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| Rex Buckley Jensen (1943-present) Circa mid-late 1970s |
Dad was born on Wednesday, October 20, 1943, in Moab, Utah, during the thick of World War 2. After delivering her firstborn child (and son), my grandmother, LaVerda (née Barton) Jensen, brought Dad back to their home in Monticello, Utah, 50 miles to the south.
When they arrived home, there was no husband or father to greet them because Dad's dad (my grandfather) was involved with the global conflict overseas as a soldier in the United States Army.
LaVerda's husband—Ned Adams Jensen (1918-2004)—had been trained as a radioman and was serving in General George S. Patton's famous Third Army, which played a pivotal role in the defeat of Germany and the liberation of Europe in 1944-45.
Grandpa Ned's Company—the 118th Signal Radio Intelligence Company—following on the heels of the D-Day invasion force, landed on Utah Beach on June 6, 1944. From there, they pushed onward behind frontline infantry troops as they pressed their way gradually and bloodily through France and into Germany in the months to follow.
Several months after the allied victory in Europe had been secured, Grandfather Ned made his way back to his family in his tiny hometown of Monticello, Utah, where he finally got to see and meet his son (my DAD) and firstborn child for the first time.
Dad was already two years old!
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| October 1945 Grandpa Ned with Dad after his return to Monticello following his service in Europe during World War II. |
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| Dad w/ Great Grandpa Hans Jensen (1886-1952) Monticello, Utah November 1949 |
The eldest of three children born to Ned and LaVerda, Dad was a bright, energetic, and ambitious boy and young man. He loved to romp and play in the fields and woods that surrounded the rural paradise that was his home in Monticello, Utah. As a teenager, he spent a lot of time in the outdoors hiking, hunting (deer and rabbits), camping, etc.
Because he had a job at his father's store, Dad always had spending money to purchase things he wanted, including a Jeep when he was in high school, which greatly enhanced his life as an adventurous outdoorsman.
Although Dad enjoyed an idyllic childhood in many ways, it did not pass by trial- or tragedy-free.
An outlying example of one such experience occurred on August 13, 1956, when Dad was just 12 years old. That was the day the Lariat Cafe exploded during supper time in Monticello, when the restaurant was filled with customers (between 50 and 70 persons). Tomorrow marks the 70th anniversary of this horrific event.
The explosion had been caused by a gas leak which led to a buildup of natural gas in the basement and walls of the restaurant. (1)
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| Lariat Cafe after its devastating gas explosion. (1) Monticello, Utah August 1956 |
After the rubble had been cleared and emergency workers had completed their search, it was discovered that sixteen (16) people had been killed and 30 more injured in the devastating blast that had blown the roof clean off the building and caused severe damage to the restaurant and surrounding properties.
It was too much for a 12-year-old boy to have to see. Dad was particularly disturbed when he saw one of his grocery store work colleagues—a cousin—lying bloodied and dead in the road following the disaster.
His memories of the event would haunt him for years afterward. Often, late at night, he would go downstairs in his home to check and ensure the pilot light in their own natural gas-fueled home was properly lit.
My Uncle Steve and Aunt Nedra—Dad's younger brother and sister—also carry vivid memories of the tragedy. Though only six years old, Nedra told me she remembers it as though it happened yesterday. Stephen, who was 9 years old at the time, shared the following with me.
I was three days from my 10th birthday that fateful day in August 1956. My mother and two siblings and I were just starting supper and we were all gathered around the table together at 7:12 p.m. when we heard the BOOM. My older brother Buckley was out the door like a flash to investigate. I started to follow but Mother told me to finish eating.
Stephen Jensen with his dog, Jerry, and her 11
pups about the time of the Lariat Cafe Explosion
I didn’t eat much because the wailing sirens told me this was something big. I ran the couple of blocks east to find a horrible sight. The walls had been blown out and cinder blocks and debris were everywhere—in the road, on cars, in nearby trees, and on adjacent lawns. The crumpled roof had gone up and then down on everyone who had not already been blown out. The dead, dying, and injured were everywhere. Men were loading them up in their pickups, I don’t think Monticello had much of an emergency response team, but if they did, I know it was inadequate to handle the demand. Seeing the blood, dying and dead scared and traumatized me. I ran home to the safety of my mother.
Dad was just getting home from work. I remember he drove Mom, Nedra, and me towards the sight but it was blocked off. Then we drove by the old hospital (now the golf club house). I remember some man talking to Dad through his open car window about all the bodies that were in the hallways of the hospital—and the overwhelmed staff.
We later drove to the Monticello airport because they wanted cars with their lights on to line the runway so medical Flights could land safely in the dark. We eventually drove back home. It was a truly horrible event in our community. Anyone living in Monticello at the time would never forget where they were when the Lariat Cafe exploded. Some of our relatives were killed and injured. Many received emotional, mental, and/or physical injuries that would last a lifetime.
Despite this terrible tragedy, life did eventually move on for Dad and his family and community, though the ashen memories would linger forever.
As a teenager, Dad was a good student and learned to type proficiently and write effectively during his years in elementary and high school. These two skills in particular would play directly into his future lifelong journaling habits and lead to other, valuable personal, career, and service opportunities.
As a boy growing up in Dad's home, I specifically recall him telling me once that the most important class he ever took in school was "TYPING." I very much took this statement to heart, and when the time came for me to take my own typing class in 9th grade, I took the subject seriously and worked very hard to develop the skill until I myself could type upwards of 100 words-per-minute, further fueling my own propensities as a journaler and author.
Like Dad, being able to type well has served me immeasurably in both my personal and professional career.
In basketball, Dad warmed the bench more than he played, and would record his frustrations with the sport—and his coach—in his daily journal, which he began writing in 1961.
Dad decided to quit the basketball team his senior year, a decision he often referred to as "one of the best he ever made" because it opened his schedule up to other, more meaningful activities that he otherwise would not have taken advantage of—such as performing in the school play.
Decades later, when I faced my own moment of decision with the game of basketball, Dad shared his experience and wisdom with me, which helped tip the scales in favor of my own decision to hang up my high-tops and focus on other sports and activities.
This was not the first time, nor would it be the last, when Dad would provide me with a crucial voice of comfort, consolation, cheerleading, and wisdom in my life—something for which I will always be grateful.
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| Dad's Senior Picture 1961-62 |
Dad's missionary service proved meaningful—and providential—in a variety of different ways. In conjunction with strengthening his religious faith and helping him develop valuable character traits such as discipline, focus, obedience, and courage, Dad crossed paths with another young Elder who would change the course of his life—and the life of his family.
The name of this most-consequential young missionary was Hyrum W. Smith.
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| Elder Hyrum Wayne Smith British Mission 1963-1965 |
Dad quickly came to respect and admire Hyrum for his fun personality and his impressive abilities as a communicator and leader. Hyrum, in-turn, came to respect Dad for his intellect and work ethic.
Said Dad of Hyrum: "He was an excellent missionary companion and so much fun to serve with!"
Suffice it to say, the two became fast friends and it soon became evident that this pair of young Elders was destined to become more than a mere missionary companionship.
Their initial service together began September 18th, 1963 and ended approximately three (3) months later on December 13th, at which point both were assigned new companions with whom to labor.
Then, nine (9) months later, Hyrum was called to serve as a personal assistant to Elder Mark E. Peterson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—the second highest governing body in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints—who was on the Continent serving as the supervisor of all the Church's European missions at the time.
Elder Peterson was in need of a second assistant—who would serve as Hyrum's companion. More importantly, he needed that second assistant to come with clerical experience so that he could transcribe his many dictated letters in an efficient and effective manner. |
| Hyrum and Dad working together as assistants to Elder Mark E. Peterson of Quorum of the 12 Apostles. |
The next six (6) months proved to be one of the most sacred, special, meaningful, and memorable time periods of Dad's entire life.
Mark E. and his wife, Emma Marr (née McDonald) Peterson had two daughters, but no sons. Suffice it to say, Dad and Hyrum—and other companionships like them—became like sons to the Petersons, who loved and mentored them as if they had indeed been their own.
Elder Mark E. Peterson similarly became "like a second father" to Dad.
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| Hyrum, Emma Marr & Mark Peterson, and Dad LDS European Mission Headquarters "White Hayes" London, England 1964-65 |
From attending the theater with the Petersons to chauffering Emma Marr around London; and from eating all their meals together to being personally tutored by a first-rate leader and his spouse, the five-and-a-half months Dad spent as Hyrum's companion for the second time—in the service of the Petersons—proved to be an unusually life-enhancing, and even a life-changing experience for Dad.
Dad had the opportunity to meet other, high-ranking Church officials during the time he spent on his mission and/or assisting the Petersons with Hyrum. These persons included President Hugh B. Brown of the Church's First Presidency, President Stephen R. Covey (of later FranklinCovey fame) of the Irish Mission, and President David B. Haight (a future LDS Apostle) of the Scottish Mission.
Little did Hyrum (or Dad) know at the time how significant some of these persons would someday be in their lives, or my life (their son and nephew). Indeed, the influence of both Smith and Covey on my life and career have been well chronicled in my books and blogs. Less known is the influence Hugh B. Brown had on me through a famous story of his that my grandmother Smith (Hyrum's mother) told me when I was just a boy.
Click HERE to read My Buddy Ty, Adventures in Parenthood, and the Successes of Failure. Then scroll to the heading that reads: The Parable of the Current Bush.
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| Dad Playing the Piano LDS European Mission Headquarters |
Five-and-a-half months later, Dad completed his 2-year missionary service and flew home to Utah. Five (5) days after his return to Monticello, Hyrum drove down to see him on September 9, 1965. Nine (9) days after that, Hyrum introduced his younger sister—Pauline Smith—to Dad, and the rest is, as they say: History!
Mom and Dad were married the following August (1966).
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| Dad earns his master's degree from BYU. |
But long before I came into the world, Dad got busy earning college degrees in English (bachelor's) and Communications (master's) from Brigham Young University in the late sixties and early seventies, respectfully.
He then proceeded to pursue the eclectic career of a rural renaissance man and entrepreneur. Although he was foremost an educator who spent more than two decades in the traditional classroom as a middle and high school English teacher, Dad was also a landowner, real estate developer, and licensed general contractor with some 76 homes—and many other construction projects—on his résumé.
In addition to being a professional photographer (he became a "Leica Man" on his mission to England) Dad—ever the writer—also authored a newspaper column for many years in The San Juan Record, the weekly newspaper of his hometown of Monticello, Utah.
Following his and my mother's divorce in 2004, Dad married Marcia (née Ford), to whom he has been wed ever since. Marcia and Dad live in their dream house they built themselves on property Dad owns just outside of Monticello, Utah.
Dad began a daily journal in the fall of 1961.
With very few interruptions, he continued this daily journaling habit into the 2000s. By the turn-of-the-century, Dad had penned nearly 7,000 pages in his personal journals. He has continued journaling since the turn of the century, albeit more sporadically than the first four decades of his lifelong practice.
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From a very young age, I was exposed to Dad's journals—not because Dad forced or pressured me to read them; but because they were displayed in his office library and I, an avid peruser of books whenever and wherever I found them—and naturally took interest in them. And to my joy and gratitude, Dad allowed me complete, unfettered, and un-redacted access to them.
More so than any of my other siblings, I took an avid interest in these treasure troves of information and tales from Dad's past, and partook in many sweet hours reading and perusing them. It is, therefore, no secret, that Dad's extensive and loquacious journaling habit influenced my own propensity for keeping a diary.
I will forever be grateful to my father for this lustrous literary legacy of family history that Dad passed on to me and my other siblings. From both a genetic and mimetic standpoint, I have been tremendously impacted for good by his life. This legacy will continue to positively influence me, my children, and generations yet to come.
THANKS DAD!
And now, I present to some additional photographs and documents that provide a pictorial journey through Dad's life and journals...
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| Rex Buckley Jensen Age 1-2 Circa 1944-45  Dad standing outside the LDS European Mission Headquarters "White Hayes" Leatherhead, Surrey, London, England |
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| Dad's first mission president, who also presided over Elders Jeffrey R. Holland and Quentin L. Cook, future members of the Quorum of the 12. Decades later, Elder Cook performed Lina's and my sealing in the Salt Lake Temple on August 8, 2008.  Letter to Dad from Elder Marion D. Hanks of the First Council of the Seventy after Dad had returned home from his mission December 9, 1965  Letter to Dad from Elder Mark E. Peterson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles May 11, 1965  Dad's capacious home library, containing thousands of volumes on a potpourri of subjects. View #1  Dad's capacious home library, containing thousands of volumes on a potpourri of subjects. View #2  Dad's capacious home library, containing thousands of volumes on a potpourri of subjects. View #3 |
—Dr. JJ
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