Beyond That Horizon

Many houses on Guam were built with fences surrounding the property. The doorbells of these homes were located on the fence next to the front gate. If the doorbell was broken, you might stand at the gate for a very long time before somebody noticed you out there. Of course, being dressed in a white shirt and tie with a black name badge tucked into your pocket was grounds for being ignored whether or not the doorbell was broken. Many of the homes contained huge, ferocious dogs that could be heard inside the house trying to rip the door off to get at the nervous visitors outside.

One story that circulated around the mission, told of a large Polynesian elder and his companion that encountered a home of this type. Everyone knows that Poly’s are not afraid of man or beast, so the two white-shirted visitors, after being ignored at the front gate, walked into the yard and rang the doorbell on the house. Suddenly the door opened. Before the missionaries could utter their memorized door greeting, the homeowner stepped aside and sicced a large man-eating dog on them. The Poly elder, who was first on the porch, caught the dog as it leapt for his throat. His big arm hooked the dog around neck and the other around its midsection and he violently twisted the dog in two different ways and broke its neck.

The homeowner, not knowing what to do now, invited the two missionaries in for a drink of water and a brief chat about religion. The poly elder, ever so polite, apologized to the dog owner about his now lifeless guard dog before they left.

I found that being out visiting people on Guam was a pleasant experience. The island demographics was made up of Chamorros (native Guamanians), Filipinos, military people from the US, Asians, and a smattering of people from other islands and countries in the region. Nonu and I combed the neighborhoods in our area and met some really nice folks. It was uncanny how Nonu could find just the right house around lunch time that contained people who insisted we eat before leaving. He would say, “Oh no, we can’t eat your food! Well, if you insist, maybe we can stay a bit longer… Hicks, what do you think? Do we have time for a short lunch break?” Of course, it was never a problem for me.

One of my favorite lunches was served by a Samoan family - friends of Nonu’s. We ate loads of curry chicken and boiled whole potatoes washed down with Mountain Dew. The blend of seasonings in the food was incredibly scrumptious even though the recipe was very simple. Since that day, I have had a special craving for Mountain Dew and cannot drink it without remembering that wonderful curry-seasoned food.

A few days after arriving on Guam the mission president, Ferron C. Losee, called a mission meeting. All of us green elders knew that this would also be the time to hear the results from our first interview with the president that had taken place earlier. There were ten of us that had just flown in from the states. We were all apprehensive, yet excited, about the prospects that lay ahead. It was said that some of us would be sent to the outer realms of the mission. Of course, nobody knew who might be going.

We ten new guys were a mixed bunch of egos and personalities. Two hailed from Canada and the rest from the states – mostly from Utah, one from California. We all got along very well except for the California kid. He was like the odd man out; there has to be one in every group. It wasn’t so much the fact of the geography of his hometown as much as he was just a screwball and we could barely tolerate him. He had a big mouth that he wouldn’t control and everywhere he went, he wore a pair of big Foster Grant sunglasses that accentuated his smart-assed persona. His real name was Sorenson, but we nicknamed him “Gilligan” shortly after we were assigned together in the MTC in Provo, Utah. It didn’t take us long to come to a consensus that he was a bona-fide nut job.

About a week into our formal mission training in Provo, someone from our group crawled out on the ledge of the building we were housed in and broke into Gilligan’s room through the window. They pulled the screws off the wall vent that was positioned right next to the head of Gilligan’s bed and placed a windup alarm clock in the vent. The vent cover was then securely refastened to the wall. The alarm was set for 2:30 a.m.

The next morning at breakfast, Gilligan came into the cafeteria red-eyed and furious. He demanded to know who the guy was who put the alarm clock in his bedroom vent. He wanted to “kick their butt!” Nobody seemed to know a thing. My companion, Morrison the witty Canadian, said, “Ah Sorenson, please don’t kick anyone’s butt, that would hurt.” And that was all that was said. Scowling Gilligan stomped off and ate his breakfast by himself.

Assignments

The place where we congregated for the mission meeting was in the Relief Society room of the only LDS Church building on Guam. It was air-conditioned and provided some relief from the humidity and heat from outside, in addition to offering some comfort to a group of anxious missionaries eager to find out who would be sent to the outer islands. Silently, I was excited for the prospects of going to an exotic place. I was also somewhat anxious to get away from screwball Gilligan. He had, by now, created quite a reputation on Guam as a raving idiot.

Losee seemed to sense our anxiety, thus he droned on about mission rules and decorum for what seemed like an eternity while we all sat fidgeting in our seats. Finally, he said, “Ok, as you probably have guessed, we have a need for elders to fill open spots on many of the outer islands in our mission. Five of you new elders will be going away and not coming back for quite awhile. You will leave as soon as we can get your visas which, in some cases, may take a couple weeks.” Then he started reading off the list.

“Elder Hicks, you and Elder Sorenson will be going to Yap.”

The news of my assignment came like the music of a sweetly singing bird in morning time, but the mighty blow of hearing the name Sorenson almost floored me. A few elders gave me that sparkly look out of the corner of their eyes with a sly grin that seemed to say, “Hicks, you unlucky SOB, I am glad it is you and not me that has to work with Gilligan. Ha Ha Ha!”

Nonu was a bit more philosophical. He said, “Hicks, God didn’t call Gilligan to Micronesia to become a failure. You are probably the only one in this group that can help him succeed on his mission. You have an easy-going personality that will allow you to be kind and patient with him when the rest of us would beat the sh*t out of him. President Losee was inspired to send him to Yap with you.” I was humbled by his words and something told me he was right.

Instantly, I started getting loads of information about the place, Yap. Apparently, that was the most coveted spot in the whole mission. Of course, there were all kinds of reasons given for it being so coveted, but my common sense revealed the real reason. The women wore no shirts. They were topless! It was a no-brainer considering we were a bunch of 19 and 20 year-old boys.

I got other information about Yap, too. I heard about the primitive nature of the Yapese, their living conditions, the traditional customs of the people, and the fact that they could be dangerous to visitors if they didn’t like them. Somebody mentioned that they had known of people going to Yap and never being heard from again. I went home and ruminated on a passage in a blessing I received awhile back where I was promised that I would be protected as I travelled by land, air, and sea to preach the words of God. I felt some comfort and was calmed as I patiently waited for my visa to arrive.