Why do I even bother?
Lately I have been feeling that the things I do online make no difference; they serve no purpose. What I do interests no one. None of the projects I have done (including blogs) attracted anyone.
So, Our Thoughts is gone. I did not back anything up. Everything I have said since July 2003 is now gone. I have no idea if I will ever post more than this post.
Who cares? What's the use?
P.S. Sorry
February 07, 2005
November 02, 2004
I Got Another Part
Auditions for directing projects were held last Friday. I tried out, but the whole experience was much different than last semester’s directing projects.
First, the directing class teacher paired everyone up this time. Last time, everyone paired themselves up.
Second, last time, there were nine directors in three separate rooms. This time, all nine were in a the Spinks theatre.
Third, last time, we were given some generic, one-dimensional scripts. This time, we were given the ever-popular scene eight from Angels in America.
Fourth, last time, the directors had has perform our piece several times in different ways to get a better idea of our range. This time, we simply did our piece once.
Lastly, within 24 hours I had received three requests for callback. This time I received none.
Kevin Reid—who was with me in Impromptu last semester—was one of the directors and he encouraged me on Thursday to try out. At that time, I was still unsure whether I should try out. I have a semi-busy schedule with my calling, work and family, so I was not sure if I wanted to add to that. I ended up deciding to go for it and see how it turned out.
I spoke with Kevin yesterday and he said he was greatly disappointed that he couldn’t have me. When we audition, we have to fill out an audition sheet. One of the things on the sheet is what times we are not available. All of Kevin’s rehearsals were during times I could not make it. He said I was by far his first choice, and he was a bit agitated when he couldn’t have me.
Nevertheless, I received an email last night from Andrew Torry telling me that I have been chose to be in his play. He was the playwright for Go!—the first show for this season’s University of Lethbridge theatre schedule. My co-actors are Corinne Hepher and Courtney Montgomery.
The play we are doing is Allan Stratton’s Papers. Apparently, it is about a professor “lecturing about a new novel by colleague Martin Edwards. [The professor’s] hilarious version of the love affair that inspired the novel comes to life in a compassionate comedy about two lonely and would-be lovers and their terrible inability to communicate.”
I am excited to work with Andrew, but we will see how it goes on Thursday when we get to see our rehearsal schedule.
First, the directing class teacher paired everyone up this time. Last time, everyone paired themselves up.
Second, last time, there were nine directors in three separate rooms. This time, all nine were in a the Spinks theatre.
Third, last time, we were given some generic, one-dimensional scripts. This time, we were given the ever-popular scene eight from Angels in America.
Fourth, last time, the directors had has perform our piece several times in different ways to get a better idea of our range. This time, we simply did our piece once.
Lastly, within 24 hours I had received three requests for callback. This time I received none.
Kevin Reid—who was with me in Impromptu last semester—was one of the directors and he encouraged me on Thursday to try out. At that time, I was still unsure whether I should try out. I have a semi-busy schedule with my calling, work and family, so I was not sure if I wanted to add to that. I ended up deciding to go for it and see how it turned out.
I spoke with Kevin yesterday and he said he was greatly disappointed that he couldn’t have me. When we audition, we have to fill out an audition sheet. One of the things on the sheet is what times we are not available. All of Kevin’s rehearsals were during times I could not make it. He said I was by far his first choice, and he was a bit agitated when he couldn’t have me.
Nevertheless, I received an email last night from Andrew Torry telling me that I have been chose to be in his play. He was the playwright for Go!—the first show for this season’s University of Lethbridge theatre schedule. My co-actors are Corinne Hepher and Courtney Montgomery.
The play we are doing is Allan Stratton’s Papers. Apparently, it is about a professor “lecturing about a new novel by colleague Martin Edwards. [The professor’s] hilarious version of the love affair that inspired the novel comes to life in a compassionate comedy about two lonely and would-be lovers and their terrible inability to communicate.”
I am excited to work with Andrew, but we will see how it goes on Thursday when we get to see our rehearsal schedule.
November 01, 2004
Remembrance Day - Nov.11th
For 20 years (from ages 22 to 42) I had the privilege of visiting with my grandfather and listening to him tell me the stories of his experiences in WWI with the Fort Garry Horse. There never was a time when he shared his experiences that I didn't feel a welling up of tears in gratitude for his sacrifice, and probably more amazing to me, his attitude. The stories never got bigger or better with each retelling. He felt compassion his enemy just as much as he loved his family.
Shortly after he passed away in 1989 my relationship with my father developed. My father served in WWII with the 2nd Brigade in Italy and with other units of the Allies at various times.
I never knew my dad when I was growing up and had no real appreciation for him as a person. Soon after grandpa died my dad and I began talking and invariably the conversations would veer to his experiences in the war(usually at my insistence).
What amazed me was the similarity of attitudes these men shared, in spite of seeing some of the most gory and horrific sights that anyone can be forced to view. Neither of them was bitter. Neither of them hated the enemy. Yet one can't help but speculate on how the experiences of those wars forever altered their lives, for better or for worse. My emotions run high every time I listen to my dad tell of his experiences, just as they did with my grandfather. I honour these men and am so grateful to call them dad and grandpa and to forever have their stories to pass on to my posterity.
Just one bullet, or one piece of shrapnel in the right spot would have prevented this story from ever being told by me. It is with great honour that I share with you one of the stories that my father has recorded. I trust that you will forgive the length and find value in it.
Robert O.Bates
AS I REMEMBER ORTONA -
December 1943
(As I saw it in the OP with Captain Don Watson M.C. 77 Bty. 3rd Fid. Reg't R.C.A.)
The 2nd Brigade was designated to make the attack with the Eddies leading up the gully with Pats covering the left flank and the Seaforths on the right flank under a creeping artillery barrage. Captain Watson, Gunner Masding, and myself accompanied the officer leading the Seaforths. I was carrying an "18 set" for communications with the guns.
We received little or no counter fire as we walked up the slope, under the shells as they laddered up, but suddenly, we found we were advancing too quickly, and we were caught in our own shells and two or three of the infantry went down. Captain Watson yelled, "STOP", and I passed the order to the guns. Everything came to a halt.
Medical aid seemed to appear out of nowhere for the injured, and no further rounds were forthcoming. The officers quickly decided that "Up 200, Fire" would correct the situation. I passed the order, and everything resumed as before with little time being lost. I might add that with all the firing that had transpired from our previous barrage, we could practically step from one shallow hole to the next, made by our twenty-five pounders, all the way up the draw.
As the infantry were securing the south and west edge of town, we were told to follow the trail back along the outskirts of town and go to the Church of Santa Maria de Constantinople where "C" Company's headquarters was being established. We were unable to give covering fire to the infantry due to the density of the stone buildings. We knew they were in very close and changing proximity to the enemy, sometimes occupying different rooms and floors in the same building, but we were kept well informed by means of sitreps.
Things started to liven up as Gerry obviously knew where HQ was located and he started raining down mortars and Moaning Minnies (nebblewerfers) on the area. By this time it had become dark, and Capt. Watson asked if Masding and I would go back to the outskirts of town and locate our Bren gun carrier which Obie was bringing forward with our equipment, and guide it to the church. After finally locating the carrier, Obie said that he could not see the trail and it would not be safe to try to move it as he might drive over the bank. I finally took two sheets of white paper, one in each hand and held them over my head, and he said he could see them if I stayed about ten feet in front of the Carrier while I backed up, making sure of not running over me. About one hundred yards along the trail, we were bracketed by several rounds of shellfire, really putting the wind upon us.
We felt somewhat secure knowing that we could not be observed. I knelt down in front of the Carrier for about five minutes. No more rounds fell. We decided that it was "a shot in the dark", and we proceeded to the church and parked near the big iron gates of the surrounding stonewall.
The next day the courtyard was coming under considerably accurate mortar and Moaning Minnie fire, and also the vehicle parking area was taking quite a beating. After observing the area in the daytime, I could see the top section of a small tower about a block and a half northeast of our location. After informing my Captain, he decided we would go down the street, take a peek around the comer and see what it was all about. There stood a small tower uninhibited by any other buildings - a perfect OP for the Gerries. We quickly returned to the church where the Captain contacted the infantry and obtained an infantry Captain, a six-pounder anti-tank gun, and a crew who manhandled the gun over considerable debris and parked just short of the corner.
Capt. Watson was in seventh heaven. He informed the gun crew that they were to load the gun, push it around the comer, fire using open sights, pull the gun back, reload and carry out the same procedure until he told them to stop. I believe they carried out this operation about five or six times, thereafter the tower was no longer habitable. It was a rather exhilarating experience. However, since the enemy had already registered the coordinates for our location at the church, we continued to come under considerable fire at various time, although apparently unobserved, and movement became a little more secure.
Christmas day, Major Woolliams (Battery Commander) came forward to the church to familiarize himself with the situation. He parked his scout car outside near our carrier and, if I recall correctly, his operator was Howie Love, however I may be mistaken. Anyway, we had eaten some cold rations for breakfast and had been informed that a Christmas dinner would be served later on but we were unsure as to the time.
The Major asked me if I would go out to his scout car and get him something he could eat as he had not had any breakfast. The rations were in a 4.2 mortar box that was mounted on the front of the vehicle. I had no sooner gone through the gate than a barrage of mortar and Moaning Minnie fire landed throughout the area and I was temporarily incapacitated by the blast from a Minnie. The Minnies were designed to damage by blast more than with shrapnel and I can testify to that. After lying there for what seemed like two or three minutes and gathering my thoughts, I realized that the mortaring had stopped. I proceeded to the scout car and opened the punctured mortar box and found that nearly everything in the box had been damaged by shrapnel except for a can of tomatoes that I quickly rescued and took to the Major. He immediately opened the can and consumed the contents.
The Seaforth supply officer and his staff created a table in the shape of a large square and covered it with white sheets for a tablecloth. They then set the table for about forty to fifty men who would be seated around the perimeter of the table. We sat in the “first sitting” about noon with "C" company and it was a fabulous affair.
There was a pump organ, and someone would pump it while the Padre led the service. Carols were sung, wine and beer were served, and a delicious meal of roast pork with all the trimmings was placed before each man, served by the Officers to the men, in regular military tradition. It was almost as if there wasn't a war going on, except for the occasional explosive sound of mortars and shellfire... which reminded us.
Everyone seemed to really relax and enjoy themselves for two hours and then it was their turn to relieve their comrades in the firing line so that they could also come to the church for their Christmas treat and a two-hour respite. All this was taking place with some fighting, mostly mouse-holing, going on within about three hundred yards of the church. The meal was repeated four times and then it was night and back to the business of war as usual.
On the afternoon of December 26th, our OP crew was ordered to go forward to the main town square and occupy a floor of the hotel located on the north side of the square from which we would be able to observe the large tombstones in the cemetery behind which the enemy was reported to be digging in. Capt. Watson, having gone ahead with the infantry to reconnoiter the situation requested our presence but we were told not to bring the Carrier due to heavy debris blocking the narrow streets. We were warned that heavy sniper fire might be encountered so we should move quickly using whatever cover we could find. I carried the "18 set" on my back as we ran, zigzagging from doorway to doorway down the narrow street. Suddenly, a man carrying a movie camera stepped out from a doorway just in front of us and asked "if we would mind" going back a ways and rerun the street so that he could get it on film. He said he was a reporter from Western Canada and would like to send the pictures home with our names. I guarantee you the term "rude" would hardly cover our quick response, and we rapidly resumed our journey.
As we approached the edge of the square we passed one of our destroyed Sherman tanks that had been brought to a stand still by a large mound of stone rubble and knocked out by antitank fire. We could see the hotel and its large glass doors (still intact) across the street and decided that our best bet was to dash quickly across the square and get out of sight. It was apparent that this area could be a sniper's delight When we opened the doors we found the body of an elderly white haired lady who had been shot between the eyes, obviously by a sniper.
A flight of stairs led to the main area on the second floor and we continued on up to the third floor where we met Capt Watson. We then proceeded up to the fourth floor to a room on the north side from which we could observe the cemetery, a considerable distance away. We studied the area with our field glasses but were unable to detect any sign or movement of the enemy. Later in the afternoon our Capt. was informed that the street we had traveled down was now cleared enough that we could bring the carrier to the hotel (thanks to our remarkable Engineers). Masding and I were asked to return to the church and bring Obie and the carrier forward. As we went down stairs to the doorway, we met an obviously young Lieutenant standing there, looking out the doors. He looked kind of dumbfounded and gave us the impression that he was not sure of what was going on. We informed him that we were in a possible sniper area and standing there might be a bit dangerous, however he nodded and proceeded on the run. Our return trip to the hotel was uneventful and we parked the carrier next to the open hotel doors and about three feet from the wall in order to give us cover whenever we unloaded it. We again entered the hotel and there on the floor near the old lady, was the lieutenant with a hole in his forehead. (Some days were definitely worse than others!) Early on the 28th we were informed that Gerry had withdrawn and Ortona was ours... It was a terrible price to pay, but victory was ours.
And Ours.
Originally posted by Larry Bates.
Shortly after he passed away in 1989 my relationship with my father developed. My father served in WWII with the 2nd Brigade in Italy and with other units of the Allies at various times.
I never knew my dad when I was growing up and had no real appreciation for him as a person. Soon after grandpa died my dad and I began talking and invariably the conversations would veer to his experiences in the war(usually at my insistence).
What amazed me was the similarity of attitudes these men shared, in spite of seeing some of the most gory and horrific sights that anyone can be forced to view. Neither of them was bitter. Neither of them hated the enemy. Yet one can't help but speculate on how the experiences of those wars forever altered their lives, for better or for worse. My emotions run high every time I listen to my dad tell of his experiences, just as they did with my grandfather. I honour these men and am so grateful to call them dad and grandpa and to forever have their stories to pass on to my posterity.
Just one bullet, or one piece of shrapnel in the right spot would have prevented this story from ever being told by me. It is with great honour that I share with you one of the stories that my father has recorded. I trust that you will forgive the length and find value in it.
Robert O.Bates
AS I REMEMBER ORTONA -
December 1943
(As I saw it in the OP with Captain Don Watson M.C. 77 Bty. 3rd Fid. Reg't R.C.A.)
The 2nd Brigade was designated to make the attack with the Eddies leading up the gully with Pats covering the left flank and the Seaforths on the right flank under a creeping artillery barrage. Captain Watson, Gunner Masding, and myself accompanied the officer leading the Seaforths. I was carrying an "18 set" for communications with the guns.
We received little or no counter fire as we walked up the slope, under the shells as they laddered up, but suddenly, we found we were advancing too quickly, and we were caught in our own shells and two or three of the infantry went down. Captain Watson yelled, "STOP", and I passed the order to the guns. Everything came to a halt.
Medical aid seemed to appear out of nowhere for the injured, and no further rounds were forthcoming. The officers quickly decided that "Up 200, Fire" would correct the situation. I passed the order, and everything resumed as before with little time being lost. I might add that with all the firing that had transpired from our previous barrage, we could practically step from one shallow hole to the next, made by our twenty-five pounders, all the way up the draw.
As the infantry were securing the south and west edge of town, we were told to follow the trail back along the outskirts of town and go to the Church of Santa Maria de Constantinople where "C" Company's headquarters was being established. We were unable to give covering fire to the infantry due to the density of the stone buildings. We knew they were in very close and changing proximity to the enemy, sometimes occupying different rooms and floors in the same building, but we were kept well informed by means of sitreps.
Things started to liven up as Gerry obviously knew where HQ was located and he started raining down mortars and Moaning Minnies (nebblewerfers) on the area. By this time it had become dark, and Capt. Watson asked if Masding and I would go back to the outskirts of town and locate our Bren gun carrier which Obie was bringing forward with our equipment, and guide it to the church. After finally locating the carrier, Obie said that he could not see the trail and it would not be safe to try to move it as he might drive over the bank. I finally took two sheets of white paper, one in each hand and held them over my head, and he said he could see them if I stayed about ten feet in front of the Carrier while I backed up, making sure of not running over me. About one hundred yards along the trail, we were bracketed by several rounds of shellfire, really putting the wind upon us.
We felt somewhat secure knowing that we could not be observed. I knelt down in front of the Carrier for about five minutes. No more rounds fell. We decided that it was "a shot in the dark", and we proceeded to the church and parked near the big iron gates of the surrounding stonewall.
The next day the courtyard was coming under considerably accurate mortar and Moaning Minnie fire, and also the vehicle parking area was taking quite a beating. After observing the area in the daytime, I could see the top section of a small tower about a block and a half northeast of our location. After informing my Captain, he decided we would go down the street, take a peek around the comer and see what it was all about. There stood a small tower uninhibited by any other buildings - a perfect OP for the Gerries. We quickly returned to the church where the Captain contacted the infantry and obtained an infantry Captain, a six-pounder anti-tank gun, and a crew who manhandled the gun over considerable debris and parked just short of the corner.
Capt. Watson was in seventh heaven. He informed the gun crew that they were to load the gun, push it around the comer, fire using open sights, pull the gun back, reload and carry out the same procedure until he told them to stop. I believe they carried out this operation about five or six times, thereafter the tower was no longer habitable. It was a rather exhilarating experience. However, since the enemy had already registered the coordinates for our location at the church, we continued to come under considerable fire at various time, although apparently unobserved, and movement became a little more secure.
Christmas day, Major Woolliams (Battery Commander) came forward to the church to familiarize himself with the situation. He parked his scout car outside near our carrier and, if I recall correctly, his operator was Howie Love, however I may be mistaken. Anyway, we had eaten some cold rations for breakfast and had been informed that a Christmas dinner would be served later on but we were unsure as to the time.
The Major asked me if I would go out to his scout car and get him something he could eat as he had not had any breakfast. The rations were in a 4.2 mortar box that was mounted on the front of the vehicle. I had no sooner gone through the gate than a barrage of mortar and Moaning Minnie fire landed throughout the area and I was temporarily incapacitated by the blast from a Minnie. The Minnies were designed to damage by blast more than with shrapnel and I can testify to that. After lying there for what seemed like two or three minutes and gathering my thoughts, I realized that the mortaring had stopped. I proceeded to the scout car and opened the punctured mortar box and found that nearly everything in the box had been damaged by shrapnel except for a can of tomatoes that I quickly rescued and took to the Major. He immediately opened the can and consumed the contents.
The Seaforth supply officer and his staff created a table in the shape of a large square and covered it with white sheets for a tablecloth. They then set the table for about forty to fifty men who would be seated around the perimeter of the table. We sat in the “first sitting” about noon with "C" company and it was a fabulous affair.
There was a pump organ, and someone would pump it while the Padre led the service. Carols were sung, wine and beer were served, and a delicious meal of roast pork with all the trimmings was placed before each man, served by the Officers to the men, in regular military tradition. It was almost as if there wasn't a war going on, except for the occasional explosive sound of mortars and shellfire... which reminded us.
Everyone seemed to really relax and enjoy themselves for two hours and then it was their turn to relieve their comrades in the firing line so that they could also come to the church for their Christmas treat and a two-hour respite. All this was taking place with some fighting, mostly mouse-holing, going on within about three hundred yards of the church. The meal was repeated four times and then it was night and back to the business of war as usual.
On the afternoon of December 26th, our OP crew was ordered to go forward to the main town square and occupy a floor of the hotel located on the north side of the square from which we would be able to observe the large tombstones in the cemetery behind which the enemy was reported to be digging in. Capt. Watson, having gone ahead with the infantry to reconnoiter the situation requested our presence but we were told not to bring the Carrier due to heavy debris blocking the narrow streets. We were warned that heavy sniper fire might be encountered so we should move quickly using whatever cover we could find. I carried the "18 set" on my back as we ran, zigzagging from doorway to doorway down the narrow street. Suddenly, a man carrying a movie camera stepped out from a doorway just in front of us and asked "if we would mind" going back a ways and rerun the street so that he could get it on film. He said he was a reporter from Western Canada and would like to send the pictures home with our names. I guarantee you the term "rude" would hardly cover our quick response, and we rapidly resumed our journey.
As we approached the edge of the square we passed one of our destroyed Sherman tanks that had been brought to a stand still by a large mound of stone rubble and knocked out by antitank fire. We could see the hotel and its large glass doors (still intact) across the street and decided that our best bet was to dash quickly across the square and get out of sight. It was apparent that this area could be a sniper's delight When we opened the doors we found the body of an elderly white haired lady who had been shot between the eyes, obviously by a sniper.
A flight of stairs led to the main area on the second floor and we continued on up to the third floor where we met Capt Watson. We then proceeded up to the fourth floor to a room on the north side from which we could observe the cemetery, a considerable distance away. We studied the area with our field glasses but were unable to detect any sign or movement of the enemy. Later in the afternoon our Capt. was informed that the street we had traveled down was now cleared enough that we could bring the carrier to the hotel (thanks to our remarkable Engineers). Masding and I were asked to return to the church and bring Obie and the carrier forward. As we went down stairs to the doorway, we met an obviously young Lieutenant standing there, looking out the doors. He looked kind of dumbfounded and gave us the impression that he was not sure of what was going on. We informed him that we were in a possible sniper area and standing there might be a bit dangerous, however he nodded and proceeded on the run. Our return trip to the hotel was uneventful and we parked the carrier next to the open hotel doors and about three feet from the wall in order to give us cover whenever we unloaded it. We again entered the hotel and there on the floor near the old lady, was the lieutenant with a hole in his forehead. (Some days were definitely worse than others!) Early on the 28th we were informed that Gerry had withdrawn and Ortona was ours... It was a terrible price to pay, but victory was ours.
And Ours.
Originally posted by Larry Bates.
October 28, 2004
Mortality of Modern Day Heroes
Today’s Globe and Mail offered an article regarding the recognition of Canadian troops in liberating Ortona, Italy, from the grip of Nazi forces in 1943. Hitler has fortified Ortona to be their last stronghold in Italy.
However, it wasn’t the celebration that was of interest to me. Nor was it contemplating what happened over 60 years ago. What interested me was the photo on the front page and its caption.
It was a photo of Canadian veteran Smoky Smith getting a peck on the cheek from an Italian school girl. The caption stated that Smoky Smith is the last surviving Victoria Cross winner.
On 21 October 1944, Private Ernest "Smoky" Smith single-handedly defeated a German counter-attack on the Savio River bridgehead in Italy, including two tanks and roughly 60 German soldiers. Seven weeks later, Smoky was awarded the Victoria Cross. The medal normally is awarded for most conspicuous bravery or some daring or pre-eminent act of valour or self-sacrifice or extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy.
Smoky is just over 90 years old. Only God knows how much time he has left. But his efforts and his presence in this world gives us a real tie to the Second World War. Once he is gone, his entire life and the sacrifices he made will be but memories, easily forgotten.
My great-great-grandfather’s brother, John Loskot, fought in World War One. He died in battle as a Private in the Fifth Battalion of the Canadian Infantry (Saskatchewan Regiment). Two hundred forty soldiers and officers from the Fifth Battalion died that day (28 April 1917) under heavy German shelling that lasted nearly 24 hours, north of Arleux, France.
Maybe it’s this familial tie to World War One that made Smoky’s by-line pop out. Either way, I suppose death is inevitable and real life heroes like Smoky (He received the Order of Canada in 1995) eventually pass on into the history books.
Maybe this year, I will actually participate in the Remembrance Day programmes.
However, it wasn’t the celebration that was of interest to me. Nor was it contemplating what happened over 60 years ago. What interested me was the photo on the front page and its caption.
It was a photo of Canadian veteran Smoky Smith getting a peck on the cheek from an Italian school girl. The caption stated that Smoky Smith is the last surviving Victoria Cross winner.
On 21 October 1944, Private Ernest "Smoky" Smith single-handedly defeated a German counter-attack on the Savio River bridgehead in Italy, including two tanks and roughly 60 German soldiers. Seven weeks later, Smoky was awarded the Victoria Cross. The medal normally is awarded for most conspicuous bravery or some daring or pre-eminent act of valour or self-sacrifice or extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy.
Smoky is just over 90 years old. Only God knows how much time he has left. But his efforts and his presence in this world gives us a real tie to the Second World War. Once he is gone, his entire life and the sacrifices he made will be but memories, easily forgotten.
My great-great-grandfather’s brother, John Loskot, fought in World War One. He died in battle as a Private in the Fifth Battalion of the Canadian Infantry (Saskatchewan Regiment). Two hundred forty soldiers and officers from the Fifth Battalion died that day (28 April 1917) under heavy German shelling that lasted nearly 24 hours, north of Arleux, France.
Maybe it’s this familial tie to World War One that made Smoky’s by-line pop out. Either way, I suppose death is inevitable and real life heroes like Smoky (He received the Order of Canada in 1995) eventually pass on into the history books.
Maybe this year, I will actually participate in the Remembrance Day programmes.
October 15, 2004
Blacks and the Priesthood
University of Illinois Press sent me a copy of their new book Black and Mormon, edited by Newell G. Bringhurst and Darron T. Smith. I am supposed to review it. I am only three-quarters of the way through it, so I cannot do a proper review yet, but it is such a good book, I thought I would post my thoughts so far.
Black and Mormon consists of various essays written by different scholars on the issue of Blacks and the priesthood within The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Naturally, I was somewhat weary of reading the book, but I kept an open mind and dived right in. I am sure glad I did. It is such a fascinating book—the dry parts aside of course.
What I thought I would post about were some things I found interesting.
First, anyone who is at all comfortably familiar with the history of the Blacks in the Church is also familiar with the name of Elijah Abel. Of course, there are many who are not. Brother Abel was a member of the Church in its infancy. He was ordained a Seventy in 1836. However, what you may not know is that Brother Abel went on to serve three full-time missions, the third one in 1883. In addition, his son Enoch was ordained an elder in 1900 and his grandson Elijah was ordained a priest in 1934 and an elder the following year.
Why were so many blacks denied the priesthood while these three were not?
Second, Joseph Smith never instituted the Black Ban. He never taught that blacks should be denied the priesthood. In fact, the denial was not implemented until the year the saints arrived in the Salt Lake Valley. The closest the Prophet ever came to issuing such a ban was to state that slaves were not allowed to be ordained without permission from their slave-owners. He also said such slaves could not be baptised without permission.
Third, I came across two awesome quotes; one by Joseph Smith and one by Joseph Fielding Smith.
Joseph Fielding Smith, comp. and ed., Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1976), 331.
Joseph Fielding Smith, Doctrines of Salvation, 3 vols. (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1954), 3:203.
There are many anecdotes in the essays that offer a different perspective on the entire issue. I am looking forward to finishing the remainder of the book. It has been a great read and I have learned quite a bit from it. Had I known it was going to be this good of a resource, I would have bought it myself.
And I am not even a reader.
Black and Mormon consists of various essays written by different scholars on the issue of Blacks and the priesthood within The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Naturally, I was somewhat weary of reading the book, but I kept an open mind and dived right in. I am sure glad I did. It is such a fascinating book—the dry parts aside of course.
What I thought I would post about were some things I found interesting.
First, anyone who is at all comfortably familiar with the history of the Blacks in the Church is also familiar with the name of Elijah Abel. Of course, there are many who are not. Brother Abel was a member of the Church in its infancy. He was ordained a Seventy in 1836. However, what you may not know is that Brother Abel went on to serve three full-time missions, the third one in 1883. In addition, his son Enoch was ordained an elder in 1900 and his grandson Elijah was ordained a priest in 1934 and an elder the following year.
Why were so many blacks denied the priesthood while these three were not?
Second, Joseph Smith never instituted the Black Ban. He never taught that blacks should be denied the priesthood. In fact, the denial was not implemented until the year the saints arrived in the Salt Lake Valley. The closest the Prophet ever came to issuing such a ban was to state that slaves were not allowed to be ordained without permission from their slave-owners. He also said such slaves could not be baptised without permission.
Third, I came across two awesome quotes; one by Joseph Smith and one by Joseph Fielding Smith.
But there has been a great difficulty in getting anything into the heads of this generation. It has been like splitting hemlock knots with a corn-dodge for a wedge, and a pumpkin for a beetle [maul]. Even the Saints are slow to understand.
I have tried for a number of years to get the minds of the Saints prepared to receive the things of God; but we frequently see some of them, after suffering all they have for the work of God, will fly to pieces as soon as anything comes that is contrary to their traditions; they cannot stand the fire at all.
Joseph Fielding Smith, comp. and ed., Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1976), 331.
It makes no difference what is written or what anyone has said, if what has been said is in conflict with what the Lord has revealed, we can set it aside. My words, and the teaching of any other member of the Church, high or low, if they do not square with the revelations, we need not accept them. Let us have this matter clear. We have accepted the four standard works as the measuring yardsticks, or balances, by which we measure every man’s doctrine.
You cannot accept the books written by the authorities of the Church as standards in doctrine, only so far as the accord with the reveal word in the standard works.
Joseph Fielding Smith, Doctrines of Salvation, 3 vols. (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1954), 3:203.
There are many anecdotes in the essays that offer a different perspective on the entire issue. I am looking forward to finishing the remainder of the book. It has been a great read and I have learned quite a bit from it. Had I known it was going to be this good of a resource, I would have bought it myself.
And I am not even a reader.
October 08, 2004
Homeschooling and Socialization
When people find out that we homeschool our children, they almost always predictably comment, “Well, I could never homeschool my children. They need the socialization”.
First, why do people do this? Why do people tell us what they wouldn’t do? Did someone tell them they have to homeschool? Quite frankly, I don’t give a crap whether you use the public school system or not. I am not preaching to you; don’t preach to me.
Second, is there a class all homeschool opponents take? Does the first lesson in Opposing Homeschool 101 tell you that homeschooled children get no socialization? If no such class and lesson is offered, can someone please reveal to me why this is virtually the only comment we receive from people regarding homeschool? You would think we would at least get a “You’re evil” or “You're going to hell” once in a while, but all we get is “your children will be social misfits”.
Third, since when did the public school system become a social laboratory? Maybe the seven schools I attended in two provinces did things differently, but outside of two 30-minute recess periods, we were discouraged from having social interaction. Chatting in class would result in a smack of the ruler on our desk or having to write lines. In all honesty, the bulk of my social experience came from interaction with friends in the evenings and on the weekends.
Fourth, why do people assume that homeschooled children have no social skills and/or get no social interaction? Are people really so ignorant that they think homeschooled children sit at home all day locked in the house until they emerge with their homework done? How ridiculous.
For your information, our daughter—our son is not officially being homeschooled yet since he is only three—receives plenty of opportunity for socialization. She is in her third year of weekly ballet classes. Every week she either goes to another family’s house that participates in our local babysitting co-op or the children of one of the families comes to our house. Next week she starts art classes. Next month she starts swimming classes. That’s not even counting all the times we go to friends’ houses and she plays with their children, nor is it counting all the times her friends' parents phone up asking if she wants to come over and play.
Of course, there is the remote possibility that maybe we are just radicals when it comes to homeschooling, and the majority of homeschoolers do lock their children in closets under the stairs.
Either way, please stop telling us our children will not be socialized.
First, why do people do this? Why do people tell us what they wouldn’t do? Did someone tell them they have to homeschool? Quite frankly, I don’t give a crap whether you use the public school system or not. I am not preaching to you; don’t preach to me.
Second, is there a class all homeschool opponents take? Does the first lesson in Opposing Homeschool 101 tell you that homeschooled children get no socialization? If no such class and lesson is offered, can someone please reveal to me why this is virtually the only comment we receive from people regarding homeschool? You would think we would at least get a “You’re evil” or “You're going to hell” once in a while, but all we get is “your children will be social misfits”.
Third, since when did the public school system become a social laboratory? Maybe the seven schools I attended in two provinces did things differently, but outside of two 30-minute recess periods, we were discouraged from having social interaction. Chatting in class would result in a smack of the ruler on our desk or having to write lines. In all honesty, the bulk of my social experience came from interaction with friends in the evenings and on the weekends.
Fourth, why do people assume that homeschooled children have no social skills and/or get no social interaction? Are people really so ignorant that they think homeschooled children sit at home all day locked in the house until they emerge with their homework done? How ridiculous.
For your information, our daughter—our son is not officially being homeschooled yet since he is only three—receives plenty of opportunity for socialization. She is in her third year of weekly ballet classes. Every week she either goes to another family’s house that participates in our local babysitting co-op or the children of one of the families comes to our house. Next week she starts art classes. Next month she starts swimming classes. That’s not even counting all the times we go to friends’ houses and she plays with their children, nor is it counting all the times her friends' parents phone up asking if she wants to come over and play.
Of course, there is the remote possibility that maybe we are just radicals when it comes to homeschooling, and the majority of homeschoolers do lock their children in closets under the stairs.
Either way, please stop telling us our children will not be socialized.
September 29, 2004
Male Justice and Female Mercy
For behold, justice exerciseth all his demands, and also mercy claimeth all which is her own; and thus, none but the truly penitent are saved.
I came across this scripture in Alma 42:24 today while searching for something else, and it caught my attention.
The scriptures often use a feminine singular possessive pronoun (her) when referring to cities, objects (such as boats and fig trees) and even abstract concepts (such as charity and wisdom). That is not so strange since I hear people implement that usage all the time (“Wow. That is a fast boat. Look at her go.”).
What did catch my attention, however, in this case was the usage of a masculine singular possessive pronoun. In particular, its usage alongside the female singular possessive pronoun made me very intrigued.
Why would Alma the Younger in speaking to Corianton assign a masculine gender to justice and a feminine gender to mercy? Is justice viewed as a masculine trait, while mercy is a female trait? What does this say about God whom is both just and merciful?
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