At the conclusion of initial training in my first area, Hawkes sat me down. He was going home in a few days.

"Back to the mutha land.... the good 'ol U.S. of A- !!!!! "

His exuberance and excitement shocked me. For the past two months he was so cool, so calm, at times so much in control. I watched his every move, how he communicated with the natives, his facial gestures, his over all character. Indeed Hawkes was "smooth." He could stand before a raging belligerent offensive drunkard and take all the verbal abuse given to him. Hawkes was stoic and in control. He often gave me advice. His wisdom and weathered attitude were the sand paper to my immaturity in this new culture. We sat in our little room, dust stirred by our feet. He looked deep into my eyes and raised his left hand. I was looking for some meaning, something new?

"Come on Hawkes what is this now?" I said to myself.

He said, "Addington, it's all about this.."

He slowly rolled a tight fist starting with the smallest digit to his thumb, like in Kenpo. His veins pressed against his white red skin, ready to violently burst, but his face bathed in peace and light.

"It's all about control control my son."

He returned home a hero a week later. I loved him, moreover I respected and trusted him. Trainers were "fathers." The respective "greenies" were sons. I knew someday I would train another and pass on the "wisdom", but I did not expect the responsibility so early in my mission.

PHILIPPINES CEBU MISSION OFFICE. LAHUG, CEBU 0700

"Addington, you will be training a new missionary starting next week for a few months.'

My heart raced. More like it raced to the bottom of my soul. I had only spent five months in this foreign land! How could I train a new soul in the jungles of the Philippines. The poor soul! "It'll be like two virgins making love in front of their parents for the first time," I thought to myself.

Before I could tactfully decline....

"Addington, you are an example to all .... people watch you .... they know who you are .... who you represent ... I trust you

Pressure?! I accepted the assignment. I found out later that my new responsibilities also included a "white wash." This meant that my new companion and I would have to reopen an area for missionary work, not an easy task for even seasoned missionaries. We would be "greenies" together.

Reeder had eyes blue like the clear Philippine skyline. His was still fair blond, the hot sun would change that to a sandy brown. He was 19 with a medium frame. Reeder was so quiet, but I was determined to crack his shell. He grew up very much sheltered from the "evils" of the world. Brigham City hides in the mountains of northern Utah. His family owned in established dairy farm. The Philippines was his first time away from home: mom, dad, siblings, pets, spotted cows, Utah, U.S.A. His blue eves tried to hide his fear. I read him like a Dr. Seuss book.

We entered Lutopan by bus in early September of '96. Lutopan sat in the middle of the island at the very top of the Cebu range. One road ascended and descended to and from this obscure, isolated, depressed town. Reeder and I should have ridden the bus naked if I had known so many people would be staring at us. I was brown from the sun (and my genes), but Reeder's skin reflected the lights in the bus. Our white shirts and neat ties were 'exotic' and extraordinary in this already, exotic town. They knew we were 'Mormons," but they had not seen two male missionaries in years. Sister missionaries had replaced two other males who had had altercations in this area. The replacement was ill planned. The territory was rough. Steep hills, mossy walkways, wild animals, bad water that looked like coffee (even when clear ), unsecured rentals, and the dominating unfriendliness of the people were considerable challenges. I could feel the stares inside and outside the bus. It felt like roaches in my clothing with hands tied, but I was cool .... Reeder was watching, and was also being watched.

We worked the area hard with little result. The people were hard, hard hearted. Another element existed, preachers and 'miracle healers' from anti-Mormon denominations. After we would leave a home, minutes later others would enter to either confuse or destroy what little faith/trust we had established. The scripture, "there is opposition in all things..," helped me to cope. For two months I worked hard to show Reeder that strict obedience and faith in God would bring harvest. I was cool and in control (of myself), but this town was under a greater power. Lutopan had not been so obscure years before. The town was a mecca for miners. Atlas Mining put Lutopan on the map, literally! The town bubbled up. They even built a private airstrip in the middle of the mountains.

Men had jobs. Women had food, shelter, and clothing for the children. But like most areas with no vision and lots of money, evil had its fertile redbrown soil to grow in Lutopan. At the climax of the bustling, the bubble burst. Poor engineering and planning claimed too many lives. The copper market declined, and competition killed Atlas. Men lost their jobs. The women and children suffered, even died. This corporate death affected not only this town but many communities in near proximity. Reeder and I had a message of hope and faith in this dying ghost town. The people however, were content with depression and hardship. Our white shirts and ties had no place. Our message had no port in the tumultuous seas of life's adversities. I mean life in Lutopan.

I did not cuss in public nor in the presence of my partner, but shit I was frustrated. Isolated, rejected, harassed, almost heart broken. I spent five months in that mountainous hell. Cold at night, but even colder during the day when you see faces and fingers (the middle one).

CONTROL October 24,1996

Your test Addington....

Every night we had to be home by 10 p.m. Our curfew had a reason. Lutopan's evil infamy had a face of murder in the dark mountains. "Bad things happen after 10 p.m…," I was reminded by my President. We walked, rode pedicabs, or caught

the bus to get home at night. The bus was always the safest, reasonably lit with the local radio playing at full blast. From the heart of town to home was five minutes. Easy ride, I loved the busses, so did Reeder, we were "safe."

I walked down the narrow aisle to the back seat. Reeder and I liked it back there. 1: It was usually empty. 2: We could get some "air" when the bus hit dips in the road. The drivers loved to scare the passengers on the dark winding roads descending from town. As I sat down, I noticed a drunk bent over and half dead. My heart swelled with pity for the man, but I was cautious. I put my left arm up on the seat in front to keep him from sleeping on me. His odor was strong. His body was dirty, his hands rested on the open window sill. The smell of alcohol made my stomach churn, but he was at peace and I was going home-routine.

The conductor approached us, and asked for the plite (fare). He noticed the drunk.

He smiled with his brown stained teeth and asked jokingly, "Imo ning igsoon?" (Is this your brother?) I responded "no" and asked if he, was related to the drunk. "Di man, ako nang iro...," he responded. (No, he's my dog.) All in Filipino…I half chuckled; Reeder was clueless. The drunk stiffed a little, and then realized I was next to him. Three minutes, in two I'll be home safe.

"Hey, you don't say that you fucking Amerikano!!"

I was shocked, so was the conductor. "I didn't say anything." I said defensively.

"You will not talk about me you. I'll kill you hmmmmm!!!!"

I moved towards the aisle and politely apologized for any misunderstanding, but he was adamant he was going to "take me out," the "fucking Amerikano." One minute home, I knew how many curves and turn in the road to our stop.

"Reeder, get up!!!" "Go to the door and get ready to stop the bus!!!" I shouted.

Reeder was already half way there. I saw other heads turn back to look at us. Man, I was nervous. The conductor thought the drunk was joking; I knew he wasn't. He went for my face with his right hand while trying to get his knife in his left pocket. I grabbed both wrists and exclaimed, "Hey, I'm Filipino too!"'

"No you are not. I am Filipino. I have pride!!!!!" he shouted violently.

I held him down and forward to the seat.

"Reeder, stop the bus!!!!"

Reeder signaled; the bus screeched to a halt.

My heart racing; my head aware of the eyes on my partner and I, I let go and backed off. The conductor jumped between me and the drunk. I jumped off the bus and told them to "Go!!!" I was calm on the bus, but if the drunk had gotten off also, I don't know.... I'm glad he didn't.

Reeder and I stood on the dark road quietly, in thought. He was thinking, I was racing. I was scared, yet I was in control. People during the following weeks talked about the incident. I never saw the man again, but my control gained a respect and trust with the natives and Reeder. I was tested that night. Hawkes would have been proud.