M E R I D I A N     M A G A Z I N E

What's Your Name?
By Davis Bitton

We had a neighbor for quite a few years whose name was David O. McKay.  He was not related to President David O. McKay.  I don’t know whether he was teased as a boy or whether he found it a burden to have a name well known to Latter-day Saints.  Our neighbor simply smiled, forged ahead, and lived a good, productive life. 

Then there are those tiny little babies with such names as Nephi or Moroni or even, in one instance, Mahonri Moriancumr.  I think I might squirm a bit, as a child, in telling other children that I carried such a moniker.   Mahonri Mackintosh Young, an important artist, was known to his friends as “Hon,” using a single syllable from his unusual name.

My maternal grandfather was Nofear Davis.  Having seen the smiles of some people when they hear this first name, I can imagine that he must have endured some ribbing as a boy.  But his young playmates and school chums soon simply called him “Nofe.”  Nofear Davis became a merchant in St. Johns, Arizona, and later in Blackfoot, Idaho, was a businessman, banker, and counselor in the stake presidency.

By the time he died, his name meant honest, true, reliable, wise.  It meant good husband, good father, good counselor, steady friend.  It meant faithful to covenants.  It meant someone who could be counted on for the long haul.  Through a life stretching over many decades, such was the content he put into his name.

One young Latter-day Saint, born in 1836, was given the name of his father, with the addition of Junior.  Since his father was a prominent church leader, the boy carried a special responsibility or burden, depending on how one looked at it.  He was nine years old when the family pulled out of Nauvoo to head west.

In Utah the young man learned to work.  He herded livestock and went to the canyons for lumber.  He grew strong, even stocky.

Some Tough Early Years

Perhaps taunted by his peers because of his churchly pedigree, he (like the boy named Sue in Johnny Cash’s song) learned to defend himself.  We picture him in his teens as a swaggering young man who relished a fight.

In 1854, when a local policeman attempted to discipline a drunken soldier, other soldiers came to the defense of their friend.  In no time at all, several young Mormons, including our hero, rallied to the support of the police officer.  With shouting, scuffling, throwing stones, swinging sticks, and even some firing of guns, the situation was close to a pitched battle.  Fortunately, the disturbance was quelled before anyone sustained injury.

What chances would we give this young braggart?  He seems to have been in with a crowd of young toughs, one of whom later became a notorious criminal.  Riding their horses recklessly on the streets, shouting and showing disrespect, the young men did not seem destined for great achievement.

How many times did people remind him who his father was?  Or how often did he imagine that this was their thought?  He was tough with his fists and could ride a good horse like a maniac, but he lacked confidence in church.  Conscious of his educational deficiencies and lack of polish, he was afraid to face a congregation. Once when called upon to speak in Farmington, he simply ran out the door.

But he acquitted himself well in some important responsibilities.  He was one of those who rode to the rescue of the stranded handcart pioneers.  During the Utah War he served in the militia.  These were tasks for which he was well suited.

Then he married. By 1859, he had two wives and four children.  There is something about marriage and fatherhood that sobers a person, which brings a new level of maturity.  You are no longer the devil-may-care single male just running around and having fun or flirting with trouble, as the case may be.  Others depend on you.

At age twenty-five, he joined a party of Latter-day Saints traveling to Washington, D.C., to seek admission for Utah as a state in the Union.  While still in the nation’s capital, he received a letter from his father suggesting that he should not return home but should go to Great Britain as a missionary.  Wow!  This got his attention.  When he was assured that his wives and children would not be left destitute, he agreed and booked passage to cross the Atlantic Ocean.

Time for a Mission

As a missionary in England, he took in such sights as the Great London Exhibition, the Zoological Gardens, and the Crystal Palace.  Those who have traveled and visited cathedral after cathedral, art gallery after art gallery, can perhaps relate to his letter home.  “I am unable to give any account of it,” he said, “my head is crammed so full and wedged in so tight that I can get nothing out.”

During his missionary service, he had opportunity to think about life and its purpose.  He wrote to thank his father “for the care that you have shown for me heretofore when I had forsaken the pathe marked out to me by example and would do wickedly.”  “I realize to some extent how wild I’ve been — and perhaps wicked in many instances,” he wrote in another letter ... My constant prayer is that I may never cause you another pang of sorrow.”

Even in England it wasn’t always easy to carry the name of a respected senior church leader.  “I have been afraid that more is expected of me than I can do,” he wrote in a letter.  “They consider the idea that such a father had ought to have a Smart Son.  I cant help it if they are disappointed in their expectations but I will do my best to answer the prayers of my friends.”

Once, after going through the Thames tunnel, he wrote, “I felt, (when looking upon and treading the Same pathe that you had so long ago) like foweling in, and Striving to accomplish the desire of your heart, the Same as you had done, and I could all most imagine that I could See you walking through the Tunel before me.”  We overlook the spelling problems to notice the profound symbolism here.  The young man wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps.  It wouldn’t be easy, but he would do his best.

The mission had a huge influence.  “I feel very like I had been in a deep sleep all my life and had just waken up,” he wrote.  “If I live a thousand years, I will never have anything happen to me so opportunely as this mission has.”  He wasn’t the first or the last to have this experience.

Learning through Living

Returning to Utah, he now had six children.  He was just starting to get established when in 1864 he was called to serve another mission in Europe.  This time he was accompanied by a wife, who gave birth to a child in England.  At first his assignment was simply assistant to the mission president.  He also found time for reading and travel.  The titles of books he read and the list of sites he visited, including a tour of the Continent, reveal that he was no longer a country bumpkin.  His schooling was not in the classroom, but he was expanding his awareness in important ways.

Then he was assigned to be editor of the Millennial Star.  Soon after that, he became president of the British Mission.  Many responsibilities were on his shoulders: assigning missionaries, mission finances, disciplinary problems, publication projects, and chartering ships. 

As emigration groups were formed and missionaries prepared to return home after completing their missions, he organized them and gave instructions.  The Church has always been a mighty instrument for providing growing experiences, and here we see a young man, not yet thirty years old, learning to make decisions and take charge.  When he returned home, he was a seasoned leader.

At age thirty-two, he became an apostle.  A year or two later, he was set apart to preside over the settlements in Cache Valley.  That is where he lived, visiting the different settlements in northern Utah and southern Idaho.  He continued to travel to Salt Lake City frequently and even, utilizing the new transcontinental railroad line, to make trips to the East on behalf of the Church.

An Established Record

By this time he had established a record.  He could point to the many assignments he had fulfilled with credit. He was not a weakling, turning always to others, but capable of making decisions and seeing that they were carried out.  Yet some people continued to refer to him as “Junior” or another diminutive.  This continued even after the death of his father.

Living through the 1870s, 1880s, and 1890s, our hero had his own extensive family of children and grandchildren.  He was not spared sorrow.  When one of his daughters eloped with a young man of questionable character, the father did not smile benignly.  “I would not acknowledge her husband, but told her when she wanted a friend I was to be found.”  Before long, discovering that her young man was no prize, the daughter returned home and asked forgiveness.  A divorce was obtained.

Step by step, the young apostle climbed the ladder of seniority.  He continued to accumulate leadership experiences in different areas of the West.  He returned to England on another tour of duty as mission president.  He gave countless sermons, not only at general conferences but in ward and stakes.

A faithful diary-keeper through much of his life, he left behind a valuable resource for historians.  For many years, most people, intending no disrespect, referred to him as Briggy.  He learned not to take umbrage at the nickname.  During the final period of his life he was usually simply called Elder Brigham Young.  He died in 1903.

“It is a heavy burden to bear a name that is too famous,” wrote Voltaire.  Maybe so, but, like everyone else, Brigham Young, Jr., compiled his own record of thoughts, words, and deeds.  Having filled his name with honorable meaning, he had no reason to apologize.

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