Chapter 7: Gordy and the Choir Boy

President Grant has caught sight of his good friend George Durham. George, schooled in the musical institutes and conservatories on the East Coast, is L.D.S. High’s music director; President Grant has plans to apply his talents toward the Church’s music program. “Have you saved a solo number for me tonight?” President Grant quips.

George nods his head. “Why certainly! That is, if Moroni blows his trumpet in agreement!”

“Well then, I might just call on him to do so.”

George looks up at Moroni, just in case.

“And while I’m at it, I’ll call down choirs of angels to accompany my solo!”

“Only if they’ll drown you out completely,” George replies in jest, echoing President Grant’s boyhood choir teacher, who had said that Jeddie would be allowed to sing, but only if he gave the rest of the choir a head start so they could be at least forty miles away by the time he opened his mouth.

“One of these days I’ll sing a solo from that pulpit, mark my words!”

George cringes, knowing the statement might as well be prophetic if that’s what President Grant has set his mind to. “Duly noted,” George replies, “Just let me warn J. Golden ahead of time or you’ll have to have an ambulance standing by.”

President Grant recognizes the insinuation and grins widely. He had set his legendary lungs to work singing one hundred hymns to his fellow travelers during the first leg of a recent trip to attend a regional conference in Arizona. Among the trapped passengers was J. Golden Kimball, who objected to the incessant singing with his signature coarse language. To protect his ears from the vulgarity, President Grant just sang louder and longer, reaching a record of four hundred hymns sung in their four days on the road. J. Golden reportedly suffered a nervous convulsion by the end of the trip, and begged President Grant to at least invest in a faster car.

“Well if I won’t be singing from the pulpit tonight,” President Grant says, shrugging his shoulders, “I reckon your glee club will just have to do for now.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” George says with a laugh.

“But I’ll keep practicing so as to be ready when the time comes.”

George grimaces. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he says.

“I’ll make you a deal if you want a way out,” President Grant says with a smile as he recalls his recent trip, “I met a young girl named Lulu at on my way back through Carbon County. She is only fourteen years old, but she already has the most beautiful voice. I told her if she comes over to the L.D.S., I’d do my best to get her some professional music instruction. If you take her under your wing and can get her to sing a solo in general conference, I’ll put her on the program and bow out myself.”

“Well if that buys us all a few years,” George says with a firm handshake, “you’ve got yourself a deal!” Just as they strike their agreement, another dear friend approaches, taking hold of President Grant’s left hand.

“How about a Boy Scout handshake, my friend?”

“Why certainly, Bryant,” replies President Grant, an avid Scouter, “that is, if you’ll help me put in a good word for the Scouts to George.”

Bryant Hinckley, who is largely responsible for the Church’s alliance with the Boy Scout movement, responds with an inside joke: “I’ll be prepared to take you up on that!”

President Grant puts his arms around both Bryant and George and lowers his voice to a whisper, “You know, even though they’re graduating tonight, it’s still not too late to get your boys involved in Scouting.”

They turn to face him after he releases them from his grip. “Think it through, gentlemen!” President Grant continues, “But I’ll have your answer another time; tonight we celebrate what you have accomplished here. What a fine evening this is for a fine institution, thanks much to your service! You’ve both done such outstanding work; I hope the Lord will at least forgive me for boasting about your accomplishments.”

“Well if there’s anything to boast of, it’s in spite of me.” Bryant never had much stomach for adulation, but as one of the school’s former principals – and one who currently serves on its board of trustees – he and President Grant have a common vision for the school’s future as a pillar of gospel-centered education. “Besides,” he continues, trying to direct the attention away from himself, “tonight we’ll celebrate the next generation, not us. Let’s hope we’ve taught them well so there’s someone to take care of us old folks when the time comes!”

Both George and Bryant look over at their sons, Homer and Gordon, who are sitting on a nearby ledge signing each other’s yearbooks. President Grant points toward them and says to his friends, “As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing to worry about; if those two young men are any indication, this generation is definitely on the right path!”

Notwithstanding their stature – Homer is the shortest boy in the class and Gordon has been described by his classmates as spindly and frail – they are both well known at the school, thanks primarily to Homer’s connections. The Hinckley and Durham families have been long-time friends, but Gordon and Homer themselves have only just become best friends this school year. Homer’s longstanding roots at the school have been a blessing to Gordon, who had entered L.D.S. as a senior transfer student less than a year before. Among his many extracurricular activities, Homer sings high tenor in the choir directed by his father; although Gordon doesn’t sing with the choir, he appreciates Homer’s passion for music, his involvement in school activities, and especially his willingness to help show him the ropes.

Still, they are used to joking around with each other. As they return each other’s yearbooks, they both look inside to see what the other wrote. “Don’t let things go to your head,” Homer wrote to Gordon, “remember, you were my height in Junior High.” Homer, in turn, reads Gordon’s message to him, “Surely a news carrier can’t be wrong,” an inside joke jabbing at his part-time job.

“Well, well, my merry musical friend…is Gordon here giving you some advice for the future?”

Recognizing the voice, Homer looks at his feet and sighs.

Bob Toronto, his two brothers at his side, snatches Homer’s yearbook and flips to an open page. “Well you can forget whatever he wrote,” Bob says pretentiously, “What you really need is some dating advice from the master himself!”

Little brother John pulls out a pen for him and big brother Wallace feeds him some lines. Drawing on the dapper reputation of their well-known grandfather, Giuseppe “Joe” Taronto – the first Italian Mormon, the first Italian Utahan, and the man who had personally financed the construction of the Nauvoo Temple – the Toronto boys are born leaders. Wallace had been student body president the previous year, and Bob rode the wave of popularity with ease, supplemented with significant sports achievements of his own. John, in his junior year, is destined to follow in their footsteps.

In Gordon’s opinion, though, the popularity has gone to their heads. While Homer impatiently taps his fingers on the ledge, Gordon steps in for his friend, swiftly grabbing the book back the instant Bob signs his name.

“If you’re really preferred by women like you wrote here,” asks Gordon, “why aren’t they asking you to sign their books?”

Bob has no rebuttal.

“I think what you really meant was preferred by the boys glee club!”

Wallie and John break into laughter at their brother, who slugs them for their betrayal. Still unable to come up with a response, Bob simply says, “Let’s go,” and the Toronto boys leave to harass someone else.

Although not a loud or obtrusive character, Gordon is intimidated by no one and can always be counted on to speak his mind; with wit on his side, he is as bold as typical boys twice his size.

“Thanks for the pest control,” Homer tells Gordon appreciatively. They rejoin their fathers, who are still chatting with President Grant.

“How do you boys feel about scouting?” President Grant asks them as they approach. “We put on a bona fide pow wow last month at the U and then sent off quite a crew to the Jamboree in San Francisco.”

Homer recalls having seen a number of Boy Scout dignitaries, hosted by President Grant, at the previous general conference. “We’ll think it over,” he says.

Looking for an escape that might fall just short of a commitment, George checks his watch and signals to Homer; they both excuse themselves and hurry inside to warm up for the opening choir number.

Left alone with the Hinckleys, President Grant turns to young Gordon. “What are your plans after graduation?” he asks.

Gordon knows President Grant is hinting at a mission, but he has decided to finish his university studies first and isn’t sure how President Grant will take the news. “Well, I’m hoping to major in journalism at the University of Utah…”

President Grant raises his eyebrows but doesn’t have to say a word to get more out of Gordon.

“…and then I’ll see where the Lord takes me from there,” Gordon adds, leaving the door open for some inevitable advice from the prophet.

“You’ve got your head on straight,” says President Grant. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to serve a mission myself – my mother was a widow my whole life and I had some family obligations at the time – but I did learn some things about missionaries while presiding over the European Missions in London.”

“And what was that?” asks Gordon, trying to demonstrate that he is, in fact, listening to President Grant’s advice.

“Well I can tell you that if the Lord had sent me a missionary with a journalism degree, I certainly could have put him to good use. In my opinion, such a missionary would help the Lord further His work tremendously.”

Gordon wonders what journalism could possibly have to do with knocking doors.

“I’ve got some ideas about how we might improve our public image,” President Grant says, “Be sure to stop by my office when you’ve finished your schooling and we’ll talk some more.”

“I’ll do that,” answers Gordon.

The invitation is sincere and not altogether uncommon. Although the Church is already two thirds of the way to its first million members, administration remains largely in the hands of local units. Only a handful of full-time employees work for the Church. Quite literally, you can count them on the fingers of one hand. President Grant’s personal secretary is generally too busy to act as a sentinel, so an interview with the President is often a matter of simply knocking on his door.

President Grant gestures out into the crowd around him. “Just don’t get distracted by the fine young women around you in the meantime,” he adds, “You know your father managed to find his bride right here at the L.D.S.”

“No worries there, President,” Bryant interrupts, “We’ve got the sweetest girl living right across the street from us – albeit an East High girl – but I can’t even get Gordon to talk to her.”

“We smothered them in football this year, but it sounds like their co-eds might be giving us a run for our money,” President Grant jokes, “Well he can’t very well have a sweetheart from our rival school now, can he?”

Gordon politely tries to correct the facts. “I’m not – ”

President Grant glances past Gordon for a moment and interrupts him: “Speaking of sweethearts, my friends, here comes a sweetheart of a teacher now.”

Having disassembled her tables and broken down her boxes, Miss Stewart approaches, clinging to a final yearbook.

“How do you do, Miss Stewart?” asks President Grant. He then turns to Gordon and says, “If you’re going to be a journalist, I trust that Miss Stewart has prepared you well.”

“Good evening gentlemen,” she says politely with a subdued curtsey. “President Grant, I’ve been saving this for you!” She hands him a copy of the “S” Book with his name engraved on the cover.

“Why thank you, Miss Stewart,” he says as he thumbs through the book, “I’m honored to have my very own copy…” He then chuckles and points to the inky fingerprints on the pages. “…even if it is a used copy!”

“Yes – sorry about that.” Miss Stewart tries to change the subject. “Gordon,” she says, “you’ll be happy to know I’ve put you and Afton right at the front of the senior class.”

Gordon glances at the page to find his senior picture leading the line-up of seniors. Class pictures in the “S” Book are traditionally not displayed alphabetically, but rather the order is arranged at the editor’s discretion, with couples paired up based on the students’ requests. “I have a feeling you’re going somewhere in life,” Miss Stewart adds, “and I just couldn’t imagine squeezing you somewhere down between your other classmates.”

Gordon has as little stomach for adulation as his father and shyly acknowledges her compliments with a downward glance at his shiny shoes.

President Grant looks at the caption beside Gordon’s grinning portrait and reacts with a nod. “Ah yes,” he says, “Brother Gordon ‘B.’ Hinckley, armed with that name, you now have no choice but to go somewhere with it.”

Gordon glances at the page again. Little did he know, Miss Stewart had taken another liberty and added his middle initial to the caption, making him the only member of the senior class to be listed with an initial in the yearbook. She knows there is something special about Gordon, and, whether her insights are a prelude to greatness, a preview of destiny, or just sheer luck, she has now given him a head start with this prerequisite naming convention for high office in the Church.

A bell rings outside the Tabernacle, and the ushers motion to those still standing outside. The roar of the crowd diminishes outside the doors and begins to swell inside.

As Gordon, Homer, and the others pass through the open doors of the Tabernacle, the last sliver of the setting sun slips over the mountains in the West Desert. The L.D.S. High seniors have seen their last sunset as high school students; yet only a few pause to think about it. The next sun rays will beam with them as proud graduates, and life will never be the same again after this milestone. In the meantime, this will certainly be a night to remember!

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