Bill Wait
Clifford J. Barborka, Jr.
Don Vincenzo Di Francesca
Not everyone receives the gospel through formally-called missionaries. Sometimes it
comes from a friend or a family member. Bill Wait received it through his older brother.
At first, however, he rejected it. "Tough, irreverent and worldly," in the U. S.
Navy in World War II he had no need for religion and was embarrassed by his brother's
conversion. Returning to civilian life he continued his search for "happiness"
with the same attitude.
Bill Wait held out against the truth for seven years. This unembellished story
of what made him change and how he found true happiness in Jesus Christ is not only of
great intrinsic interest but will serve to encourage Church members whose loved ones have
so far not felt to join them in their allegiance to the gospel.
When I was a kid, preparing for the weekly worship service was a hectic ordeal in our
home. As the meeting time approached, shoes were still unshined, shirts were without
buttons, ties were wrinkled, and tempers flared. Our suits were made of burlap interwoven
with straw. The coarse fiber was irritating to tender skin, so many of us wore our pajamas
under our Sunday suits. Arriving at church late, angry, and wrinkled, and smelling of
Shinola shoe polish, we would sit in our assigned front row seats and brace ourselves for
the fire and brimstone from the pulpit and the crashing thumps from the elderly deacons
sitting behind us.
My brother was more spiritually inclined than I. He studied his New Testament and endured
the minor frustrations. As I grew older, I swore I would never attend church again.
One Sunday afternoon, after having made this vow, I sat with my friend, Jack, in his
living room, reading the Sunday funnies and listening to Glen Miller playing "In the
Mood." The music was interrupted as we received news that Pearl Harbor had been
bombed by the Japanese. Our lives changed rapidly. Families and friends were separated,
and the secure routine of life was abruptly changed.
My brother, two years older than I, quit high school and joined the Merchant Marine. A
strange feeling of fear and nostalgia welled up in my heart as I stood in the early
morning fog on the San Pedro water front, waving good-bye to my brother as he entered the
gate to board his ship. Then for two hours I waited there in the fog for the Pacific
Electric street car to take me home.
Weeks later, we received a phone call from New York. My brother was leaving his ship and
coming home on a motorcycle. He arrived home suntanned, and filled with stories of great
adventure on the high seas and across the plains of the western states. Within weeks he
was gone again, this time with the United States Navy, as a seaman aboard destroyer escort
on convoy duty in the North Atlantic.
Many ships were being sunk and many men were dying. My brother's greatest desire in life
was to be married, and he was afraid that he might be killed in the war and never realize
that dream. He had read in the Bible which he carried with him that there was no marrying
or giving in marriage in heaven. He feared this meant that if he were killed he would
never realize his greatest dream. As he stood on watch through the cold, dark, stormy
nights, he would pray to know if this were true. After many long, lonely hours of deep and
sincere prayer, he received a direct revelation that even if he were killed, he could be
married in heaven.
This spiritual experience was so overpowering that he began to search for a church that
taught this doctrine. As his ship would put in to port, he would buy books on different
religions and study [p.69] them through his tour of duty at sea. Soon he was transferred
to a torpedoman's school in Rhode Island. After graduation he was transferred to Barbers
Point on the Island of Oahu. One day he took a tour of the island.
The bus stopped at the Mormon Temple in Laie, and the tour group entered the bureau of
information. As my brother stepped inside, his eyes fell upon a rack of pamphlets on the
wall. One was entitled "Eternal Marriage." Taking a copy, he ran back to the bus
and read it through tear-filled eyes. The Holy Ghost bore witness to him that he had found
the truth that he had so diligently sought.
Upon returning to the naval base, he sought members of The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints. He read the Book of Mormon, received a testimony of the gospel, and was
baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. Overwhelmed with joy at his new-found
truth, he wrote home and to me.
By this time, I was in New Guinea aboard a rusty old Navy ship. I, too, had quit high
school and left home on my seventeenth birthday. I was homesick and discouraged, for I had
left thinking that I would become a Navy hero aboard a destroyer or a submarine. But I was
swinging around the hook in Madang, New Guinea, and cursing the heat, the ship, and the
war. My brother's letter to me arrived with a package. I had hoped for goodies from
Hawaii, but out dropped a book of scriptures. I was embarrassed in front of my friends to
be receiving such a package, for we were tough, irreverent and worldly men. That night, I
placed that Book of Mormon and some equipment of my shore-based days in the sea bag, and
in the dark of the night I dropped it over the fan tail and gave the gospel light the
"deep six." My search was for happiness, and I thought that it was not to be
found in church.
My parents, knowing little of the Mormons, were shocked by my brother's decision and
offered little encouragement to him. My feeling was that he had suffered too much of the
pressure of war and had cracked under the strain. To me, church was an escape from life or
an opportunity to make a living. I was embarrassed that a brother of mine had turned to
religion.
The months rolled into years, and finally the war was over. My brother went home, and
within a short while he was called on a full-time mission for the Church.
I had many months yet to serve on my enlistment, but finally we were all home as a family
unit. I had been embarrassed in explaining to friends that my brother was a missionary. My
concept was far different from what he had experienced. It was now my turn to hear,
firsthand, his testimony and the plan of salvation. He wanted me to be baptized and join
him in the kingdom of God. I was frustrated and disturbed by his strong desire. I tried to
avoid him and continued my search for "happiness."
I had joined the Los Angeles Fire Department and was living the "Life of Riley."
I had good pay, many hours off, good health, many friends, and could spend all of my time
and money in the pursuit of pleasure. I was living at the engine house at the time, and I
envied the firemen who went home to wives and families when relieved of duties. They, in
turn, envied my freedom and lack of responsibility. But, inside, I was slowly dying
because life was a meaningless rat-race.
The Korean War had begun. Friends were being called away to the horrors of war. As the
empty days wore on, I became more and more discouraged. There was no apparent reason for
my despair; I had everything that the world can offer—except happiness.
One night as we responded to an alarm of fire, a friend of mine, reporting from another
engine house, fell off the tailboard of his truck and was killed. The alarm was false, and
the futility of this tragedy, the return of war, and my futile search for happiness
weighed heavily on me through the remainder of that night. When I was relieved of duty the
next morning, I walked the streets of Los Angeles to where my friend had died.
Here, on Skid Row, as the smog hung heavily in the air, I found the tragedy of death which
is a lack of reverence for life. All about me there was the stifling stench of sin.
Obscenities were crudely written on the walls of the ugly buildings. Drunks were lying on
the sidewalks, and the paddy wagon was making its morning rounds. The newspapers on
the racks gave detailed accounts of the battle dead in Korea, and my thoughts filled me
with despair.
I walked down the street and prayed to God to know why I was alive, and with all the
energy of my soul I told him that I
But in answer to my sincere prayer I was overwhelmed with a desire to read the books that
my brother had been urging me to read for the past seven years.
Now, each morning as I left work I went to the library and read the Book of Mormon, the
Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, and the New Testament. I knew that what
I read was true; the Holy Ghost bombed me with the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I knew of a
surety that the words were true. I was filled with despair at the exquisite memory of the
wasted years of my life in search for happiness. But at the same time I was filled with an
even greater joy, with the
I began attending church, where I found not only the love of the Latter-day Saints, but
also the love of the girl who was to become my eternal mate. Soon I was baptized and
confirmed a member of the Church by my brother who had tried patiently and long to bring
this great truth to me. Not long after, he baptized and confirmed my mother and my father.
Soon we were sealed for time and all eternity to one another. A far greater security than
I had ever known was ours. The true happiness which I had sought was found in its only
source—a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Material wealth, social position, worldly pleasures—these things have always been
a threat to righteousness. Clifford Barborka almost succumbed to them.
His wife, the talented singer Melva Niles, accepted the gospel first. His resistance to it
caused much conflict between them, and this tension was not eased by his health
impairments caused by his heavy smoking and drinking. How was God going to reach down and
lift a life like this?
The Lord's hand is indeed evident as the story unfolds. Today, many thousands of Church
members and nonmembers alike from coast to coast have seen and enjoyed the programs
presented by the talented Clifford and Melva as they, serve their full-time informal
mission. In this way as well as during their formal stake mission, they have borne to
multitudes the fervent gospel testimony they feel.
For their talents and services, this couple formerly received an annual income in six
figures. But as the reader clearly sees, their real success and happiness came when they
were "hired" by the Lord.
When Melva Niles and I first met in 1947, she was starring in "Song of Norway"
and had accompanied the show on its national tour. As we progressed towards marriage she
made great strides in her career. By the time we were married, in 1949, her manager was
Mr. Edwin Lester, director of the Los Angeles Civic Light Opera Association, and he had
just "sold" her to Cole Porter for his new show, "Out of This
World." Melva's income was up to $1500 per week. Fortunately, Melva has always been
first a wife and second a career woman, especially after our two sons were born. This
attitude is rare among talented women.
By 1956 Melva was recognized for her outstanding talent in both East Coast and West Coast
theatrical circles. She had become a member of the Junior League and was a constant
contributor to and participant in charitable causes. She donated her time to handicapped
children and children's hospitals, made a benefit recording for Multiple Sclerosis, and so
on. Personally, socially, and professionally, her life had been one of accomplishment and
growth, and she was very much a part of the world and worldly ways.
In the meantime I became Midwest Sales Manager for John Blair & Company, which was
the leader in its field and the first radio-television station representative firm to pass
the $100 million gross figure. In 1958 I became vice president of that company, Director
of Midwest Operations, and a member of the board of directors. Soon I would become the
fifth largest stockholder of the company.
I mention these and other matters here, not for purposes of self-aggrandizement, but
rather to set forth the background of our lives as they were when the gospel found us.
Educated in mid-western private schools, and very much a part of the world both personally
and professionally, I had never even heard of the name, "The Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-day Saints," and I knew of the Mormons only as a group headed by Brigham
Young in a historical exodus to the west. My father's background was Catholic, my mother's
family was Methodist, but we had long since fallen away from any formal religion.
For Melva and me, 1956 certainly was a great year, and it seemed to be the staging year
for even greater growth. By 1957 we would enter our first of five years in which gross
income would reach six figures. In short, the world was our oyster, for to us at that time
it seemed that we had all that any couple could possibly desire.
One sunny day in July of 1956, my phone rang while I was in the midst of a most important
meeting; Melva had called to tell me that she had been talking to two young men who told
her about another young man who said he had seen God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ!
This was so incredible to me that I told her to "get them out of our apartment and do
so at once, and they are not to come back." This was the beginning of our personal
Armageddon.
To Melva, this was the moment of truth for which her soul must have been thirsting,
because she received an immediate testimony that these young missionaries were telling the
truth. Subsequently she met regularly with them. Even I settled for two meetings at later
dates. At one of these meetings, I tried to point out errors in the missionaries'
teachings and presented an opposite viewpoint. Then I invited a personal friend, an
Episcopalian priest, to have dinner with us and the young missionaries so that Melva might
compare the learned with the unlearned, be brought back to the facts of life, and thus
stop asking me to get involved. How well I remember that night! Intellectually, the priest
dominated the young missionaries; however, I told Melva afterwards that I believed the two
young men more than I did my long-time friend, the priest—but that, with all our
other commitments and responsibilities, we could not get involved in a church.
Melva continued to go to church with the missionaries on most Sundays and occasionally to
Relief Society. However, by worldly persuasion and reasoning I was able at this stage to
argue her out of a firm commitment, to prevent the total involvement of baptism and
membership. During this period I was asked by Isaac Smoot, the mission president, to speak
to the missionaries on the subject of salesmanship, which was my specialty. I look back
now and realize that while speaking to these young men I had an unusual feeling that could
only mean one thing—a testimony.
My plan had been to demonstrate to the missionaries sample door approaches, showing them
how they could get into more homes, how they could hold the attention of their prospects,
and then how to present the material efficiently and effectively. As preparation for my
presentation I read and re-read the Joseph Smith Story which was the material the
missionaries would be using. This pamphlet vaguely disturbed me. But it was not until I
made the presentation before the assembled missionaries that I had the startling reaction
to its message.
Suddenly, as I spoke, I felt as though I were alone, apart from the group which had become
a blur in front of me—I felt levitated, disconnected from the floor. My fingers and
toes tingled. I can recall this experience almost precisely, not because I analyzed it and
understood it at the time; I was baffled! Once the sensation had passed, I concentrated on
dismissing the whole thing as unusual but inconsequential. I turned my back on the first
of three such testimonies.
I had graver things to think about! It was also at this time that my doctors gave me
approximately ten years to live unless I changed my way of life. Life for me embraced a
great deal of social activity including much professional entertaining. Every day I smoked
three-and-a-half packs of cigarettes and drank from ten to fifteen drinks. Among my health
impairments, I had developed a diseased liver, emphysema of the lungs, and high blood
pressure—and I was only thirty-three years old. Life certainly had its conflicts.
After many pressures and arguments, I finally allowed Melva and our older son, Cliff III,
to be baptized in 1960. At this point I began to lose my firm grip on Melva and the
family, as our lines of communication began to pull apart. I discovered that in the
highly-charged social atmosphere of New York, and more specifically Bronxville, New
York—a very restricted suburban community covering about one square mile in
area—our sons were beginning to experiment in undesirable behavior. It was also the
year 1960 when I turned my back on another testimony.
It happened in a plush restaurant in New York City. A business acquaintance (who
incidentally happened to be a good Mormon) was seated with me, and we were discussing uses
of various sales tools.
"Do you really believe that Joseph Smith actually saw God?" I asked him without
preliminary discussion on the subject. He then solemnly bore his testimony to me that he
knew that Joseph Smith [p.76] did indeed see God. I shook my head in disbelief and wonder
that such a sensible man as my friend would embrace such fantasy! He patted my hand and
told me that I would understand it all better after I had become a member of the Church! A
highly charged sensation surged through me and again my hands and feet tingled. But I was
unwilling to recognize or admit that these experiences were witnesses of the Holy Ghost.
My interests were in material gain and not in changing our way of life. Nevertheless, a
strong sense of disenchantment was setting in on me as to the manner in which we were
earning our living. The more I came in contact with the Church, the greater this
disenchantment became, and combining this with the fact that Melva could not save our boys
alone and that they were beginning to drift, I knew that something had to be done to
improve the situation. Thus it was that in 1961 I sold my interests in John Blair &
Company and became an individual entrepreneur. This allowed me more time with my sons, but
nevertheless as a family our lives were terribly discordant. Melva and I drew further and
further apart. I would send Melva, the boys, and our household help to church by
limousine, and then have them picked up just before final song and prayer, as I wanted
them home as quickly as possible. It seems so ridiculous now that I wasted so much
precious time and built so many frustrations into our lives, with so much at stake
spiritually.
Melva made a tragically prophetic statement shortly after she was baptized (I did not
attend her baptism). She said that if I continued to stay away from the Church and did not
take it seriously, we would lose everything. I did stay away and I did procrastinate with
my inner feelings, and her prophecy was true in so many ways.
I remained opposed to joining my family in the Church. In fact, I would not admit
believing any part of it. Nevertheless, I accepted, even volunteered, involvement in
projects where my theatrical acumen would be useful. The members were grateful for the
assignments I accepted in the production of Promised Valley, the Mormon Arts Festival at
Columbia University, and the World's Fair Singing Mothers. I did not resent any of the
time spent on these performances; in fact, my business life did not [p.77] suffer at all
from the little time that these projects required. However, I did begin to suffer new
reverses in business. Every investment became unbelievably unprofitable. I could bet on a
sure thing and yet lose. Determination to show Melva that I had everything under control
drove me to make some foolish moves. I was desperate to show her that I could handle these
affairs and be eminently successful as I had been in the past. To say the least, it was
very annoying to see Melva's prophecy coming true as one venture after another failed.
Then in 1963 we had a particularly serious argument about religion, and the next morning I
found a letter from my wife which caused me to realize the desperate and lonely situation
that confronted Melva. She had gone as far as she could go without her husband. The letter
truly touched me, and at this time I realized something serious had to be done. It was at
this point that I began to accompany my family to Sunday School regularly and to study the
scriptures and the writings of Church leaders. We invited the missionaries to dinner
often, but still I was not really opening my heart to their message.
In studying the scriptures I discovered new and profound meanings. Especially was I amazed
at how the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants supplement and add veracity to the
Bible. Then in class on Sunday I began to feel a radiant spirit among some of the members,
and my curiosity began to grow. Now gospel discussions were more common in my life, and
soon it was apparent to me that the Book of Mormon was at least unique and exceptionally
interesting.
While reflecting on all of this late one night, I realized that I was experiencing that
same feeling from within that had been part of me that night in 1956 when I addressed the
missionaries in Chicago, and then again in 1960 while discussing the Church with an
intelligent friend. Now here it was again, and I knew for certain that the Book of Mormon
was what it purported to be, and that therefore everything else must also fall into place.
It was a thrilling moment.
I woke Melva, it being about two-thirty in the morning, and we assumed what for me was a
very foreign position—we knelt [p.78] in prayer. While praying, we both experienced a
deep feeling of peace and assurance that all would be well in the future. Afterwards I
told Melva that I wanted to be baptized—but could I live the covenants, especially in
the area of "kindergarten" called the Word of Wisdom? This was now May, 1964,
and in an interview I set my baptism for the last Saturday in July. In retrospect, it is
foolish that I chose to delay baptism for two months, since I knew the Church was true and
I had made up my mind to live by its tenets. I could as easily have set the date for one
month or even one week later. The course I followed was a very dangerous one, and I would
not recommend it to anyone.
Now the torture began in earnest, and up to the last night prior to baptism, I could not
seem to live the Word of Wisdom. We were out to dinner with clients, and I had martinis
before dinner, wine with dinner, and a stinger after dinner. I remember I had a couple of
drinks at intermission during the show we attended, and then left to catch the 12:04 a.m.
train to Scarsdale. We got to Grand Central Station with about ten minutes to spare, so I
took Melva into one of my favorite bars and I had two fast drinks. As I took my last puff
on the cigarette I was smoking, it was four minutes before twelve and I knew this was it!
Could I make it? Did I have a real testimony? I had no doubts about the Church, but did I
have sufficient strength?
I determined to stay strong through Saturday; and then Sunday, being the Sabbath, would
have to be observed. A doctor friend had given me some pills to help through the coming
weeks, and I was armed for the battle.
After coming out of the waters of baptism, I had that exhilarating feeling that comes when
the spirit has subjugated the physical man. It was so strong that I knew I had been
"hired" by the Lord for his purposes and that I was truly different from what I
had been the day before. Since I did not want to be "fired" from the Lord's
employ, and since the priesthood was more important to me than any job I had ever had, I
knew that the Lord and I would overcome my Word of Wisdom problem, so instead of pills I
turned to prayer. Whereas I had been accustomed to having a fresh cigarette in my hand
every fifteen minutes, it now became ]tter of a prayer on my lips almost every fifteen
minutes. I will not detail the conquering of this habit—this minor requirement of
gospel living—except to say that it was not easy. But I knew it was necessary, and
ever since the day I was baptized, I have been able to testify to the truth of the Word of
Wisdom, for I am still in better health than ever before, and the liver and lung
impairments, while not cured, are surely arrested.
My father, being a doctor, is amazed at the improvement in me. He is a world-renowned
doctor of internal medicine. Recognized as an innovator both in research and in treatment,
he was Professor of Gastroenterology at Northwestern University School of Medicine and
later was president of the national organization. He has been director of research for the
World Medical Association, and has other honors too numerous to detail here. We were a
family dedicated to achievement in the world, and were far removed from theology or
theological issues.
Dad was pleased that my health improved after my baptism, yet any attempt to discuss the
Church created an argument or disagreement. This finally prompted him to tell Melva that
she must see to it that I stopped talking religion in front of him.
After six months in the Church, Melva and I were called on a stake mission for two years.
This became another milestone in our lives, for we soon discovered that we had neither the
desire nor the time to make money; so around April of 1965, we completely stopped working
and made our mission a full-time mission. Now with our door open to the missionaries and a
prayer that we might be of service to them in their efforts, we began to get calls to talk
to investigators. Soon we were talking in sacrament meetings throughout our stake, and
during the week we would be with the missionaries, with our own investigators, and opening
our home for missionary meetings.
By 1967 we were presenting our program in wards and branches, stakes and districts, and by
the end of that year we had completed assignments from Massachusetts to California with
many stops in between. This was a labor of love, and we were constantly adding to and
changing our format to meet the needs of the group concerned. Our mission was extended by
six months, [p.80] and when it ended, we discovered that we were busier than ever. By the
end of 1969, we looked back and found that we had crisscrossed the United States by car
alone (not counting air travel) almost twenty times since 1965, had accumulated over
120,000 miles of missionary travel, appeared in over a hundred different wards and
branches, and had seen the Church in action throughout the nation. Although an exact total
is not available, we have had the privilege of giving over six hundred separate
presentations with music and the spoken word.
In all this we received much more than we could ever have given. What a testimony it was
to us! We found the Church to be the same in the East or the West, for everywhere the
saints are striving for the same goal—eternal exaltation. To us, The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints is a living miracle. Where else in the world will you find an
organized religion, association, or group of any type that has so many people unselfishly
committed to the same objectives?
It is interesting to reflect upon the way the gospel changes one's life. Among other
blessings, since the day I was baptized Melva and I have not been separated for more than
a day; and we work, play, and pray together in all things. Our lives have become totally
inseparable both personally and professionally, and—contrary to the "old
days"—we never have a conflict of interests. In fact, we love this great
blessing of togetherness and are grateful for it. We have discovered that for life to have
real meaning, it must give real service. Now we are happily rebuilding our lives, asking
only that the Lord's will be done.
One day Melva and I sat reflecting on our blessings and the great opportunities we have to
be of service to our Father in heaven. At the time we were with Melva's mother. We were
expressing wonderment that the missionaries ever found us, when Melva's mother humbly
admitted that she had sent them to our home.
Melva's mother was born to Mormon parents who both died when she was a child. She was
raised by relatives, married while young, moved to California, divorced her husband, and
married again out of the Church. (Her daughter, Melva, never knew about [p.81] the Church
until years later, when she learned of it in the way I have recounted.) My mother-in-law
reactivated herself after a series of personal tragedies and, unknown to us, committed
herself to the gospel. She then sent the light of the gospel into her daughter's life,
thus benefiting me and my family and my brother and his children—and so on it will
go, particularly as we do our genealogical and our missionary work.
We are truly grateful for the adversities in our lives, and we know that if they had not
come we would not have the gospel to enjoy as we do today. We are blessed by the
whisperings of the Holy Ghost, which tell us that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ,
that Joseph Smith was a great prophet, and that there is a prophet at the head of the
Church today. We know that the Book of Mormon is the work of God. Melva and I pray that we
may be worthy servants in the Lord's kingdom and that we may endure to the end.
This story spans an ocean and a lifetime. It takes the participant from his native
Sicily to America, where he obtains a degree as pastor. More important, in a trash pile he
finds a precious book of scripture. The book lacks only one thing—identification. It
is without cover or title page.
The thrilling contents of the book now inspired Don Vincenzo's life and supplemented his
sermons. But the ministerial reaction was the classic one—this must be heresy because
it is not in the Bible. Don Vincenzo, however, had received the Spirit's witness that the
book was true, and he would not retract. His account of the "trial" he received
and his firm defense of the book without a name could almost make one think that a modern
Luther was facing his accusers.
It took twenty years to discover the name and publisher of this precious book—the
Book of Mormon—and another twenty before the eager convert could receive baptism. All
that time Don Vincenzo was without Church association. The reader may well ponder whether
his own faith would have stood that test.
Brother Di Francesca died firm in the faith in 1966. At his request, his story is
dedicated to the Italian Mission.
Leaving the waters of the Mediterranean Sea on the north coast of Sicily about 80
kilometers east of Palermo, one can make his way up the steep slopes of the Madoni
mountain range and eventually reach several small Sicilian villages, typically situated on
the crests of the highest peaks. Passing through Santo [p.83] Gibilmanna one travels
several more kilometers to the tiny city of Gratteri. This was where on September 23,
1888, at 9:00 a.m., Don Vincenzo Di Francesca was born and where on November 18, 1966, he
passed from this life.
Many citizens of this tiny village experience birth, life, and death while never venturing
more than twenty or thirty kilometers from their homes in all their lives. This might have
been the lot of Vincenzo had not a sequence of events led him far away and eventually
brought him to a knowledge and acceptance of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
From his very early years, Vincenzo was religiously inclined. After his elementary
education was complete, his grandfather Antonine arranged for him to receive private
religious training from the older man's cousin, Vincent Serio, who unfolded the Old and
New Testaments to the lad. Vincenzo was so successful in all the lessons that his tutor
praised him with the words: "Thou art blessed."
At the age of twelve Vincenzo was admitted to the Gymnasium Lay-Clerical where he studied
religion for four-and-a-half more years.
His brother Antonine, who was then residing in New York City, invited Vincenzo to spend
his seminary vacation in America, and he accordingly left Naples on a steamship. In New
York he struck a fast friendship with his brother's friend, a Methodist pastor of the
Italian Branch Chapel. Soon Vincenzo became a teacher of that congregation, and because of
the merit of his teaching it was proposed that he take the Evangelical course of both Old
and New Testament, at Knox College of New York, where he got his degree as pastor in
November 1909.
Early one cold morning Vincenzo received a note about a sick friend. While he was on his
way down Broadway toward the ailing friend's home, a strong breeze from the open sea
rustled the pages of a book which had been thrown upon a barrel full of ashes ready for
the city trash truck. The form and the binding of the pages gave him the idea that it was
a discarded religious book, and curiosity pushed him to retrieve it. He plucked it from
the ashes and beat it against the trunk of the trash barrel. He looked ] at the
frontispiece and found it torn; the cover was completely missing. The fury of the wind
turned the pages in his hand, and he saw names that he had never in his life seen before.
In his haste to go on to his destination, he wrapped the soiled book in the newspaper he
had just bought and continued toward his colleague's house, where he visited with him and
consoled and advised him.
After Vincenzo's return home, as soon as he could get his coat off and warm himself, he
opened the book and began to read. He came across some of the writings of Isaiah—a
name he recognized—and was convinced that it was a fine religious book he had found.
But he could not detect the name of it since the cover and some pages were missing, and
other pages were too soiled to be legible. He went out to the drug store and bought 20
cents' worth of denatured alcohol, and with this and a cotton-pad he washed the remainder
of the pages. Then he read them.
"I felt as though I was receiving fresh revelation and much new light and
knowledge," he recalls. "I was also charmed to think of the source by which I
had obtained the book. Many of the lectures in the book left in my memory a strong
magnetic attraction, and I felt urged to re-read it several times, always satisfied that
it fit very well with other scripture, as though it were a fifth Gospel of the Redeemer.
"The next day I locked my door and knelt with the book in my hands. First, I reviewed
the 10th chapter of Moroni, and then I prayed to know if the book were of God. I also
asked if I could mix the words of it with the four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
John in my public preaching.
"While I was in that pose, awaiting a positive answer, I first felt my body become
cold and my heart palpitate as if it would speak, and then I felt a gladness as if I had
found something of extraordinary preciousness. It left in my memory sweet consolation and
supreme joy that human language finds no words to describe.
"The book was easy to understand without effort. The more I read it and thought about
it, the more I was impressed that I had received the assurance that God had answered my
prayer and I knew that the book was of great benefit to me and to all who would heed its
words.
"Within a few days my preaching was strung with the new words of the book, and the
listeners became amazed and enthralled with the new power in these sermons, at the same
time becoming indifferent to some of my fellow preachers. Thus while the esteem towards me
grew, so did professional anger and envy and suspicion. One day I was interrupted in a
meeting by the Vice Venerable, when he heard me talking of Mary the Virgin and
substituting the vision of 1 Nephi 11:15-36. This arrogant authority encouraged my
colleagues to sit in all my meetings and contradict any new doctrine! These contradictions
and indignities made me rebel, and I became disobedient to the warnings for me to observe
the strict methods of the sect.
"Next I was denounced to the Committee of Censure who, with fatherly words, counseled
me to burn the book of the devil that had brought so much trouble to the harmony of the
brothers who loved me.
"I testified to them as follows: 'I find the book precise under every respect to the
writings of the prophets, and the words themselves testify that the book is of the God
whom we profess to adore. I do not know to what precise church it belongs, but for certain
it talks about the appearance of the Redeemer, after his crucifixion, to a remote people
organized into a nation upon this continent, and the Redeemer himself there organized a
Church with apostles and priesthood like the Church that he organized during his ministry
among the Jews; and he gave commandments and laws. The great trouble with most of us is
that we do not apply the teachings of the gospel to ourselves. We do not examine ourselves
and find out wherein we are failing. Knowledge without practice is like a glass
eye—all for show and nothing for use. There is nothing more true than the fact that
it is works that count. Faith without works is dead, like the body without spirit. It is
only a short time after death until we must bury the body. We cannot keep it.
"'The book that the Committee counsels me to burn talks of a church, but the missing
pages do not let me know where it is. It is better, instead of burning the book,
that we practice what is in it, because certainly it gives us more light and knowledge and
more faith to perform all our works, than the teachings of others. I cannot burn the book,
because I fear God and I have asked him if it is true, and my prayer has been answered
affirmatively, positively, without a shade of doubt. I feel it in my whole heart, mind,
and body at this instant. Neither can I permit its burning, and since you insist on
pronouncing the sentence to burn the remaining pages of the book which you say is of the
devil, I tell you that it is the devil who suggests to you to persist in your decision in
order to bring you into perdition as Judas Iscariot was, who sold the Redeemer for thirty
pieces of silver. I am encouraged to tell you in this instant that your eyes are of glass
and that you are all near to God with your words but far from him with your hearts and
your works!'
"That was as the fire to the powder in the gun. The Committee got up and cried, 'It
is enough! That book, which oppresses you, must be burned or you will incur the most
serious displeasure.'
"I replied, 'I repeat, I will not burn the book. I prefer to go out of the ministry
rather than burn the book!'
"In April of 1914, this heavy conflict had its conclusion before the Council of Peace
of the sect, and I was invited to a conciliation. But I found that the subject of the
judgment was not being changed. The Vice Venerable started the interrogation with affable
manners, believing that my unyielding attitude had been provoked by the sharp rap
administered by the members of the Committee of Discipline. He spoke with much
benevolence, and then stated, 'You must be noble enough to burn that vessel of falsehoods
that has brought bitterness to the Brothers of the Good Shepherd!'
"I replied, 'The musicians have changed, but the music is the same, namely that I
must destroy the book with fire without anyone examining its contents. If I burn the book
I offend the Godhead.'
"I was given one last warning: 'Repent of your stubbornness!'
"'No.' I stood with the contested book in my hands, listening to the words of the
Judge stripping me of my degree of Pastor and of every right and privilege in the Church
of the Good Shepherd.
"I left with fresh self-confidence at having defended my cause and that of the book
of unknown name.
"On May 15, 1914, the Supreme Synod examined a list of member petitioners and
reviewed my case of disobedience. They called upon me to be judicious and to abandon the
"infidel book" and repent, as the Synod was of the intention to pardon my
stubbornness. I refused, so they confirmed the decision, classed me as an habitual and
incorrigible rebel against the ordinances of the religious sect, and pronounced definitely
my removal from the body of the church.
"November 26, 1914, the Italian Consulate of New York called me to embark for Italy
as a soldier in the 127th Infantry Regiment stationed at Florence, Italy. May, 1915, I was
sent to the front. At one point I was seriously censored by the commander of the company
on report by the Catholic chaplain who was aware of my loyalty to the book with no cover.
I was punished with ten days in a tent with only bread and water, and was told never to
tell anyone again about the history of a degraded people that are the American redskins.
"After my discharge in 1919 I returned to the United States, and there I met my old
friend Mike, the pastor of the Methodist Church, who knew my preceding history and whom I
greatly esteemed. He frankly interceded in my favor, asking that I be readmitted to the
congregation as a lay brother, afterwards making steps toward a reconciliation. It was
very hard, but at the end, being specific that they were conducting an experiment, they
called me to accompany my protector abroad on a mission. We went to Auckland, New Zealand;
and then to Sidney, Australia, where I found some Italian emigrants who had serious
questions about certain gospel translations in some of the Catholic and Protestant
editions of the Bible. They were unsatisfied by my minister friend's answers but, being in
possession of the truth, I convinced them. When they wanted to know where I had learned
such teachings, I spoke of the book in my possession. It was sweet for [p.88] them but
very bitter for my colleague. At first he bore with me, but I could not resist the strong
urge to preach the divine truth, and finally Mike denounced me in his reports. Again the
Synod put in force the decision of May 15, 1914, and I was forever out of the Sect.
"In May, 1930, I stumbled onto the source of my precious book. It happened while I
was looking in my French dictionary for the significance of a pulley invented by a
Frenchman. As I was thumbing through the M's, my eyes fell upon the words "Mormon
sect." I quickly wrote to the president of the 'University of Provo,' which was
mentioned in the article, and asked for information about the remainder of the book that
talks of Nephi, Alma, Mosiah, Mormon, Isaiah, Lamanites, etc. He passed my letter to the
President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and in another month I heard
from President Heber J. Grant. He sent me a copy of the Book of Mormon in Italian and said
that he had informed the president of European Missions in Liverpool, England, Elder John
A. Widtsoe, to arrange baptism.
"On June 5, 1932, Elder John A. Widtsoe of the Council of the Twelve came to Naples
intending to baptize me, but a revolution between Fascists and anti-Fascists on the Island
of Sicily caused the police of Palermo to prevent me from going to Naples, and I had to
wait for another chance, like Moses in anticipation of the promised land.
"I was called to arms during the Italian-Ethiopian war in 1934, and this further
prevented anyone with authority from reaching me for baptism.
"On January 14, 1937, I started correspondence with Elder Richard R. Lyman, European
Missions President, and later with the president of the British Mission. President Hugh B.
Brown of that mission eventually came to Rome intending to baptize me, but his letter of
invitation for me to go to Rome was delayed until the day in which he and his family left
Rome for America because of the outbreak of World War II, when the missionaries in Europe
returned to America. Thus I was deprived of baptism, and cut off from any news of the
Church.
"I remained a faithful follower and fervent preacher of the gospel of this
dispensation, being in possession of the standard works of the Church. I translated those
works in my idiom and sent the important chapters to persons of my acquaintance.
"On February 13, 1949, I started again the correspondence with Elder John A. Widtsoe
and I asked him to help me to be baptized soon. He answered that he had written asking
President Samuel Bringhurst of the Swiss-Austrian Mission to come down to Sicily and
baptize me.
"On January 18, 1951, I was baptized by President Bringhurst in the Thermal Waters of
Termini Irnerese, Sicily, in the South of Italy.
"In 1954 I made a trip to the Swiss Temple for my own endowments, and this first step
was quickly followed by other trips to do temple work for my ancestors.
"You can see that I have toiled hard to find the salvation in the kingdom of God
which was spoken of in the remainder of the pages of the book without title page or cover.
I pray earnestly that my story will be copied into the historical record of the Italian
District [now Mission] so that future converts can learn clearly that man does not live by
bread alone but lives also by the word of God. To all the saints in Zion I clasp hands
across the ocean in true brotherhood."
Brother Francesca's Christensen.
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