Our Story

I was not as prepared for adult life as Kathy was. It took some experience for me to find my place in life. I made many mistakes and then flogged myself for years over them. A recent experience taught me that I do not have the right to judge or decide my life's value. Only Jesus Christ is qualified to do that. It is my place to forgive all offenses, including my own. I must learn to accept life on the conditions and terms life has given me, not the ones I think I should have.

Dad was from England but grew up in Salt Lake City. His father lost everything when he joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in about 1906 and eventually moved to Heber, Utah, and later Salt Lake City to earn his living. My grandfather was a spiritual man with many experiences that led him to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. In my dad’s English family setting, he was expected to quit school and start helping support the family when he completed seventh grade. Dad always had the drive to learn and a skilled mechanical mind. He took college classes into his 70s. He honed his mechanical skills as a railroad mechanic. At Stauffer Chemical, where he worked for over thirty years, Dad finished his career as Maintenance Manager for a large chemical plant with his crews maintaining millions of dollars of equipment. Dad once told me that when a piece of equipment broke, he prayed for a solution as he went to it. Then, as he approached the problem equipment, he could mentally picture where the problem was and immediately direct his employees on how to fix it. He was known as "the magic wand man" who could solve any problem. He counted it as guidance from God. I have experienced similar guidance at work when approaching problems with prayer. When he retired, he was replaced with a degreed engineer. Shortly after, they added a second engineer because the workload was too heavy for the first person.

 I was spoiled. My dad had grown up poor and was determined that I would not have his hardships. Unfortunately, while giving me the material things he had missed, he also missed offering me the value of earning things for myself and experiencing the consequences of my bad decisions. We were not wealthy, but I had no chores and got almost anything I wanted. My parents loved me. They just tried to make life too easy for me. It wasn't that they were trying to "buy me." Dad was just trying to protect me from his childhood. As my confusing teenage years came, I began making bad decisions. But each time, Dad tried to handle problems so there would be no consequences. Decades later, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, explaining my confusing teen years. Knowing how bipolar patients were treated back in the 60s, I'm glad I wasn't diagnosed until later. Bipolar disorder made me a difficult teenager. I remember very few details of my life before I was 13. My "feel" for my earlier years is that I was well-loved and generally happy. I remember a few problematic events not worth mentioning here, but overall, I believe I lived a happy, well-loved life before I became 13.

Dad always set an example of how one should treat his wife. Once, Mom was on her knees in the kitchen, scrubbing the floors. Dad walked into the room. He stopped, looked at her, and said, "My queen will not do this kind of work." He knelt and finished the floors himself. Today, if I see something that needs doing and want to ignore it, I then realize that if I don’t, Kathy will have to. So, I take care of it. I was taught how to treat my queen.

Dad was always on the lookout to help the guy at the bottom of the pile. He once had an employee who showed up at work intoxicated several times. He was told to fire the man. Instead, he got a commitment from the employee to attend AA meetings. He even took him there at first. The man stayed with Stauffer until after Dad’s retirement. I remember him coming over to our house several times and telling his story. Dad was a bishopric counselor for nearly 20 years. He eventually became bishop of a singles ward at the age of 73. He served there for three years until Mom passed away.

When I turned 13 it was as if a "bipolar switch" suddenly turned on. Life was instantly confusing for me. My school grades became inconsistent. I would get good grades, then terrible grades, then good grades again. It just depended on the period's mood. I considered being accepted by the crowd to be my highest priority, which I guess applied to all high school students. I lacked the moral courage to stand up for what's right and often gave in to be a part of the crowd. My social life revolved around fellow "racers". Confused and angry and I pushed away nearly anyone who wanted to help me. My parents became the primary targets of my anger. I was leaning towards dropping out of high school. Everyone is confused in high school, but I was spiraling. I had a math class with Dan Glasser as my instructor. I have not confirmed this, but I was told that he was a former business owner who sold his business leaving himself financially independent. He decided that teaching high school was the perfect place to make his time count. He drove a VW bus with a Porsche 356 engine. Of course, I was interested in that. But his interest in me was more about my personal potential. He had me at his beach-front home with an open invitation to come by any time I needed to talk and to enjoy his hamburgers and sodas. (Something a teacher probably couldn't do today.) I would drop in on him and he would listen and offer alternatives, and he convinced me that I was worth educating. This changed the direction of my entire life. I finished high school. I got high SAT scores. When other students asked me about my scores, everyone except Mr. Glasser expressed disbelief. He simply said, “I knew it.”

 At age 13, when Dad bought me a Ford 292 V8 to rebuild. I grew into a good mechanic and could tune cars to run well and help them become fast. I was hooked on cars for life. Once, I rebuilt a friend’s 1956 Chevy dual four-barrel setup and was paid by his giving me his non-running 1936 Ford Coupe with a hot-rodded 1948 Mercury flathead V8. Dad bought me a 1955 Chevy with a blueprinted 283 engine and 4-speed when I was sixteen. I got a ticket for racing on my first night out with it. This proved to be a pattern throughout my teen years. The Chevy was fast. When I was seventeen, Dad traded off my Chevy to buy a 1967 Sunbeam, hoping to slow my driving down. It didn't. I was not permitted to drive it daily to school but was promised it would be mine when I graduated. Dad always drove nice cars, usually Cadillacs and Buicks. However, in 1960 he bought a Rambler station wagon. Pink, nonetheless. In high school I was convinced he had done this to ruin my life. Sometimes I had to drive the pink Rambler to school, between driving the Chevy and the Sunbeam. I usually chose to walk instead, hoping for a friend to stop and offer a ride. Looking back, I see how funny and superficial it was. But this was high school. And I have survived the trauma of the pink Rambler wagon. And now, anything goes when building a hot rod, including old Ramblers.

When I was 18, I received 8 tickets in 6 months. Three of them in one night. The last for 115 mph in a 35-mph zone on Pacific Coast Highway going through Newport Beach. Should I mention that it was foggy? The officer had an emergency come up that prevented me from being arrested. The last ticket had a mandatory court appearance attached to it. There, I had to agree to surrender my driver's license. My final agreement with the judge was that I would lose my license for a year and that my driving record would be sealed afterward. After a year I was able to reapply for a new driver’s license. During this period, I drifted from my "racer" friends to another group that was into drugs and alcohol. I also began using some, which increased until sometime after high school graduation. One morning after a night of drinking I woke up this very strong feeling that I was on the path to becoming an addict. It scared me and have not used drugs or alcohol since. 

 Sometime around high school graduation I had an accident while speeding in the Sunbeam. Dad started a lecture about how reckless I was with my life. I angrily turned and walked out the front door and stayed with friends for three months. My parents didn't know where I was and had no contact with me. One evening, while at my friend’s home, someone came to the door and asked for me. Although I don’t remember his name or how he found me, he was a member of the youth group's leadership at Church. He had decided to see me and to get me to move back home. He took me out to dinner, where we talked candidly. He had a similarly troubled youth and understood me. I decided, with his strong encouragement, to return home. Once home, Jerry Eynon, an adult leader of my Church youth group, took a special interest in me. I spent much time at his home talking about life and spiritual issues. Jerry helped me find spiritual roots that have lasted my lifetime. Thank you, Jerry. 

When I turned 19, the “bipolar switch” just as suddenly turned off. I returned to being a person of conviction. Being trusted by God became more important than acceptance anywhere else. I was called on a full-time mission in Washington, D.C., for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This further helped me with the transformation to become focused on faith. I taught many people about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Ten were baptized. It began my adulthood with a squarely spiritual focus and a desire to help others that has grown for the rest of my life. 

One of my favorite events from my mission happened in Westminster, Maryland. We went door to door to find people we could teach. We came to one home where a young mother answered the door. She invited us in. We taught the story of Joseph Smith's first vision. She seemed very interested in what we taught. We made plans to return in a week and teach more. That evening, during our dinner, she called us to see if we could return to teach her husband. We went right then. He was also very receptive. When we returned a week later he had already dumped his beer because he was told that "Mormons don't drink." They were baptized as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a few weeks later. They had become dissatisfied with the teachings of their previous church and were looking for something that "rang true". They also brought friends who were similarly dissatisfied at church, who were taught and baptized. I am still in touch with this couple and they have been true to the faith ever since. They later told me that more than fifty members of the Church had come from my teaching them.

I am so grateful I had the opportunity to serve and for those I had a small part in helping to change and embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am grateful to President Edward Drury Jr., my mission president, for his help while I had difficulty adjusting to missionary life. I had some great missionary companions, but I want to especially mention Tom Slack. He was my first and training companion. He got me started and helped me learn what the gospel is about and how to teach it. Even today I tremendously admire this man and his talents. I completed my mission honorably and returned to making a life in Lakewood, California.

The Lord is always there for us. When we wander off His path, He will guide us back if we will let Him. And He will send those who will help guide us. There is no wandering too far to be reached. I really believe that every person has the ability to change into the person God wants them to be. It doesn't matter where they are now. The opportunity to change is always there.