I loved how Henry B. Eyring’s voice cracked with emotion when he spoke. I prayed for James E. Faust when his health got to where he couldn’t stand to give a talk. I lost a friend when Gordon B. Hinckley passed away.
“Harley Thompson,” he’d introduce himself and crush your hand. “Harley like the motorcycle, Thompson like the machine gun.” A World War II vet of “the greatest generation that ever lived” (a fact he never failed to mention in a prayer or talk from the pulpit) and a retired…