Hills Like White Lamanites

[yellowstone123]

The first part was posted back in 2015. Congratulations. That was an extremely funny. One could have retitled it as Fear and Loathing in Provo, Utah.

[Tom]

I heard he has been recently exposed by DCP as being a “Chino Blanco” person (I’ll refrain from putting the actual name here), from the ex-Mormon subreddit. If this is true it may put a serious damper on his presence here.

Someone is trying to dox Dr. Bobberson? I hope that is not the case.

[Bob Bobberson]

Part X: D&C 121:39

The mood was somber at the Hinton Institute as the apologists gathered around the table for the emergency meeting that had been called by Elder Pitt. Earlier that morning, they'd learned that Howell Lambeth was officially considered "missing." No one aboard the cruise ship had seen him for a few days now, in fact. Though he had been accounted for at their last stop, he had been missing for close to 72 hours, and so the grim assumption, among some at least, was that he had thrown himself overboard. But Merlyn refused to accept this as a possibility: Howell will turn up he told himself. Things seemed to be in something of a state of turmoil. Between catching tidbits about Brett Steves's life falling to piece, and getting the latest issue of the HIDM Review in shape and ready to send off to print, along with whatever was going to happen with the Hinton Institute leadership, Merlyn could barely keep things straight. He felt a sense of giddy--and somewhat guilty, given Howell's disappearance--excitement over the prospect of becoming the new Director of the Institute.

They could hear voices and shuffling noises just outside the door, and then the handle turned and a young, crisply dressed male assistant opened the door and held it open as an aged Apostle made his way into the room. It wasn't Elder Pitt, though: it was Elder Gladstone. He paused with both hands on his walking cane and gazed at the people in the room, his eyes dark and mirthful behind his bifocals. His assistant went around to the head of the long rectangular table and pulled out the chair for Gladstone and helped him get settled.

Elder Gladstone coughed a few times into his old, withered fist and he cleared his throat. "Well, brothers and sisters. Let's get started with a prayer. Sister Severson, would you do us the honor?"

"Of course," she said. She recited a perfunctory prayer, making sure to ask for special guidance and wisdom for those leading the Institute, and when she was done, everyone said, "Amen!"

"Well," said Elder Gladstone, "I imagine that some of you are surprised to see me here today. I know that Elder Pitt has been a great friend to the Hinton Institute for a great many years. And Elder Hinton, as I'm sure you know, in addition to being a man of great faith and integrity, was also a dear friend to myself and to Elder Pitt."

Merlyn shifted in his seat. While what Gladstone was saying was technically true, Merlyn also knew that opinions concerning the Institute's work were not homogenous amongst the General Authorities. He began to feel patches of sweat dampening his armpits.

"I want to remind you of how much I respect this Institute and the sacred charge it has been given by the Church. The fact that it bears Elder Hinton's name shouldn't be taken lights." He gently rapped his knuckles on the table. Then he nodded to his aide, who produced a folder from a leather satchel and set it before Elder Gladstone. "Now, I am a busy man, with a busy afternoon agenda that will call me back to Salt Lake this afternoon, so I will get straight to the point." He coughed again and cleared his throat. "You may have heard the Howell Lambeth has elected to step down as Director of the Institute, and the Brethren have agreed that this is the appropriate step." Gladstone turned his gaze to Merlyn. "Brother Lambeth asked that Dr. Merlyn Young be appointed to serve as Editor in Chief of the Journal, and the Brethren have agreed to this as well."

Gladstone paused and raised his finger. "But I admonish you, Brother Young. There has sometimes been a spirit of contentiousness here at the Institute. We must all remember that we are disciples of Christ first and foremost. Dealing with enemies of the Church can tempt us into acting out in anger, but we must take the high road. I trust you'll bear this in mind going forward, Brother Young."

Merlyn found himself unable to meet the Apostle's gaze. He started down at the table and nodded solemnly, struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat.

Gladstone continued: "That brings us to the matter of Howell's replacement."

The room grew very quiet. Merlyn glanced over at Herb and Nephi: their mouths were open slightly in anticipation; their arms crossed tensely across their chests.

"After much prayerful consideration," Gladstone said, "we have decided that the time has come to appoint Dr. Paul Fredrickson as the new Director of the Turley J. Hinton Institute."

At first, Merlyn wondered if Gladstone was joking. Sure this was a joke, right? Herb and Nephi were both frowning in confusion. It was Krista Severson who broke the silence: "Well, congratulations, Paul!"

Fredrickson himself was smiling faintly, his eyes dampening and shining beneath the fluorescent lights. To Merlyn, Fredrickson looked thin and weak, like the collar of his shirt was several sizes too big for his skinny neck. This can't be happening! Merlyn said to himself.

"Brother Fredrickson has been a faithful defender of the Church for close to two decades, and his service to the Lord has been impeccable," Gladstone went on. "I have full confidence that he will make a fine Director of the Hinton Institute, and I look forward to seeing what he will accomplish in this role." Elder Gladstone began to clap, and everyone joined him.

By now, tears were streaming down Fredrickson's face. "Oh, my..." he began. "What a privilege and an honor," he said. "I never would have dreamed that I would be so blessed with such an opportunity. Know that I pledge to all of you to do my very best to lead the Institute forward, and to carry on the legacy that Elder Hinton entrusted to us."

Across the table, Herb McConkie and Nephi Clark looked ashen. Merlyn's heart was pounding angrily in his chest and he could feel the tension growing across his shoulders.

"It's a pity that Howell couldn't be here to pass along the torch," he said at last, and immediately wished he hadn't said it. Everyone in the room turned to him and stared.

"Oh, oh, yes--" Fredrickson said, his damp face beaming with earnestness."

"Our prayers are certainly with the Lambeth family," Elder Gladstone said at the head of the table. "Our hope is that he'll turn up any time now."

There were nods around the table, and then Elder Gladstone called on Bert Gelhorn to give a closing prayer, and that was that. The meeting came to an end.



Lilith Lambeth sat alone in her cabin and her gaze drifted to the open closet, where she could see one of Howell's sports jackets hanging on a hanger. She thought for a moment of praying: but this was what she had wanted, wasn't it? No--not like this. She had found his note half an hour ago, slipped into the Book of Mormon that he'd brought along: he was passive-aggressive to the end. Even in death, he didn't want her to be free. What he hoped, she knew, was that she would blame herself for his death. And yet a part of her also didn't fully believe that he'd done it; she half expected him to come slinking back in through the door at any minute. But the note seemed to make it clear what he'd done, and no one had seen him for close to three days by now. She thought for a moment what it must have felt like: how cold the water would have been.... But then she shuddered, and realized that this was exactly what Howell would have wanted her to be thinking about. And so she stood up and put on her jacket so that she could show Howell's suicide note to the proper authorities.



Brett Steves set the last of the boxes down in his new studio apartment. The Hinton Institute apologists, or the Stake President, or the Strengthening Church Members Committee, or someone connected to all of it, had, of course, told Ginny everything about his beliefs. After a lot of tears and arguments and attempts and reassurance, they had both finally agreed that it was best that he move out of the house. Maybe with time the wounds would heal, and they might reconcile, Ginny had said. But what they needed now was space and time apart. So Brett packed up his things and found himself a small apartment not far from work.

But then the second blow came: he learned from his very-LDS boss that he'd been given his two-weeks notice. So, someone had gotten to his workplace as well. There was concern, his boss said, that his anti-Mormon attitudes would cause conflict amongst the company's primarily LDS employees. So, it was best that he move on.

He figured that he had at least a few months' savings to hold him over while he sought new employment. But the loss of his job alarmed Ginny, who immediately proposed that he move back in so as to save money. Plus, she said, now that she'd had time to think, it seemed more and more to her like he had been treated unfairly by the Hinton Institute people. Brett smiled at this. And moving back in seemed like a good, practical move, but he was hesitant. There was a part of him that felt free for the first time: he no longer had to hide his doubts, or pretend like he "believed." It felt like he was--at last--living authentically.

Meanwhile, he dutifully recorded all his woes on MormonDiscourse.com, and the Hinton apologists and their acolytes were remarkably silent. Steves had many sympathizes, many of whom were shocked at the apparent vindictiveness of the apologists. And then he learned about the changes to the Hinton Institute leadership, which he'd heard about some time ago from Grendel's Mother. It gave him an opportunity to gloat about the fact that Merlyn Young had been denied the Director position.

I'd hold my tongue if I were you Nephi Clark had posted. The upcoming issue of the Journal of HIDM will set the record straight once and for all as far as you are concerned.

They had been making vaguely menacing posts like this for weeks: continually alluding to some article that would show the world what a rotten apostate he was. But something, Brett knew, was amiss, since the journal had not appeared according to its normal publication schedule.

And then he got an email from Ginny, saying that she had reached out to her uncle, who was married to Elder Gladstone's daughter. She'd told them about what had happened, and how the Hinton Institute apologists had gone after him, taken his picture outside his work, and were planning some vindictive article about him. Elder Gladstone, supposedly, was "very concerned." Ginny had been given the impression that he would have a word with the Institute's new Director--Paul Fredrickson. And I really miss you, she added at the end of the email. Despite everything that had happened to him, Brett Steves felt happy and knew in a way that bordered on the spiritual that good things were in store for him



Merlyn Young polished off the last dregs of his pint of Haagen-Dasz just as Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings came to an end on the stereo. It had been three week since Paul Fredrickson had been appointed the new Director of the Maxwell Institute, and Merlyn was still fuming over it. Between Howell's tragic passing and the disappointment concerning the Director position, Merlyn had been on a stress-eating binge and had put on 10 pounds. He knew he would hear about it from his doctor, but he didn't care. He thumbed through his CD collection, looking for his copy of Wagner's Parsifal. Meanwhile, his frustrations with Fredrickson were mounting. Twice he'd submitted the finished copy of the most recent issue of the Journal of HIDM, only for Fredrickson to drag his feet, or send it back for revisions, or to find some other excuses for why it wasn't yet fit for print. Howell had always taken pride in the fact that the journal was always published on time, exactly: they never missed their deadlines, not even once. And now, with his very first issue as Editor in Chief, Merlyn was being made to look incompetent. Is Fredrickson doing this deliberately? he wondered.

And then there were the message boards. Always the wretched message boards. Brett Steves--"Skeletor"--had gotten precisely what he deserved: thrown out of his house, fired from his job, and on the precipice of divorce, and yet it hadn't slowed his posting down. If anything, he seemed more exultant than ever, and now he was claiming to have "inside information" that one of the General Authorities was pulling strings to have the latest issue of the Journal pulled.

Complete nonsense, Merlyn wrote. Mr. Steves has demonstrated his mendacity on numerous occasions. And I tend to think that, as the actual EDITOR of the Journal, I'm in a much better position to know what's going on.

Merlyn got up from his desk and ambled out to the kitchen. In the living room, his wife, Shaylene, was doing her crochet and watching something on Netflix. Meryln dug around in the freezer for his pint of Cherry Garcia, and then he took it back to his office. He settled into his well-padded leather chair and let out a long sigh. He turned to his laptop and scrolled over the new postings at MormonDiscourse.com, and then noticed that he had a new message. It was from Paul Fredrickson. The subject line said, "Can We Set Up a Meeting?"

Dear Merlyn:

I trust all is well with you. I'm writing to let you know that I've had a chance to read over the latest issue of the Journal once again. I know that you are anxious to get it off to the press, but I remain concerned that some of the points we discussed earlier haven't been addressed. In fact, I wonder if it might be best if we begin to think about potentially taking the Journal in a new direction altogether. So, I would really value your input. If you could please let Cynthia know your availability for the new week, that would be wonderful.

Yours sincerely,
Paul

Merlyn took a spoonful of Cherry Garcia and let it melt on his tongue. "New direction"? What might that mean? He angrily pondered the message for a moment longer, and then he shrugged and went back to reading the message board posts. He was interrupted, though, when his CD player began to skip. He used his remote to try and stop it, but it wouldn't work. He took the batteries out and put them back in, but the music kept skipping, over and over and over and over again, until at last he set down his ice cream and walked over to handle the matter personally.



THE END.

[drumdude]

What a betrayal of Elder Hinton, who explicitly approved of what Merlyn was doing. "No more uncontested slam dunks," he said. But now they’re returning to the status quo ante, under which there were and will continue to be plenty of "uncontested slam dunks."


A shocking twist and a bittersweet ending!

[Moksha]

Brilliant writing!!! This brings back the feeling of joy when I first read these stories.

[Tom]

Excellent, Dr. Bobberson. I hope there’s more to come soon.

One of my favorite passages from Hills:

Years ago, when they were working in Turkey, Dora Liebrandt gave a talk at an event hosted by the American embassy. Liebrandt was a prominent feminist ("a loudmouth," as Howell put it), and her speech dealt with women's rights in "oppressive religious regimes," and in passing she had mentioned that in the US, a number of Mormon women felt "oppressed" by the LDS Church, and that she had "research" to back up her claims. Afterwards, Merlyn and Hiram had approached her, asking to see the "research." "I can send it to you after I get back to Washington," she said, and so Merlyn always made sure to follow up. He sent her an email every single year.

(emphasis added)

I’d love to see Cassius University Press publish Dr. Bobberson’s complete writings in some nice leather-bound volumes. They would look great on my bookshelves next to my set of scriptures.

[Dr Moore]

I am thrilled that, after such a long sabbatical, Prof. Bobberson returned to make good on his promise to finalize this wonderful book project. Worth the wait! The image of frustrated Merlyn walking over to handle the matter of his skip-skipping CD player, spoonful of ice cream melting on his tongue, incensed by his "friends" and equally incensed by his "enemies," will rest upon my soul this holiday season. What a defining portrait of the futility, indeed the insanity, of dedicating oneself to Mopologetics. We are fortunate indeed to have a professor of such talent and commitment, who keeps his word even after long years have passed. Not all universities are so fortunate, as we well know.

Happy Holidays, Professor Bobberson!

[Everybody Wang Chung]

That terrible melancholy feeling we feel when we finish a good book or watch a great film (like Six Days in August) is one of the most bittersweet experiences we can have as humans.

A wave of sadness has covered me as I realize I will probably never be able read about the wacky Hinton Institute apologists again. It feels like I've lost a good friend.



ETA: It looks like I spoke too soon! The Hinton Institute apologists are back!! viewtopic.php?f=4&t=159400

Thank you Professor Bobberson!