We are writing this week's column from New York City, where we have just welcomed our 23rd grandchild into the world. (Hey, if you are a fresh, new spirit going to go down into the world, why not start your life off right in the middle of the Big Apple?) This city has been a second home to us in many ways for many years. I (Richard) served my first mission here, several of our kids studied here and two started their careers here.
During my mission, there was only one LDS chapel in Manhattan, and it was a converted Jewish synagogue on West 81st Street, where we met without a choir but with a chamber music group composed of Julliard students who had joined the church. The Upper West Side was a dangerous place in those days. One Sunday morning, a brother got stabbed on his way to priesthood meeting, and we missionaries were glad for the flannel boards we carried under our arms in long black cases, which some mistook for firearms and thus left us alone.