The 26-foot Penske truck was no stranger to me. For years I had filled trucks like it with our possessions and hauled them all over the country. By the time we returned to Idaho, we had moved about 11 times in trucks like this. Those moves were mostly long and uneventful. It was the close call with the move to Island Park that stands out in my mind.
Backing that long truck down the crooked narrow driveway of our new cabin was challenging, even though I considered myself to be skilled at both truck driving and backing up 4-place jet ski trailers. The trees just brushed the sides of the truck and we were soon unloading. GT has the cabin next to ours. He spontaneously dropped everything he was doing for several hours to help unload our truck. When he lived in Idaho Falls, GT's home was just a few doors down from us. Because I had a healing midline surgical wound, he insisted on helping with the heavy lifting. He was like a one-man Elder's Quorum. We couldn't have done it without him. He solved the tricky problem of off-loading two ATVs that didn't fit on the hydraulic platform and helped carry stuff into the cabin. He reminded us that our son had been his last surgical patient before he ended his practice and moved to Island Park. He was amazed that after unloading four cases of toilet paper, MK somehow felt that we needed much more. Nowadays he knows MK better and is not as amazed at her over-preparedness. GT told us about some of the great neighbors nearby and that Owen Wright had a cabin at the end of the cul-de-sac. Owen's brother-in-law, James E. Faust, was there at the time. President Faust was a beloved apostle and the Second Counselor in the First Presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
By the time we finished unloading the truck, it was close to sunset. Pulling forward proved to be less challenging than backing in. However, the glare from the setting sun impaired my vision and I proceeded very slowly even though I was anxious to get back to Idaho Falls and return the truck. As I put the nose of the big Penske truck across the end of the driveway, I noticed two duffer-hats bobbing along in front of the right fender. They were talking with each other and must have thought I was not moving at all — and so chose to continue walking right in front of the moving truck. I couldn't believe it and quickly hit the brakes. The front end of the truck bobbed up and down and the air brakes hissed. One of them tipped his hat to me and I could see him smiling. He seemed to say, “Thank you for stopping for us to pass.” He wasn't alarmed at all, not knowing that I had not even seen them until the last second. I was just about to give the big truck the gas and speed up. Suddenly sweating, for a moment I thought about how close I had come to running over a pair of old fishermen. As they emerged from the sunset glare, they briefly turned to wave another thank you and I recognized one of them. In my mind, the Breaking News Headline flashed — "PRESIDENT FAUST RUN OVER AND KILLED BY SOME IDIOT IN IDAHO!”
Each time he visited Island Park, President Faust presided at church during Sacrament Meeting and left an apostolic blessing — never knowing of his close call. A few months later, one week after the 2001 October General Conference, he visited Island Park again. Ten inches of heavy wet snow fell Friday night, and on Saturday evening I rode my ATV through the deep snow with one of my twin grandchildren. We paused to turn around on the shoreline in front of Owen Wright's cabin. A silhouetted man stood at the picture window waving to us from the warm, glowing living room. He presided at church the next morning. That was the last time I saw President Faust in Island Park. The next week, his brother-in-law was tragically killed in a car wreck near Lewiston while on a fishing trip.
Last week I was helping two neighbors in Idaho Falls clean up a large tree limb that had fallen following a heavy October snowstorm. These men are of my vintage and I was telling this story as we moaned and groaned, helping each other load branches and get in and out of the bed of the big white Chevy 2500 pickup truck. I had Stafford’s ear as Jim became entangled in the branches and could not get out. Jim had to sit on my shoulder while Stafford tried to pull Jim’s leg over the fender. Quite a sight — three old guys who still think they’re 20, laughing and struggling to get tree limbs in and themselves out of the back of a big truck. I told them that I remembered a time when we were able to do this without all of the sound effects. They nodded understandingly when I told them that I couldn’t remember President Faust’s name at that moment and had to look it up.
When I had the name, I decided to write this story for UPSTREAM IDAHO before it became a forgotten memory. You may find Owen Wright’s obituary to be interesting: https://www.deseret.com/2001/10/19/19626805/obituary-owen-hyrum-wright
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