A couple of missed opportunities before arriving in Texas

I am trying to follow the path of the Spanish explorer, Coronado, as he made his way up from Mexico, through what is now California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.  There are many legends that abound.  For example, there is a tiny town in New Mexico, on the way to Fort Sumner (where the oldest wind farm in New Mexico still stands), called Puerto de Luna.  Legend has it that Coronado had his army build a bridge, which took four days, right over the river there.  We are pretty sure he built a bridge, because we were reading the firsthand account of his journey, written about 20 years later by one of the men who accompanied the expedition (this will all be in a future blog entry), but nobody is sure where it is.  Some say there is a rock with the name "Coronatto" scrawled onto it, and we set out to see it, but I made Matt turn around right as we were about to get there, and once we got down the the Billy the Kid Museum it would have been another 45 minutes to drive back there to see it.  Missed opportunity number one.

The 19th c church at Puerto de Luna

Matt enjoyed the Billy the Kid museum

 I did not enjoy the museum, because I really wanted to go to the Bosque Redondo memorial to the Long March of the Navajo.  The people at the Billy the Kid Museum told us it was closed Monday and Tuesday, and I neglected to double check.  Turns out it was open today, just closed Tuesday.  Missed opportunity number two.  I was really mad when I found out because this was a really cool site that I had been looking forward to seeing. Check out the Bosque Redondo Memorial and see why I am mad.

We decided to continue to Amarillo without further delay.  We went right back up to Route 66 and made it to the actual midpoint of the entire road!

Our last Route 66 destination of kitch was the Cadillac Ranch, a piece of folk art just off the old highway, where half-buried Cadillacs are painted and re-painted with spray paint by tourists from all over the world.  It was definitely a Vision of America, especially the hundreds of discarded, toxic spray paint cans that people blithely threw away into the field, to seep their chemicals into the ground.

Finally, we arrived in Amarillo, home of the 72 ounce steak and the largest boot showroom in the world.  I guess the day didn't turn out so badly after all!

Balloons and Breaking Bad in Albuquerque (SPOILER ALERT!)

I looked at the number of views on these posts, and notice that it is dwindling.  My readers started out enthusiastic but when I ask people now "Have you read my blog?"  They say, "Oh, um, yeah, I read a couple."  (Except for certain family members, you know who you are!) This is not surprising as people have busy lives and here I am swanning around the USA.  But I need to keep writing because every single day is so packed with fun, unique adventures that I myself will forget what happened each day if I don't keep a record, so I guess my blog is mainly for me!  A stunning record of a once in a lifetime journey across this land.  Visions...of...America!

It all started with a sunrise hot air balloon ride today.  I know that's touristy, but I wanted to try it.  We got to the launch site right as the sun was coming up, and met with our pilot, Murray, and his assistant.  They showed us how the balloon inflated and soon we were off!  There were at least another dozen balloons taking off around us.  Albuquerque is the hot air ballooning capital of the US, because it has about 300 days a year when you can fly in a balloon: the lack of wind, the dryness, etc.

 
After our ride, we wanted to take the "Breaking Bad" tour of the city, since it is one of my favorite shows, and all of my family members, young and old, are obsessed with it.  There are three separate tour companies, all involved in a turf war, here in Albuquerque, fighting over the hordes of fans who come to find such locations as Saul Goodman's law office, the park where Mike takes his granddaughter, the train tracks where Jesse saves Mike from robberies, the cafe where Walt puts the ricin in the Stevia, Los Pollos Hermanos, the A-1 Car Wash, and of course Walt and Skyler's house, Hank and Marie's house, etc.  Most of the tours last more than three hours; one is by trolley, one is by limo, and the best one (in my opinion) is in an RV like the one they use as a meth lab in the first season or two.  However, we wanted more independence and to spend less time, so we did a self-guided tour to some of the locations.  I didn't see everything I wanted to, but we did hit some of the best spots.

Heisenberg and me

"Mike" sitting on the bench

Walt's house

 I think the reason that Breaking Bad is so compelling to so many people is because the story of Walter White's descent into evil follows almost exactly the Aristotelian pattern of the Tragic Hero.  Like Oedipus, Walter White has excellent intentions.  He wants to provide for his family.  Aristotle says that the tragic characters are revealed by the choices they make.  We see the events unfold as the characters make choices, and before our eyes we watch as they go down the wrong path.  The moment when Walt watches Jane die, for example, is one of the most powerful scenes because we see Walter making that choice to do nothing - of course, Bryan Cranston's acting is so phenomenal that it really helps, too.  By the end of the hero's demise, when he has lost everything (by the end, Walt can't even enter his own house; he watches from the doorway, framed just like John Wayne at the end of The Searchers as Walt Jr. comes home from school, then walks away).

I'm really liking Albuquerque and the Southwest in general.  Too bad the water is pretty much gone.  Severe drought, and people are still watering their lawns!  Insanity!  We could see from the balloon who was still watering and who wasn't.  Maybe America is the greatest Tragic Hero of all, or is that just the most pretentious thing I've ever written?

The 1000 Year Old Neighborhood

I woke up in a wigwam this morning, feeling relaxed.

This is a stereotypical Wild West vision of the way Indians used to live, or maybe still live today, according to tourists.  It was pretty run down inside, but so much fun to "Sleep in a Wigwam!" 

We set out for Albuquerque, still traveling along the famous Route 66.

 This time, we had an amazing Southwest style breakfast with Huevos Rancheros, Chorizo, Eggs and Coffee before leaving Holbrook, which was really not much of a town.  I got my Route 66 passport stamped in the visitor center and received the Arizona Route 66 commemorative certificate after collecting all the stamps along the way.  Fun!

About an hour west of Albuquerque is the Acoma Pueblo, also known as "Sky City,"  It is the longest continuously occupied community in the United States.  Archaeologists have dated some of the homes back to 1100 CE, but it's probably even older.  As with all Pueblo tours, we had to have a guide, go in a group, and follow certain rules.  People are living there, and I felt somewhat awkward about entering their neighborhood and gawking at them.  Only one person per group was allowed to have a camera, so I let Matt take the pictures.  You had to stay with the group, and there were certain places you weren't allowed to photograph, like the old cemetery and inside the church.  You also had to ask for the artists' permission to take pictures of their pottery.  Despite this, there was one woman who just ignored the rules.  She had two cameras and kept snapping photos the entire time, not listening to our excellent tour guide, Brandon, wandering away from the group and even taking pictures in the cemetery.  We were with a group of archaeology grad students and I could tell they wanted to throw her off the edge.  I wanted to either turn her in, confront her, or just flip her off.  I didn't do anything, but will let the ancient spirits do with her as they will, because there definitely were some at this place. These are some pictures that Matt took 

of the San Esteban del Rey church, a very haunting and haunted place.  The Spanish first came up to the mesa around 1598, having heard tales of Cibola, the seven cities of gold.  They saw the mesa with people living on it, including the mica in the windows, and thought it might be a city of gold. They tried to climb up but were rebuffed several times by the ordinarily peaceful Acoma people.  Finally, they used a cannon to blast their way up.  Unfortunately, some Spaniards had been killed and of course the governor then "tried" the Acoma for the "murder" of the Spaniards (even though they had just been defending their own homes).  The punishment was slavery, and in addition 40 prisoners had either their hand or their food cut off.  Then over the following years until 1620, the Acoma people were enslaved by the Spanish and forced to build this church.  They had to work without stopping, carrying Ponderosa pine trunks from a mountain 40 miles away.  If they died while working, their bodies were interred in the walls of the church.  We weren't allowed to take photos of the inside, but when the building was finally finished, Charles II of Spain sent some "gifts" over, including some Stations of the Cross paintings, a big canvas of some souls in Purgatory and a small statue of St. Stephen (hence the name of the church).

During the time of the Pueblo Revolt in 1680, the Acoma people were able to free themselves from the Spanish for a while.  They tore down the main altar of the church, but not the walls, because of the loved ones who were buried inside.  They went back to their own religion.  Inevitably, the Spanish returned and the Indians were again forced to practice Catholicism.  It made me really glad that we do teach about the Pueblo Revolt at Northwest.

Despite the terrible treatment the Acoma received in the past, they have gone back to being a very peaceful group of people.  They were extremely welcoming to the tour groups, and showed us some amazingly beautiful pottery I wish I could have afforded to buy.  There was one man in particular who was combining the ancient art of pottery with some modern painting, and I am telling you his stuff was fantastic.  I did buy one very tiny little traditional pot (it's a little bigger than a thimble) from a woman named June.  It's a very special souvenir.  If you want to learn more about the Acoma Pueblo, here is a link to some history, more pictures, and some stories.

Acoma Sky City

Most Acoma don't live up on top of the mesa the whole time, but they have family homes up there and go up for festivals and other holidays.  There is no running water or electricity up there; some of the houses are like a combination of the ancient Anasazi bricks and modern adobe houses.  

Now on to Albuquerque, for delicious food, a balloon ride, and, of course, Breaking Bad!

From the Grand Canyon to the Wigwam Motel: the Sublime to the Kitschy, with a Couple of Ghost Towns!

After hiking in the Grand Canyon, everything else seems small.  We only went down about 800 feet from the rim, because we were scared we wouldn't make it back out, but it was still 6300 feet from the bottom.  We met a man who was on a five-day backpacking trip from the south rim to the north rim and back; what an adventure!  Here's just one picture, although no picture can possibly capture the hugeness of grandnesses.

This photo was taken from the "Watchtower" at Desert View on the south rim.  The tower itself was built as a tribute to some of the old Anasazi and Hopi ruins, like the ones we saw in the Navajo reservation, or at Hovenweep.  Canyon de Chelly is another amazing place we just didn't have time to visit.  People love to build things down here that are tributes to the ruins.  Some are magnificent, like this tower, while others are very odd.

The watchtower was recommended to us by the proprietor of the Red Garter Inn, a former brothel in Williams, AZ where we were staying for a couple of nights.  We heard some great stories about the former owner of the place, Longino Mora, a man who had 25 children - in 1937 the youngest was 6 and the oldest was 60.  He was a rootin' tootin' jack-of-all-trades who had roved around the area as a scout on the Beale Wagon Road and other Indian roads, working for the US Army.  He still had time to run the brothel and of course secret booze and gambling hall during the prohibition era, by which time he was more than 80 years old.  He had bought it from some other immigrants, when it had also been a saloon, brothel, as well as a Chinese restaurant and opium den at one point.

After breakfast the second day, we went in search of some old ghost towns.  One was particularly intriguing to us: Canyon Diablo.  This was a temporary town that had been hastily built at the canyon crossing for the railroad because the bridge that had been shipped to the crossing was too small.  They spent almost two years waiting for the correct bridge length, and the railroad workers, while they were waiting and preparing the area, set up the scariest, creepiest town ever, apparently.  There were mostly saloons, bordellos, dance halls, and legend has it that the first US Marshal they tried to send in was dead within five hours.  35 people died violent deaths there before the bridge was built and the town disappeared.  It was an exciting adventure to drive about three miles up an abandoned road, looking for the town.  All we found was one gravesite, which was allegedly put up by a relative of Mr. Wolfe, the owner of the trading post in Canyon Diablo, the only resident of the graveyard to have died a non-violent death.

The weirdest thing about this place is that just across the highway (Interstate 40/Route 66) there is another ghost town, this one from the 1970s.  Basically, it's a ghost town of a fake ghost town. It's called Two Guns, and apparently used to be a western theme park with a strange wild animal zoo, campground, souvenir store, swimming pool etc. there.  It had a creepy vibe, with ruins of fake ruins they had built to replicate the Anasazi and Hopi ruins we have been seeing all along our journey.  Matt felt some "bad juju" along the canyon, and, while we were fascinated with the ruins, we didn't stay long.  Some of the graffiti was pretty interesting.

 You may notice, for example the strategic placement of the swimming pool drain.  The writing says "DON'T TURN AROUND," which made me want to run back to the car.  I don't know why this particular roadside Wild West theme park was abandoned so quickly, but I have an idea it was the ghosts of the Apache Death Cave.  We didn't know about this until after we went to the visitor center in Winslow, Arizona (so we could stand on the corner and all that, like in the Eagles song), but apparently right below the location, in a cave by the canyon, a group of

Apaches were trapped by a group of Navajos and basically burned alive inside the cave.  It was revenge for terrible raids that the Apaches had done, but if you look up "Apache Death Cave" you can see that it's a really horrible, grisly story.Here's one site I found.  A frightening ghost story, to be sure.

We rushed to Winslow after that, hoping to erase the creepy vibes by "Standing on the corner in Winslow Arizona" and "Takin' it Easy."  

Great.  It took about five seconds and was pretty stupid.  I guess Winslow is trying to get some tourist bucks as people come through (like we did) to get their pictures taken here.  However, what they SHOULD be making their money from is the amazing, beautiful, wonderfully restored La Posada Hotel! Click here to see pictures and read more about it.

This was one of the original Fred Harvey hotels from the 1920s and 30s, as the railroads tried to get more tourists to come out west.  They had these young ladies known as "Harvey Girls" who would come out to work in the hotels and restaurants.  They had to have good character, good hygiene, and had to remain unmarried for as long as they were working.  They had these cars called "Harveycars" that would take tourists from the hotel up into the Indian reservations.  They had an "All Indian Band" that would play for people on the railway lines.  What a world!  I wish we could have stayed here, too, but we had to move on to probably the most iconic of all Route 66 Motels, the Wigwam Motel!

 
This is the kind of image I have dreamed about!  And here we are, sleeping in a wigwam before driving to Albuquerque tomorrow morning.

In the Footsteps of the Joads, Backwards.

"66 is the path of a people in flight, refugees from dust and shrinking land, from the thunder of tractors and shrinking ownership, from the desert’s slow northward invasion, from the twisting winds that howl up out of Texas, from the floods that bring no richness to the land and steal what little richness is there. From all of these the people are in flight, and they come into 66 from the tributary side roads, from the wagon tracks and the rutted country roads. 66 is the mother road, the road of flight."  -John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

So much has already been written about Route 66, the "Mother Road," the "All American Road," the road of emigrants, of wagons, of Elvis, James Dean, Marylin Monroe, Bikers, of Nicholas Cage (yes, the Mother of all Screamers on the Mother Road), that it's hard to know where to start.  I guess I'll start with the reason I wanted to drive on Route 66, because of one of my favorite American novels of all time, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck.  If you haven't read it, or haven't read it lately, do yourself a favor and read it, or read it again. It just gets better and better.  I think of Route 66 in terms of events in The Grapes of Wrath.  I called my brother and he asked where we were.  I said we were right by the place where Noah decides to stay by the river and not go with the family the rest of the way.  (Spoiler alert...).  Now we're up in the mountains by Williams, where they weren't sure if the old jalopy would make it.  The CR-V had no problems, despite the twisting winds that were howling up from Texas this March afternoon.

I love life-size dioramas.  Here is one of some "Oakies" on their way across Route 66

 We started our excursion in Kingman, at the Route 66 Museum (I gather there are at least a dozen of these museums across the country, at various points on the road).  It was small but interesting, inside an old power plant.  I learned a lot about the Road.  For example, it started out as the first federally funded wagon road in the country, in the 1850s, when a survey crew led by a Lt. Beale found it to be a pretty passable route to California.  It continued like this for more than a hundred years, with wagons, then the railroad, then finally motorists using the same route.  In 1957 the Interstate highway system started and it took four interstates to cover the same route, from Chicago to LA, that Route 66 had done by itself.  At that point, the old Route 66 was sometimes neglected, sometimes paved over by the interstate, and people forgot about it for a while.  But various citizens in various parts of the country realized how cool the road was, that it was a part of American history, and made efforts to preserve it, or stretches of it, as best they could.

Today I learned about the town barber in Seligman, Arizona, Angel Delgadillo, who devoted most of his spare time to raising awareness of the historic road.  In 1978, Highway 40 bypassed the little town of Seligman, and Angel realized his (and his fellow residents') livelihood was wasting away.  Seligman was on the way to becoming a ghost town.  Not willing to see his town disappear, Angel organized a meeting of representatives from other Route 66 towns and created the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona, with Angel as president.  Through the efforts of this association, eventually the state of Arizona recognized his little stretch of road as "Historic Route 66," and now people from all over the world come to drive the historic road, buy merchandise, and talk with the residents of these little towns.  We met Angel's nephew, who runs the crazy Snow Cap Drive-In.  He said, "Here's my card," and handed me a card that says "MY CARD" on it, after I bought some rubber chicken earrings from him. 

I asked him if he took credit cards and he replied, "Yes, but I don't give them back!"  Then he pretended to squirt me with this gag mustard container. What a cut-up.  The old barber shop where Angel worked is now a gift shop and mini-museum, staffed by various family members, including Angel's granddaughter.

Matt in the original barber chair

 There is a lot more information about Angel and Vilma Delgadillo in Seligman at this link.  Angel received the John Steinbeck award for helping to preserve the road, and was reportedly the inspiration for the movie Cars.  I haven't seen the movie, but I guess there's a whole part about the destruction of Route 66 by the impending Interstate 40.  Also, the cars have names and personalities.  Only in America.  In case you think I scoff, remember that Cream Puff just got her collector vehicle plates.

Angel and his family saved their town, and all the other towns and attractions along that stretch of highway: there are old Burma Shave signs posted along the route now.  Travelers can visit rescued exotic wildlife, sleep in a cavern 200 feet underground, and witness the remains of the Valentine Indian School, a mercifully abandoned government boarding school for the children of the Hualapai tribe. The Roadkill Cafe and the Hackberry General Store are thriving businesses.  Motels named Siesta, Orchard, El Trovatore, Frontier, Orlando, and Romney are still welcoming drivers and motorcyclists from all over the world (we saw Japanese, French, Italian and of course Chinese tourists).  There is an internet radio station you can tune into as you drive (or even right now as you sit at your computer reading this) that plays the perfect oldies soundtrack:   www.Rte66Radio.com.

I love all the fun, quirky roadside attractions, the old cars (both restored and junky), the history, but my absolute favorite thing today was the Giganticus Headicus.  I don't know anything about it, except that it's a giant green head that sort of looks like an Easter Island head.  It's sitting out in the middle of nowhere, just for fun, between Kingman and Hackberry, a true vision of America if I ever saw one.

Giganticus Headicus. That's not real Latin, in case you were wondering.

Why do I love Las Vegas?

We spent the past couple of days on a working buffalo ranch just outside of Zion National Park.  Zion is one of the most strikingly beautiful places on earth, with a deep canyon cut into the layered rock by the Virgin River, and soaring rock formations with names like “Temple of the Patriarchs” and “Angels Landing.”  We decided to spend the day on the ranch, watching the buffalo, deer and antelope (along with the miniature horses, ducks and chickens, sitting on the rustic log porch swing and reading our “bubblegum for the mind” novels.  We drove through Zion this morning on our way to Vegas.

We had many plans and ideas: hiking in Zion (the famous “Angel’s Landing” was recommended to us as a must-do hike, but I guess we’ll do it next time); stopping to see St. George (home of the multitudinous polygamous FLDS families); Mountain Meadows (home of the infamous Mountain Meadows Massacre, in which scores of Mormons killed unarmed Arkansans who were trying to get to California), Valley of Fire State Park, etc. but once we were on the road, Las Vegas pulled us like a giant magnet; we drove without stopping (okay, that’s a lie: we got an oil change at Jiffy Lube and I dropped off a pair of my boots at a boot repair place, but no sightseeing)  until we reached the MGM Grand, where I had won a free night by playing a free online slot machine game.  We also won four free buffets and free tickets to ride on the monorail.

Las Vegas is one of my favorite American places.  Every time I go, I see things you just don’t see any place else: a sign with a sexy, scantily clad female police officer advertising bail bonds; a large group of Indonesian businessmen in three piece suits and ties, eating a giant bag of Lay’s sour cream and onion potato chips and drinking copious amounts of red wine while sitting in a classy lounge; a stand in the underground mall where people with hangovers can get various intravenous vitamin treatments. 

I was also privileged to witness my first Vegas wedding.  I think some of my Facebook friends were surprised when we “checked in” at the Vegas Wedding Chapel, perhaps thinking we had decided to tie the knot.  However, that was not the case.  Matt’s cousin Kristi and her partner, Les, were getting married, and we happened to be there at the right time, in the right place! 

When we arrived, the wedding party was standing outside, next to the “drive through” tunnel with its big white limos, drinking 32 oz cans of Coors and Miller Light.  They greeted us joyfully, and I snapped some pictures.  We waited in the lobby for the minister, who was a young, charismatic fellow with a scruffy beard.  There was a lot of merchandise for sale, including fabulous sparkly rings, matching “bride” and “groom” baseball caps, and souvenir mugs and tiaras.  Photos of obscure celebrities (former NBA players, rap singers I had never heard of, stars of TV sitcoms from the 80s and 90s) who had gotten married at this particular chapel adorned the walls.  I tried to take some photos of the guests, but photography inside the building was strictly forbidden, as I guess the main way they make their money is through selling the photography packages.  When the time came, we were ushered up the stairs to the rooftop outdoor gazebo.  The bride’s mom was watching over a live video feed, and Matt leapt over to wave and say hi.  Then we stood for the bride’s entrance, to the traditional “wedding march” played over the speakers.  The ceremony was very lovely, with the minister nodding his head as he told them to clasp hands.  “Don’t ever forget that these are the hands of your best friend,” he reminded them.  Despite the cheesy setting, the numerous helicopters flying overhead, the artificial roses used in the “symbolic rose exchange,” the ceremony was genuinely moving.  Love is love, whether people exchange rings and vows in a courtroom, a beach, a cathedral or a rooftop in Vegas near Fremont street. 

Speaking of Fremont street, we then spent some time in the old Binion’s gambling hall, where I watched two college boys clean up at the craps table and a woman about my age pray to the Flashdance slot machine that took my 20 dollars without ever giving me the bonus.  As I walked away, discouraged, I heard her chanting, “Flash!  Flash!” while waving her hand across the screen in a mysterious ritualistic gesture, perhaps invoking the spirit of Jennifer Beals.

Vegas is the least sustainable place on earth.  I don’t know where they get the water for the fountains in the Bellagio, or the water I get to drink from the tap here.  It will all be gone, probably within my kids’ lifetime.  It’s the fakest place on earth, with the fake Paris, the fake Venice, the fake New York…but it’s the best fake Paris there is, the most striking fiberglass Statue of Liberty replica on the planet, the most authentic shopping mall Gondoliers singing “O Sole Mio” you can get.  Is it wrong to want to visit here before it disappears?  I wanted to stay at the MGM because Randall Flagg, Stephen King’s antichrist in the apocalyptic novel The Stand, stays here during the apocalypse, crucifying disobedient followers on telephone poles in the desert hills before it all goes sour and his bride leaps to her death from the hotel balcony.  I love the view of the strip from the rooms here, the flashing signs telling me to “buffet” as if it were a verb, to bathe in precious stones at the spa, to see Penn and Teller, Donny and Marie or David Copperfield.  I love to pronounce the names of the hotels with the open “aaah” sound of awe and wonder: Mirage, Bellagio, Aria, elongating that vowel as I repeat them again and again, like an incantation at a slot machine.

After a few hours basking in the sun by the pool, a ride on the monorail, and yet another complimentary buffet, we see “Vegas! The Show!” which combines Rat Pack and Elvis impersonators, beautiful showgirls, and God knows what else in an extravaganza of frolicsome fun. "We want to share with you the moments and the memories of that gleaming jewel in the desert,"  the show’s producers write. I had originally wanted to see Jubilee! - a show in which hundreds of topless showgirls dance aboard a full size replica of the sinking Titanic, but for some reason that show is not playing tonight.  I was torn between that and “Divas!” starring Brad Marino, a superstar drag revue, in which “female impersonators portray famous divas including Britney Spears, Cher, Madonna, Dolly Parton, Diana Ross and Beyonce,” or “The Rat Pack is Back.” Next time.

I know some people think Vegas is sordid, seedy, depressing, full of people just hitting the slot machines again and again.  Maybe it is, and maybe it’s also a vision of America at its most voracious, the height of the Capitalist spectacle, the current day Roman Empire (no accident that Caesar’s Palace is still the grande dame of the strip, eh?), but I am not going to pretend that I come here as some kind of sociological experiment.  I LOVE it.  I can’t get enough.  I want to see every show, eat every buffet and steakhouse, lose all my money at the craps table, and come back for more the next day.  Nothing in excess, eh?  Luckily, we’re leaving tomorrow morning – although not before one last buffet, here at the MGM.  Next time I go to Vegas, you should come with me!
Meanwhile, watch Elvis sing "Viva Las Vegas"

Cowboys

On the way back from Monument Valley, we stopped at the Goulding's Trading Post.  The Gouldings were white folks who fell in love with the Navajo nation in the 1920s and just decided to live there.  They set up a trading post where the Navajo could sell their stuff and get a fair price.  At the end of the 1930s, when the depression had set in, the story goes that the Gouldings spent their last sixty dollars on a trip to Hollywood to meet with director John Ford and convince him to come over and film his moving  pictures in Monument Valley.  They brought pictures to him and he was so impressed that he brought his cast and crew right over.  The first film ever made in Monument Valley, "Stagecoach," made John Wayne a star and brought moviemakers into the area like crazy.  The movies that have been filmed are too numerous to mention here, but my favorites include The Searchers, Thelma and Louise and Forrest Gump.   I love The Searchers the best, but maybe because it is so creepy and confusing, the Goulding's people really play up Stagecoach and also She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.  

The Original Stagecoach

Howdy, Pilgrim!

The best thing about all these movies was that all the Navajo extras were paid really well, especially for the Depression times.  I read one report that says they were paid between 5 and 15 dollars per day, even in 1939.  So like Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, which perpetuated some stereotypes of Indians, Hollywood westerns were a source of a really good income for the people on the reservation.

Our next stop was this cheezy movie museum in Kanab, allegedly known as "Little Hollywood."  We were told that scores of directors had come to Kanab to film TV and Movies such as "Bonanza," "The Big Valley," "Gunsmoke," etc.  When we arrived, we found some run down sets, the most famous of which was from The Outlaw Josey Wales.  Other than that, we were left with a bunch of sets to movies I had never heard of, like Disney's One Little Indian.  

Is this it?  The Outlaw Josey Wales' barn or something?

Oh, and we also saw Kenny Loggins' set for a video he had shot somewhere around here.  This was pretty ironic since I had just been scoffing at Kenny Loggins fans as we had been driving over the dam across Lake Powell, talking about "smooth jazz" and all, and then there was his set!

We are now at a working bison/buffalo ranch just outside of Zion National Park.  I know everyone told us to hike up to Angels Landing today, but we decided to take it easy, sit on the rustic log porch swing, and watch the bison, and the one steer who thinks he is part of the herd.  This is the last weekend of March, and there are actually traffic alerts in the park, because the shuttle doesn't start running until tomorrow, and so people are driving up and down in hordes.  The rangers are actually turning people away.  Is this is lame excuse?  Should we be up there?  We are trying to rest up after all the excitement, in preparation for our trip to Vegas tomorrow!

Trail of the Ancients

Driving down from American Fork to Moab, I was in a daze.  All the teachings of the Mormons rang in my head.  I listened to some music: Insane Clown Posse, John Denver, Kid Rock.  I thought about why they would name the town Moab, presumably after the ancient homeland of Ruth, the Moabitess who had married Boaz and become the ancestress to King David. 

Moab is a small, outdoorsy town, dedicated to hiking, river rafting, and mountain biking.  As some of you know, I used to enjoy these activities in my youth, but have become sedentary in my middle age, and if I am forced to go on a hike, I enjoy kvetching most of the time.  However, as we set out for Arches National Park the next morning, I was excited for the hike up to “Delicate Arch.”  It was supposed to be only three miles round trip, so I was thinking a stroll around Green Lake in Seattle would be about the size of it.  Of course it was nothing like that, as the elevation gain is huge and you are already at a very high altitude, so we were huffing and puffing and having to pause a lot, but there was no kvetching or whining at any point, only kvelling and admiring the amazing view.  When we reached the Delicate Arch, my heart stopped. 

It was incredible. 

We loved the experience so much that we decided to try the even more challenging hike up to “Devil’s Playground.”  Wow!  Immense arches, spires, views of distant mountains…we were on top of the world!  We took the “primitive loop trail” on the way back for a total of about 9 miles of hiking that day.  Of course, we paid the price the next day as we hobbled around the ancient petroglyphs and ruined cities of the Trail of the Ancients, but it was worth it.

Top of the world!

On the way down to Monument Valley, I wanted to visit some historic sites, of people who had lived in this area for centuries before Europeans ever arrived.  As Leslie, our Navajo guide, said this morning, “You call this the 21^st century, but for our people, it’s the 80^th, or 90^th, or 100^th century.”  Our first stop was “Newspaper Rock,”  a famous wall of graffiti that people have written on for hundreds of years.  Nobody really knows what some of the stories are, but my guess is that they were just  “I was here” type writings.  After about 1900, they stopped allowing folks to write on the wall, but it was pretty cool to see everyone’s marks.

Our appetite for ancient folks whetted, we decided to bypass the Needles area and take a remote National Forest road.  Okay, it wasn’t “we,” so much as “I.”  On a road which will henceforth be known as “the Meyer cutoff,” we barely escaped being stranded in two feet of snow on a road which had not been plowed, somewhere around 7000 feet.  Like the Donner Party after the Hastings Cutoff, we might have remained there through the winter,  resorting to cannibalism after the wheat thins ran out, if not for the brand new tires, the four-wheel drive and the skill of the driver.  While I miss my Cadillac, Cream Puff is definitely not the car for this trip.

Over the past twenty-four hours, we have visited three separate sites of the ancient Pueblo people.  At the Edge of the Cedars, we saw evidence of the people who built kivas and wove blankets from turkey feathers; at Hovenweep, we walked through a village that at its height had accommodated hundreds of people, including the amazingly skillful masons who constructed the buildings that still stand (partially) today.  

 My favorite story from the Ute people was how the Creator wanted to place the people in the center of the sacred valley, so he put them in a sack after making them, and entrusted the sack to Coyote.  He told Coyote not to look in the sack or open it until he had arrived in the valley (I think this would be around the Colorado or San Juan River today).  But of course, you know if someone tells you not to look into something, or not to open something, you’re going to do it, right?  (Pandora, Bluebeard, etc.) So Coyote looked in, and some of the people escaped too soon!  They became the enemies of the Utes, whom Coyote did deposit in the correct place.  I guess every group of people has to believe that it is at the center.  Navajo people believe that in the beginning, everyone spoke Navajo, but then the people went out hunting or fishing, and when they came back, they spoke different languages.  Leslie said that his grandfather told him that Japanese people used to speak Navajo, but they ate so much raw fish that their language changed!  He said every language seems to have a little bit of Navajo in it.

 This morning in Monument Valley,

we had the privilege of touring what is known by the while folks as “Mystery Valley,” the home of the Anasazi people.  Their dwellings and wall drawings are the most mysterious, and also the most spiritually powerful.  Archaeologists don’t know why all these people just stopped living in their communities around 800 years ago.  There is speculation about drought, or overpopulation, or another disaster compelling the people to move.  The Hopis and Utes believe that their spiritual leader simply told them it was time to move on.  The Navajo tell a story something like the Tower of Babel story, that the Anasazi became too powerful and the Creator simply killed them.  Whatever the case, the Navajo do not dwell in any of the locations where the Anasazi once did.  In fact, some Navajo have nightmares if they walk over the land where these ancient ones used to live, or where they are buried.  The Anasazi will appear to them and ask, “What are you doing here?  This is our place.”  And the modern people will move somewhere else. Some Navajo stories even suggest that there were “star people” who used to visit the Anasazi, as depicted in the large figures on the petroglyphs.

Star People?

Anasazi Dwelling

Leslie showed us these ancient ruins, told us how the Navajo continue to reclaim their language and traditions after they were almost lost, showed us which plants were poisonous and which were medicinal, and sat with us in the immense silence as we looked out over the huge stone monoliths.  Finally, he led us up a steep rock into a natural stone archway.  He asked us to close our eyes while he sang a prayer song to the Creator.  For a minute, my rational, inquisitive mind stopped  trying to figure out who the Anasazi were, why they disappeared, how they were related to the Navajo.  I forgot about my plans for tomorrow, my sadness for all the Native peoples who were killed or displaced or dismissed (my “white liberal guilt” as Sherman Alexie calls it), and just listened to the voice of praise and thanksgiving to our Creator. 

Love your Enemies

This is the most challenging post I have had to write so far, because it is about something I have wanted to do ever since I heard about the American Heritage School from Mark Terry, about how they do historical re-enactments, including a three-hour musical about the history of the United States.  I thought it would be fun, I guess, I now confess, in a campy sort of way, to visit this school. As you know, I love the US of A, the many visions and stories from our wonderful, complicated nation full of so many diverse types of people, and I do love to wear a tricorn, or even a Betsy Ross uniform when I can.  I don't want to say anything "bad" about the American Heritage School. Everyone was really nice, the kids were fun and spunky and smart, and my 12th grade counterpart was charismatic, funny, and very kind to me.  I invited him to please come and visit us at Northwest, the school that is pretty much the polar opposite of his, a progressive school in a progressive city.  I suppose you could call us "enemies."

I looked up the word enemy in the 1828 Webster's Dictionary, the official dictionary used by the teachers at the American Heritage School. ("Search, browse, and study this dictionary to learn more about the early American, Christian language.") It means: "1. a foe; an adversary. A private enemy is one who hates another, or attempts to do him injury to gratify his own malice or ill will. 2. One who hates or dislikes, as an enemy to truth or falsehood.  3. In theology...the enemy is the Devil, the archfiend."  check out the 1828 Webster Dictionary  Is this too extreme?  I certainly didn't feel hatred when I visited the American Heritage School.  I was astonished, I suppose, uncomfortable, bemused, fascinated.  I admit, I did dislike their doctrines and felt enmity towards the teachings I experienced.  I also was aware that in the eyes of many of the people at this school, we are most likely the representatives of the archfiend.

Here's the story of my day:  I arrived at the school at 7:30, a bit self-conscious because I was dressed in slacks, and all the other females had skirts below the knee.  I was met by the assistant principal, whom I had contacted to arrange the visit.   She was super nice, and welcomed me graciously.  We went to the faculty morning prayer meeting, where we sang the patriotic hymn, "My Country, 'Tis of Thee," which most people know.  We sang three verses, the last of which praised "our Fathers' God" as the "author of Liberty."  Of course we know the famous words of the Declaration of Independence, that talk about "the laws of nature and nature's God," but we also know that Thomas Jefferson, who wrote those words, was a deist who cut up the Bible and pasted the parts he thought were "diamonds in a dunghill" into a separate book, the Jefferson Bible, which is handed out to members of Congress to this day.  Jefferson called most of the Bible a "dunghill." But never mind that. I'm trying not to put in my own two cents, just tell you what happened.  I was captivated by all the pictures they had of George Washington praying at Valley Forge, next to portraits of Christopher Columbus and Joseph Smith.

After a hymn and a prayer, and another lovely welcome from the other teachers, I went to visit a 7th grade class.  The teacher was extremely friendly and showed me the timeline they have on the wall in every history classroom, detailing the essential events of history:  the printing press, Columbus, Joseph Smith, the Supreme Court stopping prayer in schools, etc.  Muslims destroy the Holy Sepulcher?  Check.  Martin Luther reforms the Catholic Church?  Check.  The teacher introduced me and the entire group of 7th graders stood up, faced me, and said in unison, "Good Morning, Ms. Meyer, Welcome to our School."  We then sang another hymn and said the pledge of allegiance to the flag.  The students stood up beside their desks (in rows) and, as prompted by the teacher, began to recite various phrases, lines and maxims they had memorized. I felt I had been transported back to the 1950s. The teacher talked probably 95 percent of the time as the students sat and listened to her.  The lesson was about the priest, Melchizedek, about whom very little is written in the King James Bible, but in the Joseph Smith "Translation," it tells of how the priest took bread, broke it and blessed it, and took the wine and blessed it, to foreshadow the Christian sacrament.  

This is because Joseph Smith was allegedly visited by the three apostles (see my post about what I love about Mormons a couple of days ago), who conferred the priestly authority of Melchizedek onto him.  We spent a LONG time being read to out of the book of Genesis, hearing lists of various kings of ancient city-states, the most prominent of which were, of course, the ever-popular Sodom and Gommorah.  In every single class I saw, the teacher took many opportunities to remind the students of the importance of personal righteousness and purity, and to avoid the "filthy" practices of the inhabitants of these cities.  "Never do anything that could lead to sexual transgression," warns the pamphlet, "For the Strength of Youth," which is the Mormon guide for high school kids.  "Do not do anything that arouses sexual feelings.  Do not arouse those emotions in your own body."  (I assume this is a tactful way to say not to masturbate.)  Why, because "In God's sight, sexual sins are extremely serious....The prophet Alma taught that sexual sins are more serious than any other sins except murder or denying the Holy Ghost."  Especially serious is "Homosexual and lesbian behavior."  With these beliefs, it makes sense that the teachers would take every opportunity to remind the kids to stay on guard against this kind of behavior or thought.  "The Natural Man is the Enemy to God," was a statement the students learned, memorized and repeated often.  

Next I visited my charming counterpart, the 12th grade "core" curriculum teacher.  Like the teachers at Northwest, he did not use a textbook for civics, but had created his own series of power points as well as a course reader, with sources carefully cited for the students to do further research on their own.  He was going through the US Constitution, just like we do, making sure they had things like the powers of Congress in Article One section 8 down pat: coining money, setting standards of weights and measures, etc.   Like us, he put in his two cents, giving examples and interpretations.   Like us, he told them about separation of powers (Montesquieu), Artistotle's parts of government, and of course about Locke and Hobbes.  We could have swapped power points and lectured from them (although mine were fancier).  The difference, of course, was the commentary.  Here are just a few examples:

1)  When discussing the "natural born citizen" clause in Article 2, he said that the reason the Founding Fathers wanted the president to be born in the US was so that he would be educated here.  He told a story of Thomas Jefferson, who had been in Paris during the Constitutional Convention, being asked by a friend where he should send his son to school.  According to the story, Jefferson told him to send him to William and Mary in Virginia, so that he would learn American, not European values.  And besides, said Jefferson, all those American men who come to Europe end up taking mistresses there, and being unfaithful to their wives.  (I guess it was okay to bring your mistress with you to Europe, especially if she was also your property.)  The point of the story was driven home with a video of Michelle Obama making a speech in which she referred to Kenya as her husband's "Homeland."  In other words, it really doesn't matter whether Obama was technically born in Hawaii or not; what matters is that he is not really "American" because he was not educated here, and does not hold the true values of the Founding Fathers: Christianity and Capitalism.

2) When teaching about the Electoral College, he went over the original section in Article Two, without any reference to the 12th amendment except to say, "It's a little different today."  He explained that Hilary Clinton wants to abolish the Electoral College, because this would lead to uniformity and conformity to the dominant cultural values of moral relativism and sexual promiscuity .  I wish I could have followed his argument better; it made my head spin.  I think the gist was that if we abolish the Electoral College and let the president be chosen by popular vote, states like Wyoming will not be able to preserve their unique voice, the voice of the past that they want to conserve.

I wish I could tell you everything he said, but by that time my head was spinning.  I was trying to pay attention as best I could but I was so astonished at how the same document could be taught so differently, and I wondered...am I as biased as he is?  When I put in my two cents, do I sound as much like Rachel Maddow as he does like Glenn Beck?  I did manage to write down the following amazing gem, word for word:  "If we have to teach safe sex in the schools, are we worthy of this Constitution?"

"Whaaaaat?" you may ask.  No, no.  Let me explain. There are four conditions to a successful Republic:  1) private virtue.  In other words, citizens must be virtuous, living according to good moral principles (see above about sexual purity, for example) for a republic not to fall apart 2) public virtue.  Leaders have to be willing to serve disinterestedly, not for personal gain 3) widespread education.  The kind they are getting at American Heritage School, NOT the kind we teach at Northwest.  4)  Auxiliary safeguards.  These could be things like the Bill of Rights (especially the 10th amendment to prevent the Congress from getting out of hand OR things like not being alone with a date so you don't get frisky and sexually immoral).  Now do you see why, if we have to teach about condoms in high school, we don't really deserve to have a republic?  Because we don't have real virtue.  

When my mind wandered (or maybe shut down for a moment in order to prevent overload), I looked around the room at the 28 principles from The 5000 Year Leap that my counterpart had posted around the room.  Here they all are for your reading enjoyment but I will just tell you the last one, in case you didn't have time to look at them all: "The United States has a manifest destiny to eventually become a glorious example of God's law under a restored Constitution that will inspire the entire human race." ("restored" without the 13th-15th and 19th amendments?)   I also looked through the extensive course reader he had compiled, and wrote down some of the sources he used so I could look them up later.  (Remember: democracy leads to tyranny.  Socialism always leads to Communism. Always cite your sources so that your adversary can look them up later and post them on her blog in an attempt to shock her readers and, I guess, discredit you as a serious teacher) 

1) Communism's plan for destroying the west: odd Catholic website source for evil feminist plan to destroy our values.  If you click on the Home page, you will see the Virgin Mary's End Time Prophecies as well.
2) Comparison of Marx's ten-point plan to how we have changed the Constitution: from 1963
and here is their main page  (the main one they don't like, in case you don't want to read the whole thing, is the 14th Amendment)
3) Finally, the "Inspired Constitution" webpage written by LDS folks: here is what they say about the US Constitution

In my final observation, I read along with the students as they listened to my counterpart discuss the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass.  As in the previous classes I observed, the teacher did pretty much all the talking.  It made me resolve to talk less when I return to Northwest.  I know I have made strides in that area over the years, but I need to continue to work on this, as I love to "hold forth" as much as my American Heritage colleagues.  At one point, he compared Mr. Covey, the evil slave-breaker whom Frederick fights, to people on welfare.  I guess because he was having other people do work for him.   Mr. Covey, Douglass wrote, "deceived himself into the solemn belief that he was a sincere worshipper of the most high God."  Hm.  

After class, I told my counterpart, in a loving way, that I was opposed to pretty much everything he stood for, and vice versa.  I told him how proud I had been of my students when they worked on R-74 last year.  How, just as he and his colleagues proudly displayed photos of their lovely families (he has seven children himself), my gay colleauges could display their family photos with the same pride.  I invited him to come visit, and offered to swap power points with him.  I told him we had just elected a gay mayor.  He said that he would love to come visit, that he had been meaning to come to the Pacific Northwest for a long time.  I think we each thought the other person was smart and funny and dynamic.  As a conservative, he wants to "conserve" what he believes to be the values of the past.  As a progressive, I see society as getting better, not worse (what with things like the abolition of slavery and the recognition of human rights for all people etc.)

I was pretty shaken up as I left.  It's one thing to laugh and be campy about this kind of teaching; it's another experience entirely to sit there and listen and read and think about how these kids are going to think and feel and participate in government when they grow up.  I guess I do sort of want to destroy a lot of what he believes in.  I want a single-payer health care system.  I don't want gay Mormon kids to try to kill themselves.  I know he doesn't want that, either, but his doctrines do lead to that.  I want to argue with him, but I know there isn't any point.  I will, however, continue to do everything in my power to teach kids that unchecked capitalism is wrong.  That the Founding Fathers, while some were Christian, did believe in the separation of church and state.  That people can be virtuous without scary religious doctrines. That the First Amendment does not give people the ability to impose their religion on everyone else.  That Nature's God made the Natural Man, not to be His enemy, but that our sex powers are God-given, and therefore good.  And God did make Adam and Steve.  That the Constitution of the United States is one of the greatest miracles of government, and should be learned by heart, so you know your rights and they can't be taken away.  

I am comforted by the words of Pastor Eric O'Del of Amazing Grace Spiritual Center.  I asked him how he felt about conservative Christians who thought he would go to hell for being a flamboyant gay man. He looked at me with a twinkly-eyed, beatific smile and asked, "Do you get the idea that God loves diversity?"  I look around and yes, I do get that idea, Pastor Eric.  "They're just scared.  I pray for them.  I pray for their highest and best good."  

I will do that, as I go for a hike in magnificent Arches National Park tomorrow.  Thanks for reading. Keep the faith, everybody.

A visit to the LDS High School Seminary

The LDS seminary building, pretty much adjacent to the public high school

I attended the high school seminary this morning in Kaysville, Utah.  This is the building, literally right next door to Davis (Public) High School where my friend Angie teaches.  She called the seminary and asked if it was okay for me to attend some classes there.  At first, I think they were a little wary, perhaps worrying that I would leap up and start denouncing them, but she assured them that I am a religion teacher, and would only be there to learn.  So bright and early, I went in and introduced myself to the principal.  I ended up being able to sit in (and actually participate, because you can't really stop me from participating) on three different seminary lessons on the Book of Mormon, and let me tell you I learned a ton.  

Seminary teachers are called "Brother" and "Sister" instead of Mr. and Mrs. or Ms.  I didn't see any female teachers, but I was assured that they do exist.   The purpose of the LDS Seminary is, according to the website, "to help youth understand and rely on the teachings and Atonement of Jesus Christ, qualify for the blessings of the temple, and prepare themselves, their families, and others for eternal life with their Father in Heaven." 

Here is the seminary website, if you want to read more

Students get "release time" from their normal high school day and walk over to the seminary building that is conveniently located right next door.  Is this a violation of the separation of church and state?  It seems not, since the public high school allows it.  Of course, this means the high school gets to have 400 fewer students in every class period, which means their resources are not as stretched as they would be.  In essence, the LDS Seminary provides additional teachers and classrooms for these students every day at no extra charge to the state.  So who's gonna complain?  Now what happens to the non-Mormon kids?  They get to take electives during that time period, for which they earn actual credit.  Seminary classes do not count for high school credit, which means the Seminary kids may take longer to graduate.  It is supposedly completely voluntary, although there are clearly some kids whose families are pressuring them to go.  Most of the kids I observed seemed incredibly motivated and engaged, despite the lack of credit and grades.  I did see one girl who spent the entire time just reading quietly on her Kindle, just minding her own business and letting the other students and the teacher get on with the class.  I really wanted to talk to her and ask her story, but I kept a respectful distance and besides, there was too much to learn from the actual classes.

So what if, I asked, some Jewish or Muslim kids wanted to have a release period and go take Hebrew School or Qur'an classes?  I was told that they could definitely do that, but they have never tried.  Of course, there is about one Muslim kid in the whole school of 2500.  I did see a Jewish teacher.  I said to her, "I didn't know there were any Jews in Utah."  (I was very naive when I got here; I thought there would be no beer, no coffee, no strip clubs either)  She said, "Oh yeah, there are a lot.  You should come to synagogue with me in Park City on Friday.  Our rabbi snowboards."  I told her I had to leave for Moab tomorrow, otherwise I would come up with her.

The LDS Seminary follows a four-year rotating curriculum, in which students read and learn the various holy scriptures.  In addition to the "Old" and "New" Testaments, which take up a year each, the two other years are spent reading the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, which are the inspired writings of the Prophet, Joseph Smith.  I happened to luck out and be visiting while they were in a Book of Mormon year.  Each year, students have 25 verses to memorize, so that they can then refer to them later in life, whether on a mission or just explaining their faith.  The idea is to have 25 scriptures a year, for a total of 100.  I downloaded one of the free "Scripture Mastery" apps onto my phone, so that I could learn and practice along with the kids today.  Each class I saw spent some time on studying and quizzing themselves on these verses.  

Each class began with a hymn and a prayer, led by the kids.  They had a mixture of Mormon and traditional hymns.  The kids were also encouraged to give "testimony," which is a really important part of Mormon spirituality.  This is where they share an experience they had applying the spiritual principles of their faith to actual events in their lives.  For instance, "Well, I went to this party, and my friend wanted me to try some alcohol, but I remembered such-and-such a teaching and I prayed and was able to choose the right course of action.  I felt a lot better about myself the next day than I would have if I had given in to peer pressure." (example was totally fabricated by me).

In my first class, we played a "Book of Alma War Game."  This was a really fun game that helped us to learn the story of the extremely violent war that took place between the Lamanites (bad guys who don't believe in the Truth and who run around with very few clothes on) and the Nephites (good guys), and the heroism of the greatest hero of the Nephites, Moroni.  I learned a lot about these ancient people and their prophet, Alma, who didn't die, but was taken up to heaven by God, sort of like Elijah.  You had to examine your own life in the role-play, and do things like "add 50 extra soldiers if you prayed before leaving the house this morning" or "get 25 extra defensive weapons if you read Scripture this week."  I had fun, and generally was able to do pretty well in the game.  

In my second class, which was taught by the principal of the Seminary (he teaches one class a day, sort of the Glen Sterr type guy), who was absolutely a master teacher.  We were studying the book of Helaman, which comes right after the book of Alma.  The students did a "jigsaw," where they worked in groups to read and analyze a couple of verses each, and then they had to present to the rest of the class, using an if-then statement, a physical object from the classroom and a testimony from their own lives.  All the kids were really engaged.  I got to work with a group that explained the salvation of Jesus Christ by using hand sanitizer.  It was a really clever way to explain atonement for sin, and again, I learned a ton.  

My third class was taught by a teacher who was only in his second year of teaching, but he was great as well. We continued studying the book of Helaman, which told the story of how there was a problem of succession among the sons of one of the rulers.  The group of Nephites selected the next ruler by voting (!) and various things happened to the other sons.  There was a lot of contention within the group, and they posted fewer guards around, which allowed the evil Lamanites (remember them?) to attack.  We learned a lesson about trying to not be contentious within our own groups.

I had read the Book of Mormon earlier, and found it extremely difficult to understand and impossible to take seriously.  The language is so convoluted (Mark Twain said if you cut out all the times it says "and it came to pass" the book would be much shortened, which is true) and weird that it is really tough to read. But, like the Bible or the Qur'an, if you have a good teacher to take you through it, you really get a lot more out of it.  I told the principal at the end that I found it impossible to believe it literally but that I absolutely believe it is divinely inspired, and as full of spiritual truth as any convoluted, obscure holy scripture.   I particularly appreciated the "testimony" aspect; I hope that my job as a teacher is also, at its best, to help students apply their own spiritual principles (courtesy and common sense, social justice, stewardship for the environment, human rights) to practical situations in their own lives.  What else is teaching about?  

And just in case you all think I have gone bananas and am about to become Mormon, don't worry.  I am simply attempting to keep an open mind, and see the best sides of the LDS.  I believe that with the willingness and openness to the promptings of the Holy Spirit that they seem to strive for, great things may be in store.  See below for just one example:

 GSA formed at BYU for the first time in 2010