“Give Me Strength,” chapter 10 of Saints: The Story of the Church of Jesus Christ in the Latter Days, Volume 3, Boldly, Nobly, and Independent, 1893–1955 (2022)
Chapter 10: “Give Me Strength”
Chapter 10
Give Me Strength
In the fall of 1911, Alma Richards returned to Brigham Young University with the goal of going to the 1912 Olympic Games in Stockholm, Sweden. Alma was a twenty-one-year-old high jumper from Parowan, a small town in southern Utah. Before going to BYU the previous year, he had known next to nothing about the Olympics. Then his coach told him he had a shot at competing in the games.
“If you will train consistently for a year and half,” he said, “you will make the team.”1
At first, Alma thought his coach was joking. He was naturally athletic, but he was taller and heavier than most high jumpers. And he did not have much experience or training in the sport. Rather than scissor kicking or rolling his body horizontally over the high jump bar, as most jumpers did, he would launch himself awkwardly into the air, curling up in a ball as he flew.
But he put his coach’s words to the test. He trained regularly and began excelling in local athletic competitions. Soon he had become a champion throughout Utah.2
Sporting events were becoming popular among young people across the world, and many high schools and colleges in Utah sponsored athletic teams for both boys and girls. Yet, for many years, Mutual Improvement Associations did not include sports in their activities. The Young Men’s MIA, in fact, normally centered its meetings on studying religious or academic subjects from a manual, to the disappointment of many young men.3
Protestant groups in Salt Lake City, meanwhile, had begun using a popular gymnasium run by the Young Men’s Christian Association, or YMCA, to attract young Latter-day Saints to their Sunday schools. Alarmed, Church leaders decided to provide similar opportunities. They began holding sporting competitions during the annual conjoint MIA conferences and encouraged stake and ward leaders to let the youth use meetinghouse amusement halls for “light gymnasium work.” In 1910, the year Alma entered BYU, the Church opened the Deseret Gymnasium, a three-story recreational facility one block east of Temple Square.4
With Young Ladies’ MIA attendance still outpacing the YMMIA’s, Church leaders also recognized that the current program was not reaching the young men. The realization came amid efforts to define and clarify the duties of the Church’s auxiliaries and priesthood quorums. In 1906, a newly formed “correlation committee,” consisting of representatives from the Church’s auxiliaries, determined that Aaronic Priesthood meetings were to include doctrinal instruction for the young men. YMMIA meetings, on the other hand, would cultivate the boys’ minds and bodies. This meant introducing many of the young men to athletics and outdoor activities.5
Eugene Roberts, Alma’s coach and the director of physical training at BYU, was a respected advocate for sports in the Church. Like many others in his day, he believed that technology and city living had advanced too quickly in the nineteenth century, cutting young men off from the refining influence of physical activity and the natural world. Idealizing the lives of the Latter-day Saint pioneers, he encouraged young men to emulate their work ethic and religious fervor.
“No one can read of their physical hardships and religious trials without being fired with admiration,” he wrote in a 1911 issue of the Improvement Era. “The pale, city-bred boy, who has never camped on the desert, nor seen the wilds, who has never tramped over the hills, nor ‘roughed’ it, cannot truly sympathize with the struggles of his father.”6
Eugene and YMMIA leaders urged the Church to adopt a program modeled on the newly created Boy Scout movement, which taught young men to develop high moral standards and strengthened them physically and spiritually through camping, hiking, and other outdoor activities. Another advocate of Scouting, YMMIA board member Lyman Martineau, encouraged youth leaders to introduce the boys to physical recreation. “If properly organized and controlled,” he declared, “these activities afford wholesome recreation and promote pluck, courage, enthusiasm, spiritual and moral purpose, and temperate habits.”7
Alma Richards himself was proof of these words. His desire to excel in his sport led him to keep the Word of Wisdom at a time when the principle was encouraged but not strictly required in the Church. In abstaining from alcohol and tobacco, he trusted the Lord’s promise that those who followed the Word of Wisdom would “run and not be weary” and “walk and not faint.”8
In the spring of 1912, Eugene told Alma that he was ready for the Olympic tryouts. “You are one of the fifteen best high jumpers in the world,” he said, “and one of the seven best in the United States.” To cover Alma’s travel to the tryouts, he prevailed on BYU to award the young athlete a generous grant. He wanted to accompany Alma himself but did not have enough money for the trip.
Even before leaving Utah, Alma felt anxious and lonely. Eugene came to see him off with words of encouragement and support. Before Alma boarded the train, Eugene handed him an inspirational poem to give him strength and faith in tough times.9
A few weeks later, the news arrived in Utah: Alma had made the Olympic team. He was on his way to Sweden.10
In mid-1912, more than four thousand Latter-day Saint settlers in northern Mexico found themselves in the middle of a revolution. The previous year, rebel forces had ousted Mexico’s longtime president, Porfirio Díaz. But another uprising had since broken out against the rebel victors.11
Junius Romney, the thirty-four-year-old stake president in northern Mexico, declared that the Saints would not abandon their homes, despite the conflict. Since taking refuge in Mexico during the antipolygamy raids of the 1880s, the Saints had generally stayed out of Mexican politics. But now many rebels viewed them as foreign invaders and frequently raided their prosperous cattle ranches.12
Hoping to weaken the rebels, the United States forbade the sale of weapons and ammunition to Mexico. Senator Reed Smoot, however, persuaded U.S. president William Howard Taft to send additional weapons to the Saints in northern Mexico to help protect their settlements. But rebel leaders soon learned about the shipment and demanded that the Saints surrender their firearms.
Knowing the First Presidency wanted to prevent any harm from befalling the Saints, Junius and other Church leaders in the region negotiated with the rebels to let the Saints keep their firearms for self-defense. The rebel leaders also promised not to disturb the settlements.13
On July 27, however, a rebel general named José Inés Salazar summoned Junius to his headquarters along with Henry Bowman, a local Church leader and businessman. He told Junius and Henry that he could no longer keep rebel forces from attacking the Saints. Alarmed, Junius reminded the general that he had given both verbal and written assurances that the rebels would not harm the settlements.
“Those are mere words,” the general said, “and the wind blows words away.” He then informed Junius and Henry that the colonies would have to surrender their weapons.
“We do not feel justified in giving up our arms,” Junius said. There were some two thousand rebels in the area with five or six cannons they could use against the colonies. If the Saints gave up their weapons, they would be defenseless.14
The general was unmoved, so Junius explained that he had no authority to order the Saints to surrender their private property. Hearing this, General Salazar stepped out of the room to discuss the matter with one of his officers, Colonel Demetrio Ponce.
Once they were alone, Henry said, “Brother Romney, I feel it is unwise to anger the general.” He could see that Junius was fuming, and he did not want the conflict to escalate.
“My mind is made up,” Junius said. “When Salazar comes back, I am going to tell him what I think of him if it is the last act of my life!”
Soon General Salazar returned to the room with Colonel Ponce. “Evidently the general has not succeeded in making clear what he wished to convey,” the colonel said, rubbing his palms together. “What the general wishes you to do is simply to suggest such action to them and they will do it!”
“I will not make any such suggestion,” Junius said. He knew the Saints would feel betrayed if he asked them to surrender their only means of defense.
“Unless your guns and ammunition are delivered here to me by 10 a.m. tomorrow,” General Salazar warned, “we will march against you.”
“Is that your ultimatum?” Junius asked.
“That is my ultimatum!” the general said. “I will come and get the guns no matter where I have to go for them.”
Junius was shocked that the general was willing to attack the settlements without restraint. “You would invade our homes and take our guns by force?” he said.
“We will consider you as our enemies,” General Salazar said, “and will declare war on you immediately.”15
That night in Colonia Juárez, one of the larger Latter-day Saint settlements in northern Mexico, seventeen-year-old Camilla Eyring listened as her father described the danger looming over her family.
The rebels were seizing the Saints’ weapons and leaving them defenseless, he said, so Church leaders had decided to evacuate the women, children, and elderly from the settlements. They would journey 150 miles to El Paso, Texas, just north of the United States border. The men would stay to protect the houses and livestock.16
Colonia Juárez was the only home Camilla had ever known. Three generations of her family had lived in the colonies in Mexico after her grandfathers moved there to escape prosecution for practicing plural marriage. Since that time, Colonia Juárez had blossomed into a community of dozens of Latter-day Saint families, with beautiful apple orchards and fine brick buildings.
Camilla was the oldest of eleven children. Her father, the husband of two wives, operated a large cattle ranch where she sometimes helped make cheese. He employed native Mexicans, whose families she had come to love. She attended school with her friends at the large Juárez Academy schoolhouse, where she learned both English and Spanish. On warm days she would put on one of her old dresses and head with her friends to a swimming hole made by the Piedras Verdes River. Now, as she prepared to leave her home, she was uncertain when—or if—she would return.17
Each family member packed only what could be carried in a single shared trunk. The rest they had to hide from the rebels. Camilla stowed her school papers and other keepsakes in hard-to-find places in the house. Her father, meanwhile, pried up the floorboards of the front porch and concealed one hundred quarts of blackberries, which Camilla and her siblings had helped their mother bottle earlier that day. The family’s precious silver, linens, and dishes went into the attic.18
The next morning, July 28, the family loaded their trunk onto a buggy and rode ten miles to the nearest train depot. Dozens of other families waited outside the station, their arms laden with bundles and suitcases. Nearby, a group of rebels on horseback lined up in formation, their guns and bayonets drawn.
When the train arrived, the Saints packed themselves into the cars. A railroad company had sent every available train car to help with the evacuation. Some cars were windowless boxcars or dingy cattle cars. Camilla, her mother, and her siblings were placed in a car for third-class passengers. Clutching their bundles and bedding, they huddled together on hard benches. It was a hot summer day, and flies buzzed around them. Camilla felt like a sardine in a can.19
The train soon left the depot and headed north to Colonia Dublán, the largest settlement of Saints in the area, to take on more passengers. Once the Dublán Saints boarded the train, the passengers numbered around a thousand. Baggage was piled high throughout the cars.
The train traveled northeast all day and all night. Some of the railroad track had been damaged during the revolution, forcing the train to travel at a crawl. Camilla was terrified that rebels would hold up the train and rob the passengers.
The train arrived safely in El Paso just as the sun was rising. At the train depot, residents of the city met the Saints with cars and trucks and transported them across town to a vacant lumberyard set aside for the refugees. Camilla and her family were brought to a large, dusty corral with several stalls where families could set up camp. Camilla’s family piled into one stall and hung blankets up for privacy. A nauseating stench hung over the place. Swarms of flies were everywhere.
People from the settlements continued to arrive at the lumberyard throughout the day, and reporters and photographers came to interview them and take pictures. Locals also came to the yard from town. Some offered help, while others peeked into the campsites to get a look at the Saints.
Camilla was embarrassed. “We’re just monkeys in a cage,” she thought.20
Alma Richards’s eyes hurt as he peered at the high jump bar. It was the third day of the 1912 Olympics. The sun over Stockholm’s new brown-brick stadium was unbearably bright, irritating an eye infection that had plagued Alma for weeks. When he was not jumping, he wore an old, droopy hat to shade his eyes. But now that his turn had come again, he stepped to the side of the field and tossed his hat into the grass.21
The running high jump competition had begun with nearly sixty athletes from dozens of nations. Only he and a German jumper named Hans Liesche remained. Hans was the best jumper Alma had ever seen. He had performed effortlessly, clearing each of his jumps on the first try. Alma, on the other hand, had struggled to clear the bar all day. Now the bar was set at nearly six feet, four inches, higher than anyone had ever jumped in Olympic competition. No one, not even Alma’s teammates, expected him to clear the bar.22
As Alma prepared to jump, his mind raced. There he was, representing his country at the greatest athletic competition in the world. Yet he felt weak, as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders. He thought of Utah, his family, and his hometown. He thought of BYU and the Saints. Bowing his head, he silently asked God to give him strength. “If it is right that I should win,” he prayed, “I will do my best to set a good example all the days of my life.”23
Raising his head, he felt his weakness slip away. He threw his shoulders back, walked up to the starting line, and crouched into position. He then skipped forward in a burst of energy and leapt into the air, tucking his knees beneath his chin. His body barreled forward and sailed over the bar with inches to spare.
On the sidelines, Hans Liesche suddenly looked nervous as he warmed up for his jump. Alma ran in circles to keep his legs limber. If Hans cleared the bar, as Alma was sure he would, the bar would be raised even higher, and Alma would have to jump again.
When Hans launched into his first jump, he fell on the bar and sent it crashing to the ground. Frustrated, he returned to the field and made a second jump. Once again, he knocked the bar off its pegs.
Alma could see that his competitor was losing composure. Just as Hans squared up for his final attempt, a pistol fired nearby, signaling the start of a race. Hans waited for the runners to cross the finish line and then prepared to jump. Before he could, though, a band began playing, and he refused to start. Finally, after nine minutes, an official prodded him to hurry along. With nothing left to do but jump, Hans bounded forward and threw himself into the air.
Once again, he failed to clear the bar.24
Joy washed over Alma. The competition was over. He had won the gold medal and set an Olympic record. Hans came over and heartily congratulated him. Others soon joined in the praise. “You have put Utah on the map,” one man said.
James Sullivan, an official on the American Olympic team, was especially impressed with Alma’s coolness under pressure and wholesome lifestyle. “I wish we had a hundred clean fellows like you on our team,” he said.25
Within days, newspapers across the United States praised Alma’s victory, crediting his success in part to his religion. “They call the winner of the great jump ‘the Mormon giant,’ and he deserves the title,” one reporter wrote. “He is a self-made athlete, and his winning of world renown comes after years of endeavor and a determination inherited from the men who established the Mormon religion and made the desert blossom.”26
One of Alma’s friends, meanwhile, teased him about praying before his winning jump. “I wish you wouldn’t laugh,” Alma quietly responded. “I prayed to the Lord to give me strength to go over that bar, and I went over.”27
On August 15, 1912, sisters Jovita and Lupe Monroy tended their family store in San Marcos, Hidalgo, Mexico. The small town was nestled in the heart of the country, far from the revolutionary violence in the north. That day, two young, well-dressed American men entered the store, ordered a soda, and politely asked the sisters if they knew where Señor Jesús Sánchez lived.
The sisters knew the old man well, and they gave the visitors directions to his house. Since Señor Sánchez was not a Catholic, some people in town were wary of him. But he was friends with Rafael, Jovita and Lupe’s older brother.
Later, when the sisters had a chance to speak with Señor Sánchez, they asked him who the young men were.
“They are missionaries,” he replied. Some thirty years earlier, he had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But the Church’s mission in central Mexico had not taken root, despite its promising start, and had closed less than a decade after his baptism. The mission had since reopened, and over sixteen hundred Mexican Saints now lived in the region. Missionaries were traveling the countryside searching for longtime Church members like him.28
“When the missionaries come again,” the sisters told Señor Sánchez, “bring them to our house so we can ask them questions.”
A few months later, Señor Sánchez came to the store and introduced Jovita and Lupe to two missionaries, Walter Ernest Young and Seth Sirrine. As Catholics, the sisters had many questions about how the elders’ beliefs differed from theirs. They especially wanted to know why the missionaries did not believe in infant baptism. Señor Sánchez let the sisters borrow his Bible so they could read more about the principles the missionaries taught. Afterward, whenever Jovita and Lupe could spare a minute, they would study its pages.29
In March 1913, Señor Sánchez fell ill. The Monroy sisters helped his family attend to him. As his condition worsened, Jovita and Lupe sent for the missionaries to give him a blessing, but they were laboring in another town and could not come immediately. By the time they arrived, Señor Sánchez had died. The elders held a funeral service for him and preached a sermon on resurrection. About a dozen people attended the service, including Jovita and Lupe’s widowed mother, Jesusita Mera de Monroy, who invited the missionaries to have dinner with the family that evening.
Jesusita was not happy that her daughters had continued speaking with the missionaries, especially after Jovita and Lupe had stopped attending Mass. At night, she would ask God to stop the missionaries from coming to San Marcos so they would not lead her daughters astray. But at dinner, she treated the missionaries kindly. Before they ate, one of the missionaries asked if he could offer the blessing. Jesusita agreed, and she was moved by his prayer. After the meal, the elders sang the hymn “O My Father,” which moved her even more.30
Two months later, Lupe took her older brother and sister, Rafael and Natalia, to a conference of Saints near Mexico City, where the Church was more established. About a hundred people attended the conference.
The siblings heard talks on peace and brotherhood, the Holy Ghost, apostasy, and the Restoration. They also met the mission president, Rey L. Pratt, who had grown up in the Latter-day Saint settlements in northern Mexico. The conference impressed the Monroys. Before returning to San Marcos, Rafael had a dream that he was preaching everything he had learned at the meeting.
A few weeks after the conference, President Pratt and Elder Young visited the Monroys in San Marcos. They spent a day with the family, relaxing at their home and listening to the sisters play music. In the evening, Elder Young preached about baptism, and President Pratt spoke about the first principles and ordinances of the gospel.
The next day, June 11, 1913, Jovita, Lupe, and Rafael agreed to be baptized. To avoid drawing the attention of suspicious neighbors, the siblings led President Pratt and Elder Young to a secluded grove along a nearby river. There they found a shoulder-deep spot in the river where they could perform the ordinance.
After the baptisms, President Pratt and Elder Young confirmed the siblings by the water’s edge. President Pratt took pictures of the group with Elder Young, and everyone returned to town for dinner.
It was a happy day.31