High School, College and Mission Call

Back Row:  Marvin Hollingsworth, David Sparks, Garth Geddes, Dale Geddes, Blaine Olsen.  Front Row:  Glen Larson, James Geddes and Joe J. Christensen.  Interestingly, there are three Geddes boys in the picture and none are closely family related. This picture was taken when seven of us had returned from our missions and just the summer before Barbara and I were married in September.

     

      While growing up in Banida, I remember the total population was about 124.  Statistically, who would ever have thought that with that small population base there would be eight sons born—or who had moved into the area—within two years of each other?  We did a lot of things together including work and play.  It was war time and most of the older young men were gone away in military service and so there was a lot to do on the farms, running tractors, hauling and putting up hay, milking cows, etc…

        World War II had a decided influence on the memories I have while growing up.  When Nathan Casperson died, I had the privilege of being invited to speak at his funeral and included some of the memories that came vividly to my mind.  I will include some of my remarks: 
   

                                  Funeral Remarks for Nathan Casperson

   Just last Sunday in our High Priests’ Group class, we were informed of some of the new technological breakthroughs that can help us learn.  The instructor, who is very knowledgeable about computers, showed us a cord on the end of which is a small camera and microphone.  It costs $9.95.  It can be placed on the top of your computer screen and someone else with the same equipment and computer program can be on the other side of the world and be mutually seen and heard in a live conversation—for free!

     That presentation reminded me of an occasion that occurred in the depths of the Great Depression—in about 1937 or 1938—when a group of us, including the Casperson sons and several of us from the town were sitting outside the Casperson home in Banida under a big shade tree listening to Nathan’s father, John Casperson, talking almost prophetically about the future.  He said something that was unbelievable to me at the time.  He said the day will come when you will be able to pick up a telephone and not only hear, but see the person to whom you are speaking.  We have come to that time.

     The Caspersons and our family grew up in the little farming town of Banida in southeastern Idaho—just north of Preston.  Almost as though it were yesterday, even though I was just 12 years old at the time, I remember being shocked on that Sunday of December 7, 1941 when we learned that America had been surprise-attacked by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor sinking many of our Navy’s ships and thousands of our servicemen had been killed or wounded.  

     The reality of the effects of that war vividly came to me when several of those in my home town enlisted to serve in the military.  They became part of what many have come to call “The Greatest Generation.”  There were the Casperson brothers Nathan and Quentin, my Uncle Melvin Miles, Marvin Gregersen, Robert Geddes, then, one of my father’s much needed hired men, DeVere Sparks, and others left their families and sweethearts and were gone.  They became my heroes at that time including my brother-in-law, my older sister Coy’s husband, John Manning.  He piloted B-25 bombers and that was especially impressive to us as teen-age boys.

     To this day, I recall how saddened we were to learn that Marvin Gregersen had been wounded in action in the Pacific.  He was shipped home to the Bushnell Hospital in Brigham City which had been built to treat wounded soldiers.  He had lost one of his hands.

     Like some of you in this audience, I remember hovering over the radio—there was no TV at the time—listening to the news and joining with my family and others in prayer for those in the service.  I remember the rationing of gasoline, tires, sugar, even shoes and meat.  There was a highway speed limit of 35 miles an hour to conserve tires and gasoline.  There were rallies at school to buy war bonds to help finance the war, and on and on.

     Then, on one beautiful summer day, I remember meeting with thousands from our county in the city park in Preston to commemorate and honor 19-year old Private First Class, Junior Van Noy, who had been posthumously awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor for heroism in the field of battle in New Guinea when a detachment of Japanese came ashore to attack them.  I checked on the citation they read that day that included these words:

     Pvt. Van Noy, also grievously wounded, remained at his post, ignoring calls of nearby soldiers urging him to withdraw, and continued to fire with deadly accuracy. He expended every round and was found, covered with wounds, dead beside his gun. …His heroic tenacity at the price of his life not only saved the lives of many of his comrades, but enabled them to annihilate the attacking detachment.

     (I did not mention this in the talk, but for the “record, “I was invited to sing a solo at the event—“There’s a Star-spangled Banner Waiving Somewhere.”  For several years, before my voice changed, I had been invited to sing a lot of solos in Church, school, civic clubs, etc. throughout the county.  My accompanists generally were my mother or Carol Cutler who was in my same grade and did well on the piano.)

     We later learned the awful news that there were 26,000 American casualties during the battle for Iwo Jima.  In just one day, during the D-Day invasion at Normandy, 10,000 Americans were killed.   During the “Battle of the Bulge” in Europe, the unbelievable number of 81,000 of our soldiers paid the price of freedom.  And the lists went on and on.

     After hundreds of thousands of casualties, World War II finally ended in victory. As a nation, we owe them a debt of gratitude.  All of them are heroes to me because they were willing to put their lives in danger and many to pay the price of freedom when so much of what we consider of inestimable value hung in the balance.

     In connection with them and Nathan, I have thought of the poet’s lines and frankly, I think they apply to many of the men and women I remember so well who came from Banida:

“God, give us men!   A time like this demands

Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands,

Men whom the lust of office does not kill;

Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;

Men who possess opinions and a will;

Men who have honor; men who will not lie;

Men who can stand before a demagogue

And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking!

Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog.

In public duty and in private thinking.

(Josiah Gilbert Holland as quoted in President Marion G. Romney’s Learning for the Eternities, p.51.)

-end of funeral remarks-

     We were all thrilled when the unconditional surrender of Japan occurred in August of 1945.  It followed the two atomic bomb blasts at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  There were several servicemen from Banida who were still in the military and some expecting to be involved with the likely invasion of Japan mainland in what would undoubtedly be a very bloody encounter.  I had just turned 16 and had one more year of high school left.  Some of my high school friends chose to enlist in the service as they finished high school in 1946 in spite of the war having ended.  At that time I did not consider joining the military since I was still 16.  Blaine and I had plenty to do on the farm particularly since hired men were not yet available in ready numbers.

       When school started in the Fall of 1946, I made the trek to Logan to attend what then was called the Utah State Agricultural College.  It was my first venture that far away from home.  All the rest of the eight friends from Banida were still in high school.

     As far as I knew, no one had served a full-time mission from Banida since my Aunt Sarah Miles, who had served in the Western States Mission several years before.  The war and the draft had stymied others being called, assuming they would have wanted to serve.  I still remember vividly going down to Coulam to welcome her home from her mission.  The example she had set was a very positive influence on me.

     In the summer of 1948, Blaine and I went to Salt Lake to visit one of his former Preston High girl friends, Beverly Nelson.  While there we decided that we would "drop in" at Church headquarters and see if we could talk to one of the general authorities about going on a mission.  Presiding Bishop LeGrande Richards somehow had time to visit with us.  He told Blaine that he would need to wait another year until he was 20 in order to be called since that was the regular age for elders to serve in those days.  He told me the same during our interview but when he learned that I had completed two years at the university, he said that in a case like that, they would let me go at age 19.  So preparations began.

    

      I was called to the Mexican Mission.  My mother never let me know of her worry and concern about that call.  She put on a very "happy face" and I left feeling that I had everyone's enthusiastic support.  My call, which bore the signature of President George Albert Smith, came asking that I report to the Mission Home in Salt Lake City, October 10, 1848.  My last days were hectically working to get the land ready and plant the winter wheat in deep dry dust since there had not been rain enough to bring it up.  It was a leap of faith hoping that moisture would come.  As it turned out, the winter of 1948-49 was the one with more snow falling than many could ever remember happening in Banida.
     My "Farewell" sacrament meeting was held in the one-room rock chapel we had grown up with.  Bishop Fred Gregersen presided and in addition to my talk, my Grandmother Elsie Marie Christensen, requested that I sing a solo—her favorite hymn since her conversion in Denmark many years before, "I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go."  I wish that the performance could have been better but I had not done so much singing of solos since my voice entered the process of changing.
     It has been gratifying that six of our Banida "Bums" friends' group followed and served full-time missions:  Blaine Olsen, Garth Geddes, David Sparks, James Geddes, Dale Geddes and Marvin Hollingsworth.  Many commented in the stake about how unusual it was to have such a large percentage of the ward membership on missions about the same time.  As it turned out all of those who served missions also were blessed to receive at least bachelor's degrees from college and several received additional higher degrees.  Also, we all had the privilege of serving in one branch or another of the military.
     It was not uncommon in the Air Force when a clerk was typing some document and asked my name, I would say, “Joe J. Christensen.”  He would ask what does the “J.” stand for.”  I would say, “Junior.” And he would type, “Joseph Christensen Jr.”  Then I would go through the process of  explaining that it was just “Joe” and not “Joseph” and that “Junior” was spelled out as a formal middle name.
     While serving on the High Council of the University of Utah Stake, Richard Marshall, a friend and one of the Bishops said, “Joe, out of deference to the Prophet, you should change your name to “Joseph.”  My reply was that “Out of deference to my parents, I will leave it the way they gave it to me.”  And, so the name has been on all the official records of Church and State.