The other Pioneer, William Brewster, and Mary Elizabeth Rollins Lightner

I don't know. I think I like this Pioneer Blu-Ray home theater system:

These noise canceling ear buds would be nice too:

We REALLY need one of these. I can't hear any of our movies.

Also I'm a descendant (on my mother's side) of one of the signers of the Mayflower Compact, William Brewster. Talk about a pioneer, amirite?!

Sign that Compact, puritan!

Other notable Brewster descendants include:

Roger Nash Baldwin, co-founder of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU)

Thomas Pynchon, novelist

Cokie Roberts

Nelson Rockefeller

Brewster H. Shaw, NASA astronaut

Elisabeth Shue

Henry Stanton, abolitionist, social reformer

Zachary Taylor, 12th President of the United States

See the resemblence?

Julia Child

Bing Crosby

Ted Danson

Howard Dean

Katharine Hepburn

Ashley Judd

John Lithgow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Seth MacFarlane

Sarah Palin

Update: This past weekend I learned I'm also related to Mary Elizabeth Rollins Lightner. She is best known as the young woman who, with her sister, Caroline, rushed to save unbound sheets of revelations while a mob was tearing down the printing office in Independence, Jackson County, Missouri. And for being one of Joseph Smith's wives (while she was already married to Mr. Lightner). Deseret Book has a bio sketch here.

So, Happy Pioneer Day, readers! Go buy some stereo equipment and do your genealogy. You never know what you may find.

True, But Still A Story.

So yesterday Ken was spouting off about his Mormon Pioneer Ancestry, and I had the same thought as you..."Oh, Game ON!!!"

My Great Great Great Great Grandfather was (or is) named James Campbell Livingston.  One day I asked his Great Great Great Granddaughter (my Grandmother) to tell me the story of my Mormon ancestors and being the head of the Livingstons...she did not disappoint.

"He had a hook for a hand!"  She lead with a shocking but true fact to really reel me in (pun intended).

"A HOOK!"  I cried.  "Was he born with it?" She looked at me disgusted.  "You aren't born with a hook you nit wit, you get a hook. Something happens and they have to give you one. Now sit down and I'll tell you the story."

And so she did.

"He was from Scotland and he dumped his family to cross the ocean and then most of America to get himself to Utah where those Mormons were building a huge stone temple in the middle of the desert. Turns out they wanted to make it out of the granite from the huge mountain next to the lake of salt and, it turns out, my Great Great Great Great Grandfather was a stone cutter back in Scotland. So they put him to work and soon he was the foreman over the whole quarry."

"Yes, I know all this, G-ma.  Everyone does. And then one day while he was using dynamite to blow granite out of the mountain, he blew his arm off."

"Well, if you knew that then you knew he had a freakin' hook!"

It was true.  The whole family knows he had a hook.  And also that he was a polygamist and married his wife's uglier sister cause no one else would.

"Well..."She said, and in true Livingston fashion and not wanting to be outdone she told me this story...which is true so don't bother looking it up.

"Once, while the Mormons were building their temple out of rock from a mountain in the middle of a desert next to a lake of salt, an army showed up to check in on them...it was the US army to be exact and they were led by a guy named Johnston, whom President James Buchanan sent to "restore order and forcibly install a new governor to replace Brigham Young." Well, Brigham Young, was super into being the governor and so he called a meeting for all the Mormon men to meet...you know, a meeting.  He told them all that he wanted to send someone up to check out this fresh army camped out on the mountain.  Several men volunteered, and your (GGGG) Grandfather, in true Livingston fashion, was not one of them.  But eventually, Brigham Young stood behind James Campbell and rested his hands on his shoulder and said, "The right man has not volunteered." Well, we may be a lot of things, but we know how to take a hint, so James volunteered to go check out the army."

"Hold on, Grandma, where are you getting your information?"

"It's from his own journals!  He was a very faithful writer in his journal and he wrote all this down, the army, the shoulders, the whole thing! Now stop interrupting, I can't remember where I left off when you keep interrupting...SEE!"

"He had just volunteered to go check out the army."

"RIGHT! Be quite! SO, he hatches a scheme, and in true Livingston fashion, it's a dream of a scheme and it goes like this; he whips up a barrel of brandy...now this was back when Mormons were only encouraged not to drink, not like now where they get all up in your grill over a Diet Coke, so he must have had a barrel full of Brandy that he was being encouraged not to drink...and I suppose he hadn't or it would have just been an empty barrel...or maybe it was the neighbors, who knows, he doesn't specify, but he takes this barrel of Brandy and puts it on the back of his wagon...it might have been two barrels, yes, I think it was two, in which case I'm sure they would have been the neighbors.  So, he drives his wagon up the mountain straight toward the hostel US army.  Then, in true Livingston fashion, he avoids conflict and dumps the two barrels right next to the army and then heads on up the mountain.  Well!  You know what happens next..."

"No."

"The army snatches the barrels, drinks the brandy until they are good and drunk and then your (GGGG) Grandfather comes back down the mountain snatches some soldier and takes him back to the secret meeting of Mormon men!"

"WHAT?!"

"It's true. Then they steal the soldier's uniform, pay him off and send him into the night (that part's a bit  dodgy but she forever sticks to it) and then your Grandfather puts on the uniform and heads back to camp.  The next morning the army, all hung over and idiots to begin with, don't notice that Private Sanchez is now got a deep Scottish brogue."

"Are you kidding?"

"Only about the name of the soldier.  We don't know his name but we do know that your Grandfather took his place in the army."

"Why?"

"Well, to SPY! Keep up!"

"Ah yes."

"AND, he does such a good job that Johnston makes him his personal messenger. Which means that he is handed every message from General Johnston and President Buchanan who was waiting to hear if the Mormons were building temples in the desert. So he took every letter to Brigham Young first and then on to the President."

"Which they were."

"Where what?"

"Building temples in the desert."

"Not then they weren't!  They covered the temple's foundation with dirt so the army would think they were just building a field with no crops in the middle of the city."

"So what happened?"

"Well, it worked.  The army rode into town and saw that the Mormons were ready to burn the whole city to the ground and for what?! An empty field with nothing growing in it.  Also, President Buchanan was getting guff back in Washington for deploying an Army without doing a little research first, turns out, that was as popular then as it is now!  BLAM-O! Look how political I've become in my waning years!"

Okay, so she didn't say that last part, but every other part she told me. And then to top it all off she whipped out my Great Great Great Great Grandfathers journals and there it all was.  Just like she told it, the barrels of whiskey, the soldier swapping, the letters to the President, all of it.  It was true. And I was so proud. And I am proud today to write it all down for you. You see, it's in my blood. I come from a long line of ancestors who really, really love to tell a good story.

My Own Private Legacy

When we speak of the Mormon Pioneers, we can’t help but speak reverently of their legacy of sacrifice and devotion. I, myself, am I descendant of John Tanner. John was an entrepreneurial kind of a guy. He owned several farms and orchards, as well as a hotel in upstate New York. He received an impression that he was needed in Kirtland, Ohio - so he sold those farms and orchards and that hotel, and packed up his family Christmas morning to head 500 miles east to Kirtland. When he got there he found the mortgage on the temple site was due. He loaned money to the temple committee and to the Prophet Joseph Smith, personally. He then donated liberally to the cause. When he left Kirtland he had $7.50 to his name. Years later, in Nauvoo, he was called at the age of 66 to serve a mission. Leaving his wife and 14 children he was on his way out of town when he passed the prophet. Joseph said, "John, what of the $2,000 I owe you." John responded, "It's yours. You owe me nothing." The prophet put his hand on John's shoulder and said, "Bless you, Brother Tanner. Your posterity will never beg for bread."  

Many times in my life I have been the recipient of that promised blessing. As a child, as a husband, and as a father. And inevitably, I reflectively ask myself what I will be known for by my posterity. 

I mean, you have to wonder what kind of legacy you are leaving for your children when they make astute observations like, “I can’t wait to be a dad – you get to stay up every night eating ice cream and watching TV!” Apparently I have painted quite a picture of fatherhood for my three sons. “Yep, that’s all there is to it, my boys! You put in your time as a youth spending grueling hours making forts out of the couch and playing Wipeout on the Wii; and then in a few short years, you’ll be living the high life with Haagen-Dazs and Seinfeld reruns. Life just gets simpler and simpler, I tell you.”

What kind of legacy would I like to leave my children? Oh, I suppose I’d like them to say …

My dad was the wisest person I ever knew.
My dad could solve any problem.

He never said a bad word about anyone.

He was the most patient man in the entire world.

I remember when he made his first $1M at age 43. (Next year!)

My mom always commented on how great he looked in a medium t-shirt.

However, my flaws and selfish indulgences are incessantly on parade at my house. It’s difficult to hide them when there are seven pairs of eyes watching. Somebody is always seeing something. So if you were to ask my children this afternoon how they would remember him…for better or for worse, it might realistically sound more like this:

My dad was do-it-yourself-home-repair-challenged and he hyphenated words far too often.

He knew a little too much about a lot of 80s and 90s pop-culture.

He couldn’t tell you the name of a single player of any professional sport.

He was his most impatient when we were whiny, which he always said was an expression of ingratitude.

My dad valued friendship. Especially mine.

He loved telling stories.

He could not dance or sing, but he loved dancing and singing with me.

I knew how to make more meals than my dad.

My dad was honest.

I felt emotionally and physically safe with him.

Though imperfectly, he tried all his life to be a better follower of the Savior. 

More than anything else, my dad loved my mom.

pioneer children

Yesterday was Pioneer Day in Utah, which is a local holiday where we shoot off fireworks and think about dysentery and sagebrush. In my neighborhood, the primary children dressed up like pioneers and paraded around on bikes and scooters. As a counselor in the bishopric, I marched alongside my fellow counselor Rob Duncan on some fake styrofoam horses we borrowed from UVU. It was fun and we got otter pops! I realized, somewhere along the "parade route" that this was the first 24th I've celebrated in Utah since 2004. In 2005 I was at a Steppenwolf intensive and every year after that I've been in England or France. So it was good to be back!

Maybe being home on the 24th this year made me a little more introspective, or maybe I've just got a bad case of ancestral voices, but I felt very proud to be the son of pioneers this year. My people came to the States from England, Scotland, and Norway, and they marched their little families across the plains in covered wagons. I don't know how they did it. I get grouchy when my kids ask me to drive them to Seven Peaks. I can't imagine rolling across thousands of miles of dangerous terrain with a few bags of wheat and a rocking chair. As Mormons, we do "pioneer treks" where we try to recreate the experience, but I still don't think we get the full picture of what it was like. Even shooting my freezing, miserable scene in 17 Miracles (I was the bearded Scotsman. My daughter dies, then revives) was probably only an indication of what these people went through. We'll probably never know. But I'm proud of them, and I'm proud of who I am because of them.

When I was six or seven we lived in Northern California and my mom started me on the sacrament meeting circuit singing "A Mormon Boy." This is a little song where a boy, preferably Mormon, sings about what it's like to be him. I had a nice soprano voice and I wasn't afraid to sing in the microphone. It wasn't that I needed attention. I don't remember loving it up there, but I did what I was asked, and I wasn't really nervous about it. I sang it for my ward, and then for a few wards after that. I enjoyed a brief stake celebrity after that; I was the Mormon boy! I can still sing it, though no longer as a soprano.

But I'm still a Mormon boy. I'm still in this church. I have many friends who have left the church. I understand their reasons why and I would never judge them or stop being friends with them over faith. I love them too much. And as long as they respect my decision to stay, we remain close, great friends. I also have many friends who are not, and have never been, members of the church. I would never push my faith on them. It's not my style. Because of this my mission was a challenge for me, though I gave it my best shot. I guess I just believe in this quote from Madeleine L'Engle (a great writer, and not a Mormon)

"We do not draw people to Christ by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.”

I don't have plans to leave the church. Ever. I've been told that I'm "too smart" for the church, or that I "don't fit" the culture of it. Maybe I don't. I am not the perfect Mormon by any stretch. And I'm not that smart. But I love what this organization teaches me about Christlike love and service, and I appreciate how it teaches my kids that there is a world of need out there that they can fill. My kids are learning to live beyond themselves, and I love that. I have a great life; not flawless, and not immune from problems. But I would be a liar if I didn't confess that so much of this happiness is derived from my membership in the Church of Jesus of Latter Days, from my pioneer heritage, and from being, against all odds, a Mormon boy.