Remembering Philmont

In early summer 1985, a Stake Young Men’s representative came to me and explained that they were sponsoring a trip to Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. Jean was 8 month pregnant with Jordon and Jared was in his terrible twos and was quite a handful. I was very busy at Lockheed and was starting up a business with my climbing partner, Chuck Miller. If that weren’t enough, having been raised on 50 miler hikes and such as a youth, going to anything that sounded like a tent city scout camp did not hold much attraction for me. He poured on a bit of peer pressure that I was the only group as yet uncommitted. Well, I had just now heard about it, but knowing it had the Stake Presidents blessing I finally, frankly reluctantly acquiesced. Over the next month I helped my Varsity team prepare. We had not done much backpacking, but we got in a few hikes; not much more. As the last few weeks approached, my little band gathered at my house to make jerky for the trip. I was convinced that the store bought we would likely be fed would be inferior. This was prophetic. Ironically, in the last week, that same Stake fella called me up and requested that I take his place as the tour leader as he had some unexpected business conflicts and would have to beg off from the trip. So it was that the most reluctant and unenthusiastic leader there became in charge of the whole shindig.

 

In attendance,

Steve Marquis,

Danny Theobald

Brad Eggelston

Mark Mayfield

Troy/Adam? Bullard

Mike Whitehead,

Ian Montgomery

Larry XXXXX

His last name unfortunately escapes me.

 

(This completed journal is reconstructed from a partial journal I found 20 years later)

Wednesday:

After some considerable admonition from out stake leaders, we left the chapel, and boarded a very nice greyhound charter bus and off we went. There were 4 leaders; myself, Darrel Prince, Brother Markley and one somewhat older fella whose name I cannot recall.  This was in the days before mandatory two deep leadership, so each advisor had a whole patrol to manage.

 

We brought extra jerky and one of ours did not care for jerky so we sold much of it at considerable profit to our eager and captive audience on the bus.  This nearly paid for our material investment and still left us with plenty to use as barter along the trail. Some on that bus must have thought us quite mercenary, but we had jerky we had worked hard on and they had $ which we had little of, so the trade seemed quite fair to us.

 

If there is one thing this trip was to teach us it was teamanship and those lessons started on the bus. A couple of the crews seemed to immediately lack discipline. Apparently one of the teams was a provisional team made up of boys from two wards and their advisor had trouble commanding their respect. Since the purpose of the trek is to expedite growth in the boys, I write somewhat more about such things than just a travel log.

 

One young man in one of those groups repeatedly cursed. It was dark and I asked who it was. No one would respond or confess, so I tried a little patrol peer pressure and assigned 15 pushups to the entire crew. In that there had never been any discipline in this group, it really shocked some of them. I had a philosophy of group pressure to elicit change in the individual, so if I cannot determine the culprit, I’ll let pushups coax the stubborn ones along. I figure the group who’s punished will take it out on the guilty when I am not around.

 

I had to hold the bus up at the next stop until their leader and I could convince one of the innocent to do his share. He kept whining about not being guilty so I said I would join him as one of the innocent and do the push ups with him. That turned the trick. I felt uncomfortable imposing discipline over the head of their leaders but I figured that if they could not maintain control, then I would no matter the personal consequences.  I had the authority, but that did not make me feel any better about exercising it.

 

 

 

Thursday:

 

When I got to Philmont, I was really surprised at the stark, but beautiful terrain.  It had been a strange year with more water than in the last 100 years so all about was quite green. Nevertheless, my heart sank a bit as I saw the veritable sea of tents on concrete pads. For some reason, I was still quite ignorant of what Philmont was or how it operated. I kept my feelings to myself.

 

At Tent city, a ranger was assigned to shepherd and mentor our group.  Right away groupthink was emphasized as every last one of the crew had to be present at the chow line before anyone could eat.  These rangers imbued many ideals that would be difficult for us as leaders to teach. That night, we had a Church Fireside meeting.  A mission couple acted as chaplain. At his office I saw a newspaper clipping showing a troop from Texas doing high altitude training for their anticipated trip to Philmont. They were assembled upon a freeway overpass. Ha

During the afternoon, we outfitted our backpacks with food and a few other supplies.  They had quite a quartermasters shop their. The story is told of a large troop that, while stopped at a McDonalds in route to Philmont, had their trailer stole right out from under them, leaving them with nothing but the clothes on their backs. When they arrived, the quartermaster outfitted them with everything from backpacks to socks – the whole troop!

 

I wanted to give some of the others a chance to try leadership – Zion’s Camp style, so I installed one of the younger scouts, Danny Theobald as crew leader.  One of the older boys had brought a Steven King novel and was so distracting to several of the crew that I had to really come down hard on them to get them to break away and come to Church and the evening’s fireside. – a truly fine fireside. This conflict and attitude problem at the onset caused me much consternation and considerable prayer. I counseled with Brother Markly about what to do with this young feller. After prayer, I rousted the young from bed and we had a long hear to heart about his attitude and it’s affect of the whole crew. He agreed to mend his ways, which diffused the situation. I had no more attitude problems with him, in fact, I became his tent partner and we enjoyed the rest of the trek without further altercations.

 

 

 

Friday:

After breakfast, we road a jitney out of tent city to a destination I knew not.  But after awhile, to my real surprise, the dreary landscape began to change, As we drove up a dirt road alongside a creek, aspens began to appear, then one fir tree, then another until finally I found ourselves to my great chagrin surrounded by majestic forest.

 

Once on the trail, we crossed this one narrow log bridge. The ranger pointed out how we should each unbuckle our packs and all wait on the other side until the last guy was safely across. Similarly, when we entered a fenced area (this was after all a massive ranch in the high country) all would wait until the last guy had entered and closed the gate before proceeding. We learned to pace ourselves and allow the less able to set the pace by leading the group. Sometimes a scout would not wish for that position as it might be deemed a dubious honor, but I tried to mitigate that by occasionally rotating all the guys. We learned to share each other’s burdens by shifting weight to normalize the pace, not even out the weight. This was a huge change in attitude where it was truly all for one and one for all. We started together, we hiked together and we would finish together. Instead of prima donnas proudly racing ahead and duffers glumly sliding farther and farther behind, we came together as a team in brotherhood, in service and charity, thankfulness and love. That simple effect has had a more profound effect on my whole Scouting career than anything else.

.

 

Mark Mayfield began to have some blister problem right away. He was wearing some nylon peds under his socks, because his mom had learned that trick at girl’s camp. Well I’m not sure who came up with that idea, but it had some conceptual flaws.

The nylons were so slick that it allowed too much sliding relative to the other sock and boot surfaces yielding a hot spot wherever they rubbed. I wasn’t mad but I gave my tough guy Rambo pose while fixing his foot. Oh and that was the last of the girlie nylons for the trip.

 

 

 

Grim Reaper Repairs Mark’s Foot

We began to practice the concept that if you have strength to pass up a brother, then you have strength to push him. Brad and Bill, the ranger, who tended to be stronger than the others, on many occasions pushed and coaxed the slower guys along; much to my satisfaction.  The boys were well behaved. On the 1st night in the woods, I got a chance to talk at length with Bill as he had a lot of questions about the Mormon faith; much of it centered about the plan for salvation. The message was well received and he even spoke of baptism.  I do hope he follows up on it.  We put up our bear bag high between two trees with most of the boys working diligently. There were a few slackers at 1st, but this is a long trip and good time to learn.  Poor Danny; He was in charge of pot cleaning and since we cooked over an open fire, there was a bit of soot to deal with.  Danny dealt with it by transferring as much to his face and body as possible. If only I had a good picture of that one.

Across the way, Darrel Prince was managing a struggling provisional patrol who were hollering at each other – struggling from both lousy rope skills but more so from just not cooperating with each other. I’d say they would have had a tough time winning a Tug-a-war contest that night.

Saturday

The next day, we rolled out of our sacks late and I was just fine with that!.  Up the trail a bit, we came upon and old-timer who taught us how to pack burrows and we raced them against some other big talking troop.  Our patrol worked so well together that we won handily. We then had a long hard hike up farther into the high country to Crater Lake (really just a pond). This was an old logging and milling location with a grand old log meeting house and poles and beams to teach logging skills. It was called the Rail and Tie Company.

“I don’t want a wooden leg.”

Subsequently, generations of Scouts under my hand have learned, when handing an ax to say, “I don’t want a wooden leg.” We learned how to split and square timbers into beams and how to use tree spurs to climb a tall pole.

The deal was that if’n you could get to the top, you could holler roughly the following cursing at the miscreants that had yet to top out. “You scum-bag, goat faced, pork eat’n prairie fairies, see if’n you can top this.” That silly ditty has stayed with me for years (this being re-written some 20 years later).

 

This afternoon, Bill, our ranger, was satisfied we’d be fine, and after a good banjo and guitar led sing & stomp around the campfire, we said our goodbyes. For the rest of the trip, we were on our own.

Sunday:

We spent the next morning and a good part of the afternoon on another tough hike pressing more and more elevation beneath us. You’d think, for all the Mormons that come here, that there would be some accommodation for the Sabbath, but their program keeps us moving each day, so we had to hold our worship as we could. The high country yielded to a beautiful Mt meadow – a place however, where cattle were wont to roam – in and out of our camp that is! We had to do a lot of whooping and hollering and hat waving to move on the stubborn cattle. It was pure fun.

We held a Sacrament meeting around the campfire and had a truly spiritual feast. Afterwards I came around to each of the tents and thanked each one of the boys for giving me the opportunity through their good examples to talk to Bill about the gospel. Troy yelled out as I left “We love you Brother Marquis.” I was really touched and for once was mostly without words.

Monday:

We traveled through a verdant and craggy valley for several miles and rested at the end of a canyon along side a gurgling creek for lunch. As was typical in that altitude, thunder sounded and some rain fell. It did that around noon about half the days we would be here, but never for more than about ½ hour. Not far, we stopped at a trading post to re-supply then followed another gorgeous brook for another mile upstream of course! At Brads insistence, we climbed a steep ravine to some high rocks that jutted precipitously over the river and trail below.

We used our bear bag rope in the dicey places to add some measure of security. We reveled at the top and hollered to the canyon and a passing troop below.  It also gave us an opportunity to talk about the individual’s effect on the group as only a few days before, a boy from another group had, without permission, climbed up a similar spot and fell to his death.  His entire troop left in shock with their dead comrade.

We continued following another river to a place where two canyons met. The bridge was washed out as well as many sections of the trail as it meandered with the river. At one point we had to cross, but it was 2 feet deep and 15 feet across. Generally we could find a fallen log to cross, but not this time, so we had a little adventure.  We had been walking on these trails, but the boys had no appreciation for the work it took to build it, so we built a stone bridge across the river. They really had a lot of pride in their accomplishment.

Continuing up the valley, we ground up a tedious series of switchbacks gobbling up every wild beery we could see. Yummmm. Well that was my perspective, but Brad, who had had too easy a hike on what he called “this mostly flat or downhill trail” decided he’d like more of a workout and requested if he could carry my pack also! – At 1st, I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. He really wanted to  - guess he was tired of dragging anchor! Amazing as I was still a pretty young pup myself - at the ripe old age of 29. We lashed the two together and we proceeded up the mountain with him carrying my pack.

Near the top of the hill, Brad’s fishing pole fell out and as I picked it up. One of the boys snapped a picture, making it look like I was cracking a whip on my slave boy. I thought I’d label it  “What happens to those who get out of line”, Brad thought he’d label it “Brother Marquis Whimped out” [sorry - could not locate the pic]

At the top of the mountain, we found a long wide meadow and at the end was an Indian encampment. We camped just above it in the timbers. The next day we sat in the Tepees and listed to Indian lore.  We ground corn with stones and attempted to make arrowheads with stones and deer antlers. By the afternoon the clouds came in and stormed fierce hail so deep we could play like the snow. Everything was soaking wet but when the sun came out we built a big fire and made snow cones.  I actually had little hope of getting a fire going ,but the boys did fine. Asked how they did it, “Boy Scout juice” was the reply. That became a tradition.  Done smartly, it can be done without loss of life or limb!

To dry stuff, we hung a line high above the fire. I had to chat with the Rangers back at the encampment and so I hung my soaked boots on the line and asked the boys to keep an eye on them for me. When I returned about an hour later I went straight to my boots to see if they were dry yet.; Boy were they! My new Colorado insulated boots were toast. They implore in unison, “We watched them Brother Marquis” – “Oh you watched them alright. Watched them turn to cinders!,” The leather along the side of the ankle was shriveled, cracked and charred. There was no way to use them and I was both miffed and crestfallen as that meant I had to finish half the hike in my camp tennis shoes and would have to step carefully to avoid getting stone bruised.

I didn’t stay mad long and as night fell we tried to get the sweat lodge fired up. It was a stick hovel with tarps, nothing fancy, but effective. With the off and on rains, it was hard to get the fire going, but Danny, our master fire builder, nevertheless soon had a roaring fire ablaze. We had special rocks that wouldn’t crack roasting until they glowed against the starry sky. With wooden paddles we would place them in a buck and bring them into the hovel.  A few sprinkles of water and instant sauna. After, when we could take the heat no longer, we would go out and someone would dump a bucket of water on you, fetched from the little creek.  That definitely gets your attention, but the big campfire would soon dry you off. Just when I was toasty again Danny snuck up and soaked me again. Berrrr.

Tuesday:

The next morning following a different route, we looped back past the trading post and then began the assent of Black mountain. Nestled in amongst the steep foothills was a little valley.  We found some old timers who taught us how to wrought iron and use a black powder rifle. What a cannon that thing is! Most of us put some memento out to shoot, but when I retrieved my trademark bandana, it was found to have at least 3 gunshots. Hmmm.

Brad managed to catch a fish and most of us had a bite. That was pretty generous as it was a small fry.

The afternoon was nice and warm, so when Danny came out of his tent and met  with a small bucket of water, he ruefully dismissed that now we were even.

At the group campfire, several patrols gathered with the old timers and there were a lot of funny stories told.  Brad was reading from his horror book back at camp and several of the boys missed the campfire on that account, so I had him promise not to break out the book without explicit permission. From that experience, I never allowed any electronics and the like to be brought in the future as it perpetuates a connection with the world you are trying to leave behind. It makes it hard or impossible to achieve the golden days that happen in the middle of a long trip. That’s the time when the boys no longer are thinking of home and cant quite see the end of the trip either. They are immersed in the new environment without any preprogrammed behaviors to fall back onto – for the Scout leader; this is the ideal window to truly work with the core personalities in your youth.

Wednesday:

In the morning we climbed up out of the valley through a mountain pass between Black and Bear mountains and then down a sharp decent on the other side to Ciphers Mine; all in all a pretty tough hike, though not too long. We arrived around lunch and several of us went to the creek to learn how to pan for gold. An old crusty gent was down there and showed us the ropes. The clouds rolled in and began to sprinkle and so we all scurried off to get our ponchos. The old gent did not budge. A few minutes later we all returned draped with ponchos ready for more panning.  The old gent continued, hardly looking up; maybe just a little, making me think – then I had to grin a bit as I weighed my self against this tough fella and found myself thinking  “what a city slicker I am!”

We were all rewarded with a few flakes of gold before we hiked up to the main mine shaft for a tour. With flashlights in hand we followed the tracks deep into the mountain – maybe a 1000 feet or so.  The guide had us all turn out our lights and in the still quite we could hear the distant rumble of thunder echoing in the canyon and into our shaft. Suddenly there was a huge crashing sound shattering the relative silence with calamity. Then the lights came back on.  The guide had dropped a 30 lbs ore cart wheel into an old ore cart to scare us. Well, he did!

At Philmont everyone does 3 hours of trail service. In the same philosophy, we had already done an hour on that bridge which left  a little more to do here at the mine.  Two of the boys who generally had trouble with anything that smacked of work balked at the assignment. I had to do some arm-twisting threatening to bar them from any future fun activities to get their participation. These are the rough edges these trips are designed to expose. Its my job to lop them off or pat them on the back when they shine..  In the end all the boys showed up and we built trails for a few hours. One of the cabins had showers, but you had to stoke the boiler with wood to keep it going and there was quite a line. All the boys took showers, but I felt like staying grimy – not having any clean cloths to put on anyway. To my grateful surprise one of the boys offered to wash some of my cloths with his. That night was had a rousing singing stomping, clapping time as about 70 people squeezed into Ciphers old cabin.

Thursday:

We headed out down along side a river through a simply lovely and steep sided gorge. Based on the map, we had our choice of two routes. One looked a bit less traveled and that spelled adventure. The trail evolved into a very rugged and many times non existent one with trees fallen across our way every few feet sometimes. Sometimes we cris-crossed the river ever 20 yards or so. I began to worry that we were not on the right trail – it was certainly not a well-traveled trail – that’s for sure. I could not let on my concern though. At this point we were following map and compass – matching terrain and going on the self-confidence that your training is supposed to pay off. This day was long, but finally we emerged to a crossroads with a trail sign that confirmed we were right on target and I was very very relieved. You see I have precious little innate sense of direction and only procedure allows me to find my way.

After another several miles we came to another trading post. We still had extra jerky and it was a hot trading commodity compared to the store bought fair supplied by the ranch.

 

It was several more miles up the gentle valley when we were passed up by a group on horseback. “Oh man,” I thought, “wouldn’t that be so grand to have a horse do the packing for me.” The boys grumbled mildly in universal agreement. Still, the trail was not too steep today, and before long we arrived at the cliff camp.

After we set up camp, we got to go to a rock face and climbed with ropes and harnesses. There was also a narrow cleft in this one rock where you have to shuffle with a side step for a good 50 feet or more to get through it. It couldn’t have been more than a foot wide at best. It was a bit freaky, I’ll admit. The worst part was simply having to trust your neighbors on either side – that they would keep going and not trap you there. One kid could not hack the pressure and we had to backtrack to let him out.

That night, I could take the grunge look no longer. They had a shower area fired by another wood stove that had several heads. I was all alone and in 7th heaven. I stayed and soaked for quite a while. Some ranger noticed there was two showerheads running but only one pair of legs and called over to me to conserve; but I was already a new man for the extravagance.

Friday:

This Scout had a small problem with his tent setup

Along the hike, it was common to have to break out the ponchos for a short thunderburst.

 

This scout had a marsh-mellow packing job. Scoutmaster shows how to use rope leverage to secure the load.

Saturday

The next day we hiked to Horse Camp. That was a kick. We had a BBQ, the only meal we did not have to cook and I practiced calf roping on fake calves.  The highlight I anticipated was our horse ride. Only then did I come to understand that for horses to tolerate a long distant journey, they must be walked or trotted. So there we are on our exciting horse ride for a couple of hours dump-de-dumptity, dump-de-dumptity - so monotonous it was until finally I nearly fell off as I began to dose off. Now, I had seen such portrayed in the movies and never could understand until it happened to me.  I loved the animals, but walking in a horse train makes you appreciate your own two legs. The grass was not greener on the other side of the fence.

There were a couple of girl units that converged on the camp. They were camped a few hundred yards off to one side. Suddenly we heard screams for help. Several of us rushed off in their direction to find them very concerned with shredded backpacks and 2 bears still menacing in the area. I had 3 of the boys with me and we converged together and waved our hands and hollered and made ruckuses as we slowly - slowly advanced. We had heard a workable approach was to make yourself look real big and annoying, but not threatening - that was the ticket.

The bears seemed to want to avoid trouble and ambled off to the delight of the gals. It seemed the girls had actually smuggled some perfume and the like, I guess no one told them how desperate bears can be for a chance to smell sweet! I told them about another scout at Philmont who forgot to rinse well after brushing his teeth and was startled awake from sleeping in his hammock to the stench of bear breath as one proceeded to lick the residual toothpaste off his teeth. The scout could do none other than hold his smile until the bear had finished… or so the story goes.

Sunday

At Philmont there is hiking to be done on each day and I had planned to hold our Sunday services on top the ~11,000 peak, The Tooth of Time. 1st we needed to ascend a series of switchbacks up to a pass and then at the top of the saddle, we would turn left and head up a hog back to a ridgeline that would scallop along at nearly 10000 feet for several miles leading to the base of the Tooth. The last known reliable water was at the saddle and while we began to fill up, the boys began to moan and grown about the steepness and tedium.  Here I was, having to hike in my tennis shoes; so I had little empathy for the whining. Finally I said, “Fine, I’ll carry the entire patrol’s full day supply of water, but there better not be one hint of complaint and you’d better keep up!”

So it was that I loaded up 2 ½ gallons of water into my backpack and proceeded up the hogback with the boys silently passing behind me. It was relentlessly steep and my heart raced and pounded so much, I thought any moment I would have a heart attack and die, I prayed fervently for God to strengthen me and spare me from harm.

And God heard my prayer and answered it in a strange and marvelous way, as my pack seemed to get lighter and lighter. He did say to “cast ones burdens on him” and that “his yoke would be light to bear” and so it was.

We got to the ridgeline overlooking the entire valley system we had approached in.  It was a fantastic view. It was time for an early lunch given the high energy output and high time to transfer the water to the now very respectful scouts. Then I new how god had answered my prayer; how my pack had been lightened. See, the plastic water jug had sprung a leak and it had lost at least half our water and evaporated into the thinning warm summer air.

 

Tooth off to the right

Now we had a new dilemma, on that would require physical sacrifice and tough endurance and we transitioned from plenty to water rations for the remainder. The few miles long the ridge leading to the Tooth was easy and before long we stacked out packs in a line against a tree as we had been taught and with a canteen, scriptures and a few biscuits clattered up the bolder field 500 feet to the top of the Tooth of time. We were surprised as we gazed about the vast expanse to find that at such altitudes, Ladybugs are nurtured by the millions. You could place your hand into the cleft of a rock and withdraw with handfuls as numerous as sand. There, overlooking al God’s creations, we talked about His act of creation and the true meaning of life. In reverence, we passed the Lord’s sacrament, sang, kneeled and prayed.

After our services, we took advantage of a little mountain fun. Whenever it is safe and I can see the full extent of the runnout, I like to take advantage of loose rocks - tossing a few boulders over to side. The boys got a real kick out of that.

 

Climbing back down to our packs in late afternoon, I assessed our water situation and it wasn’t good.

Even with our rationing, we still had only a few pints left for the whole group. We could hunker down at the nearby dry camp, rest our tire bones, just tough the evening out and leave 1st light. Alternately, we could head out down the mountainside toward the cement base camp, as there was a slim possibility that we could locate a seasonal spring shown on the map.

There was general consensus to beat it down the mountain in hopes of finding the spring with our maps and compasses as guides. We hiked fast and hard and sucked on pebbles as my Scoutmaster Dad had taught me before them. At about the spot I figured would be right we went off trail and eventually did find the seasonally creek, but it was seasonally very dry. So now we’re really thirsty and still a good 7 miles maybe more out from Base camp. There was nothing to do but to endure and move out at forced death march pace. The sun was dropping out of sight and soon we were navigating via flashlight, but we held the same hard pace. None straggled, as we always held together – even more important in the dark. I was determined to get them to water, but not to drag our sorry behinds into base camp early.

At probably midnight or later we staggered into a makeshift campsite hidden in the bulrushes at the base of the mountain. Most the kids just collapsed in exhaustion. I took one of the boys with me and the two of us hustled off the next mile to base camp to fetch water. – Probably 1 maybe more hours later we returned with water for all. The boys were so dead to the world only one took even a sip. They were so tired!

 

Monday

We all drank heartily and ate well the next morning. With no agenda and oodles of time to make the last mile (having hiked t days journey in one the previous day) We enjoyed just taking our sweet time.  At last, well rested and fed, we packed up and executed our triumphal entry on time on schedule to Camp Concrete. We purchased ice cream and souvenirs and went on a tour to Philips home (now a museum). It was he to whom generations of scouts can thank for his generous donation to the nations youth. It was great,

A final group photo and a grand campfire where the rangers boys, cleverly made fun of the hardships in a way to dismiss them and emphasize to wonders of the journey.  We ended singing “Philmont Here’s to thee, starlight from above, aspen colored hills, land that I love” … 20 years later as I finish the journal from a few pages of hand written notes so long ago, I can still remember the words and a longing nostalgia overwhelms me; a time and place where a new scout leader was forged in the land of the tooth of time.

Tuesday

Camp concrete was actually a nice respite. The boys had learned their trail lessons well and neatly lined up their packs in a row against a tree while we waited for transportation. The bus ride was uneventful, except two things: 1) Brad did get me to read Children of the Corn and some other horrid tale of machines attacking folks – still gives me the creeps. That’s right, there was one other lasting memento. About 4 hours before pulling into San Jose, I became deathly ill. Seems that even though I was dutifully assuring no water born contaminants spoiled the youth’s experience, I had, in fact, dismissed the acute danger in my heart of hearts and allowed a tiny sip of stream water to enter my lips while splashing my face in a cool creek – Remember…Philmont is a working cow ranch.

After being cured of Giardea by the wizardry of modern medicine, after several days of sear misery, I became a believer by hard experience.

Epilog

Some time later I went over to Mark Mayfield’s house to visit. Recall he was the one with the badly blistered foot. While he came to most activities, he was never too enthusiastic about them. So I asked him what he really liked to do to which he wryly replied, ”I like to watch cartoons.” But then quickly followed up with a morsel of youthful wisdom, “but I doubt I’ll ever get anyone to pay me for doing that.” I thought for a moment and then suggested, “Well, you don’t just like to watch them, do you? You are pretty good at drawing them also. Did you know there is good money to be made as a cartoonist or industrial artist?”

I spent a lot of time on my knees during these trips with these boys. Sometimes I wondered and doubted if these guys would ever see the light and be faithful to God’s callings and then circumstances called me to another city and we gathered up and moved to Tracy California where I became the Varsity coach again. I oft wondered what became of those boys.

A few years went by and by happenchance, I heard that one Elder Mark Mayfield was going to be giving his homecoming sermon the congregation that shared our building. Apparently, his family had moved out to near our area. I was so excited to learn that he had chosen to follow the Lord as I had had serious doubts. After the closing prayer, Mark made a beeline to where I had been seated which in itself surprised me and exalted, ”Brother Marquis, Remember Philmont…” I have heard it said, one can count the seeds in an apple, but you can never count the apples in a seed.

 

And that said it all and made it all worthwhile. I found myself humming a song heard only a few times while at Philmont, yet its simple words speak to my soul…

“Philmont here’s to thee, starlight shines above aspen colored hills, land that I love….”

May you and yours soar with the eagles.

Brother Steve