Black and White; Male and Female:
The Teamwork for Standing On The Promises
by Margaret Blair Young

Editors' Note: This is the personal story of how two people came to be co-authors on a book that mattered very much to both of them.

Why was I so presumptuous as to think I could write a book about Black Mormon pioneers? I am so white I can't even tan. Yet it was more than the idea that "This book would sell" which led me to begin a historical novel on Black pioneers. There was a need in me to approach this subject and all the problems it raised for a Mormon author--which problems had beset me from my youth. I was aware that I had been raised in a racist world, by a very good family, but one which subtly included racism in its traditions. There were little things-the licorice figures my grandmother called "nigger babies," the casual mentioning that someone had married "a Negro" which everyone simply understood was wrong. As a Mormon, I had been raised to accept the notion that God did not intend Black men to hold the priesthood-at least not until 1978. Even as a teenager, the policy troubled me deeply. So I came to my subject with curiosity, some urgency, and a sense of guilt that I, with my red-hair and white, untanable skin, should presume to tell the story of Black folks whose culture I did not know except through literature.

Nonetheless, I began my research and my writing in 1998-twenty years after the priesthood was given to ALL worthy Mormon men, regardless of race. When I started my writing, I was the Relief Society music director. I decided to take some liberty with my calling: Once a month, rather than teach the Relief Society sisters a song, I would tell them a story of a Black pioneer in preparation for June 8, 1998 (the anniversary of the policy change). I did this for five months, concluding my presentations the first Sunday of June with the testimony of a man I had not met: Darius Gray. I had his story on a tape I had purchased from KUER Radio, and had played it several times-including for my husband. It never failed to move me, and I was eager to share it with my ward sisters. On the tape, Darius told of his secretary greeting him with the words, "Oh, did you hear the Mormon Church is giving the priesthood to Blacks now?" Darius had responded, "Don't joke about that."

Then Darius told of learning the truth about the policy change, and calling his good friend Heber Wolsey to share the moment with him. The two of them stood in the Church Office Building, looking at the Salt Lake Temple, and wept. Darius's voice broke as he recalled it. "It was a special moment," he said.

An Instant Kinship

The next week, as I was leading the singing, a black woman in a wheelchair was brought into Relief Society. My arm nearly stopped its beat-keeping. It was not just that this was the first Black woman I had EVER seen in a Utah ward; she and I instantly connected. I knew she was in my ward for a purpose, and that I was to become her friend. I introduced myself to her afterwards. Her name was Susie Thomas, and she had suffered a stroke some two years back which had paralyzed her right side and left her unable to speak more than three or four words.

As I knew I was being led to do, I went with some frequency to the care center where Suzie was staying-not in our ward boundaries, incidentally, though she had chosen to come to our ward (perhaps because her inactive grandchildren lived in our ward). Often, I would sing to Suzie, either alone or with my husband and children. We came to love her. And she was scheduled to be endowed in the Provo Temple on Saturday, August 1.

I was a temple worker in the Provo Temple's Saturday Spanish session, and so planned on doing my duties for my Hispanic brothers and sisters, and then attending Susie's endowment.

Meeting Darius

On July 29, as a representative of the Association of Mormon Letters, I was scheduled (with Gene England) to give a presentation at a conference, a retrospective of the twenty years since the priesthood policy change. I included a small piece of the novel I was working on-a bit about Elijah Abel. As I took my seat at the session's beginning, a mostly white-haired, Black man approached Gene and me and introduced himself: "Hello. I'm Darius Gray."

The tape I had played for my June Relief Society presentation was still in my purse. I fished it out and showed it to him. "I've got you on this tape!" I said. He looked at the title-"Alike Unto God" and nodded, then took his seat.

I wanted desperately to talk to him after the session. Again, it was something like the feeling I had had with Susie: This man was to be my friend. I exchanged comments with those who had attended the session, but kept my eye on Darius. I didn't want him to leave before we had had a chance to talk. When I went up to him, he put his arm around me and said, "I don't know how to say this-I don't want to cry-but it feels so good to hear someone who's GOT it." I understood what he meant-not that I was anything special, but that I had understood the fundamental message of Christianity: that God is no respecter of persons, and that any excuse we make for dividing ourselves from our brothers and sisters will also divide us from God.

I knew the Genesis Group-the LDS "dependant branch" for African American Mormons and their friends--would be at Susie's endowment on Saturday, and asked Darius if he had anything to do with the Genesis Group. He did not tell me he was its president, but said he did have "something to do with it" and that indeed, he was planning on being at Susie's endowment. One of the last things he said to me was, "Let's write a book." I interpreted this as another invitation (I get many) to help someone edit a huge volume of writing, and hedged. He picked up on this instantly, saying, "No, you don't have time." I was still hedging, but he had gotten his answer.

The next day, I went to Susie's Care Center to measure her for her garments. Susie's grand-daughter, Tamu Smith, was there too. I told her I had met Darius Gray and she seemed pleased. It was clear she loved him dearly, and said he was the closest thing to a father she had.

Things were set for Susie's endowment-except that we had not secured permission for her to be sealed to her late husband and two deceased children. Those in my ward who had helped her with the necessary data sheets had done the best they could, but the information was still incomplete. I felt we should not give up on it, and took all the data sheets we had, changed from my jeans to a dress, and went up to the temple. I was told to wait for the Assistant Recorder. When he arrived, I was thrilled to see that he was a friend I've known for twenty-five years. He would be willing to listen. I explained Susie's physical condition-that she couldn't speak-and that this was all the information we had for now, but that this dear sister wanted so much to be sealed to her deceased family members.

My friend simply began writing in the names of Susie's family for the sealing. We had gotten permission to do them.

I called Tamu, told her the sealings would be done, and asked if I should call Darius to see if he could be the proxy for Susie's late husband. For Tamu, Darius Gray was the obvious choice. And so I phoned him, saying, "I don't know if you remember me..." He did remember me. I asked him how busy he would be the next day, and he said, "Swamped." Then I told him the need we had of a proxy for Susie's husband-for endowment, and sealing-and he said simply, "Done." He would be at the temple.

I went to the baptismal font when I arrived the next day. Susie wanted to witness the proxy baptisms of her sons. But the Genesis folks had not as yet arrived, and I had not only my temple assignment, but a birthday party scheduled for my son. It was clear her endowment would be delayed, and very clear that I would miss it. I explained to her that I needed to do my son's birthday party, but that I would be waiting for her in the Celestial Room after her session. Then I went home and put on a birthday party for a gaggle of seven-year-old boys.

The Session

When I returned to the temple, I had no idea if I had missed Susie's session or not. I put on my Worker's name tag and went directly to the Celestial Room. There was a Black Couple there, and I assumed I had probably missed the session. I introduced myself to them. They were Oswald and Ann Marie Balfour, and had come late as well. They didn't know when Susie's session was, but thought it hadn't ended yet. I waited, feeling that perhaps I should ask to help at the veil, but then deciding that since this wasn't my shift, the supervisors wouldn't even know if I knew the ceremony. So, I decided, I would simply wait. Again, I wanted to ask to help at the veil, and again decided against it. At that point, another temple worker entered the Celestial Room, came directly to me and said, "We need help at the veil. Can you help us?" I asked if this session included a live endowment.

"Yes," she said.

"Is it a woman in a wheelchair?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"She's why I'm here," I said.

As I went to the veil, I noticed Darius. We exchanged a brief smile. I helped a number of sisters, and waited for Susie to be wheeled forward. The person assigned to help her was ready to act as full proxy, having understood that Susie couldn't speak. I asked if I might help out, then lowered myself to be on Susie's level, took her face in my hands, looked her directly in the eyes, and led her word by word through the ceremony. Susie spoke. She wept as she did, for she was saying words she knew she could not say. We all were weeping as we entered the Celestial Room.

Again, Darius put his arm around me. He pointed to my teary eyes. I whispered, "I didn't know I would get to do that." Darius pointed heavenward. Indeed, God had opened the way for me to be at Susie's side. We went to a sealing room and Susie was sealed to her husband and sons. Afterwards, my husband and I sponsored a dinner for all of these Genesis members at our house.

The next day, Sunday, I attended my first Genesis meeting. Bruce, in a stake presidency, was not able to attend because of meetings, but my children and I were all there. Even then, though Darius was seated on the "stand" in the Relief Society room where we met, I did not realize he was the president of this group.

Becoming Co-authors

It was very soon after the experience in the temple that I asked him to help me with the book. He remembered my hedging very well and said no. I asked him (via e-mail) how fast he had come to that answer. He answered, "Very." I told him I would accept that answer-tomorrow, after he had prayed about it.

It didn't take long for us to become co-authors. When I gave him what I had written, he realized he could indeed help. I did not know "Black Vernacular English"-but it was the language of his childhood. There were aspects of Black culture which were simply part of his life, but quite foreign to me. It became clear that we were intended to be partners in this project, even that we had been uniquely prepared. Darius had assisted Marie Taylor, an expert in Family History, in assembling the "Elijah Abel File"-a whole slave genealogy, which he and Marie and many others used as a data bank for vicarious temple work. He knew Black Mormon history far better than I did, and had connections with excellent historians and with the Church which I did not have. I, on the other hand, had years and years of writing experience, and was raised by a linguist who would sometimes send me into some foreign land and instruct me to figure out how the natives said particular words. Thus, I had been trained to listen for minimal pairs and the intricacies of pronunciation. So when Darius and I began phase II of the novel (after he had pointed out a number of errors I had made through my cultural ignorance), he would simply read the words I had written, automatically move them into the correct vernacular-the "language of his childhood" and I, so well trained for this, would type what I heard, then verify the revisions with him.

Darius also brought another important component to our partnership: His own family history. I had wanted to have a slave in Missouri tell Elijah Abel, returning from his mission in upper New York and Canada, what had happened to the Saints. Originally, I had had this slave be Samuel Chambers, who I knew was never in Missouri. As it turned out, Darius's own ancestors, Louis and Gracie Gray, had been slaves in Marshall, Missouri, only a few miles from Independence. Thus, we have included his family in our trilogy.

Writing Standing On The Promises has been an answer to prayer, as well a mission. We sometimes joked about the miraculous ways needed information would simply fall into our laps. We have sometimes argued over word choice, but have always celebrated the ways God has directed our efforts and provided us whatever we needed. It is time for the Church to recognize the contributions of its African members-the relentless faith of Jane Manning James; the legacy of Elijah Abel; the honor of Hark Lay, Green Flake, and Oscar Crosby. Blacks have been a part of this Church since 1832. Both Darius and I consider it an honor to be the tellers of these tales. We know the time for telling has come. The Lord is parting the sea of our ignorance and showing us the Promised land. As Darius says, "When the Lord makes ready to do something, you'd best hold on and watch out!"

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