I have written before about how difficult things were in my first area on my mission, but this is a story that I have not told to anyone before. It started with a practical joke, but it escalated to outright abuse.
Elder Able (names have been changed) was Maori native of New Zealand, and a veteran of that country's armed services. He was initially called to the California Fresno Mission but was transferred temporarily to the California San Jose Mission so that he could undergo radiation treatments at Stanford Medical Center -- he had been diagnosed with cancer. This, naturally, landed him in Palo Alto, my first area. Actually, he was assigned to a different ward and a different companion, but he was in the same apartment as I was.
I do not know if it was the cancer or the Royal New Zealand Army, but Able was a bit of a bully. Right off the bat he could be verbally abusive, and I took my fair share of it. It was pointless to try and counter his verbal shots, it would just make things worse.
There was also some culture shock. Supposedly, there are things frowned on in American culture that are perfectly fine in New Zealand culture, so we were told. As an example, some swear words in our culture were perfectly fine in his culture.
I am inclined to think that Able was a certain way before he arrived in California, and that the cancer served to amplify it. Before long the verbal abuse would turn to physical abuse.
After about a month, Elder Able and I teamed up for a day. After running to the copy store, we stopped by to see a few different investigators. While we were driving around, Able asked to see my high school class ring.
Instead of buying a class ring through the school, my father went to his jeweler to get something custom made. Instead of a gem stone, the ring had my initials on the face and the class year on the side.
Able persuaded me to take the ring off so he could look at it more closely. While we were sitting at a traffic light, he suddenly opened the door and acted like he was putting something on the ground. It honestly did not occur to me that he was up to something. A block later, however, he announced that we needed to go back and get my ring. I was flabbergasted.
I was driving and it was not a simple matter of turning around and going back. Instead we had to go around the block, as it were, which took some time. When we got back to the spot, he hopped out of the car and looked around. A few minutes went by, then he got back into the car and said that he could not find my ring. Naturally, I was a little upset. Able then claimed that it was my fault because we did not go back immediately to look for my ring.
This did not help my mood. I said that he was going to have to pay for a new ring, and he chastised me for being unforgiving.
A couple of weeks earlier, some elders in the district had played a practical joke on me, the one about the subline transfer. It was basically harmless, providing little more than embarrassment for falling for the joke. This bit with my class ring, however, was different, with the potential loss of something valuable, both sentimental and monetary. Able, as it turned out, was just getting started.
When I got back at the apartment, I lay down on the couch, still very upset. After a few minutes Able came back into the living room and demanded an apology -- hey, the guy had nerve. My response was to say nothing, which apparently was not the right one. He grabbed me and put me into what he called a pressure position. Basically, he turned me into a pretzel, and the more I fought, the worse it got.
He demanded again that I apologize, and this time I gave in. He then told me to relax, and as I did so he let me go. He said something about resisting making things worse and that if you relax it gets better, to which he added "and you get your ring back," as he pulled my class ring out of his pocket.
I was not amused. When Able walked away, I jumped up from the couch and ran for the door. I had reached the breaking point; I was not going to put up with B.S. like this for two years. I had had enough and I was leaving.
I pulled the front door to the apartment open so hard that the doorknob put a hole in the wall. But I got no further. Able caught me at the door and put me in another pressure position until I surrendered.
My mission had turned into a nightmare, and I felt trapped.
If I had simply walked to the door, I might have made it, but I honestly do not know what I would have done if I had made it outside.
I wish I could say that things got better, but they did not. Even so, God sent me a lifeline. Just a week and a half later a real special transfer resulted in my getting a new companion. This new elder gave me what I needed to survive my last three weeks in Palo Alto.
One morning, however, Elder Able asked me if I would be willing to go on a 30 mile bike ride with him every other morning. Previous to this there had been a few evenings where I had followed him on my bike as he went for a run. The physical exercise was helping him cope with the cancer and the radiation treatments. I declined because I honestly did not think I was physically up to it. This upset Able who responded by sweeping toiletries off the bathroom sink.
My new companion, who was not one to be intimidated by anyone, suggested that Able was being a bit childish. Able replied by throwing Elder Milo's shaving kit at him. My companion got out of bed and said, "I don't know what's got your goat man."
Able grabbed Milo and pushed him against the wall. When my companion calmed down, Able let him go. But this was not the end of it. Able sat down on my bed and started to shed clothing. In the meantime, Milo went to the living room to make a phone call.
Able was breathing fire when he reached the living room. "Who are you calling?!" he shouted.
"President," Milo said flatly
Able replied by punching my companion in the throat before throwing him against the wall. When Milo bounced off the wall, Able pushed him again. Milo was on the verge of losing consciousness when Able threw him over a chair -- he likely would have been knocked out if he had been pushed against the wall again.
I just stood there dumbstruck. Finally, the other elder in the apartment, Elder Lake, my former companion, rushed out into the living room and got between Able and Milo, stopping the action.
We all sat down to talk it out. Able asked me why I was so reluctant to go bike riding with him. As an answer I suggested he take a look at the bruises on my arm and shoulder. But Milo had gotten the worst of it. Later, when we took Able to his appointment at Stanford Medical, my companion asked a ward member, who was also a doctor on the hospital staff, to stitch up a wound in his scalp.
Two weeks later Elder Milo finished his mission and went home, and I was finally transferred out of Palo Alto.
