The Ronkonkoma Express

The Chelsea Hotel

Took the train to Penn Station today where we visited Madison Square Garden, Manhattan Mall (Gimbels), Macy's (an entire level - just purses), and the 86th floor of the Empire State building. Then we walked south into Chelsea proper to see where Sid Vicious killed Nancy Spungen, not to mention the numerous books, plays, films, music and lives that have been made there. What a history this place has. It is currently in its second year of remodel.

Much of Chelsea is quaintly old-world. We enjoyed the tree-lined walks, but decided to save the High Line Park for a later visit, returning to Penn Station. It was rush hour so there was a travel up-charge. I purchased our "peak" one-ways back to Farmingdale Station. That particular line is named Ronkonkoma after the city at its terminus. I got the right tickets, the right line and the right track and was feeling a smug confidence as we boarded. "This is the train to Ronkonkoma?" I asked two young passengers near the door. "Yes it is," they responded. After we sat down, the train began to move, I heard the loudspeaker announce the first stop: "Wyandanch."

Moroni in Manhattan

When President Hinckley announced a "New York" temple during a 2002 regional conference, attendees mistakenly assumed he was talking about an area 22 miles north of the upper west side. But the Manhattan temple was dedicated two years later. White Plains is still waiting.

Branch attendees with sister missionaries

Our first temple sighting was on July 4th. One month later we are escorting a group of young adults back via the Queensboro Bridge and Central Park. The temple has its own parking. It is not free, but offers a significant patron discount.

Following Plainview Branch custom, we first strolled around the park, watching vendors, horse-buggies, pedicarts, cyclists and pedestrians. I thought I saw Lennie Brisco crime scenes around every corner. 

Eventually we came upon the Strawberry Fields memorial.

The "Imagine" mosaic offered an abrupt contrast to our religious purposes. The Dakota, scene of Mr. Lennon's murder, is immediately across the street. Both are situated only a few blocks from the temple - a place of spiritual hope for those beyond the veil.  I studied the mosaic and remembered a part of the song:



Ayrton "Gary" Ferreria dos Santos Jr.

The "Mayor" of Strawberry Fields

"Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
. . . .
And no religion too"

 

 

 

__________________

The entrance is unassuming, but Manhattan's high-rise temple offers a sharp spiritual divide. 

As a "stacked" temple there is an economc use of space. Unique sound-proofing is incorporated into the design. Door hardware displays a Statue of Liberty motif. I appreciated the paintings near the font commemorating baptisms in the Jordan and Susquehanna rivers. We hope to return soon. The temple president offered to buy lunch next time if the youth each bring a family name.

We're in!

81 Secatogue

Apartment 44






August 1st - Moved in to our new apartment. The Hawkes picked this one out months ago, but left for home before the lease was signed. They were tired of the traffic noise coming off Fulton Street at the prior location. This one is probably the best Senior Couple apartment on Long Island. This time we are able to fully unpack.
It is walking distance to the Old Bethpage Park and has easy access to the Long Island Railway through a private gate.

The Secatogue were indigenous people living to the east, now Bay Shore, where we teach our Friday evening class.

View from our balcony looking toward Main Street



Train Station through front window

Even though we teach five to six days each week, CES is less than half of our responsibilities. One of our instructors at the MTC joked that CES stands for "cooking every second." Humorous, but accurate. Stefanie is using all of her temple recipes and culinary training. Classroom and kitchen aside, we chauffeur, transport, coach, counsel, network, and do a fair amount of proselyting with the young missionaries. We enjoy large autonomy to follow spiritual inclinations. We particularly appreciate our conversations with investigators and less-active members. We will probably pick up a weekly shift in the Manhattan temple.

In our first interview with President Calderwood we asked for his vision of our mission role. He said that we should support the members in any way necessary to the work of salvation. We value this trust in us.

We have maps, a wall, post it notes and markers. We have committed young missionaries in our district, and . . .

we have a plan.

Plainview Stake Young Single Adults

Drunken grandma

Frankie's DG

Early in our stay on the island Stefanie became fond of a particular pizza type: the drunken grandma. She had her first piece when we met Elder and Sister Hawkes at Frankies on Main.

The name should have caused some concern, but we had a lot of other things on our pizza pie plates at the time. I have since learned that vodka is a prime ingredient in the marinara sauce. Hence the name. I'm not sure how to approach this. I remember Stef's attraction for B&R Daiquiri Ice, not to mention the Rum Nougat at See's. Maybe later. No designated driver required just yet. The grandma is incredible. Then there's this place I heard about up in Great Neck. Maybe next week . . .

"Here, we have the winner: Pizza alla Vodka ($3.75), made up of a thin layer of creamy, tomato-based sauce topped with equally thin slivers of fresh mozzarella. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else needed. While I wouldn't say no to some fresh basil or the addition of some good prosciutto, as it stands Gino's Pizza alla Vodka is really, really tasty. It's so good, in fact, that I had to bring a second one home; it barely survived the car ride. Needless to say, I look forward to slaughtering future generations of Gino's pink-sauced slices." Josh Wigler's pizza blog, Gino's Of Great Neck: Drunk on alla Vodka.

 

Tenting on the old campground

Paul Nulty - kid at heart &
President of the Plainview YSA Branch

 
President Nulty:  I could use you on the Palmyra trip.
The Owens:  Are we allowed to do that?
President Nulty:  I think so.
The Owens:  How many adult leaders are going?
President Nulty:  Including you?
The Owens:  I guess . . .
President Nulty:  Three.
Sister Owens:  Did you say something about fairgrounds and tents?
President Nulty:  Yep. The kids waited too late to get a room.
pause, . . . hmmm
Elder Owens:  I'll run a Rochester hotel search on Priceline.
pause   
Elder Owens:  What's the toll situation?
President Nulty: You're gonna need your Easy Pass. Big time.

. . . and so we came.
Rain came down and required us to tie down the wagon covers, and so increased our sickness by confining the air we breathed. Our cattle recrossed in the night ...
Wait.
Wrong trek.
 

our tent city - a stefanie's worst nightmare

We sailed through Throgs Neck but got hung up in construction on the GW Bridge. The drive through the Appalachians of Pennsylvania was beautiful. We still beat the youth to Palmyra by an hour and a half and found the fairgrounds. Our job was to set up the tents for the ones arriving at midnight, but the youth with us wanted to check-out the Friday night performance. While they headed up to the Hill Cumorah, I headed over to the tent bags. This is where decades of BSA and YW experience reaches full value. I had the first two up when a passing cloud front brought a 60 MPH wind gust. Canvas and poles blew everywhere. The bedraggled campers around us packed up and drove away. We were left with control of the grounds and total access to the bathrooms. Stefanie helped me recover our tent pieces. After an hour  or so we had the tents pitched and were ready for the late-comers.

A positive note. Our youth returned early from the pageant grounds explaining that the the storm and lightning had cancelled the show. Then they described how a large gust of wind had scatterd all of the anti-Mormon tarps and tables, leading the detractors on a hectic pursuit for miles down the Canandaigua Road. All of the evening's hardship was gladly traded for that pleasing mental picture. They then described how the Mormon missionaries had helped the bitter people recover and rebuild their inflammatory exhibits. What a church!

Our second group of saints arrived shortly after midnight. The winds were down, the tents were up, the Owens' were snuggled into their Rochester hotel 20 miles west, and all was well in Zion.

It rained most of Saturday, but our group enjoyed visits to the usual places. Leaving the Harris homestead I made a wrong turn and lost the others. In our searching we happened upon the Smith farm. The many missionaries there were curious. They kept glancing at our name tags, seeking some familiar context. They were collegial, but our apparent itinerance confused them. We were frequently explaining our CES connection.

Stefanie and I spent an hour together in the Sacred Grove, a large stand of maples west of the frame home. Huddled beneath an umbrella we read from the Joseph Smith testimony. The rain was gentle but had scared most visitors away. We enjoyed the water sounds in the leaves and the damp loam smell. Tranquil. Sacred.

We later joined our young adult travellers at the fairground where we organized an evening barbecue. By that time much of our camp had been moved into the 4H building next door.

The antagonistic gauntlet into the pageant that evening was pure spectacle - a potpourri of dress, movement and verbal confrontation. Fascinating. Entertaining. We sat next to an LDS businessman from Arizona and exchanged news from the West. The hilltop performance was elaborate. It was LARGE, panoramic and loud. Fireworks and water scrims? Great in scope and content, even rushed, Mormon's epic is spiritually provocative and potent.


The next day, well . . . . we were only a few miles south, I'm an unstoppable romantic, and . . .


 

Niagara

Nice

“Acta Non Verba"

T h e   V i e w



T h e   M a n s i o n
"Forker House," The Henri Bendel - Walter Chrysler Estate, built 1916, Kings Point

XIslanders





As we have taught our summer course of study, we learned of two Long Island connections.

We knew that Elder Hales grew up somewhere in the area, and several missionaries told us that his father had a painting displayed in one of the churches. Then we noticed that his April Conference talk mentioned that his father had once graphically illustrated the armor of God to his young son Robert. We talked to several native members and were able to locate the display. It is in the foyer just outside the chapel of the Little Neck building in a neighborhood we passed in ignorance each week. The painting appears to be of the sacred grove and bears the name of Elder Hale's father, a professional painter.
 

Then we came across a photograph of Elder Richard G. Scott taken one summer when he worked on an oyster boat in Long Island Sound. His adventures there were incorporated in a popular BYU fireside address given in 1996. It is titled: Do What is Right.



Object in Elder Scott's hand is an oyster, not a torch beckoning huddled masses