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Title Volume 08, Number 3, 4, Autumn-Winter 1973
Subject Periodicals; Mormons; Religious thought; Philosophy and religion
Description Independent national quarterly established to express Mormon culture and examine the relevance of religion to secular life. It is edited by Mormons who wish to bring their faith into dialogue with human experience as a whole and to foster artistic and scholarly achievement based on their cultural heritage. The journal encourages a variety of viewpoints; although every effort is made to insure accurate scholarship and responsible judgment, the views expressed are those of the individual authors and are not necessarily those of the Mormon Church or of the editors.
Publisher Dialogue Foundation, 900 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, California 90024
Scanning Vendor Backstage Library Works - 1180 S. 800 E. Orem, UT 84097
Contributors Rees, Robert A.
Date 1973
Type Text
Digitization Specifications Pages scanned at 400ppi on Fujitsu fi-5650C sheetfed scanner as 8-bit grayscale or 24-bit RGB uncompressed TIFF images. Images resized to 950 pixels wide, 150 dpi, and saved as JPEG (level 8) in PhotoShop CS with Unsharp Mask of 100/.3.
Language eng
Rights Management Digital image, copyright 2004, Dialogue Foundation. All rights reserved.
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Title Page 153
Identifier V08N0304-1783_Page 153.jpg
Source Dialogue: Vol 8 No 3, 4
Description The Clinic I x^3 "We're all so proud of him." She stood up. "He wants to serve his tour of duty in Europe or Japan." She walked back to her desk and sat down. "What are you going to major in, Steve?" "I don't know. I'm not certain anymore that I want to go to college." "Oh, but of course you want to go to college, Steve. Your mother and father would be very very disappointed if you didn't earn at least your bachelor's degree. Your three brothers all graduated after their missions didn't they?" "Yes." "Why, what would you do if you didn't go on to finish college?" "I don't know." "I thought that you wanted to go to law school at one time." "I did." "That's a fine profession. Your family would be proud of you." Mrs. Anderson turned to answer the phone. The big window silhouetted the aquarium. The metallic fish flickered through the sunlit yellow water. The glass was smudged. As a little boy he had always pressed against the salty glass with his palms, nose, and lips. Fish floated in the rivers after artillery or bombs. He had followed blood trails and found monkeys and small jungle deer, not men. One platoon had found a tiger curled in the grass as if asleep, dead from concussion. The hall door opened and Mr. Simmons swung through on his crutches, Mrs. Bryce behind him. "We'll see you next week again, Mr. Simmons." She handed Mrs. Anderson the pink charge slip. "Thank you very much." He held his white prescription in his hand. "Come in, Steve. Dr. Jensen will see you now." "Lots of luck, son, now that you're back home." Steve turned as he walked through the doorway. "Thank you." Mrs. Bryce closed the door and followed him down the hall. "In here as usual, Steve. Just sit down. Dr. Jensen will be with you in a minute. He's in the lab." Mrs. Bryce closed the door behind her. Steve rubbed under his belt, then raised his arms to the armrests. He had sat in the brown leather chair last when he had his missionary physical. He had been in perfect health, and he had felt very clean. Dr. Jensen gave all new missionaries from Provo Stake their physicals free. Since his son's death he paid to keep a missionary in the field. Steve looked up at the two yellowish windows. He had his missionary slides, and his mother had saved all of his missionary letters. He lay on his bed at night to see his slides over and over, set the projector on automatic, stacked his hi-fi with records, and so saw on his wall all the lost images again, sound and images blurred, members, converts, companions in color. He had over a dozen slides with Elder Decker on them, who was always smiling. In his letters to his mother and father he had told what a great missionary Elder Decker was. Half of Elder Decker's squad had been killed with him in the ambush. Steve had gone through his book of remembrance, the family photo albums, and all of his old high-school yearbooks looking for himself. He looked at the pictures of all the girls he had gone with. He got his little wooden box of boy scout badges out and his merit badge sash; in his book of remembrance he read his birth, blessing, and baptismal certificates and his priesthood ordination certificates. He had thought that when he saw his mother and father at the Salt Lake
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