One Hippie, Two Partiers, and The Book of Mormon

The following is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

This is the story about the unlikely conversion of three of my favorite people; my mother, my father and my Uncle Tony.

A little background

My father and uncle were born in Brooklyn in the 1940s, and raised in the projects of Queens. Their grandparents were straight off the boat from Italy and they were often surrounded by extended family. Gatherings centered around food, boisterous banter, the Yankees....and food.

They were raised Catholic but weren’t exactly practicing, as a heavy dose of drugs and alcohol permeated their lives (and their nostalgia as old men.)

My mother’s upbringing was not quite as colorful. She was the only child of Marine pilot and a distant mother battling alcoholism. She was a daddy’s girl, but daddy was often away for work. She had no religious upbringing and her free spirit could not wait to be let loose into the world.

My parents met while working in a restaurant near San Francisco. My dad had just returned from a trip to Europe: what was meant to be a summer foray with friends turned into a solo, one-year hiatus motorcycling across the continent. Once the money was gone, he returned home to New York, then proceeded to hitchhike across the Canadian border to California and meet up with my uncle. (What a long strange trip it's been, indeed.)

My uncle.....was thoroughly enjoying the '60s. His escapades include being arrested for going nude on a beach with a group of complete strangers. The papers even gave them their own pseudonym: “The Stetson Beach 5”. (He thought he was pretty cool.)

He once traveled cross-country with some friends on “The Grey Rabbit”; a school bus turned hippiemobile. At one point the driver needed a break, and although my uncle was in no state of mind to be driving, it didn’t matter. He was ready for the task.

With Led Zepplin blaring this crazy caravan journeyed on, making a pit stop at a McDonald’s in the small mountain town of Flagstaff, Arizona. Upon returning to the bus a sheriff and his deputies approached them; they weren’t impressed. They informed the long-haired freaks that “their kind” was not welcomed and they needed to "leave town and never return."

This is ironic because two siblings and I attended the university in that very city, and let me tell you, this kind of long-haired spectacle is definitely more the norm nowadays.

Forming a family

My Uncle vividly remembers the first time he met my mom: she was walking-up the soggy dirt driveway, hand-in-hand with my dad, in a mini skirt and her favorite purple go-go boots. She was having quite the time making it to the door, and with every slowing step in her thigh-high stilettos her profanity only increased. When my dad reached the door and introduced his new girlfriend, my uncle was met with, “Why do you bleeping live in a bleepity bleep place like this!?"

Charmed, he responded, “Why do you bleeping wear boots like that?” The three would form a close friendship. My mother finally found the family she had longed for; in my dad a companion and in my uncle, a brother.

My siblings and I had always referred to the trio as hippies, based on the stories we were told set in the early '70s, and images like this:

Apparently this was not the case, as my mother once rebuked me. "Your uncle was a hippie! Your father and I were…..partiers.”

I was confused, “What’s the difference?”

“Your uncle was all about love…peace…and…flower power.

Your father and I were all about drugs, sex and rock & roll.”

Thaaaaat’s what every 12-year-old wants to hear.

Introduced to the Church

The three moved from The Bay area up north when the guys took a job on a commercial fishing vessel. They definitely stood out in the very small, very conservative farming community.

They struck up a friendship with their landlady and next-door neighbor, Sally. My dad, in particular, who was a voracious reader, deep thinker and relentless talker, discussed any and everything under the California sun with their new friend. She belonged to a religion my father had never heard of; The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

In one of their dialogues she mentioned a favorite book of hers, one associated with her religion. She gave a copy to my dad and suggested he add it to his reading list.

He did. When he started to read it, he knew there was something peculiar about it. What he found was a history about an ancient civilization: whereas the Bible tells about people in the east, in Israel, The Book of Mormon tells about people in the west, on the American continents. But instead of prophets named Abraham, Isaiah and Moses, he read about prophets named Nephi, Alma and Mormon. They prophesied about a Savior who would come to Israel and redeem mankind: He would be crucified for the sins of the world, and visit them in their land. These revelations were realized in the crowning event of the book when the resurrected Jesus visited His “other sheep...not of this fold” in the Americas.

As my dad read, things just made sense; questions he had regarding the purpose of life, the eternities, and the struggle between good and evil were answered. It complimented things he was taught as a child from the Bible, but it gave structure to the bits and pieces of the mythologies and histories he had studied.

After he shared the book with my mom, Sally suggested they meet a couple of people who could better answer their questions; my parents were open to the idea.

My loudmouth uncle...well...he wasn't having any of it. So he thought.

The first time the missionaries came over to teach my parents, my uncle barged in to the meeting and sat down. After hearing two minutes of their spiel, he interrupted, “Stop that!! I’m not buying that! You answer my questions.”

And this obstinate man asked his questions.....for the next 12 months; two, four, even six deep they would come, to teach the infamous “DeMarco Brothers”.

When they finally agreed to attend church, they were reluctant. Upon walking-up to the building, my mom recalls they might as well have descended from a UFO since that is how much they stood out. She was donning a mini-skirt, flowing white shirt and vest (no bra, of course) and those thigh-high purple stilettos. My dad was respectable looking in a shirt and tie, with shoulder length locks (of course).

As they approached the building, in the quiet defiance of his mind, my uncle dared someone to say something about his hair. Go ahead, he thought, just one person say one thing about my hair, and I’m gone!

To his dismay not one soul mentioned his hair.....or his overalls.....or his tie-dye t-shirt. Unbeknownst to him the bishop had already put out a threat to the entire congregation: if anyone so much as looked at these visitors wrong, they'd be excommunicated on the spot. It worked. Everyone was friendly and welcoming.

I would exhort you that ye would ask God

At the close of The Book of Mormon, the prophet-historian who finishes the record gives instruction to those who read it; pray and find out for themselves if the contents are true.

"And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost."

For my dad, this process was easy. He had already experienced an intellectual confirmation during his studies.

When my mom prayed to know if The Book of Mormon was true, she had an amazing feeling about it. “BUT,” she recalls, “I was high.”

She gave it another shot, this time sober. The feeling she got was,

"better and stronger than any high [she] had ever had."

My uncle had the most spectacular experience. He had been procrastinating this moment for awhile, but got to a point where he knew he had to act. He knelt at his beside and asked God if the things he had been learning were true. Nothing happened. Night after night, he offered this sincere prayer and night after night he went to bed with nothing.

Then one night after a simple supplication, he laid in bed pondering. He felt an overwhelming and sustaining feeling, a "warm glow" throughout his body, unlike anything he had ever felt. The experience was undeniable. He had his answer.

A new life, a better life

The trio decided it was time to take the plunge and get baptized. First my parents married in a small ceremony at the church: the bishop who officiated arrived late from his referee job wearing red sneakers and a whistle. My father kept his hippie hair, and my mother was radiant in her floral gown, sans the bra (of course).

Their wedding was more than a ceremony to solidify their love: it was a celebration for the new life they were about to begin, and a final hoorah to their former ones. They partied one last time with a glass of champagne to toast the nuptials. One of the attending missionaries was, understandably, upset at the use of alcohol since they already committed to abstain as part of their new religion.

The other one; he got it. It was their goodbye to the days of drugs, sex and rock & roll that had consumed half of their lives. And 44 years later, that champagne remains the last drop of alcohol any of them ever had.

Indeed they've had a long life of sobriety, but more importantly, they've had a life with purpose; a life with God, understanding that He is their Father and they are His loved children. They've had guidance and direction, knowing who they are, where they came from and where they want to go. They discovered a "profound and correct view of marriage", more so than any other they had heard: this led them to a life of children, of family, of joy. A life made possible by discovering that book.

A friend of mine said it well. She had recently become wheelchair bound; this was the latest in a life full of trials and tragedy. A fairly new member of the Church she told me:

“I don’t have a testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

I don’t have a testimony of growing-up 'Mormon'.

I have a testimony of that book, because it's true, and I follow the church that teaches it."

If you have read that book, wherever you are on your faith journey, I encourage you to reread it, study it, make it a part of your everyday routine.

If you have not read that book, I invite you to: find out just what is so peculiar about it - so powerful - so as to transform the lives of one hippie, two partiers, and millions more.