I am constrained to share the gruesome details of a most heinous episode, a subject that has been, until now, shamefully covered up in the annals of Mormon history. Only a handful of students of Mormonism have had any previous inkling about this topic, but, unfortunately, they could not handle the truth. The Signaturi dared not consider it. The Tanners shrank in its awful presence. Sources at FARMS and FAIR have admitted in private conversation that they had no defense against it and dreaded the inevitable day when it would be revealed. It is a tragedy, I’m sorry to say, the telling of which will try the faith of millions of Latter-day Saints, yet it is a story that must be told in the name of honesty and courage.
Until recently, due to what has been diagnosed as post-traumatic stress syndrome, the surviving participants in this awful historical incident had lost all recollection of the same. Only through hours of extensive hypnotherapy sessions has one of them recovered lost memories of the events. And who is that one person you might ask? It is I, and I remain alone to write the sad tale. Although at times I have convinced myself that I was a victim, I have faced my own self justifications and I admit that I was a willing actor. What I did was not virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy. With deep remorse I confess that I perpetrated a crime against my fellow Mormons, yea, even against all of humanity. I can no longer hide my actions and I am willing to pay whatever price is necessary to repent of my sins. I confess that after having reached the age of accountability, as a teenager I was a knowing and wilful aider, abettor and accessory to the crime known as …
1970s American culture.
There, I have now said it. I have called upon heaven, and now I call upon you, to forgive me.
Although Latter-day Saints have long known of the existence of the 1970s, we had been taught to believe that no Mormons were ever involved in that transgression of a decade. That there were rumors of Mormon involvement cannot be denied, but these rumors were published by enemies of the Church in sensationalistic accounts and were therefore easily dismissed by defenders of the faith. Mormons today cannot be blamed for following officially sanctioned LDS histories over the years that had inaccurately claimed hippies and flower children were the primary guilty parties, save a certain “Osmond Family” with whom the Mormon Church had vociferously denied any official involvement. In fact, it is well known that the Correlation Committee had even sent a letter instructing the Osmonds to leave the 1970s alone, but the letter arrived in their mailbox on January 2, 1970, two days too late. As a people we must now come to grips with the stark reality that I, along with other Latter-day Saints, sometimes disguised as hippies and flower children, instigated some of the worst cultural atrocities of that ignominious decade, an historical fact that can no longer be denied.
I will focus much of my blogging efforts here at AML on telling the story of the numerous cultural felonies and misdemeanors committed by me and other Mormons during That 70s Decade. Dear reader, while I cannot change the past, I draw some comfort that at least you can learn from my shortcomings and avoid repeating the mistakes of history.
Oh my! Do tell.
But, please, leave my name out of it. Not that I’m embarrassed by anything I did in the 70s (except that whole episode with the orange striped "flairs"), it’s just that it takes so much time to explain why I loved it all so much.
A certain lavender, 100% virgin polyester tuxedo, with a fake fur, purple cow-striped bow tie the size of a salad plate, will be Exhibit A to one of several indictments.
Please don’t talk about the copies of famous paintings I Modge-Podged to look like oil paintings (well, sort of) and hung on my walls.
One of the few saving (dis-)graces of the 1970s was that even while those of us who were teenagers in the 1970s were living through it, we didn’t like it (or ourselves) all that much. Any decade when pet rocks, lava lamps, pop rocks, and flare bottom jeans were cultural high points really doesn’t have much to be proud of–and believe me, most of us (at least the ones I knew) weren’t very proud.
I can’t wait!