Sunday, January 30, 2011

The Condescension of God: My Music

I wrote this song as part of composing around 1 Nephi chapter 11.  This is a song celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.















Friday, January 28, 2011

The Corsi Family

Going through old photos and if I'm not mistaken this is Lilly, Ricky, Ita and Teresa Corsi from J.C. Paz.  They have been good friends through the years, although I haven't written as often as I should have.  Lucy, their older sister lives in the Orem area now.  She and her husband came to visit us in San Jose a few years back before they had moved here.
OK, as per Lucy, this is oldest to youngest, Ita, Ricky Tracy and David.  This would have been taken after my mission as Tracy was the baby when I was there.  The two older sisters, Lucy and Lilly are not in the picture.  David is Lucy's oldest.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

World Cup Soccer, 1978, Argentina Campeon

1978 marked a big event for Argentina.  The World Cup soccer tournament was to be held there.  As the host team, Argentina was an automatic qualifier.  The cancha (field) for River was remodeled and became the central stadium.  We went past the stadium on a p-day.  It is in Palermo Park.  It is a big beautiful stadium.

It was difficult to do missionary work when Argentina played so we were instructed to watch the game with someone, preferably a nonmember, and if this wasn’t possible, then a member family.  Everyone  in the the country was excited.  I discovered there were many futbol fans. We went by the home of a good sister, who taught English lessons.  When we got there she was so excited that the keeper for Argentina had stopped a penalty kick.  “Lo atajo,” she exclaimed with excitement, "lo atajo!”

Argentina qualified second in their group, losing to Italy.  Argentina was lead by Luque and Kempes up front.  Ardiles in midfield (who later played in the Stallone movie, “Victory,”) and Fillol at keeper.  Kempes became the leading goal scorer for the tournament.

In the semifinal round Argentina beat Poland and then drew to a scoreless draw with Brazil.  In the last match of the round, Argentina had a four goal disadvantage  against Brazil which had beaten Peru and Poland.  Argentina beat Peru in the final match by a score of 6-0, qualifying ahead of Brazil and putting themselves into the championship match against Holland. 

Argentina scored first, but their goal was matched by Holland.  It wasn't until overtime that Argentina broke through for a couple goals.  Kempes had two goals in this match.  It was Argentina's first World Cup championship.  It was before the Maradona years.  They had a well-rounded team, which relied on two strikers, Luque and Kempes, but most importantly had to control the midfield to be good. 

I have a couple books about this world cup.  "Como Ganamos La Cop Del Mundo" (How We Won the World Cup) by Cesar Menotti who was the coach for the Argentine side.  It is mostly a photographic essay.  The other is in German, I think, "Argentinien: Fussball Welt Meisterschaft 1978.  It has a game by game photographic essay.  It also has pictures of all the teams.  I am sure it has fascinating stories, but I don't know the language. 

During the world cup, my companion and I lived in Don Torcuato,  Hindu Club, which is in Don Torcuato, was the home station for the Italian team.  We often saw their bus going up and down the street, and there was lots of security involved.  It was a fun and exciting time.  After Argentina won the championship, I don't think anyone went to work the next day.  It was declared a holiday.  People crowded the plaza downtown around the Obelisquo, and had an impromptu party.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Argentina: Dr. Santillan, Los Desaparecidos

When I served my mission in Argentina, it was ruled by the Military Government.  The government placed too much emphasis on rooting out opposition, communist, etc.  Often this included a broad sweep of families who might be in the wrong business.  For example a family had to leave as they taught the illiterate how to read.  Somehow the government decided everyone in this business was a bad influence.  The sister of a member, Hermana Bonavena, of the branch in Don Torcuato, where I served, had to flee the country because they were in this business.  They were able to flee to Spain, but their house was taken by a military family.

Dr. Santillan lived and had an office at Kilometro 26.  There was a train station here, and if you climbed a bunch of stairs from the train station you came to the road were the bus passed.  It was one station closer to the Capital, Buenos Aires, than Don Torcuato where we lived.  However our area covered both stations.  One day there was a drunken man in the road, who was just able to roll out of the path of a colectivo (bus.)  We gathered him up, and took him to the doctor to see if there was anything he could do for him.  He agreed to see him for no charge, and gave him something to drink.  The drunken man recomposed himself relatively quickly, and the doctor sent him on his way.  He told us that traditionally, someone as intoxicated as this man, normally wouldn't recover so quickly, and he attributed this to our faith.

We got to know the doctor subsequent to this.  My companion went to him for a boil.  He treated me for bronchitis.  He prescribed something like Ensure for my companion as he was very thin.  Hermana Bonavena, who lived only a few blocks away from the doctor's office, told us the doctor’s story.

He was in his office, as he was most days.  Someone the government was after, a rebel of some kind, had been shot by the police following him.  He got off the train at Kilometros 26, climbed the stairs leading up out of the train station to the residential neighborhood.  There at the top of the train station was a doctor office, and as he had been shot, he went there for treatment.  If the treatment was forced under threat of a gun, I don't know, but I do know that the doctor did treat him.  Isn't that part of the Hippocratic Oath?  I imagine the guy was eventually caught.

However as a result of this action, the government appeared one day on the doctor's doorstep and took him.  His family did not know where he was for over a year.  For all they knew he could have been killed, as so many others were during this time.  In similar fashion to when he had been taken, he showed back up at his home almost a couple years later.  No explanation was given.  The good doctor, as explained by Sister Bonavena, had aged considerable during this time.  Who knows to what torture he had been subject.  He had been a young man, and returned an old gray-haired man.

The doctor had a large Catholic family, with many children.  We asked him if we could teach his family, and he asked us to teach him alone.  He told him the Joseph Smith story, but he did not consent to having his family take the discussions.

I ran into the doctor one more time after having been transferred.  We were riding a bus in the downtown area, and he was on the bus as well.  Turns out he was taking a course on herbal medicine.  He was learning many interesting things about natural healing formulas.  Dr. Santillan was always looking to improve himself. 

Thursday, January 20, 2011

My poetry: The Creek


This poem was inspired by the Saratoga Creek which flows close to our house, and I often walk the trail along its bank.  One day, after a storm, I noticed how the creek was much different than its usual slow stream.

The Creek

After a storm,
The water in a creek seems to be in a hurry,
Falling over itself, flinging itself on rocks,
Roaring, bubbling, tumbling on its way to the ocean.

But on a clear day, the water is lazy,
You can bathe in it, the geese ride it easily.
It has no care in the world,
And no recollection of yesterday's storms.

It is the angry water that has power,
Erodes the earth, carves the canyons, drains the floods,
Carries silt and stones, drowned animals, fallen limbs,
Cleansing the Earth, leaving it fresh and clean.

Primary Class 1979

This is the primary class I taught after my mission in the Hyrum 2nd Ward.  It was a CTR Class as I remember making the CTR Shield and all that fun stuff.  "Choose the Right" was the message ar would all be bap theymost of the lessons.  I think this was the year they would all be baptized, or maybe the year after.  I should have kept better track, as I can't remember everyone's name.  But left to right:

Ellen Toone, I think she was our neighbor so I should remember.  Shauna Nelson, the bishop's daughter.  She played piano for me at Forrest's funeral (Krista's son) but I still can't remember her married name.  Shani Jensen,  Jamie Lauritzen, Tony Yeates, me, on my lap Adam Leatham, Adam Ward in back, and Brandt Harrison.  We had a fun time, although I must admit I wasn't always prepared as I might have been.  I did use group process with the kids which I was learning at the college in social work school.  We made a CTR Shield and a CTR box where I put a mirror and the kids could look in and see a Child of God.

So the favor I have to ask, is if you know these children and can help identify them better than I, it would be appreciated if you add a comment with the name, and what the child is doing now..

The Rosas Family

When I served my mission, most of the time we lived in member homes.  One of those homes was the Rosas family, which was actually the last family I lived with on my mission.  There was a young man in the home, a few years younger than us, who was preparing to serve a mission himself.  Although we lived with the Rosas family, another sister did our laundry, and we ate lunch (big meal of the day) with the Diaz family.  However we had a room with the Rosas family, and then had use of their kitchen as we needed.

This is one of the areas where we had bikes, and that was our major means of transportation.  We lived in San Miguel, but the branch was called Jose C Paz.  The church was actually on the border between the two cities. 
I thought of the Rosas family today as I received the message through Facebook.  It came from Lucy Chico, who was a branch member at the time.  "Billy, do you remember familia Rosas? You used to live at their house while in San Miguel. Well, the mom, sister Rosas passed on and now Alberto, the son, the only son she had, who is a very close friend of ours and a wonderful bishop is dying of cancer (pancreatic cancer) he doesn't have very much time left and they are devastated."  Alberto was the young man who was leaving on a mission just a few weeks after I was heading home.  I was in a position to help him, by leaving my old suits, (which were pretty much worn out, the jackets had some life left, put the pants had been re sewn many times at the tintorerias (dry cleaners)) and a few of my missionary materials like a film projector.  My thoughts and prayers are with friends in Argentina.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Dr. Martin Luther King

This is a story written by my brother.  It is very good

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
By Charlie Wardle

In spring of 2001, I had a great opportunity to attend the National Industrial Technology Education conference in Atlanta Georgia. At the conference I was able to learn many new and exciting technology lessons for my tech classes. The big high light of the conference came one evening when my wife and I took a 5-mile walk to Martin Luther King Jr. grave site. We began our walk among the high rise buildings in downtown Atlanta. As we tool our walk down “black” Main Street of Atlanta we soon noticed that we had left behind all the new high rise building and were walking by a lot of older run down buildings. It was almost like we were going back in to the time of Dr. King, the man who had fought so hard for equal rights for all Americans.

When we arrived at Dr. King’s memorial I was very impressed with the sacredness of the gravesite and how well the memorial was put together. The grave site with an eternal flame burning was in the middle of a small man-made pond. Written on his tomb were the words from his famous speeches “Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty I’m free at last” As I stood there looking at his tomb I wondered. “Why did it take the death of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. for him to become free?”

            I remember when Dr. King was shot on April 4,1968. I was only living about 100 miles from Memphis, Tennessee in Carbondale, Illinois. School was let out early that day. My second grade teacher told us to stay home, because the Civil War might be starting all over again. I went home and stayed inside, wondering if something might happen. No violence or anything like that ever happened, because Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was not about violence. He was a man of peace, and his goal was to bring freedom equal rights to everyone, regardless of their race. School was let out for his funeral, which I watched the funeral on T.V. It was a very sad time for America, to have a strong leader lose his life trying to bring equality to all. His work has been carried on, since his death, and a lot of improvements have been made.


            After we had visited Dr. King’s grave site, on the long walk back to our hotel, I kept thinking of all the great things he had done, and how much work still needed to be done to help bring equal rights to everyone.

            As we got close to our hotel a black man approached us and asked how we had like Dr. King’s gravesite. I asked him how do you know we have been there. He replied, “I can always tell when someone has just visited Dr. King.” He then asked us “How will your visit with Dr. King change your life”?

            I have thought of this question many times since. I really hope I am treating everyone fairly, especially my students. I hope they feel welcome in my technology classes. Even though I do have to discipline some students sometimes I do really care about them. I want each of them to know this. I want them to do the best they can in their school work. I hope all of my students feel that I have given my very best to make their Technology Education classes a great learning experience.


    • Billy Wardle that is a good story

    • Billy Wardle Don't you remember the riots in Carbondale after Dr. King was murdered? I remember lots of fires, and a fire engine going around the train trestle one time to get to a fire. But it seems most of the burning took place in black neighborhoods, which I didn't understand.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Randy Funk: Aggie Basketballer

Last night I was listening to the Aggie game on the Internet, KVNU radio. (Ain't the Internet great.)  Bracken Funk played for Fresno State.  They indicated he is Randy Funk's son, so I decided to tell my experience with Randy Funk.  Randy played basketball for Utah State, and made well over 50 percent of his shots.

My brothers, and I were involved in youth sports in Hyrum growing up.  We first played and then coached for many years.  We would organize the youth basketball, baseball and football.  There were three brothers who lived in Hyrum, Funk, who had many children who participated in sports.  Their sons were big boys.  Randy Funk was the son of Randall and Gerrie.  When I took a two year hiatus, to go on a mission to Argentina, Randy Funk still hadn't made a name for himself.

However when I returned, Randy Funk had really really sprouted.  He was then a 9th grader, and I was 21.  He played as much basketball as he could.  Anytime a gym was open, he would be there.  We would play church ball at South Cache Junior High School.  We would play games in the big gym.  One time while I was there I ran into Randy in the small gym.  He challenged me to a game.  I could tell he challenged almost anyone who came in the door.  I think he was probably 6'5" at the time.  However I liked my chances.  I could shoot well, and certainly some one that tall would lack coordination and I could out shoot him.

Man was I wrong.  I was totally embarrassed.  He played ball at a different level than me.  We played to 22, and I think I got six or eight points, and I had to work for those.

My only comfort is that he later played division one basketball.  Otherwise I would have to live forever with the shame of being beaten by an eighth grader.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Van Gogh

Mark went to the Van Gogh exhibit (Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cezanne and Beyond: Post-Impressionist Masterpieces from the Musee d'Orsay) at the de Young museum in San Francisco.  I asked him to bring me back some post cards of different art works.  He says the didn't have any, so he got me a Van Gogh memory game with about 20 different, small prints.  I checked to see if there is any copyright and am convinced there is not.  So here goes.  The quality is not good, but I love Van Gogh.

That may come from working in mental health.  I have gone to the art exhibits, and some of the work presented is incredible.  Van Gogh of course had his own mental problems he was dealing with.  But he could see a picture, and present it in the most vivid colors and with the most incredible perceptions.  He truly was a master.









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Friday, January 14, 2011

Jaime Cantarovici


Spanish Professor, Jaime Cantarovici



I have been looking at the books of poetry from my Latin American Literature professor.  The books are called "Desde Lejos" and "Flores Artificiales" "From Afar" and "Artificial 
Flowers".  Both published in Spain, 1975 and 1982.  In the first book Dr. Cantarovici explored aging, and lamented that he could not carry as much as when he was younger.  He explores the routine in our lives in the poem "Inevitable".  I identify with this poem, as I feel sort of like I'm stuck in a rut.  Home to work, work to home, home to work, work to home, and to be honest, work isn't very challenging lately.  I've been doing the same thing for many years, but don't dare make changes because of the income; it's hard to rock the boat.

 Inevitable

Knowing that we are all in a line
same as those before,
same as those behind
Always in a line towards…

How sad it is to wait!
How sad it is to not love!
A thought, a word, a sigh,
they are gone forever
forever forgetting.

It is I who cries the morning
because I know what will come
it is I who knows the pain
of those that are in line.

The same as before, today and later,
never looking back
the Man hopes that a voice tells him
—Come forward— for you it is done.


This poem shows Jaime's lighter side


Child of Four Years

You will go to hell.
The will put on you black wings
full of worms
and spiders.
The devils

will dance a dark dance
and the fire will be
eternal.

Or..............

You will go to heaven.
They will put on you great white wings
full of flowers
and perfumes.
The angels
will dance a celestial dance
and the music will be
eternal,

If you behave well
and take your soup
you will go to heaven
to play with the clouds.
If you behave poorly...

I WANT SOUP!


 A short passage about love

LOVE

Life is short and passing
but love is eternal
The spring is light
But summer an infernal.

Autumn is cold
as is the summer
life is short and passing
but love is eternal.

FIRST LOVE

My son was born
with the moon conquered.
The sleep of the centuries
doesn't cause surprise
before your eyes.

It's a thing of yesterday
--the tell me--
it's routine monotony of yesterday.

Papa...
I'm in love
with a girl...
                 cybernetic...

A poem dedicated to his wife

SAY IT WITH YOUR EYES
                                        to Graciela

 Don't pronounce your name
Your life quiet it in secret
I want to discover the enigma
that hides in your chest.

Do you love me? Adore me?

Don't Say it!
                        NO!

It will just be words
that the wind erases.
Tomorrow we will want to remember
the mind in rebellion,
mute and silent
you will cry before the forgetfulness.

Do you love me?  Adore me?

Don't say it!
                         No!

In your profound ees
sealed in mistery,
is the precious jewelry box
where you guard the secret.

With emotion and tenderness
our glance unites
I will tell you in silence
                               I love you!

And int the rush of your face
I will know that you love me too.

Do you love me?  Adore me?

Tell me with your eyes
as they're sincere.

I thought I would share a little bit of Jaime with you.  I really think in poetry, you lay your heart bear, as his is bared in this small sample.  Jaime was a friend.  He signed the copy of have of "Desde Lejos".   I took three or four classes from him, the writings of Pablo Neruda, and a couple about Latin American Literature.  I will share some of the poetry from those classes in later blogs.

Jaime and I had a dual relationship.  In addition to being my professor, he was also a competitive coach in soccer.  I coached the team form Hyrum, and he coached his son's team in the early days of soccer play in Cache Valley.  I remember one year both our teams made it to the finals in Brigham City.  We had some good times.

Jaime was taken from us too young.  He was born in Bolivia, but his family moved to Argentina when he was in high school.  While visiting his family in Argentina in 1986 he had a massive heart attack and passed away.  He was only 43 years old at the time.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Vince Peters

While I was in the bishopric in our ward, the missionaries taught an older gentleman by the name of Vince Peters.  He and his wife had lived next to a member family.  After his wife had passed away, he called his friend and asked about the Gospel and the beliefs with regards to an eternal family and eternal marriage.

From that conversation, the missionaries were invited to his home and he accepted the challenge to be baptized.  His friend actually performed the baptism.

Vince was most excited about having his wife sealed to him, and doing his genealogy.  A high-priest, Alan Peterson, was assigned to help him organize his genealogy.  He was able to go to the temple and be sealed to his wife, with someone acting as proxy for her.  He was also an instrument in doing much of his own genealogy work.

Vincent was already old and frail.  I visited him in his home and we helped him install a bar to make it easier for him to get out of bed.  He shared some of his history with us.  He had been a B-17 pilot in WWII and had also been a POW.  Bishop Orton helped him put together a brief history of these experiences.

see:
http://bwardlehistory.blogspot.com/2011/01/vince-peters-wwii-b-17-pilot-and-pow.html

Vince was taken from us too quickly.  After only a couple years in the ward he passed away.  His funeral was attended by many.  He was given an honor guard by the Marines with a trumpet playing taps.  It was a moving ceremony, and let us know the worth of an eternal marriage, sealed in the Temple of God.  How special our wives are to us men.



Friday, January 7, 2011

A Youthful of Trophies

A Youthful of Trophies

In a box at the top of the closet sits a youthful of trophies,
Memories of former glories and success;
A game played, a tourney won, a shot made, a run scored,
Rewarding team efforts and individual achievement.

Now these trophies are a nest for spiders,
whose webs cover them with draped stickiness,
whose eyes are the only eyes that see them now
As they walk across the faces of the dust covered ballplayers,
Which formerly shone of golden chrome.

But there is no shine, there is no luster.
There at the top of the closet, protected from decay, they grow older.
But their recipient has aged, has grown heavier--his body out of tone.
He could no longer dream of participating in former wars of glory.

So of what use these miniature statues from the past?
Of what value at the flea market?  A dollar, maybe less?
They taunt the former athlete, lying in the box,
Reminding him of past glories, shouting, "Has been!  Has been!"

But today the box is off the shelf, on the bed, a damp rag removing the cobwebs.
Each one is observed and remembered as the dust is removed.
Then each one, one by one, is replaced in the box with care,
at the box is again placed at the top of the closet;
And with a sigh he mumbles, "Maybe, tomorrow, I will start jogging."

I wrote this poem seven or eight years ago, shortly before I sent most of my trophies to the D.I. (Goodwill) for use by someone else.  I guess it took a while to say goodbye.

One of my first poems

I thought

I thought, 
I knew she was mine.
Then I saw her in his arms
and realized she was never mine
at all.

The objects of this poem were Marilyn Timothy and Danny Jonas.  I dated Marilyn my senior year, but I think the relation was more one sided as evidenced by my seeing her with Danny.

I found the original version:

I Thought--
I Knew--
You were mine
I saw you in his arms
My heart turned cold
You were never mine at all.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Othello Make Believe Home

The Farm in Othello, where we lived when I was born, was set up in such a way so as little space as possible was wasted for living or maintenance.  The fields came almost right up to the side of the house.  Only a driveway and a small patch of grass kept the nearest field from converging all the way up to the front door.  It looked ready to take over with the first season of inadequate care, and if a field had life, this field was just waiting its chance to pounce upon the rest of the layout.
Othello home

But it never pounced.  However its being so close to the house, it often called to us who lived there.  The years when corn was planted in the field were very exciting.  When the corn stalks grew tall it was possible to lose yourself with a walk of only a few steps.  Hide-and-seek games were always fun with such a convenient place to hide. 

When alfalfa was planted there, the field was much more than a place to hide.  Then it could become an entire make-believe house.  When the alfalfa was high it took very little effort to push it down here and there, making hallways, living areas and bedrooms.  So doing, an entire house with numerous chambers was ready for play and imagination.  In this way we could all have our own private bedroom.  This was a pleasant escape from our home, where I and my two brothers shared a room.  Often the hallways were very long leading to a bedroom.

Many were the hours we played during the summer in our pretend house, enjoying each other's company and our private bedrooms.  It was in on of these enjoyable moments that I caused my mother more alarm than I cared to.

While in my private room, which was separated from the others by an obscured "hallway," I fell asleep.  It wasn't until some hours later that I realized I had been the cause for any alarm at all.  The rest of my brothers and sisters had gone into the house for lunch.  I had not joined them, being in a state of slumber.  The search was on.  The shed was searched.  The house was searched.  The granary where we would sometimes play was searched.  Even our alfalfa house, fabricated by smashing down the hay to make rooms, was searched.  I was not found.

I was later told people were calling my name and yelling loudly.  However I did not hear a thing.  It was only when my father's loud voice was added to the chorus, when he had come in for a break during the hot afternoon, that I finally stirred.  I woke up slowly, not realizing how long I had been asleep.  When I realized people were looking for me I wandered out of the tall alfalfa into our back yard and was directly discovered by my older brother, and then the rest of the family who had been outside looking for me.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Hyrum Pony Baseball 1972

My Pony League Career in Hyrum lasted one year, for the most part.  Pony baseball was 13-15 year olds.  It also marked a change from 60-foot bases (Litle League) to 90-foot, regular baseball size.   When I was 13 I played, but did not see a lot of action.  I was overwhelmed with the older players, curve balls and the larger diamond.

l-r Mike Kerr, Doug Jensen, Ken Jensen, ?, ?, ?, ? Val Gunnel, Don Williams, Weldon

At this level of play, we were not an official "Pony" team.  It was a county league, and we would travel from town to town in Cache Valley and play the other cities.  Logan had their own league, and the county had their own league, which included the Cache Valley part of Idaho.  We practiced at the field by the Junior High School.  This was not the best field.  We would usually end up playing on softball fields, because most cities did not have official baseball fields in those days.  I can remember some of our games, playing in Wellsville, Providence and Franklin. 

When I was a 14-year old I became a regular player. We were coached by the Lundberg twins (I am thinking Clair and Blair, but I may be wrong.) I started in center field, and usually batted sixth.  We had a stacked team.  We had Doug Jensen, shortstop and Val Gunnel, catcher, both from Providence who played for us rather than their home city.  Later in the season we also recruited Jed Murray, pitcher and left field, and Mike Kerr, second base, from Wellsville. 

It was fun playing center field that year.  David Jensen, our primary pitcher had a cut fastball, almost a screwball with the distance it would curve.  Many batters would give up on the pitch, deciding it was outside, and then it would cut across the outside corner.  It was fun to watch.  Jed Murray was a traditional picture, with his curve breaking the other way.  We had other good players, Don Williams playing third and Monte Stevens playing first base.

I remember we were really excited to play Providence, and really wanted to beat them as two of our players were from Providence.  We did win.  At some point in the game there was a towering fly ball hit, which I caught up with and caught.  Coaches were happy for that, but I didn't think it was a big deal.
Monte Stevens, Ken Jensen, Mike Keer, Rick Stevens, Don Williams

The highlight of the season was the tournament in Soda Springs.  We were overwhelmed by a good team from Brigham City the first game, and fell into the consolation bracket.  I made an out that game trying to steal second.

The next game we were playing a team from Pocatello.  It was a close, low-scoring game.  I did a suicide squeeze, scoring someone from third base.  However as I approached first, instead of giving myself up easily, the first baseman was blocking the base path so I though I might be able to jar the ball loss.  However he side swiped me and I went rolling.  I broke my wrist as a result.  I was out of the game and in the hospital to get my arm set.  We did win the game. I remember a kid on the Pocatello side laughing at my tragedy.  This kid turned out to be my aunt's foster son as she lived in Pocatello.

l-r Weldon, Doug Jensen, me (cast) Val Gunnel, Dave Jensen, Jed Murray
Having beaten Pocatello we made it to the consolation championship game and won that final game.  I don't remember who we played.  Don Williams hit a couple of home runs for us.

David Jensen and Jed Murray lead our high school team a few ears later into the state championship tournament where we were second.  They also went on to both pitch minor league baseball.  Jed made it up to triple A ball.  David didn't go so far, as he accidentally shot himself in the foot deer hunting, and could never push off the way he had before and as a result lost some of the  zip on his  fast ball. 

The next year I chose not to play baseball in Hyrum.  Hyrum had a new coach, who was young, and I was worried that the conditions on the team would not be conducive to the lifestyle I was leading.  (I was worried there might be alcohol involved and did not want to risk it.)  Ken Jensen and I decided to play for a Logan team.  I went to one practice before they told me "no" as I wasn't a resident of Logan.  That practice was interesting.  The coach thought my ball from the outfield didn't have enough zip on it so he said to throw it at the shortstop's head.  I did, and somehow the shortstop missed the ball and in bonked him a  good one.  He had a big goose egg.