SCAVANGERS

    

Turkey Vulture (Cathartes aura)

       “Hey! You boys better git down off that church roof before our menfolk gets home. You're liable to git shot!”

      From atop the roof I could see that a small group of women had gathered near the building. They weren’t happy. Not one bit. When I tried to explain that we had received permission from the Church Building Committee to salvage a few usable items for our small meeting hall in Borrego Pass, it fell on deaf ears. They didn’t want to hear about it.  I turned to Elder Stanley who was urgently unbolting the small copper steeple! “You better hurry. The natives are getting restless!” With a grunt, he muttered, “One more rusty bolt and we’ll be out of here.”

Old copper church steeple

      When Elder Stanley and I had approached Don Smouse, proprietor of the Borrego Pass Trading Post, about upgrading the room in which we were holding church services, he alerted us about an old unused chapel in the small town of Blue Water about forty miles away. It hadn’t been used in years and was wasting away. The doors had been left unlocked and it basically had become a place to play for the local children during the winter months. They were using the cultural hall for a roller-skating rink.

Old Blue Water Chapel as it looks today (2016). It has been sold to a family who is using it as a home and daycare center.

      Time had taken its toll on the old structure that had originally been constructed at great sacrifice by early settlers in the area. Ever since a new chapel had been built ten miles away in Grants, some of the “old timers” had held onto the idea that it should have been built in Blue Water. Evidently a burr was still festering under their saddle.

Freeway road sign for Blue Water Village, NM

      Upgrading our Borrego Pass meeting hall was number one on our bucket list of projects. We were on our second eighty-mile round trip to salvage what we could from the old building. The first time around, we had secured four small carved wooden benches, and the lettering that read “THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS” from the side of the building.  This was to be our final trip. We had already loaded two more benches, a podium, and a rolling blackboard, and were presently working on removing the quaint copper steeple. It was the last item we thought we could use. But if we didn’t get out of town soon we just might become the first Elders to be tarred and feathered by their own church members. Not exactly a good PR move!
 

Carved old wooden church pew

      “Got it!” Elder Stanley yelled. Like rats jumping from a burning building we scurried off the roof, ready to load up the steeple and hit the road. On the ground the steeple was much bigger than it had looked on the roof. It would never fit on the back of the truck. We didn’t have time to readjust the load before the “menfolk” would be arriving home. They could be here any minute. After a quick assessment we agreed to leave the steeple in the tall grass behind the building and retrieve it later.

      As we slowly began our drive out of town, we smiled and waved goodbye to the cluster of scowling women who were still standing near the dilapidated building and made our getaway. Elder Stanley and I looked at each other. We both had the same thought, “Why do we feel so guilty?" After all, we weren't criminals. We had received permission from the Church Building Committee!

Road from Thoreau to Borrego Pass, NM

      Racing along the roads back to Borrego Pass, we began reminiscing about a week spent together in Whiterock some months earlier. On one particular day we started out with a quick stop at the Lake Valley Boarding School before heading off to investigate a little used dirt road just south of the Chapter House. We traveled east across the desolate landscape in the direction of Chaco Canyon for what seemed like hours. Along the way we stopped more than once thinking maybe we should turn back, but it was obvious that someone had been using this road so they must live out here somewhere.

Desolate Navajo Reservation scenery near Lake Valley NM

      A short time later, after skirting sand dunes and dodging some very large boulders in the road, we found ourselves entering a small canyon. The steep sandstone walls narrowed as we carefully negotiated the rough road, curious to discover what lay ahead. To our surprise the canyon opened up revealing a picturesque valley protected on all sides by red cliffs. At the center of this tranquil scene was a Navajo camp laid out so perfectly it could have been featured on the cover of an Arizona Highways magazine.

Narrow canyon surrounded by red sandstone cliffs

      Below us near the crowded sheep pens, a group of fifteen to twenty men, women and children were busy shearing sheep and bagging the thick wool. No fancy tools for them! They were using handheld shears similar to large scissors. The friendly group invited us to join them. In no time we were busy trying our luck at shearing while a few youngsters held down the squirming animal. It turned out to be much harder than it looked. If we weren’t careful we would nick the sheep’s flesh in our attempt to cut away the wool.

Crowded sheep pen on the Navajo Reservation

Navajo women hand-shearing sheep in the traditional way.

      Our visit had provided a needed diversion from the family’s morning of hard work. They got a kick out of watching city slickers attempting to shear sheep and chuckled each time we spoke Navajo. Eventually we asked the family if we could teach them about Jesus Christ. They readily agreed, left the sheep, and gathered in a large wooden Hogan at the center of the camp.

Simple interior of a traditional Navajo hogan

      There wasn’t much inside: a handful of wooden chairs and a black wood-burning stove. It must have been the family’s gathering place for special ceremonial occasions. They made sure we had the two best chairs and seated themselves around the Hogan, some on chairs, and others on sheepskin rugs on the floor. They were ready to listen. Elder Stanley and I began delivering our memorized flip-chart presentation in Navajo. We took turns explaining Christ’s atonement, crucifixion, and subsequent resurrection.

Playful baby goat.

      Just as I was nearing the crucifixion portion of the text a baby goat pranced through the sunlit doorway, looked playfully around the room, then bounced over towards me and snuggled up against my leg. I thought to myself, “What a cute little fellow! He must like me.” Before the thought could even clear my mind the goat’s small body tensed and with a grimace it began peeing on my boot. I glanced down at the goat, then over at Elder Stanley, who was shielding his face with his hand and fighting back laughter. I looked around, expecting chuckles and giggles from the family. But there weren’t any, not even a smile. They were so focused on the presentation that they hadn’t even noticed the small goat and its blessed deed.

      When we finished the lesson, the adults expressed their gratitude to us for traveling so far to visit them. We were treated to a cup of cool water. It tasted great! This family must have had a fresh water spring or a deep well nearby. We thanked them for their hospitality and the sheep shearing lessons. One of the teenage boys teased us saying, now that we were experts we could come back and help out any time!

Navajo children with sheep and goats.

      Looking back at the blissful scene in the truck’s rear-view mirror, I couldn’t help thinking, “What a great family! We need to stay in touch.” It was unfortunate they lived a half a day’s drive from the Chapter House. We left their camp with deep respect for their traditional way of life and family unity.

Borrego Pass, NM, LDS Chapel. 1965.

      Time passed quickly as we continued our drive back from Blue Water, chatting about good experiences and fond memories. In no time at all we found ourselves back in Burrego Pass with our truckload of much needed treasures. To our delight we found that the local members had finished giving the meeting hall a new coat of whitewash. Painted celestial white and with our new additions, the place was on its way to a heavenly makeover!

       

     

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!