The Magic Carpet

For several years I taught a night class at BYU on International Finance. At the beginning of each class I told the students that I had a story about a Magic Carpet that I would tell them on the last class at the end of the semester. I think our family will remember the carpet that was mounted on a wall in our Fairfax home and today is rolled up in our front closet.

During the early 1970s I had visited the Middle East several times, and had observed beautiful carpets in the souks and bazaars. But I had never seen one that I wanted to buy.

In the fall of 1976 I had planned a round-the-world trip that would allow me to visit Nepal where I anticipated viewing the Himalayas. I would visit several countries in the Far East before attending an annual meeting of the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank in Manila, Philippines. Then I would fly on to Nepal on a weekend and then to the Middle East, inclulding Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Egypt. At that time it was fairly difficult to get a visa for Saudi because everyone wanted to go there at the peak of the Saudi's prosperity and influence. In any event, I didn't have time to get a visa in the USA; however I was assured that I could easily get one in Manila.

The trip went well until I tried unsuccessfully to get a visa for Saudi Arabia in Manila. I was told that it would be easy to get one in Kuwait. So I blessfully went on to Nepal, which was my most sought for goal on the trip. Finally I reached Kathmandu on a Friday night, where I was surprised to find a casino in the hotel where I was staying. The Nepalese were not allowed to gamble, but they were permitted to watch the foreigners gamble.

The next morning I stood in the hotel lobby trying to decide what to do regarding some sightseeing in and around Kathmandu. A Hindu fellow approched me and offered to be my guide, which was the only time in my life that I have engaged a guide. We visited several local stupas and shrines, and were driving across a meadow toward some shrine, when we passed some roadside stalls that were filled with carpets. As I expressed some considerable interest in the carpets, the guide pulled over to the roadside so that we could get out and look them over.

As we entered the stall, I saw a red carpet on top of a large pile that really impressed me. I pretended to look over other carpets, while really determined to purchase the red one. When I asked the price, the Tietan owner said $80. My effort to bargain with him to reduce the price was to no avail, probably because he read my determination to have that one. So we drove back to the hotel to get some travel checks, returning to make the purchase. The merchant rolled the gorgeous red Tibetan carpet with the bottom side out and tied it with some burlap string.

On Sunday afternoon I flew to New Delhi to catch a flight on Air India to Kuwait. Since the flight to Kuwait didn't depart until after midnight, I had several hours to wait. As I sat in the New Delhi airport with my bags, a little Indian man came and offered to check my bags on Air India. Being somewhat groggy, I surrended my suitcase and the carpet for his check in. After he left I suddenly realized that the carpet would be worth several months wages for this man. On previous trip to India, I had some gifts stolen, causing me to be very uneasy over my foolish surrender of my baggage. After a seemingly long wait, he returned with two baggage checks, but I still had an uneasy feeing that I wouldn't see the red carpet again.

We finally left India for Kuwait, arriving at sunrise. As I waited for my bags, the suitcase showed up but not the carpet. After a long wait, I reported my lost carpet to the Air India claim desk. They assured me that they would find it before my departure for Riyadh two days hence. Arriving at the Sheraton Hotel I learned that it was totally occupied and that my reservation didn't mean a thing. As I persisted to badger them, they finally found a room for me, but told me that it would be for two nights only.

I went about making my scheduled calls on the Kuwaiti banks and trading companies. On the second day, I went out to the Saudi Embassy to get a visa. It was way out on the edge of the city amongst the sand dunes, arriving just before noon. When I reached the visa line outside the rear entrance, there were at least 20 persons ahead me. They were Arab types who were trying to come from foreign places to work for big wages in Saudi Arabia. It was evident that the Saudi clerk was out of patience with the heavy work load, and he wanted to quit for lunch and the customary afternoon off. He heard my plea that I had appointments in both Riyadh and Jeddah. At first he refused to do anything, then finally he said that he would give me a visa for one city only. Knowing that I could not change my airline and hotel reservations, due to the heavy influx of visitors, I walked away. Since it was now the noon hour, it was impossible to get a taxi, so I had to walk back to town in 100+ degree heat.

As I entered the hotel, I rushed to the airline desk to find a flight out of Kuwait. As the hotel had warned me that I would not be allowed to stay that night, I knew I had to leave ASAP. I learned that there was only one flight that afternoon for Europe, on Air France to Geneva, Switzerland. It would leave in about one hour, so I rushed up to the room to pack and head for the airport. I threw my belongings in the suitcase and was heading for the door, when the phone rang. I debated whether I should answer it due to my time constraints. But I did answer, and was told that it was Air India. They had found my carpet---it was in New York. But not to worry, they were already bringing it back to Kuwait. Telling them that I was leaving Kuwait momentarily, they instructed me to see their baggage claim desk at the airport to give them further instructions.

When I arrived at the Kuwait Airport, I found that it was bristling with armed guards with automatic weapons, due to some alert, and I was told to walk directly out to the aircraft and not permitted to see the Air India people. Needless to say, I thought I would never see the carpet again.

Arriving at Geneva, I got a hotel room for the night. Then I called my secretary Maria at the bank in Cleveland to tell of my changed plans. Then I mentioned my carpet problem and asked her to call Air India in New York to request that it be brought back to New York or Cleveland. The following day I flew to Paris and spent the next couple days at our Representative Office plus some calls on several French banks.

Then on SAturday I caught my regular flight from London on Air France for New York. When were about half way across the Atlantic Ocean, the pilot announced that we had encountered such strong winds in the jetstream, so that we would have to land in Newfoundland to refuel for the flight to New York. The refueling was accomplished and we arrived two hours late at Kennedy Airport. With the help of Air France I made a reservation for United Airlines for Cleveland. As I had at least an hour to get to the United terminal, and the taxis refused to take a fare inside the terminal, I jumped on the bus with my suitcase and attache case for a leasurely ride on the great circle route that exists at Kennedy. When the bus moved along I watched closely for United, but it never came. Finally, about ten minutes before the flight was to depart, I noticed the United sign about a block away (apparently it was next door to Air France, so I had gone the whole circle, when I could have walked it easily in a few minutes). I jumped out of the bus, and ran with my two bags to catch the plane.

As I was about to enter the United terminal, I passed a van parked at the curb, where the driver was talking to a man standing at the curb. As I ran past them, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the man was leaning on a round bundle that looked very much like my carpet. I walked backwards a couple of steps and mentioned to him that the bundle looked like my carpet. It was covered with tags, evidencing the several times it had been across the ocean and other distant places. He aked me my name, then looked at the claim tag which evidently had my name on it. So he handed it to me, without my having to go through customs and paying customs duty. I made my flight to Cleveland and now proudly possess a beautiful Tibetan carpet, which quite magically left me in New Delhi and found me in New York City six days and many thousands of miles later.

Weeks later I happended to be in Cincinnati and saw an expensive carpet store. They had Tibetan carpets that were priced at $800.

The Fall of the Lombardy Poplars

I think it was the summer of 2003 that a big wind came out of the northwest to blow over a poplar tree that fell over the back fence into our neighbor's yard to the south and the top on to the east into Michie's yard. Fortunately both neighbors were away, so I hiked over the fence and cut up the limbs and trunk and tossed them over the fence into our yard.

It was easy to see that the seven very tall poplars were slowly dying, which would put other trees in line to be toppled by wind or other means. Fearing that some of these trees might cause damage or injury to my neighbors and their yards/houses, I determined to fell them inside our back yard as they withered and died.

The seven trees were shorter in the east and had grown bigger and higher to the west. I seem to remember that in the summer of 2004 I invited Steve and Margaret to help me to bring down the next three trees, progressing from the east to the west. We tied nylon ropes to the trunk of the tree being felled to the a greener tree next to the west. Then we cut the felled tree near to the ground, causing it to swing to a horizontal position and suspended by the rope. If we miscalculated where to tie the rope to the fallen tree, the top might descend into our neighbor's yard. Then Steve and Margaret would endeavor to counter-balance the weight so that we could swing the top of the tree back into our yard. The next step would be to either cut off a chunk of the tree and/or lower it to the ground for further cutting. I never knew what our neighbors thought of our crazy operation.

The next summer (2005) brought David to stay with us and to down the next two trees. One of them caused some unwelcomed result. I think we miscalculated the height and where it would fall. Instead of falling onto our patio, it veered to the west over our garden and crashed into the shed behind our garage. It smashed the plastic roof as well as our raspberriy bushes. Every time we felled a tree there would be a depression in our lawn where the trunk hit. Needless to say, I, and also David, enjoyed cutting up these trees and then splitting the sections into smaller blocks for eventual burning in our fireplace in ensuing winters (a big saving on heating costs).

Now to the good part! In the summer of 2006 I decided to take down the largest tree (80 feet), without any help from family eager beavers. After the crash onto our shed with a shorter tree, the felling of the grandest of all required careful engineering. I decided to cut only the top half (40 feet) so that it could fall onto the lawn and not endanger our house. So I took our two 20-foot aluminum ladders to allow me to ascend 40 feet to the mid-section of the tree. The first ladder was extended up the tree. Then I took apart the other ladder and raised a ten foot section next to the tree and wound a nylon rope through the hollow steps and tied them with strong knots. Holding fast to the tree I then repeated the rope up the ladder until the section was secure to the tree. Then I repeated the procedure for the second 10-foot piece. I should say that in this dangerous arrangement I tied my body to the tree with a bow-line knot so that I would not fall to the ground due to some careless movement.

So now I have secured the two ladders to the tree, allowing me to position myself at the mid-section of the tree at 40 feet. I recall how high that was, so that I could look over the roofs and most of the trees in the neighborhood. The next in this master plan was to put the nylon rope as high as possible on the tree above so that there would be leverage to pull the trunk to the ground and in a line that would not endanger the house, i.e., to the northeast toward Mt. Timpanogas. Tied to the tree, I tied the end of the nylon rope to a padlock, and then put the end with the padlock on a long (7-foot) pole over a crotch in the end of the pole. Now I looked high above for a branch where I could knock the padlock over the crotch . Then the weight of the padlock would cause the rope to fall on the opposite side of the tree. Eventually I could reach out and grab the padlock and pull the rope to me and then on to the ground below. Because of the size of the tree, I determined that it would be necessary to pull the rope again over the crotch so that there would a double strand for pulling the top section down. This was a nervous activity, especially when the wind blew and caused the tree to sway.

The next step was to cut the trunk at about the 40-foot level before pulling it over. Needless to say I decided that it was too dangerous to cut it with the chain saw. I had had some close calls with chain saws before when I was standing on the ground, so I wouldn't want to try it tied to the tree. First I tried to saw the trunk with hand saws. Hah! Then I had a great idea of bringing my electric hand drill up with the long electric cords so that I could drill half inch holes all around the trunk. This procedure took hours which weren't sufficient to allow me to pull the section over, particularly since I hadn't much leverage 100-feet away on the ground. I even tried cutting the notches between the holes I had drilled but the section remained firm and unwilling to fall. I guess I must have climbed the tree a hundred times over several weeks and my neighbors probably thought I had lost it!?

I knew that I had to find a way to exert more power in pulling the 40-foot section over. Ahah! Did I have enough rope to extend across the back yard, over the fence into the front lawn? The rope would have to be four strands, so I guess there must have been 400 plus feet of the nylon rope. Now the rope must be tied to something that had sufficient power. That was provided by the Lincoln Mark VII with a trailer hitch on the rear. I backed the car up near to the fence and tied the rope securely to the hitch. I drove so that the rope was tight and would not tear off the corner of the house or the fence. Then I eased forward without success. The tree section held firm. Then I backed up a few inches and then gunned the engine two or three times. Then I heard a crash and the rope slackened. Dry leaves and dust filled the air in our back yard. When I got through the gate I saw that the tree had fallen exactly across the yard toward the cherry tree and not causing any damage except to the deep dents in the lawn where the trunk had fallen.

What a thrill it was to then cut up the 40-foot section with the chain saw so that it could be removed for the fall of the next 20-foot section in a similar manner. And then the final 20-foot section. The cutting the large and heavy sections was a huge task. Then it was necessary to split the huge blocks so that they could be stored in our back shed for drying and eventual burning on cold winter nights. Some of those splittings are still being fired today (winter 2010).

There was enough danger and patience in this project to make it the most satisfying of all my ventures. It also reaffirmed my belief that anyone can do marvelous things, if they are willing to plan carefully and are willing to spend the time and energy to make it work.

Deseret Peak

As I think about my dad, there are many things that come to mind. One of the things I remember fondly is his sense of adventure. He has always been interested in exploring some new place – no matter how remote. Probably about ten years ago (perhaps a little more)
I heard about Deseret Peak from a Navy Reserve buddy of mine. He’d mentioned that he’d been out there the previous year on the 4th of July, and that he’d only seen three other people on his hike to the summit. This sounded like my kind of place, as I love remote places with few human to spoil the solitude. I told dad about this place, and he was up for the new adventure. So, one day early that summer (perhaps dad can remember the year), we headed out west on I-80 to see if we could find how to get there.
We passed the exit for Tooele, and finally got off at Grantsville. We found the road that heads out of town to the south along the Stansbury range. I knew that Deseret Peak was the tallest of the peaks that presented themselves there, and that it was close to Grantsville, so we eyeballed the second peak south from I-80, and aimed for it.
From I-80 and even from the smaller road we followed now, the mountains basically just looked like huge mounds of dirt and rock – as dry as could be, and almost without any interesting features whatever. But my friend had described more – so we took this on faith and continued on. Within a few miles we found a road that headed west toward the mountain, and followed it up the slope.
Shortly, the road merged close to a small stream that had emerged from a narrow opening in the mountain further up the piedmont. I never would have expected any water to come out of this mound of dirt, but there it was.
A little further on we came to a cleft in the rock and dirt where the road entered and the stream left a narrow canyon. There were steep rock cliffs on either side as we entered the canyon, which soon widened and the cliffs gently sloped back away from the rode a little. As the slope flattened some, the canyon began to display cedars and other normal greenery for this part of the state. Eventually these gave way to pines and quaking aspens.
Within just a couple of miles or less, we found a place to pull over at a trailhead. We parked next to few other cars there, and slinging our packs, headed into the forest (to our amazement and joy). The trail quickly steepened, and we passed through a section of quakies that were among the largest I have ever seen. The trunks were enormous, and they were very tall. We were amazed that this place existed in what had appeared to be a dry pile of rock and dirt just a few miles to the east.
We soon hiked into a beautiful wide valley, which reminded me more of a vision out of Heidi than a remote trail in Utah’s west desert. As we hiked higher and higher, we found one of the most geologically diverse areas I’d ever visited. It seemed that at every turn, there was some new and interesting terrain that was very different from what we had just left. At times the clouds wrapped around us like a heavy fog, and at others we baked in the searing sun.
Despite the fact that Deseret Peak was only about 200-300 feet shorter than Timpanogos, the trail is much shorter, and so can be summited in much less time. It’s a steep trail for much of the hike, but the pay-off is great if you can just push through it.
We finally summited in the early afternoon, and the view was spectacular! I later read that on a clear day, one can see Nevada, Idaho, Wyoming, and Colorado from the peak. It wasn’t that clear for us, but I can believe it!
This was one of quite a number of adventures I have shared with my dad. I have always known that I was lucky to have someone like him who is a kindred spirit. I expect we will have many more adventures in the future.

When we lived at the Fairfax Road house in Cleveland Mom decided to bring some more culture to our lives and strum Dad's nostalgic strings by giving him a trumpet for either Christmas or his birthday. I don't know when he had played it earlier in his life, but he was sure that playing the trumpet was like riding a bike--once you learned how to do it you never forgot how. Dad practiced his lip-buzzing (I think it was a good excuse to smooch with Mom and give us girls Bugs Bunny kisses) then applied his improved embouchure to morning reveille. It was awful to begin with, then much improved but annoying over time. I'm sure that Dad felt justified in using this cruel and unusual punishment to get us up for family prayer and scripture study, which is a testimony to the fact that he took his priesthood responsibilities seriously. We were all relieved when Mom gave him a mute a year or so later. I remember a 4th of July flag raising ceremony where Dad played a rather stirring patriotic melody, after which I felt that he should retire the trumpet on a high note. Although he never reached a performance level worthy of Tommy Dorsey, Dad's ingenuity in using his trumpet to advance his musical prowess while ensuring that his children were doers of the word (if only in body) at the risk of their eardrums should certainly qualify him for a Purple Heart or a Grammy (or at least a Grampy), and lots of brownie points in heaven.

In April 1980 I made a 3 1/2 week trip to the Arab World and made the following entry in my Journal: I returned from visiting Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Iraq, Kuwait, Bahrain, Abu Dhabi, Saudi Arabia, Libya, Tunisia, Algeria and Spain. While I had traveled the Middle East before, this long trip was unusual in several ways. One thing for sure, it was long and lonesome.

All over the Middle East there are workers traveling from their homelands---Ceylon, Korea, Philippines, Yemen, India, Pakistan, Egypt, Sudan, Pakistan and Palestine refugees---to work in the oil rich nations of Kuwait, Libya, Iraq, United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia. They were garbed in their native attire, often squatting on their haunches or stretched out asleep, but always surrounded by great bundles containing their worldly goods. What a fascinating study in dress, physical appearance and language sounds! The Lord has certainly created a Babel of varieties.

"The love of money is the root of all evil" came to my mind several times. The trappings of great, and sudden, wealth in the hands of many Arabs has brought out many of the evils---pride, arrogance, condescension, immorality, etc. Formerly they were rather strict and devout, but have succumbed to the temptations of the flesh.

Consumption is paramount, almost as if prosperity and worldly goods will go away, if not enjoyed or consumed immediately. I'm sure most of them remember when they didn't have so much, and may fear that it will disappear again.

Despite huge differances in beliefs, backgrounds, etc., people are so similar in ways they express themselves, react to situations. Consequently they may be influenced in similar ways. People are basically the same everywhere, and always have been. If this is so, and I believe it is, we can learn much from history. Nonetheless, while we can learn, we probably won't, because the present is so overwhelming and dominant. It takes so much personal discipline, and faith, to forego consumption today, for later usuage. It makes the future for our children somewhat bleak. Only a strong, authoritative and trusted person, or group, can convince mankind to live for the future. This supports Joseph Smith's comment in his Articles of Faith---a religion that does not demand everything from its members does not have the power (ability) to save them.

A final observation: the eight children of our family are choice spirits. I'm convinced that the family life and mutual experiences and interactions are powerful training in righteous understanding and living. Each of our children has a good and strong comprehension of the Gospel. Doug's mission and comments have been a very positive influence on all of us. The children are positive influences on each other. Despite their different personalities and attitudes, they (we) have a common and close bond of friendship. Ellen and I need to stay on friendly and a dependable basis with each of the children to prepare them for independent lives.

I'm not sure we (I) know each of them very well. They are definitely individuals. Eventually they will do/act as they please, therefore we all can influence each other through being personal friends, consistent in our behavior (example). Since there are 10 of us, we have an advantage. Each has 9 friends who care what we do and say. In addition, we need to develop close relations with other righteous people, particularly church members, who will add to the group of interested friends who care about what and who we are. There is the genius of living righteously and happily.

Close Call at the Point of the Mountain

About 2005 I was driving the Lincoln Mark VII to Salt Lake City. As usual everyone was driving fast and the traffic was fairly heavy. For some reason I was in a hurry to make an appointment, so I moved over into the inside fast lane.

As we neared the top of the freeway going over the Point of the Mountain doing about 70 MPH, I looked down at something in my lap or the seat for just a couple of seconds. When I looked up my lane was stopped about 50 feet ahead. At 70 per there was no chance of my braking to avoid smashing into the cars ahead. My left hand grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it instantly to the left. There was just enough space between the cars ahead and the cement barrier dividing the freeway lanes for my car to whiz by all of the stalled cars. Within 50 yards I had slowed down so as to find a gap in the fast lane at a much reduced speed for the remander of the trip north.

In the minutes following this close call my mind was full of gratitude for survival for me and those in the cars I might have smashed with the heavy Lincoln. I attributed this miracle to my guardian angels.