A Gathering of Saints

A Gathering of Saints is a book I started in 2004 and never finished. It is about an inter-racial couple in 1955 Ogden, Utah. She is a blonde haired, blue eyed Scandinavian girl and he is a coarse haired, reddish brown skinned, one half African and one-half Shoshone Native. They meet in a time in history where it is illegal for white and black couples to marry. It is made even more difficult by the fact that in the Latter-day Saint religious tradition of the time they could not be married and sealed together as husband and wife for eternity in the church’s temple. They both experience harshness from their families and the greater community. After high school they run away to Arizona where they find it is no better than in Utah. Determined to stay together they begin to raise a family out of wedlock in the hopes that one day the times and attitudes will change. The story ends with them eventually being able to marry in the Atlanta, Georgia temple some 55 years following a long hard reconciliation with their church, the faith which they never turned from. At the Atlanta Temple their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, who are all members of the faith, gather for the long-awaited ceremony. They gather there from all over the world to witness the sealing of the family’s head. These are truly saints of the world. They gather in Atlanta from different parts of the US, US Native Nations, Africa, Europe, Asia, India and South America. We see that they have brought together peoples of world into one family.

Chapter One

A Gathering of Saints

Royal America

Copyright 2004, revised November 2010

Renee Clouer was five foot ten inches tall. She was a golden complexioned woman. By the fashionable measure she was black. In this time in history any persons in America having one drop of Negro blood was counted as if all together black. But, to be black, where there were more desirable and less desirable degrees of being so? Celebrated persons who were considered to be more desirable were at most an eighth Negro, or octoroon, an old French standard established in the Caribbean and the Southern United States around the lower parts of Louisiana resulting from the slave trade. The contradiction being, however, that one is still counted as all together black along with all the other varying degrees of Negro mixes.

Renee was one quarter Negra, as best as she could figure. At the same time, she was still one hundred percent as black as her original African ancestors. In reality she was one generation removed from being European. Here mother was Scandinavian of Norwegian descent; a genetic offering which gave her a coveted golden complexion.  She was lighter than most of her community and darker than many. Her father was of Angolan and Utah Shoshone Nation ancestry.

Andre didn’t make a great deal of it. Someone with a white parent was not at all surprising. From the first that they’d met he made few comments concerning her Shoshone origins, except for the occasional stupid ‘my squaw’ comment. Somehow it didn’t sound as bad as she imagined it might, coming from the man she loved. This man had shown her such deep affection, his being so obviously amorous whenever he said it. Actually, it rather excited her when he whispered it in her ear. And, he always kept the endearment private between them. Only she had ever heard him use the term.

He made her feel that he only saw her. No other woman in the world existed. As clichéd as it sounds, he often said he felt her spirit emanate from her eyes. Her spirit touched his. He often complimented her large deep eyes, reddish brown hair and golden skin, frequently whispering Stevie Wonder’s ‘Golden Lady’ in her ear. “Golden Lady, I’d like to go there…” Often he would come back to how he felt they might be connected in some other way, maybe from another life time.

She liked to reminisce on the first time they’d met. It was during a trip to Bryce Canyon, Utah. Her sophomore class at Howard University and his post-graduate class at Duke University had scheduled separate September excursions to Wyoming’s Yellowstone Nation Park. However, By some preternatural correlation, both their parties ended up in Bryce. Two sets of attentively fussed over plans for the perfect spring getaway in the end were forced to re-plan, both converging in of all the places in the world, Bryce Canyon, Utah. Bryce Canyon would have been unheard of by much of Andre’s Duke U. community. It was known, as likely as not, only to her in all of her D.C. Howard U. community. After the scheduling fiasco that led to the cancelling of the Howard U. Yellowstone trip it was, she who had suggested Bryce. She had not visited the anomalous picturesque canyon park since she was around twelve years old having grown up south of the park in Phoenix, Arizona.

Bryce Canyon was an eerie rock-scape of stalagmite formations jutting from the bright pastel of the dusty earth like massive phalanxes of yellow rock soldiers, strange orange fortified citadels and a shadowy red sea of leaning tee pees.

She recalled she and her girlfriends lounging about the cushy southwestern upholstered couches with the large rolled arms and huge hardwood frames. In the main lobby of the old west log style lodge. The girls laughed and giggled coyly, watching the older Duke men. Feeling ashamed of the younger guys they were with the girls wished that they would disappear, hoping the boys wouldn't speak while the obviously more sophisticated Duke men were watching.

For a day and a half, she and her girlfriends watched the Duke men. She watched Andre particularly. He was a big thick necked man with substantial athletic shoulders and waist and hefty hands. Despite his immense size he moved about effortlessly. She thought he was magnificent and poised. By the second evening she positioned herself in his way, leaving him all but not choice to speak to her. His voice was thick, soft and kind.

The girls were headed out to watch the shadows settle over the yellow, orange and red spires of the canyon sunset, the lodge being a short walk from the edge of the canyons cliffs. Though they'd seen the view from the cliffs several times over the previous two days. It was rumored the shadowy sunset was not to be missed. She managed to convince Andre to convince some of the other Duke men to escort them.

There in the purple Utah sunset a number of lasting relationships bloomed. Seeded by the warm breeze blowing up the face of the high canyon wall seated majestically against the distant vanishing horizon. As the sun gave way shadows danced off peculiar castles, primeval monumentals, and peerless gateways. The soothing nearness of long forgotten but ubiquitous peoples and the reminder of its salient countenance pierced the embracing warmth of the desert air. They were saturated in the promise of their own potential. They felt a true kinship with the ancients that formerly dwelled here. They were overwhelmed with the promise of being and becoming a part of a continuing arc the of the history of humankind in this immense coven of preternatural possibilities. They washed themselves in their own presence, in their own potential. Each couple creating their own energy. They would be coupled from that day and for the remainder of their lives. She and Andre. Rebecca and Dennis. Maxine and Roger; who seemed the most unlikely pair. Both were Howard students. Roger was a spectacled and shy philosophy major, and she a shapely model type and mathematics major. A soothing and satisfying joy pierced he heart whenever she recalled those days. She held to each of those moments, the meetings and friendships which came from them. She cherished them as blessings of love and lasting friendships created with and by her dear sisters of Howard University. Though as silly as the little girls that they were then, she often relived those memories.

For Andre she was and remains still that magnetic golden honey of a beauty with the deep brown eyes he'd met a lifetime ago. Her eyes were big and round. These eyes captured him. He couldn’t look away from them. He always seemed to sink into those eyes. They took him to another place. He would lose himself, overwhelmed, absorbed by her. Even now, when she wanted something, in order to deny her he would have to look away, because to look into those eyes meant he would lose. She knew this. He was grateful that she did not always make use of it, though at times she did take full advantage.

The first time he saw her he was aghast of her perfect curvaceous body. She was short, ample, and he thought, complete. He felt from the first time that he looked into her eyes he knew her. Somewhere long ago. Maybe in another lifetime. He chuckled whenever he thought that line: in another lifetime. His family was very spiritual. In some aspects very religious. Like most spiritual and religious people, they were searching. Searching this life, the possibilities of a past life, and the hopes of a future life. In his spirit he knew it from the first time at the lodge when she purposefully stepped into his path, forcing him to give her recognition. He'd known her before. He knew it when he looked down into those self-indulged eyes. But where he wondered. She was silly, brash and bold in those days. Maybe her overly assured brazenness was advanced by the giggling support of her sophomoric girlfriends. Still, he knew from that first time they talked there in the sunset amongst her friends and his friends, watching the dancing figures of the canyons against the hastening Utah sunset, he would forever love her. He would forever be with her. There was no doubt. Perhaps, indeed, God had meant it to be that way.

The Snow King

Chapter: The Impetuous Son

Ejah stood after rubbing the loose powder away from the surface of the frozen lake. That's when he saw it. A towering blow of powder arcing into the air as if was water being spewed from the blow of a whale. There it was again, a sudden burst of upward bellowing snow. Then he felt it. A distant but distinct tremble tingled his cold toes and the soles of his feet.

It was now that he realized the mistake he'd made. He'd pushed out onto the lake further than he should have. From shoulder high snow he looked back toward the lake's edge and the embankment leading off toward the far tree line. He knew that the safety of the embankment was too far away. He would never make it back in time. A rush of panic struck him. He'd felt it before.

Maintain self-control.

He'd made a stupid mistake, a neophyte's mistake. Now he found himself outmaneuvered. The intermittent column blasts grew closer. The strengthening vibrations beneath his boots intensified the sting of the cold in his feet. He wanted to flee. It was too late for that. Now bearing was the only reserve left to him.

Maintain self-control.

He turned toward the oncoming threat. It was still a distance away. The snow had slown them both down. It might prove to be more to his advantage than that of the imposing threat pressing its way toward him through the high pile. He maneuvered the rifle above the pile. Only his head and shoulders raised above the snow. He could see the approaching massif clearly now. He wished for the advantage of the embankment. He could use it as high ground, forcing the adversary to push up as he fired down. It would be trussed in the hold.

It was not his plan to face this thing now, not here. Not like this. The weapon he'd brought along was meant for defensive purposes only; to ward off any curious or aggressive animals that might be about as he searched out what had clearly now found him. It was certainly not his intention to be stuck out on a frozen lake, in chest high snow, facing this thing with too little firepower. He had far too little room to maneuver and the assailing threat was still too far away for his weapon to be effective. He could hit it but only sting it and make it angry. He had no choice but to wait until it was closer so that the impact of his rounds might injure it sufficiently enough to repel it or kill it.

Maintain self-control.

He could see it better now. The snow was not as high on this side of the lake. Following each burst of skyward-pounded snow rose a great woolen forehead that sparkled gray and white in the forced and windblown nebulosity of the atomized ice crystals. Huge black eyes peered just above the edge of the packed precipitation as the resplendent cloud settled, like a crown, about its wide boxy head. Those eyes seemed to have one single focus that was he. It looked on, not angry, not spirited, just single-mindedness. No malice.

Maintain self-control.

No anger... No malice... Then what drove such a huge beast to cross this dangerous frozen lake he wondered. What motivated it if not the consumption of instinct, angry territoriality, or hunger. What forced it across this lake. The snow plumes grew closer. The pounding of behemoth hoof falls grew stronger. Now he could hear each frightening effort borne snort of the assailing massif.

He found it in the sights of his weapon.

Closer. Maintain self-control.

The beast seemed to not be aware it could be harmed in this encounter. It was certainly not frightened of him.

What's going on here? What's going on here?

Maintain self-control.

Don't fire. Don't fire.

Above a crystalline cloud and earth moving hoofmarks rose a deep throaty call.

“Master!”

Damn if it didn't seem as if it came from the beast. Ejah froze. Unable to fire or flee.

Suddenly the hulking mammoth surged forward. Its head dropped, but it continued forward in several perfunctory lunges. Its forelegs gave way as it fell forward, sliding on its knees. Its forelegs folded under its trunk as in a position of prayer. That's when he heard the shots. But they were delayed echoes of shots. They hadn't come from his weapon. The long wiry napping about the beast chin and chest spread about as its head fell to the ice floor, plowing into the high snow. It’s mass sliding forward toward him.

The fallen hulk slid to a stop ten feet in front of him just as the impacted ice began to shove against his braced body, pushing him back off his heels. Its head was buried in snow. Heaving blows struggled for air. It snorted and grunted as it labored to reposition itself.

Ejah searched over his shoulder. There was no one on the embankment. Nor could he make out anyone in the tree line. Over the other shoulder the same. Whoever had fired had done so from some distance away, explaining the delayed sonics of the guns.

He pushed forward toward the beast. Mighty snorts greeted him as he worked to remove the impacted ice that had settled about the its head. The hulk looked surreal as it vented columns of warm breaths from its moist snout. It looked as if it was formed completely of gray ice covered with coarse silvery wire. Its bulged eyes rolled about beneath heavy lids, at first. Black spheres that were its eyes seemed to pop from nowhere. They settled on him. Not blinking. Deep as voids. No sparkle. No glisten of reflected light. There was no glow of an internal fire. Was the creature alive? Was it even real?

It groaned with difficulty, “Master”

God! The beast had spoken!

“Leave the mareinice. They are coming. You are in danger.”

*          *          *

The warning, like the articulation of the beast itself, was unexpected, however the response was obligatory. It was the response of a soldier. An unacknowledged threat was a threat that could kill you. Though he was surprised at the prospect of being spoken to by an animal, it didn't make him dumb to his years of training. He looked down at the wounded beast. It was not moving. As best as he could assess it was no longer a threat. He quickly searched the distant shore from which the thing had come. He found nothing. He moved a short ways back along the path he'd made from the embankment. There was nothing there. He then looked to the far-off tree line, nothing. But wait... There was something. Not in the trees, but above them. Something dancing far beyond the trees, along the incalculable reaches of the horizon. As he studied the object, he began to realize it was not one something, but many.

Hell! Got to get off this lake!

Experience lent him the instant judgment that he could not go back the way he'd come. The trees were too far way. Whatever it was that was quickly approaching over the horizon would surely overtake him before he could reach the safety of the trees. The alternative was to make for the far end of the lake for the place from which the beast had come; a prospect that, in its current view, seemed only slightly more promising than the former. Besides, the beast had proven innocuous, even reverential.

He secured his weapon about his shoulder and fled back toward the beast still lying prostrate on the ice. He bound upon its head and shoulder offering a fleeting, 'forgive me friend', as he caromed down its back and leaped to the its hind-side.

The going was much easier this side of the downed beast where the snow had been plowed with such force that a walled canal remained. He ran as fast as his cold feet could carry him through the knee-deep drift. The ice cracked loudly as his spiked boots crashed through the ice and powder mix clawing for a steady fall on the icy bed. Not sure how much time he had, he hoped for enough to prepare for whatever would assail him from the distance.

Before him, barreling down the embankment walls, which formed the bowl into which the lake sat come three more of the imposing behemoths. This surprised him since he'd only moments earlier surveyed the shore and had not seen them. It didn't matter now because the commitment had been made. Two flanked the first on either side, the first headed along the previously cleared path toward him. The three massifs bore through the snow like giant land whales, each driving forward, exploding clouds of snow into the air as it went.

The beast headed along his path appeared to be far larger that the first he'd encountered. He could feel the pounding fury of the behemoth as it bore on to him. He continued his rush to what he'd hoped was safety on the far side of it.

Maintain self-control. It did not come for you.

Ejah dove forward onto his elbows as they reached one another, falling full belly he passed below the colossus as it lifted its head and its haunches to give him clearance. As he cleared the far side of the beast it bellowed without pause or looking back, “Run master!”

It and its two companions hurried on across the powder filled bowl. There was far off gunfire. Pausing to look back he saw the three continue their headlong charge up the embankment onto the other side and onward to the tree line. The guns fired again, but the fire wasn't directed toward the rushing massifs, rather it was directed toward whatever it was that occupied the skies near the position of the guns. He turned and continued full run for the far end of the lake, and whatever awaited him there.

What the Squirrel Saw

            Congo Africa

This is the continent of Africa. At the southwestern corner of its eastern peninsula is a lush and impassible rainforest. A forest of such vastness it holds a number of sovereign states within its bord. It holds captive the spirits of seasoned adventurers, rendering them [lost] in her throws for years. Into its unforgiving embrace the stalwart have marched, never to return. It is a land teeming with life, and death. Here life is sustained by life. Longevity comes only through vigilance. The slow, the halt or the laxed are soon devoured. There is no mercy here. Here there is no respite. Ever unyielding, the chain of life reigns, where with every slip of time a multiplicity of life is ingested into the matrix.

Note one tree among the millions of this wild country. Her majestic arms strain wrangling fingertips skyward to touch the sun's warm rays high overhead. Two hundred years before it was an acorn, dropped along the feet of its progenitor tree among many other acorns. The Progenitor would grow only half as tall and half as strong as she. She would in time become the new Progenitor, mightier than any other before her. Her fingers loved to tickle at the sunshine. She stretched higher than her neighbors. Here in the uncontested sunlight, she was a full third taller than any other tree. Not only was she taller she was also many times broader than any other. She casted her [dominating] shadow over every creature within reach of her [awesome/large] canopy. Her feet loved the soil. While the kites of each finger captured the warm breeze high above the tips of her toes dug deep, so deep that they pushed past the roots of others, jealously crushing them if she had to. Two hundred short years before she'd fallen helpless to the ground, acorn. Squirrels and boar feasted on many of those that had fallen at the Progenitor's feet. She was somehow spared, lapped at, but advantageously knocked aside by the impatient tongue of a ravenous impregnated she boar. Those that weren't eaten were trampled by passing forest [animals/denizen/population]. They were pecked at by birds or ravaged by varied forms of Rodentia, ants and other crawling things. A numberless sum simply rotted where they lie. But she, along with a few others, was able to press tender roots into the rich milieu of decayed leaves, branches, twigs, fruit, nuts, the crushed emaciated exoskeletons of insecti, the flat pancaked hides of the fallen, the rotted flesh and the meal of crushed bones of the half-eaten. Soon after roots the surviving few casted off their protective shells. A heartier few survived after making root. She jealously claimed land for herself. She claimed the soil's nutrients from them all. She would overcome them all, including the Progenitor. Some fifty years into life her roots squeezed and strangled the Progenitor's roots. Her massive trunk pushed the precedent aside, eventually toppling her. The displaced swooned into the accepting arms of neighbors, who like so many of the previously fallen, gently lowered her to the ground over the next score of years. The old progenitor withered and died at the feet of the new progenitor. She slowly decayed into the dark rich earth from whence she'd come, giving back to the cycle from which she'd emerged.

The antecedent stood proud, for along her torso, arms and fingers was life in infinite measure. She supported it all. All depended on her; so, she lifted her arms to the sun and pressed her toes into the earth. They came to her for protection. She supported nest, beds, hives, webs, cocoons, hollows, and nooks. She lodged the bedding of other plant life in her great boughs. They came to her for nourishment, for sap and leaves, water and chlorophyl, and for the countless creatures she sustained on which many others could feed.

Far underneath her protective umbrella, in the shadows down near the forest floor, on a low hanging branch, sits the squirrel, enjoying an acorn of the great mother tree. The squirrel had lived in this tree all of his life. While seated there enjoying his acorn a large grass snake slipped up to rest near a sheltering root. Having filled himself he now sought a quiet place in which to sleep, finding it at the base of the tree. This frightened the squirrel for he'd seen a large snake, much like this one, swallow whole a squirrel, much like himself. The squirrel said to himself, "I must tell everyone that passes about this danger." He thinks, I will stay and watch and warn until it wakes and leaves.

It was not long when a traveling merchant came down the path toward the squirrel standing vigilant above the sleeping snake. The squirrel squealed and scratched and made a great noise. The merchant, surprised by the sound of the squirrel, laid down his pack and with his staff as a weapon, carefully moved up the path, ready to strike! There he found the grass snake asleep next to the root of the tree.

"Ahhh! it is only a grass snake little squirrel. He has no value in the market, He is harmless and of no use to me."

The merchant picked up his pack and continued down the path.

The squirrel was relieved as the merchant departed on his way, saying to himself, I will stay and watch and warn until it wake and leaves.

A little later a hunter approaches the squirrel resolute above the sleeping snake. The squirrel squealed and scratched and made a great noise. The hunter, alert to the sounds of the forest, laid down his sack, grasped his spear tight and stalked up the path, ready to strike. There he found the grass snake asleep near the root of the tree.

"Ohhh! you warn me of nothing little squirrel. It only a grass snake. He is not dangerous or is he good in the pot".

The hunter picked up his sack and continued down the path.

The squirrel was relieved as the hunter departed. Being happy with his good works he committed to stay and watch and warn until wakes and leaves.

The entire time a cobra snake watched beneath a rock from the other side of the path. No one noticed the him sneak up. No one caught his cold, calculating, cunning stare from the dark shadow beneath the rock, not the squirrel, not the merchant, not the hunter. The cobra was feared by many. He had many enemies. Some of those enemies, like the hunter, sought to kill him; so, he'd learned to be quiet and cunning and careful, and how to strike with surprise. seeing what happened with the merchant and the hunter the cobra thought to himself, this must be a magical place where the grass snake slumbers for no one bothered him there. He thought, I am tired. I must rest for man has hunted me all day. I must have this magical place in which to sleep. The cobra chased away the grass snake and quickly fell asleep in the magical place next to the root of the great tree.

It was not long when a boy came down the path. He was a weaver of keepers. The squirrel seeing the boy squealed and scratched and made a great noise. The cobra, now being used to the noise, rolled over and went back to sleep. The young weaver was familiar with the forest for it was here that he gathered the strong green twine from which he made his ties. Upon hearing the squirrel, he laid down his rack and brandished his basher he used for smashing vines. He moved cautiously up the path, ready to strike. He found the cobra lying near the root in the path fast asleep.

What good fortune he thought. I will kill the cobra and sell the skin to the merchant. The tasty meat I will pot with yams and sprigs. The boy killed the cobra with one mighty blow.

"Thank you, oh thank you little squirrel for leading me to such good fortune!", he said to the squirrel.

He tied the cobra to his rack and continued happily down the path.

The squirrel pondered what he saw that day. As he started up the arm of the mother tree for home, he said to himself, "I have learned something very important today."

The old man sat crossed legged on the straw mat. His burnished brown skin was like leather, dried and tanned. He leaned forward across red dust painted ankles, palm flat on the ground, the thick bristly gray furrows of his brows crushed together in sternness.

"Do you know what the little squirrel learned boy?"

The child answered, "no grandfather."

"Your father, Ogunde, knows the rainforest. He knows the leopard, the monkey, the gazelle, the rocks, the trees. His brother, Ogunbowale, knows the mighty river. He knows the crocodile, the piranha, the rockfish, the marsh and the streams. What does this mean?"

"Father is safe in the forest. Uncle is safe on the river."

"Very good boy. Remember this lesson; not all things are safe for all creatures. That is what the squirrel learned. And what about you?"

"I know grandfather. I am safe with grandfather", answered the child, embracing the old man's neck with a loving hug.

The old man smiled. "Yes, you are child."

Gennessy

Chapter One

Grandmama died one morning. It was gettin’ long in the morning when we missed her. She was usually the first one up. She was fixin’ a hot breakfast for the rest for us or we'd find her over a bowl of cornflakes. Cornflakes meant today she wasn't to be bothered, even if it was Sunday and all us granchil'ren looked forward to Sunday breakfast at Grandmama house. Since it was git'in into the morning we checked on her, really though, Aunt Ivy checked on her. Aunt Ivy found her, eyes closed, like she was enjoyin' a peaceful nap, 'cept she won't be wakin' this morning. Broke Granddeddy heart. He was never the same again after that. No one was. The whole world wasn't the same. Nobody get a chance to say their piece. Nobody, mama said, get a chance to make their peace with her, just the empty quiet in the morning. She was gone.

After that Simeon lost his mind. He wouldn't do nothin' right without his mama there to make sure he did. Freedom comes in strangest ways, they say. They say, Simeon found his freedom when he didn't have grandmama looking over him. It was like somebody took off the blinders, Aunt Ivy said... He look left, then right, and took off runnin'. Run like a fool, she said, all the way to Memphis. He was twenty-nine and maybe shoulda been able to make his own mind long time ago. Didn't matter now. She was gone and he was free to do what he pleased, whether he’d a mind to do right or not. Last we heard he go shot by some woman 'bout some woman or other. And spent some time in chain-gang. For him freedom had led to fast women and hard time, mama said...

Genessy found freedom when grandmama died too, 'cept she wasn't sure what to do with it. Really, she might of found freedom from her mama, but she never found freedom from that house. It was left to her. They figured more than anybody she deserved it, figured she earned it. She spent the most time with that house with her crippled old deddy and her mama. She was probably the most like grandmama. She had men in and out of there, but never settled down with anyone of 'em. Most say she was a hard woman and no man want a hard woman. Funny, she always took to bein' the mousey quiet one. Always so shy. Mama says it's different when you in relations. You don't know a person until you in relations. Genessy was hard in relations. Took a long time to get a man. Didn't take long to run 'em off.

Aunt Gennessy moved granddeddy out soon after grandmama died. Said she wuh'nt up to takin' care of no eighty-year-old half blind man. Didn't have time for taking care of him. She never worked a day in her life. Didn't work after grandmama died, still didn't have time to take care of granddeddy. She declared she was twenty-seven and she was gon' live her life. Never did leave that house though. Spent most her time in church, at the curb market, or at Christian Reading Post, tryin' to draw men to it. There wuh'nt many takers, but it wuh'nt from lack of trying. I heard Marmit say it was 'cause there was a put-off 'bout her cont’nence. She put a chill on folks, her quiet and succinct way of talkin'. Say she talk at and not to you. She tries to make friends but she always made people feel like they was invadin' her space, didn't want them in it. She was quick to put away people she wuh'nt interested in or couldn’t do for her.

So granddeddy went to Ivy and Malcolm. Ivy was best able to take care of him. She was the oldest and most settled. Been married to Malcolm for thirty years. Every since leavin' Talladega College. She went to teaching, him to the war. She was fifty and closed to retirin' from the school system. Uncle Malcolm owned his own repair shop. Fixed tanks in the army, fix cars now. They own a nice house over in East Atlanta where they was mostly white folks. They could 'ford a house nurse to come and see granddeddy. Aunt Ivy was a proud woman. She was angry at Genessy for taking her daddy out his own house, but she wuh'nt gon' send him off to some old folk home where some white folk wuh'nt take care of him. "Hell! I'll quit my job and take care of him myself before I let a white man mistreat him", she said.

Malcolm was a proud man too. They said it got him in trouble with the white folks all the time. He was hard, from the war in Korea. It made him quiet. Aunt Ivy say he come back different from the war. He wuh'nt the same Uncle Malcolm she knowed at Talladega. He was a officer and 'sponsible for a lot of other colored boys. He understand things better than most black folks. Had a low tolerance for triflin' people and silliness. Say he suffered white folks silliness very little and black folks silliness less. That's why he had his own shop. Said he can't work for nobody, 'specially no white man.

My mama name is Cora. She is thirty-four years old. People say she is the best mama and I was blessed to have a good mama like Mrs. Cora. They said I was lucky to have a good deddy like Mr. Sonnie, a hard-workin’ man who went to church and took care of his family. Uncle Malcom liked my deddy, even though he says deddy can sometimes be the most triflin' and silly black men he ever knowed. But, deddy was like him, he owned his own house and his own business. Deddy had three liquor stores. Uncle Malcolm admired that. He said him and deddy was two of the only really free black men in Georgia 'cause they owned their own. Don't have to answer to nobody.

My name is Branch, Sonnie Branch [Welch], Jr. I'm thirteen. People call me Bran or Sonnie Junior, and sometimes I do feel like I'm lucky. Not sure if I feel like I'm blessed, not sure what that mean yet. Mama says I will understand better when I grow up. I live in the best house in Kirkwood.

Grandmama and granddeddy house was in Scottdale. Right down the hill below the Scottdale Steel Yard, near the lil’ Baptist church. Been there a long time. Right across the street from Hamilton High School where mama went, just down the street from Robert Shaw. Where the house was was in a old neighborhood. All the houses little. All of ‘em had the smell of Old Cherokee Snuff from spit cans next to the gas space heater. Wouldn’t much of a big house. Not as good as some of ‘em. Better than most of ‘em. Not as good as our house or Aunt Ivy house. I guess that why it wuh’nt no big fuss over it. Long as the tax was paid everybody was fine. Grandmama and granddeddy was in that house for a long time. Mama and Aunt Ivy don’t want nobody else to git it, so they pay the taxes every year.

An open letter to the President, The First Presidency, General Authorities and Area Authorities, and the Brethren that constitutes the Priesthood body of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

ROBERT BURCH·WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 20161

Dear Brethren,

May the power and blessings of the Lord Almighty be in all that you say and all that you do. I pray that this day finds you in great health and spirit and strength in the Lord. I pray that your families are well and in good cheer.

Brothers, I am writing you today heartbroken and in despair. Only this morning, the people of the United States have ended a difficult and divisive national election. I am saddened because America has chosen to yield to its most base and degenerate nature. It has chosen to concede to hatred, racism, xenophobia, chauvinism, deceit, and a litany or other disreputable and un-Christ-like qualities.

As an African American, I concede that this is still America. I sadly concede that I recognize what this meant before today. The vile and evil that this Presidential election represents already existed here in America. So, I am not altogether shocked that the results of this election are as they are. Indeed Brethren had this only been about the election I would not have bothered you about my sad countenance at all.

My sadness came as I watched the election returns and it became clear that we all now are represented by a man who is the epitome of vileness and evilness. My saddest moment, as I was watched the election returns, was when it was reported that over 50% of all White males in Utah advanced their vote to this man who himself has professed his evil thoughts and nature for all to see. It is unquestionable the disrespect, disdain, and contempt that he harbors for so many different peoples because he has on so many occasions uttered it publicly from his own mouth.

I am most heartbroken because I now have to deal with the very clear and stark reality that half the white men in my local congregation, my stake, and my area, have no regard for my wellbeing, the wellbeing of my family, my friends, nor my people. I now face that stark reality that these men most likely never held at heart the care of, nor charity toward me and mine. There are African American families that now have to question which of these men truly have Christ-like regard towards them. They have to look out onto their congregations and try to discern and question, “Who truly has charity towards me?” as they seek the saving ordinance that they need and desire.

It is an important question now. Particularly in the climate of enmity, that has proven itself today. Being a priesthood holder I have to question, “Why would I allow any man to lay his hands upon my head, the head of my wife, my children and friends if he truly has contempt for me and mine? Why would I entrust the salvation of me and mine to anyone who has an indifferent contempt and evil intent towards us?”

In fact, I will now say to all my family and friends to be wary and be ever more diligent in seeking out those that can be trusted. I will say to them question those brothers with direct questions as to their support of this man and the hatred he manifests. I will have them understand that if that priesthood holder supports such reprehensible behavior, that man does not have their best interest at heart. I will say to them seek out African American men that they have confidence in to exercise those priesthood functions that their family needs. I will also say to them to also be wary of those African American men who too might support this evil with their vote. I would counsel them to keep in mind that this not about politics, it is about intent in exercising free will. They should understand that this is about whether these men in the exercise of their free will demonstrate a lack of love and charity towards them. How they demonstrate this is important at all times and in all places. It does not matter that they profess a love for them in meeting houses and temples and then demonstrate antipathy for them at the ballot box. It is not possible to feel love for on one hand and animus on the other.

Brothers, there is a malignancy that continues to fester in American communities. It is ever clearer that Latter-day Saint communities are not free of this disease of hatred and acrimony. There continues to be silence from you as this situation worsens. We continue to pray and hope for some leadership from you on this. We hope that your silence on this is not consent. Truly only you know your own hearts. What is clear is that we now know the hearts of a plurality of the Latter-day Saint men here in Utah.

So, we are pressed to increasingly look toward ourselves to care for ourselves because it has become more difficult today to know if we can lend out trust to our brothers.

I hope to hear some word from you on this soon.

May the Lord, in his wisdom, continue to enlighten your hearts and minds. May he lift you up and bring you peace.

In love,

Your brother in Jesus, the Christ

Robert S. Burch, Jr.

Bio Robert Samuel Burch, Jr.

Robert Samuel Burch, Jr. was born in 1961 Atlanta, GA. to Bobby Samuel Burch and Lillian Lee Burch. He was raised in East Atlanta and Decatur. In 1979 he entered the historical Black institution of Talladega College in Talladega, AL. A year later, he became a member of the Gamma Psi Chapter of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc. After college, he served four years in the U. S. Navy, with tours in South America, Cuba and the Mediterranean. After the Navy Robert returned to Atlanta. In 1989, he was baptized and became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was ordained an Elder in 1990. He has served as a Stake Missionary, Sunday School Teacher, Elders Quorum President, Sunday School President, Second Counselor (2nd assistant pastor) in a small congregation called a Branch, where he presided over the programs for the teenagers, Boy Scouts of America and the Sunday School.

His work life has been predominantly in sales and customer service.

Robert is currently the Director of Family History Committee for the LDS Genesis Group, a support organization for African American Mormons. He the African American Life and History Chair of the Salt Lake Tri-Iota Chapter of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity and President of the Utah Chapter of the Afro-American Historical and Genealogical Society (AAHGS).

He happily married to Alice Mae Faulkner Burch, daughter of Cleo and Elwanda Faulkner of Oxnard, CA.

Excellence in Community Service Award

Iota Iota Iota Chapter

Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc.

Salt Lake City, UT

I enjoy family history research. I have come to understanding the stories of enslaved Africans in the Americas does not have to be a story of shame. It is a story of faith in the Lord, fortitude in tribulation, and perseverance through long trial. Because of that understanding, I bore my testimony of the spiritual uplift I received through doing my family’s history at the LDS Genesis Group monthly meeting. After some months of hearing my testimonies, the President of the Genesis Group extended me the calling of Director of Family History. As the Family History Director, the Genesis Presidency asked to serve on the board of the Utah Chapter of AAHGS.

My wife Alice is the Relief Society President of the Genesis Group. The Relief Society is the women’s organization of the LDS Church. As Relief Society President, she visited the women under her care. Many of these women are European women married to African Men or European couples that have adopted children of African descent. Many of these women are new to the struggles of their husbands and children. Struggles many of them did not believe existed. When Alice visited to counsel with the women, I went along to counsel with their husbands. We also meet with these families to teach them about African American history and the religiously based falsehoods taught about people of African descent.

Because of my service as Director of the Genesis Group Family History Committee, board member of AAHGS, and service to inter-racial families in Utah, Omega Psi Phi recognized me with the 2016 Excellence in Community Service Award.