Bruce Lavone Johnson

13 Feb 1931 - 11 Jul 2007

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Bruce Lavone Johnson

13 Feb 1931 - 11 Jul 2007
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Grave site information of Bruce Lavone Johnson (13 Feb 1931 - 11 Jul 2007) at Barnwell Cemetery in Taber, Division No. 2, Alberta, Canada from BillionGraves
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Life Information

Bruce Lavone Johnson

Nasceu:
Morreu:

Barnwell Cemetery

Township Road 95
Taber, Division No. 2, Alberta
Canada

Epitáfio

Best friends and sweethearts
Copista

Reni4bz

October 4, 2013
Fotógrafo

Reni4bz

September 30, 2013

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Bruce's Childhood - From Life Story of Bruce and Ruth Ann Johnson

Colaborador: Reni4bz Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago

I was born in Taber, Alberta at my Grandmother's home, February 13, 1931. Dr. Hammond delivered me but I am sure that my Grandmother was helping, as she had practiced midwifery for years. It was not an easy delivery as I was a large healthy baby and my mother suffered for several weeks following this event because of the difficulty of the birth. My parents were living with my Dad's mother at the time, as he was farming for her in Barnwell. From the stories that I have heard, I do not think this was an easy time for my mother and so I am grateful she endured this discomfort that made it possible for me to come to earth. It wasn't long after I was born that they brought in a small home, a half a mile south of their permanent home. There are a few trees still standing where it was located. This was during the dirty thirties and the wind blew the sandy soil into their home. Farming practices were not as they are today, nor was our small home air tight. They worked up the land to a very fine texture and there was no cover crop on it, so the soil really drifted off the fields, filling the ditch banks and even covering the fences when the west wind blew. I grew up hearing the stories of my mother using a scoop shovel as a dustpan, as she swept up after a bad windstorm. One night, Mother and Dad went somewhere and left me with my cousin Eileen Anderson. When they returned I was covered with dirt. This was very upsetting to my mother and helps to understand how quickly the dirt could filter in from those dust storms. Usually when they went to a dance they would take me along and lay me down on the bench. I would sleep peacefully, so they told me. It wasn't too long before we moved up closer to Barnwell where we could be sheltered a little more from the wind. In the spring of 1938, they brought in a cook car for us to live in while they built the house across the street from Johnny Anderson's big brick house. The cook car was Lief Johnson's that he used for his thrashing crew as they moved around the country during harvest time. Uncle June, Dad's oldest brother told him how to build the house. He was much older; in fact he was like a father to him as his own Dad died when he was a young boy. Uncle June was not in good health at this time so he couldn't really do the carpentry work, but he was helpful in telling Dad how to do it. I'm sure Uncle Jack must have helped him. They built a kitchen, a living room, and three bedrooms. The cook stove heated the house. They would stoke up the stove with coal and bank it so it would burn slowly, but very often it was close to being out before we woke up in the morning. We had to shake down the ashes and take them outside, carry a bucket of coal into the house and stoke up the fire. This was one of my chores, as I got a little older. We didn't have natural gas until after the World War 2. I remember when Pat was a baby; they had her sleeping in a large crib. It was about the size of a youth bed, but it had high sides on it. They had left us alone. I was about five years old and we were sleeping. Pat must have woke up and was crying, so I got up and lifted her out of the crib. They were likely just over to the neighbors visiting. When I was about ten years old, Pat was sick with the measles. There was no way that I wanted to catch the measles so I refused to sleep in the house. I was determined o sleep in the barn in the manger. However, I slept in the house. My mother had more authority than I and she refused to let me sleep in the barn.

Church callings and memories attached to them (written by Bruce Johnson) (found by Nina, his daughter)

Colaborador: Reni4bz Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago

30 May, 1943 - Ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood (as a Deacon) by Luth Johnson. Graduated from primary by standing in Sacrament meeting and reciting 13 Articles of Faith. A frightening experience. My heart was pounding so hard to be standing in front of all those people for the first time. 24 June, 1946 - Ordained a Teacher by Benjamin Platt and was assigned to be a ward teacher and to be a companion to Hub Hardman. On our first visit I was assigned to give part of the lesson. Hub didn't have a car so we went on our visit riding his tractor. 21 Nov., 1948 - Ordained a Priest by Clifford Irving. I was officiating at the sacrament table with Melvin LeBaron. After breaking the bread we sat down and he leaned over and said "I hope no one chokes." I've had a lot to learn about the seriousness of the sacrament. 1952 - Boy Scout Leader 1953 through1954 - Activity leader in the MIA 1956 through 1959 - Boy Scout Leader 1960 through 1961 - Cub Scouting 1960 through 1962 - 1st Counselor in Elders Quorum 1961 through 1962 - Temple Baptism Worker 1962 - Assistant Teacher (Ensigm) MIA 1963 through 1967 - 2nd Counselor to Bishop Delbert Johnson, Lyle Platt and Norman Fenske as counselors. 1965 - Vice President Boy Scout District Council. Dr. Allan (President) 1968 through 1972 - MIA President 1972 through 1973 - Ventures Advisor Leader 1974 through 1977 - Blazer Boys teacher 2 Jan., 1957 through 1958 - Stake Missionary (Lethbridge Stake) 1971 through 1973 - High Council 1977 - Assistant High Priest Group Leader 1978 through 1979 - 2nd Counselor to Bishop Lyle Platt and 1st Counselor Ed Shimbashi 1980 through 1984 - High Counselor in Taber Stake. President Keith Francis. Responsible for Primary. Pat Gough as President, Young Adults, Wards. 1985 through 1990 - Bishop of Barnwell Ward. Junior Bailey 1st counselor, Don Platt 2nd counselor, and Dave Nelson Executive Secretary. I had a feeling I was going to be called. I was called a week before my interview with President Francis. He asked me to give my names for my counselors and Executive Secretary. It came to me very soon who they should be. I enjoyed working with Junior and Don. There were 70 young men and women in the ward. This required a lot of interviewing. I had to interview each one once a year and the Priests and Laurels 2 times. Junior and Don interviewed the 12 - 16 year olds once a year. There was a lot of activity each year. Camping, parties, service projects, etc., programs about preparing for marriage. I was able to have many spiritual experiences interviewing the youth as well as the adults. These experiences cannot be told because of confidentiality but there were times we cried together and times when it was a joyful experience. There were times when as a bishopric we tried to change the method of the way we did things, not always too successful. Being Bishop was a lonesome time because the only one I could confide was with President Francis which was only done on rare occasions. This was a strain on Ruth and my relationship because of not being able to discuss any of these things. Ruth Ann was very supportive of my calling and went the extra mile. She definitely had more responsibility with the family. 1991 - Bishop Rex Anderson asked me to offer the prayer when we were fasting for rain. This was a spiritual experience for me because as I was offering the prayer. I felt the Holy Ghost indicate to me that it would rain. That evening and for two days it rained. Ron Kirkvold was cutting some hay on my farm and while fixing his baler he indicated that we should have a fast to stop the rain. 1993 - Received a call to help Grassy Lake Ward. Enjoyed teaching a Sunday School class. 1995 - Received a call to be in the Stake Missionary Presidency with Jimmy Jensen and Brother Fawns. 199? - High Priest Group Leader with Wes Jensen and Rick Anderson.

That's Bruce - By Mel LeBaron July 16, 2007

Colaborador: Reni4bz Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago

Hey buddy, what's happening? Several days ago I heard you did not feel so good and did not look so good. Then it was reported that you had gone away. Where? Why? I know more about "where" that I do "why." This [is] not according to our script. You were always the robust guy. They could not knock you over with a Farmhall tractor. My wife Lois said you were the healthiest man she had ever seen. I am now absorbing the idea that something went wrong. You have left me with feature memories and the making of love. Your last words to me (on the phone) a few months ago were: "Melvin, I love you!" repeated three times. You brought a fullness of joy and days of abundance. You were a piece of work. During our early years we wandered a circuitous path toward vaguely or distinctively delineated destinies. We passed predictable milestones and now you have reached that transformative threshold. What are we going to do? Who delivers the bottles of milk on their bicycle? We have now lost the entire back court from our Barnwell Hi Wolves basketball team. Theron dribbled off the court some years ago. Who will get the rebounds? Who will rough up those short speedy Japanese kids who came to Southern Alberta from the Pacific Coast after Pearl Harbor? Who will keep the girls warm on those bitter cold trips from Wrentham? Bruce, from birth we were joined at the hip. Grandma liked you best. Of all the friends I played with she liked you above all. We had a lot of innocent fun and crazy sleepovers. Through it all we learn how to work. You were the hardest worker Barnwell had ever seen. My lifelong underpinnings were bridged from you. Remember how we walked home from school each day, only to stop at the corner to talk. Sometimes for hours. We didn't realize it then but we were anchoring ourselves for all that was ahead. Dreams, illusions, vibrancy, enthusiasm, confidence, faith, trust, and courage. We released action. Our life then was made up of delightful associations and poetic enjoyments. We were in the footlights of becoming troopers. We prepared for endurance. We had not yet poisoned ourselves on the bile of disbelief. We tightened the screws on our souls. From the time of the "talks" our lives were one and the same. We did our priesthood and scout things together. The outings to Waterton and the sheep ranches. Jim Tanner's old beet truck that didn't prevent rain from getting on us. We even dated the same girl. Sometimes on the same night. We were the class of the high school basketball team. Always just a jump shot and forward pass from becoming champs. We even married within a few days of each other. Our first kids were born about the same time. You named one of your after me and I named on of mine after you. Ruth Ann and Carol Harris and Joan played together and sang together. Their trio was in much deman. So much of what we had will live on. An then, there were the trips. You were always reluctant to go but enjoyed going. How about the Banff Springs Chateau for old time luxury and beauty? The stowaway cat. The Rockies, snow fields, nature at it's best! Then there were trips to California. Good visits and some sightseeing. Especially during you farm financial problems. We even got you to Hawaii. You found a new element to your life, which included Hulas, Polynesian culture and majestic beaches. We were touched by Pearl Harbor, the Cultural Center, BYU and the temple. The Hawaiians had never seen anyone so well proportioned as you were. The Hawaiians believed that anyone who carried a lot of weight had to be wealthy to afford all the food that made the weight possible. They thought you had to be a very rich man. Some would have even made you King. The trip of trips was to Australia. You were a jumpy as a kangaroo and cuddly as a Koala. Your eyes popped as we made our way around Sydney Harbor. The Opera house was something new to you. The Bridge. You loved all the variety of animals, many of which you had not seen before. Riding the trains and driving on the wrong side of the street and real fish and chips was a new experience. Everyone was using a strange accent. We even visited a sheep ranch, pig and cattle feedlots and a cheese factor just to see how the Aussies went about farming. We lived with the joy of anticipation. Our lives have now reached a new level of anticipation. You there and me here. It's different, heavier. In one sense, I feel I have been left behind. I can no longer deny death. You have seen to that. You have made me responsible for living a full, purposeful life. I can no longer think I can live forever. So, I can no longer postpone the things I know I must do. You have left with two sacred moments. These are two of the Holiest encounters. The moment you entered my life and the moment you left it. Between these moments we operated through our soul's Morse code the dots and dashes of our daily responsibilities not connected but resonated on a deeper level. You have always been good to me and good for me. You never let your faith falter. You were always on a journey toward wholeness. Now to focus on "that's Bruce." You are the composite of two Heavenly women. Your mother (Ellen) gave you nurturing and your wife (Ruth Ann) gave you sustaining. Mom didn't say much and when she did it was one notch above a whisper. Always worth listening to and you did. She made the greatest bacon and eggs in town. We had to eat whatever she put on our plate. There is no secret to how great Ruth Ann has become. You looked over the field and picked the best crop when you selected her. You have to go back to the likes of Joan of Arc, Ruth, Mary, Eve to find anyone with the staying power that you married. Somehow you made sense of it all. You have done all that God sent you forth to do. You are presently giving a good report. You found meaning in the day to day. You gave your word an example of trust and love. The relations with other human beings. You did not need a good night sleep to determine what was happening around you. Your intuition, like your imagination were spiritual gifts you led a a great life because you followed your instincts. Your heart was always in high season. You were born three thousand years old. As you grew through adversity your saintly mother and wife set up a ladder for you to work toward heaven and an escape from things of the world. You got the lay of the land and scouted the territory. Thanks to the people of Barnwell and your family you were also surrounded by lots of familiars. Familiars are those individuals whose lives have intersected with yours in order to play a role crucial in helping you to manifest your devine destiny. They have helped you "get it." Bruce, above all there is only one you. You are authentic, real! This is an attractive quality. Perhaps others know and love you because you are always you and you know yourself. There is no such thing as another you. It is you and your relationships that have transformed you. This is why people who first meet you feel that they have known you all their lives. Unconditional. To summarize: Bruce, your life has been a linear event. You may have stumbled in fits and starts on your way to authenticity. Stumbled, but never walked upon. Your making and keeping authenticity is the monument you leave. I have always been a student of yours. You have far more authentic success than I have. You came into this world prepared and primed for your lifetime. You were born knowing your destiny with Heavenly Father. You were meant to create, lead, mend, teach and guide thoroughbreds to a first place finish. You had a great capacity for happiness. Before I end this piece, let me say I do not market in hype what you have here is not hyperbole. These are living facts. They are put together with experience and love. You have my best offering. Your loving and eternal friend, Mel LeBaron

To the friendship of Bruce Johnson - by Mel LeBaron - Christmas, 2002

Colaborador: Reni4bz Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago

Bruce and I had no choice. We had to be friends. It was geography. We walked home from school each day to the second crossroads of Barnwell. The other crossroads was next to Louie Tuft's "Plenty for the Price" grocery and goodies store. Other than kicking a few cans and throwing at cats we had to talk. Then Bruce would go south and I would go east. There was no one else near that acreage of Barnwell, so we had to find ourselves and live with it. We must have done some pretty good talking because we made our lives out of it. Friendship with Bruce was easy. He never had anything else on his mind. His saintly mother wouldn't allow it. We were both taught to be "good" boys. This was something we didn't have to grow into. As we began our walks in first grade we were good boys. Good to us was beyond cleaning up our room and making good grades. We were taught to be essentially good. This allowed us to provide each other with unconditional approval, a feeling that we were significant because of who we were, but not arrogant because of anything we had done. We were not raised by monsters. We were raised by people who were raised the same way we were. These people felt it was their responsibility to train us to struggle. This was the basis for our talks and our friendship, come fall, winter, spring, for 11 years. We caught the bus to Taber the twelfth year. As we walked each other to the crossroad as each day dwindled down we did more than talk. We built a life spring. We were Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn without a fishing pole and deserted island. At least we dressed the part. This walk became our sanctuary. We were just two rough and ready kids without hindrances but hardly world savvy. Only now can we realize that we got through the world's biggest depression and the world's biggest war without fear. We found some sort of weird displacement and a sense of our own power - as little as it was. We know now that we were bound by some measure of love. Bruce had parents (Ellen and Lavone) who set the stage for love in their home. Bruce never spoke it, he just used it. Grandma kept me in enough love to know how to extend myself to others. This allowed our friendship to get a chance to breathe. We were free from ego and we were neutral to opinions. We just like being with each other too much to spoil it. We were to innocent to be enlightened. My relationship with Bruce existed to hasten my walk through life. Bruce never jumped to anger, paranoia or fear. He was a purifier. I believe our relationship was an assignment Born three months from each other we lived a life of mutuality to maximize our footings for life's foundation. Our friendship was not accidental. We were not two strangers who "happened" to walk home from school with each other. No casual encounter here. Nor was it two people entering a fairly intense teaching learning situation and then appearing to be separate. This was a learning partner who presented unlimited opportunities for making a God intended life. We didn't chisel away at hard edges of our personalities. Unknowingly, we formed eternity, Bruce was never an obstacle or thorn in my side. Bruce is a friendship of brothers. There was no audition. No one was on trial. The other person was not there to gratify the other's ego needs. We were not there to fix, change or belittle each other. We were there to support, encourage and build one another. There was never a need for detoxification. We didn't know dysfunction. There was no pain. We worked on endless light. Bruce, just always had a better idea. Bruce and I were never "finished". Our walks and talks always had a "next step" to them. We were on a continuum. Bruce always labored with continuity. He linked things, like we were linked. The top of one mountain is always the bottom of another. To go further, Bruce's friendship is like a long stemmed rose. All the nourishment the blossom needs in order to live reaches it through the stem. The stem might look boring in comparison but if you take the blossom off the stem it will not last long. Bruce is a sturdy stem. True friendships are never on dimensional. There was more to Bruce than late afternoon chit chat. As we advanced to the teen years we had sleep overs farming projects, great breakfasts, basketball and our girl friend exchange program. On the basketball floor Bruce was an essential counter balance for Theron's cut-ups. They both played the back line of our spear head formation and while Theron clowned, Bruce steadied. With girls, we were most generous friends. We would check with each other to see who was dating Margurite each week. The number one issue was always who had the transportation. Next, was what we wanted to do. And then whom did we want to do. We were always honorable, eventually we took our romances out of town where the choices were more diversified and there was less overlap. Bruce is a farmer to the core. Not your ordinary dust buster type. He's agro-business, science, professional and student of the game. He was driving a tractor at five. He was milking a fleet of cows at six. He herded and fed cattle at seven. By eight, he was accountable to God and the land. Whether pitching hay, thinning beets or delivering milk on his bicycle, Bruce had the handle on things. He knew what to pant where and when. He knew seed science, crop rotation, sprinkler systems. He knew what made the farmhall tick and how to keep it ticking. He was so knowledgeable that neighbor farmers would stop him on his tractor to ask for suggestions. There was never a pair of co-workers who said less to each other but got more done than Bruce and Lavone. They lived and worked instincts. They were master mimes. They knew each other's move before it was made. They dazzled me. I was out of step. Missing a turn in the field. These guys were a study in mutual movement. One spring, Gordon, Bruce and I were given a plot of land and the option to farm on our own. It took Gordon and I and several others to keep up with Bruce. Fortunately, the farm survived. Gordon went back to his upholstery. I went to picking corn and Bruce went to the south 40. The one quality that distinguishes our friendship was Bruce's loyalty. His support of his dad surmounted all other aspects of his life. His work with Lavone was a ministry. His life at work was an empty canvas for his dad to write on. It was natural. They didn't write it as a story the story wrote itself. It was the creative fruit of their lives. In Zen tradition the apprentice learns from being loyal to the master, from serving him and in time will surpass him. Bruce's loyalty first surfaced in a dominate way in 1947 when as a boy scout we both qualified to go to Utah for the 100th year celebration of the pioneers entering the valley. I had nothing else on my mind. For the first time to see the world beyond Lethbridge, Great Falls, Idaho Falls, Salt Lake City, Bingham Copper Mine and Cork-like swimming on Great Salt Lake. Marching in the centennial parade down Main Street. My first roller coaster ride at Lagoon. Meeting scouts from all over North America, standing next to the Prophet, David O. McKay and his counselors. Sure, we all had reasons not to go. During the short, hot Southern Alberta summer, there were lots of things for a 16 year old to do. All of these things surrendered for me to the fascination of such an experience. Not with with Bruce. He chose to stay with his dad. Of course, there was George [family farm help that lived on their property] and others who could help, but Bruce needed to be there. Lavone never said "Bruce, I want you to stay." Bruce said, "Dad, I want to be with you." I missed not having Bruce on that trip. I cried over the admiration I had for him and his loyalty. Bruce never missed out on moving the sprinklers, running the machinery, bringing in the cows, cultivating the beets and chores. He lived out of his circumstances. He never participated in summer sports. The next crop was always just coming on. Oh yes, we went for a swim off the canal bridge, but this was as much hygienic as fun. Every cell in Bruce's body was filled with human conscientiousness. I never remember Lavone ever telling Bruce what to do. Bruce was a body of humanity. Bruce and Lavone were attitudinal bookends. There was no emotion here. Neither ranted or raved about anything. Even when I tipped over the hay wagon and cracked up their car nobody was angry. They just seemed to have an enlightened world view of things and together they knew everything was going to work it way out. Nothing was "my". Everything was "we." Their work became their devotion to each other. In due time, we all received mission calls. There was no way Bruce would let eight seasons go by without him being there to be junior partner to dad. As he plowed, irrigated and harvested he received letters from Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, France and Eastern Canada. Bruce was as rich in the gospel as any of us. He was just richer in loyalty. He never had a moment of being prodigal. Bruce didn't believe that loyalty was everything, there just wasn't anything without it. One thing that loyalty requires is courage. This courage would not have been there had Bruce not been fortified with a loving mother. Ellen was quiet but profound. She had a fire smoldering within her. There is a Shaker axiom that says "Be what you seem to be and seem to be what you really are." That loving advice is a clue to what Ellen brought to this relationship. She was authentic. She secured the home. She made cooking for and feeding working men a sacred experience. Like any karmic relationship, Bruce's mother made him feel that they were chemically addicted to each other. Their attachment was moving. This was nurture of the natural kind. They had a spiritual crucible. They left no IOU's on the table. Bruce's courage was a well rested reflex from all this. Bruce is a product of Johnson and Johnson. Both his parents were Johnsons, although with vastly different backgrounds and heritage. Neither of them had anything to do with first aid dispensing. They did combine their genes to give Bruce a head start on ambition and achievement. His ambition was a soul mate to achievement. Through a life of doing Bruce brought these affinities together so that sparks could begin to fly as he made his impressions. Some consider achievement as honorable but ambition less virtuous. More vixen than virtue. Had Bruce not been given the common sense from his mother Johnson, his power and passion may not have been so constructively channeled. Just as electricity can be life enhancing or destructive, so can ambition. What ambition really needs is new public relations. The only time we ever hear about ambition, it is being blamed for somebody's down fall. Bruce's ambition never go ahead of his achievement. He never fell down. He was never an easy mark for greed. His ego was never seduced. From all I know about Bruce, he always directed his ambition toward the highest good. The highest good for those he loved and the rest of the world. This kind of ambition in motion produces achievement. Whatever horns he may have had were actually a slightly off-center halo. I left Bruce's neighborhood in 1956. I went to BYU. I decided I wanted college. Not because I liked college but because it got me off the farm. I stayed with academics for 15 years to be sure I didn't have to go back to the farm. This is because I didn't have in me what Bruce had in him. What I didn't know at the time is that once out of the Bruce type environment I had to face fear. There were no protections where I was going. There was no collective thought. There was no comfort of home. There was no close friendship with Bruce. The walks and talks had stopped. Friends were hard to come by in this shifting world and everyone was distant. Without Bruce around for our friendly get togethers, fear began to derail me. I exchanged dirty hands and an aching back for a racing heart, pounding head and nervous stomach. I reached the perimeter of my comfort zone. I went on to a fight or flight world. Telephone calls, business meetings, portfolios, presentations and building a resume . . . . . . . . . Bruce where are you? How do I burst through to the other side of stage fright to applause. Bruce never pushed my buttons but now everyone does. I had a hard time learning and remembering how Bruce had taught me to live. Bruce was my circle. The ancients revered the power of the circle. In the African tradition as well as in Disney movies our earthly span is called "the circle of life." Black Elk, the leader of the Oglala Sioux taught that "the power of the world always works in circles." Buddhists, Hindus, Moslems, Mormons all do significant things in circles. Circles are found at sacred sites throughout the world. The gigantic prehistoric sculptures at Stonehenge, England form a circle. If we search for circles we will find them everywhere. My circle with Bruce was necessary for me to invoke the sacred through the visual. Plato believed the soul was a circle. My relationship with Bruce was circular, not straight. My gratitude for Bruce is an active, not passive prayer. During my daily rounds, I am conscious of the simplicity I can move from doing to being because of this connection. During our years together and apart Bruce and I have tread a circuitous path toward vaguely and distinctly delineated destinies. These destinies were never articulated but they had their birth on the dusty road from school to the intersection. Neither of us had far to go for home from the point in which we parted company. Now, as we have passed a million milestones we are headed for home the last time. Yes, my grandma and Bruce's parents will be there. The virtue of Bruce is that he has not presented any disappointments. We have not reached the promised land but neither did Moses. We never went through the thick fog of indifference. Bruce and I were inhabitants of our time. Although cloistered and reserved, we started something that will never end. Fortunately, we have added to our genesis with an exodus together to Hawaii, Australia and the Canadian Rockies. Obviously, Bruce is a frontiersman. He shuns the city life. He will always be country. Cities made him uncomfortable. Too many tall buildings and cement. Traffic, commuter trains, bustle, odd people, horns and taxis. Bruce preferred the solitude of the beach. The freedom of the outback. He is a mountain man. Give him a tent and a campfire and don't bother to put him up in the Prince of Wales Hotel. Throw away the keys. Forget the fragments. Bruce is for finding wholeness. Making thinks, he can fix anything. During our trip "down under" Bruce showed what he is made of. He endured the sites of the Sydney harbor, the opera house, the bridge. He tolerated the historic spots and gardens of Melbourne. All the time, he felt his place was with the open road. Give him sheep grazing, gum trees glistening, un-plowed paddocks and clear sky. All the things God intended and man has messed up. As we drove away from the high rises, Bruce found a familiar landscape stripped of pretense. He found what was real. To Bruce, true light can never be extinguished in the natural world. The same of his soul. So Bruce improves with age. He remains an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual goodness. The outward and visible way in which Bruce moves through his daily round - the time, creative energy, emotion, attitude and attention by which he endows his tasks - is how he elevates the mundane to the transcendent. Such illumination is not just experiences by saints, mystics and poets. Thanks Bruce for Bruce.

Bruce's Childhood - From Life Story of Bruce and Ruth Ann Johnson

Colaborador: tfinney22 Created: 1 year ago Updated: 9 months ago

I was born in Taber, Alberta at my Grandmother's home, February 13, 1931. Dr. Hammond delivered me but I am sure that my Grandmother was helping, as she had practiced midwifery for years. It was not an easy delivery as I was a large healthy baby and my mother suffered for several weeks following this event because of the difficulty of the birth. My parents were living with my Dad's mother at the time, as he was farming for her in Barnwell. From the stories that I have heard, I do not think this was an easy time for my mother and so I am grateful she endured this discomfort that made it possible for me to come to earth. It wasn't long after I was born that they brought in a small home, a half a mile south of their permanent home. There are a few trees still standing where it was located. This was during the dirty thirties and the wind blew the sandy soil into their home. Farming practices were not as they are today, nor was our small home air tight. They worked up the land to a very fine texture and there was no cover crop on it, so the soil really drifted off the fields, filling the ditch banks and even covering the fences when the west wind blew. I grew up hearing the stories of my mother using a scoop shovel as a dustpan, as she swept up after a bad windstorm. One night, Mother and Dad went somewhere and left me with my cousin Eileen Anderson. When they returned I was covered with dirt. This was very upsetting to my mother and helps to understand how quickly the dirt could filter in from those dust storms. Usually when they went to a dance they would take me along and lay me down on the bench. I would sleep peacefully, so they told me. It wasn't too long before we moved up closer to Barnwell where we could be sheltered a little more from the wind. In the spring of 1938, they brought in a cook car for us to live in while they built the house across the street from Johnny Anderson's big brick house. The cook car was Lief Johnson's that he used for his thrashing crew as they moved around the country during harvest time. Uncle June, Dad's oldest brother told him how to build the house. He was much older; in fact he was like a father to him as his own Dad died when he was a young boy. Uncle June was not in good health at this time so he couldn't really do the carpentry work, but he was helpful in telling Dad how to do it. I'm sure Uncle Jack must have helped him. They built a kitchen, a living room, and three bedrooms. The cook stove heated the house. They would stoke up the stove with coal and bank it so it would burn slowly, but very often it was close to being out before we woke up in the morning. We had to shake down the ashes and take them outside, carry a bucket of coal into the house and stoke up the fire. This was one of my chores, as I got a little older. We didn't have natural gas until after the World War 2. I remember when Pat was a baby; they had her sleeping in a large crib. It was about the size of a youth bed, but it had high sides on it. They had left us alone. I was about five years old and we were sleeping. Pat must have woke up and was crying, so I got up and lifted her out of the crib. They were likely just over to the neighbors visiting. When I was about ten years old, Pat was sick with the measles. There was no way that I wanted to catch the measles so I refused to sleep in the house. I was determined o sleep in the barn in the manger. However, I slept in the house. My mother had more authority than I and she refused to let me sleep in the barn.

Church callings and memories attached to them (written by Bruce Johnson) (found by Nina, his daughter)

Colaborador: tfinney22 Created: 1 year ago Updated: 9 months ago

30 May, 1943 - Ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood (as a Deacon) by Luth Johnson. Graduated from primary by standing in Sacrament meeting and reciting 13 Articles of Faith. A frightening experience. My heart was pounding so hard to be standing in front of all those people for the first time. 24 June, 1946 - Ordained a Teacher by Benjamin Platt and was assigned to be a ward teacher and to be a companion to Hub Hardman. On our first visit I was assigned to give part of the lesson. Hub didn't have a car so we went on our visit riding his tractor. 21 Nov., 1948 - Ordained a Priest by Clifford Irving. I was officiating at the sacrament table with Melvin LeBaron. After breaking the bread we sat down and he leaned over and said "I hope no one chokes." I've had a lot to learn about the seriousness of the sacrament. 1952 - Boy Scout Leader 1953 through1954 - Activity leader in the MIA 1956 through 1959 - Boy Scout Leader 1960 through 1961 - Cub Scouting 1960 through 1962 - 1st Counselor in Elders Quorum 1961 through 1962 - Temple Baptism Worker 1962 - Assistant Teacher (Ensigm) MIA 1963 through 1967 - 2nd Counselor to Bishop Delbert Johnson, Lyle Platt and Norman Fenske as counselors. 1965 - Vice President Boy Scout District Council. Dr. Allan (President) 1968 through 1972 - MIA President 1972 through 1973 - Ventures Advisor Leader 1974 through 1977 - Blazer Boys teacher 2 Jan., 1957 through 1958 - Stake Missionary (Lethbridge Stake) 1971 through 1973 - High Council 1977 - Assistant High Priest Group Leader 1978 through 1979 - 2nd Counselor to Bishop Lyle Platt and 1st Counselor Ed Shimbashi 1980 through 1984 - High Counselor in Taber Stake. President Keith Francis. Responsible for Primary. Pat Gough as President, Young Adults, Wards. 1985 through 1990 - Bishop of Barnwell Ward. Junior Bailey 1st counselor, Don Platt 2nd counselor, and Dave Nelson Executive Secretary. I had a feeling I was going to be called. I was called a week before my interview with President Francis. He asked me to give my names for my counselors and Executive Secretary. It came to me very soon who they should be. I enjoyed working with Junior and Don. There were 70 young men and women in the ward. This required a lot of interviewing. I had to interview each one once a year and the Priests and Laurels 2 times. Junior and Don interviewed the 12 - 16 year olds once a year. There was a lot of activity each year. Camping, parties, service projects, etc., programs about preparing for marriage. I was able to have many spiritual experiences interviewing the youth as well as the adults. These experiences cannot be told because of confidentiality but there were times we cried together and times when it was a joyful experience. There were times when as a bishopric we tried to change the method of the way we did things, not always too successful. Being Bishop was a lonesome time because the only one I could confide was with President Francis which was only done on rare occasions. This was a strain on Ruth and my relationship because of not being able to discuss any of these things. Ruth Ann was very supportive of my calling and went the extra mile. She definitely had more responsibility with the family. 1991 - Bishop Rex Anderson asked me to offer the prayer when we were fasting for rain. This was a spiritual experience for me because as I was offering the prayer. I felt the Holy Ghost indicate to me that it would rain. That evening and for two days it rained. Ron Kirkvold was cutting some hay on my farm and while fixing his baler he indicated that we should have a fast to stop the rain. 1993 - Received a call to help Grassy Lake Ward. Enjoyed teaching a Sunday School class. 1995 - Received a call to be in the Stake Missionary Presidency with Jimmy Jensen and Brother Fawns. 199? - High Priest Group Leader with Wes Jensen and Rick Anderson.

That's Bruce - By Mel LeBaron July 16, 2007

Colaborador: tfinney22 Created: 1 year ago Updated: 9 months ago

Hey buddy, what's happening? Several days ago I heard you did not feel so good and did not look so good. Then it was reported that you had gone away. Where? Why? I know more about "where" that I do "why." This [is] not according to our script. You were always the robust guy. They could not knock you over with a Farmhall tractor. My wife Lois said you were the healthiest man she had ever seen. I am now absorbing the idea that something went wrong. You have left me with feature memories and the making of love. Your last words to me (on the phone) a few months ago were: "Melvin, I love you!" repeated three times. You brought a fullness of joy and days of abundance. You were a piece of work. During our early years we wandered a circuitous path toward vaguely or distinctively delineated destinies. We passed predictable milestones and now you have reached that transformative threshold. What are we going to do? Who delivers the bottles of milk on their bicycle? We have now lost the entire back court from our Barnwell Hi Wolves basketball team. Theron dribbled off the court some years ago. Who will get the rebounds? Who will rough up those short speedy Japanese kids who came to Southern Alberta from the Pacific Coast after Pearl Harbor? Who will keep the girls warm on those bitter cold trips from Wrentham? Bruce, from birth we were joined at the hip. Grandma liked you best. Of all the friends I played with she liked you above all. We had a lot of innocent fun and crazy sleepovers. Through it all we learn how to work. You were the hardest worker Barnwell had ever seen. My lifelong underpinnings were bridged from you. Remember how we walked home from school each day, only to stop at the corner to talk. Sometimes for hours. We didn't realize it then but we were anchoring ourselves for all that was ahead. Dreams, illusions, vibrancy, enthusiasm, confidence, faith, trust, and courage. We released action. Our life then was made up of delightful associations and poetic enjoyments. We were in the footlights of becoming troopers. We prepared for endurance. We had not yet poisoned ourselves on the bile of disbelief. We tightened the screws on our souls. From the time of the "talks" our lives were one and the same. We did our priesthood and scout things together. The outings to Waterton and the sheep ranches. Jim Tanner's old beet truck that didn't prevent rain from getting on us. We even dated the same girl. Sometimes on the same night. We were the class of the high school basketball team. Always just a jump shot and forward pass from becoming champs. We even married within a few days of each other. Our first kids were born about the same time. You named one of your after me and I named on of mine after you. Ruth Ann and Carol Harris and Joan played together and sang together. Their trio was in much deman. So much of what we had will live on. An then, there were the trips. You were always reluctant to go but enjoyed going. How about the Banff Springs Chateau for old time luxury and beauty? The stowaway cat. The Rockies, snow fields, nature at it's best! Then there were trips to California. Good visits and some sightseeing. Especially during you farm financial problems. We even got you to Hawaii. You found a new element to your life, which included Hulas, Polynesian culture and majestic beaches. We were touched by Pearl Harbor, the Cultural Center, BYU and the temple. The Hawaiians had never seen anyone so well proportioned as you were. The Hawaiians believed that anyone who carried a lot of weight had to be wealthy to afford all the food that made the weight possible. They thought you had to be a very rich man. Some would have even made you King. The trip of trips was to Australia. You were a jumpy as a kangaroo and cuddly as a Koala. Your eyes popped as we made our way around Sydney Harbor. The Opera house was something new to you. The Bridge. You loved all the variety of animals, many of which you had not seen before. Riding the trains and driving on the wrong side of the street and real fish and chips was a new experience. Everyone was using a strange accent. We even visited a sheep ranch, pig and cattle feedlots and a cheese factor just to see how the Aussies went about farming. We lived with the joy of anticipation. Our lives have now reached a new level of anticipation. You there and me here. It's different, heavier. In one sense, I feel I have been left behind. I can no longer deny death. You have seen to that. You have made me responsible for living a full, purposeful life. I can no longer think I can live forever. So, I can no longer postpone the things I know I must do. You have left with two sacred moments. These are two of the Holiest encounters. The moment you entered my life and the moment you left it. Between these moments we operated through our soul's Morse code the dots and dashes of our daily responsibilities not connected but resonated on a deeper level. You have always been good to me and good for me. You never let your faith falter. You were always on a journey toward wholeness. Now to focus on "that's Bruce." You are the composite of two Heavenly women. Your mother (Ellen) gave you nurturing and your wife (Ruth Ann) gave you sustaining. Mom didn't say much and when she did it was one notch above a whisper. Always worth listening to and you did. She made the greatest bacon and eggs in town. We had to eat whatever she put on our plate. There is no secret to how great Ruth Ann has become. You looked over the field and picked the best crop when you selected her. You have to go back to the likes of Joan of Arc, Ruth, Mary, Eve to find anyone with the staying power that you married. Somehow you made sense of it all. You have done all that God sent you forth to do. You are presently giving a good report. You found meaning in the day to day. You gave your word an example of trust and love. The relations with other human beings. You did not need a good night sleep to determine what was happening around you. Your intuition, like your imagination were spiritual gifts you led a a great life because you followed your instincts. Your heart was always in high season. You were born three thousand years old. As you grew through adversity your saintly mother and wife set up a ladder for you to work toward heaven and an escape from things of the world. You got the lay of the land and scouted the territory. Thanks to the people of Barnwell and your family you were also surrounded by lots of familiars. Familiars are those individuals whose lives have intersected with yours in order to play a role crucial in helping you to manifest your devine destiny. They have helped you "get it." Bruce, above all there is only one you. You are authentic, real! This is an attractive quality. Perhaps others know and love you because you are always you and you know yourself. There is no such thing as another you. It is you and your relationships that have transformed you. This is why people who first meet you feel that they have known you all their lives. Unconditional. To summarize: Bruce, your life has been a linear event. You may have stumbled in fits and starts on your way to authenticity. Stumbled, but never walked upon. Your making and keeping authenticity is the monument you leave. I have always been a student of yours. You have far more authentic success than I have. You came into this world prepared and primed for your lifetime. You were born knowing your destiny with Heavenly Father. You were meant to create, lead, mend, teach and guide thoroughbreds to a first place finish. You had a great capacity for happiness. Before I end this piece, let me say I do not market in hype what you have here is not hyperbole. These are living facts. They are put together with experience and love. You have my best offering. Your loving and eternal friend, Mel LeBaron

To the friendship of Bruce Johnson - by Mel LeBaron - Christmas, 2002

Colaborador: tfinney22 Created: 1 year ago Updated: 9 months ago

Bruce and I had no choice. We had to be friends. It was geography. We walked home from school each day to the second crossroads of Barnwell. The other crossroads was next to Louie Tuft's "Plenty for the Price" grocery and goodies store. Other than kicking a few cans and throwing at cats we had to talk. Then Bruce would go south and I would go east. There was no one else near that acreage of Barnwell, so we had to find ourselves and live with it. We must have done some pretty good talking because we made our lives out of it. Friendship with Bruce was easy. He never had anything else on his mind. His saintly mother wouldn't allow it. We were both taught to be "good" boys. This was something we didn't have to grow into. As we began our walks in first grade we were good boys. Good to us was beyond cleaning up our room and making good grades. We were taught to be essentially good. This allowed us to provide each other with unconditional approval, a feeling that we were significant because of who we were, but not arrogant because of anything we had done. We were not raised by monsters. We were raised by people who were raised the same way we were. These people felt it was their responsibility to train us to struggle. This was the basis for our talks and our friendship, come fall, winter, spring, for 11 years. We caught the bus to Taber the twelfth year. As we walked each other to the crossroad as each day dwindled down we did more than talk. We built a life spring. We were Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn without a fishing pole and deserted island. At least we dressed the part. This walk became our sanctuary. We were just two rough and ready kids without hindrances but hardly world savvy. Only now can we realize that we got through the world's biggest depression and the world's biggest war without fear. We found some sort of weird displacement and a sense of our own power - as little as it was. We know now that we were bound by some measure of love. Bruce had parents (Ellen and Lavone) who set the stage for love in their home. Bruce never spoke it, he just used it. Grandma kept me in enough love to know how to extend myself to others. This allowed our friendship to get a chance to breathe. We were free from ego and we were neutral to opinions. We just like being with each other too much to spoil it. We were to innocent to be enlightened. My relationship with Bruce existed to hasten my walk through life. Bruce never jumped to anger, paranoia or fear. He was a purifier. I believe our relationship was an assignment Born three months from each other we lived a life of mutuality to maximize our footings for life's foundation. Our friendship was not accidental. We were not two strangers who "happened" to walk home from school with each other. No casual encounter here. Nor was it two people entering a fairly intense teaching learning situation and then appearing to be separate. This was a learning partner who presented unlimited opportunities for making a God intended life. We didn't chisel away at hard edges of our personalities. Unknowingly, we formed eternity, Bruce was never an obstacle or thorn in my side. Bruce is a friendship of brothers. There was no audition. No one was on trial. The other person was not there to gratify the other's ego needs. We were not there to fix, change or belittle each other. We were there to support, encourage and build one another. There was never a need for detoxification. We didn't know dysfunction. There was no pain. We worked on endless light. Bruce, just always had a better idea. Bruce and I were never "finished". Our walks and talks always had a "next step" to them. We were on a continuum. Bruce always labored with continuity. He linked things, like we were linked. The top of one mountain is always the bottom of another. To go further, Bruce's friendship is like a long stemmed rose. All the nourishment the blossom needs in order to live reaches it through the stem. The stem might look boring in comparison but if you take the blossom off the stem it will not last long. Bruce is a sturdy stem. True friendships are never on dimensional. There was more to Bruce than late afternoon chit chat. As we advanced to the teen years we had sleep overs farming projects, great breakfasts, basketball and our girl friend exchange program. On the basketball floor Bruce was an essential counter balance for Theron's cut-ups. They both played the back line of our spear head formation and while Theron clowned, Bruce steadied. With girls, we were most generous friends. We would check with each other to see who was dating Margurite each week. The number one issue was always who had the transportation. Next, was what we wanted to do. And then whom did we want to do. We were always honorable, eventually we took our romances out of town where the choices were more diversified and there was less overlap. Bruce is a farmer to the core. Not your ordinary dust buster type. He's agro-business, science, professional and student of the game. He was driving a tractor at five. He was milking a fleet of cows at six. He herded and fed cattle at seven. By eight, he was accountable to God and the land. Whether pitching hay, thinning beets or delivering milk on his bicycle, Bruce had the handle on things. He knew what to pant where and when. He knew seed science, crop rotation, sprinkler systems. He knew what made the farmhall tick and how to keep it ticking. He was so knowledgeable that neighbor farmers would stop him on his tractor to ask for suggestions. There was never a pair of co-workers who said less to each other but got more done than Bruce and Lavone. They lived and worked instincts. They were master mimes. They knew each other's move before it was made. They dazzled me. I was out of step. Missing a turn in the field. These guys were a study in mutual movement. One spring, Gordon, Bruce and I were given a plot of land and the option to farm on our own. It took Gordon and I and several others to keep up with Bruce. Fortunately, the farm survived. Gordon went back to his upholstery. I went to picking corn and Bruce went to the south 40. The one quality that distinguishes our friendship was Bruce's loyalty. His support of his dad surmounted all other aspects of his life. His work with Lavone was a ministry. His life at work was an empty canvas for his dad to write on. It was natural. They didn't write it as a story the story wrote itself. It was the creative fruit of their lives. In Zen tradition the apprentice learns from being loyal to the master, from serving him and in time will surpass him. Bruce's loyalty first surfaced in a dominate way in 1947 when as a boy scout we both qualified to go to Utah for the 100th year celebration of the pioneers entering the valley. I had nothing else on my mind. For the first time to see the world beyond Lethbridge, Great Falls, Idaho Falls, Salt Lake City, Bingham Copper Mine and Cork-like swimming on Great Salt Lake. Marching in the centennial parade down Main Street. My first roller coaster ride at Lagoon. Meeting scouts from all over North America, standing next to the Prophet, David O. McKay and his counselors. Sure, we all had reasons not to go. During the short, hot Southern Alberta summer, there were lots of things for a 16 year old to do. All of these things surrendered for me to the fascination of such an experience. Not with with Bruce. He chose to stay with his dad. Of course, there was George [family farm help that lived on their property] and others who could help, but Bruce needed to be there. Lavone never said "Bruce, I want you to stay." Bruce said, "Dad, I want to be with you." I missed not having Bruce on that trip. I cried over the admiration I had for him and his loyalty. Bruce never missed out on moving the sprinklers, running the machinery, bringing in the cows, cultivating the beets and chores. He lived out of his circumstances. He never participated in summer sports. The next crop was always just coming on. Oh yes, we went for a swim off the canal bridge, but this was as much hygienic as fun. Every cell in Bruce's body was filled with human conscientiousness. I never remember Lavone ever telling Bruce what to do. Bruce was a body of humanity. Bruce and Lavone were attitudinal bookends. There was no emotion here. Neither ranted or raved about anything. Even when I tipped over the hay wagon and cracked up their car nobody was angry. They just seemed to have an enlightened world view of things and together they knew everything was going to work it way out. Nothing was "my". Everything was "we." Their work became their devotion to each other. In due time, we all received mission calls. There was no way Bruce would let eight seasons go by without him being there to be junior partner to dad. As he plowed, irrigated and harvested he received letters from Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, France and Eastern Canada. Bruce was as rich in the gospel as any of us. He was just richer in loyalty. He never had a moment of being prodigal. Bruce didn't believe that loyalty was everything, there just wasn't anything without it. One thing that loyalty requires is courage. This courage would not have been there had Bruce not been fortified with a loving mother. Ellen was quiet but profound. She had a fire smoldering within her. There is a Shaker axiom that says "Be what you seem to be and seem to be what you really are." That loving advice is a clue to what Ellen brought to this relationship. She was authentic. She secured the home. She made cooking for and feeding working men a sacred experience. Like any karmic relationship, Bruce's mother made him feel that they were chemically addicted to each other. Their attachment was moving. This was nurture of the natural kind. They had a spiritual crucible. They left no IOU's on the table. Bruce's courage was a well rested reflex from all this. Bruce is a product of Johnson and Johnson. Both his parents were Johnsons, although with vastly different backgrounds and heritage. Neither of them had anything to do with first aid dispensing. They did combine their genes to give Bruce a head start on ambition and achievement. His ambition was a soul mate to achievement. Through a life of doing Bruce brought these affinities together so that sparks could begin to fly as he made his impressions. Some consider achievement as honorable but ambition less virtuous. More vixen than virtue. Had Bruce not been given the common sense from his mother Johnson, his power and passion may not have been so constructively channeled. Just as electricity can be life enhancing or destructive, so can ambition. What ambition really needs is new public relations. The only time we ever hear about ambition, it is being blamed for somebody's down fall. Bruce's ambition never go ahead of his achievement. He never fell down. He was never an easy mark for greed. His ego was never seduced. From all I know about Bruce, he always directed his ambition toward the highest good. The highest good for those he loved and the rest of the world. This kind of ambition in motion produces achievement. Whatever horns he may have had were actually a slightly off-center halo. I left Bruce's neighborhood in 1956. I went to BYU. I decided I wanted college. Not because I liked college but because it got me off the farm. I stayed with academics for 15 years to be sure I didn't have to go back to the farm. This is because I didn't have in me what Bruce had in him. What I didn't know at the time is that once out of the Bruce type environment I had to face fear. There were no protections where I was going. There was no collective thought. There was no comfort of home. There was no close friendship with Bruce. The walks and talks had stopped. Friends were hard to come by in this shifting world and everyone was distant. Without Bruce around for our friendly get togethers, fear began to derail me. I exchanged dirty hands and an aching back for a racing heart, pounding head and nervous stomach. I reached the perimeter of my comfort zone. I went on to a fight or flight world. Telephone calls, business meetings, portfolios, presentations and building a resume . . . . . . . . . Bruce where are you? How do I burst through to the other side of stage fright to applause. Bruce never pushed my buttons but now everyone does. I had a hard time learning and remembering how Bruce had taught me to live. Bruce was my circle. The ancients revered the power of the circle. In the African tradition as well as in Disney movies our earthly span is called "the circle of life." Black Elk, the leader of the Oglala Sioux taught that "the power of the world always works in circles." Buddhists, Hindus, Moslems, Mormons all do significant things in circles. Circles are found at sacred sites throughout the world. The gigantic prehistoric sculptures at Stonehenge, England form a circle. If we search for circles we will find them everywhere. My circle with Bruce was necessary for me to invoke the sacred through the visual. Plato believed the soul was a circle. My relationship with Bruce was circular, not straight. My gratitude for Bruce is an active, not passive prayer. During my daily rounds, I am conscious of the simplicity I can move from doing to being because of this connection. During our years together and apart Bruce and I have tread a circuitous path toward vaguely and distinctly delineated destinies. These destinies were never articulated but they had their birth on the dusty road from school to the intersection. Neither of us had far to go for home from the point in which we parted company. Now, as we have passed a million milestones we are headed for home the last time. Yes, my grandma and Bruce's parents will be there. The virtue of Bruce is that he has not presented any disappointments. We have not reached the promised land but neither did Moses. We never went through the thick fog of indifference. Bruce and I were inhabitants of our time. Although cloistered and reserved, we started something that will never end. Fortunately, we have added to our genesis with an exodus together to Hawaii, Australia and the Canadian Rockies. Obviously, Bruce is a frontiersman. He shuns the city life. He will always be country. Cities made him uncomfortable. Too many tall buildings and cement. Traffic, commuter trains, bustle, odd people, horns and taxis. Bruce preferred the solitude of the beach. The freedom of the outback. He is a mountain man. Give him a tent and a campfire and don't bother to put him up in the Prince of Wales Hotel. Throw away the keys. Forget the fragments. Bruce is for finding wholeness. Making thinks, he can fix anything. During our trip "down under" Bruce showed what he is made of. He endured the sites of the Sydney harbor, the opera house, the bridge. He tolerated the historic spots and gardens of Melbourne. All the time, he felt his place was with the open road. Give him sheep grazing, gum trees glistening, un-plowed paddocks and clear sky. All the things God intended and man has messed up. As we drove away from the high rises, Bruce found a familiar landscape stripped of pretense. He found what was real. To Bruce, true light can never be extinguished in the natural world. The same of his soul. So Bruce improves with age. He remains an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual goodness. The outward and visible way in which Bruce moves through his daily round - the time, creative energy, emotion, attitude and attention by which he endows his tasks - is how he elevates the mundane to the transcendent. Such illumination is not just experiences by saints, mystics and poets. Thanks Bruce for Bruce.

Life timeline of Bruce Lavone Johnson

1931
Bruce Lavone Johnson was born on 13 Feb 1931
Bruce Lavone Johnson was 10 years old when World War II: Nazi Germany invades the Soviet Union in Operation Barbarossa. Nazi Germany is the common English name for Germany between 1933 and 1945, when Adolf Hitler and his Nazi Party (NSDAP) controlled the country through a dictatorship. Under Hitler's rule, Germany was transformed into a totalitarian state that controlled nearly all aspects of life via the Gleichschaltung legal process. The official name of the state was Deutsches Reich until 1943 and Großdeutsches Reich from 1943 to 1945. Nazi Germany is also known as the Third Reich, from German Drittes Reich, meaning "Third Realm" or "Third Empire", the first two being the Holy Roman Empire and the German Empire. The Nazi regime ended after the Allied Powers defeated Germany in May 1945, ending World War II in Europe.
Bruce Lavone Johnson was 27 years old when Space Race: Launch of Sputnik 1, the first artificial satellite to orbit the Earth. The Space Race refers to the 20th-century competition between two Cold War rivals, the Soviet Union (USSR) and the United States (US), for dominance in spaceflight capability. It had its origins in the missile-based nuclear arms race between the two nations that occurred following World War II, aided by captured German missile technology and personnel from the Aggregat program. The technological superiority required for such dominance was seen as necessary for national security, and symbolic of ideological superiority. The Space Race spawned pioneering efforts to launch artificial satellites, uncrewed space probes of the Moon, Venus, and Mars, and human spaceflight in low Earth orbit and to the Moon.
Bruce Lavone Johnson was 34 years old when Thirty-five hundred United States Marines are the first American land combat forces committed during the Vietnam War. The United States Marine Corps (USMC), also referred to as the United States Marines, is a branch of the United States Armed Forces responsible for conducting amphibious operations with the United States Navy. The U.S. Marine Corps is one of the four armed service branches in the U.S. Department of Defense (DoD) and one of the seven uniformed services of the United States.
Bruce Lavone Johnson was 42 years old when Munich massacre: Nine Israeli athletes die (along with a German policeman) at the hands of the Palestinian "Black September" terrorist group after being taken hostage at the Munich Olympic Games. Two other Israeli athletes were slain in the initial attack the previous day. The Munich massacre was an attack during the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, West Germany, in which the Palestinian terrorist group Black September took eleven Israeli Olympic team members hostage and killed them along with a West German police officer.
Bruce Lavone Johnson was 58 years old when The tanker Exxon Valdez spilled 10.8 million US gallons (260,000 bbl; 41,000 m3) of oil into Prince William Sound, Alaska, causing one of the most devastating man-made maritime environmental disasters. A tanker is a ship designed to transport or store liquids or gases in bulk. Major types of tankship include the oil tanker, the chemical tanker, and gas carrier. Tankers also carry commodities such as vegetable oils, molasses and wine. In the United States Navy and Military Sealift Command, a tanker used to refuel other ships is called an oiler but many other navies use the terms tanker and replenishment tanker.
Bruce Lavone Johnson was 61 years old when The World Wide Web is opened to the public. The World Wide Web (WWW), also called the Web, is an information space where documents and other web resources are identified by Uniform Resource Locators (URLs), interlinked by hypertext links, and accessible via the Internet. English scientist Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web in 1989. He wrote the first web browser in 1990 while employed at CERN in Switzerland. The browser was released outside CERN in 1991, first to other research institutions starting in January 1991 and to the general public on the Internet in August 1991.
Bruce Lavone Johnson died on 11 Jul 2007 at the age of 76
BillionGraves.com
Grave record for Bruce Lavone Johnson (13 Feb 1931 - 11 Jul 2007), BillionGraves Record 5400640 Taber, Division No. 2, Alberta, Canada

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