Conference Memory

For those of you who don’t know. Every first weekend of April and October, a worldwide conference takes place for the members of the LDS Church. It’s broadcast from the Conference Center in downtown Salt Lake City to church buildings around the world in dozens of languages.

Well, when I was 17 and my little brother Darin was twelve, we went to the Priesthood Session in the Conference Center. It was pretty exciting since the building holds 20,000 people. This was the closest experience I’d had to an airport.

We stood in long lines with our father and then made our way through metal detectors as our tickets were scanned. Entering the building put us all in a state of awe. The interior of white walls and pillars and marbled floors was a lot to take in at that age; however, once we got into the open air portion, I was even more astonished.

I was at an age where the craft behind art and architecture was beginning to make sense. It was a lot to take in, but since we had time (a good half hour before the conference was to start), I told my father I was going to look at the rest of the building. My brother came along and we made our way up to the top floor taking in the view, the art hanging on the walls, and the swarm of men in white shirts and ties to which we matched perfectly. We made our way to the elevator to go down a floor.

“This is pretty cool,” I said, pushing the button to go down a floor.

“It’s just different to be here in person,” Darin marveled.

As the doors opened, we didn’t find the marbled floors or the excellent views we’d expected, but rather a monotone gray parking garage. Had we wanted to see the apostles cars, we were probably in the right place; however, it was almost time for us to make our way back.

We hopped back in the elevator and hit the button for our floor. Once it opened up, we realized we were in somewhat of a pickle. We had to go through security again.

“Have your ticket?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“We’re getting in line, then,” I instructed as we stepped in front of two men who could be our grandfathers.

As we approached the checkpoint, I worried about what might happen as we went through a second time. Would our tickets give us away? Would we be turned away?

I did my best to make a good impression with the elderly guard. “How’s the day been?” “You must meet a lot of interesting people.” Etc.

I made it through just fine and as I started walking a little faster, I heard a buzzing sound behind me. A red light flashed in the corner of my eye. Apparently, my brother’s ticket had tripped some check in the system. I couldn’t come back to my dad brotherless, so I asked the guard, “What’s wrong?”

“This stupid machine says your brother’s ticket was already scanned. It keeps misreading. Run on in before it starts.”

And with that we breathlessly made our way back just in time to take our seats.