The Last Days of My Mission in January of 1974

Although this picture did not happen around January 7th or 8th of 1974, this was my mission headquarters in Düsseldorf. There were no leaves on the trees when our group arrived, and we were wearing coats. My companion and I arrived at Düsseldorf Hauptbahnhof quite early in the morning, and everyone was there to meet us. My "greeny's" new mission companion was there, and the mission staff were there to get me and some other missionaries on their way home. They drove us to the mission home, where we left our suitcases and belongings. For one time since the beginning of my mission, we had a day to go into the city and buy souvenirs, eat dinner and take pictures.
Our first stop was Altstadt in the center of the city, and here we found these classic narrow streets. No one really wanted to shop. Our bags were full. Most of us had little money left to splurge on something, and besides we were two years away from spending time buying things that were self-indulgent. We found this tiny Italian place with all the signs of great pizza--lots of people and plates with food at customer tables that looked good. We all sat at a large table. There was great music too. I still remember one song in particular, Guantanamera by the Sandpipers. I can't remember what the food tasted like that evening. I can't even remember all of the names of the missionaries, whom I knew well at that time, but I still thing of that restaurant every time I hear that song, and I think of my last night in Germany. The air was like static electricity. Everyone was excited to get home, something that at least I had not taken the time to think about until this last day.
We then walked around the city as a group and took pictures. I remember taking this from the top of a parking garage. Another one that I can't find anywhere was even better, a classic picture with carhead lights and red taillights slicing through the darkness like strange urban anacondas. And then we returned to the mission office. Our mission president interviewed each of us. It was a difficult time in Germany. The Viet Nam War, affluence and other factors led many to look at things they thought to be more important than religion. Success within the mission waned, and not many years later, the Central German Mission was a part of several other missions. At the end of the interview, mission leaders took us to a hotel, where all of us spent the night. Departure for the airport was early the next morning.

We took off in a rain storm on a short flight to London, where we were to land at Heathrow. Breakfast came quickly, even though it was a short flight, and it was a very good one. I had not seen bacon and eggs for two years, and it was done perfectly. Before we finished the meal, the plane tossed and dipped in severe weather. I remember thinking how upsetting it would be to crash into the English Channel, wondering about the things I would never see and experience as an adult. True to form, I gripped the handles of my seat, and finally the weather began to clear. In all of my years of flying, there was only one flight my Annie and I experienced with more violent weather, and we thought we were in trouble that time too.

We had no idea what awaited us in London. In the days before our trip, terrorists had hijacked a plane, and British military had surrounded the airport. With that problem resolved, we landed at a place that was now calmer, but they had installed metal detectors: something I had never heard about in my lifetime. As I went through the gate, no one said anything. I had the metal microphones of my German reel to reel tape player in my pockets, so my coat not only bulged strangely, but I also set the detector screeching. "He's got a gun," a woman screamed. Two Brits grabbed me, and like a scene in any police series or movie slammed me and my face into the wall. One kicked my legs apart. And they began to frisk me. I heard a click. The one guard held a pistol tightly against my temple with a shell in the chamber. "You move and I'll blow your brains out." Somehow the words did not seem as pretty with the accent like the Liverpool words I heard come from the mouths of John, Paul, George and Ringo. I told him I had metal microphones in my pocket. He had me take them out, all the while he held the barrel of the gun so tightly that it hurt. When he saw the stereo equipment, he cursed me and pushed me through the detector. I almost fell. He didn't say he was sorry. He didn't excuse himself. The sinister bastard just continued cursing me. After all these years it still makes me insanely angry. I guess the Brit thought I had it coming. I dressed and talked like a German. It took a few weeks for the accent to vanish completely, and it took about a week at school before I could understand all of the English spoken in lectures at the university.

Funny thing is the reaction I see when I tell the story. Americans are horrified. Some Welshmen I met in Berlin during the 80's laughed at my reaction and even felt a bit of compassion for me. The Irishman, however, laughed outloud and shared my hatred by telling me that he felt the same way.

I arrived at Salt Lake International Airport. I was so excited and nervous about getting home that I don't even remember if we had another stop in the United States before landing in Utah. I wanted to see my family, and I wondered if my Annie would be there. We had been writing regularly since mid February of 1972, but I had not received a letter for a while before my return. Her Christmas package arrived early. And then a letter came, and several weeks passed with nothing. I thought it was a sign of lack of interest. Really it was a combination of things--insufficient postage on a long letter written with apologies of not writing because of finals and a telegram that arrived in Bochum the afternoon after I left for Düsseldorf. When I stepped off the plane, she was there with some other classmates who brought her to the airport to see me. She seemed uncomfortable, but she was beautiful--her dark hair, her chocolate chip eyes, her desire to see me that night. It felt great to hug her briefly, and then I talked her into riding home with my family in our Mercury Cougar that weekend: living proof that she must have loved me. She sat in the back of the car with my mother and two sisters holding my heavy stereo on her lap. Arriving in Malad, we all ate a late dinner at the Chat 'N Chew. Mark Thompson and a distant cousin Quin Deschamps sat in the back. They shook my hand and spoke to me before leaving. I will always remember the strange look they had on their faces. And I wondered why until I caught a glimpse thirty years later of how I looked. My face shone with excitement, but at a bit under 150 pounds, I was below the weight I wrestled at during my junior year of high school. I picked up my Annie the next morning for the ride to Portage to get a release from President Devere Harris. He gave me permission to drive there with my girl. This was early January of 1974. We were engaged to be married by the end of February. It has been 34 beautiful years.