Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 6 of 8)

(Sorry – Out of sequence!)
With the camp set up we were soon to leave to see the sights of Bryce Canyon, but all my sisters were playing on an old fallen tree trunk. I went over to see what they were doing. All four of them were sitting on the log with their legs stretched out on either side. "What are you doing?" I asked.
"We're on a horse," Vera said.
"We found him in the forest," Karen said.
"He is very fun to ride on," Julie said.
"His name is Old Brown," Lisa said.
I climbed on the log, too. Though I was almost sixteen, the moment I sat on the fallen tree, it became a real horse. I too, was riding on Old Brown.

Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 7 of 8)

We went to many places that afternoon in our station wagon. We drove to the southern end of Bryce Canyon and worked our way back. We stopped to see natural bridges, arches, witches, goblins, fairies, queens, and kings, all etched out of pink and red limestone. At one place we parked the car and walked our to the edge of a cliff that jutted way out over a vast panoramic view of a canyon. This had railings all around it, but we still had to make sure Christopher didn't climb over.
In another place, we enjoyed the nearby sandstone formations while gazing off in the distance at what looked like a sinking ship. It was really a mesa that was slanting downward but it looked very much like a ship sinking in the ocean. I remember when I was much younger, thinking that it was once a real ship that had sailed the primeval ocean and was now petrified for all to see.
We returned to our camp in the late afternoon. Mom started fixing stew for our dinner while my sisters and I climbed back on Old Brown for more adventures. This time Christopher joined us. Though we had been in a "real" fairy land all day we now entered an imaginary world where Old Brown carried us from place to place to our fullest satisfaction.

Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 5 of 8)

The task of setting up camp was now upon us. Our camp was under several towering Ponderosa pine trees. It was right across the way from the brick restrooms which had heavy metal doors with large springs on them. It seamed that whenever anyone went in or out of them, the springs vibrated and moaned and then the door would go "bang!" all through the night. Fortunately we just ignored them and didn't let that intrusion distract us from the backwoods experience of camping.
We quickly set up our big tent and my little orange scout pup tent. Everyone helped carry sleeping bags into the tents while Mom set up the table with the cooking gear. The other kids started to play as Dad and I set up the dinning fly over the picnic table. We placed the center pole in the middle of the picnic table and tied the ropes of the four corners to nearby trees.

Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 4 of 8)

Lunch was a simple meal of tuna fish sandwiches that Mom had prepared at home early that morning. We ate quickly and then forged on ahead to Bryce Canyon. Soon we left the Red Canyon area and drove across a plain with just sage brush. Some pink cliffs were off in the distance and these again signaled the nearness of Bryce Canyon. We drove through a heavily forested area. A car in front of us slowed down and we stopped also as we drew near it. The driver of that car had his arm out the window motioning us to look at what was in the road. It was a large bird just standing there in the middle of the road! Dad snapped a picture of it before we carefully drove around it.
A few minutes later we stopped again, this time at the toll booth for the entrance of Bryce Canyon National Park. Dad paid the entrance few and we drove on, passing the Visitor Center on the way. A few minutes later we pulled into one of the campgrounds and drove around the big circle until we found an empty camping spot. It seemed that Bryce Canyon had gotten more and more popular over the years. This year we were lucky to still find a campground this late in the day. In later years we would have to find a campground outside Bryce Canyon for the first night and then get a campsite early the next day inside Bryce Canyon.

Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 3 of 8)

Just before we were ready to go, Dad carried out a big box of food. He rolled down the window of the back door, set the box down, and we just had to scrunch tighter together. There was no complaining here. We knew that box was the all the food we would eat on our camping trip. Then Dad said, "Okay, everyone in the house for family prayers before we go." We had finally settled into our places, and most of us already had our shoes off, but we obediently filed into the house to pray for a safe journey.
After the prayer, and Mom's counsel to use the bathroom one last time before we left, we were back in the car and on our way.
We drove south on I-15 then Highway 89 through Spanish Fork Canyon. We passed each city along the way and we knew that with each town we were one step closer to our destination of Bryce Canyon. We stopped for lunch at Red Canyon. The red rocks and natural sandstone sculptures silently said to each of us, "Yes, you are almost to Bryce Canyon." I always felt as if Red Canyon was the Welcoming Committee for Bryce Canyon.

Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 2 of 8)

A few weeks later we were ready to go.
We loaded up the station wagon. First we loaded the car top carrier. All the sleeping bags, the tent, the dinning fly, the camp stove, the lantern, and the suit cases with our clothes went up on top of the car. Then we loaded other items. Each child had an allotment of books or crafts, something to keep him occupied during the five hour drive to Bryce Canyon. We each had a small space in the back of the station wagon staked out for us and our personal belongings. Most of us were cramped tightly in the very back on the part that folds down.
Karen came out a little later. We saw her walking down the sidewalk toward the car. Vera was the first to notice, "Oh no," she moaned. "Karen has her big junky sack again!"
When we first got our 1969 Ford Fairlane station wagon it seemed to have all the room in the world. But now it was cramped. Of course we were all growing, especially me. So when Karen came and climbed in, we, with the mean, youthful honesty, let Karen know that we wished she wouldn't bring all her projects with her.
But she didn't pay any attention to us, which is good. She just made her way to a tiny empty space on the foam rubber that cushioned the back of the station wagon. Her sack rattled with pencils, crayons, scissors, paper, books, sewing, knitting, or whatever projects Karen had brought along.

Old Brown of Bryce Canyon (Part 1 of 8)
We were all seated around the breakfast table when dad made the announcement. "Kids, we are going to have our vacation June Fifteenth through the twentieth. Now, where do you want to go?"
"American Fork Canyon."
"Arches."
"The Spruces."
"Zion's."
"Yellowstone."
"Hey, let's go to Bryce Canyon!

Bryce Canyon.

Just the name of it has a traditional ring to it. We hadn't been to Bryce Canyon for many years. It was like we had been to all the other famous places in Utah and the West recently, but we hadn't been back to the old favorite in quite a while. Now it was an overwhelming choice in the democratic decision as to where we should go on our vacation.

I Need You In Mixed Chorus (Part 3 of 3)

I walked home excitedly after that. I had secretly wanted to be in the mixed chorus, but I saw the prerequisite for that class which was to take seventh grade music, and eighth grade Boy's Chorus. I figured since I had taken none of these classes, that there was no hope to take mixed chorus. I didn't think of my piano lessons as a child, my five years of being in the band, and the many special choruses for church, school, and family I was in over the years. Now I was going to be in the mixed chorus and I was going to sing bass!
I spent the summer getting ready. I had never sung any part other than the melody. I tried to sing alto sometimes but I could never figure it out. Sometimes I sat next to my mom in church and she sang alto. I would try to follow her, but on my own I couldn't do it. Now, I knew I was going to sing bass so I had to learn fast. I found that it was easier than alto. Soprano is usually the melody and it is the highest voice. Bass is the lowest. The name is just about right. It is truly the base of music. The bass voice is the foundation of a piece of music.
I sang bass in church. I followed other people who were singing bass during the hymns. My dad was one of them. After a few weeks, I had it down perfectly. Bass was also a lot easier to hear the organist play since it was played on the keyboard as well as the pedals of the organ. It was also easy since as I mentioned it was the foundation. The president of the ward choir even invited me to sing. I was a bit reluctant at first, but I eventually joined.
The summer came and went and soon I found myself in the mixed chorus class. I was surprised at how many "cool" people were in the class along with me.
Mr. Hailstone welcomed us to class, "It sure is good to see you all here," he said. "There are ninety of you. I'm sure we will have a fine chorus this year." He then took out some music and had a girl come to the piano. "Let's start on this song and see what we can do."
We began singing. It was fantastic. I was amazed to sing bass with fifteen guys my own age. And the other parts were just as good. There was real musical power here!
That year was filled with rehearsals and performances. We had a uniform which consisted of white pants, white shirt, and a purple vest with big white buttons. The girls wore purple dresses and vests too, with a frilly tie at the neck. We sang and sang and sang. I loved it.
I didn't know it then, but I was to spend a lot of my time in choral music in the years to come. It actually changed my life. I'll always be grateful that Mr, Hailstone came into my health class that day in eighth grade.

Coming Tomorrow: Old Brown of Bryce Canyon

I Need You In Mixed Chorus (Part 2 of 3)

Mr. Hailstone approached me. "What can I do for you, sir?"
He and I had never spoken to each other before.
"I'd like to sign up to be a teacher's aide."
"Well, that's nice, but I really need you to sing in the mixed chorus next year. Come over to the piano."
Before I knew it, Mr. Hailstone pulled up the canvas cover and opened the piano. He had me singing the notes he played on the piano. He played low ones, medium ones, and high notes.
"Very good! Now sing this."
Mr. Hailstone played some descending scales. He kept getting lower and lower. I matched every note.
He stopped, closed the lid of the piano and replaced the heavy canvas dust cover. "I think you will make a fine bass," he said. "Can you arrange your schedule to be in the mixed chorus next year?"
"Yes," I said. "But I always thought I couldn't be in it without taking eighth grade Boy's Chorus first."
"I'll be more than glad to take any person that can sing well, and you sing very good!"
Mr. Hailstone got a folded up slip of paper out of his pocket. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Billy Loveless.”
He scanned the list. “Ah, here is your name – Bill Loveless – Someone recommended you to sing in mixed chorus.”
“Who?”
But Mr. Hailstone did not answer. He just made me promise that I would sign up for mixed chorus.

I Need You In Mixed Chorus (Part 1 of 3)

I was sitting innocently in my eighth grade health class when it happened. The choral music teacher, Mr. Hailstone (whose chorus room was just across the hall) came onto our classroom. He made his announcement with prearranged permission from the health teacher.
"I need about three students to act as teacher's aides in my third period class next year."
Well that started it. I needed another class for my ninth grade year and being a teacher's aide sounded nice and easy. I went to see Mr. Hailstone after school. He was alone in his chorus room. It was a big room with a large area down front. There was a grand piano in the center. The piano was covered with a light brown canvas cover at the time to protect it from day to day dust. In the large room there were successive platforms that gradually rose up to about eight feet higher than the floor in front. Each platform stretched clear across the room and was five feet wide. There were chairs and music stands on the platforms enough for about one hundred students.

Three Brothers Three Nations (Part 3 of 3)

I wrote a lot on my days off from school. When school was out on a weekday it was glorious to spend the whole day in writing my book. One day I wrote thirty-two pages. It wasn’t until Just before I entered high school that I finished the second version. I knew that the third version should be typed. I figured that since I was almost sixteen and almost able to date, I would get a girl friend who knew how to type and then have her type it. I figured during the days in the summer after my sophomore year, she would come over to my house and type for eight hours straight. Of course, I really doubt that my parents would have approved of such a plan. Despite the fact that I was not going to pay the poor girl for her work, (I had no money) I was going to have her type with me in my bedroom all day.
As it turned out, I ended up typing the third version myself. I set up a big table in my room and I worked feverishly on it every day during the summer.
I heard an ad on the radio one night that said, “Are you an unpublished author?”
“Yes!” I answered out loud. The radio commercial went on to tell about Vantage Press. The announcer told me about a toll-free number I could call for more information. I jotted down the phone number. The next day I called it and got an information packet coming. When I received it in the mail, I learned how I could have my book printed by them if I payed a certain amount of money. I didn’t worry about that. I wrote to the company and told them I had a manuscript almost ready. They even wrote me back a few months later and wanted to know where it was. I was flattered. At the same time I was getting a magazine called Writer’s Digest each month. I was also on every mailing list that had to do with writing. Dad once told me that Mom was jealous because I got more mail than she did.
The day finally came when I sent off the manuscript for Three Brothers Three Nations. A few weeks later Vantage Press sent it back to me with a rejection slip. It wasn’t the last time that I would get one of those, but at least I had tried.

Coming Tomorrow: I Need You In Mixed Chorus

Three Brothers Three Nations (Part 2 of 3)

In all writing, it helps to visualize as much as possible what one is writing about. I started drawing detailed scenes of places on the planet Orbitralas. I drew these as if they were produced by a photographic process called JudaKolor. It was really my watercolor magic markers that did the work. I was using my Grandpa Loveless’s dark room equipment at the time and I made actual photographs. I had some very old photographic paper that was made during World War II, but it was still good. I touched these photographs up with my watercolor markers to also make them look like they were produced by JudaKolor. I tried to live my book as much as possible while I was writing it. Once I was feeling sick and achy. Instead of going to bed, I pretended that my sickness was caused from the effects of a dust bomb exploded in the atmosphere of the planet Orbitralas.
By the end of the summer, I had finished my first version. It was 400 hand-written pages long. I then commenced working on the second version. I knew somewhere down the road I’d have to type it if I wanted to send my book to a publisher. So in my ninth grade year of school I was writing my book. It doesn’t make sense to me now that even though my English teacher, Mrs. Johnson was impressed with me right from the start, I never went to her and said, “I’m writing a book, will you help me with what needs to happen so I can get it published.” She probably would have done anything for me. But I never even told her I was writing a book. I spent every spare moment I could in writing my book. Even though it was the second version, I never had to go look up anything in the first version. I wrote the second version entirely from memory.
Like I said, I lived it. At one time in ninth grade I was secretly in love with a girl named Rebecca. So in my book, I imagined her as Judakatrupe’s wife. When I was writing about his meeting her at a dance, I made sure in real life I danced with the real-life Rebecca at a school dance. I was then able to describe how Judakatrupe felt dancing with Rebecca when he first met her. Every detail was there, even the aroma of her herbal shampoo, her dress, her face, and her voice.

Three Brothers Three Nations (Part 1 of 3)

At the end of 8th grade, when I had gotten my story back from Mrs. Mecham, she suggested I write it into a book during the summer. That’s exactly what I decided to do. I had been fleshing out the story of the Judakatrupians for a long time. I was fourteen at the time. I had originally thought of some elements of the story when I was four years old. Of course I updated some of the names, though. At age four a conical building that was jet black and which flew the scull and crossbones as its flag and was called The Clamp, now became Judakatrupian Space Force Headquarters. What I called the planet Dong Ding when I was eight years old, now became the Planet Orbitralas. Obviously, a huge space ship called the Dong Ding International which carried over 20,000 people, and was built by cowboys in the nineteenth century became the Orbitralas International and was built by Judakatrupians on Earth in 1961.
Good old teletype paper. I knew if I wanted to write a book, I had to have lots of paper. So I used those rolls of teletype paper and cut several hundred sheets to the 8 ½ by 11 inch size and punched holes in them so they would fit in a thick binder. Then I started to write. I wrote that whole summer. I wrote and wrote. In the summers before, I had watched a lot of television. I may have even been bored at times. Not the summer of 1976! I was very busy. I found that if I had music playing, I generally wrote better, faster, and more efficient. I used to crank up my stereo and listen to classical music while I was writing a book, writing music, or doing anything else in my room. Some parents complain about their children listening to load rock music. My parents generally had to tell me to turn down, Handel’s Messiah. In the summer of 1976, particularly inspiring to me was to listen to Richard Strauss’s Thus Spake Zarathustra while I was writing the first version of my book, Three Brothers Three Nations.

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 10 of 10)

The next year in ninth grade I had Mrs. Johnson as my English teacher. It was first period and my home room. I had a good attitude right from the start and I wrote lots of stories for her. She had us keep a daily journal and gave us a few minutes each morning to write in it. She said that a journal gives you a chance to practice writing and no one else needs to see it necessarily and you can try out new things. No one will critique it.
When we studied mythology we had to write our own myth. I wrote a science fiction myth based on the Judakatrupians. When we studied Romeo and Juliette, Mrs. Johnson assigned us to write our own version of the story. Mine was again science fiction, set in Africa. I even wrote a long story called the Infinite Dimension, just for fun, and Dad took me to several people’s homes to have me read it to them. I wrote a brilliant research paper on geosynchronous solar power stations in space. And rounded it all out with yet another 25 page short story about at fifteen-year-old whiz kid named Travian who qualified to become an officer on the super star ship, Assesena. In Mrs. Johnson’s eyes, at least in a literary sense, I could do no wrong. I had come along way from my seventh grade years when every thing I wrote was looked on with disdain and in gold ink, nonetheless!.

Coming Tomorrow: Three Brothers Three Nations

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 9 of 10)

I had been working on a science fiction story in my mind for a long time. I used this as the basis for many of my writing assignments. Then in February of 1976, Mrs. Mecham gave us a short story assignment that had to be at least five pages long. We had the weekend to work on it and turn it in on Monday. I again used my science fiction story ideas to write this assignment. I figured I’d write it that night as we watched the Olympics on TV. By the end of the evening I had six pages and wasn’t anywhere near being done with the story. I worked on it all day on Saturday and I finally finished it late Saturday night. It was 25 pages long. It was called The Assesena Crew 915. It was about a star ship that was 12 kilometers long.
I turned in my story on Monday morning. It took two months for Mrs. Mecham to correct it! And then she asked me to re-write it. Her suggestion: to make it longer! And type it.
Re-writing it was the easy part. I developed the characters better and I re-worked the ending and made other plot adjustments. It was 36 handwritten pages long. We had a Smith-Corona typewriter at home. On this I began the monumental task of typing it. We had a big box of teletype paper rolls in our basement. Each roll was yellow paper with carbon paper included in the roll. It was actually already set up to make three copies. I cut the rolls into 8½ inch by 11 inch sheets and put them in the typewriter so I’d have three copies. If I made a mistake in typing, which I did a lot, I couldn’t go back and correct it. It had to stand as it was. Since this was a science fiction story I worked in a disclaimer about the mistakes. I said at the beginning of the piece that this story had undergone many translations (the Judakatrupian language for one) and that as a result, it had a few spelling mistakes. “Please just pretend that they aren’t even there.” I spent days and days typing. The typewriter was set up on a table in the laundry room. Mom had seen my work go on and on and she knew I had to get it done by the end of the school year. She agreed to type the last several pages for me. When it was done, I bound the three copies all together like a book. It even had photographs and drawings in it. I proudly turned it in to Mrs. Mecham and she said she’d read it with the greatest attention.
A few days later was the school yearbook signing day. I had Mrs. Mecham sign mine. She wrote, “Someday I will look on my shelf and find a book written by Billy Loveless and all the words will be spelled correctly.”

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 8 of 10)

In ninth grade, I took geometry and I sat on the front row. On the first day of class, Mrs. Peppinger congratulated us, “Class, you students are the elite group of this school. This is the highest math class that is taught in junior high.” I beamed with pride!
I need to go back in time, one year now, to my eighth grade English class. In that class we spent most of the first half of the year going over the rules of grammar. The teacher used the over-head projector and had the lights turned off. I put my head down and went to sleep. I was in the back of the room sitting with the “stoners,” guys who smoked cigarets and probably smoked pot as well. That was not a good sign. They had their heads down as well. I know I should have had a better attitude. Mrs. Mecham was giving of herself and she taught those rules with a fervor. Towards the end of the first half of the year we had a writing assignment to describe a typical day at school. Somehow this assignment sparked an interest in me and rekindled a desire to write. Mrs. Mecham had told my mother at Parent Teacher Conference that she’d rather have me print when I wrote my compositions, then write them in cursive if that was too hard for me, which it was. I went home and worked on the assignment over the weekend. On Monday morning I turned in the paper. Yes, there were spelling errors and grammatical mistakes, but at least I had cared about this assignment. I didn’t think any more about it once I turned it in.
The next day, Mrs. Mecham surprised me by reading my composition to the class! They even laughed a lot at my over-exaggerations on many of the events that happened in a typical day at school, which my paper was about. Later during that class period, we divided into groups to discuss a story we had read in a book. Mrs. Mecham appointed me to be the leader of the group. Yes, me! After that, I was different. I loved going to English. Each writing assignment was a great opportunity for growth for me.

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 7 of 10)

I ended seventh grade on a better foot in my Math class. I was in the regular seventh grade Math class. I had tried in sixth grade to get into seventh grade accelerated Math, or even pre-algebra, but my grades weren’t high enough to warrant it. At the time for registration for eighth grade I asked my Math teacher if I could take algebra. She looked at me like I was joking. “You’re struggling to get a C in this class, Billy. There is no way I’d recommend you for algebra next year.” I told my Dad that. I also reminded him of all the electronics math formulas and calculations I knew by heart. Dad wrote a quick note to Mrs. Hawker, my math teacher. It said, “Billy is looking forward to a career in engineering. As a result, he must have math! Please recommend him for algebra next year!” I gave it to her the next day. Again the decision was the same. I kept pestering her. A week later she gave me an algebra readiness test, more to get me off her back. She thought I’d fall on my face. Even though my grades were poor, I was bored in seventh grade math. I didn’t want to languish for another year in eighth grade math. I knew I could handle algebra. A week later Mrs. Hawker got around to correcting my test. She saw me and Mom in the hall one day. (Actually it was when Mom was coming to get me after I threw up in English.) She said to Mom, “Billy took an algebra test a few days ago and did very well. I can now recommend him for algebra next year.”
The next year in Algebra I had Mrs, Peppinger for my teacher. The class had mostly ninth graders in it. I didn’t get good grades in Algebra either, but I was able to grasp the concepts of algebra. It was much more interesting than eighth grade math and I probably got better grades than if I had been sitting bored in eighth grade math. I sat on the back row of the class. Dad frowned at this and advised me to sit on the front row. He said, “The only way I got through college was to sit on the front row and I always had a sharp pencil.”

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 6 of 10)

I just didn’t seem to be “getting it” in a lot of my classes, but seventh grade English was probably the worst. You’d think that someone who secretly wanted to be a writer would do better in English. Well, your wrong! Even though I had written four and five page articles and stories just for fun, we had to write a one page composition each week for English class. I turned in my first one on time, but it was done with a red pen. Miss Anderson turned it back to me with a big note: “Don’t use red ink. I correct in red.” For my next composition I used a green pen. She gave it back. “Don’t use green pen!” For my next composition I used a little quill pen I had found at the store. It even came with its own ink. What color was it? Gold. I turned in my composition. The next day I got this note, written in exasperation: “Use ONLY blue or black!” I still didn’t get it. My next composition was done with a blue felt tipped pen that was very worn out. This time Miss Anderson called me to her desk. “Billy, please use a ball point pen just like everyone else is using.”
I had English fourth period. It was actually a split class, meaning that we went to fourth period for a half hour and then went to lunch period, followed by another twenty minutes of fourth period. One morning my stomach was upset. I went to Math first, then gym, second, I suffered through reading in third period, and then English. I thought I’d feel better after lunch, but I just barely ate. Kyle Hunter even offered me his chocolate milk, but I didn’t want it. To which Kyle replied, “What’s wrong, Billy? You always take my chocolate milk. Don’t you feel well?” I didn’t feel well at all, but I didn’t know that you could get out of school and have your mother come get you if you were sick. (Maybe the school officials knew teenagers all too well to explain that option.) We went back to English and I was faced with just suffering through class sitting at my desk. But Miss Anderson announced that we were going to have an in-class spelling bee. We all stood up and lined the walls of the room. We pushed all the desks into the middle of the room. I couldn’t see myself but I’ll bet I was white as a sheet. We went around the room and Miss Anderson said a word and each person in turn had to spell it. Then it was my turn. I had no idea how to spell the word that Miss Anderson said. I wasn’t trying to be theatrical, but right then, I grunted and then threw up. It went all over the tile floor. Just then the bell rang. Everyone disgustedly filed out and Miss Anderson sent me to the counseling center to call my Mom.

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 5 of 10)

Another job that Jill and I had was to answer the phone. We took turns grabbing the phone on Mrs. Fowler's desk. When we answered it, we were instructed to say, "Bonneville Junior, student speaking." Almost without exception, the person calling would say, "Is there someone I could talk to." I didn't think anything of this, I just transferred the call or took a message. I was talking to my Mom one day about my duties in the office and she suggested that I reply, "Yes, I'm somebody!" But I never did.

In sixth grade I had to have my eyes checked. I was borderline for getting glasses. I thought I’d look real cool if I wore glasses. I picked out some wire rimed glasses that I thought were really cool. I didn’t know it then, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but they made me look more like a geek. That’s how I entered junior high. My last year of looking like a child and I had to hide it behind some geeky glasses. By the next year, I was in the very awkward adolescence age of pimples and having to use deodorant every day, (but not knowing that I need to use it every day!) My body was changing, and even though I had reached my full adult stature of 6 feet, two inches, my face was still growing out all sorts of weird ways. If that wasn’t enough, school was very hard for me.

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 4 of 10)

Near the duplicator machines room was the faculty lounge. I was never brave enough to go in there. However there was a coffee maker in there and I was tempted to put Postum in instead of coffee and see if anyone noticed. But I decided against it. I would have really gotten in trouble when it came to people's coffee. One of the ladies in the office did that job. They did not entrust that job to a student!
The office ladies, Mrs. Cowdell and Mrs. Fowler were very nice to us. They really appreciated our help. They knew if we didn't do our jobs, they would have to do them, in addition to their own work.
An important job that I had was to work in the supply room. This was located right off the office. It was a room with lots of shelves. There were pencils, pens, memo pads, rulers, compasses, and paper. Lots of paper! There was lined paper, graph paper, newsprint, and white paper for the duplicator machines. Perhaps the biggest quantity was the duplicator paper. Also there were cans and cans of duplicator fluid. Everything was stored there that a junior high school would need to conduct business. And during the first period, I was in charge of it! I felt as if everything would come to a grinding halt if I weren't there to make sure it was taken care of. If a teacher needed supplies I grabbed them from the supply room and quickly took them to the teacher’s class room. Several years later when I was in my thirties, I was in charge of office supplies for my company. I remarked to a co-worker one day, "I was doing this same job when I was in eighth grade."

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 3 of 10)

Another of my duties was to check the duplicator machines. There was another room in back of the office that was devoted entirely to duplication. The school did have a small printing press, but it was for large runs of say a sheet that had to go to say, the entire 8th grade class or the whole school. In the days right before copy machines, duplicator machines dominated the education world as the means for supplying mass printing to a small audience, such as a class room full of students. These were more commonly known as ditto machines.
Copies were made on a duplicator machine first by preparing the duplication master. This looked like a simple two part form with several holes in the top of the form. You simply wrote hard with a pen, or typed what you needed to convey to the students. Then you tore off the top sheet and loaded the bottom sheet in the duplicator machine. This master now attached to a rotating drum. The person making the dittos operated the machine by turning a handle that rotated the drum. There was a stack of paper that was automatically feed into the machine. The drum had a fluid that had alcohol in it. A light coating of fluid was spread over the master and this came in contact with a blank sheet of paper and made a copy of the master. Sure it was light and purple, but it was the best we had. If you got a copy that had recently been made, you could still smell the duplicator fluid. It was scented with a rather pleasant smell, almost a grape smell. Each turn of the handle netted one more copy. It was my job to make sure each machine was filled with fluid and to make sure each machine had a good supply of paper stacked by it. There must have been ten machines in this room. I remember doing the actual duplication of a memo or two. One time, some one else did a memo on a duplicator machine and then distributed it. All it said at the very top was, "Teachers, remember not to waste paper." And then there was an almost full sheet of blank space.

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 2 of 10)

Mr. Roberts was in his final years before retirement. It was half way through my ninth grade year that he did retire. I don't think any of us realized what a gem of a man we had as our principal. He had a dignity about him that is impossible to find in a younger man nowadays. He had simple convictions like honesty, and never sit when you can stand, as well as never drive if you can walk. If he needed to visit with an errant student and the parents in his office, he did that behind closed doors. Jill and I, though we knew everything that happened in the office, were never instructed about not blabbing it all over. Somehow we just knew from Mr. Roberts' noble handling of the situation that we were not to discuss it at all.
Jill's first assignment on the first day of school was to file every student's school schedule into a cardboard file box. These were then placed on a table conveniently located next to the huge electronic console of the P.A. System in case a particular student needed to be located quickly and called to the office. I soon found out that this file was also very useful for looking up girls' schedules and finding out where I could just happen to run into them. I could also see where the girl lived and there was a large map showing every street that the school served. This was very helpful in finding out where I would have to go to walk a girl home. Unfortunately that never happened while I was in junior high.

Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High (Part 1 of 10)

I started out eighth grade by attending my first period class which was office practice. There was myself and one other student, Jill, and we helped out in the administration office. My first duty was to sharpen the principal's pencils. Every morning I checked to make sure he had six, long, sharp pencils in the pencil holder on his desk. He was very particular about that.
Anything that had to do with typing, they had Jill do. I think mostly because she was a girl, but also because she was a better typist than I. Jill was in ninth grade and because of her, the two ladies in the office called me Jack, (Jack and Jill.) Those two ladies were both administrative secretaries and they becked and called to us during the whole period. Since the bus got me to school a few minutes early in the morning, I arrived at the office just in time to wait on students at the front counter. Some had questions that one of the ladies had to answer, others needed to buy something which we had such as pencils, clarinet or saxophone reeds, or even a Bonneville Junior High School T-shirt. Others needed a hall pass. Still others needed to be excused from school later in the day. The five minute bell would ring, signaling school would start in five minutes. From the glass front of the office I could see the students in the hall outside begin to thin out as people scurried off to their first period classes. The principal, Mr. H. Clive Roberts was standing in our same office, at the P.A. System, in readiness for school to start which was when he would make his daily announcements. Usually he would have someone else with him, a student body officer, or a cheerleader who would be ready to make an announcement as well. Then magically, the bell would ring and the halls and the office would clear out as everyone got to his or her home room. The counter was devoid of people and Jill and I took our seats at a small table at the back of the office. Mr. Roberts at the microphone welcomed everyone to school. Another day had begun! There was a certain wonder for school to start each morning. It was as if each of us from the last student to the cheerleaders and student body officers, to the teachers and staff had individually gotten out of bed that morning. We could have slept in, especially on a cool and brisk fall morning. We could have stayed in bed listening to the music on our clock radios. But we had all gotten up. We got ready, ate breakfast, and rode to school. We were here now in one great body. We had come together. We were a team. And another day had begun!

Mom's Consistency (Part 7 of 7)

Sometimes we had mush. Now mush was an endearing term that we used for a variety of
breakfast dishes. Cracked wheat, oatmeal, Cream of Wheat, Wheat Hearts, and Germade. Mom served them with milk and sugar and we ate them up. We also had toast, by its self or with jam, apple butter, or honey. Scrambled eggs and toast was a favorite as well. Pancakes, French toast, waffles, and German pancakes (I'm hungry just thinking about them) were real favorites and when Mom had more time or when one of us had been assigned to help her, we had them as well, to the
delight of everyone. Postum was a drink used as a coffee substitute, although none of us drank coffee. But we enjoyed Postum anyway. Mom served it with orange slices and
Vienna sausages. While we ate, we also talked. Breakfast was a real family time that we all
enjoyed. It gave us a chance to talk about our upcoming tasks, and to laugh and joke together
before going our separate ways for the day.
With our souls protected spiritually by the scriptures and prayers, our stomachs full from
breakfast, and our hearts full of love, we were ready to face school and other pursuits. Through simplicity and consistency each day, our Mother had given us a great gift that keeps on influencing our lives, even now.


Coming Tomorrow: Awkwardness and Redemption In Junior High

Mom's Consistency (Part 6 of 7)

It wasn't until I was in seventh grade that we started having Trix. It was because of my science class where we were assigned to do a project with an atom. Each person had to build a model of an atom. Well, I chose number 99, Einsteinium. To make the protons,
neutrons, and electrons Mom bought me Trix, Coco Puffs, and Corn Puffs. After I made the
atom, we had a lot left over so we got to eat them.
Mom and Dad would drive down to attend the Provo Temple early one Saturday morning
every month. Since they left the children sleeping, they also left Trix cereal for us to eat for breakfast when we woke up. We enjoyed cold cereal so much that you would have thought we had been given a bar of gold on those rare mornings that we had it. But the real gold was when Mom fixed us a homemade breakfast on all the other mornings. It was usually pretty simple, but made with love.

Last Week in the MTC

A picture of Tucson, Arizona where Elder Loveless will arrive on Monday, 11-8-2010


HOLA Familia! Y Gamelas!

(Elder Loveless became an uncle again on October 31 with the birth of his twin identical neices, born to his oldest sister, Valerie Illguth. Her blog is at http://illguthlife.blogspot.com/

Elder Loveless writes in his e-mail:
Well its the last week. We leave early on monday morning. Im very excited to get going. I cant wait to start teaching the People in Arizona. I wonder who they are and how they are being prepared right now to hear our message. Im excited to get into the area, the heat, the desert, the beautiful scenery :) Im nervous to make this new adjustment. and i wonder who my trainer will be. IM probably most calm about my spanish, i think i can under stand enough of what they say to understand what they need. I know with the spirit, it will teach them what they must do, and they will feel the importance to change, we are only the messengers. there are 20 people going to Tucson with us, 6 from our district, and several others. and some english elders.

For our devotional this week we had ANOTHER Member of the 12, we had Elder Ballard this week. He gave us a great talk about being Master communictors. It was great for our last week.

Monday we taught our last TRC, we taught this Abuelita from Honduras, and i could under stand her pretty well. She didnt speak any English. But she started Falling asleep during our lesson and even Druwled. It wasnt because we were boring.

Yesterday we taught 5 lessons in spanish. It was pretty tireing. but it went really well.

IM excited for Valeries TWINS (Gamelas.)

Im super exctied to start working in the field. I know its not going to be easy. BUt i know that if i put mi Todo Corazon, alma, mente, y Fuerza into serving these next 2 years, that it will be the greatest time of my life. And i know only through the spirit, can we teach, And i will See miracles happen in the lives of these people. Hurrah For Israel!

Adios!

ELDER LOVELESS

Mom's Consistency (Part 5 of 7)

Each morning, without fail, Dad woke us up. For those who were extra sleepy, he carried
them to scriptures and prayers, and the rest of us children walked to the front room and sat on the
couch. We read the scriptures and when we were done with a chapter, we all knelt down and
Dad called on one person to offer the family prayer. After that we immediately went into the
kitchen and sat down to a breakfast that was ready and on the table. Mom had it ready there
even before we had arrived for scriptures and prayers.
Breakfast was usually very simple to prepare but we always enjoyed it. If Mom was in a real
rush, then, and only then, did we have cold cereal. In earlier years we had started out with
Wheaties and Cherrios as the only prepackaged cereals we could have. Dad said Wheaties were a luxury his parents could never afford in his house, so we considered ourselves lucky that we got Wheaties even though our friends ate sugar-coated cereals all the time. At times we also had puffed wheat and Shredded Wheat. A few times Dad brought home Captain Crunch cereal from work that had been passed out as a promotional item. But Captain Crunch was a rarity. Later we added corn flakes to the line-up of cold cereal we could have and we thought we were really extravagant then.

Mom's Consistency (Part 4 of 7)

Maybe it is because My Dad has passed away and we tend to memorialize things like this, but he is usually credited with a lot of the righteous things our family did. (Like scripture study in the morning.) But it was really my Mother who became the driving force to make this happen on a daily basis. In reality they did it together, but her consistency brought a sense of security into everything, and because of her, we children said to ourselves, "Yes, this is a good thing. I hope I do this with my family when I grow up."
Our family's scripture study began when I was about ten. We had always had family prayer, but then one day my Dad heard in Church that parents should read the scriptures to their children every day, even from birth. This was backed up by what leaders of the Church had said, and would later say. At first we read from the New Testament and those of us who could read, each had a copy of it to follow along in. There was one time that we were reading about the Apostle Paul and his journey to appeal to Rome. We were so excited to hear what happened next that we anticipated all day and all night the time that we would be able to read again and find out what happened. In later times we listened to the scriptures as we played a tape of a professional recording of someone reading the scriptures and we followed along. Still later we read directly from the Book of Mormon as we took turns reading out loud.

Mom's Consistency (Part 3 of 7)

Concerts probably were hard on my Mom, mostly because she had to keep several little
children quiet for a long period of time. Concerts were harder than Church. In our Church people usually understood a momentary outburst from a young child, but a concert had to be dead quiet. At concerts, our family usually sat very near the front so my Dad could get up and take the best possible picture from the best possible angle. That made it doubly hard to keep the children quiet and a longer escape route should a child act up. Sure, she usually had older children who could take a crying baby out to the foyer, but it was the responsibility factor to consider. It was her child that was acting up.

Mom's Consistency (Part 2 of 7)

Soon my Dad came along and they got married. I was the first child, followed by seven more
children. Three boys and five girls in all. The eighth child was born when I was sixteen. The
whole time I was growing up Mom was a model of consistency. Any time I had any special
event for school my Mom made sure she could be there. If it was a track meet, I could look up
in the stands and see my Mother there. She may have had a few little children with her, but she
was there. If it was a concert, she was there. If the concert was at night, the whole family was
there. That was a big deal to a teenage boy who was often unsure of himself, to know that his
parents cared enough about him and his activities to be there for him. I don't know if I
appreciated it enough at the time, that my mother, or father, or siblings were at a school event, but looking back on it I am very grateful that they were there.

Mom's Consistency (Part 1 of 7)

A great study in consistency would be to study my Mother. Her father was an electrical
engineer who was very precise and her mother was a very good piano player. All this
combined in Mom to give her some very fine qualities, promptness, responsibility,
cordiality, keeping her home very clean and neat, as well as consistency. She herself played the violin and graduated from South High School in Salt Lake City. She belonged to Future Teachers of America and she attended the University of Utah. Her level-headedness shined through as she played in the University Orchestra. She recognized that the too-serious music students who made up part of the orchestra were "kooks" as she described them to her parents.