Brad Jenkins

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My name is Brad Jenkins. I have resisted telling my story because it is my story that most would not understand. Second, I dont know how to write a story because I never in my life, have written much. Not much school work, no homework, no letters to speak of, only when absolutely required. Third, when I do some things and say things, I look back on them and they seem foolish. However, Christopher has said it inspires him to read them. This man that gives all that he has and is for humanity and is despised with many sorrows for his bother.

I was born into a family of eight children in California. We were lower income for our area. My father was a school teacher, he was an imbalanced tyrant. He was the type of man that tears things up but doesn’t fix them. He could smell a lemon in a car lot from a mile away, then beat them into the ground and then tear them up to fix them, one in the garage, one in the front yard, sometimes still making payments on them. They eventually went to the junk yard. Same with our house, things left undone. While one hand worked to survive, the other one destroyed. Because of this, he was always angry and frustrated. He was the type of guy to come home and kick the dog. We had no dog, but we did have me and my brother. I used to wonder why he hated us and wanted to destroy us.

When I reached 15 years, I got a little Yamaha motorcycle. I mopped floors and cleaned a thrift store once a week to buy it. I had wheels. When my dad saw how much fun I was having, he got one too. He promptly ran into a tree and fractured his leg. He got blood clots in his lung and the doctor told my mother he might die. One side of me was scared but the other side of me hoped he would die so peace and sanity could come to our home. He recovered. He took my motorcycle away and put it in the garage. “Damn dangerous motorcycles, no son of mine is going to ride one!” I was still making payments on it. Being a boy, I snuck it out to ride to friends. Eventually, it was unregistered which caused me some ridiculous, unecessary adventures with the police. Insanity ruled.

My memory of my mother is of a saintly, loving, kindly, serving person. Beloved by all that knew her. I still see her two little ones clinging to her legs, another in her arms taking a cat nap for a minute here and there because she worked all night at Lockheed Aircraft so that we could survive the chaos caused by our dad.

I forgot to mention, we were raised LDS religion. This religion was very controlling. All day Sunday, meetings during the week, boy scouts, seminary in the dark each morning before school. In fact, it strove to control our minds 24/7. This was the controlling God we had to obey.

I began to have trouble with principals and teachers and my teacher father in the third grade. In a conference, they would say, “He is a kind well mannered boy, but he sits all day looking out the open door and doesn’t do his work.” I was looking out the door daydreaming at the birds, looking at them singing, coming and going and thinking, “Why can’t I be a bird and come and go and nobody pay any attention?” Let me explain here, I think I was a smiling happy boy by nature, kind of a sweet Little Lord Fauntleroy type. Although, I don’t think I’m feminine at all, I think I would have made a good girl. I don’t like to fight or argue and above all, not strike another. My mother calls me “the peacemaker.” I guess I’m a bit of a coward, I would rather run from a fight or confrontation, if I can.

Needless to say, I traveled through school below “C” level. I tried to get out of it all I could. I was very small and imature for my age. What was worse, I was born in September so I was usually the youngest in the class. For instance, I wrestled in PE, as a freshman, at 91 lbs. Not even a 98 lb weekling. In junior high I was introduced to bullying on a big scale. The tough big boys made sure we little boys paid by belittling us and roughing us up, in public of course. In the eighth grade, I changed schools. They gave me a card to give my new teachers to sign and turn into the office. The pre-computer time. I took it to PE, history and wood shop. If PE was fun, I would stay for another. When I had enough, I would jump the fence, go across the front of the school between a hedge and the wall of the school. This took me under the principal’s window, I was short. Sometimes he would be dispensing justice to some poor soul with a kind of cricket bat with holes drilled in it. The howls and screams were something. It made me move twice as fast off school grounds. Three or four weeks before the end of the year, I got my card signed by my English teacher, etc., with Math class last of all. Each protested they couldn’t give me a grade with school ready to get out and me introducing myself as a new student. They said they would have to get ahold of my previous school. Of course, me being more than a bother than a whole class of kids, and basically me counting on them being lazy, they each came to me and said, “Would I take the final exam and accept that grade?” So, I took the test. I forgot to mention, though I missed much school, did little work, had little interest, never did homework, I loved libraries, loved to read books and all the encyclopedias. I don’t have a great memory, but I could at always get a D cold on a test, well maybe an F here and there. Ha Ha.

I forgot to say, they used to give us tests to see where we ranked, IQ I guess, nationwide. We went into the auditorium, I looked at the test, It looked like an hour or two of concentrated effort. I couldn’t possibly do it. I knew they had some kind of small, crude, mechanical machine to grade the thousands of tests. I guessed there must be a pattern to the tests over and over to make it simple to grade. So, using my poor encyclopedic memory, I answered the first questions as best as I could and saw there appeared to be a pattern. So, I went through the rest of the pages followng the pattern in just a few minutes then I went back to daydreaming and looking out the door. My guess was right, but it backfired, as I always got D’s and F’s, they would call my school teacher dad in and say I was at the top percent of the nation, which was, of course, a joke. I thought it was funny. I didn’t dare say anything and this caused me many problems over the years.

Also, in fifth grade we lived in a small city in the San Joaquin Valley, and in English we read a very short story, a couple of paragraphs, about a boy in Samoa who dives for pearls and finds a valuable black one and makes a happy Christmas for his parents. It came to me, the emotion, that I needed to find this Polynesian boy. I asked my dad if he knew of any Polynesians. He said he’d never met one. He didn’t think there were any in our area of southern California. I knew what a Polynesian was from watching the movie “South Pacific.” Since there were none around, I mentally put it on a shelf for another day. When we moved in the eighth grade, to Orange County, California, I started to meet Polynesians. And remembering one day, I decided to introduce myself to every Polynesian I met. The second or third that I talked to was my beloved Jesse. We started talking like old friends continuing a conversation and just enjoying ourselves like two brothers. This is 57 years ago. We hung out each day after high school and weekends too. After high school, after he was married, after I was married, we’ve lived together between marriages, worked together from time to time for many years. In all that time, we’ve never had a hard word, a quarell, or a falling out in the least. He is my beloved brother clear to this day, 2019. Along with Jesse, I was sort of adopted into his family. All sisters and his parents, and of course, the brothers-in-law. What an inseparable pair we made. A little white boy with a big Polynesian built like Arnold Schwarzenneger, wished he was.

I loved his stories of Island life. Though I had little interest in most of their customs, I loved their concept of basically no private property and little posessions. Their happy, carefree, worryfree attitudes. He told me of his relative whose wife was sneeking away with another man. One day he took her firmly by the hand, not mad or mean, and took her to the man’s house and said, “Here is your woman.” Turning to her, he said, “You love him, you should be together,” and walked away. I was impressed.

He told me of a charming custom called, “moetollo,” I think it means “sleepwalking.” If a guy has the hots for a young maiden and visa-versa, he acts like he’s sleepwalking. Their huts are open, of course, he walks into her sleeping partitian into the arms of his beloved. The next morning as the sheepish young man comes out of the house with his girlfriend, the older women giggle, and the father tending his garden says with a laugh, “Sleepwalking?” If she gets pregnant, that is worked out in the family. There’s no such thing as a legitament or illegitament child, every child is loved and accepted. There are no orphans, all are brought into the family. Just because they call some mother, father, uncle, aunt, brother, or sister, these are just titles of affection and have nothing to do with pedigree.

Also, their attitudes to gay people, they call them “fafafingi,” which means “people we don’t understand.” Of course, the majority don’t understand same-sex attraction but these people are accepted and valued. A lot of times they are so smart and talented and they can be so funny at a luau, everybody has a good time.

Jesse has a brother-in-law named Fred who is, I guess is what they call an “idiot savant”. He’s also deaf. I’ve learned a lot from Fred over the years. I’ve found that what he speaks is truth. If you tell Fred your birthday, he’ll tell you what day of the week you were born. Even if you’re underground all day, and ask Fred what time it is, he looks at his bare wrist and tells you the time. He’s never more than a couple of minutes off. Fred is married to Jesse’s sister Vai, she dresses him in thrift store clothes. Not stuff they sell, stuff they throw away. He used to wear janitor’s trousers, worn out, no belt. He would grab them with one hand when he walked. One day at work, Jesse came behind Fred and pulled his trousers down, he wasn’t wearing any underwear. There were probably one hundred guys working in this warehouse. They all burst out laughing. Fred was embarrased, his dignity offended. He got mad and started slugging Jesse with both fists. Jesse didn’t want to hit Fred, that he loved dearly, so he spun him and got him in a bear hug, fist in his solar plexis. Fred collapsed, but before he did, he grabbed Jesse’s middle finger and bent it backwards. This injury bothered Jesse for years. Whenever Fred would come over, he would come to Jesse and grasp his hand and like a little boy, check his finger and ask if it was okay. He then would profusely appologize again for hurting Jesse. This went on for a couple of years. Curiously, at this time, and also when Fred tore the tendons in his knees playing rugby, Fred would limp for two or three years each time. Anyway, he would say you needed su su and make like sucking with his mouth. Jesse said su su meant mother’s milk or women’s breasts. Knowing Fred, there may be healing power in mother’s milk. I don’t know? But I do know, that if I wreck my knee, sucking on a nice tit would make me feel better or at least take my mind off the pain.

Fred’s family were well to do and prominent in Samoa. In fact, the Keil family have businesses all over the world. They are german. Fred’s grandfather was a war criminal from one of the world wars. He came to Samoa to hide out. He had multiple wives, no problem in Samoa. If a man wanted to support and deal with the problems of more than one wife and family. They finally tracked him down, he put his feet in a tub of water, sat in a chair, tore a cord off a lamp, plugged it in and dropped the cord in the water. Of course, Fred, a little boy, just happened to be there. He explained to me in pidgen and signs with his hands, with that pronounciation of deaf people, how he tried to pull the plug out but couldn’t. Their electrical system was English 220 with some plugs that you have to twist before you pull out. In any case, poor grandpa was already in Valhalla.

After he came to the United States, Fred would go to Samoa every few years. His Keil family would buy him a ticket. He would dress himself in nice clothes his family had bought him, gold jewelry and drive a family Mercedes and go clubbing. He could dance and he went to have fun and to get a little loving. Of course, the female jungle telegraph led to a phone call to California and when poor Fred returned home to his wife and family who he loved dearly, Vai was waiting for him. I was called to repair drywall holes and slashes in the corner by the fireplace. Seems Vai had lit into Fred with a fireplace poker. A very humble, sheepish Fred with bumps on his head, one caught him on the bridge of the nose and blacked both eyes, he looked like a humble racoon.

Most weekends Jesse and I would meet at Jesse’s parents for a luau. His father had built a fale, a large Samoan hut out of scrap lumber and old windows and screens. It was raised on two-foot stilts and had a screen door. Inside it had old metal chairs and tables, cast offs from the Mormon church. Before we went in to the luau, Jesse said, “Ask Fred how he loved Samoa, then take your open hands and make the universal sign of the curves of a woman and whistle tweet twoo, and say, you like?” After we sat down to eat, I said, “Fred, you like Samoa?” He said, “Me like Samoa with his hand to his mouth making eating sounds, good food.” I said, “You like Samoa and made the woman sign, tweet twoo?” Instantly, his racoon face had a look of horror, he shook his hands and head violently, “No, no,” he said. Instantly, all 25 Samoans at the table burst out laughing, male and female. I looked across at Vai, she was shooting darts out her eyes, a scowl on her face. They all thought she got what she deserved for the way she treated Fred. I looked back at Fred, he had a little smile. He was making the sign of burnt fingers with his hand.

Fred got excommunicated. I think he got excommunicated three or four times over the years. As I said, Fred always spoke truth. Each time he went before the high council, they said, “Do you love your wife?” “Me love my wife,” Fred said with much emotion. “Do you love Becky, Susy, Laura, whoever.” He said, “Me love Becky, etc.” with tears in his eyes. They say he has to choose Becky, etc., or his wife and family. He doesn’t understand why. They take a different tack, they try to tell him what he does, sex is evil. Fred, the little boy, walks up to them, “No, it good” he says. “You try, you like it.” He makes sign of oral sex with hand to mouth. The high council is confounded. They send Fred home. The excommunication comes in the mail. Of course, it’s not too long before he is reinstated. What can you say or do about a lilttle boy, a pure soul, so loving and thougtful, so kind and serving of people, who stands at the church door handing out programs, greeting all with a big smile, talking to the birds in the trees, but mostly, being happy and joyful, dwelling in peace in the silence within. They say he is an idiot. I don’t think so!

Many times Fred came to me and Jesse, “Why church take my money? That my money. Church liar, that my money.” We would pat him on the shoulder and say, “It’s okay Fred.” We had no answer. One time they were working on the courthouse, Fred came to Jesse and me and said, “Need to burn down, burn down. Bad for people.” We said, “It’s okay Fred,” and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay.” What could we say?

Back to my life. Starting high school I got a card to take to the teachers to sign in and I went to the classes I liked and didn’t sign in with the classes I didn’t like. Two months into the year, we moved out of the district. I stayed in the same school. I was so shy and cowardly, I didn’t want to change schools. Mostly, my card thing worked but eventually I got caught. I went to the principal’s office, I was scared, not at his paddle, but of my dad. I would get smacked and swatted, but worse, he added it to my sins, “You’re a liar, you’re a slacker, you’re a bad boy, a disgrace to the family, blah blah blah.” Worse, he might ground me to my room forever, hit me if I looked at him crooked, make me lose my summer vacation, and I was scared. The principal said he was going to take me to my house and talk to my parents. He asked me where I lived, he didn’t recognize my street and I showed him on his wall map. Holy shit! I lived in another district. He put me in his car and took me to the other school and basically, washed his hands of me. I looked as if I might live another day, or two or three again.

I missed as many days in my new school as possible, one week, two weeks, sometimes months. I would get back in with a phony note, my pleasant personality and nice smile. I was still being bullied along with the other little guys mercilessly. I figured self survival justified the breaking of any rule, physical survival and protecting my fragile self worth justified any story or lie I might have to tell as long as it didn’t hurt another. I and the other little dorks were bullied and treated mean by many students and some of the teachers. When I got home I was bullied and treated mean by my dad. I had no respite or refuge other than what my wits provided.

One time, after missing many weeks with my phony note, when I got on campus there was a line of hundreds of kids lined up from the office window clear down the sidewalk. I got in line. It seemed it was senior ditch day the day before and as they had warned the kids, anyone without a legitimate note was going to be suspended. Worse, they were calling parents to check the notes. I was scared, I wanted to break out of line and run for it and come back another day. But they had a bunch of teachers patrolling back and forth, up and down the line. I sweated, it looked like my young life was ended before it started. The line got shorter and shorter, only ten kids ahead of me and I couldn’t get a break. Suddenly, around the corner came the student body officers, four or five of them coming down the line. As they passed me, i looked and the teachers were looking the other way, I stepped behind them looking very official, marched past the line and down the hallway with them. One of the officers looked back at me, but must have thought I was okay, I guess. When I went past a cross hallway, I took it on a run and went up and over the fence, came back next week with a phony note, no problem.

When I did attend school, I used to leave the campus at noon a lot for the rest of the day. in order to go home for lunch, you needed a lunch pass and they had a teacher check passes as you left the campus. He checked passes randomly, I didn’t have a pass so, I thought it best to boldly walk right up to him and pass him with a smile confidently, saying a friendly Hi! to him. However, one day somebody must have got on him as he was moving twice as fast trying to check passes. I walked boldly up to him with a big smile and walked past and he stopped me and asked me for my pass. I said I didn’t have one. He went ape. He sent me to the office, to the principal for what I guessed was the death penalty. He stayed checking passes in a frenzy. Now to check everyone. He looked up every few second, however, to make sure I made it to the office. I couldn’t make a break for it. So in the office, with trepidation I went. One secretary was helping two students at the counter, one was typing, one was looking at papers and looked up at me. Before she could speak, I, with a smile walked by, quickly turned down the hall, smiled at a counselor as I passed his office, smiled and gave a little wave at the principal as he looked up from his paperwork, continued down the hall and out the back door. Ran down the hallway and over the fence.

In my senior year things started to get much better. I’d been pumping iron in my garage with a little weight set and whenever I could, on a big set of weights with Jesse in his garage. Jesse looked like Mr. Olympia. I suppose I looked like a pumped up Pee Wee Herman. The hormones had kicked in while in my junior year and I now weighed a solid 185 pounds, 6-feet tall. This helped a lot with the bullying. There were still the truly dangerous big guys and the much older guys to watch out for. Of course, when I was with Jesse, I had nothing to worry about. Most guys were intimidated by his physique and countenance. Those few that weren’t became enlightened. Messing with Jesse or me, when I was with him, they didn’t know it but they had just made a date with an oral surgeon. I don’t care if there were two or three of them.

My buddy, the kindest, happy-go-lucky, loved by everybody who met him, would go into warrior mode, primative man, very violent and scary to see. After it was over, he reverted back to happy, joyful, generous and kind, even to the ones he fought with. Of course, it wasn’t him that was taken to the hospital.

In my senior year, I spent every day after school at Jesse’s, every day I ditched school, and every weekend. We pumped iron, we discovered muscle cars – he had one, all the cool guys in our area had one. They all came by to see Jesse. I was tolerated, but hardly noticed. I had a little motorcycle. I never went to a dance, a prom or a date until I was 21. I was too socially retarded, scared of girls and shy at that time. Jesse, on the other hand, was the life of every party. He seemed to have adopted the motto, “So many blondes, so little time.” Many nights he was with a girl. I would say, “Not the bishop’s daughter!” He would say, “Ha ha, yeah, she squeeled a little or a lot, hee hee hee.” I said, “I thought you were with the first councillor’s daughter?” He would say, “That was the other day. Ha ha.”

I would get on him. “But you don’t love all these girls you’re with?” He would say, “Who have I hurt? For this night, I loved them and they loved me.” Innocently, he would say, “What’s wrong with this? For this one night we loved each other. We had ecstasy. It was a beautiful experience.” I had to admit, he had a point. Whatever he had with these young women, it must have been loving and beautiful. I noticed as the years went by and these women were married and with kids, if we ran into them, they always had a little kiss on the cheek or a little hug for Jesse. They loved him.

Of course, every once in awhile, I would have to remind him if he would quit his wild ways, he would not be so dark skinned and loathsome but would become white and delightsome like me. Ha ha. Always good for a laugh. I loved his beautiful red-brown skin. I know he liked it too. I would have loved to have been like him but he was he, one of a kind and I was little me. That’s life.

I graduated, what a joke. We moved thirty or forty miles away and I got a job. When I had a day off or each weekend I would ride my new big motorcycle down the freeway to Jesse’s. This had a bonus of Sunday, not going to church and having a big feast in his father’s back yard fale with his family. Ma and Pa, sisters and brother-in-laws, lots of kids, good food and lots of laughs. At night we would sack out on the little raised deck on the front of the fale. His father had filled the yard with tropical plants and flowers. We would smell the frangrance, look at the stars, talk about every funny thing that was said or had happened, talk about each of our dreams and our plans for the future. In winter we would sack out in the house Samoan style on the living room floor. Eventually, Jesse got a girl pregnant. She had a little boy named Paul. Even as a baby there was something special in Paul’s eyes. Jesse didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want to give up his harem scarem ways. I said, “I know you don’t want to marry her but you will never turn your back on Paul.” They got married.

Meanwhile, at home, my bishop and my parents had assumed I would go on an LDS mission. They didn’t ask you, they just talked all of your life about when you go on your mission. After I graduated I put a stop to their plans. I told them, “I’m not going.” First of all, they tried to force me. Secondly, I had no interest. Thirdly, I would have to give up my bvd’s for their ridiculous holy underwear.

The Vietnam war was raging. Every week in the newspapers were pictures of young men in uniform who had been killed. In the summer after I graduated I found out from someone that I was supposed to have been registered for the draft at school. Evidently, in my junior year, the recruiters came to the school, but I wasn’t old enough to register. They came in my senior year but I was absent. They came back again to register any stragglers but I was absent. So I kind of fell through the cracks of the system. Every time I thought of registering I would put it off. Everytime they would jail draft dodgers and put it on tv or in the paper, I would get a chill. But like Scarlett O’Hara in gone with the wind I would think, fiddle-dee-dee tomorrow’s another day, I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Years went by, I was out of school, free and enjoying life. I didn’t think about Vietnam much, tho it was in the news daily. After a lifetime of playing army and watching John Wayne movies, it kind of appealled to me to get to play with cool toys, machine guns, etc. rata tat tat. But when I was in the Sea Scouts we went to San Diego to the naval base. The navy was schmoozing future recruits. It was fun, they really put on the dog. The food was good, I was especially impressed with the chocolate milk dispenser. I went back and back for more.

My fun was stopped, however, as we stopped to watch guys loading bombs and cool stuff in huge transport planes to go to Vietnam. There were some 20-foot long aluminum bombs. I asked a guy through the fence what they were, “jellied gasoline.” He said, “it sticks to everything. Including the enemy, burns them up.” I said, “That must really be something to see.” He said, “Yeah, that guy over there is a pilot hitching a ride back to Nam. He drops it. Do you want to talk to him?” I said, “Yes.” The pilot came over, he said, “Yes, the napalm is cool, hee hee. Especially at night because when it hits a village, you see little fire flys come running out in flames and then they stop and fall over and just burn. Hee hee hee.” Suddenly, it became real to me. It was murder. Horrible. indiscriminant murder. That was people like my Polynesian family. Auntie and Uncles, Ma and Pa and lots of kids all running on fire.

In horror, I recoiled from this vision. I recoiled from this grinning pilot. I made up my mind right then. I would have nothing to do with this. Not even loading the planes. They could do to me what they wanted. However, I kept my feelings to myself. Maybe only expressed them to Jesse. I put out of my mind any worries about consequences of the draft. I was just thankful to not be drafted. One day as I was living my free fun life, it came to me the feeling I needed to go on the LDS mission. I didn’t really desire to go and the thought of clothing my tanned body building body in grandpa’s long underwear didn’t appeal to me. I went to my bishop and told him. He of course, and my parents were overjoyed that I had seen the light. When it was coming time to getting everything in order to go, I had to have a draft number. I left it to the last possible day, dreading it. I mustered up my limited courage and marched into the draft office. A feeling of dread foreboding. The lady at the counter was your typical cold souless, DMV type bureaucrat. Since I looked young for my age, she didn’t have a clue. I was 19 heading on 20. She started filling out the form; name, address, date of birth. She stopped, and gave me a stern look. She said “Do you realize you’re required to register at 17 years of age?” I said, “I was sick and not at school. When I found out later, I was having so much fun, I never got around to registering.” She put aside my form and got another form. Name, address, date of birth. I looked at the form upside-down. It said Department of Justice or Attorney General of the United States, or something like that. The room started spinning. I was puckered at both ends. She continued. Suddenly, a man sitting at a desk behind her, stood up and said, “I’ll take care of this, Doris.” She said, “But I was just taking care.” He said, “I’ll take care of this, Doris, I’ll take care of this.” She sat down . I repeated my lame, but partially true story. He said, “Do you have anything against the draft or the war?” I lied and said, “No.” He said, “I’m going to give you a deferment for your LDS mission. But I’m going to have you sign a paper and you will go to Vietnam when you return home.” I gladly signed, happy to live another day. Fear washed over me though at the thought of going to Vietnam, for sure, in two years. Then I thought, “Oh fiddle dee dee, that’s tomorrow, I’ll worry about that another day.”

So, I went on my mission. I was sent to England. But first I had to go to Salt Lake to prepare to go on my mission. We went to the temple. I didn’t know anything about it. It was secret. We went in and were dressed in white except for a little green apron and a cute white little baker’s hat. I was bored out of my mind. This has been a long time ago but it appeared to be some kind of initiation rites into a club like Elks, Lions, Water Buffaloes. I was sitting in a semi coma when I noticed the guy playin God, Elohim, in the play looked exactly like Doc, one of the seven dwarfs in Snow White, one of my favorite Disney movies. He was about 4’11”, had puffy red cheeks, round spectacles, and a big bulbous nose. The more I looked at him, the more I was convinced, this guy doesn’t look like Doc. It is Doc in a ridiculous outfit and a cute little baker’s hat. From then on, whenever God spoke, I started quietly laughing and shaking in my chair. The guy next to me said, “What’s the matter?” I said, ” It’s Doc in the Seven Dwarfs.” Like a revelation, he saw it. He passed it to the next guy and so on down the line. Pretty soon, every time God spoke, two rows of missionaries started shaking and bouncing around. The only other two things I remember was the Satan character asking the preacher how the people were accepting religion. With a sweep of his hand toward us dummies, he said, “Very well.” The other thing was, they dressed us in a white hospital gown with ties in the back and no underwear. I think I was listening to God through a white curtain they called the veil. He called me closer when a hand shot out and stroked my balls. If I was in a semi coma until then, that sure woke me up! It took considerable self control not to reach through that curtain and grab Dopey by the neck. Years later, I was talking to Jesse about it. His family had pressured him into going to the temple after he was married. By now, we had heard they had stopped the ball stroker part. Jesse, haha, said it was an embarrasment to the church. The line for the part of ball strokers was gething so long, they decided to drop it.

So, I went to England. I had basically no success. I worked very, very hard but like my growing up time I wasn’t very good or excellent at anything. Eventually, after about nine months out I got a greenie, a new elder for a companion, and what a companion! He was of medium height, skinny man and something about him reminded me of a skinny old grandpa. He appeared to have poor health. He was so meek he had very little ego. I thought I had seen people with humble faith and little ego in my Polynesians, but this man was like no other that I ever met. When it came to memorizing, door approaches, discussions, mission rules, I led but in all else in our work, I followed him. He was much greater than me. He was senior, I was junior companion. We had decided to work an hour earlier, eat one meal a day and continue working an hour later than the mission schedule. We were, basically, fasting most of the day and night. It was deep winter, very cold, short days and we were basically in the dark, hungry and freezing almost all day every day of the week. I decided I didn’t care. Hunger, pain, cold, darkness, mean people, I didn’t care if I were to die. So be it. I let my life go, my past, any future I may have, I didn’t care at all.

On or about the eleventh of December 1969, I had the greatest and most meaningful experience of my entire life. If transfiguration means to go into an experience as one man and to come out of it a new man, a man that no one knows or understands, even his parents or siblings, then I say it was a transfiguration. Not of some magical something but a transfiguration that comes about by an understanding of truth. Truth about what this life is about, who we truly are and what this experience means to us.

We came in from work weak and tired, we didn’t eat anything but knelt at our beds in prayer before we went to sleep. As I tried to pray I seemed to collapse within myself. A fear that I was losing self came over me but my impression was to let go and not resist. Suddenly, I experienced an explosion of ecstasy that I can only compare to a sexual orgasm, except it was mental, no connection to the sexual organs. I seemed to be surrounded by a warm, peaceful, accepting energy like a fluid, but not. It had a motion to it. A gentle rocking back and forth. In fact, I thought this must be why babies liked to be rocked back and forth. I was astounded to comprehend this life experience is absolutely not real. It is an artificial reality but is not real at all. I comprehended that we who live in a paradise, need negative experience in order that we may feel joy in our perfect paradise. We needed opposite contrast. I, who had so much negative experience, was astonished that anyone would need the negative and the bitter in a reality in order to have joy in the sweet. I comprehended that nobody was really hurt or died, not in reality, only in an artificial experience. I comprehended who we really were, Gods. That everything that Jesus says he is, is a clue to what we are in reality. All that the father is, and all that he has, is ours. The father representing a perfect eternal society that we are all, everyone, equal and heir to. I was made to know this society has always existed and always will. After I awoke from the experience, I thought because on this world we have day and night and seasons and everything is born or created and then returns to the earth, it gives the illusion of time. In reality there is just every present moment. I thought that though I comprehended that this society had always existed eternally, my impression and thought was this perfect society had progressed in technology just like we were doing. Until it posessed all knowledge and truth that could possibly be. Also, it posessed full power over every element and principle of real truth that existed or ever would exist. This was just an impression after the experience. Also, little mental sicknesses I didn’t even know I had were washed away, not by magic, but by understanding.

From here on, on my mission, I had nothing but success and fun. I had happiness I had never experienced before. Since my church or any other church hadn’t any value to me, I concentrated on having the most fun at recreation time and the most fun working hard the rest of the time. For me and any elders in my supervision, we played hardest and proselyted hardest. Anyone that came in my supervision would be successful, they had to be successful. I told them they would be and it was so, as they came to believe.

No, I didn’t go home after my experience. Even though this church had was of any value to me, I stayed to have fun. The LDS mission was similar to being in the military. They controlled every waking moment of our long very scheduled day. I concentrated on the missionaries and we had more fun than a barrel of monkeys. I liked it so much, I didn’t want it to end. If it wasn’t for the fact that I wanted to go home and get a female companion and lover and have sex, I would have tried to finagle a way to stay in England and continue doing what I was doing. Oh, I forgot, for a few weeks after the experience I struggled to get a reason to stay here in this life. Because I knew that anything you learned, acquired or achieved, had no bearing or value whatsoever, in reality. It kind of took the zing out of this life but it faded away as the weeks went by.
I went home to the USA, started a little business fixing up people’s houses, hired a bunch of guys my age, worked super hard and had a blast. It was more fun working with the guys than a barrel of monkeys.

They called me as elder’s quorum teacher. I didn’t know much about religion or philosophy so I read some books and I measured every truth by what I remembered of my experience. I incorporated everything I read of Socrates, the Budda, Confucious, Loa Tse, Ghandi and many others and what they had to say about doing unto others as you’d want to yourself into my lesson. After a couple of months, a member of the high council came to tell me to stick to the manual. I agreed of course, but lost interest and went down on Sundays and visited with Jesse and forgot about church.

The years went by and I got married to a beautiful young lady. We got along great and she loved sex anywhere, anytime. She had a beautiful laugh. I thought I was the world’s luckiest man. I had two dear beloved friends and they had the most joyous, happy laughs and attitudes. After a few years of bliss, we moved to Saint George, Utah. A couple of years later Jesse moved his wife and seven kids to the next house down the hill from us. We lived out in the country. Some years Jesse and I worked in Saint George, some years we commuted to California to work. Some years I spent half the time hunting big mule dear. We lived where Utah, Arizona and Nevada met and I hunted them all. Jesse spent half his time fishing at all the lakes.

The years flew by and pretty soon it was over twenty years. Jesse had gotten divorced and moved back to California. Since I worked in California, anytime from a half year to all year, Jesse and I worked together. If not, we still hung out after work a lot. I would be at the beach one day and the next day I would be on a horse out on the range rounding up cattle with a friend in Utah. I was in heaven, it was so fun.

Over the years as I worked beautifying people’s property, my theory and goal was to be faster and more professional, accomplish more and make less or no mistakes than anyone else could. I felt if I succeeded, I would always have work. It turned out to be true. My second goal was to joke and laugh and be joyful and positive so that everyone, whether fellow workers or owners or bosses had a great, happy, joyful and memorable day. A day with me working and serving the people was fun for everyone, me too. If I happened to be working with Jesse, they got a double dose. We worked hard and fast all the while joking and bantering back and forth, lifting everyone up. If there were other trades working, they joined in too. Eight or ten hours, seemed to everyone, to be only like two hours. We had a blast, it was so fun. They said me and Jesse were better than Laurel and Hardy or Abbot and Costello. Each day was a joy. I always looked forward to another day of work.

I built a house on property owned by my parents. I built it piece by piece from things off of jobs and dollar by dollar over the years. I personally wasn’t comfortable with owning property but living on land owned by my family felt okay. I could never be comfortable with a mortgage. To me, this was a form of slavery. I had a kennel on the property where I raised a family of dogs for many generations. If I didn’t have to work, I could spend all day, every day with the dogs, enjoying them and plannng breedings. Genetics was one of my passions. It was a blast. In fact, life was as fun as it could be. For years, me and Rosie, my sweetheart, lived alone on the Utah property. My parents had moved to Provo, Utah and lived there, and later went to Glendale, California, and after that to New York on a mission for the LDS church. My wife could not have children. She told me this before we were married. So though she loved sex, she never got pregnant. I was more than fine with this but like most women, she had maternal instincts and desired kids. So we adopted, at birth a girl and a boy. We now had a family. Though I had little need or desire for kids, I enjoyed having them around and watching them grow up. When the children were about five, my parents returned from their mission to live in the house on their property. My dad, being a school teacher, tutored my kids in reading, writing and arithmatic.

Molestation of children was in the news, Priests, scout masters, teachers, grandparents and neighbors. My impression was this had been going on from the beginning, but women and children were getting a voice. People were listening. At this time, a casual friend that owned a video store’s daughter was molested by an older neighbor. The neighbor went to jail. Saint George was a dirty little town. The jungle telegraph amped up by everyone belonging to the same social group, that is, the only true church. This family that had experienced this tragedy now had to sell their home and video store and move far out in the country where people didn’t know them to gain peace. At about the same time, Jesse told me his Uncle Melila had been diddling with a grand daughter. The family got together and explained to the grand daughter that this was not a proper thing. They probably kept and eye on her for awhile. Meanwhile, they kept an eye on old gramps and kept any contact with the grand daughter supervised. Their love and respect for Melila was in no way diminished. They treated him as if it had never happened, other than to keep an eye on him when children were around.

At about this time, my little daughter came to my wife and made it known that her grandpa was diddling with her. My wife was horrified and angry. I confronted my father and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. I said this could cause mental misery and later even problems sexually for this little girl. What the hell was he thinking as he damaged this person. Finally, it was resolved the Polynesian way, the children were kept away from grandpa and my poor mother had to keep an eye on him. Let me explain right now, I was not overly fond of this guy, I considered him a stumble bum always under foot to trip up people who were trying to build a life. It seemed like I always had to fix houses, cars, water system, whatever he touched or tried to work on for my mother. He made my life a misery growing up and we were never close at all.

I started selling dogs from the family I had been creating over the years. I sold them mainly in California. Most weeks I had to leave with puppies Thursday afternoon or night. I would come back on Monday or Tuesday. Soon, groups of people would bring their now grown dogs by to show off how pretty, intelligent or whatever their dogs were. I was like a proud papa. I was having a blast. Life was more fun than you could hardly expect. I also was not home much. In he meantime, my wife began to be filled with more and more hatred for my father. I think she perhaps confided in some friends and relatives her problem with my father. Of course, they egged her on according to their natures and culture. This screamed out to all of them for justice, Justice! A balancing of the scales, and eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, justice! Revenge! The way of our culture. My wife took the kids to California to go to the beach with some family members. I think her family did a little intervention. After all, I was a nice mannered heathen. Obviously, I saw no value in their beloved religion. I didn’t wear their sacred underwear. I hardly went to church and when I did, I dropped the kids off and snuck out to the corner store to listen to deer hunting stories with some of my cronies. Worse, I opened my mouth, I called it Mormondum. I said that the only magical priesthood power was in their heads. I didn’t say it to them but made comments in my home and with friends. It may have gotten back to them.

My poor sweetheart turned from me to the extreme of adoring love that we had enjoyed for 20 something years, now it was turned to equally passionate hatred. Everytime she saw me she would get in my face and attack, attack, attack. You’re a terrible father, you stink, your family stinks, everything about me was terrible. When she was around, she slept next door in my son’s room. When I would come home and see that she was there, I would say, “Oh, shit.” She would be working, cleaning house, doing chores, cooking dinner and later she would catch me at the front door or bedroom door and relentlessly attack. You never loved me, you never loved the kids, you’re a horrible person, blah, blah. To all these attacks, I would agree. Not sarcastically, but with great sorrow. Yes, I am bad, I surely stink, I am a horrible person, etc. If I was tired I would gently close the door and lock it. These attacks would have gone on all night if I had let them. I kept hoping that if I was good, kind and thoughtful, she might snap out of it. After all, we had many loving years of bliss, love and respect. But in the dark of the night I would hear, “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty back together again.” She had threatened divorce several times, I ignored what she had just said. But finally, in great sorrow, I said, “Get your attorney you keep bragging about and I will come and sign the papers.” She moved her and the kids out. She tried to get the prosecutor’s office to get my dad. This had happened when my daughter was five, she was now in high school. Rosie prevailed, they threw my 81-year-old dad in jail. He could hardly walk, he was partly into dementia. I don’t know how much he comprehended. I really didn’t care. He had brought it on himself.

I was subpoenaed to a court hearing. They brought my dad in and this man who had caused me so much fear and misery as a child and now was the main cause of the misery in my family now. He could hardly walk, they had him in shackles and manacles. He was unshaven and unkempt. He could hardly hear and because of the dementia, I don’t think he comprehended when they addressed him. The ridiculousness of the shackles and manacles on a man who basically, staggered in, along with not allowing him any human diginity, let alone respect for his great age, strong in some cultures, but evidently not in mine, started getting me mad and when I get mad, I start muttering curses, God damn, motherfucker, sons-of-bitches. I removed myself from the court and left, subpena or not! I was disgusted, they didn’t pursue it.

When I built my modest little house on my parents property, I only wanted a place to dwell and later, to raise my two kids. Where it went from there, or who owned it eventually, I didn’t care. It was only a place to live. I put no money value to it. Now, my ex-wife had a free attorney in the person of her sister’s husband. Rosie had no more claim to the property than I had. My parents had bought the property before we even moved there.

This fine attorney now started a barrage of legal mumbo-jumbo and terror against my mother and one of my sisters. Legal papers were sent that only of the hiring of an attorney could answer. The idea is to bury you in legal fees while they file papers against you for pennies. They try either to bankrupt you or break you down mentally until you can’t go on. The terror was in the form of phone calls in the middle of the night, setting off your burgler alarm in the middle of the night, sending papers threatening more law suits and even jailing for some bogus crime.

I tried to meet the kids for lunch, picking them up from school, having lunch and then taking them back. One day, only my boy was there. He said my daughter was up all night with my ex-wife arguing with her. My daughter didn’t want to put grandpa in jail, she said she loved him. Rosie was telling and threatening her that she surely would do it. My daughter was saying, “I hate you, I hate you.” I dropped my son off at school and went to Rosie’s house, mostly to tell my daughter never to say “I hate you” to anyone, especially not her mother. Rosie put a restraining order on me. I didn’t go to the hearing. I wanted to send a birthday card to my daughter with a few bucks in it, and Rosie had taken up with an ugly pock-marked guy, he was helping her fix up her new home. He portrayed himself as a retired highway patrol officer, turned out, the guy was an ex-con many times in prison. My sister who IS married to a highway patrol man took my birthday card to my daughter, since I couldn’t do it. The pock-faced guy came out of the house and pushed my sister, who is a little person, up against her van and started screaming in her face. Very frightened, she left with the card.

I felt bad for my poor mother, her husband in jail, she would have her attorney answer one legal missile and two more would arrive. I had no money to help and I personally don’t know a tort from a tit. My mother and my one sister tried to hang on to the property, again, I was no help, I don’t know an escrow from an asshole. It went on it seemed, forever. Although, I think it was only one year. Finally, my mother could take no more. She signed the property over to my ex-wife. My father was then let out of jail. Some of my sisters wanted her to leave my dad but he was old and addled and had nowhere to go. My counsel to my mother was to take him back in. This is really what she wanted to hear, she always liked the guy. I don’t get it but it was her choice. One of life’s mysteries.

I had to be out of my home in two months. I moved into my little camp trailer. I left my humble home I had built, my rock fireplace, my knotty pine walls, my knotty pine cabinets that I built, my wall furnace to stand in front of on a cold morning just like when I was a kid. No laughing kid’s voices, no wife and dinner to come home to, it was so hard to go after 26 years. Oh, I forgot, no place to take my dogs, my little friends who I had raised for many generations. I said goodbye and I put them down. I took one last look at my home and left the gates on the fence unlocked and left. It wasn’t fun!! But, what’s gotta be is what’s gotta be and the best thing you can do with death, boys, is ride off from it.

My ex-wife was very social, she knew half the people in our little city, I knew hardly anyone. As I went around some of these people, especially women folk that were Rosie’s friends, they would look at me kinda with looks of disgust. I had become a hiss and a byword. But as life goes on, and being naturally happy, and knowing for a fact this is not real, nobody ever really laid a finger on me, it was all happening to that fool, Brad. Poor dumb bastard. I resolved to be happy and have lots of laughs and jokes. Have some fun with new women, woo woo. However, to lose your children, your sweetheart, one of your best friends, your comfortable home of many years, your little friends, your dogs, is a physical pain and uncomfortableness that only time can heal. For awhile, tho I was happy and having fun, there lay to the side of me a dark pit, a pit of despair. I turned my back on it, I chose happiness. So, down the path of life I walked hissing my way along.

I had a happy example in Jesse’s sister Tuuli. Years ago, she had a young daughter who after much suffering, died of cancer. A sister that was close to this little girl decided she did not want to live without her. She put a plastic bag over her head and killed herself. Awhile later, Tuuli was dancing at a luau with her husband and he had a heart attack and died in her arms. Not long after that, two of her big boys were wrestling up on the deck and they went over the rail. One boy landed on the other and killed him, broke his neck. Her youngest boy got involved in drugs and was deported to New Zealand for life. In a little while, she lost her home, she went to live with her parents. In all of this, she never lost her peace, she never lost her happy nature. She has always seemed to have joy in her life. She was my hero. If she could do it, so could I.

I have attended Polynesian funerals and watched them laugh and sing and have a big feast. The sisters gather together and stand and look at the body and weep. However, they still look happy. Jesse says they weep because they miss the person and think of happy times together. Then they rejoin the feast and laugh and joke as if nothing has happened. Jesse says this is because they are joyful, for the person is in a better place and is happy. They are happy for them

Life went on. I was working hard and having fun. I was not seeking for any truth or value in my life. I had this within. But in the spring of 2005 I was working at a school in Saint George when I spotted an old friend Al, who I hadn’t seen in years. I had lost track of Al and now in the spring of 2005, we were catching up on our lives. Talking about family or lack thereof. Laughing and enjoying each other, when out of the blue, he said, “Did you know that the sealed portion has come out?” Now, I was familiar with the Book of Mormon and the concept of the sealed portion. I was not much into the scriptures, I didn’t like the old English talk, and especially with the Book of Mormon, “it came to passes.” However, at times I found comfort in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John and on my mission, I had felt a period of enlightenment from the book of Ether in the Book of Mormon just previous to my experience in England. So, though I wasn’t searching for anything, I was excited to look at the sealed portion to compare it, like everything, to my truth. I looked at the first page and I said, “Whoa, this speaks with authority.” What I meant was, this finally is something that comes from the true source. Never in my life did I expect to see this.

I went to a symposium and shook the hand of Christopher, the author. I went to more symposiums, shook Christopher’s hand at the door and spoke briefly with him. More books followed explaining things I had never even thought of. Each time I read the sealed portion, it was like an ice cold drink of water in the desert for a thirsty man. Christopher said once, if I recall it correctly, “A few of you have had an experience that gave you some truths, I am here to fill in and connect the dots,” or something to that effect.

There are universes of space between my dots that he has attempted to get me to connect. In 2006 I went with a girl to San Diego where Christopher was taking care of a man called Charlie. Chistopher talked, we were eating finger food, he said for us to relate any spiritual experiences. When it was my turn it said, “I didn’t know what the hell my experience was. It was on my mission, we were working hard and we were fasting almost all the time, I was praying and I sort of collapsed within, there was a warm fluid but not wet, that had a motion back and forth.” I said, “I had a witness in my companion; (What happened was when I came out of my experience, my companion was standing looking at me. I said to him, “Did you experience what I just did?” He said, “What happened?” I said, “I think we’re going to find our families to baptize.” He said, “I know we’re going to find our families to baptize.”) Because of my deep respect for him and because I considered him greater than me, I assumed he had the same experience. (Since 2006 I’ve had contact with Joe, he did not have the experience.) I said, “This experience here is not real, which astonished me.” I said, “I guess you could call it an artificial reality.” I said, “We come into this reality to have experiences, mainly negative. Basically, we taste the bitter so that in our real paradise we can have joy in the sweet.” I said, “No one really gets hurt, that we were all playing parts no more real than parts in a play. If a person is stabbed and falls down dead, they then stand up unhurt as in and play.” The last imagery I got from a movie, I think it was called “Ghost” with Patrick Swayze. I said, “There was a higher happiness represented in my mind as a golden yellow light where you basically give up agency and become one with the father.

I didn’t say we were Gods from a society of Gods to this group because my common sense, and also experience, told me this would make the people there mad (that’s blasphemy!) All these things I said before Christopher began to reveal the real truth. This get together was video taped. I want to say, other than a few things that I know, I know really nothing. I’m just Brad, no better or worse than any man. I only got a glimpse in December 1969. What have I got out of the Marvelous Work and a Wonder? Everything. Christopher is the only mortal who sees clearly. My experience in England was the greatest in my life because I was so needy. It was only a crust of bread but meant everything to a dying man. Now, I have access to the whole loaf. I also got extreme self worth, not from anything in this world, but from understanding. This self worth has colored most everything I have done or not done from 1969 forward. When I think back, which I rarely do, It seems I was one person and lived another life that ended December 11, 1969. When I think back and see this little person I feel like weeping, not for me, but for this little man trying to survive and figure out what it’s all about.

I have few friends so I have lost none because of the MWAW. I, basically, gave up religion years ago, so I haven’t lost that. I lost my wife and children in 2001 who I have, basically, never seen again. I never associated much or paid much attention to LDS religious people, so I haven’t lost that. I don’t have a face book or even an ass book, so no problem there. My mom and brothers and sisters still like me, they think I’m a little crazy or as I prefer, eccentric, but they still like me from a distance though they don’t understand me. My joy has increased to a much higher level. You can’t imagine how sweet it is to keep your truth inside of you for 36 years and then to finally have it validated.

So now I’m a cult member! Let’s get this straight, I was born into a group of people that have their little children stand up in public and say things they know are true, that they know nothing of and have no interest in. When I was on my mission, we had a family who had a great interest and belief as they read the Book of Mormon. We brought them to church on a fast Sunday. I watched this man whispering to his wife as they sat with their children. A look of concern was on the man’s face as they watched the little children march up and say they knew Joseph Smith was a prophet, the Book of Mormon was true, etc. These people excused themselves from the meeting. Afterwords, we found the Book of Mormon on the doorstep, they didn’t answer but we persisted. He came out and said he was in the military, his speciality was brain washing, especially as was practiced in the Middle East, muslims (Allah is the only true God, Mohammed is his prophet). He said, “Don’t you know this is classic brain washing and will cause these kids much misery when they grow up?” So, I was subjected to brain washing in this group. I was asked and taught to give 10% of my income for the rest of my life to this group. This group was trying to control my thoughts and actions 24/7. Our leaders were General Authorities, no privates and sargeants, but generals. When they retired they were generals ameritus. We were assured they spoke to God. Every little while one of these generals would get up and basically, say to quit thinking for ourselves, that a Satan figure, kind of a boogy man, would get us. So, we should let them do our thinking for us and only follow and obey, no matter what. Now, this group is good? Very good for humanity?

So now, I have the truths and the books of the MWAW. I’ve met the messenger a few times. I’ve never had a conversation alone or broke bread with the man. I know a few people who follow this work, very few! No one has asked me to donate a dime. In fact, I’ve eaten free food several times, and never donated a dime. Christopher has been abused and mocked by people but is always respectful and nice. However, he speaks the truth like a lion, all the while, being gentle as a lamb with his interractions with people. And so, this is a cult? Oh, oh, oh, I get it. In a topsy turvy world, where good is called evil and evil is called good, it makes perfect sense!

So, away I walk down the path of life culting and hissing, hissing and culting.

I am old, it seemed to hit me all at once. My back hurts all the time. I have only a few teeth left. Joe Gold from Gold’s gym fame was asked, with all he had accomplished, what he could ask for more. He said, “I’d give a million dollars for a good shit.” I understand where he is coming from.

I met a great woman, Holly and her great dog Serenity. Her husband had just been killed. I think I was able to bring her some understanding and comfort. She also discovered the MWAW and its books. I was able to fix up her houses, keep up her yards, and help take care of her vehicles. We had the MWAW experience together. Experiences are always more fun and rich when you have somebody to share them with whether it’s sunrise in the Grand Canyon or a trip of real truth. Also, Holly has a grandson, Sawyer, the best kid ever. I have had one of the greatest experiences in life being able to associate with him from time to time.

I put in the stories of my dealings with my father and the school district because it partly made me who I am and also for amusement. Talking about those days, pre-computer, when you could gain a measure of freedom from lack of information in the system. I put in the part of Jesse because he is a key person and probably the person I’m closest to in this life. He and his family, and especially Fred, the savaant, helped me to try to reprogram my thinking to a degree from the European, Roman, American attitudes, customs and mores. The unhappy ways of thinking and acting of the world I was born into and also, to a degree, helped with family generational mental sicknesses I absorbed from my family and which is probably even in Brad’s DNA.

In the early 1960s it was odd for a white man and a colored man to be close like blood brothers. My family didn’t understand and even Jesse’s family thought it odd. To this day his family always refer to me to Jesse as “your brother.” Even Jesse’s current wife says, “your brother.” I have seven siblings, two of them brothers, I am not very close to any of them, we live in different worlds. I spent a lot of words on the old Polynesian attitudes, especially about sex. Though these people were classified Christian Mormons, in the ways they dealt with things and their attitudes about sex, teenage hot sex, affairs out of marriage, multiple wives, molestation of children, homosexuality, etc., it was clear to me they were not biblified or mormonized yet. They did not follow set rules, thou shalt not but judged everythng by the creed, “do unto others as you would want done unto yourself.” I think the Polynesians are loved for their simple faith and loving ways everywhere around the world. I’ve noticed, however, as they embrace American-European thinking and love of money and possesions, so even they find their level of peace and happiness diminished and the worse part of their natures increase. Why don’t we lighten up? Why can’t we laugh at ourselves? I’m just a mortal, ha ha. I made a mistake, ha ha. I will repent and try to do better. Don’t worry, be happy. Do good to everyone. Wish good for everyone. It’s all choices, let’s be happy.

Over the years, no matter if life brought joy, ecstasy, fun or tragedy, misery or some sorrow, Jesse would say, “It’s all good.” You couldn’t get him to say otherwise. When a great sorrow or misery happened, I would test him. He would say, “It’s all good.” I would look into his eyes and see if he was truly sincere. This was his creed, this was his attitude. And because he was the master of his universe, his world, it was so. In fact, because of this attitude, many times, what looked like a bad thing, in time, became uncannily into a good thing as we see it. Looked back at, in time, it truly was all good.

Now you might think after my experience in England in 1969, I would always think and act enlightened and proper, but alas, I have been subjected to weaknesses of the flesh and many of the follies of youth. My youth, in my mind, extending to my 50’s. One time when I was in my 20’s, making lots of money, driving a 1967 302 Camaro one day, next day driving a red De Tomasso Pantera, having money to spend like I never imagined growing up, I was swelled up in my pride. One day, a dear friend who worked for me, said to me in front of his wife, “You think you’re better than us.” I looked at myself, it was true. I was embarrassed. I repented and changed my attitude. I plead hormone imbalance, weak mind. One day I was showing my red exotic sports car to a car dealer friend I had bought another red sports car from, as I happily went to drive out of the dealership, a dear brother in his misery, shuffled past pushing a grocery cart full of his meager posessions, “Oh McGoo, you’ve done it again! Ha, ha.” The fun went out of the car. I repented. Both the Camaro and the Pantera went to someone else. Not that the cars were evil, only I was reminded this was not me or at least, not the me I wanted it to be.

Many years later, I was offended by the way I was being treated by the people who ran Saint George, or at least ran it for the people who really ran Saint George. I’ve done foolish things without number but this one takes the cake. I said I don’t like confrontation and here I am confronting all kinds of people. I can’t believe it! Is it any wonder why we need a true messenger to show us the way to live, to make us better people? I plead temporary insanity, too much sex overheated brain. I went in and told them I had rights. I was angry. I told the prosecutor to get an honest job. (Stupid, not nice.) I confronted the tyrant judge in his own home. “We are brothers from the church.” His daughter let us in. He took one look at Jesse and me and turned bright red. (Double stupid.) Got thrown into jail overnight without my harmonica. This is when I received my constipational rights. When that happens, you’re bent over and a rolled parchment gets hammered up your ass. It doesn’t hurt much, but you never quite walk the same. The next morning I got woke up by the jailer. He said my attorney was there to speak to me. I got up, I was glad to leave the cell and I was curious to meet my attorney since I knew I never had one. I went into his little office and low and behold, there was Jesse dressed in a suit with a briefcase. Jesse said he wanted to confer with his client. Since there was nowhere to go in the little jail, the jailer had to go outside in the hot sun. (Visualize Barney Fife on Andy of Mayberry. ) We had lots of laughs and then let the jailer back in. I think he was the judge’s nephew. I heard he was demoted to dog catcher which was probably better for him. When the judge heard a gorilla in a zoot suit, who said he was my legal counsel was let in, I guess he had a fit but he let me out that morning anyway.

It’s a funny story, but I bring it up because for many years I held a grudge, and indeed a hatred for the judge, the smart ass prosecutor and the wealthy good old boy developer who started it all. Looking back, I’m embarrassed and I can’t believe after all I experienced, I could be so dark as to carry bad feelings for one of my brothers. I carried it like a burden on my back. Life was a blast but when I would think of these men, I would lose my peace and happiness for a bit. Later on after I had been humbled into the dust and I had lost all that I had ever valued in my life, every last bit, I heard the prosecutor from the vissisitudes of life, was in a wheelchair, I felt for him great compassion and also great sorrow that i, in my darkness had wished anything but the best for this man. Later, I heard the developer was crushed beneath a tractor he was loading on a trailer. I heard this in sorrow because of my hard feelings for many years. Oh what a fool I am.

So one would think I have many regrets, probably more than I’ve written down with these few examples, not at all! What a waste of energy. It all worked out perfectly. I feel only happiness and thankfulness. It’s all good.

As to our true messenger, listening to him has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I certainly never expected to have this experience. I’m very thankful and happy for it all. To those who follow this work, who are trying to reprogram their minds to a new way of thinking, after a lifetime of a very different thinking, and perhaps much stress and unhappiness, let’s have faith, why can’t we exercise a particle of faith?

I mentioned before, my experience in England in 1969, I was reading in Ether in the Book of Mormon, specifically, Ether 12. If I remember correctly, it was how to develop faith from a little mustard seed into a sure knowledge. I read this and reread this, I pondered on it. I persisted and persisted at exercising my faith but I would fall into despair, a despair that came from a lack of faith. So I would go back to Ether and start anew. Circumstances and people may affect my outside world, but I am the master of my real world inside, the way I see things, the way I react to people and things. If you would find peace, you already have it inside you. If you would be happy, your happiness you already have within. If you seek to find self value, you already have it inside you, you just have to find it again.

Speaking of our true messenger, I am old, my end is not far (Brad’s end, the fool), I have a lifetime of experience, including the one in England. I say to you, with much fervor, when you have seen Christopher, you have seen the Father. When you listen to Christopher’s words, you have listened to the words of the Father. I urge you, let us pay heed to his words. They will lead us to truth and light. They will bring us to a remembrance of who we are, who we truly are in paradise lost.

To you who live with any form of despair, I say “It’s okay, it’s all good. But you don’t have to live like this.” To you who cannot seem to reprogram your mind to a happy way of thinking, I say, “It’s okay, it’s all good, have faith, let’s try again. If in your despair you should choose to end your life, it’s okay, poor fellow, life is short, shorter for some, it’s okay, you worry too much, it’s all good.”

At the very end of the sealed portion, one of my favorites says, “And though at times the days of your probation might seem overwhelming in body and soul, I pray my beloved brothers and sisters that you do not give up hope in that which you do not see and understand by the nature of the flesh that ye have. Behold, the future is wonderous and glorious and it shall come to pass that good shall overcome evil in all things and peace and happiness and order shall be the state of the universe as it hath always been and always be worlds without end. And now, with my parting words unto you, I leave you my blessing and my love. Yea, love one another. Do good to all. Look at your neighbors and imagine them as a child of God. Know that each of you is a child of God and that he loveth each of you and hath done all these things for your good. Remember the words of Christ which hath been given unto you. Remember them my beloved brothers and sisters for in them ye shall know peace and happiness and one day we shall meet in the kingdoms of the Father where we shall receive eternal life. Amen.

Brad Jenkins

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