Life among LDS: The newcomer
An account of life in the first week of being a reporter in Mormon country: Lessons in LDS, free bikes, loaner longboards.
My first two lessons in Mormonism were simple: Most around Manti and Utah in general use terms like “LDS” for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and likely everyone you meet will be of, about to be of, or will have left the Mormon faith.
When I moved into my summer housing, an all-female, eight-bedroom home for renters in Ephraim, my roommate told me she was LDS only after I, as delicately as I could, asked. I won’t use her name to respect her privacy.
Typically, Mormons avoid alcohol, tobacco and caffeinated beverages. No one I have met so far has been involved in polygamy.
“Basically, we believe in Jesus Christ and his love for us,” my roommate said while I made potatoes. My love of cooking means I am in the kitchen more often than not. While I cook, my roommate sits on the counter near me and we talk, like most roommates do. “What most people don’t realize is that the Book of Mormon actually works hand-in-hand with the Bible.”
From what I can tell, a huge number of people that are or have been LDS have gone on “mission.” When men come of age at 18 and when women turn 19, they are allowed to go on a mission to spread word of the Mormon faith. For almost two years, my roommate lived in Argentina.
Her Spanish is excellent.
My roommate, editor, coworkers, publisher and people that have just found out how new to the area I am tell me the same thing: It’s different here. You’ll see. You’ll get used to it.
It’s true, the differences between small-town Utah and every other part of the country where I have been is palpable. But, it’s not something that can be described easily.
This is what I have noticed so far: If someone is not LDS, they have likely grown up outside of Utah. If they are not LDS and from Utah, they likely think the place is as different as a newcomer, but are used to it. Not everyone is LDS but, no matter what, people are unquestionably nice here.
My first encounter with intense generosity came when my landlord texted the owner of Alley Cat Bike Shop in Ephraim to let him know I needed a bike for the summer. I stopped in a few days later.
“You can just take that one,” the owner, Brian, said when I told him I was here for eight weeks. He was pointing to a seemingly never-ridden ’85 Schwinn Traveler, bright blue and beautiful. “It’ll just sit there for the summer anyway.”
I was confused. He wanted to just give me a bike? For eight weeks? I bought a helmet from him to make up for the lack of business he was receiving. Three times already on my 7-mile commute to work, Brian has overtaken me on his own bike or waved as he headed the opposite way.
Days later, while passing out Sanpete Messenger supplements at the Mormon Miracle Pageant in Manti, an older man cruised past on a beautifully crafted longboard.
“Nice longboard, man,” I said.
He stopped excitedly and smiled at me. As it turns out, he made it. His name is Clint Greenhalgh from San Diego and he has been longboarding for more than 44 years.
We got into deep conversation about his business, Davinci Longboards, and how he and his partner, Benson, stopped making them for profit because it just “stopped being fun.” Any money they make goes back into materials for more boards. In addition to being his business partner, Benson is Clint’s son. Longboarding runs so deep in their family that on Clint’s daughter’s wedding day, the family rode down a San Diego boardwalk together in their formal wear.
Clint will let anyone that asks take a spin on his board and, while they do, talk enthusiastically about the turning capacity his boards are capable of.
“These are meant for surf-style riding,” Clint said. “You can really carve with these things. That’s what they do.”
He suggested I take his board for a ride and, if I wanted to, borrow a few for the summer. Three days later he brought no more than five boards to my house for my roommate and I to test out. The three of us rode around my street, talking about board-building logistics and our lives in Utah.
Clint talked about his time in San Diego and the differences between where he comes from and where he is. In Utah, Clint will often get heckled riding his boards around popular skating areas. “Old man” and “Mid-life crisis,” they yell at him.
He tries not to let it get him down.
“It hurts sometimes, yeah, but I still love skating,” Clint said. “When I board, I feel like I am flying. No one can take that away from me.”
Clint also explained that he used to be LDS but is not anymore. When he was younger he went on mission to New York City and was completely devoted to his religion. Now, he is simply considerate of people that keep the faith.
When he mentioned good beer in the area, he gestured at my roommate and politely said, “Not for you, of course.” She mentioned how happy she was to have her standards respected.
“I wouldn’t change that [religious] experience for anything,” Clint said. “I am just on a different path now.”
