Salt Lake City Cemetery

Oh ye mountains high, where the clear blue sky 

Arches over the vales of the free. 

Where the pure breezes blow and the clear streamlets flow, 

How I've longed to your bosom to flee! 

O Zion! Dear Zion! land of the free! 

Now my own mountain home, unto three I have come; 

All my fond hopes are centered in thee.

—Oh Ye Mountains High, by Charles W. Penrose. Included in LDS Hymnal.
 

During July of 1847 the first Mormon wagon trains began rolling down Emigration Canyon of the Wasatch Mountains into the Salt Lake Valley. They had been driven from their homes by mobs in Illinois and Missouri and sought a refuge where they could worship in peace. 

These were hardy and faithful pioneers of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, a religion formed just 15 years earlier by Joseph Smith, a man they revered as Prophet. The young man, Joseph, visited with angels and translated an ancient record that became known as the Book of Mormon. Thousands of converts from the eastern United States and Europe joined the young religion. 

Old church on the south side of the Salt Lake City Cemetery.

Flanked by snow-capped mountains on their eastern edge, they began to build a city. They laid out streets, built small adobe or log homes, diverted water and planted crops. They also began construction of a magnificent temple. This would be a place where the Saints could gather and gain strength. This would be their Zion. 

But as sure as the sun comes up, it didn't take long before the first deaths occurred in the valley. On August 11, three-year old Milton Therlkill drowned in a pond that had been dammed along City Creek. In September, Caroline Grant died of cholera 75 miles east of Salt Lake on her trek west. Her body was brought to the valley for burial. Two weeks later Nancy O'Neil Rich, mother of Charles Rich, died of pneumonia. She is memorialized as the first white woman to die in the valley. They were buried in a field outside the new fort. 

A year later on September 27, 1848, the young daughter of George and Melisssa Wallace passed away. Instead of burying her down by the fort, her father chose to inter her body in a place more secluded on the east bench. The lot was owned by a relative, Daniel Wallace. A month later, an infant son of the Wallace's died and was buried next to his sister. Other people followed suit and soon there were several burials at this site in the foothills. 

In 1849 a committee was selected and it was decided that this site in the foothills would become the permanent city cemetery. George Wallace was appointed sexton. All burials from that time forward were to be interred in the new cemetery. With exception of a few, many of the previous burials were exhumed and relocated to the new burial ground. 

Graves of Francis Armstrong and his family.

Nowadays the Salt Lake City Cemetery is mammoth in size and is one of the largest city-owned cemeteries in the United States. It covers 150 acres and has 9 ½ miles of roads. 

To an outsider, the Salt Lake Cemetery may seem average. But to anyone who has an inkling of the history of the Mormon Church, this cemetery is dense with prominent figures. From Apostles to Prophets, to poets and architects, this cemetery is a treasure trove. 

Until now, I had only been to the cemetery once. That was twenty years ago and I longed to return. On a recent trip to the city, my wife was kind enough to let me visit again. 

The cemetery is located in “The Avenues” of Salt Lake. It's a beautiful area with many old homes and a few steep roads. My father-in-law grew up here. It is a place where people of all faiths, or no faith, can take walks and enjoy the peace. 

I parked on the side of the road and began walking randomly toward the north. The first thing that struck me was how many burials were from the 1800's. A lot! I knew that all these people were pioneers, contributing to the cause in their own special way. 

It didn't take long to find the first familiar name: Truman O. Angell. Anyone who knows just a smidgen of Church History knows that Truman O. Angell was the architect of the Salt Lake Temple, which is probably the most historical structure in Utah. Born in Rhode Island, Angell joined the church at age 23. He quickly immersed himself in the work of the church by serving a mission and helping the construction of some early church buildings. He came west with the Saints, having buried three children along the way. He arrived in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847 and Brigham Young appointed him as the church architect. It is interesting that during the construction of the temple, Young sent him to Europe to study the designs of buildings over there. Consequently, the Salt Lake Temple looks more like a European cathedral than any other temple. Additionally, Angell designed several other buildings and temples for the church. 

Truman O. Angell.

To understand Mormon culture is to understand the reverence that is paid to their leaders. The highest of those leaders is the President of the Church, also known as Prophet, Seer and Revelator. There have only been 17 of them since the founding of the church in 1830. The majority are buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. 

As I walked through the stone grave markers I came across several Prophets. The first was Wilford Woodruff, the fourth President of the church, serving until his death in 1898. He was noted for issuing “The Manifesto,” the document which ended plural marriage in the church. 

Grave of Wilford Woodruff, fourth President of the church.

I also passed by the graves of several members of the Smith family, including Joseph F. Smith, his son Joseph Fielding Smith, and a distant cousin, George Albert Smith. All of these are related, but not directly descended from church founder Joseph Smith. 

The tomb of George Albert reads: “He understood and disseminated the teachings of Christ and was uncommonly successful in putting them into practice. He was kindly, patient, wise, tolerant, and understanding. He went about doing good.” 

Graves of Joseph Fielding Smith and family.

George Albert Smith.

With great joy I came across the grave of Thomas S. Monson, sixteenth president of the church. Of all the familiar burials I encountered this day, his was the only one I had seen or met in person. He didn't pass away until 2018. As a friend of my wife's grandmother, he came to her husband's funeral and it was there that I shook his hand. He was a very personable man. 

Graves of Thomas Spencer Monson and wife, Frances.

Although the Prophet Brigham Young was buried separately in a location downtown, one of his plural wives, Harriett Amelia Folsom Young, is buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. She died 33 years after her husband and bears a large tombstone over her grave. Tributes describe her as tall, queenly, intelligent, of a fair complexion, and an accomplished pianist and vocalist. 

Another wife of a a famous pioneer was Mary Garn, the wife of Lot Smith (no relation to Joseph). I don't know much about Mary, but Lot was a leader of the Militia and fought in battles against the Indians. He was killed by a Navajo near Tuba City, Arizona in 1892. 

Harriett Amelia Folsom Young, plural wife of Brigham Young.

Buried relatively close to each other are Apostles Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow. It is interesting how the path of these two men intertwined throughout the history of the church. Orson Pratt was the first to join the church. He was ordained an elder and served a mission where he met and taught Erastus Snow. Pratt became an apostle first, being one of the original twelve ordained under the hands of Joseph Smith. He was also a writer, historian, philosopher, and mathematician. In 1847 he used his math skills to design an “odometer” that would measure the distance traveled on the trek west, via the rotation of the wagon wheel. He and Erastus Snow were the first Mormons to enter the Salt Lake Valley, arriving three days ahead of the vanguard group. In 1860 they served a mission together in the Eastern States.

Orson Pratt, one of the original twelve apostles ordained by Joseph Smith.

Erastus Snow.

Another Apostle buried in the Salt Lake Cemetery is George Q. Cannon. The Q stands for “Quayle” and even today in Utah you will occasionally find the same middle name, usually given in honor of George Q. He was one of the first missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands and became an apostle after the murder of Parley P. Pratt. 

In addition to church leaders, there were many headstones honoring those of lay members. One such person that stood out was Moses Deming, who died in 1871. It was obvious that a newer headstone had replaced the older one. His obituary in the Deseret News stated: “He embraced the gospel in Michigan, and has been in Utah about eighteen years. He died in full faith in the gospel and leaves a large family and a numerous circle of friends to deplore his death.” 

George Q. Cannon.

Moses Deming, an ordinary pioneer buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery.

But of all the graves I sought the most to find in the Salt Lake City Cemetery, it was that of my great-great-great-great-grandfather, John Workman. The only other time I came to this cemetery—20 or so years ago—I came across his grave, feeling lucky to find it out of the thousands. Back then it had the original headstone, falling apart and nearly illegible. Since then they have replaced it. 

John Workman was the first in his family to join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. They were living in Overton County Tennessee when two Mormon Elders sought to lodge in their home. Never turning away a traveler in need of food and rest, they welcomed the Elders. John found the message taught by the Elders had struck a familiar chord. 

They were baptized and eventually moved to Nauvoo to join the Saints. There they were persecuted strongly by the mob and eventually his wife, Lydia, succumbed to the persecution and died. She was buried in the Nauvoo Cemetery. 

After being driven from Nauvoo by the mob, John Workman and his family migrated west to the Salt Lake Valley where he died just three years later.  His new headstone lists all 20 of his children! 

Graves of John Workman, Mary Chidester (great-granddaughter), Abram (grandson) and Julia (granddaughter-in-law) Workman.

Salt Lake Temple icon is a popular engraving on LDS headstones.

I continued to wander the cemetery. There was too much to take in and too little time. It was interesting to note that many of the modern headstones had engravings of the Salt Lake Temple, whose designer, Truman O. Angell, was buried just a short distance away. 

Not too far beyond the graves of Mormon pioneers there is a Jewish section. Technically, I believe, it is a different cemetery, named the B'nai Israel Cemetery. There were no fences and no signs to distinguish it from the grander Salt Lake City Cemetery. Here the headstones were marked with different symbolism, usually the Star of David or menorah. Gravestones tended to be placed closer together, similar to those I had seen in pictures of Jewish cemeteries in Eastern Europe. Writing on these markers came in English, Hebrew, and sometimes Arabic. 

It seems like the Jews make their mark just about everywhere, and Utah was no exception. The first Jewish families came to Salt Lake during the 1850's. They built buildings and contributed to the community. In 1869, Brigham Young offered them land for the purpose of constructing a cemetery. From 1917 to 1921, Simon Bamberger, a Jew, was Governor of Utah. He is buried in the B'nai Israel Cemetery. 

The B'Nai Israel Cemetery is located next to the Salt Lake City Cemetery.

Headstone with various languages, including Arabic and Hebrew.

Like I stated earlier, the Salt Lake City Cemetery is huge. I could come back every day for a year and find something new each time. There are other Jewish sections, as well as a Catholic cemetery. An hour and a half was certainly not enough time to see all I wanted. 

Toward the end of my wanderings, I came across the large headstone of another familiar name: Charles W. Penrose. If you recall, at the beginning of this writing I included the first verse of his beloved hymn, Oh Ye Mountains High. Penrose was born in London and joined the church in 1850 at the age of eighteen. He was immediately called to serve a mission in England and it was there that he penned this hymn—before he even set foot in the Salt Lake Valley. He later emigrated to Utah and in 1904 was ordained an Apostle. 

As I left the cemetery, I envisioned it laid out like a giant quilt. It was a patchwork, with everyone faithful and diligent in their own little section, but when sewn together, helping to create something bigger than themselves. I was only able to identify a few of the bigger “patches.” I knew that this cemetery was full of smaller, anonymous patches who came to Zion and did their part, but would never be known but to a few of their own descendants. ♠

 

Grave of Charles W. Penrose.

 

Hail to the Prophet

My first experience of seeing President Monson in person is one that I'll never forget. He wasn't the Prophet back then, but a counselor in the First Presidency. I was attending the Mission Training Center in Provo, Utah in preparation to serve a two-year mission for my church. In a large gymnasium with hundreds of folding chairs set on the hardwood, the room was filled with a couple thousand missionaries, such as myself, chatting away and creating quite a din.

We knew that President Monson would be our speaker, although no one had yet caught a glimpse of him. As a background to the cacophonous echo of voices, an organ played sweet prelude music.

Then at once, as if going from 60 to zero in less than a second, the room turned silent.

The arena was so large that I couldn't see what was happening. Then, from the far side of the gymnasium, I noticed that President Monson and his men had entered and were now making their way toward the front. Everyone by now had lifted from their seats and stood in reverence. You could have heard the proverbial drop of a pin.

There was also a feeling that had entered the room, a sentiment of respect and love. Within my soul I knew this was no ordinary man, but one called of God.

I don't recall the subject which President Monson spoke to us during that meeting in 1992, but the spirit I felt as he entered the room was so powerful that to this day I haven't forgotten.

Thomas Spencer Monson would eventually become the 16th Prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. During his service as President and Apostle he would become revered by millions of Mormons who looked to his example of service and Christ-like charity. This past week, President Monson passed away at the age of ninety. I have spent a lot of time reflecting on this amazing man.

President Monson is known for his attention to “the one.” There are countless personal stories of service to widows and those in need. If he felt a prompting to help someone, he would leave immediately and act upon that feeling. He visited hundreds of patients in hospitals and would be known to literally give a needy person the coat from his back. He lifted the downtrodden. One has to wonder how many untold stories are out there.

A few years after my mission I married into a family that had personal connections with President Monson. My grandfather-in-law, Howard Smith, was Vice-President of Beneficial Life, a company owned by the church. Consequently, he had monthly meetings with certain church leaders. They became personal acquaintances and he called them on a first-name basis. He told a story of pulling into a gas station at the same time as Gordon Hinkley and carrying on a conversation across the pump.

When my wife's parents got married, Howard told them they could choose anyone they'd like to perform the ceremony, and he would check availability.  They chose the young Apostle, Elder Monson. Howard had no problems asking his personal friend, Tom, to officiate their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple.

By the time I entered the family, Howard had long been retired, and those weekly communications with church leaders were a thing of the past. Many of the people he had once dealt with, such as Ezra Taft Benson, had now passed away. Although, he and his wife, Joe Ann, enjoyed telling us that every Christmas they still received a Christmas card from Tom Monson.

In June of 2010, Howard Smith passed away. The visitation and service were held at the mortuary in Bountiful, Utah. President Monson, who at that time was the Prophet and on a very tight schedule, had taken time to call Joe Ann (affectionately known to us as Grammy) a few days earlier to express sympathy and support. Now, the burning question for all of us was whether or not he would show up at the funeral. After all, it had been over two decades since their weekly correspondence, and being a man in his position, he had met thousands of people over the years.

The visitation portion of the funeral was winding down and the family sat and visited in the same room where friends stood in line to offer condolences to Howard's widow, and to pass the closed casket. At the moment when most of us had decided that President Monson wouldn't show up, or had forgotten about the possibility, I spotted the Prophet in the hallway near the entrance with a couple other men (probably his body guards).

Suddenly there was tapping on shoulders and whispering and all of us turned our attention to the tall man in a gray suit. He had no intentions of jumping to the front of the line, but all who were waiting insisted that he go right ahead. Of course, he stopped to shake their hands along the way.

As he made his way to Grammy, he gave her an embrace and for the next fifteen minutes the two visited, with a sprinkling of laughter thrown in. Toward the end the mood turned serious again and I watched the Prophet whisper words into Grammy's ear. (I later learned that he was reading a letter from the First Presidency.)

We were all in anticipation as to what he would do after the visit with Grammy, as he would be making his way toward us. As he approached Taylor, my 13-year old nephew, he pulled him in and told him that his red hair reminded him of the boy that sat on the front row of a conference and mimicked everything he did.

He broke out of that group, moving in our direction, and looked at my 4-year old daughter, Savanah. “I want to talk to this angel.” He lowered down and she ran straight into his arms. “What's your name?” he asked.

“Savanah!”

“Oh, that's Southern. Who is that girl right there?”

“That's my Aunt Teresa.”

He then turned to Brittany, who was 11 at the time. “What's your name?”

“Brittany.” He shook her hand, and then asked Kaitlyn the same thing and shook her's also.

Then he turned to Jenna. “I'll tell you a secret.” He leaned down and lowered his voice just a bit. “Yellow is my favorite color,” and gestured toward her yellow dress and hair-bow. Then he drew her in and hugged her, pulling her back toward his chest and wrapping his arm around the front of her body.

When he let her go President Monson asked, “Are all of these your sisters?” Kaitlyn responded that three were. Then he snapped back, “That guy over there is not your sister?”

That put a smile on their face and Savanah was quick to say, “No, he's my dad. His name is John.” That's when I stood and shook the Prophet's hand. It felt soft, slightly cold (in temperature) and loose-skinned.

As he finished with those of us immediately around him, his body guard grabbed his arm to hurry him along when Savanah ran toward him, seizing his attention once again. “Hey, do you know that song, Follow the Prophet?” she asked him.

Stooping down and looking her square in the face, he wiggled his ears and replied with a slow, “Yeees.”

Then, with her full body following her hand, she pointed right at the Prophet and said, “So, we're supposed to follow YOU, right?”

“That's right,” he answered with a smile.

President Monson continued moving around the room, and thinking quickly, Jenelle (my wife) and Jordan (my son) did also. They were seated with us, but on the far side of the room from where the Prophet stood. Strategically they positioned themselves near the door, and with a nudging push from his mother, Jordan was face to face with President Monson. “Hey, Pink Shirt,” he said. He grabbed Jordan's hand, then pulled him in and gave a one-armed embrace. “I like pink.”

Then he shook hands with Jenelle, completing our family. Five minutes later he was out the door and gone. He did not stay for the actual funeral, but his showing up displayed that he cared.

My overall impression was that President Monson was very Christ-like. He undoubtedly was “willing to mourn with those that mourn,” and was very attentive to the little children. He was very personable. It was certainly an experience that we would never forget.

The only other time I saw President Thomas S. Monson in person was at the 2015 General Conference held on Easter morning. By this time, the old man had grown feeble. As he stood at the pulpit he spoke with a pale complexion and sometimes slurred speech. From our seat on the balcony of the Conference Center we were at such a great distance that I had to watch the jumbo screen to see his facial features.

He spoke only eleven minutes, in which time he announced three new temples, including one in Bangkok, Thailand. He then taught of the blessings and peace that come from attending the temple. He then ended his short sermon doing that which he had done for over fifty years—testifying of Jesus Christ:

“May our Heavenly Father bless us that we may have the spirit of temple worship, that we may be obedient to His commandments, and that we may follow carefully the footsteps of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I testify that He is our Redeemer. He is the Son of God. He it is who came forth from the grave that first Easter morning, bringing with Him the gift of everlasting life for all of God's children. On this beautiful day, as we celebrate that momentous event, may we offer prayers of gratitude for His great and marvelous gift to us. That this may be so, I pray humbly in His holy name, amen.” ♥

L.D.S. General Conference

You can find the pilgrimage in many religions. The Muslim will make the Hajj, a holy trip to Mecca. Perhaps the Catholic will journey on the road to Santiago de Compostela or Vatican City. For the Mormon, that journey might be to Salt Lake City to attend the semi-annual General Conference of the church.

Some will travel across the world to attend a session of General Conference. For me, although I live in Utah, I have never attended a conference in person. My oldest son will soon be leaving the nest, and I have always had the goal for us to attend as a family. We were lucky enough to obtain tickets (they are always free) and were now on track to attend the Sunday morning session.

Salt Lake Temple

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has been holding a gathering of members for 185 years. After Brigham Young led the saints to the Salt Lake Valley, most of the conferences were held in the old Tabernacle. This oval building with a domed roof was constructed with remarkable acoustic qualities in a day when microphones and speakers didn't exist. The building served the saints well for 132 years until the church decided that they needed a building that had a larger seating capacity than 7,000.

Although the Tabernacle still stands on Temple Square, the saints now attend General Conference in the much larger Conference Center, a meeting hall that holds three-times the amount as the Tabernacle.

The church holds conference twice a year: in April and October. Each conference has five sessions: three on Saturday, including a Priesthood session, and two on Sunday.

My own family history is intertwined with the saga of General Conference. My great-great grandfather, Charles Workman, attended conference in 1912. While the same trip now would take less than five hours, the trip for Charles and his wife, Josephine, lasted two days from Hurricane in southern Utah.

Making a trip to Salt Lake for conference was a large ordeal for the Workman family. They traveled by both buggy and train. While in Salt Lake they visited family, toured church history sites, and attended every session of conference.

Below I will include a few of the entries from the diary of Charles Workman. I do this to bring to life his journey and to highlight that the objectives of General Conference in 1912 are largely the same as they are today.

28 September 1912, Saturday – (clear) Josephine and I and the baby, Eloise, started for Salt Lake City this morning (7:50 A.M.) and arrived at Kanarra about 6:30 P.M. We are traveling with John T. Hall. Mollie and her two children Thelma and Ora, and Wealthy Workman are with us. Staying with Berry Williams tonight.

29 September, Sunday – (cloudy) Left Kanarra about 7 A.M. and arrived at Lund about 4:30 P.M. Bishop Hirschi and Bishop Isom have been traveling with us in another buggy. Met Lucy Eagar on the train (Took train 9 P.M.)

30 September, Monday – (clear) Arrived at Salt Lake City 6:30 A.M. and put up at Mamie Forbes', 165 Meade St. She is Josephine's cousin. We attended the first meeting of the National Irrigation Congress 10 A.M. There was a fine musical program with speeches of welcome and responses, etc. One number was the singing of the “Irrigation Ode” by the Tabernacle Choir led by Professor McClellan. Also attended the second meeting of the Congress 2:30 P.M. and the grand parade 8 P.M. The parade was made up of bands, soldiers and floats representing the resources of the various counties in Utah.

[The next two days are spent attending meetings for the Irrigation Congress.]

3 October, Thursday – (clear) Josephine, Mamie and I went on an excursion up Emigration Canyon as guests of the Irrigation Congress Board of control of Salt Lake City. Started at 9:30 A.M. and returned about 1:15 P.M. We passed over the old “Mormon Trail” over which the Pioneers entered the Valley of the Great Salt Lake on July 24, 1847. The electric car line over which we went runs in a zig zag fashion up the side of the mountain to a height of almost a mile above Salt Lake City to a place called Point Lookout, which is about 17 miles from the city. In the company were also Bishop Samuel Isom, Mollie and Wealthy Workman, and enough other Irritation Congress Delegates and their guests to completely fill three cars. In the afternoon we visited the Deseret Museum and I attended the last session of the National Irrigation Congress.

Inside the old Tabernacle

[Friday and Saturday are spent attending General Conference. I will only include Sunday's entry because it does well enough to represent a typical conference day in 1912.]

6 October, Sunday – (clear, cold) Conference 10 A.M. President Charles W. Penrose was the first speaker. Referred to the Constitution as the fundamental law of the land. Referred to the “essentials” of salvation. Apostle Orson F. Whitney compared the life of Joseph Smith with that of Paul. Spoke of the lack of faith of the ministers of the day in what they preach and their lack of unity. 2 P.M. General testimony. Apostle David O. McKay said that it is the privilege of every L.D. Saint to know of the truth of the Gospel for himself. A testimony of the gospel is an anchor to the soul, to steady our course among strife and discord. Do not offend a friend on account of difference of political belief. Apostle Joseph F. Smith, Jr. said that no man will go astray by following the council of the leaders of the church. Apostle James E. Talmage spoke on modern revelation. True and imitation liberty. President Joseph F. Smith in his closing remarks said that the officers of the Relief Societies, Y.L.M.I.A. and Primary Associations should set a good example in the matter of dress. After the afternoon services we went to Taylorsville and are staying tonight with Rose Johnson Fox.

Charles Workman and his family spent four more days in the Salt Lake area before they boarded the train and returned to Hurricane on October 13 and “found all well.” Their total trip lasted just over two weeks. For the Workman family, it was one of the few times that they ever left southern Utah.

Our trip, in the year 2015, was much quicker and less complicated. I will say, however, that it wasn't a cake-walk. We couldn't leave Cedar City until my boy got off work at 9 pm. We traveled three hours in the dark to my brother's home in Springville where we crashed in his basement and found a few hours of sleep. We were on the road again at 6 am, this time making the one-hour trip to Salt Lake City. We parked in a wide paved lot between Temple Square and the Triad Center, just before the sun came up. The spires of the temple and the low wide dome of the tabernacle and the tall profiles of high-rise buildings were all still silhouetted against the high peaks of the Wasatch Mountains. Two seagulls played on the supple breeze. I breathed in the cool morning air which always feels different when you were away from home.

We waited in our vehicle for half an hour while Jenelle braided the girls' hair and we all ate chocolate granola bars for breakfast.

The Conference Center

We left to walk toward the Conference Center, a large white-stoned building with a spire on top, that we could see from the parking lot. Many walked with us on the sidewalk, all in their best Sunday dress. I wore a long-sleeved white shirt with a black suit left open at the chest to show my plum-colored tie. We passed a few beggars next to the sidewalk, each with a cardboard sign next to them, their hand out in cupping shape, and head down. Some would look up at the passerby's and say good morning to them.

Many people there were looking for tickets. Some held a sign to advertize their solicitation while others simply held up the same number of fingers as they needed tickets. Others just came and asked anyone who walked passed if they had any extras. I felt sorry for them. They came from places like Columbia and California and all over. If I could, I would have brought a bundle of extra tickets in one pocket and a wad of dollar bills in the other (for the beggars).

I expected to see protestors, but didn't. A large group of police officers in yellow vests congregated near the place where we crossed the street to the Conference Center.

We waited in line for only about five minutes before we were ushered inside to our seats on the highest level. As we rode the escalators to the upper level, my fourteen year-old daughter said, “Dad, this feels just like we're going to Disneyland!” I could tell that she was giddy and I was happy to know that she was enjoying herself. It was a completely new experience.

Everyone there was very friendly. I don't think it was possible to get lost. A new volunteer with a wide smile was eager to help at every turn.

Inside the Conference Center

We found our seats center to the podium and on the balcony. We were truly high and far from the rostrum where all the authorities of the church would be seated during the conference. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir with the men in their dark suits on the right, and the women in their turquoise gowns on the left, were already seated and rehearsing for their participation in the conference. A few people down near the podium walked or talked with other people and I couldn't make out the description of their faces because of the distance between us. Although I could usually discern if they had gray hair or a bald head, or if they wore glasses. We made a few educated guesses as to who they were.

At nine-thirty precisely, Music and the Spoken Word began. This weekly devotional has been performed by the Tabernacle Choir since 1929. The narrator, Lloyd Newel, gives words of inspiration that introduces the hymn played by the choir.

We were delighted to see my wife's Uncle Clay playing the organ. Not many families can claim an organist in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. In addition to accompanying the entire performance, he played a toccata on the hymn, He is Risen. The Conference Center is acoustically designed, which amplifies any good organ work from great, to magnificent. By the end of Uncle Clay's solo, the reverberation of the organ rattled every seat in the building.

At ten o'clock, the conference began, and everyone stood as President Monson walked into the room and took his seat behind the pulpit. We sat at such a distance that it was difficult to get a good look at him, but he was accompanied by two men, probably his body guards, and one helped support his feeble body at the elbow.

President Monson is who we sustain as our prophet, seer, and revelator. He has always been full of life with a comic side to his serious tone. But lately, his age and frail frame have become more apparent.

The choir sang an opening hymn and then we all bowed our heads in prayer. Then the crowd gave a gasp when it was announced that President Monson would be our first speaker.

Every eye in the room watched the Prophet and all ears gave attention. His speech proved more difficult to understand than in the past. Old age has taken its toll on his clarity of speech. He announced three new temples: Bangkok, Thailand; Haiti; and the Ivory Coast. There were other gasps, probably from those who had deep connections to those places.

Then the Prophet spoke on temples. He exhorted us to go to the temple to help bear our trials, to overcome temptation, and to find peace.

Rosemary Wixom, the Primary General President, told a story about a lady that had left the church, but returned when she was able to return to the basics. She also admonished us to not condemn others for the amount of light they may or may not have, but instead, nourish and encourage them.

We then sang a rest hymn. The entire congregation arose and sang I Know That My Redeemer Lives. What a powerful song when over 20,000 people are singing with you!

A Frenchman, Gérald Caussé, spoke to us. He told us that although he had lived in Paris for many years, his family had never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Then he compared it to us, and how it is possible for us to take the gospel or the restoration for granted when we have been born in the church. Listening to him speak with his french accent reminded me of the international growth of the church.

Brent Nielson, of the Quorum of the Seventy, shared the story of the Prodigal Son. He compared it with his sister, Susan, who had left the church for fifteen years before coming back. He said, “ . . . we learned in our family that, after all we can do, we love that person with all of our hearts and we watch, we pray, and we wait for the Lord's hand to be revealed.”

The next speak was Jeffery R. Holland. He has always been one of my favorites because he is originally from southern Utah, and always speaks of his native Dixie with much affection. He is also a member of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles. He reminded us that Easter is the most sacred day of the year. But there cannot be a full appreciation of Easter without an understanding that Adam and Eve existed and that the fall truly happened. He stated that speaking of Adam and Eve in the modern world is not only uncommon, but unfashionable. When Elder Holland spoke, he spoke with great power and every eye was fastened to the man behind the pulpit.

The final speaker of the session was President Uchtdorf, so-called because he is in the top-tier, or first presidency of the church along with Thomas S. Monson and Henry B. Eyring. He is from Germany, but speaks English very well, with just a slight accent. He spoke to us on grace. “We cannot earn our way into heaven,” he said. He went on to teach about the Atonement and concluded by saying, “Grace is a gift of God, and our desire to be obedient to each of God's commandments is the reaching out of our mortal hand to receive this sacred gift from our Heavenly Father.”

The Tabernacle Choir sang a closing hymn, and then a prayer was offered. After the final amen, the entire congregation rose to their feet and listened to the organ play and watched the officials of the church as they walked in single-file along the rostrum where they met their spouses and walked away hand-in-hand.

The mass of devotees flooded out the Conference Center doors and we enjoyed the fresh air and sun as we stepped outside. As we crossed the road toward Temple Square, we passed a handful of protesters along the sidewalk. We paid them no attention as there were few of them and we did not want them to detract from the spirit of the meeting.

Once on Temple Square, we found my sister, Michelle, who had spread a blanket on the grass and was eating a picnic lunch with her family. We sat down on the lawn with them, which was between the Tabernacle and Assembly Hall.

I gazed up to look at the spires on the west side of the temple. Many of these same buildings and trees would have been around at the time that Charles Workman made his journey to Temple Square. Soft sound of hymns came from the hidden speakers and a subtle smell of flowers fostered a peaceful feeling. Gradually the people on the square and around the gardens would dwindle down and soon the next session of conference would begin.

People enjoy Temple Square between sessions of General Conference.  The old Tabernacle is in the background.