This post was originally published at StandardNET in 2010. With the Covid 19 pandemic and mandatory watching of LDS General Conference next week in all our homes, with an empty conference center and fewer than 10 general authorities in the massive conference center, I thought it appropriate to share this column on the blog.
Growing up in the late 60s and 70s in Southern California, conference was a big deal. It was a chance to see and hear those general authorities, the elderly men on the ward poster. Some of these holy men were born in the 1880s!
In Long Beach, Calif., “general conference” meant a trip to the stake center or some other venue to watch it on what was called “closed-circuit television.” Does closed-circuit TV even exist anymore?
In our house, conference Sunday, the main day for conference, always meant my mother’s coffee cake, baked early and ready for the AM session. Always delicious, the smell of a treat meant to go with a hot drink will always remind me of conference.
I was young the first time I was able to actually go to Temple Square. It was a bit surreal for a youngster. Here, on the street, one could catch a glimpse of the men I read about in Leon Hartshorn books. I got to shake Richard L. Evans’ hand. And the crowd outside the Tabernacle actually sang “We Thank We O God for a Prophet” when David O McKay walked by.
It wasn’t all fun. I was squeezed to the point of tears by crowds eager to get a good seat. My mom, with a few sharp words, managed to move the mass.
My most humiliating conference experience was early one morning, when we accidentally walked into a welfare meeting. Halfway through, my stomach started to flip due to an earlier pancakes and berry syrup feast. I started down the carpeted stairs but my stomach surrendered most of my breakfast.
I’ll never forget the horrified pitch of the voice of the usher. “He barfed on the Tabernacle carpet,” he said, more or less to himself. I was mortified, and alone. My parents were in their seats, unaware of their son’s transgression.
I’ll give that usher credit, though. He was a class act. Regaining his composure, he helped me to a restroom where I cleaned up quickly. He then returned me to my seat.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes from the time I upchucked to when I returned to the stairs, but those stairs were washed and cleaned until they shined. Now that’s priesthood efficiency!
Now I watch general conference in my living room. Even in California, we were able to do that by the early '80s. For several years my wife Kati translated talks into Hungarian. She’s been in the new Conference Center.
I haven’t been there yet. (I eventually attended a conference there in 2016). I’m satisfied with my living room conference seat. It’s closer to the bathroom ... and the coffee cake. (I also don't eat coffee cake since I went gluten-, dairy- and soy-free in 2017, but I cherish the memories of that wonderful food).
-- Doug Gibson
I grew up in Los Angeles and remember listening to conference by radio at the Garvanza Ward building.
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