"Here come the Mormons. Let's not answer the door and pretend we're not in."

Have you ever said that? Well, I used to think like that but not any more.

My twenty-first birthday was going to be a celebration, but not without a certain amount of effort. I was at University in Fargo -a city 200 miles east of my home in Bismarck. My sister Judy, one year older than me, and her roommate and best friend Sheila, worked in a little town in Minnesota, another 250 miles east of Fargo. They were both teachers. So after school finished on November 8th, they set out in Sheila's car to come to pick me up in Fargo and then take me home to Bismarck so we could celebrate with my parents. I worked at the Fargo Clinic - records department from 6-9 each night, but it would be much later than that before they got to Fargo, so I didn't have to alter my work plans at all.

It was about 10 when they arrived, and as I was ready and waiting at my dorm, they didn't have to waste too much time. We were back on the interstate highway - by 10.30. North Dakota is a large state - but its main distinguishing feature is that it doesn't really have any distinguishing feature. It is as flat as a pancake. The roads are so straight, that going around a bend is a real cause for excitement. Hills and valleys are so rare that they name towns after them. And even trees can almost be counted on one hand. So we didn't think the 200 miles would be that much of a problem.

The first 100 miles sailed by, and we sang songs and told jokes to help pass the time. But then at about 1 a.m. we were just outside a little town called Steele, when Sheila's car suddenly juttered to a halt. Panic set in. What was wrong? It soon became too obvious, no gas. We were completely out of gas, and 40 miles to the nearest gas station, and that might not even be open so late at night.

This was before the days of mobile phones, and before hazard lights were standard on cars. The road seemed absolutely deserted. Judy suggested that we open the hood (bonnet) of the car, to make it look like we had broken down, and then maybe somebody would stop and we could ask them at least to contact our parents to let them know what had happened.

For about 20 minutes, nobody drove by at all. Then a car came into view, and we waved to attract attention, but it passed us by, and we thought that our chance was gone . Then suddenly it stopped, and then backed until it was right in front of us. "Can we help you?" asked two very polite young men. We quickly explained our problem and they immediately said, "We'll go and get you some gas," and off they went. We didn't know if they would ever return, but sure enough an hour later, there they were again, our good Samaritans. They filled the tank with a 5 gallon can of gas, took only the money they had paid for the gas, and when we asked them how we could ever thank them enough for what they did, they just smiled, and said, "We are Mormons and it is our pleasure to help you. It is what our religion is all about." So we drove happily the rest of the journey to my parents' house without further mishap.

The next night, we went to the Elks club, where my dad was a member, and I remember that my first legitimate drink was a daiquiri. We enjoyed the company of my parents, and then had the long drive back again on Sunday, but this time with a very full tank of gas.

So when anyone says, “What did you do on your 21st?” I reply, “I came to a real appreciation of the Mormons. And if they knock on my door, they can always be sure of a welcome.”