GIANT JUMPING TOAD OF WHITEROCK SWAMP

Large Sonoran Desert Toad.

       You’d think if you were a toad, you wouldn’t pick a desolate place like the New Mexico badlands to set up residence. Nevertheless, there was a large community of these amphibians nestled near an artesian swamp close by the abandoned trading post the elders called home. Who knows, maybe Whiterock, New Mexico, was the Palm Springs of the toad kingdom.

Olympic Insignia 1952

      The toads didn’t seem to mind the sulfur water. In fact, they thrived on it. Evidently the extra minerals helped them become larger and stronger than normal. You might even say they were Olympians: "Higher, Stronger, Faster" was their motto. The muscular giants were not easy to catch. They could leap long distances in a single bound. But it wouldn’t be long before one of these athletic leapers would help us out with an important, upcoming event.

      Meanwhile, there was an item owned by a few Elders and coveted by the rest of us that was quickly rising on the “must have” list. The object of our affection was a small battery-powered, reel-to-reel tape recorder. Not only could it play missionary discussions in Navajo, but it could also capture the unique sounds of life on the reservation. Those listening at home could vicariously experience washboard roads, sheep bleating, dogs barking, and their own missionary speaking Navajo with the locals. We thought sending tapes home would be much more interesting than letters.

1960's GE Portable Reel-to-reel Tape recorder

      As it turned out a few weeks prior to being transferred from Whiterock to Crownpoint, a package arrived at the trading post. Wow! A package from home. That was unexpected! My excitement mounted as I cut through the strong tape. pulled back the cardboard flaps and hurriedly dug through the stuffing. Finally I withdrew a beautiful box displaying a picture of a reel-to-reel tape recorder. My, my, my – just what the doctor ordered! I couldn’t believe my parents would spring for such an expensive gift. Of course I kept the box.

        Elder Bruce Cameron, our District Leader, had expressed on many occasions his desire to have just such a devise, but as of yet his parents hadn’t given in. But now that he and I were companions we could share my recorder and both send interesting tapes home to our families. Being one of the best Navajo speakers in the mission, Elder Cameron took the time to record each of the missionary discussions on my small reels. What a guy! These tapes would be a valuable tool in teaching those who couldn’t speak English.

Post Office Box with Combination Dial

      Stopping at Crownpoint’s quaint little post office was always on our to-do-list. You never knew. There just might be a letter from family, friends, or the mission home. After carefully working the combination dial on the small mail box the door popped open revealing a single letter. “A letter from the Mission President,” Elder Cameron announced. This was followed by, “Mmm, I don't believe it!” as he read through the letter's contents. “We’re both being transferred! Shortly after I get back from teaching Navajo School, I’m off to the Mission Home in Holbrook for training as a Zone Leader, and you will be going to Borrego Pass with Elder Mike Stanley. While I’m away, the two of you will be covering both of your areas.” I’d enjoyed working with my old high school buddy for the past three months, but now he was moving on to greater responsibilities. Being appointed as a Zone Leader was definitely an honor.

Holbrook, Arizona, where Mission Home for the Southwest Indian Mission was located. 1960s.

      Early Monday morning Elder Cameron threw his gear into the back of Coyote Canyon’s truck, and he and Elder Stanley’s companion were off to Navajo School. I’d looked forward to working with Elder Stanley ever since I’d met him nine months earlier. He was a hardworking elder with limitless energy and a great sense of humor. We moved from assignment to assignment like busy beavers, hardy finishing one task before we were onto the next. Elder Stanley's fun personality kept me smiling and laughing as we worked our way through each day.

Elder Mike Stanley on horseback in front of the Crownpoint Elders trailer.

      The week was flying by quickly and it wouldn’t be long before Elder Cameron was back. There were plans to be made for his going-away party. We invited the Crownpoint Sisters to meet us at the chapel for a brainstorming session. Elder Cameron had led us to spiritual highs, but for this particular occasion we chose to focus on his playful nature and great sense of humor.

      The planning began in earnest. Those in our District would congregate thirty miles north of Crownpoint at the Elders’ trading post abode in Whiterock. There were some unusual rock formations in the area that would make for an exciting activity. The Sisters would prepare one of their delicious meals, and Elder Stanley and I would be in charge of parting gifts. Being a bit on the mischievous side, the Sisters confided in us their wicked little plot. They planned to make two small cakes, one with chocolate icing (Elder Cameron’s favorite) and another with white icing. They would load the chocolate iced cake with an abundance of X-lax (a chocolate-flavored fast acting laxative). The Sisters were giggling and laughing so hard they could hardly finish explaining their impish scheme. Whiterock was not the place to be if you had the runs! The toilet facilities were rather primitive.

Chocolate Cake with thick chocolate icing.

      The big day arrived. The Sisters had outdone themselves. The main course didn’t disappoint. Their Island cuisine was SOOOO delicious! The group could hardly wait to see what they had cooked up for dessert. Two cakes were unveiled and of course Elder Cameron was served a very large slice covered high in chocolate icing. Being on the Sisters’ good side we were served the cake with white icing. Of course we held back eating it until we saw the Sisters dig into their slices of cake, just in case they had a double-cross in mind!

      With dinner and desert out of the way it was time to surprise Elder Cameron with some parting gifts. Here the plot thickens. Remember the recorder box I saved and the big toads by the nearby swamp? Well, Elder Stanley and I caught the largest, most athletic toad we could find and carefully tucked it away in the recorder box. We then wrapped it beautifully with paper just transparent enough to make out the recorder image on the box. Then adding an attractive bow as a final touch we were ready.  Elder Cameron’s eyes grew large as he held up the package and strained to see through the thin paper. “Oh! You shouldn’t have! – I can’t believe you would –" were the sentiments being expressed as he tore off the wrapping paper revealing a box for a reel-to-reel tape recorder. With elevated excitement he lifted the lid exposing – not a recorder – but the largest Olympian toad ever seen in these parts! With a loud "ORK!" it leaped high and far, possibly setting a long-jump record. Everyone had a good laugh including Elder Cameron who took it all in good fun. We then showered him with other nice, but less expensive presents.

     

Valley of Dreams, Whiterock, New Mexico.

      Now it was time for our Super Activity – rock climbing, and leaping across chasms twenty to thirty feet deep. We couldn’t wait! Loading into our trucks we headed for the rock formations. As Elder Cameron squatted for launch, straining every muscle for takeoff, it wasn’t a loud ORK that sent him jetting over the chasm. Skidding to a sudden stop on the other side he exclaimed, “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I had diarrhea!”

Goodbye, Elder Cameron!

     Fifty years later I met up with Bruce Cameron and his family in Salt Lake City. His beautiful wife had just starred in a reunion performance of the well-known King Sisters Cousins. He introduced me to his wife and family saying, “This is the missionary companion I’ve told you about. You know, the present with the giant toad!”

     

BOUNTY HUNTERS

Alias Smith and Jones - or Rogers and Cameron

 

      BAM, BAM, BAM! ….. BAM, BAM, BAM!!! …. “What the ….?””Who the ….?” BAM, BAM, BAM, again! Our flimsy trailer door rattled with every insistent pound. It was after 11 p.m. and well past the time Elders should be in bed. I rolled out of my cozy sleeping bag on the couch, felt my way to the door, opened it a crack and peeked out. There stood our Crownpoint LDS Branch President. “Mission messenger service with an urgent request for Elder Cameron,” he said with a smile.

      By now Elder Cameron was coming out of the bedroom, almost awake. “It seems your Elders in Thoreau have gone off the grid,” continued the Branch President. “They won’t answer letters or return phone calls from the Mission President. He wants you to drive over there first thing in the morning and see what’s going on. That’s it. Message delivered. Now I’m going home to bed!”  He then added, “Aren’t you lucky, Elder Cameron. You’re the District Leader and responsible for the Elders and Sisters in your District.” And with a playful salute he disappeared into the night. “Will do! Message received!” Elder Cameron called after him.

      The Senior Companion in Thoreau was an exuberant, outgoing soul from Trinidad. Not answering letters or phone calls from the Mission President was definitely out of character! President Baird was a well-respected spiritual leader. When he made a request we went out of our way to make it happen. 

Red cliffs of Thoreau, New Mexico

              Early the next morning we were up and out the door eager to help solve the mystery. Thoreau was 30 miles south of Crownpoint. Thirty miles of real paved road winding its way out of the hills and canyons, and T-boning into Route 66, the famous east-west highway from Chicago to Santa Monica, California. It wasn’t long before we turned off the pavement and bounced our way into the small reservation settlement. What a beautiful location, with green fields bumping up against red sandstone cliffs. As we approached the elders’ small trailer there were no obvious signs of activity. Their truck was gone and a padlock hung from the trailer’s door latch. Hmm, what now? Where do we begin our search?

An old house 1960's trailer near Thoreau.

      The Trading Post was always a great place to start. Traders usually knew everyone in their small community. When we asked him if he had seen the Mormon Elders recently he said that they had stopped by earlier to gas up their truck. “Did they say anything about where they were headed?” we asked. “I heard them talking about going to Albuquerque,” he replied. “Do you know anyone nearby who might know the nature of their trip?” we continued. “The LDS Branch President works at the Elementary school down the road. Maybe he can help you out,” he said. Then wishing us good luck the trader turned to help a customer.

Old Trading Post at Thoreau, New Mexico

      Our conversation with the Thoreau Branch president was eye opening to say the least! The Elders had basically given up doing missionary work a couple of weeks ago. Since then they had been hanging out with a lady and her young son. The Branch President had been concerned enough to alert the Mission President but the situation hadn’t changed. When we asked him about the Elders’ trip to Albuquerque he just smiled and shook his head. The Elders had become this lady’s personal taxi service. If it wasn’t Albuquerque, it was Gallup, Grants, Window Rock, or anywhere she wanted them to take her. The Mission rules clearly stated that missionaries were not to leave their area without permission.

      As we left the Branch President it was easy to see why President Baird was so concerned. In the silence that followed we both had the same thought, “What do we do now?” We could stay in Thoreau and wait for them to return. However, I pointed out that Albuquerque was over a hundred miles away and they most likely wouldn’t be back until late that evening.

City of Albuquerque, New Mexico. 1960s.

     Elder Cameron didn’t respond. He was staring in the direction of Albuquerque, stroking his chin, deep in thought. He suddenly grabbed my arm and announced, “We’re going to Albuquerque!” “Really?” I questioned. Drive a hundred miles and find them in a city of over three hundred thousand people? It would be like finding a needle in a haystack. “Jump in the truck, time is wasting!” Elder Cameron insisted in his most authoritative voice. “We’ll find the runaways and send them back to their area where they belong!” I thought to myself that it sounded a bit crazy, but he was the District Leader and must know something I didn’t.

Historic Route 66. New Mexico.

      The tires on our pickup truck hummed as we raced mile after mile eastward on Route 66. I hadn’t driven on this much paved road since I left home over a year ago. As we cruised along I tried to engage Elder Cameron in conversation about the “good old days” and our escapades at BY High, but it was like talking to a brick wall. He was totally focused on the task at hand. He was in the “Sherlock Zone.”

Acoma Pueblo, New Mexico.

      We passed several pueblo villages as we sped along. The Navajo Reservation was far behind us now. We had left it shortly after turning onto Route 66. After what seemed like hours of driving we finally crested the last hill and began the long descent into the big city. There sat Albuquerque spreading out for miles beneath the Sandia mountain range. Albuquerque, home of the University of New Mexico and their Lobo athletic teams.

City of Albuquerque, New Mexico, situated at the base of the Sandia mountain range.

      We worked our way through the crowded streets like hunting dogs hot on the trail. Where could they be? “Where would we be?” we asked ourselves. At a restaurant, we theorized, searching for great food, the kind you couldn’t find on the reservation. So where was the gourmet food district? Strangely, our question was answered almost immediately by a gas station attendant as he filled up our tank.

El Pinto Restaurant. Albuquerque, New Mexico.

       Fifteen minutes later we were cruising past the best dining establishments Albuquerque had to offer. Our eagle eyes squinted into parking lots surrounding the eateries. Time passed with no luck. Finding them was really a long shot. If they were nearby it shouldn’t be that hard to spot a mission truck with its shiny aluminum camper shell! We resorted to entering each parking lot to take a closer look. Still no luck. Just as we were beginning to doubt our course of action – miracle of miracles – there it was: a mission truck parked in the shadow of the finest upscale smorgasbord in town. On closer inspection our suspicions were confirmed. Pay dirt!

       The delicious aromas surrounding the restaurant were tempting me, but that wasn't why we were here. Our search was almost at an end. Stepping inside we began scanning the customers. "Over there!" Elder Cameron gestured. Sitting in a padded booth, laughing and enjoying plates loaded with every delicious tidbit known to man were the two delinquent Elders and their two guests, the lady and her young son. 

       Elder Cameron politely called the two Elders aside and wasted no words laying down the law. He then abruptly marched them to the nearest payphone and called the Mission Home. It took a few minutes before President Baird was on the line. After explaining the situation Elder Cameron handed the phone to the Senior Companion and said, “President Baird would like to speak with you.”

President, J. Edwin Baird. LDS Southwest Indian Mission.

      As it turned out they were instructed to return immediately to Thoreau, pack their bags and hustle their buns to the mission home in Holbrook, Arizona. There they would have a frank discussion with President Baird himself about keeping the mission rules. After they finished their meals, we escorted them to the edge of town where they began the long uphill climb out of Albuquerque, embarrassed, their pride wounded, and their tails dragging. Hopefully President Bard could help them refocus on missionary work.  

      Assignment completed! “What now, Elder Cameron?” I prodded. Following a thoughtful pause he spoke up. “Well, we can’t leave town without stuffing ourselves at that smorgasbord. The food looked incredible. But first I have to call my dad.” “What? Call your dad in Utah?” “No,” Elder Cameron reluctantly replied. “He’s here in town for the BYU–New Mexico football game.” “Your dad’s here in town? Right now? Today?" You’ve got to be kidding? I thought to myself.

Hotel Albuquerque - Old Town. Albuquerque, New Mexico.

      Back at the smorgasbord we stuffed ourselves to near bursting, before leaving to meet Elder Cameron’s dad at the team’s luxurious hotel. He was the Dean of Students at Brigham Young University and often traveled with the team. We visited for some time with Dean Cameron and his entourage. He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two VIP tickets to the big game. Well glory be! He just happened to have two extra tickets for the best seats in the stadium and here we were, two missionaries in Albuquerque, only 130 miles from our area. What incredible luck! The Lobos were BYU’s arch enemies! I’d watched the two schools battle it out for years.

University of New Mexico Lobos football helmet

Brigham Young University Cougars football helmet

      Well, as Paul Harvey would have said, “Now for the rest of the story.” I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard Elder Cameron regretfully inform his dad that in good conscience we couldn’t accept the tickets. We had come to Albuquerque at the request of our mission president and going to the game would be bad form. It was getting late and we had a long drive ahead of us. For a brief moment, Elder Cameron stood tall basking in his proud father's approval. It was obvious Dean Cameron admired his son's integrity. Loving goodbyes were exchanged. Turning to me Dean Cameron said he would call my parents when he got back to Provo and let them know he had visited with us in Albuquerque and all was well.

Dean J. Elliott Cameron

      As I pressed down on the gas pedal, accelerating up the long hill out of Albuquerque, I couldn’t help smiling. It was strange how things went down. Yup, very strange! The saying "Killing two birds with one stone" kept running through my mind. This would be a great story to tell someday. Ah, the irony, the irony!