Chapter 6: Chick’s flick

Waldemar wanders through the crowd once more, mingling meticulously as he looks for classmates to sign his yearbook. “Hamp!” he shouts as he spots another friend.

Hampton Price is hard to miss; already six feet four and growing, he always manages to stand out in a crowd. Waldemar tried in vain all year to get Hamp to join the Aero Club. Not that Hamp isn’t interested in airplanes – on the contrary, the ride he had taken in Lindbergh’s plane at Woodward had inspired him for life, and he had even named the Price family dog Lindy – but another interest has captured his attention recently.

Hamp waves back, but as Waldemar approaches with his yearbook to exchange signatures, he realizes that it wasn’t a wave at all, but rather a signal to back out of a picture. Hamp’s other arm is around Dorothy Saville, another classmate graduating tonight, and they are posing for a picture to immortalize the occasion.

Hamp and Dot have been sweethearts since junior high school, when the Savilles had first moved “up on the hill” in the Avenues and became neighbors and family friends of the Prices. Mrs. Saville disapproves of their dating, however, so despite their sweetheart status, they have each compiled a collection of prom and other formal dance photos with other, platonic partners in arm. A graduation photo together is, however, quite obligatory, and Mrs. Saville isn’t around to object tonight. As Charles “Chick” Price, Hamp’s father, snaps a photo of the couple, Waldemar sets off in another direction to find more of his classmates; a tall figure in a Homburg hat brushes shoulders with Waldemar and approaches the small group.

“How do you do, Brother Price?”

The senior Brother Price quickly withdraws his hand to push an exposed pack of cigarettes further inside his vest pocket. “Very well, President, sir, how are you?”

President Heber J. Grant is a familiar sight around campus and in the Avenues. He serves on the Church’s Board of Education by virtue of his position and takes a personal interest in L.D.S. High, seizing any opportunity to be among its students and faculty. “Doing well myself, thank you very much…though I walked a bit farther than planned as someone had taken my parking space.”

Chick nods and nervously straightens his jacket.

“Maybe it’s just as well tonight, since I’ve had a lot on my mind,” President Grant continues, “Brother Brigham always told me when I was a young boy that shaking the body up with exercise gives your mind a chance to rest – ‘course he was talking about dancing – but that’s a still a word of wisdom to the wise!”

Chick cringes at the not-so-subtle insinuation. He is used to flicking away his cigarette when he sees President Grant approaching, but this time he has been caught off guard. He is much more at home among his fellow railroad men than in the almost exclusively Mormon company that surrounds him tonight, and his usual confidence always seems to crumble around this particular authority figure. His duties for the Union Pacific include serving as President Grant’s personal rail car attendant on longer trips, making sure the ride is comfortable and the food palatable. He knows from experience that President Grant gets a kick out of making him squirm. On their last trip, he had been particularly successful:

“Would you be needing anything else?” Chick had politely asked after delivering a fancy meal to the cabin.

“Why yes, as a matter of fact, this meal hasn’t been blessed yet,” answered President Grant, knowing full well that praying aloud was foreign to Chick – who then proceeded to stumble through what was allegedly the shortest prayer ever uttered. When he looked up, though, all of the Church dignitaries in the party still had their heads bowed, so he kept repeating the prayer until everyone finally said, “Amen.”

That story had spawned a tradition around the family dinner table: Whenever hosting company for a meal, Chick’s wife, Mimi – a contrastingly staunch Mormon herself – always tells the story with great amusement before blessing the food herself.

A flood of mail had followed after this occasion as President Grant – ever the zealous missionary – sent one religious tract after another to Chick’s home. He had even addressed a personally inscribed Book of Mormon to “Elder” Charles William Price, a subtle reminder of Chick’s priesthood office in the Church. As it turns out, graduation night provides yet another opportunity to make Chick uncomfortable:

“You’d make a great missionary,” says President Grant, extending his hand to Hamp.

The gesture convinces Hamp to give up his arm around Dot in exchange for a firm handshake and some inevitable advice.

“People already look up to you,” President Grant states, “so you’ve got that going for you already.”

Hamp nods, standing on his toes in jest to make himself look even taller; President Grant is over six feet tall himself, but Hamp is one of the few graduates tall enough to actually look down on him.

“And besides,” President Grant adds with a further jab at Chick, “it’s in your blood!”

Hamp is descended directly from pioneers; his namesake, in fact, is his maternal grandfather, Brigham Young Hampton, who had been adopted (and named) in Nauvoo by Brigham Young himself. Despite this heritage, his family is obviously not entirely religious and a church mission is far from his mind.

Turning to Chick, President Grant says, “Well, what do you think?”

Though he very much objects to the idea of having his son postpone further education with missionary service, Chick decides to humor President Grant and answers, “Well then you can call the rest of your missionaries home, ‘cause he’ll convert the world!”

President Grant chuckles and – not one to give up the last word – answers, “How about giving him a head start by letting him practice on you at home?”

There isn’t much Chick can say in response. He knows enough not to challenge President Grant’s persistence in these matters; any excuse is bound to just dig the hole deeper. Jeddie’s persistence in turning childhood weaknesses in baseball, penmanship, and singing into personal strengths were becoming legendary in Mormon folklore even before he took office as the head of the Church. Chick also knows that President Grant – after fulfilling a childhood promise to finally build his widowed mother a watertight home – had dug himself out of deep personal debt one sale at a time as a developer in the Avenues, including a modest commission earned on the original sale of the Price family home. With no avenue of escape, all Chick can do is smile and nod.

President Grant gives him a solid pat on the back. As he draws a deep breath, Chick feels the pack of cigarettes jab him in the chest a bit more sharply than usual. President Grant thrives on challenging others to overcome vices, and confronting substance addiction strikes a particular chord with him. The lengthy fights between his mother and his drunken step father – and uncle – that led up to their divorce still haunt him, as do the memories of a close friend who smoked and drank his way to the grave right after returning home from a mission. In the latter case, President Grant had made a graveside promise to the Lord to rid the Church of alcohol and tobacco’s influence.

As Church President, he has preached incessantly on the subject and ultimately made good on his commitment by making abstinence from these substances compulsory for priesthood advancement and entry to the temple. The notion was opposed by quite boisterous foes, whom President Grant silenced in his many sermons on the “little white slave” by saying that anyone sick and tired of hearing about it only complains because he is full the stuff the Word of Wisdom tells him to leave alone. This is not the man Chick wants to annoy with justifications, so he promptly changes the subject.

“I hear after conquering the real estate market in Salt Lake, you’ve now set your sights on New York!”

President Grant beams. He is still elated over the acquisition of the Hill Cumorah in upstate New York, formalized and announced in the 98th Annual General Conference just a few months earlier. To President Grant, it represents the fulfillment of an almost life-long dream. “If the Lord were to strike me down today and I met Brother Joseph and Moroni face to face – though I may leave some of my work undone – at least I can tell them I returned their hill safely to the fold.”

“Well if you plat it out for development like you did with the Avenues here, maybe the steam shovels will find your long-lost gold plates.”

President Grant chuckles and, yet again, refuses to cede the last word. “Don’t try me, Chick, I might do just that if it would get you back on our team!” He shakes Chick’s hand, clasping it between both of his hands as added emphasis.

Chick looks downwards, unable to summon the courage to look President Grant directly in the eye.

“Wonderful to have seen you, Chick,” he says, having spotted other friends in the crowd. “You’ll have to excuse me for now,” he adds with a wink, “but I’ll keep an eye out for you in Sunday’s services!”

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