Small World

The last article I [re]wrote for Bilerico included a reference to my friend Rance, who died this past spring. He was a small but pivotal force in my life when we met three and a half years ago. Turns out I wasn’t the only one.

It comes as no surprise at all to me that Rance had a similar impact on someone else. I’m willing to bet it runs in the hundreds.

My little post “Missionary” was forwarded by a reader to a man who was a colleague of his. That man’s name is Ken. Now out of the Mormon church and out in life, Ken asked to contact me. He knew someone named Rance long ago. Could it be the same man?

Of course it was. Ken gave me permission to print his first response to me.

In the early 1980s, I was living in Salt Lake City, and business took me to Vernal, Utah, where I stayed in a motel owned by the Searle family. I had dinner at their restaurant, and Rance played guitar and sang for his guests. To me, he was a close replica of John Denver.

Also, since I wrote to my friend James, I "googled" Rance Searle and found his obituary from April - something that deeply saddened me, in spite of the fact that I have not talked to him or had any contact at all for more than 30 years.

But when I was going to Vernal on business fairly regularly, I would stay at his hotel and meet with him. We got to know each other fairly well. I knew he was a few years older than I, but never thought he'd have died at such a young age.

The most important thing that happened when I knew Rance was how he relayed his own doubts about the LDS faith. At that time, although I had admitted I was gay, I still fervently believed in Mormonism. I can recall him telling me about a list of 10 questions he and a friend had compiled, which he (or they) had taken to a General Authority, and were not able to get clear answers for.

When Rance told me that there were multiple versions of Joseph Smith's first vision (which cast doubt on his credibility), I remember the feeling I had: "Wow! Maybe I've been feeling guilty all these years - for nothing." A weight was lifted at that moment, and I'll be forever grateful to Rance for helping me see the truth.

Other issues he had were with the Book of Mormon. I can recall his strong emotion as he said, "How can we believe in the Book of Mormon when there is not ONE SHRED of evidence supporting it?"

There was, of course, much much more we talked about during those visits.

I'm sorry to know that Rance passed on…

That day in Vernal was the beginning of a profound change in my life, and I have Rance to thank for lighting the fire. I'm pleased but not surprised to know that he touched your life as well, as I'm sure he did many many others…

This exchange has continued and led to another introduction which has Rance at its center. I wonder what Rance would say if he knew of the newly-connected network of friends he left behind. I am eager to see where it leads.

It grieves me that Ken had to leave his church to find peace. Too many are taking that path away from God, the failure of men keeping them separated from what should be a loving community of faith. Shame on us for letting it happen.

I am having to pay my own way this year to the Covenant Network of Presbyterians annual convention in November. Our church budget is being cut quite close. I’m hoping to have someone accompany me, but no one has been able to join me yet. Even so, I am excited to be going. Who knows what I’ll learn or who I’ll meet that will send me on the next step of this important journey toward an inclusive faith community. It remains a privilege to serve.

May I Keep You

A friend of mine died last week. Rance Searle, briefly a rock star, always a bright star, died after a long battle with esophageal cancer. I knew him only for a few years and mostly from correspondence in an online forum.


Famous in the 70s for the pop hit “May I Keep You,” he became a wealthy businessman through common sense, new patents, and good honest work. He was brilliant, acerbic, hilarious, opinionated, witty, angry, loving, profane, compassionate, and strong. He was a magnet to anyone who met him online and in person. We gathered around to hear what Rance would say next on whatever subject arose.

On hard work:

I came from a wealthy family but that didn't change the fact that when I was eight years old Dad led me and my two little brothers and one little sister into the bank and made us take out a note for $18,000 to buy 1,500 head of sheep. We each had to sign on the note and Randy, my youngest brother, was only five years old but mom had taught him to write his name. From that day until we all graduated from high school, those sheep were our responsibility. We branded them, we sheared them, we tromped the wool, we put the breeding harnesses on the bucks in the fall and we drove them from the headquarters ranch to the big ranch, a distance of 22 miles every spring and back every fall. We lambed them out, we docked them, which means cutting their tails off with a sharp knife and removing the testicles of the male lambs by cutting the end off their little sack and pushing the sack back and pulling the testicles out with your teeth.

We worked like slaves. Yes, we made a lot of money with those stupid sheep but we were not a bunch of pampered rich kids, not by a damn sight. We were taught from day one that wealth was a huge responsibility, not a ticket to ride. Those lessons stuck with me and with my siblings as well. I have that god damned bank note in a frame hanging in the bar at the house. It is one of my most treasured possessions. Those four little childish signatures on a note for $18,000 from a time when that was a hell of a lot of money. Each spring when we had shipped our lambs we would all trudge into the bank together and pay on that note. It took us only three years to pay it off. God how I hated those sheep. They are the stupidest animals on the face of the earth and they were damned rough on a budding gay kid.

But the important thing is what they taught me. They taught me that hard work is one of life's greatest blessings. I love the way a hard day’s work makes me feel. I love having my hands dirty and standing back and feeling good about what the day has done.

It was Rance who first made me deeply aware of the damage the church, Mormon and otherwise, has done and continues to do to the LGBT community. He told stories of pain, alienation, surrender, and even suicides of faithful young gay men who could not reconcile the message they were hearing with the person they were made to be. He carried a lifetime of guilt, wondering if he could have helped those whose pain became too much to bear. And in his most recent years, he became a beacon of hope to young men who found their way to his open door and heart. He and the love of his life lived openly in Utah, defying anyone to call their union less than love, their commitment less than any marriage authenticated by law.

On the church:

We could all tell these kinds of stories all day long. It is so easy to hate and to blame but in the end, we must rise above it. Rising above it is all we have. We must each find a way to emulate Him, and keep our eyes on Him and not the tide of misunderstanding that so often rises against us. In the end we should not be deprived of the Church because so many in it don't have a clue. It is just as much our church as it is theirs, it is there for us, for all of us, and the more understanding I gain, the more I realize that Christ would welcome me to the arms of the Church, and He is the only one who counts at the end of the day.

Rance was a joy to witness and a challenge to engage. I was lucky to meet him in person a couple of summers ago before he became ill. We are all richer for his life and I am grateful for his brief friendship.

On last New Year:

I also want to wish everyone a WONDERFUL AND PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR, FULL OF LOVE AND FREE OF HORSESHIT.

Rest in God’s arms tonight, Rance. We keep you in our hearts, full of love and free of horseshit.

Update: To read more of Rance's moving and hilarious stories, read Brian's post of remembrance.

Update II: Rance's writing helped me talk to some Mormon missionary boys who came to my door. You can read my story on Bilerico.