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!”

     

LEMONS TO LEMONADE

        My High School friends and I weren’t evil. We were just terrible teases. We enjoyed teasing girls, especially beautiful college girls, all dressed up in their finest church clothes. You see, there was a hill on the road just south of the Bean Museum that ran eastward down to a stop sign on Ninth East. To the right were the Heritage Halls which housed BYU coeds. On the other side of Ninth East was the church building the girls would attend faithfully each Sunday. On wet winter days a huge puddle of slushy snow and water would pool up right next to the sidewalk. Oh my, I think you can see where this is going.

        Still dressed in our Sunday duds Dave, Paul, Jed, and I would lurk patiently at the top of the hill waiting for the campus ward to let out. Just like clockwork, dozens of BYUs finest young women would gather in bunches waiting to cross Ninth East and move safely to the sidewalk leading them back to their dorms, and not so safely past the giant “puddle of doom.”

        Sitting in Dad’s red VW Bug with the engine purring quietly we exchanged sly glances knowing that the gaggle of girls had just entered the perfect slush zone. Suddenly the Red Bug lurched forward gaining speed as it accelerated down the hill, at the last moment veering right into the ice cold pool and sending a wall of slush cascading up and over the shocked church goers, covering them from head to toe. Running the stop sign on Ninth East we would turn south making our escape amid a barrage of shaking fists, obscene gestures, and language rarely heard from such well-dressed BYU church goers. 

Snarl!

        Soon other BY High friends caught wind of our adventures and wanted in on the action, come the next slushy day. And so it went. This time it was Brent, Bruce, and Paul Number Two who begged to share in the excitement. The puddle was bigger than ever. The crowd of girls was bigger than ever. And the crest of ice cold, slushy water was incredible. What a rush!

Puddle of Doom

        Several days later a letter addressed to my parents showed up at my house. The return address said BYU Campus Security. Evidently one of the angry girls must have had the eyes of an eagle. She had spotted my license plate number, and with the help of the campus cops they had traced it back to Dad’s red VW Bug.  The letter informed Dad that his car had been involved in a “splash and run.” The girls involved didn’t want to press charges. They just wanted $40 to pay for their dry cleaning. Needless to say, Dad wasn’t very happy. “I’ll get the money from my friends. It was an unfortunate accident,” I explained. Yeah, as if Dad believed that it was an “unfortunate accident” with Dave, Paul and Jed in the car. That would be a first! 

Ca ching! Ca ching! Ca ching!

        Let’s see. Forty dollars divided by four would be ten dollars each. A brilliant idea popped into my conniving brain. What about Brent, Bruce and Paul No. Two? We didn’t actually know which group of perpetrators had been found out. If I could collect ten dollars from all six of them, that would total sixty dollars. My share would be “zero” – and after paying the $40 for the dry cleaning, I would have a net profit of $20! CA CHING! After all, what are friends for?  All went as planned and each paid their ten dollars. No one was the wiser until years later at a class reunion when a group of us were swapping old war stories and the two different car loads told the same story. I had been found out at last! We had a good laugh and went on to more reminiscing about our youthful escapades.

        One day not too long ago Brent and I and our wives were out to dinner when we began laughing about the big splash incident. Brent’s wife, who had been listening, spoke up and said, “I think I was one of those girls!” Then with a disgusted glare, my wife growled, “If I had been one of those girls, I would still, after all these years, punch you in the nose!” Good thing she wasn’t!

(No last names of those involved will be given to protect the rights of the juvenile perpetrators.)