ON A ROLL or DAD’S GERMAN VW BUG

   Dad had returned from Europe with a new VW, a shiny red Bug. Wow! A Bug! VW Bugs were taking the USA by storm. This car was his pride and joy.

Francis with his dad's red VW Bug.

On rare occasions he would let me drive it, if I promised to keep it in showroom condition. My good friend, Paul Evans, was impressed. His dad had a small Fiat that he would race through “The River Bottoms.”  He couldn’t wait to introduce me and the VW to his favorite racetrack.

    Winding through its curves, adrenalin pumping, tires squealing, was a real rush! As time went by we were only satisfied with more speed, more G’s, and the feel of the Bug’s back end sliding out on the curves. We thought we were great drivers! Dad had asked, “Why are the tires wearing out on the sides?” The Red VW would become one of his great mortal trials.

   The night of BY High’s Homecoming celebration I offered a good friend, Paul Denham, center on our State Championship basketball team, a demo jaunt through the River Bottoms. The excitement was impressive as we leaned into the curves, our hearts pounding, lunging ahead with each shift of the gears. We were on a roll and also totally unaware that down the S-curved road about half a mile a gravel truck had lost its load. We hit the curve and the gravel at top speed. The Bug slid across the road sideways, hit an irrigation ditch and rolled twice into a hay field. Fortunately we were strapped in tight.

   We unbuckled, got out of the car, looked ourselves over for damage, and found none. I couldn’t say as much for Dad’s new VW. There was hardly a spot on it that wasn’t scratched or dented.

     The car started up and we got it back on the road, but as we began the long drive for home we soon discovered that along with other problems the back axle was bent. We bounced along, up and down, up and down. Our top speed was now just 10 miles an hour. We stood around for several hours at the garage where our friend, Paul Evans, worked. It was hard to know where to begin fixing the Bug. We decided it was definitely a job for the professionals.

   Climbing the stairs that night at 1:00 in the morning to tell Dad what had happened to his prize import was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. After making sure I was ok, he groaned, “We can fix it, but it will never be the same.”

  

FINANCIAL BIG SHOTS or BIG MONEY

NICE TOYS EQUALS "MUST WORK"

        By the time Stewart and I were sixteen we both had Vespa motor scooters, and both got jobs working at JC Penney’s on Center Street in Provo.

JC Penney's store in late 1950s

        We got up before it was light and buzzed off to work, running every stop light along the way. There we swept the floors, cleaned the bathrooms, emptied the trash cans and washed the front door windows all in time to make it to our first class at BY High. A year later we were both working in the kitchen at Eldered Care Center, loading food trays and washing dishes. I continued to spend a big chunk of the money we earned on religious books.

Eldred Center rest home in South Provo

        Next Stewart landed a car route delivering the Deseret News through the River Bottoms and up Provo Canyon to Wild Wood. After he graduated from High School I took over his route and delivered the papers on my Vespa.

INVESTMENT CLUB or FINANCIAL BIG SHOTS

        Stewart was a good friend and an ambitious worker. Under Stewart’s leadership a group of us organized a club called “Young Investors.” It wouldn’t be long before we would all be driving Corvettes, so we thought.

1961 Corvette

        We each put in $200 and began investing. We followed penny stocks in the newspapers, found one we liked, and visited in the Salt Lake Penny Stock Exchange. They refused to sell us anything. They said we were too young. 

Salt Lake Stock & Mining Exchange - Salt Lake City, UT

        We later bought stock in a movie company that was making a movie about the Mormons crossing the Colorado River at “Hole in the Rock.” It went bankrupt.

"Hole in the Rock" Pioneers. painting by Lynn Griffin.

       We paid the back taxes on a piece of salt grass property near Goshen. We felt like bigshots standing on the County Courthouse steps and bidding on tax sale property. It turned out the title was disputed. The Park Service claimed ownership. Bummer.

Utah County Court House, Provo, UT

        Our last investment before leaving for missions was a loan to the Southam Mining Company. It seemed Mr. Southam was sending out his own missionary and was short on cash. We looked for big returns from “The Man Upstairs.” Maybe we’ll collect in Heaven!

        Toward the end of my Junior year at BY High, some members of our investment club encouraged me to run for student body president. With this group of "Winners" backing me, how could I lose?

Francis standing next to his campaign sign. His sister, Kay, made the poster.

        Our platform was "The Big Deal." We all dressed like gangsters from the '30s in double-breasted, pinstripe suits and carried violin cases. We used Ray Ashby's brother's Model A as a backdrop.

1930s Ford Model A.

         I climbed the old metal fire escape to the second floor platform, and gave my passionate campaign speech to the gawking crowd below. When the votes were counted, the Young Investors finally prevailed. I got the job!

BY High Executive Officers, 1962-1963.

      What became of the Young Investors? We served missions all over the world, got married, and after college each of us was successful in our own way. Stewart Grow became a real estate developer; Paul Hoskisson became a professor of Ancient Scriptures; Ray Ashby became a Seminary principal; Joe Clark became a teacher; Steve Grow became a lawyer, and I became a Seminary principal, and then an Elementary School teacher.

ROAD RASH ON A SHINY NEW VESPA

Vespa 150

    Ash Avenue was buzzing with the sound of Vespa motor scooters. All of us got our drivers licenses about the same time and all of us “Ash Ave” boys bought Vespas: Paul Gilbert, Phil Swensen, Joe Clark, Kim Bateman, Emery Smith, Jan Henderson, Stewart Grow, George Taylor, and yours truly! It was almost comical to see us all arrive at BYU High, flip up our kickstands, grab our books, and head for class. We were cool, and that was for sure. I bought mine for about $600. It had extra equipment which made it just a little cooler than the rest.

    To make the payments I worked as an early morning janitor for JC Penney’s. Then I worked in the kitchen at a rest home. And finally I took over Stewart Grow’s car route, delivering papers for the Deseret News. There was a gas allowance for the car route, but using my economical scooter put extra bucks in my pocket.

1950s Deseret News masthead

    The paper route covered the River Bottoms and went all the way up Provo Canyon to Wildwood.

Wildwood community in Provo Canyon

Off and on my brother Russ would ride on the back and stuff the rolled papers into Deseret News tubes alongside the road. His reward was usually a pop or a milk shake at the Riverside Café near Vivian Park.

    One sunny Saturday Joe Clark and I took a road trip to Salt Lake on our shiny new Vespas. My 150 was a beautiful blue and Joe's 125 was a boring tan. We went by way of Camp Williams on Redwood Road to avoid the heavier, faster traffic.

Camp Williams on Redwood Road near Bluffdale, UT

     On the long straight hill just past Camp Williams we decided to see just how fast these babies could go. By crouching low we might be able to bury the needle at 65 mph. Joe was just ahead of me with our scooters whining at top RPMs. I was determined to make up the distance when suddenly a large German Shepherd bounded onto the road chasing Joe's scooter.

German Shepherd loving the chase

    It must not have seen me because it ran right into my front wheel. The next thing I knew I was flying through the air looking up at my scooter cartwheeling above me. The scooter hit the road in front of me showering me with sparks as it slid down the rough pavement.

With no helmet I followed, sliding from shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and elbow to elbow, until finally coming to rest in the middle of the road. My clothes were shredded, my upper body covered with road rash.

A passerby in his car stopped and came to my aid. I was taken to a local clinic and hosed down with disinfectant. It felt like I had been set on fire. Still in shock, I can't recall how I got home.

    One month and eighty dollars worth of repairs later, I was back on the road. I still have small scars on my shoulders, hips and elbows where the road sanded me down. Looking back I was lucky, or blessed, not to have been seriously injured. In those days only dorks wore helmets!  

SIXTY MILES ON A THREE-SPEED

   

Stewart Grow

    Have you ever been around someone who was always smiling, always friendly, always had a project cooking, and could only see the good in life? Well, I was lucky enough to have one right through the block. His name was Stewart Grow. He was a grade older than me but we were good friends and did a lot together.

    His dad had a fruit orchard a couple of blocks from us, as the bird flies. Speaking of birds, it was in this orchard that I had the troubling experience of shooting a small bird with my BB gun. At the top end of his orchard were some very tall cherry trees. They must have been around for at least 50 years. In late June half the boys in the neighborhood would pick cherries from these trees to make a few bucks. It was there, scouring the high cherry tree branches, that Stewart found the perfect spot for a tree house. It was high and so secluded that you couldn't see it from the ground. Good for keeping out girls and other unwanted pests.

Tree house

    As the summer passed, the tree house took shape. We had a ball measuring, cutting and pounding. It had windows, a roof, a trap door, and even an escape rope in case we needed a quick getaway. There was just enough room for two snoozers. It did get a little spooky when the wind came up and the branches rocked and swayed. Sleep was hard to come by knowing how far off the ground we were.

    In the same orchard the Grows kept a horse which his dad would saddle up occasionally and let us trot around the fenced pasture. This inspired me to begin saving up for my own horse. I even asked Stewart's dad if I could keep it in his pasture. As time went by I lost interest in getting my own horse. It was just as much fun to ride Stewart's and a heck of a lot cheaper!


PUMPING FOR OUR LIVES or CYCLING MERIT BADGE

    I don't remember going to Cub Scouts, but Stewart kept me going in the Boy Scout Program. Another friend, Paul Gilbert, just two houses up Ash Avenue, had the full uniform which displayed every patch, pin, badge, and trinket available. He even had his official Boy Scout pocket knife with a dozen secret blades hanging from his official Boy Scout belt. Stewart and I didn't have all the bells and whistles that Paul had, but I owe whatever badges and ranks I achieved to Stewart because most of the time he would include me in his plans.

Boy Scout Merit badges 1958-1960

    By far the most memorable badge we worked on together was Cycling. We studied the manual and became experts at patching tubes, fixing chains and keeping our 3-speed Schwinns in top condition. We planned a bike trip to pump the 60 miles from Provo to Lagoon via Stewart's grandma's house in Bountiful. We would stay the night, hit Lagoon in the morning, and then set out for my Grandpa's farm in Morgan. We pored over maps finding the best and safest back roads to follow.

Schwinn 3-speed bike

    Bright and early on a sumer morning we left at first light, happy to hit the road. We pumped along Geneva Road, past the Lehi Brick Plant and on to Redwood Road at the foot of the Ochre Mountains. By the time we started up toward Camp Williams, the sun was up and starting to bore into us. Even with our 3 gears the climb was exhausting. By the time we reached the summit our water supply was gone along with our strength. It would be a thrill coasting all the way down the hill to Riverton.

Camp Williams, Utah

     Oh no! Just as we hit top speed on the way down, Stewart's bag of essential supplies fell off his bike and skidded down the road. Pumping back up hill the ¼ mile to retrieve it was a chore. From there it was a straight shot the next 35 miles to Bountiful. It wasn't part of the plan, but our trip took on a new pattern. We would pump like crazy and stop at a Dairy Queen to recover.

1950s Dairy Queen stand

     Then we were jetting off to the next Tastee-Freeze and so on, and so on, and so on. It turned out to be a very hot day and the root beer, burgers and milk shake stops were our salvation. By the time we left North Salt Lake and passed the airport we were in the desert. For the next 6 miles we felt like Omar Sharif in Lawrence of Arabia. No more refreshing Dairy Queens, no more nothings!

1950s Tastee-Freez stand

  

    We had made a foolish mistake. We felt we were so close to Bountiful we didn't need to refill our water bottles. We had been lulled into complacency by all the available pit stops. We were sure there would be more on the last lap to Bountiful. But no such luck! With tongues hanging out like two dying desert rats we pumped on. The lines in the road began to squiggle like spaghetti noodles, and the heat waves coming off the road created the illusion of lakes of water. I think we were losing it!

    Off the road to our left we spotted a farm house about half mile of dirt road away. It would take us extra time to pump our bikes that way but we had no choice. We had to have water. The place turned out to be a dump with nobody home, but we were able to find an outside faucet and at least quench our thirst.

Lagoon Amusement Park, Farmington, UT,  in the 1950s

    By the time we finally turned east and began the last stretch to Bountiful we were spent! The idea of resting a bit at Stewart's grandma's house and then heading on to Lagoon was out of the question. We were done, finished, dead in the saddle. A phone call home brought Stewart's mother, driving her big station wagon to haul us and our bikes back to Provo. We didn't plan any more bike trips for a long, long time. But by darn, we had earned our Cycling Merit Badge!

Boy Scout Cycling Merit Badge 1959

THE THREE NEPHITES

        The Book of Mormon was coming alive! I could feel a connection with the writers, and the

The Book of Mormon in the Triple Combination of Scriptures

more I read the more I wanted to be like them. I was a freshman in High School, taking Seminary from Brother Anderson who had challenged us to read the book “saved by angels just for our time.” Sacred feelings held deep inside of me were beginning to surface. Every time I opened the Book of Mormon I was overwhelmed with God’s closeness and His love for me.

THE THREE NEPHITES

George Taylor

Francis Rogers

Steve Gulbrandsen

       My good friends, George Taylor and Steve Gulbrandsen, were having the same new experience. We would find a quite spot where we could eat lunch and discuss what we were learning and share the feelings we were experiencing while studying the Book of Mormon. We were so excited that Brother Anderson jokingly referred to us as the “Three Nephites.”

        Things started changing at home as well. I needed a quiet sanctuary to pray, read, and meditate. This was not easily come by in our busy household. From my paper route money I saved for a quality speaker to put in my room. I found just what I wanted at Wakefield’s Appliance Store on University Avenue. It cost me about $80, a big chunk of change in those days. I ran wires from our music console in the living room to the speaker in my bedroom in the basement. I invested in inspirational records from the BYU Bookstore. Their quiet music could be piped down into my “meditation chamber.”

Francis's original copy of the Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage

        I bought Jesus the Christ and the Articles of Faith, and began my own collection of good books. I also purchased a 16x20” painting of Christ to hang on my bedroom wall.

Francis bought a copy of this painting. "The Head of Christ" by Walter Sallman. 1940.

        And finally, I installed a deadbolt lock on my bedroom door for privacy. It was during this highly spiritual time in my life that I received my patriarchal blessing at the hands of Theras Orson Allred, Patriarch of the Sharon East Stake in Provo.

        Over the next few years we studied the Doctrine and Covenants, Church History, and the Old and New Testaments. This short period in our lives provided a spiritual foundation and gave us building blocks for the future. Steve Gulbrandsen became an international banker and influenced people for good all around the world, while George Taylor served as an administrator with the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Mission President in Las Vegas, and is currently a Stake Patriarch in Orem, Utah. I spent ten years as an Indian Seminary Principal in New Mexico and Utah doing my best to help bring about the “Day of the Lamanite.” It was great having two dedicated friends who influenced my life in such a positive way!