomplete. What amazes me most is that she met and conversed with many of my Texas heroes, Stephen Austin, Sam Houston, William Barret Travis, James Bonham, Deaf Smith...they all knew her and she knew them.

...only because you asked. I was born in Arkansas close to Texarkana I reckon it would be. Of course that city was not there. Mama and Papa were moving to Texas and they stopped along there near the river to raise crops. They needed food to carry them through the winter. They were traveling with Mama's family. My grandfather was a friend of Mr. Austin and they all went to his colony. They were the first Americans allowed in Texas. Papa's folks also came but later

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All settled on Oyster Creek west of Houston only it was not there until after the war. Grandpa's plantation was close by. He called it Hodge's Bend and I thought he had a fine house. Of course, it would not be thought of as a fine house now but it was then. It had glass in every window and that was really something in those days. Ours was not nearly as big but Papa kept building on as we needed room.

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Grandpa was a judge in Arkansas so when we got to Texas he was the official in our district. He was everything, judge, sheriff. People would leave messages with him and folks would come by to pick them up something like a post office. The Mexican name for him was alcalde. Many settlers stopped at his plantation and our family gatherings were always held there.

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Grandpa was a very busy man so he didn't take time for us children. We were taught not to be a bother. Hello and Goodbye was about all was said. He was a tall man very straight and sat horse well. Speaking of horses he loved them and raised fine ones but he gave them all away to the army when the war started. Papa's folks came to Texas a few years before the war. We loved Uncle Preston and Uncle..

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...floods. Mr. Stafford built his gin and that made it easier to sell our cotton and we had some money. Before that settlers just mostly traded goods. Once in a while Papa would go all the way to Anahuac where there were things to buy. One time he bought me some new shoes. Oh my, I thought they were beautiful. Usually we had to be content to wear the shoes Mr. Paddy Brown a cobbler in Harrisburg made. He was a nice man Papa said but that didn't make us enjoy his shoes any better. Everybody called them Paddies.

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Everybody worked awful hard and was good and honest. For a long time we did not even have a jail. Didn't think much about it then but I do now when there is one at nearly every crossroads. 

I was very young when my grandmother died - of the cholera. Many folks died of that awful sickness then. Grandpa tried to get everybody who had it to Hodge's Bend hoping it would not spread. The folks never forget how sweet and good Grandma was. I remember how jolly she was. She always had a hug for us but demanded a hug in return which was a pleasure to pay.

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Grandpa had a cedar brought all the way from where Bastrop is now that being where they grew to put on her grave. He said they mean eternal life.

Folks really enjoyed the socials she would arrange every few months. Everybody came. After she died they were not nearly as much pleasure. 

I will speak a little about the politicks since it seemed to occupy about as much time as anything. Anyway when we were at Grandpa's or my uncles came to our house the menfolks talked of not much else. Mr. William B. Travis was sometimes at Grandpa's and seemed to think the Texans ought to be more aggressive but Grandpa disagreed. He thought Mr Austin could settle...

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the problems as he always had. Many settlers just coming to Texas wanted us to declare independence and then join The United States but our family and friends did not. Grandpa blamed President Jackson for a lot of the trouble. He never liked the way he treated the Indians and his constant talk of moving The United States boundary farther west was worrisome.

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...like Sam Houston either. he had a reputation for drinking too much and he had not bothered to do anything worth a hill of beans for Texas since he came. Even after the war Grandpa was suspicious he would try to use his fame to get elected President of Texas. Grandpa thought Mr. Austin deserved to be So you see Grandpa was right as usual.

There had been a barbecue at Grandpa's the fall before the war began. I remember it so well because it was like the best ever held.  Not just because I had the new shoes to wear but because there was an exciting crowd. Mr Travis everybody called him Buck except us children and his friend was with him. It was Mr James Bonham and he was so nice and handsome he caused all the girls to swoon! Then there was some Mexican horse buyers who we thought were awful nice. But I found out later they were actually spies. The De Leons had sent word to Grandpa by Deaf Smith to be on the lookout for them.

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The menfolks fooled them. The didn't say a word about the politickal problems. One of them turned out to be Colonel Almonte. Grandpa saw him among the prisoners at San Jacinto. He had been so nice we were disappointed to hear he had been a spy.

I will never forget the day we heard about the Alamo - our friends dead. It was sad sad. Papa left the next day to join the army and I was so scared for him to go. Then about two weeks later he came home in the middle of the night to wake us up and tell us that Colonel Fanin and his men at Goliad had been shot. He said we would have to leave that very day for Louisiana. Words fail me when I try to explain my fear for all of us but especially Papa. I loved him so much.

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We prepared for our journey to the Sabine River that being the boundry. The slaves drove our cattle into the bottoms hoping the Mexicans would not find them. They moved the washpot and ashes beneath it then dug a hole to bury our food then replaced the ashes and the pot. Papa, Grandpa and my uncles told our slaves that they could go with us or stay behind it would be dangerous either way. Papa thought they would be safe at home if they did not kick up a fuss if the Mexicans came. They all went except Grandpa's Old Sam who was too crippled with rheumatism. We would have taken care of him if he wanted to go but he didn't. Me heart nearly broke when we saw Papa ride off to the army. I could only think of Mr. Travis and Mr. Bonham. There were so many Mexican soldiers and so few Texans to stop their march towards us.

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..too terrible to describe but we made it only with the help of our slaves and Grandpa. The slaves were so strong, and good and kind. Joshua was a slave boy about eighteen and he made a harness to wear so Mary Jane Dunlavy could ride in it. She was only four and could not walk for long. She loved riding along on Josh's back. He had long legs and when she begged long enough he would give in and take her racing across the prairie and she laughed and laughed.

Grandpa was so wonderful. He wouldn't let us walk with our cousins we had to walk beside our mother but he would walk with different ones and always held our hand. I thought of all kinds of tricks to get him to hold my hand as often as I could. He talked all the time and that was comforting during the long dark

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nights even during the rain storms we could hear his voice and knew we would make it somehow. Then while we waited for our meals to be fixed he would tell us funny stories. 

Papa had made the little box for me the year I was ten. It had a butterfly on the lid and he said it was to keep my treasures in. My treasures were the two glass buttons keepsakes from Grandma's dress and a scrap of blue ribbon and a pressed flower. What do you think about that for treasures? When we were...

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packing to leave Mama wouldn't let me take the little box said it was not necessary. She was cross with me and my feelings were terrible touched because she had made room for the violin and our study books. I didn't think they were necessary.  Besides all that she scolded me in front of Grandpa which hacked me so bad. I went off to cry. But I knew later that she was very distressed and didn't mean to hurt my feelings. To be unkind was not her way but it sure hurt that morning.

The next day when we stopped to eat and sleep Grandpa came over to me and pulled the little box out of his pocket. I was so tired and scared. When I saw Papa's little box then I knew that he and Grandpa who had never said half a dozen words to me loved me after all. I threw my arms around his neck and cried. The box and Grandma;s buttons were precious then as they are to this day.

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Aunt Elsie was already there. I was glad to see them Cousin Maggie Kegans was a favorite of mine. She and Mary Jane and I went down to the lake to wait for time to go. There were cold campfires there where women and children from the west had camped before they went on to the Sabine. Grandpa's was on the main road. Cousin Maggie was in love with Ham Kegans and was worried about him. I saw smoke rising above the trees across the country. I knew the settlers were burning their homes and things before thy left. Mama had refused to set fire to ours said we would be back home soon. When I looked to the cemetery and saw Grandpa standing there at Grandma's grave with his head bowed I was awful afraid that we would never be back ever.

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Grandpa was a religious man and every day read us a chapter from his Bible and said a prayer for our men. I prayed every day for Papa and I know that every body else was also praying. That was all we could for them. I had my doubts that it would be much help because I had said prayers for the men at the Alamo and Goliad and they had not been answered, but I was afraid not to. I have learned since those years as a child to have greater faith. He does answer our prayers. It nearly broke my heart when Grandpa died he had been so wonderful and I loved him very deeply. However

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...vinegar water and Grandpa put vinegar in the drinking water for the trip. Tasted pretty bad I can tell you. We traveled at night and rested during the day. Papa and Grandpa thought it would be safer. I kept looking for the Mexican deserters they talked about to jump from behind every tree. It wasn't bad when it was clear and the moon was shining, but mercy! when the rain came it was so bad I cannot describe it. The mud was so deep it stuck to our clothes and sometimes it would suck our shoes off. The slaves had a hard time keeping the carts from turning over and keeping them moving but they did. They were experts at that I think. We could not cook for two days because of the rain and needless to tell you we were mighty hungry.

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...were so blessed to have food and stay well. There was so much sickness especially the children some died along the way. Grandpa insisted it was the vinegar water that kept us from getting sick. Maybe so he had been in the American Revolution and fought with General Marion in the South Carolina swamps. That is where he first learned about vinegar water to help ward off fever. Deaf Smith had advised Grandpa to take a route north of Buffalo Bayou by a few miles to avoid so many travelers and it was good that he did that.

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We always tried to camp in a wooded place because it seemed safer. So that is where we were when we heard the guns at San Jacinto. Mercy! we were terrified as we huddled there listening. For the hundredth time I wondered where Papa was. I noticed my dear Grandpa standing beside a pine tree with his wide brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead and his arms crossed across his chest. He was as still as the tree. I loved him so and knew he was worried I went over to him and told him not to worry us Texans were whipping the socks off those dam Mexicans. He sure laughed and put his arm around me. He promised not to tell Mama that I said dam when I asked him to. When the guns stopped we just sat there real quiet until we heard a horse coming

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Grandpa went to the edge of the thicket and called back that it was a Texian. We were afraid of what he might have to tell us but we hurried out anyway. We had to know. As he galloped past he called that the Mexicans had surrendered we could go home! Just like we were one person we fell to our knees and cried our thanks to God even Grandpa.

Our family appreciated General Houston's leadership in winning the battle of San Jacinto but still they did not support him for president. They were still loyal to Mr. Austin and wanted him to have that office. They thought he was better qualified in spite of the General being governor of Tennessee. This was different Mr. Austin knew about Texas and Mexico and he had done so much to build Texas. But of course the General was such a hero at the time he won the election. And poor Mr. Austin died before the year was over so it may have been as well but he should have had that honor

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When they had the anniversary ball in the new town of Houston the next year we went. I was going to my first ball and was so excited. My dress was blue and very beautiful. The fact that we had to go in wagons discouraged us not one bit. I danced with president Houston never mind that Grandpa and Papa did not think too much of him, After all he was the president and I held the event as something I would remember to tell my grandchildren just as I am doing. He was a commanding figure.

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The president of Texas had to take second place. John was always something of a flirt with my older cousins and just teased me like I was a child so I didn't like him very well. But at the ball he kept asking me to dance and treated me like a grown lady. I decided to like him after all really a lot to be honest and he was very handsome. But oh my poor John was among those volunteers who went to chase the Mexicans out of Texas again and was taken prisoner at Mier. Of course that meant he spent months in prison in Mexico. When he finally returned home barely alive it took him a long long time to regain his strength and health. He has never to this day mentioned anything about that dreadful memory.

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...worried about his friends Senior De Zavala and the De Leons and all the Mexican Texians who had given as much as anybody else for Texas Independence. He was right to worry. Senior De Zavala soon after he did so was not mistreated but the De Leons had been our family friends since we first arrived in Texas. I am sure - (remainder of page is missing)

1854 John helped organize a Methodist church for us as well as a Masonic Lodge. Then he served as County Commissioner hoping to get us some roads. There were only two. One went across the county east to west and the other north to south, I don't suppose Temple was even in anyone's imagination at that time.

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...faced with another war! When John volunteered for the army I finally knew how Mama had felt that day when Papa left to join the Texas army. But John got no farther that Louisiana he was sent back because of his age. So he served as a captain in the Home Guard. Only a mother with sons understands the grief and anxiety of sending...(remainder of page torn off)

...two stayed with us after they were free and John gave them a little tract of land for their own, Bad as the war years were the reconstruction time was worse. We had to contend with the Union soldiers in our midst watching every move we made and the poor ignorant freed slaves were misguided and taken advantage of by the soldiers and the dreadful carpetbaggers.

When a carpetbagger went missing the army's heel was on everybody's back. I will never forget the day when John got on his horse to ride to Belton to confess to treason and ask for pardon in order to regain his citizenship and be able to vote. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life and the one thing he will never be able to forget.

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John always put unhappy things out of his mind that is why we have had so much laughter in our home. If an incident was not funny when John told it he worked around the story until it was. He was a great storyteller. He never was able to make anything funny out of that trip to Belton though.

It was terrible for all Texans that is why we were the last state to do what was necessary to vote. But they had to be able to vote. These men had fought for their independence and had a proud republic. When they wanted out of the union they were forced to stay against their will. To be humiliated in such a degrading manner was almost more than they could endure but they had to if they were going to be able to vote.Times were terrifying. One day John remarked that if it didn't end soon there would be a Yankee buried in every cotton field from Red River to the gulf. There was no need for him to add that many already were - secretly. John had not favored Texas joining The United States in the beginning.

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That's the extent of Clarinda's memoirs. As much as I wish I had a more complete journal, I am even more grateful for these snippets that give me great insight into my ancestors. Her husband John is John Ross Kegans and it was because of the stories I heard about him that I decided to name my son after him.

 

To My Children, on Mother's Day

Dear Kids,

I will be giving a talk this Sunday on Mother's Day. Since it is a day set aside for honoring our mothers I will be talking about my mother that day...but I wanted to take some time to talk to you today about your mother. A lot of these things you know but, perhaps, they haven't sunk in to the degree that they should and so I wanted to give you all just a few examples of just how special your mother is.

When I set out to seriously find a wife, one of the criteria I had was that I was determined to find someone who would be a good mother. I didn't know it at the time but, when it came to this particular quality in a mate, I hit the jackpot. Your mother is, quite simply and without reservation, the most selfless mother I have ever known. From the moment you kids arrived on this earth, I have watched her fall completely and hopelessly head over heels in love with each of you. Just about every waking thought she has and every plan she makes is with one or all of you in mind. I know that it might seem burdensome or annoying at times to have someone have so many opinions about your life but, trust me when I say, someday you will miss it.

I know this from first hand experience because, when I became an adult, and for quite a few years before, I was annoyed by my own parents sticking their noses into my business and looked forward to the day that it would end. Although I didn't know it when I was wishing it, the day that they would stop sticking their nose into my business would be the day that they died...and now I sit here and look at pictures of my parents...pictures that show them when they were younger that I am now and I wish I could talk to them and get some much needed advice and wisdom.

There are four of you children, although only three of you are living. We would have loved to have a great many more children for each of you has brought joy and happiness to our lives but, even though your mom was born to be a mother, her body simply would not cooperate. Each pregnancy brought new and ever-increasing challenges.

John-Ross, when you were born, you came into this world a squalling, multi-colored mass of goo. To be quite honest, it was a little disgusting...and yet, as my gaze shifted from you to your mom, it was obvious that she was looking at the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. You were still kicking up quite a fuss when they placed you in her arms....then she softly spoke your name and you immediately became quiet. I knew then and there that, while I would love you to the heights and breadths of my soul, those heights and breadths were  dwarfed by your mother's and that she would love you forever with a love that I simply do not think it possible for a man to achieve. It was, at the same time, one of the saddest and most beautiful moments in my life. Beautiful because of the pure love I witnessed and sad because I knew I could never hope to achieve the intensity of that emotion in this life.

When you were a toddler, you came down with pneumonia. We had to take you to the hospital and your condition was serious enough that they needed to keep you there for a few days. The doctors terrified you and you refused to stay still. You kept pulling the IV's from your arm and the doctors tried in vain until the only solution that seemed viable was to tie your arms and you into your bed so that you could not move. Your mother simply would not allow that and said that she would stay up and hold you. I was on a deadline at work and had to leave. Your mother stayed up with you and held you, going without sleep for three days and two nights until you were well again.

On your third Halloween, it was during the last great recession we had and I took the only job I could find, sales. It wasn't a very good sales job but one of the benefits was that I got paid the instant I made a sale. Your mom sent me out the day of Halloween with one quest. I was to make a sale so that I could get paid and we could buy you a store-bought Halloween costume. I failed. I called your mom at the end of the day and confessed my failure. I could hear the disappointment in her voice, not in condemnation of me but in sadness for you. She told me to come home that supper would soon be ready and she would think of something. That ride home was one of the longest in my life. All I could think of was what a failure I was that I couldn't even afford to buy my son a Halloween costume

When I drove into the driveway, the front door flew open and your mom, smiling from ear to ear, practically dragged me from the car and into the house. She had taken one of your grandmother's hair extensions (I think they call it a 'fall') It was salt and pepper gray to match her hair. Anyway, she had taken the extension and had twisted it into two long braids and tied it to your head with a red bandana. Then she took some eye liner and drew on a stubble beard and placed a ukulele in your hand. You were the cutest little Willie Nelson anyone had ever seen. Later that night, you won first prize at The Ward Halloween Party. I often think about that night and wonder if she realizes how grateful I was to have a wife who could so easily make up for my shortcomings. I also wonder if you realize how special your mother is.

Daniel, when you were born, your mom and I were living in San Francisco, far away from any extended family. Yours was the third pregnancy. We lost a son between you and your brother. We named him Gavin and every August 1st, your mom makes sure that we remember him. Each pregnancy seemed to take a greater toll on your mother's health and, when you were born, she had to stay in the hospital for quite a few weeks afterwards.

We didn't know what autism was and so, when you constantly cried and refused to be comforted, your mom blamed herself and constantly berated herself for her inability to comfort you. When milestones such as walking and talking came and went, it became evident that you would need much more care than other children. Your mom spend days and weeks on the phone searching for a doctor who could even give us a diagnosis....some place to start so we would know what to call it and how to start helping you. She kept volumes of records in milk crates....enough to fill up a small library. At any given moment, she could go to the proper milk crate and get the proper folder which held whatever record she needed at the time.

Finally we found someone to diagnose you. You have autism and your mother set out being an expert on that particular disease. Such was her determination that your doctors have used her as a consultation resource. The last doctor wrote a note to anyone looking in your file, "Give this woman whatever she wants for her son, she knows more about this stuff than you do"

When the school you were attending refused to give you the services you needed, your mom became an expert in that particular area of the law. There was a point in our lives when your mom and I sat on one side of a table with the other side being filled with twelve other people, school administrators and lawyers. They were there to tell us why they would not, could not, and did not have to, give your mom the services that she was requesting (demanding) that they give to you. Every objection from the other side of the table was met with a response from your mom, who could quote them the law, chapter and verse. At the end of three hours, the head lawyer threw up his hands and said, "We have to give her what she wants" I hadn't the heart to tell him that, if he had only asked me, I could have told him exactly how this was all going to turn out and would have saved us all three hours of our lives that we weren't going to get back.

You also had a special Halloween costume. You loved The Ghostbusters and determined that you wanted to go as The Staypuft Marshmallow Man. They didn't make one of those in the stores and so your mother sewed one from scratch, making the pattern herself..it was perfect. People came up to us and asked where we had bought it.

Sarah, when Daniel was born, the doctors warned us that the next pregnancy would kill your mother. We were both saddened because we both wanted many children but, for years, we heeded the doctors' advice to make sure your mother would not get pregnant. Many times, I would sit at the dinner table and look around at my family and realize that somebody was missing...somebody was not there who belonged at our table. I never told your mom about those promptings because I never wanted to place pressure on her. I knew already that, if I even mentioned having another child, she would risk her life to do so.

Then one day she came to me and told me she wanted another baby. I reminded her of what the doctors had said and she said, "I know. But I have a husband that holds The Priesthood. If you give me a blessing, I know we can do this". I wanted to bless her that she would have an uneventful pregnancy and deliver a healthy baby. However, all that I was allowed to promise was, "you'll live".

By the time you were born, two months early, your mom had been in the hospital for months. After the most grueling delivery of all, I arrived at home to tell your brothers that they had a sister. The phone was ringing. When I picked it up, it was your mother's doctor telling me that, if I wanted to say goodbye to your mom, I needed to hurry.

I raced back to the hospital and watched, terrified as they pumped transfusion after transfusion into your mother in an effort to stop the bleeding. Nurses would scurry in and out of the room. Every once in a while, one would catch my eye, set their mouth to a pencil-thin straight line and give me a grim shake of their head as if to say, "I'm sorry, we're doing the best that we can, but she is just not going to pull through"

Later on, while I sat in my wrecked car and fought off dying, I came to realize how difficult a task it is to hang on to your life when you really should be passing on. It requires a concentration that taxes every fiber of your body and soul. It is so tiring and so tempting to just let go and float away. It is a struggle that I had to endure for about an hour and I could not imagine being able to endure it much longer. Your mom struggled like that for two days. Her incentive was that she had three children to raise.

We often hear of how selfless a person has to be to die for someone else. Very few of us know just how much more difficult and selfless it is to fight off death so that you can live for someone else.

There are so many more instances but I wanted to give you kids these examples so that, perhaps this Mother's Day, your hugs will linger just a bit longer and your kiss on her cheek will be just a bit sweeter...and your hopes for a happy day for her will be just a bit more heartfelt

Love,

Dad

When Upon Life's Billows

This little black rock is very special to me. Lately I've been trying to cultivate the character trait of gratitude. I decided to give myself a reminder from time to time to stop and recount to myself all of the blessings in my life...hence, the rock.

Every day, when I get out of bed, I look to my night stand and see my gratitude rock. It prompts me to think to myself at least ten things in my life for which I am grateful. When I get dressed, I pick it up and place it in my pocket...ten more things.

Throughout the day, whenever I place my hand in my pocket to get my keys, some change, or just to keep them warm, my fingers brush the rock and I am reminded to think of ten things that have blessed my life.

When I go to bed at night, I take it out of my pocket and place it on the night stand...ten more things. I've arranged it so that the first thing I do each morning and the last thing I do at night is to think of things for which I am grateful...and to give thanks to my Heavenly Father for those things.

It is amazing how uplifted my spirits have been since I've started doing this. Little annoyances no longer seem like obstacles. I find myself smiling a great deal more and speaking more sweetly to those I love. This little black rock is becoming a very important part of my life.

I'm very grateful for it

Sunrise in the Valley of Peniel

After eight months of participating in this recession, I will start a new job on Monday. It has been a difficult time and I cryptically blogged about it a few posts ago.

http://boyceinthewilderness.blogspot.com/2010/10/in-valley-of-peniel.html

The way in which this job came about was nothing short of miraculous. Three months after moving my family to Utah, the engineering firm that hired me experienced a turn down and I got laid off...last hired-first fired. I was given a generous severance package that lasted for about four months and, for the last four months, there have been lean times at our home.

The difficulty in finding a job during a recession was compounded by the fact that I had just arrived in Utah and didn't know what firms even specialized in my area of engineering. For months, I would scan want ads, look on the internet for head hunters and send out resumes wherever there was a hint of a possibility...all to no avail.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, there was a ray of hope. A head hunter called and told me that he had set me up on an interview. I was excited because this was the first interview I'd been on in eight months of looking. I decided that my sport coat was a little shabby and I needed to look at the big and tall shop to see if any were on sale.

I don't know who makes all of the fashion decisions in big and tall men's clothes but, apparently being twice as large as anyone else isn't enough, they feel we need to call attention to ourselves with loud colors and patterns. Nothing seemed appropriate and, the only sports coats that were conservative enough for a job interview were well out of the $130 budget I'd set for myself.

For over an hour. the clerks and manager all tried to find something that would fit both my budget and my frame and be conservative enough for a job interview at an engineering firm. They mentioned that they could have something in my size and budget in a week and that's when I told them that this was the only job interview I'd had in an eight month search and I needed it the next day.

I turned to walk out of the store when the manager called me back in, saying that he'd 'found' a suit....not the sports jacket that I was looking for, but a suit....It was in my size, very well put together, the fabric was a very conservative dark gray...and (what a coincidence) the suit just 'happened to be on sale for $125.00'....they threw in a free belt as well.

My interview was the best it had ever been and the interviewer told me that I would start on the very next Monday. I was elated. It seemed that my troubles were over and that our family could finally start enjoying some niceties that we'd foregone over the last eight months. Then, later on that day, I got a call from my interviewer telling me that he had discussed things with the CEO and that the position had been put on hold for a week or two. I was a little disappointed but still confident.

When a week passed and I hadn't heard anything from the interviewer, I started to get worried, however, on our weekly visit to the temple, my wife and I both felt a very strong confirmation from The Spirit, that my employment woes would soon be a thing of the past.

Then, this last Monday, I got a call telling me that it didn't look like the position would be available after all. My heart sunk and I went to my knees to ask Heavenly Father why I had been promised something that didn't seem like it was going to come to pass.

About an hour after my prayer, I got a phone call from an engineering company that I'd never even heard of. They had pulled my resume from a website I'd put it on eight months ago. They wondered if I could come in the next day and interview.

Once again, it was a very good interview but, when I asked when they would be making a decision, the head of the company told me that I was the first of many candidates they were seeing over the next week. As I left, I saw two of my competition waiting in the lobby, both younger, thinner, and more dynamic than myself. I left the office a little less hopeful than when I'd entered.

Anyway, I just got off the phone with the head of the company. They made me an offer and asked me to start this next Monday.

Just try and tell me that there is no God...that He's not aware of my situation....that He's not concerned for my well-being....that He doesn't keep His promises.

Just try.

Heroes

I grew up in the segregated South. The very first words I learned to read were, "Colored Only". It was a time preceding color television, seat belts, safety glass, and central air conditioning. You used to beg to go to the store with your mom just so you could cool off. They had this delicious stuff they advertised as, "Refrigerated Air". I still recall the day I spent wondering when death would come and claim my young life because I had staggered into the Rice Food Market out of the sweltering heat and mistakenly sipped at the "Colored Only" drinking fountain.

My Great Grandfather, the father of my maternal Grandfather was a merchant turned hotel owner. He brought his family to Winters Texas after the Ku Klux Klan burned down his mercantile store in Rome Georgia. His crime was two-fold. He hired colored people and, adding insult to injury, he paid them the same wage the white folks were getting...two inexcusable indiscretions in the Georgia of 1905. So one evening several men in white hoods came to my Great Grandfather's store in the dead of night, and set fire to the establishment. He escaped the blaze with little more than his life and brought his family to Texas.

The relative enlightenment of my fore-bearers notwithstanding, they still referred to black people as "Nigra" using a hybrid between the word, "Negro" and the dreaded "n-word"...a word that I was taught was only used by white trash folks. Apparently, all my playmates and their families were white trash because that's the word they used and, ashamedly, the word I used when in their company.

It's interesting how little difference there was between the word my family used around the dinner table and the word I used on the playground with my friends but that little phonetic nuance was sufficient to provide a chasm of social distinction between a person of culture and someone you wouldn't want dating your sister.

I attended Elementary School at Montgomery Elementary in south Houston. I remember every one of my teachers: There was Miss Buzzbee, my Kindergarten teacher (isn't Buzzbee the perfect name for a Kindergarten teacher?) One day she told us we were going to have some special visitors in class that day....they never came. I felt ripped-off until I was thirty and I realized that the "special visitors" she spoke of were named "Dick" and "Jane" and had a dog named "Spot".

There was Mrs Harris, my first grade teacher, who was a stickler for manners. It was her task to prepare us for eating in the cafeteria. With a precision that would make any Field Marshall proud, she drilled us on the etiquette of standing in line with a tray, our silverware to the right and our quarter for lunch in the top left hand corner. If you brought an extra nickle with you, you could get cookies and milk. (Although the milk came with a paper straw that was only good for two sips before it became impregnated with milk and collapsed, and the cookies weren't really cookies. They were rectangular and chocolate and dotted with holes. They looked suspiciously like ice cream sandwiches without the ice cream) I never used the straw, I just unfolded the milk carton and dunked in my ersatz cookies.

One day, Charlotte Stinson, the girl who sat directly in front of me at the lunch table ordered me to stop. (I should insert an editorial note here. Charlie Brown had his Lucy, Dennis the Menace had his Margaret, and I had Charlotte Stinson)

"Stop", ordered Charlotte.

I looked up with a mouthful of milk sodden faux cookie and asked, "Stop What?" (although it sounded more like "Top Wah?")

"Stop being gross", said Charlotte.

Although I was no stranger to an accusing finger being leveled in my direction, with the charge of "being gross" following right behind, I couldn't for the life me figure out what Charlotte was going on about. I looked to Pat Ellis at my right who eyed me up and down checking for wanton grossness and finally just shrugged as if to say, "Women!"

I looked to my left at Johnny Tait who had forgotten his lunch and was eating paste. He was similarly baffled as to what I was doing that would set Charlotte off like that. Finally, I just shrugged and picked up my next cookie. Charlotte jumped to her feet and went over to the table where the teachers were eating.

For a kid in the cafeteria to approach the teachers' lunch table was akin to a WWII prisoner of war crossing the warning wire in his prison camp. All eyes in the cafeteria were on Charlotte Stinson as she approached Mrs. Harris. I couldn't make out what she was saying from that distance but, when she finished, she turned with a smug expression and pointed at me.

Mrs Harris leapt to her feet and dragged me out of the cafeteria by my ear proclaiming loudly that if I could not mind my manners, I could eat outside with the other animals. I was accused, tried, and condemned faster than a French Aristocrat on Bastille Day. I didn't even get to finish my second cookie (For which Johnny Tait was grateful)

Mrs. Harris brought me to Mrs Nesbit, our school's principle who was, early in my academic career, on a first name basis with my mother. She was a behemoth of a woman whose massive backside rolled like thunderclouds beneath her perpetual black dress as she strolled the halls of Montgomery Elementary. Whether she was always dressed in black because she was in mourning for a lost husband or her youthful figure, I do not know. What I do know is that one day Kevin McCreary showed me a picture of Sophia Loren dressed in black lingerie and black seamed hose and I was for a long time, put off of pin-up pictures because black seamed hose happened to be Mrs Nesbit's stocking of choice.

As I look back now...maybe she wasn't always dressed in black after all. Perhaps she was so dense that light couldn't escape from her. I often wondered if I threw a chalkboard eraser at her if it would hit her or just go into orbit....but I digress.

Mrs Nesbit grilled me on what I was doing that was gross. I steadfastly maintained that I was doing nothing more than dunking my cookies in my milk. Mrs. Nesbit looked at Mrs Harris and asked, "what did he do?" Mrs. Harris just looked back as if to say, "What? it was the Boyce kid accused of being gross...you do the math" Finally, they decided to bring in Charlotte to clear up the mystery. When Charlotte corroborated my version of the events there was a moment of embarrassed silence. Finally they excused Charlotte and a much nicer Mrs Nesbit said, "Tom, you can go back to class now".

Montgomery Elementary was an all white school. There were only two black faces in the place, our janitor, and the balding black man in dungarees whose oil painted portrait hung in Mrs. Nesbit's office. The polished brass plate under the portrait declared that the black man's name was "James Arle Montgomery" On the way out of her office, I stopped and pointed at the portrait and asked, "Mrs. Nesbit, why is our school named after a n____r?"

Mrs Nesbit rose from her desk and, with a speed and agility that belied her bulk, closed the door and ushered me back to my chair.

"You must never use that word", she said.

"Why not?" It was a legitimate question at the time. Practically every one I knew used it.

"Because", said my principle, "it is an evil word".

Mrs Nesbit then told me a story of something that had happened a few years before I was born, at another elementary school in Houston named Edgar Allen Poe. Like Montgomery Elementary, Poe was also an all white school whose only black face was a janitor named James Arle Montgomery. One day a man named Orgeron came to the school. He had been in arguments with the school the day before trying to enroll his son, Dusty, but without the proper documents. He angrily vowed to return the next day with the proper papers.

When he did return, it was with a suitcase full of dynamite. He walked onto the playground and gave a note to a teacher threatening to explode his bomb. The teacher called over one of the students and sent them to get the school principle and the janitor, who was the only male adult in the place. Montgomery was able to get most of the children away from the madman and went back to try and get the rest.

It was while Mr Montgomery tried to reason with Orgeron that the bomb exploded and six people, including Montgomery and Orgeron were killed.

"I want you to sit here for a while and look at that picture and think about that word you said and what I just told you", said Mrs Nesbit. Then she rose and left her office, closing the door behind her.

I sat there for a while and stared at the picture and then I began to understand. Montgomery was a black man in a school just like mine; an all-white school whose students probably called him the name I had just called him.

For the first time in my life, I placed myself in someone else's shoes. I imagined being someone who was constantly made fun of and called names and had to watch what he said or did, where he lived, ate, slept, drank, sat on the bus or even waited for the bus..for all of these things he had to carefully be sure he was within the limits, for fear of violent reprisal.

There was a line drawn between us but even at that tender age, I could see that, if I crossed that line and drank at a fountain I wasn't supposed to, the worst that would happen to me was some chuckling or rolling of the eye from the people in charge.

For Montgomery to cross that very same line would mean being arrested or, perhaps, taken from his home in the dead of night and hung from the nearest tree.

I thought of being a man who was hired by the very people who had drawn that line and demanded that he stay on his side of it...who was hired to clean toilets he was forbidden to use and polish drinking fountains he was forbidden to drink from.

I wondered, if I were such a man and was called upon to come to the aid of the children of my oppressors, would my feet be as swift and my actions as daring? I thought about how much like Christ a man had to be in order to willingly lay down his life for the very people who mistreated him

I stared at the picture of Montgomery as I remembered how Mrs Nesbit related to me that, after the explosion, the police called the families of the victims to the school to help identify the remains. Tears rolled down my face as I thought of Montgomery's own son having to wait off of the campus until all of the white people had finished their business.

Mrs Nesbit stayed outside while, for the better part of an hour, I wept as I thought of all these things in her office. Then I stood up, wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and left.

In the early sixties John Glenn orbited the earth in his Mercury Space Capsule, and Mickey Mantle chased Babe Ruth's record for the most home runs hit in a single season.

When I went into Mrs Nesbit's office, my heroes were John Glenn and Mickey Mantle, when I left, my hero was a black janitor named James Arle Montgomery.

Making Others Feel Special

I hadn't stepped more than two feet into the Memorial Ward Chapel before Bret Bassett came up to me and introduced himself. He asked me my name, welcomed me to the ward and laughed at my jokes. Forty years later, Bret is still one of my closest friends and that laugh hasn't changed.

I was invited to a pool party at his subdivision and a follow-up party at his house that next Wednesday. At the party, Bret made sure that I was introduced to everyone. All of the time I was in his company, he made me feel like I was his closest and dearest friend. I kept thinking of the words that Christ used to describe Nathanael, "Behold, a man without guile". (later on I discovered a little guile here and there...but not much)

The first time I ate dinner with the Bassetts, I discovered a few things. First, if you weren't quick, you'd starve before you got anything to eat in that household. All of the food was placed atop a large Lazy Susan that sat at the round kitchen table. Nobody ever asked for anything to be passed, they just spun the Lazy Susan until the food item they wanted was in front of them.

I have heard people opine that the smallest increment of time known to man is called, 'A New York Minute'. It is the interval of time between the light in front of you turning green and the cab driver behind you honking his horn. However, I have discovered an infinitesimally shorter increment of time..it is the period of time between 'Amen' being said over the food at the Bassett home and the Lazy Susan starting to spin.

I wasn't quite sure what was on the menu because that Lazy Susan spun so fast that all I saw was a blur...an amalgam of foods whipping by too fast for the eye to lock onto so the mind could register. (I thought I smelled chicken) It was Brett's brother Bruce who showed me how to get fed. You simply stuck your arm into the middle of the Lazy Susan and scooped whatever dish came by off and onto the table. Once I'd seen it done a couple of times and was assured that I wouldn't lose a limb in the process, I copied Bruce's example. The timing required to accomplish this feat is something akin to the timing required for double dutch jump rope.

The second thing I learned from visiting The Bassett home was that all of Bret's brothers and sisters had, in varying degrees, the very same ability to make a stranger feel like you were family. It didn't take long to discover that this remarkable talent was due to the example set by the matriarch of The Bassett Clan, Sister Bassett.

Sister Bassett was the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove. Those ice-blue eyes of hers would look straight into yours in a way that said, "I'll brook no nonsense from you, young man" with a generous twinkle that also said, "but you're fun to have around". Even when those eye's flashed in anger, you could still detect a hint of that twinkle lurking around the edges.

I think it was because I loved the dichotomy of those angry eyes with a hint of twinkle so much that I made it my life's mission to be the thorn in Sister Bassett's side. I never left the field of verbal battle with Sister Bassett unbloodied, or even close to victorious. (but to this day, I haven't given up)

Once her youngest son, Sid, did something that caused Sister Bassett to reach out and swat his behind. I chided her by saying that the prophet, David O. McKay's children said that the worst thing he ever did to them was to say, "I wish my children would be good". Usually, a zinger like that will catch my opponent off guard long enough for me to prepare another one before they answer back...but not Sister Bassett. She shot back at me with, "I've read a lot of wonderful things about President McKay. I've never read anything about his kids though"

Score:Janice 1; Tom 0

We had an ongoing argument over my failure to attend BYU Education Week. I refused to go on the grounds that they charged an entrance fee and The Book of Mormon says that paying people to preach to you was priest crafts

This one came out a tie.

I never paid for a haircut my entire time in high school. If my hair got too long, Sister Bassett would get out her clippers and barber's cloth, set me in a chair in the kitchen, place the cloth around my shoulders and cut my hair. It was during these times of captivity that she imparted her wisdom to me. If I showed any reticence about accepting that wisdom or wanting to argue with her, I was told to be quiet and listen. Usually these demands for silence were punctuated by short tugs to a lock of hair on the back of my head.

Sister Bassett's favorite form of punishment was to sentence the guilty to a week of doing the dinner dishes. Over the years I had seen each of the Bassett children take their turn several times with this punishment. The seriousness of infraction required for the issuance this ultimate sentence waned proportionate to the days of the week. Meaning, if it was Sunday and nobody was cued up to do dishes for the next week, you watched yourself.

I thought that this punishment was reserved only for her children and paid for my folly one week by stepping over the line while teasing the youngest sister, Liz. I was roundly chastised and told that I was expected in the Bassett home every night at seven o'clock for a week so that I could do the dishes. All of the Bassett children cheered...mainly because, if I was doing the dishes, they didn't have to.

Explaining to my parents why I had to leave our dinner table and drive over to the Bassett's to do the dishes was a little awkward, especially when I didn't do dishes in our home. My dad asked me what would happen if I just ignored Sister Bassett's demand. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it...and when I did...it scared me a little.

Sister Bassett became like a second mom to me. She's been in the hospital and, as I write these words, she is about to undergo surgery on her heart. There is a definite chance that she will not make it through the surgery...but how I hope and pray she does.

I went to visit her in the hospital on Monday and all of her children there greeted me like a long lost sibling. We all chatted while Sister Bassett slept, when she opened her eyes and saw me, the first thing I did was offer her a sip of my Dr. Pepper.

"You know I don't drink that", She said.

"Are you judging me?" I asked. "Is this the kind of thing that you want to be doing while getting ready to see Jesus?...judge others?"

I was rewarded with a huge twinkle out of those eyes that hadn't seemed to age a bit over the last 4 decades (score one for Tom)

When it came time to go, I went over and kissed her forehead, she said, "I love you forever and have since the first time you came into our home."

I've been keeping up with her progress by reading the blog her kids set up. I also read the comments of the people she's touched over the years....people who I don't know but feel the same way about her that I do. It made me think, for a moment, that I wasn't that special to her after all....but then I quickly realized that we all are.

In The Valley of Peniel

I watched a program on The History Channel the other day about the ancient patriarch, Jacob, whose name was changed to Israel after he wrestled all night with a heavenly being. Jacob called the name of the place where he struggled, 'Peniel' because, 'I have seen the face of God'. The name 'Israel' was given to Jacob as a blessing by the Heavenly messenger. Israel can have one or more of several meanings from, 'struggled with God' to, 'prevailed with God'. It was given to Jacob by the heavenly messenger at the dawn of an all night struggle during which neither was victorious. The scriptures state that the heavenly being reached out and touched Jacob's thigh and that his hip was out of joint. Despite the obvious pain and discomfort he was going through, Jacob stubbornly clung to the being and refused to let him go. Seeing that the dawn was upon him, the messenger told Jacob to release him. Jacob refused and demanded a blessing.

What interested me most was the literal way in which the historian commentators took the story. I must admit that, up to that point, I too had thought of Jacob's struggle in a literal sense...but not anymore. Maybe, perhaps, because I, also, have been struggling of late.

I've been going through some difficult times, lately. Although I've weathered far worse times, what makes this current episode so difficult to take is the way in which I've sought solace and comfort in vain. In other times, when I've gone to The Lord in prayer for relief and comfort, the burdens that I carried into the conversation and laid at Heavenly Father's feet have been taken from me. Nothing in my outward circumstances had changed. I still faced the same challenges as I did before I hit my knees, and yet...those burdens were taken from me and I left that meeting with my Father in Heaven with a knowledge that I was equal to the task before me...that things will, somehow, work out and my family and I will do well.

For the past few months, however, that solace has been sought in vain. The heavens seem to have closed themselves up and every petitioned blessing has been answered with a new challenge or obstacle. I don't know when I've ever felt more alone. Like Jacob, I have been struggling with God.

I suppose that's why yesterday's broadcast seems like a Godsend to me. For the first time I understood what must have been really happening that night, and I saw Jacob's struggle with God as a spiritual, rather than a physical struggle. Jacob seeking to connect with his Father in Heaven and seeking solace and comfort and assurance from God before he went on to meet his estranged brother, Esau...and that solace and comfort and assurance being withheld. Perhaps, during his distracted struggle to connect with God, Jacob lost his footing in the dark, slipped and fell and dislocated his hip, seeing that painful injury as an answer from God for his petitions.

As Jacob writhes in pain, he looks to the East and sees that the sky over the horizon is a shade or two lighter than the last time he looked and he realizes that he has been struggling with God all night long for a blessing that seems to not come.

And then Satan enters Jacob's heart in the guise of God, Himself, and say's 'Let me go'...'Abandon your worship of me'

And this is where Jacob proves to himself the metal of which he's made. He refuses to give up and abandon God, although it appears to Jacob as if God has given up on Jacob and abandoned him. He stubbornly refuses to let go and clings to God, asking a blessing once more...and this time the sought for blessing comes.

Jacob's name is changed to Israel and he is promised that he will be the father of many nations. The great blessing that was given to his father, Isaac and his grandfather, Abraham, will be realized through Jacob. Through his lineaqe will come the Savior of the World, and he will be praised throughout eternity.

Maybe I'm wrong and misreading this whole episode...maybe it's been so long since I've had a confirmation from The Spirit that I'm misinterpreting this whole scenario....but maybe I'm right.

Anyway, it's given me the strength to hold on...to stubbornly cling to God and await his answer.