by Doug Draper
Al called them sissies for running off and added, “Haven’t you seen a little blood before?”
Despite the stench of cow manure, Joe and Ben hid in the barn until their father drove off in his truck. Later, they found out that he went to the dentist because of chipped and loosened teeth.
Rachel Baker had the lead role in Ben’s next memory. While sitting on the back porch and watching his mother mow the lawn, Ben played with a small plastic horse and did something a typical four-year-old might do to test a parent. He tossed the horse to a section of the lawn yet to be mowed. As Rachel passed Ben during her next lap around the lawn, she pointed at the horse and shouted over the lawnmower engine, “Move your toy or it’ll get run over!”
Ben shrugged his shoulders to let her know that he didn’t care. Rachel came by again, cutting another swath through the grass and coming very close to hitting the horse. She repeated her warning. Ben shook his head defiantly to let her know that he wouldn’t be moving the horse—that was her job.
With Rachel’s next trip around the lawn, she didn’t offer another warning or even glance at Ben. She mowed over the horse, spraying chopped-up horse parts—hooves, head, tail, and body—across the grass. Devastated, Ben cried and ran to gather the pieces.
He wondered how his mother could so cruelly shred his horse. She had the chance to pick it up or easily kick it out of the way. Instead, she delivered on her threat and destroyed his favorite toy. Ben stored that moment as a long-term memory with a simple message—this woman means what she says.
Ben’s other early memories came from activities related to “the church,” which was how everyone in his hometown described the only church in town—the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Also known as the LDS Church or the Mormon Church, the Baker family attended it every Sunday as members of the local congregation, which was called the Alma Ward.
The weekly schedule included “primary” for children, the young adult program for teens, and Sunday school and sacrament meetings for everyone. The content for these meetings and programs came from the King James Version of the Bible and from other sources considered to be “scripture,” including the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price. For Ben, the Book of Mormon stood out because his favorite song learned in primary was about “the golden plates.” Joseph Smith said he found these plates and translated and published them as another testament of Jesus Christ. Cities in Utah were named for the prophets of the Book of Mormon, including Ben’s hometown of Alma and the nearby towns of Nephi and Lehi.
While Ben’s early memories included Bible and Book of Mormon stories, his favorite church-related moments took place in the “cultural hall,” which was an indoor basketball gym and a large stage in the center of the church. That’s where he played games and appeared on the stage in dramas that taught church doctrine. Easily, his best times in the cultural hall were watching Disney films such as Old Yeller and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.
Other standout memories included his mother telling stories about her pioneer ancestors who pulled handcarts across vast plains and over tall mountains to start new lives in Utah. To reinforce her stories, she arranged visits with her grandparents and other relatives who had grown up in pioneer communities. These people recalled stories they heard from their grandparents about what it was like to make the journey to Utah and build farms and towns in a desolate, harsh land.
Ben came to view “the church” as much more than a place to go on Sundays. It represented his family’s pioneer heritage—dominated by sacrifice, perseverance, and achievement. The church gave him a connection to five generations of family members who followed Mormon prophets to a place nobody wanted and turned it into a place he was proud to call “home.”
Joe also had weighty influence on Ben in his early years. Within a few weeks of Ben’s fourth birthday, Joe started school. To his surprise, Ben wasn’t allowed to go with him. Rachel held three separate chats with Ben before he finally understood that he wasn’t going and that they wouldn’t be discussing his request again.
On Joe’s first day of school, Ben spent a quiet lonely morning in the gully at the southern edge of his family’s farm where he usually went with Joe to dig small caves and build roads and forts. Using his imagination and sticks, rocks and sand, he created an Aztec village and a World War II battlefield. He ended the day covered in sand and the gully’s dark red soil.
The Wasatch Range provided a beautiful backdrop for his solitary morning. The Bakers lived in a small, drab farmhouse next to a makeshift barn, chicken coop, and hog pen, but they had superb scenery behind them. Their property filled a narrow gap between Foothill Road and the base of Loafer Mountain. The narrow winding road that ran in front of their house led to small towns in both directions.
Loafer Mountain looked tall from where Ben played in the gully, but it didn’t reach nearly as high as some of the nearby landmarks, including Mt. Nebo—the tallest mountain in the Wasatch Range. The Bakers’ farm included a barn that Al built using old boards, rusty sheets of corrugated steel, and other scrap material. It contained a section for hay bales and a large stall for the family’s milk cow, Daisy. The stall led to a corral for Daisy to roam in during the day. At night and for her twice-a-day milking, Daisy stayed in the stall.
Next to the barn sat a small chicken coop with a fenced-in, outdoor run behind it. It was usually home to about fifty chickens, providing the Bakers with a steady supply of eggs and a weekly chicken dinner.
Farther away from the house, the pig pen held a momma pig and six piglets that survived on feed purchased from the grain store and discarded produce the Bakers scavenged from dumpsters behind grocery stores and restaurants. The family also planted a large garden each year and fed the pigs some of the crops.
When money for groceries ran out, the family relied on the meat, eggs, and vegetables produced through their endless work on the farm. The days when Ben could play for many hours didn’t go beyond the first grade. By then, he had a list of daily chores to complete and any spare time would usually be filled with additional tasks or schoolwork.
Ben learned to never utter the words “I’m bored” or to give the impression of being less than fully productive. Shoveling manure, picking weeds, or dusting the house could always be added to his chore list if he had spare time. And both of his parents believed that if anyone does not work, neither should he eat. So, Ben worked.
CHAPTER 4
Besides working on the farm, Ben spent many hours helping his father at the family’s full-service gas station. Al opened the business in 1962, taking over an old station on Alma’s Main Street that had been closed for a few years.
Joe and Ben witnessed the new sign—Al Baker’s Service Station—being added to the exterior of a faded, worn-out building. “Wow, that’s cool,” Ben said. “We’re going to be rich.”
“We’ll see,” Joe said with a smirk.
The service station became an exciting place for adventures. Joe and Ben fell in love with two old rusty cars parked in the weed-filled vacant lot behind the station.
“Let’s get in and drive!” Ben shouted, waving Joe toward the cars.
“OK, but I get the cool blue one,” Joe said. “That green thing is yours.”
Despite being assigned a hideous lime-green beast, Ben gladly opened its rusty door and climbed in. He grabbed the steering wheel and started bouncing up and down on the seat while making sounds to simulate a powerful racing engine. Joe did the same thing in the blue car.
“Joe, do you see those bank robbers heading out of town?” Ben asked. “We need to catch them before they reach the Salt Lake County line. Let’s go!”
Their imaginations led them on many high-speed chases to capture notorious criminals and to make trips through enemy lines in Germany to blow up bridges and shoot Nazis. Joe and Ben never complained about spending long days at the garage because their father gave them short breaks to take the cars for a spin.
During the sum
mer and on weekends, Joe and Ben often spent all day at the station where they helped their father by cleaning his tools and sweeping the two service bays. Al usually had a car in each bay and used dozens of tools to complete repairs. He also sold gas, which required him to put his repair work on hold when a customer arrived.
“I wish you boys could pump gas for me,” Al said in the summer of 1965, when hurrying out of the station to assist a customer. Help came about a week later with the arrival of Derek Dean.
From the first moment, Derek mesmerized Ben with his sly smile, wavy black hair, and cocky attitude. Being tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered, he looked like someone who belonged in Hollywood, not a small town in Utah.
Derek showed up riding a loud motorcycle and wearing Levi’s, a dark T-shirt, and sunglasses—no helmet. Ben kept his eyes on Derek as soon as the roar of his motorcycle shattered the tranquility of the station’s neighborhood. He parked his bike near the gas pumps and strode into the service bay where Al worked on a car.
“Good morning, Mr. Baker, I’m here to turn this garage into a gold mine,” Derek said, overflowing with confidence. “The name’s Derek Dean. Sir, it is my sincerest pleasure to meet you.”
Derek initiated a handshake, which Al cautiously accepted after wiping his greasy hands on a rag. “Al Baker,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
“I know you’re Al Baker,” Derek said with a deep voice and sly wink. “Folks in town have told me about you and said you’ve been working hard to get this new business up and running. But they said it hasn’t taken off yet because you’re trying to do it all by yourself. I’m here to change that in ways that go beyond anything you’ve imagined.”
“Well, I haven’t considered adding any help because cash has been a bit tight,” Al said, shifting his focus from Derek to Ben and then back to the car being repaired.
Derek recognized that he had caught Al by surprise and pounced like a roaring lion. He confidently presented details of his plan for doubling the amount of business. Most of what he said made no sense to Ben, but Al kept nodding and agreeing while smiling nervously. Ben had seen this look before—when his father committed to purchase more unneeded tools from a salesman.
“All right, you’ve got a new job,” Al said. “Can you start tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, boss. I’ll be here and help you turn this place into a money-making machine.”
As promised, Derek came to work the next day. After a few minutes of training, he began helping by pumping gas and handling office tasks that included writing service orders and accepting payments. He also entertained customers with hard-to-believe stories.
Ben assisted Derek by answering questions about the location of things like the keys to the soda machine and restrooms. Even though Joe didn’t trust the new employee and kept his distance, Ben tagged along with Derek wherever he went.
While Derek was pumping gas on his first day at the station, Ben noticed three sixes tattooed on each hand. “Why do you have six hundred and sixty-six on your hands?”
Whispering so the customer nearby couldn’t overhear the conversation, he replied, “That’s six-six-six—the mark of the beast. That’s my nickname—the beast. Do you like it?”
“Sure. It’s supercool.”
“Do you know about the beast?”
“Not really.”
“Do you read the Bible?” he asked, after filling the customer’s car and hanging up the gas pump nozzle.
“Yep, in Sunday school.”
“Then, go to the last book in the Bible. That’s where you can read about the beast. You’ll see that he’s the smartest, toughest, and most powerful dude on the planet.”
After the customer had driven away, Derek showed Ben his tattoos again. “I got these when hanging out with some thugs and needed to make it clear that they shouldn’t mess with me.”
“Why did you hang out with those guys?” Ben asked. “Couldn’t you just stay away from them?”
“No, that wasn’t possible,” Derek said nonchalantly as he walked back into the station. “We were in the Utah State Prison together.”
Ben watched Derek open the cash register and ring up the customer’s purchase and sort the bills into the slots designated for each denomination. Seeing an ex-convict touch his family’s money made him very nervous. And he knew that it would certainly upset his mother.
Three days passed before a neighbor called Rachel and asked if she knew that her husband had hired an ex-convict to work at the service station. Ben only heard his mother’s side of the conversation, but he could tell by her short answers that it wasn’t a social call. She kept repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
As the call went on, Rachel said, “I don’t know anything about this Derek Dean. You’re the first person to mention his name to me.”
Rachel listened for another minute, shaking her head and twisting the phone cord. “I’m as shocked as you are. And please believe me that I’m even more upset than you.”
She hung up the phone and told Joe and Ben to finish the dishes. “I have to speak to your father and I want you boys to stay here—and keep your sisters in the room,” she said with tears in her eyes and her voice quivering. “Do you understand?”
Joe merely nodded, but Ben couldn’t resist sharing his opinion about the phone call. “Mom, don’t worry about Derek. He’s really cool and plans to make us richer than anyone in Alma.”
Rachel halted in the kitchen doorway and glared at Ben. “How do you know him?”
“We’re pals,” he said, brimming with enthusiasm. “Derek and I take care of the customers together. You’ll really like him—all the ladies do.”
“Oh, I’m sure that I won’t like him at all,” Rachel said. “I’ve already heard from one customer who thinks he’s a huge problem. She found out that your friend Derek has spent time in prison. I bet you didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, he told me and showed me his prison tattoos—six, six, six, for the mark of the beast,” Ben said, touching his hands to show where the matching tattoos were displayed.
Rachel looked at Ben with sad eyes, pausing to take a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. “Ben, I’m so glad we had this little chat before I talk to your father. Now I know that he has hired an ex-con, and the stranger spending all day with my husband and sons is a fan of the devil.”
Rachel hurried from the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Al was in the bathroom, doing what he called “worshiping on the great white throne”—code for making sure he wouldn’t be disturbed while sitting on the toilet.
Even though Ben stayed in the kitchen, he still heard his mother knock on the bathroom door and shout, “Al, hurry up and finish your business in there. We need to talk.”
He yelled back angrily, “I’ll be finished when I’m finished!”
His wife’s anger had unleashed “mad Dad” and somebody was going to get hurt. Joe took charge of the kitchen, demanding that the girls stay there and barking orders for Ben to finish the dishes—“right now!”
“Everything needs to look spic and span by the time Mom and Dad are done talking,” Joe said, hurrying to the baby’s small crib in the corner. “I’ll keep Becky from crying when she hears the shouting.”
Joe knew what was coming and how to prepare for it. Uncompleted chores and a crying baby would make matters worse and needed to be prevented. Ben followed Joe’s lead and worked as fast as he could to finish the dishes and ensure the kitchen looked spotless.
“Debbie, you need to sit at the kitchen table and read one of your books,” Joe said, pointing at her usual chair.
“No. I want to go to my room,” Debbie whined, heading for the kitchen door.
Joe raced to the door and blocked Debbie’s exit. “If you go out there, he’s going to hurt you and then come in here and take it out on me. Do you want that to happen?”
Debbie frowned and stomped back to the table where she took her seat and pouted.
“Debbie, you need to p
ut on a happy face before Dad comes through that door,” Joe said. “If you don’t, he will slap that frown off your face.”
She displayed even more unhappiness and turned away from Joe. Ben fought the urge to walk over to Debbie and slap her pouty face. He wanted to do it, but he knew it would create a chorus of crying and shouting—the last thing that should happen with his parents ready to argue. And they went at it immediately and loudly in the living room.
Ben only heard the fight and didn’t see whether his mother took any punches or kicks, but the battle held his complete attention. Ben listened intently, worrying about his mother’s safety and cringing when he heard his name inserted into the argument about “Derek Dean, the ex-con.”
Before the fighting ended, Joe told Ben, “Read to Debbie and get her to cheer up.” Having finished the dishes, Ben understood the purpose of his new assignment and did it.
When Al ended the argument by bursting through the kitchen door, he saw a sleeping baby being tended by Joe and a happy Debbie listening to Ben read. Joe’s leadership worked. Seeing four well-behaved, quiet children had the same effect as dumping a five-gallon bucket of water on a campfire. Al reacted with one of the sheepish smiles he used after having made a mistake. Next, he checked the stove, sink, and countertops. Everything looked perfect.
Satisfied with his inspection, Al made a little grunting sound and walked through the kitchen toward the back door. As he passed the kitchen table, he slapped Ben in the back of the head.
“Six, six, six. You didn’t need to tell that ridiculous story to your mother. Why don’t you grow up and stop being so stupid?”
Before leaving the house, Al looked at Joe and said, “Tell your crazy mother that I went back to the station. I’ll need to work all night to keep this ungrateful family out of the poor house.”
Joe said “OK” and Ben watched his father close the door and soon drive away. Ben wondered if he was going to the station to work or only needed a place to hide. Ben didn’t care. He liked to see his father leave and always had the same thought in these frightful moments. Why does he keep coming back?