The Cokeville Miracle

Almost a year ago, I wrote about the “ironic coincidence” of Shawn Stevens becoming a part of an upcoming T. C. Christensen movie about the Cokeville Elementary School bombing.  At the end of the post, I commented, “I will probably want to see the movie when it is released (if it shows up in theaters around here).”  Yesterday, I learned that the movie had indeed come to Rancho Cucamonga and would be playing at the AMC theater attached to Ontario Mills.  After discussing it with Jennifer, we decided that if we came to see the first showing of the day we’d be able to return home in time for our planned ward movie night (we showed Meet the Mormons at the ward building; we needed to be there since the whole idea had been that of the ward and full-time missionaries’).

Mom and Dad told us they were not interested in going (they had seen the movie at a screening in Salt Lake City a couple of months ago).  However, Heather, who also came to see Ben's graduation, said she would accompany us.  Jennifer was talking to a friend on the phone that morning and mentioned we were going to see the movie.  The friend’s response was, “Why would you want to do that?”  Now that I have had a few hours to reflect on that question and my reaction to the movie, I also recall that I said in my July 3 post: “Maybe then I'll be ready to tell my own story about that day and document it as a post rather than just speaking it orally.”  I’m ready to do so because I can honestly say that I needed to see this movie.

I was in the MTC (Missionary Training Center) at Provo, Utah when the hostage crisis and bombing occurred.  I entered the MTC on May 1, 1986.  Anyone who has ever spent time in this or any other missionary training center knows that the missionaries are cut off from the outside world once they enter those doors.  I totally understand why.  Our purpose is to eat, drink, breathe, and learn missionary work.  The outside world is a distraction.  On May 16, I was totally unaware of what was happening in my home town to my three siblings (Joanna, Jaime and Jay) inside the school and to my family.  I went to class and, according to my journal entry written before our half of the floor met for prayer, bore my testimony of President Ezra Taft Benson and being present in the Tabernacle when he was sustained as prophet in the solemn assembly.

My day took a 180° turn after our half of the floor met for prayer.  I don’t know if MTC missionaries still do this, but our half of the fourth floor (the east half, if memory serves) would meet in a large study type area and one Elder would be chosen to say a “floor” prayer.  After prayer that night, one of the floor leaders called out, “Is there an Elder Metcalfe here?”  Puzzled, I raised my hand and walked up to him, “I’m Elder Metcalfe.”  He proceeded to tell me there was a message for me at the front desk.  I was told if I went down the stairs to the 2nd (I think; maybe the 1st) story landing in the stairwell, I would find a phone.  When I picked up the phone, I would be connected to the front desk.  “Just tell them who you are and they will give you the message,” the leader concluded.

Dutifully, I descended the stairs and found the phone.  When I identified myself to the person on the other end of the line, he gave me a message I have never forgotten.  He said, “Yes, Elder Metcalfe, your father called earlier this evening and gave us the following message: ‘There’s been a bombing in the Cokeville Elementary School.  Your bother is in the hospital with 2nd degree burns on his back.  And don’t worry.’”  I’m not sure if that is truly the message Dad gave the front desk or if it was an abbreviate one they decided to pass along, but don’t worry?!?!  Are you kidding me?  I can’t remember if I thanked the person or not.  I hung up the phone and returned dazed to the fourth floor.  As I reached the floor, I suddenly realized I should talk to Shane McKinnon, also from Cokeville.  He had entered the MTC a week after I did.  I had been able to talk to him a few times since he was on the west side of the fourth floor.  With this kind of news now in my possession, I felt I should at least share with him the small amount of information I had just learned.

There were a lot of Elders milling about as I walked toward Shane’s door.  I think I vaguely wondered if they had finished floor prayer.  I don’t recall our conversation other than telling him what I had been told.  At the end of our quick conversation, I think I said something like, “I don’t know if you have brothers and sisters in the school, but I thought you should know.”  I then went to my room to get ready for bed.  Memory being what it is 29 years after the fact, I honestly can’t recall if I told my MTC companion (Elder Hammond) or the other two Elders who shared the room with us what I had learned.  Human nature being what it is, I believe they may have asked and I may have told them, but I can’t make that claim with 100% certainty.

What I do remember, however, is that I couldn’t sleep.  Everyone else fell asleep; I lay on the top bunk, staring at the ceiling.  I was having a difficult time processing the message as it played over and over in my head.  I prayed for Jay; I prayed for Joanna and Jaime even though the message gave no indication that they shared Jay’s fate, but mostly, I lay there wondering why and who had done this.  Why would someone go to Cokeville, Wyoming—of all the places in the United States—and do such a thing?  Who would be that evil?  Did I know this person, or was he someone who just picked the town “just because?”  As I lay on the bed, silently crying, silently being angry, silently asking “why,” a very distinct impression came into my mind.  The impression was: you need to forgive the perpetrator.  As I mentioned, I didn’t know who the perpetrator was!  But I now knew I needed to forgive him.  Consequently, I knelt on my bed (I didn’t want to disturb the others) and began to silently pray; to ask Heavenly Father to forgive the person who had caused such harm to my brother and to anyone else who may have been injured in the bombing.  I don’t know how long I stayed kneeling on the top bunk, pouring my heart out to my Father in Heaven, but I stayed there until a feeling of peace washed over me.  I took that as an indication that I had accomplished what the impression had said I needed to do.  Comforted, I was finally able to sleep.

The next day, Saturday, was a roller coaster of emotions for me.  One minute I was thinking about the peace I had felt after my prayer and I would be feeling good.  Then, I would start wondering about Jay and the others and realize that I didn’t truly know what was going on and I would emotionally plummet.  I had a hard time concentrating during our morning lessons and Sister Chapman (our morning teacher who had actually known my father when he taught at Bingham Junior High) noticed my distracted demeanor.  Fortuitously, that day we interviewed with her to talk about how we were progressing in the lessons.  Not long after I sat across from her, she asked me what was wrong and I spilled my guts.  I don’t know if the teachers tried to stay away from outside influences or if she knew about what had happened through news casts, but I remember she was shocked by my story.  When I finished, she told me she would do everything she could to get me permission to call home.

Since it was Saturday, our branch president wasn’t available (this was before the proliferation of cell phones).  Sister Chapman told me she would continue to try.  Later that day, around dinner time, I was given a permission slip and told to show it at the front desk and I would be given time to call home.  I don’t remember if a time limit was imposed, I don’t think so because I talked with Andrea, Heather, Joanna and Jaime and they told me everything they could and no one walked over to me tapping a watch or making gestures.  The phone call was just what I needed.  It put my mind at ease to know that Jay was being taken care of and Joanna and Jaime were safe.  From that point forward, I was able to refocus on learning to become a missionary.

Two or three weeks after I entered the mission field, I learned that one of the Elders in my Zone was from the Star Valley area (perhaps Afton, I can’t recall).  He had been receiving Casper Star newspaper clippings from his mom and he let me read them.  This at least helped me to talk intelligently about the event.  I had already found out very quickly that as soon as a ward member learned I was from Cokeville, they wanted to know if I knew anything about the bombing.  Six months to a year later, those requests became fewer.  Every time I told the story, I told it based on what I had learned from the newspaper clippings.  It was real to me because of my familial connection to it, but at the same time the entire incident has been for me an “at arm’s length” story.  Because I was separated from my family and home town, my experience was second-hand; even third or fourth hand now that I think about it.  My Dad’s message, abbreviated or not, has been my only real connection to the events of May 16th.  The story I knew was a retelling of events to which I had only an brief emotional connection.  Yes, this movie is also a second-hand retelling, but the visual aspect of it allowed it to make visceral impact upon me.  Yes, there were characters in the movie who served as an amalgamation of two or three people (I thought the older actress was supposed to be Kliss Sparks, the 4th grade teacher, until I learned at the end that she was playing Verlene Bennion, a teacher's aid).  What I appreciated, however, was the fact that T. C. Christensen didn’t doll up the facts.  There probably are certain things about the movie that can be nit-picked, but his effort was closer to what happened then that joke of a TV movie that came out several years after the bombing.

To watch the events leading up to the moment when Doris Young accidentally set off the bomb and then to see the kids reaction made me feel like I was in the room as a silent observer.  I couldn’t stop the events from happening, but I finally had a sense of what happened.  The moment I started becoming emotional was when the young actor playing Jason Hartley began talking about the angels.  Not every child saw angels, but those who did serve as a witness that heavenly protectors were there.  Still, I held it together until the very end when the closing credits began and pictures of some of the children as they were in 1986 and as they are now started to appear.  That was the moment, after 29 years, when the entirety of what happened that day in May became real to me in a way it never had.  Two of those pictures were of Jaime and Joanna.  Wow.  I was having a hard enough time keeping myself together before, but when their pictures appeared, I began to sob.  Also, comments from various people were scattered throughout the closing credits.  Joanna was one of the survivors interviewed by the film crew and a clip from her interview was used as the final comment as the credits ended.  I guess I could say that she got the last word.  Her comment was beautiful.

As the credits came to a close, I knew I had needed to see this movie.  It was such a cathartic experience for me.  It unlocked 29 years of emotions that I didn’t realize I had and gave me some insights that I needed to know.  At that moment, I found myself so thankful that Father in Heaven had spared Joanna and Jaime and Jay that day along with all the other innocents herded into that 30’ x 30’ classroom.  While I took a few minutes to compose myself, a part of me wanted to stand up and shout to the other 10 to 15 people in the theater that my family had been affected by what had been depicted on the screen, but that didn’t seem appropriate so I refrained. J  

Why did angels intervene in Cokeville when other innocents have tragically lost their lives?  I don’t know; I have no answer for that question.  The people of Cokeville are no different from anyone else.  One might say, “Well, the people were predominantly LDS,” but I reject such a ridiculous statement.  All I know for sure is that my family would have lost 1/3 of its members without the divine intervention of that day.  Some families would have lost less; others more.  Our small little town would have been devastated by such a loss.  And maybe we as spirit children of our Heavenly Father need reminders every once in a while of how Father is in the details of our lives, no matter the outcome.  Again, I am grateful my brother and sisters and all those in the room were spared.  Twenty-nine years later, I still may not know all the answers, but I am very thankful for the results.