Rockclimbing

Rockclimbing is something that I was interested in for a long time, starting in late 1995. I won't write a long article about my involvement in it, but suffice it to say that I was never very good at either bouldering -- much though I enjoyed my regular outings to the boulders with my friend Rod Williamson -- or roped climbing, which in the end Rod and I did very little of (despite the fact that at one time I had amassed a tremendous rack of climbing gear -- see photo above -- which I later sold on eBay). We only ever climbed in the Sandia Mountains east of Albuquerque, and in all, we did the "West Face Traverse" (5.5) on the Tombstone three times, "Estrellita" (5.8) twice, and "Miss Piggy" (5.8) once. Rod, who at one time was an excellent climber, did all of the hard leads; however, he was already starting to be hampered by arthritis (which essentially prevents his even bouldering these days). And, apart from my lack of ability, I was limited by drop-dead acrophobia.

The climbing photos above are all from the last time Rod and I did the Tombstone in September 2002. The first one shows me leading the first pitch (minus the actual traverse, which we always did as a separate pitch). The second shows me belaying Rod on the traverse, and the third one shows me arriving at the top. (I took a few photos of Rod leading the last pitch, although they were all shot directly into the sun; later, I reached up and handed Rod the camera so that he could take the last photo before I topped out.) The black-and-white photo, taken from a guidebook, gives some perspective on the formation: the route starts near the right side of the sunlit face, traverses to the left side at mid-height, and wanders around from there to the top.

I'd like to start bouldering regularly again, even though, having aged, I'm a worse climber now than ever. However, it isn't something I enjoy doing by myself; aside from concerns about safety, it's simply more fun with someone else along.

My Rock 'N' Roll Favorites - the 'D's

Deep Purple: "Highway Star" - Deep Purple will forever remind me of Tom Gower, a friend of mine who perished, along with three other members of our ward, at Yellowstone National Park in 1973 during an Explorer "super-activity," from which I was blessedly absent. (A freak storm caught the group out in their canoes in the middle of Yellowstone Lake, creating 3' waves that scattered everyone and swamped several of the boats, in turn causing the four victims, which included both adult leaders [one of whose body was never recovered] to die of hypothermia in the 40-degree water.) Anyway, Tom was a big Deep Purple fan, and I can still remember listening to "Highway Star" with him in his car (undoubtedly on 8-track), which tune thankfully wasn't played to death like "Smoke On the Water," also off the Machine Head album.
Def Leppard: "Photograph" - Def Leppard is another one of those groups, like Bon Jovi, whose music I find pretty forgettable notwithstanding the numerous hits they had; however, "Photograph" is a stellar composition and transcends the rest of the band's work in my mind.
Devo: "Jerkin' Back 'N' Forth" - I remember reading a book some twenty years ago by Lex De Azevedo, the composer of the Mormon-themed Saturday's Warrior (and, if I'm not mistaken, a former rock 'n' roll record producer himself), in which he was trying to drive home the point that rock music has evil influences. De Azevedo gave this song as an example of an obvious sexual innuendo -- except it must not have been all that obvious, since he found it necessary to embellish on the title by calling it "You Got Me Jerkin' It Back and Forth" (my italics).
Dire Straits: "Industrial Disease" - I almost put "Sultans of Swing," but how can anyone resist lyrics like these?

Doctor Parkinson declared, "I'm not surprised to see you here;
You've got smoker's cough from smoking, brewer's droop from drinking beer.
I don't know how you came to get the Bette Davis...knees,
But worst of all, young man, you've got industrial disease!"
He wrote me a prescription -- he said, "You are depressed.
I'm glad you came to see me to get this off your chest.
Come back and see me later (ding!) -- next patient, please!
Send in another victim of industrial disease!"

Doobie Brothers, The: "South City Midnight Lady" - I once was a big Doobie Brothers fan, and I especially liked Tom Johnston tunes like "Without You," "China Grove" and "Listen to the Music." However, now I find that only the Pat Simmons acoustic numbers have stood the test of time: "South City Midnight Lady," "Clear as the Driven Snow," "Black Water," etc.
Doors, The: "Touch Me" - I remember listening to my brother Roger's 45 single of "Touch Me" on our family's old Montgomery Ward stereo. It's funny, but I didn't even notice the orchestral backing on the record until I heard it as an adult; it gives the song a slightly over-produced sound, but it's still a great record.
Duran Duran: "View to a Kill" - Most of Duran Duran's work from the 80s sounds cheesy now, as does a lot of the music in general from that era. "View to a Kill" (from the James Bond movie of the same name) sounds a little less cheesy than most of their music, however.
Dylan, Bob: "Lay Lady Lay" - I always read about people who say they finally "got" Dylan after not understanding him for a time; heck, I'm still waiting to "get" him some thirty-five years after first listening to his stuff! (One person who "got" Dylan dead to rights, however, was Weird Al Yankovic in his spoof "Bob.") Nonetheless, "Lay Lady Lay," unsavory though it may be in a thematic sense, is by far my favorite of his songs.

Growing Up on Gretta

I originally meant this post to be a positive reminiscence on my childhood and adolescence, but my first attempt rapidly devolved into a wallow in self-pity and a litany of regrets; therefore, I'll try it again.

My parents moved in 1955 to their home on Gretta Street in northeast Albuquerque, and except for college and my church mission, I lived there all my life (from my birth in 1959) until I got married in late 1984. (My mother still lives there, along with my sister and her husband.) It was, and still is, a working-class neighborhood full of rough-cut people, and, given the relative lack of indoor diversions in those days, I spent a lot of time outdoors with various kids in the neighborhood. I attended McCollum Elementary, which was just a short walk away from our house, in grades 1 through 6. I had an agonizing start in first grade, being change-averse even at that age and having a less-than-sympathetic teacher; as a result, it took several years for me to start enjoying school. But eventually I came into my own, socially and academically, and now I look back on fifth and sixth grades as very good years. (This picture of me, minus the glasses that I so hated, was taken in the fall of 1969, when I was in fifth grade. Note the Converse Chuck Taylors, which in those days probably cost $6.00 or $7.00 and could only be purchased in sporting-goods stores.)

I didn't have many close friends as a child. My closest friend was my cousin, Randy Baca, whose family lived across the street from us most of the time I was growing up. Randy, however, was two years ahead of me in school and had his own circle of friends that continually took precedence over me. (I never held that against him then, but I probably resent it a little now, especially when I contemplate the horrible year I had at Kennedy Junior High in seventh grade and how Randy, who was still at Kennedy that year, could have taken me under his wing and made my transition from elementary school a little easier.) Thus I also spent a lot of time by myself -- shooting baskets, reading, listening to music, and, later on, playing the guitar.

Some of the neighbors I remember, in addition to the Bacas, were the Lowes, the Smitharts (who lived next door and had several daughters whom I came not to care for, particularly, although I'm sure the feeling was mutual), the Dykes, the Mondes, and the Cordobas. (The latter two couples, now seemingly as old as my mother, still live in the neighborhood.) Among other things, I used to like to climb the trees in our yard, ride bicycles, walk down to the drugstore for penny candy, read comic books, play hide-and-seek, listen to my brothers' records, and play on various swingsets and jungle gyms that we had over the years in our backyard.

Probably the greatest day of my youth was when my parents bought me a Honda CL-70 motorcycle shortly after I turned thirteen in the summer of 1972. I had long begged my mother for a minibike or small motorcycle, and to this day I'm not certain why she and my dad finally gave in; however, that little Honda was my salvation for a couple of years, as it gave me both freedom to come and go as I pleased and a ready-made way to alleviate boredom. I shudder now to think of myself as a thirteen-year-old, riding around in heavy traffic or all around the "mesa" east of town -- which essentially doesn't exist anymore, as it's all been developed or turned into "open space" -- but obviously I survived without any major injuries. (After I got my "car" driver's license, I ended up trading the motorcycle to a friend for a cheap little "quadraphonic" 8-track stereo system -- a very one-sided deal, albeit one that my mother, by that time, was happy to make -- but, shortly thereafter, a mutual acquaintance totaled the Honda, and very nearly himself in the process, by following a car too closely and colliding with it.)

After my seventh-grade debacle at Kennedy, I ended up attending a private special-ed school in downtown Albuquerque in eighth grade. (The old house in which the school was located isn't there anymore, as the Greek Orthodox church next door bought the property and razed everything.) Then I attended Grant Junior High in ninth grade, starting out in the special-ed program there but quickly migrating into regular classes; if I'd known that Grant would be such an improvement over Kennedy, I'd have moved heaven and earth to go there right out of elementary school! Finally, I attended the local high school in grades 10-12. I had another rough adjustment during my sophomore year, but luckily I had a new best friend, Ken Foley, who helped me over the rough spots.

I didn't leave home for the first time until my freshman year of college at Brigham Young in 1977. I decided to attend summer school right out of high school to get a jump on things, which in retrospect was a mistake, as I really needed that summer to try to sort a few things out before heading off to college. Consequently, it took all of the following summer and fall to prepare for my church mission.

These days, visiting my mother at her house is like getting caught in a time warp, as the memories come flooding back every time I go there. The tree in her front yard is huge now, and on several occasions I've had to cut low-hanging branches off it. However, the tree bears one unmistakable reminder of my childhood: on a whim, while climbing the tree one time, I folded a small branch back over the larger branch out of which it was growing, and it has since grown massive in that same "folded-over" position. (Ironically, the fact that the branch has thus grown up, instead of out and down, has saved it thus far from having to be cut off.)

My Rock 'N' Roll Favorites - the 'C's

Carpenters, The: "Superstar" - As a teenager, I couldn't really appreciate the Carpenters for what they were, a great pop band with one of the greatest, most distinctive voices in the history of recorded music. (The story of Karen Carpenter is a true American tragedy, especially given the utter preventability of her demise from the secondary effects of anorexia nervosa.) I regard "Superstar" as the epitome of the Carpenters' sound and the sad beauty inherent in Karen's voice.
Cars, The: "Nightspots" - In the late 1970s, the Cars presaged what later came to be known as New Wave. Their quirky sound and Ric Ocasek's offbeat songwriting were just what the post-disco era called for, and "Nightspots," off their Candy-O album, is a roller-coaster that leaves one slightly dizzy, but gratified.
Clapton, Eric: "Mainline Florida" - Clapton has made a lot of great records over the years, but "Mainline Florida," from his 461 Ocean Boulevard album, is simply one of the top two or three guitar riffs in the history of rock 'n' roll; it's so great, in fact, that I can overlook the lack of a killer guitar solo in the song. (Based on Clapton's recent autobiography, it dates to one of his big drinking periods -- no big surprise.)
Cooper, Alice: "No More Mr. Nice Guy" - Great guitar, great lyrics. Alice's original band wasn't exactly a bunch of virtuosos, but they came up with some pretty durable music nonetheless.
Cope, Julian: "Charlotte Anne" - Julian Cope surely rates as one of the weirdest people ever in popular music -- not to mention one of the most narcissistic in his day -- but I love some of his mid-to-late 80s material. "Charlotte Anne," "Trampolene," and "World Shut Your Mouth" are all among my favorite pop songs ever.
Cream: "Badge" - The story is that Eric Clapton mis-read George Harrison's writing, and thus "Bridge" became "Badge" when Cream went to record the song; notwithstanding, it is the "bridge," with that distinctive Leslie/Echoplex sound, that makes the song special.
Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Born On the Bayou" - Creedence purposely sought out a uniquely American "roots" sort of vibe in their music, and to me there is no better example of that sound than "Born On the Bayou"; the distorted, tremolo'ed solo guitar sound makes the song. (A close second would be "Fortunate Son." I'll never forget the first time I saw the film Forrest Gump -- that scene where "Fortunate Son" plays over the helicopter flying Forrest and Bubba to their unit in Vietnam was overpowering.)
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young: "Woodstock" - CSN&Y recorded many memorable tunes in their early days (I could never connect with their later stuff), but their recording of Joni Mitchell's "Woodstock" had it all -- great tune, great harmonies, and great interplay among the instruments. I'm not a great fan of Neil Young's guitar solos, but the one in this tune works somehow, adding a certain manic quality.
Culture Club: "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" - The first time I saw the video for this song on MTV when it was new, I remember saying to myself (about Boy George), "That's either the ugliest guy...or the ugliest girl...I've ever seen!" It's actually a pretty decent tune, much better than the other Culture Club songs I'm familiar with.

The Boy Scouts

I never really participated in scouting when I was a youngster, despite the fact that the Boy Scouts have always been the "achievement" arm of the LDS church's young men's program. (When I was eleven years old, I took piano lessons on Saturday mornings when the "Guide Patrols" were doing their scouting stuff, and then I didn't get along with our scoutmaster when I turned twelve and entered young men.) However, I became a believer in scouting when I had a son, and for one important reason: it gave Darren and me, who have largely divergent interests otherwise, something to share and an excuse to spend time together.

I always chafed when coming in contact with the scouting establishment, as professional scout leaders (or "lifers," as I refer to them) seemed to believe that the boys were there to fulfill the needs of the program, not the other way around; however, once we got past all the sanctimonious lectures and bureaucratic red tape, we always had loads of fun. The scouting-related memories I will always treasure include: (1) scout camp at Camp Frank Rand (near Pojoaque, New Mexico) in 2000 and 2001; (2) a three-day backpacking trip along the west face of the Sandia Mountains; (3) a twenty-mile bike ride to, and then various aquatic activities (and camping) at, Cochiti Lake; (4) the fifty-mile bike ride I took with the kids for their Cycling merit badge; (5) a three-day backpacking trip to South Sandia Peak; (6) a particularly memorable ten-day trek at Philmont Scout Ranch in 2004 (see photo); (7) Darren's Eagle Scout service project (which was to build a footbridge at a county open-space area called Carlito Spring in Tijeras Canyon east of Albuquerque); and (8) helping my nephew Aaron P_____ finish off his Eagle Scout requirements in 2006-07.

The attached photo of our 2004 Philmont crew was taken at the summit of Baldy Mountain (Darren is on the far left, and I'm the one in the back in the green jacket, leaning on a rock). With regard to this crew, I'm especially proud of the fact that all of the boys (Joseph Kearns, Steven Brewer, Curtis Twitchell, Darren, Jordan Roper, David Griffin, Jason Brewer, and Aaron) either were, or later became, Eagle Scouts. Anyone associated with a well-constituted scout troop will not regard that record as remarkable, but, in the context of an LDS troop in a place like Albuquerque, it signifies a special group of kids. (Church policy dictates that each ward [geographical unit] have its own scout troop, regardless of the number of scout-age boys and/or the available leadership -- which may work well in a place like Utah but often creates barely functioning troops elsewhere. The obvious solution for outlying areas -- to have one fully functioning troop per stake [larger geographical unit usually consisting of 5-8 wards] -- doesn't appear to be forthcoming.)

The church may not always maintain its association with the Boy Scouts, especially if the courts finally reverse themselves and decide that the scouts cannot exclude openly homosexual adults and youth. Church leaders have already put in place a redundant achievement program called "Duty to God," the obvious (if unspoken) purpose of which is to replace scouting in the case of just such an eventuality. However, scouting did wonders for me insofar as I was able to share my son's experiences and those of the other boys named above, and for that I say God bless it.

My Rock 'N' Roll Favorites - the 'B's

Continuing with my rock 'n' roll favorites, I'll address the 'B's in this post.
B-52's, The: "Loveland" - The B-52's' Mesopotamia album is often overlooked -- as well it should be, as it was an experimental effort produced by David Byrne that really didn't connect. (At best it was a foul tip.) However, it did contain "Loveland," which has an amazing, liquid-sounding texture that I still find cascading through my head from time to time. The best part is that someone did a remix in recent years that dialed down some of Byrne's synthesizer-based excrescence and brought up Ricky Wilson's guitar parts, making it even better.
Bachman-Turner Overdrive: "Takin' Care of Business" - BTO is one of those bands that I really liked as a teenager but have great difficulty listening to now. It's hard to say why, except that most of the tunes seem pretty clunky by modern standards; however, "Takin' Care of Business" has managed to stay somewhat fresh, in part due to the piano part that added much to the arrangement.
Bad Company: "Deal With the Preacher" - Bad Company is another favorite group from my youthful past that I likewise couldn't listen to for a long time as an adult. However, "Deal With the Preacher," off their second album Straight Shooter, is a great rock song and represents what was good about what we used to call "hard rock" back in the mid-70s.
Bangles, The: "Hero Takes a Fall" - In my book, the Bangles only made one decent album, and it was their first big-label album All Over the Place, featuring "Hero Takes a Fall." The album had catchy tunes, great vocals, and a raw sound that actually approximated four young women playing guitars, bass, and drums. Their follow-up album, Different Light, propelled them to stardom, but with crappy tunes (e.g., "Manic Monday," "Walk Like an Egyptian") and overdone arrangements that made me wonder if the members of the group did anything but sing on the album. Notwithstanding, "Hero Takes a Fall" stands as the best pop/rock song ever done by a girl band, and Susanna Hoffs simply had the sexiest singing voice of all time.
Beach Boys, The: "All Summer Long" - I'm not a great Beach Boys fan, but "All Summer Long" evokes so many images of the 1960s ("tee shirts, cut-offs, and a pair of thongs") that I can't help liking it. A close second would be "Good Vibrations," but only because it was so non-surf.
Beatles, The: "Paperback Writer" - It's tremendously difficult to select a favorite song from the vast oeuvre of a band as talented and influential as the Beatles. I've only recently delved into great albums like Revolver, Abbey Road, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, all of which sound amazing even today; however, if I have to pick one favorite song, it's "Paperback Writer," a tune that stands out for its groundbreaking guitar riff, prominent bass in the mix, sharp-sounding harmonies, and social commentary.
Beck: "New Pollution" - Beck has produced an amazingly eclectic body of work, not all of which appeals to me, but I still like the retro-60s sound of "New Pollution," which he could have performed at Monterey Pop (had he been alive in 1967) and fit right in. ("Loser" would be a close second for me -- I guess I just like his "old" stuff.)
Bee Gees, The: "How Deep Is Your Love" - I admit I hated the Bee Gees back in the mid-to-late 70s, when they'd reinvented themselves as a disco band. (I loathed disco music in general, although I admit to having bought a pair of brown Angel's Flight pants in late 1978, which I only wore two or three times before I left on my church mission in January 1979. To underscore the sea change that occurred in popular music while I was on my mission, I like to say that I "went out" to the Bee Gees and "came back" to the B-52's.) Therefore, my favorite song of theirs was bound to be a slow song, and "How Deep Is Your Love" is easily the best of their ballads.
Blondie: "One Way or Another" - The whole Blondie phenomenon happened while I was a missionary, although, Chileans being the radio-listening people they are (or at least were), I heard plenty of Blondie songs going from here to there. I have a vivid memory of hearing "One Way or Another" one time while on public transport in Santiago -- I had to ask my missionary companion, who'd left the U.S. over a year later than I did, who it was. It's the one Blondie tune that really stuck in my head.
Bon Jovi: They deserve a mention, but I honestly can't think of a single Bon Jovi tune that wouldn't prompt me to change the station if it came on my car radio. Sorry!
Boston: "Foreplay/Long Time" - I'm not a big Boston fan now, but there was a time when "Long Time" was my favorite song, in part because the lyrics seemed to describe my life during and after high school: "It's been such a long time; I think I should be going / Time doesn't wait for me -- it keeps on rolling."
Bowie, David: "Golden Years" - I probably would have picked "Let's Dance" but for my fondness of the movie A Knight's Tale (starring the recently deceased Heath Ledger), in which "Golden Years" is featured prominently. I never really got the Bowie thing in the 70s -- I hated "Fame," which was played to death in 1975 -- but "Golden Years" has gotten better with time.
Bread: "Dismal Day" - Years ago, I would have listed "If," "Diary," "Everything I Own," or "Make It With You," but I have a Bread greatest hits CD, and "Dismal Day" is the song I listen to most.
Buffalo Springfield: "Rock 'n' Roll Woman" - Yes, Virginia, the Buffalo Springfield did record other songs besides "For What It's Worth" -- and "Rock 'n' Roll Woman" was easily the best of the lot.
Byrds, The: "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better" - This song is as good as pop music got in the mid-1960s -- catchy beat, great vocals by Gene Clark, and an exemplary 12-string guitar solo by Roger McGuinn. (This clip is one of my favorite videos on Youtube -- the dancing is amazing!)

My Rock 'N' Roll Favorites - the 'A's

When I was contemplating having my own personal website, one of the pages I wanted to work on was a list of my favorite songs by various rock 'n' roll groups, going in order from those whose names started with 'A' to those whose names started with 'Z'. I think I'll work on something similar here on this blog, but doing only a few letters of the alphabet at a time, starting with 'A'. My criteria for inclusion are as follows: (1) the groups must be people I've heard of and like (or at least am familiar with and regard as significant); and (2) I must know at least three or four of their songs. I will, therefore, exclude a lot of groups, but then my intent isn't necessarily to be all-inclusive.
ABBA: "Dancing Queen" - I've never been overly fond of ABBA, having considered them too "bubble-gummish" for my tastes during their heyday in the 1970s. However, the fact that they were a tremendous worldwide phenomenon -- practically everyone in Chile loved them when I lived there in 1979-80 -- compels me to add them to this list. I'd be tempted to name one of their tunes here that had Spanish overtones ("Fernando," "Chiquitita," etc.), since they remind me of my days in Chile; however, "Dancing Queen" is simply the best song they ever did: it's danceable and has both an interesting melody and agreeable lyrical content.
AC/DC: "Highway to Hell" - I'm not a great AC/DC fan, either, but they definitely merit a mention. I have a low tolerance level for Brian Johnson's vocals, so my favorite song of theirs would almost necessarily come from the Bon Scott era. "Highway to Hell" has pretty cheesy lyrics, but then cheesy, faux-macho lyrics have always been the funnest thing about AC/DC.
Adams, Bryan: "Run to You" - I was almost tempted to list "The Only Thing that Looks Good on Me Is You" as my favorite Bryan Adams song, since I keep it on the half-gig iPod Shuffle that goes to the gym with me; however, "The Only Thing" is simply too inane to be my favorite, especially in light of the impossibly stupid video Adams made for it. Therefore, I fall back on "Run to You," one of his early hits, which has great production and features fantastic guitar sounds.
Aerosmith: "Sweet Emotion" - I've never really liked Aerosmith all that much, as I've tended to regard them as a poor man's Rolling Stones (later on, I regarded Guns 'N' Roses as a poor man's Aerosmith); moreover, their lyrical innuendos were generally a little too "coarse" for me (cf. "Walk This Way," "Big Ten Inch Record"). Nonetheless, "Sweet Emotion" rocks in a way that few songs ever have, making it my favorite Aerosmith song.
Allman Brothers Band, The: "Jessica" - I've never cared much for this group, but at least "Jessica," being an instrumental, doesn't have any vocals.
Animals, The: "Sky Pilot" - I don't know if it's fair to list "Sky Pilot" as an Animals song, since it was more of an Eric Burdon tune and didn't include anyone else from the original band lineup. (My favorite song associated with them would be "We Gotta Get Out of This Place.") But what an emotionally riveting piece it is! The "battle" section of the song always makes me tear up to think about the fundamental unfairness of placing life-and-death burdens on young men (and women) who are just entering the prime of life. It's almost too painful to listen to!
Association, The: "Everything That Touches You" - The Association is known now for the bigger hits it had back in the mid-60s (e.g., "Cherish," "Never My Love," Windy," et al.), but I consider "Everything That Touches You" to be the band's best song. It's one of the greatest love songs ever written, in any genre, and conveys a tremendous sense of need and yearning. I still associate it with an unrequited crush I had way back in the fourth grade -- that's how far back I go with it.

I'll work on the 'B's next when I have time....

Darren in Honduras

Here's a recent photo of my son Darren, helping with a service project in Honduras on his church mission. I think it's cool that missionaries are now expected to put in x number of service hours per week or month. I look back on my own mission and think of all the time we spent trying to proselytize during what were typically unproductive hours of the day, and I wish we could have used some of that time trying to fulfill people's temporal needs. (I'm sure it creates much good will.)

Darren has now been in Honduras for two-and-a-half months, and, knowing him, I suspect his Spanish is pretty good already, especially since his companion is a native Spanish speaker. He's started asking me about my missionary experiences all those years ago -- something he never seemed too interested in before now -- which has only heightened my love and empathy for him.

Pinegrove Cabin

Pinegrove Cabin is a timeshare, near Pagosa Springs, Colorado, that a number of LDS investors from the Albuquerque area built sometime in the late 1970s. My in-laws were among the original shareholders, and I first visited the cabin in 1985 after I married Dorine. For the first few years of our marriage, the cabin was our salvation in terms of vacations, as it provided a ready-made destination several times a year that created very little out-of-pocket expense, and there was always a lot to do. The Rio Blanco runs by the property, and in the early years we could float long distances on the river on innertubes. Also, Pagosa Springs lies within driving distance of numerous regional attractions -- Treasure Falls, Wolf Creek Pass, Great Sand Dunes, Mesa Verde, Silverton, Ouray, various hiking trails -- and, at least when my mother-in-law was alive (and when we generally stayed most of a week at the cabin), we often took interesting day trips. At one time, we had access to a couple of "family" snowmobiles, which made winter trips to the cabin a blast. (With them, we'd tow the kids up and down the road on innertubes; we'd get out on the frozen "pond" -- a vestige of a gravel mining operation just down the road -- and do donuts, hauling an adult on an innertube and spinning him around with increasing centrifugal force until he went flying out across the ice [great fun!]; and we'd cross the river to a gully that made for fun up-and-down riding.) In short, I have a lot of great memories of various times spent with my family at the cabin in the last 23 years.

Unfortunately, the place isn't quite as fun as it once was. The water level in the river has dropped off markedly after up-river diversion took place -- which, ironically, benefits the city of Albuquerque -- making floating on innertubes an iffy proposition. People have moved in full-time at the cabins across, and at the end of, the road, creating a sort of claustrophobic feeling in the neighborhood that didn't exist in the early years (a feeling, I might add, that has only been aggravated since a gate was installed at the bridge, which requires a combination for entry). The kids, who often took the most joy in visiting the cabin when they were small, have all grown up (although all of them still love it up there). My mother-in-law died in 1990, taking a lot of the life out of the cabin for me, and my father-in-law remarried and pretty much stopped going. We no longer have access to snowmobiles for winter fun (and having full-time neighbors and a regularly plowed road would put the kibosh on snowmobiling, at any rate). The town of Pagosa Springs has grown a lot and thus no longer has the cozy, romantic atmosphere it used to have. And worst of all, the water table near the cabin has dropped significantly, causing the old well to go dry and a new well not to produce much. (We've had several stays when it seemed like I spent most of my time hauling water from the river so that other people could flush the toilet.)

Despite it all, we've found it impossible to let the cabin go entirely, as too much of our family's history revolves around it. Thus several members of our extended family have paid my father-in-law for his share, and have agreed among ourselves to rotate stays, although, due to cabin bylaws that prohibit the splitting of shares, he is still the nominal owner. (Obviously, we'll need to decide on a new one eventually and effect a formal transfer.) I don't even know when Dorine and I are supposed to have the cabin next; at this point, however, I do little else up there besides lament how things have changed.

RIP, GBH

President Gordon B. Hinckley, the presiding officer and prophet of the LDS church, passed away yesterday at the age of 97 and will probably be succeeded by his first counselor (and now senior member of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles), Thomas S. Monson. President Hinckley will certainly be remembered for the great number of temples constructed during his presidency -- including the Albuquerque Temple, which he personally dedicated in 2000 -- but also for the remarkable energy and vigor with which he pursued his duties as president, notwithstanding his advanced age. I will carry three personal memories of President Hinckley: (1) the Albuquerque Temple dedication (my family and I were seated in the south ordinance room for the fourth and last session; we were separated from President Hinckley [he being in the celestial room] by the the temple veil and a wall, and thus we had to watch him on closed-circuit TV like almost everyone else, but I'm sure it's something my kids will never forget); (2) his visit to Albuquerque in 2004 with Sister Hinckley for a regional conference, which was held in the Albuquerque Convention Center (both of them spoke, and then, not two months later, she passed away suddenly); and (3) seeing him from the "ozone" (mezzanine) in the Conference Center during a session of general conference in April 2006.

It's sad to say, but I'm glad President Monson will be assuming the church presidency -- as opposed to the next-senior apostle, Elder Boyd K. Packer, who has a reputation (well-deserved, in my observations) for coldness, austerity, and...well...egocentricity. I've always enjoyed President Monson's bon mots, which are most commonly communicated in his talks in general priesthood meetings. I met him at my uncle Mervyn Bennion's funeral a couple of years ago; Mervyn was/is married to my mother's sister LaRee, who preceded him in death. (President Monson's attendance at the funeral was probably due to Mervyn's also being both a grandson of J. Reuben Clark Jr. [an apostle from the mid-20th Century] and the namesake son of a heroic LDS naval officer who perished in the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.) I'm not given to fussing over celebrities and for that reason alone would never have approached President Monson, but he went out of his way to come greet my mother and me after the funeral, shaking my hand and giving Mom a hug. I contrast that with the only time I've been in close physical proximity to Elder Packer, which was on my wedding day in 1984 in the Salt Lake temple. He was there that morning to perform someone else's sealing, and I was momentarily near him in the recorder's office: he didn't look up, didn't smile at anyone, and was manifestly too full of himself to greet anyone.

My Father's Family in S______, Arizona (ca. 1924)

This photo shows my father's family in their hometown of S______ in eastern Arizona when my father was about six years old. (L-R: my aunt Afton, my aunt Merle, my father Stanley, my uncle Lindsey, my grandmother Adlee, and my uncle Kenner.) I'm struck by how, well, Kartchner-like the kids are in appearance!

All the people pictured here are dead now. (My grandparents later had twin sons, Jene and Dean, and I wouldn't be surprised to know that my grandmother was pregnant with them when this photo was taken. Dean died in infancy, and now my uncle Jene, who lives in Utah, is the only surviving member of the family.) Lindsey, who was reportedly an alcoholic like my grandfather before him, died in a car wreck in 1963. My grandfather, Kenner Sr., from whom my grandmother had long been divorced, died in 1970, and my grandmother (who lived with us off and on throughout my childhood and adolescence) died in 1976. Kenner Jr., who for years was the public-address announcer at Cougar Stadium (now Lavell Edwards Stadium) for BYU home football games, died in the early 1990s from ALS. My father died in 1997, and Afton and Merle both died sometime later.

I can remember visiting Aunt Merle, Aunt Afton, and Uncle Kenner many times on family vacations as I was growing up; in fact, it seemed like all we did on vacations was to visit relatives, which often wasn't what I'd call a good time (in part because most of my cousins were older). I'm sorry to say I didn't maintain very close contact with my aunts and uncles when I reached adulthood, and I only rarely see any of my cousins on my dad's side. However, the family came from good Mormon pioneer stock, despite my grandfather's being the black sheep of his family.

Sleep Disordered, Part 2

I've now done the sleep study I mentioned in a post last month, and it appears that the Resmed "VPAP Adapt SV" (see illustration) will be an effective remedy for my problems with complex sleep apnea. I'm grateful for having that treatment option, although I have additional issues to resolve. The most acute is the need to wean myself off prescription sleep meds, which is going to take some time and cost me additional sleep. I also really need to see an allergist about a remedy -- hopefully, more immunological than pharmacological in nature -- for my nighttime nasal congestion. Next, it would help to buy a better bed. (I won't mention my wife's snoring again, as I've found some earplugs that do a good job of blocking her out.) Finally, my sleep disorder also has a psychological component that I'm not sure how to resolve fully; it isn't clear to me whether my chronic low-level depression is aggravating my sleep difficulties or vice versa. I'm simply not a particularly happy or fulfilled person, and the basis for a transformation -- say, winning the lottery and thus being able to quit my job, move to a new locale, and make a new start -- isn't exactly looming on the horizon.

Nonetheless, resolving the sleep apnea thing is a good place to start. The "VPAP Adapt SV" differs from CPAP in that (a) it doesn't involve the constant inbound flow of air that I find so difficult to breathe out against, (b) it memorizes your short-term breathing patterns to provide inbound pressure at the right times, and (c) it really ratchets up the pressure when it senses you've stopped breathing, such that you literally cannot have an apnea episode, central or obstructive, while using it. The only drawbacks, all minor, are: (1) you have to use a full-face mask (covering both nose and mouth) with it; (2) like CPAP, it restricts the number of positions you can sleep in; and (3) it does seem to cause you to swallow a small amount of air. Otherwise, it didn't take much to sell me on it -- from my perspective, it's definitely the "pap" treatment of the future.

The Mormon Church and African Americans

It's been nearly thirty years since the LDS church changed its policy regarding the ordaining of African American males (or, better put, males of black African descent) to the Aaronic and Melchizedek priesthoods. My kids have all grown up not knowing what it was like for that sort of discrimination to exist in the church, but I remember feeling quite self-conscious about it when I was a teenager. In what I still regard as the granddaddy of all non sequiturs, at the end of my senior year of high school in 1977, I wrote in the yearbook of a classmate, an African American girl, some silly message about how I was certain that all the blessings of the priesthood would come to black people someday -- when she probably didn't even know I was Mormon or what I was talking about. Based on what certain church leaders had said (case in point: Bruce R. McConkie, Mr. Mormon Doctrine himself, who at one time wrote and preached that African Americans would never enjoy priesthood and temple blessings in this life), the color bar looked like iron-clad church doctrine. However, oddly enough, it was only about a year after I made that wishful "prediction" in my classmate's yearbook that President Spencer Kimball received the revelation driving the policy change.

I clearly remember the moment when I found out about the policy change; it was the summer after the end of my freshman year at BYU, when I was trying to find motivation to serve a church mission. I was home that day and was fixing myself something to eat while watching "The Price Is Right" or something on TV. The network news broke in with a bulletin saying the Mormon church had announced that from that time forth, the priesthood would be extended to all worthy male members regardless of race. I fairly buzzed with excitement and immediately called my mother at work to tell her; we agreed that it was a great day and a great thing. Some people still can't forgive the church for ever having barred blacks from the priesthood and temple ordinances, but there's no denying that 1978 marked the church's emergence into the civil-rights age.

Looking back, it's difficult to identify any rationale for the original policy that doesn't entail racism of some sort -- especially given the expansive definition that the "R" word has acquired over the years -- which is presumably why the church tries not to talk too much about it these days. I regard it now as a historical oddity that, gratefully, has gone away.

The effect of the change over time was never made more dramatically clear to me than during the 2000 presidential election campaign, when George W. Bush caused a stir in the press by appearing at Bob Jones University, which at the time had a ban on inter-racial dating. I could -- and can now -- only imagine what would have happened to the Mormon church in the interim, public relations-wise, if it still denied the priesthood to African American males.

Unfortunately, if Mitt Romney wins the Republican presidential nomination this year, it will probably be the race angle from which the mainstream media attack him most for his Mormonism. I don't know how excited I am about Romney's running for president (although he's far and away the best administrator in the race, 'Pub or Dem), but, regardless, it's difficult to imagine that the Dems and their allies in the media won't raise the specter of Mormon racism 24/7 if he's up against Hillary Clinton and/or Barack Obama.

(By the way, on the topic of electing the first woman, the first African American, or the first Mormon president, a friend of mine observed that we should simply elect Gladys Knight president and take care of all three at once. Brilliant!)

Sieg Heil, RIAA

A relative of mine has been sued by the recording industry for "illegally" downloading digital music files. Under most circumstances, I'd say good on the industry for enforcing the intellectual-property rights afforded to it under the federal Copyright Act; however, the methods the industry practices, as well as what I regard as obvious ulterior motives on its part, have caused me to have a few reservations. First, there's the obvious invasion of privacy required for its agents to know someone has digital music files on his/her computer in the first place. Second, the strategy of suing only a few, geographically scattered people, making examples of them in hopes of scaring the rest of the populace into falling in line, is right out of the Nazi playbook; I can't help but mentally picture the Gestapo hauling a few recalcitrant Frenchmen out to the firing squads every day as a warning to those who might join or aid the Resistance. Third, the industry's reps automatically (and rather nastily) demand a $5,000 settlement, apparently without regard for (a) how many songs the person may have downloaded, or (b) what kind of means the person may have with which to pay a settlement. (The federal magistrate in my relative's case has already told the plaintiffs' attorney not to expect that much from my relative. Good on him!)

Finally, just what is the recording industry trying to protect? Is it the copyrights, or could it be its outdated business model, under which the public is supposed to continue paying $20+ for CDs that have, at best, two or three decent cuts along with 8-10 "filler" tunes? The discriminating public, for whom the CD player is all but passe, demands internet downloads, one song at a time, for a buck apiece; on the other hand, the use of the courts to "enforce" the old business model has a distinct antitrust-violation smell to it. I am perfectly willing to pay a dollar for every song I want (although I'll never give the record companies much business unless they put their entire catalogs online -- from the beginning of time to date), and I'm sure that millions of otherwise law-abiding citizens would do the same. However, the industry would have to stop clinging to the CD and the exorbitant prices it would like to continue charging therefor, and at this point it appears to be too much to ask of the greedy #*@%s.

The Wisdom of Bachman

I was recently reminded of the time I went to go hear Randy Bachman speak at the Wilkinson Center (i.e., student union building) at BYU during my freshman year in the spring of 1978. Bachman, of course, was (and is) an alumnus of two popular 70s-era rock groups, the Guess Who and Bachman-Turner Overdrive; however, more fascinating to me was the fact that he was an LDS rock star, a thing almost inconceivable to Mormon youth at the time, since we were regularly assured that rock 'n' roll (which by definition excluded the Osmonds) was the Devil's music, etc. I don't remember much of what he said that day, but two things stick out in my mind. The first is the story he told about his grandmother's miraculous, spontaneous recovery from late-stage cancer following a priesthood blessing. The second is the short discourse he gave on the topic of friendships: he said it had been his experience that friendships seem to run in five-year cycles -- that every so often we as human beings naturally seem to acquire a new set of friends as we outgrow each other or move on to other interests. The astuteness of that observation has been borne out for me over the years, as periodically my friends and I seem to grow apart from each other. It seems now that the only real friend and confidante I have is my wife; I'd better hold onto her, I guess.

Picnic in S_______, Arizona (ca. 1935)

I love this photograph. It shows my mother, Wanda S________ (left foreground), at roughly the age of fourteen, on a picnic with relatives around 1935. She doesn't know exactly where the photo was taken -- she didn't even know it existed until one of her aunt's grandsons scanned and e-mailed it to her several years ago -- but it certainly was in or around her hometown of S_______ in eastern Arizona. Going clockwise from my mother, the other people in the photo are my mother's aunt Vivian, her cousin Alvin R_______ (the baby), her grandmother R______, her aunt Josephine, her cousins Norma F____, Nadine S______, and Frank S______, and finally her brother Alden S______ (the blond kid looking down).

All of the people in the photo are dead now except my mother, Nadine, and Alvin, although I can remember most of them. My great-grandmother lived to be 101 years old, dying in 1973. (Incidentally, she married my great-grandfather in 1888, when she was 16 and he was 40.) We visited Josephine and Vivian multiple times in S_______ when I was growing up. My uncle Alden was killed in a plane crash, in which he was the pilot, sometime around December 1972 (which is ironic given his having survived thirty bombing runs as an Army Air Force pilot in the Pacific Theater during World War II); I still remember my mother staggering into my 13-year-old arms after she received the phone call advising her of his death. Nadine still lives in my mother's hometown, and Mom and I visited with her a couple of years ago. Norma and Frank both passed away relatively recently. (Nadine and Frank were my mother's cousins on both sides of the family, as my mother's aunt Lou married one of my mother's uncles on her father's side.)

My mother will turn 87 this Sunday, January 20, so this picture seems like it's from a long time ago -- and yet it doesn't. What strikes me most about it is how hauntingly beautiful my mother was as a young girl, yet it also betrays a certain characteristic self-consciousness on her part.

Video from Alabaster Cave

Here's some video from the last bit of Alabaster Cave, shot by Brent Peterson for a series called "Off the Clock," covering the recreational pursuits of employees of Sandia National Laboratories. (I wish I could upload the entire four-and-a-half-minute edited feature that Brent came up with, as it's very well-done, but the site has a size limit.) You can see that the traverse to get out the upper passage, after the Birth Canal, is a little highball, though not technically complex despite my obvious caution in making the moves. The water you see down below is the last part of the lower passage, which currently consists (as I mentioned in my post on caving, below) of 150' of neck-deep, ice-cold water, which, when you stir up the material rotting on the bottom, smells very bad. (The person climbing out at the beginning of the clip is Rod Williamson, my main caving partner.)

My Favorite "Train" Movies

I've noticed over time that trains are a recurring motif in a lot of the movies I like, and I don't think it's any great coincidence; I regard train travel as extremely romantic and something that hearkens back to a certain golden age of gentility. Two of my favorite movies are The Sting and North By Northwest, both of which, of course, have key scenes that take place on the Century Limited (in the former, the poker game in which Paul Newman first fleeces Robert Shaw, and, in the latter, Cary Grant's first love encounter with Eva Marie Saint). One of my favorite James Bond movies, From Russia with Love, has an important sequence on the Orient Express, which culminates in Sean Connery's killing Robert Shaw in a very well-staged fight scene. Another movie I like, Murder on the Orient Express, not only has many big-name stars, but it takes place almost entirely on the Orient Express. (I also like Albert Finney's portrayal of a conceited and slightly epicene Hercule Poirot.) Finally, I must mention the first Mission Impossible movie with Tom Cruise and Jon Voight, whose unforgettable climax ("Red light...green light!") takes place on the TGV as it enters the Chunnel southbound.

Sometime, I'd really like to travel somewhere on a train. My dream is to go back to Chile and ride the train south from Santiago all the way down to Puerto Montt, then hop on a ferry over to Chiloé island. (My wife's brother Don and his wife Margarita, who has an aunt living in the Santiago area, will be going there shortly; needless to say, I'm envious.)

Caving

I first really got into caving in 1997. I'd been bouldering for a year already with my friend Rod Williamson, and when he and several mutual friends started getting more seriously into caving, it seemed like a natural progression, in terms of outdoor adventures, to follow them. I'm not what you'd call a natural caver, as I don't particularly care for tight squeezes, tall heights, or places where my slightly impaired night vision and depth perception (see my original post about having had a botched radial keratotomy in 1994) make it difficult to make out the relief of the ground I'm walking on -- which pretty much encompasses the nature of caves. However, my love for nature, my limited-but-extant thirst for adventure, a need to bond with my buds, and Rod's reassuring presence all combined to spur me on, and for several years we had quite a few noteworthy adventures. This photo, taken in 2006, shows me in Ft. Stanton Cave (near Capitan, New Mexico), at the entrance to "Hell Hole," a 1,500'-long passage, mostly a crawl, that leads to the lower reaches of the cave. In the summer of 2003, I was involved in a cave rescue at Ft. Stanton; I won't go into the details here, but a scout who was part of another party had fallen off a ledge and busted himself up pretty badly, and a massive effort had to be mobilized to get him out. It took the rescue party (consisting mostly of serious-but-misfit caver types from local NSS grottos) all night to get him out; we spent five hours getting him through Hell Hole alone. My help wasn't needed once we got to the Lunch Room -- the proximal end of Hell Hole (again, see the picture above) -- and I was getting a little tired of being in the company of so many NSS people (think of Matt Damon being stuck in a van with Scott Caan and Casey Affleck in Ocean's Eleven), so I made a beeline for the cave exit. There I was pressed into being interviewed live on local morning television; I was so tired from having pulled an all-nighter that I have no idea now what I said.

This photo (which is actually a still-frame from a video) shows me doing a tight squeeze called the "Birth Canal" in Alabaster Cave, near San Ysidro, New Mexico. Skinny guys and little kids just pop right through, but guys my size not only have to remove their shirts, but they also must go through in the correct orientation (and then exhale deeply) to minimize their horizontal profile. Here I made the mistake of going through "right hand up," which caused my left arm to get pinned underneath me, wedging me in the hole. I couldn't go back, so I had to worm my way through in a series of quarter-inch movements, which in turn caused me to lose a fair bit of skin off my back. (The last time I did Alabaster Cave, I waded out the lower passage, through 150' of ice-cold, neck-deep, and extremely smelly water in order to avoid the Birth Canal, which was actually much worse than doing the squeeze!)

This photo shows me doing the technical traverse over "McCollum's Pit" in Sentinel Cave in 1997, which is located in the Guadalupe Mountains (Lincoln National Forest) of southern New Mexico. (That's Rod, who led the thing -- being a much-better climber than I -- on the left.) The pit is reportedly 70' deep, and there aren't a lot of positive holds on the traverse until you get around the corner; thus I was pretty gripped-up, despite being clipped into the fixed rope. I've been in Sentinel three times, although the last time I was so on-edge about all the exposure that I didn't even bother doing the long rappel to the bottom and climbing up into Shield City. These days, Sentinel is simply too much adventure for me -- I burn up so much nervous energy in the cave that I'm absolutely wasted by the end of the hike back to camp.

This picture illustrates how cavers get back up a rope after first rappelling down it: by using mechanical ascenders. We've never been sophisticated enough to get into fancy rope-walker set-ups; instead, we've always used the basic "frog" configuration, with one handled ascender and another, non-handled ascender mounted on the chest and attached to the harness. My set-up wasn't well-adjusted on this particular day in Chimney Cave (in Carlsbad Caverns National Park) -- leaving me ascending only about a foot per throw -- but since the ascent is only about 50', it hardly mattered.

This photo shows me rappelling down the entrance to Helen's Cave, located in Slaughter Canyon at Carlsbad Caverns National Park. I'm using the set-up that most cavers seem to favor -- a rappel "rack" with several brake bars both to create friction and dissipate heat.

We don't do much caving these days, outside of taking scouts to Alabaster Cave and Ft. Stanton Cave. Rod wants to go back to Ft. Stanton soon; his son Jimmy is a police officer working on the demolition squad, and he and a couple of his co-workers want to go through "Satan's Shoefly" (a long, tight squeeze that I won't even try) as part of their "confined space" training. Rod has also made noises about going back to Sentinel Cave and Deep Cave (located in Carlsbad Caverns National Park but accessible only through the Guads from the northwest), which has a 300' drop close to the entrance, but I hope he never does; the thrill of doing long vertical caving has long since worn off for me, and all that's left is the sphincter-clenching terror.

The Abortion Conundrum

I've given the topic of abortion considerable thought, and although I agree in general with the LDS position that it is a sin "like unto" murder, I do see a few shades of gray around the margins. I start with the opposite extremes. On one hand, I think all reasonable people should be able to agree that there's nothing particularly magical about a fertilized egg that warrants granting it the same legal status as a human being; otherwise, using an intrauterine device (IUD) -- which, logically, doesn't prevent fertilization of the egg, but only its implantation in the womb* -- for contraception would have to be considered the same thing as having an abortion. (And I daresay there are tens of thousands of temple-recommend-holding Mormon women who use, or have used, IUDs.) On the other hand, I also think all reasonable people should be able to agree that late-term abortions are absolutely inexcusable, given (a) the brutality and inhumanity associated with the notion of destroying a viable or near-viable human fetus, and (b) the inherent difficulty of distinguishing, for practical purposes, between a late-term fetus and a newborn baby.

The real policy question, therefore, is where to draw the line in the middle. In general, I think it is morally wrong to terminate a pregnancy intentionally, although there are three major exceptions. The first and most obvious is a clear and present danger to a pregnant woman's life, although I think such situations are much more rare than the pro-choice crowd would acknowledge.. The second (and almost equally obvious) is rape, including statutory rape. Some people might say that a baby is a baby, no matter what the circumstances of its conception; however, I look at pregnancy in terms of personal responsibility, and the idea of compelling a woman to give birth to a child she was forced to conceive (or who had no legal capacity to consent to the act whereby it was conceived) smacks too much of slavery, however noble it might be for her to go ahead and carry it to term. Therefore, I believe that rape victims should have an unqualified right to have abortions, at least in the first trimester (although one hopes that they would have the presence of mind to visit the hospital after the trauma, which I understand would do a D&C as a matter of course to prevent pregnancy).

(By the way, I'm a little torn on the subject of pregnancy resulting from incest, at least insofar as it doesn't also involve statutory rape. I think, based on my [admittedly limited] science background, that the traditional fear of birth defects resulting from inbreeding is generally unwarranted, at least across one generation. However, given that incest naturally rips families apart, I can see how abortion might help to ameliorate the damage to relationships. Nonetheless, on balance, given my tendency to regard the issue in terms of individual responsibility, I believe that pregnancies resulting from consensual relationships, even incestuous ones, should not be terminated.)

The third exception would be cases where the fetus isn't developing normally and has been determined to have defects that will cause it to die outside the womb in any case. (Note that I don't include Downs Syndrome as a defect warranting abortion; not only do I believe that Downs babies are worth saving, but I'm not sure where one would otherwise draw the line in the quest for "designer babies.")

Having stated my position, however, I do think that an abortion performed in the first six weeks of pregnancy is slightly less objectionable, morally, than a late-term abortion. They may both be sins in the eyes of God, but somehow the first doesn't seem as, well, irresponsible as the second.

As far as Roe v. Wade goes, I admit I regard it as judicial over-reaching at its worst. It is true that its being overturned would have little practical effect, given the mobility of present-day American society and widespread public approval of expansive abortion rights; in other words, it wouldn't make much difference if some states outlawed abortion, since others would undoubtedly legalize it, and it's a simple, relatively inexpensive matter nowadays to travel to another state. (Also, one has to think that modern technology or pharmacology will come up with "cleaner," earlier ways to terminate pregnancies that won't involve clinics, or possibly even doctors.) However, I heartily disagree with people who believe that abortion isn't a moral issue or that it doesn't have societal implications; the debate goes on, and rightfully so.

* I understand that medical opinion generally holds that IUDs actually -- magically -- prevent the very occurrence of conception, despite the fact that they are undeniably an effective post-conception abortifacient. It all sounds like a lot of wishful thinking to me.

Pinochet and the Saving of Chile

If you've read previous posts on this blog, you know I served as a Mormon missionary in Chile in 1979-80, which was during the halcyon days of the military dictatorship headed up by Augusto Pinochet Ugarte. (His maternal surname always reminds me of Peter Lorre's character in Casablanca: "Reeck! You must help me! Re-e-eck!") I feel like I have a pretty balanced opinion of Pinochet (pronounced pee-no-CHET, not pee-no-SHAY), although most Americans, having been spoon-fed a most unsavory image of the man by the mainstream media, would regard me as a right-wing nutball for not completely condemning him as the devil incarnate.

Let me say this: to the extent Pinochet's government tortured and murdered people (especially in extra-territorial operations, such as the Prats and Letelier murders), I do condemn him. Furthermore, it was while living under his government's austere, laissez-faire economic system -- in which the middle class rapidly dissipated, effectively leaving three social classes: the rich, the poor, and the desperate -- that I first realized what untrammeled capitalism does to a society and the people in it. (I once had a conversation with an educated Chilean woman of German descent about Pinochet's economic advisors, the notorious "Chicago Boys"; she advised me that for most Chileans the first syllable was silent. [Inside joke.])

However, that having been said, today's Chile owes Pinochet a debt of gratitude for having almost single-handedly preserved the underpinnings of democratic government in Chile at a time when they were severely threatened. Though many now pooh-pooh the notion, Pinochet prevented the advent of a Cuba-like wasteland envisioned by Salvador Allende, the democratically elected but still diabolical Marxist president whom he ousted in the now-infamous 1973 coup de etat. (Even in 1980, when a constitution was ratified consolidating power in the military, there was no doubt that eventually Pinochet would allow free elections. Can anyone see that happening in Cuba anytime soon?)

What really bugs me, notwithstanding the reported crimes of the Pinochet regime, is the great number of dictators (generally left-wing, of course) whose crimes are much worse, but who don't have nearly as much opprobrium heaped on them. That suggests to me that crimes against humanity aren't, finally, the issue, whereas ideology is. Thus Pinochet's greatest crime in the world's eyes appears to be his having thwarted Allende's Marxist designs, and the rest is mere window dressing.

Polygamy

I've always had a sore spot in my heart for polygamy. Even today, more than 115 years after the LDS church officially abolished the practice of "plural marriage," it is the one thing that non-Mormons associate most closely with the religion. Personally, I have difficulty accepting the notion that it was ever an inspired doctrine; from my perspective it looks like an oppressive custom embraced by a benighted people in a horribly sexist age. (I've often contemplated the mass distaff revolt or defection that would occur were the church leadership to attempt to revive the practice today.)

The Book of Mormon contains an ambiguous (and virtually impenetrable) passage concerning the taking of multiple wives: "Wherefore, my brethren, hear me, and hearken to the word of the Lord: For there shall not any man among you have save it be one wife; and concubines he shall have none; for I, the Lord God, delight in the chastity of women. And whoredoms are an abomination before me; thus saith the Lord of Hosts. Wherefore, this people shall keep my commandments, saith the Lord of Hosts, or cursed be the land for their sakes. For if I will, saith the Lord of Hosts, raise up seed unto me, I will command my people; otherwise they shall hearken unto these things." (Jacob 2:27-30.) Of course, Joseph Smith later received the revelation that became Section 132 of the Doctrine and Covenants, in which the Lord putatively did just what Jacob said he might: command his people -- at least, some of the men -- to take multiple spouses, presumably to raise up seed unto him.

The practice began secretively while the church was still based in Nauvoo, Illinois, and it didn't become a public matter until after Joseph was assassinated in 1844 and most of the remaining Saints had migrated west to Utah. Thereafter, the church engaged in it openly for several decades, until Congress passed various statutes outlawing it, which statutes were later upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court (thus giving rise to the constitutional maxim that the First Amendment protects only religious belief, not necessarily religious practice). The church leadership eventually realized what was going to happen if they didn't jettison polygamy, although the idea that men, at least those who attain exaltation (i.e., godhood), will have many wives in the Celestial Kingdom appears to be a doctrine of the church to this day, albeit one that isn't discussed much.

What to make of all this? I've had several long talks with my brothers about polygamy, and they insist that it was necessary, for a time only, to ensure the survival of the church at a time when great persecution was causing the menfolk to die off and leaving many more single women and widows than there were corresponding adult males. That may be true, but it doesn't explain why Joseph was reportedly wedding some women whose husbands were very much alive at the time, and it also doesn't explain why church authorities at one time tried to justify polygamy on practical grounds as being superior in various ways to monogamy. (In other words, it was never presented as a necessary evil, however much we'd like to regard it as such now.)

I've read a few books by the famous Mormon scholar (or apologist, as you will) Hugh Nibley, and he often went on about the Law of Parsimony (a/k/a Occam's Razor), which, in short, postulates that the simplest explanation for any phenomenon is probably the closest to the truth. What, then, is the simplest explanation for the early Mormons' practice of polygamy? Well, from where I stand it is simply that Joseph needed a plausible means of justifying his roving eye -- and there could be no better way than to have a revelation ordering him to take more wives. Heck, how could any Mormon woman resist such a proposition made under the aegis of divine edict?

Of course, this could present a problem to anyone who believes Joseph was a prophet of God and his instrument for bringing to pass the restoration of the fullness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I still have faith in that proposition, but it's apparent to me that Joseph wasn't the near-perfect individual portrayed in all the airbrushed accounts of his life that the church endorses (tacitly or otherwise). As for the practical, natural consequences of plural marriage, I think one needn't look further than the various apostate, polygamy-centered "Mormon" sects that survive to this day: they don't advocate outright chattel slavery, but they do effect a pretty close approximation of it.

Arizona's Kartchner Caverns State Park

Members of my family did the two public tours at Kartchner Caverns (KC), near Benson, Arizona, on the afternoon of January 3, 2008. Dorine, our daughter Kiley, and I did the "Big Room" tour, and our daughter Kristy and her kids Nicole, Zach, and Alexis did the "Rotunda Room" tour. It is a nice cave, with some very pretty and interesting formations, and the state has done an impressive job of developing the cave for public use while still preserving the underground environment. In terms of scale, KC appears to be about an order of magnitude smaller than Carlsbad Caverns, although it's hard to gauge how grand the former is from just one half-mile walking tour. I would place it roughly on par with Slaughter Canyon Cave in Carlsbad Caverns National Park, although Slaughter Canyon Cave still has much-larger and prettier formations than anything I saw in the "Big Room" in KC. Reportedly, KC has a more-varied mineralogy than all but a few caves in the world, but it must be said that if it had been discovered in New Mexico (which has many more cave resources than Arizona), it would not have been deemed of sufficient interest for public-use development, and thus it would almost certainly be in the domain of the BLM and visited still by only a few well-connected cavers. Truth be told, no cave in New Mexico will ever be developed again in the same way as KC or Carlsbad Caverns.

(By the way, I am certainly related to the Kartchners who originally owned the land, and for whom the cave and park are named, as we all are descended from William Decatur Kartchner, my great-great grandfather; however, I'm not sure of the exact relationship, as it isn't very close. They're probably my third cousins once-removed or something, and, since I don't really even know all of my first cousins....)