For those readers who are fortunate to have memories of Alma Golden Andrus leading the priesthood meeting discussion in Island Park, you will probably recall his well-worn scriptures, perfectly molded to his large hands like a baseball glove. He flipped the onion skin pages with ease. He had seen those pages many times before. I usually found myself in the first or second row, mesmerized by the sound of his voice and what was being said. He knew his subject. The ancient passages came to life. That was over sixty years ago. I still remember hearing him speaking about God favoring this nation and the importance of working hard to preserve prosperity and freedom. When he spoke it was with conviction. He might just as well have been an Old Testament Prophet. He spoke with a clear certainty and it was evident to me that he was speaking the truth — on a 4th of July weekend, in a pine wood A-frame chapel with an American flag waving in the breeze, seen through the window, waving outside in the summer sunlight.
Arthur Ruel Chandler was another man who might just as well have been an Old Testament prophet. He was the postmaster in Rigby for most of my childhood. He was kind and soft-spoken, except for those times when he quoted scripture, using his big voice. I can still see him standing at the pulpit, a kindly man with flowing white hair, speaking with booming authority. There was no question in my mind that he was a man who understood and believed what he was saying. If you knew him, you know that he had many great qualities beyond what can be written here.
He was often asked to speak at funerals and more often than not delivered eloquent words of hope and peace for those who had lived valiant worthy lives. For the others, whose salvation was still in question, he was direct, plain-spoken, and prophetic, advising the family to repent if they didn’t want to end up like their deceased relative. Here was a real-life Patriarch. I walked over to his home for my patriarchal blessing, just before leaving for BYU in 1966. I felt like Moses had just walked down Mount Saini to give me a blessing. That was the last time I saw Ruel Chandler. He died in 1982.
Ruel's son, Art, had an uncanny resemblance to his father and moved into our ward in Idaho Falls in 2015, while I was away serving in a singles ward at BYU-Idaho. We both shared the blessing of being sons of truly great men. I first saw Art Chandler, in my home ward, from the pulpit, while I was speaking. This took me by surprise and I stammered a little until I got over Art’s similarity to his father. My mind told me that possibly I was looking at a resurrected Patriarch, a man long dead. When I told him about this after the meeting, he smiled and told me that he was thinking the very same thing about my looking and sounding like my father. Art could say this because he did not know any of my inadequacies. Nonetheless, I still consider this to be one of my greatest compliments.
Ever vigilant,
RT
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