George L. Stone

How he'd hated disciplining George, having to face that look.When George was eleven he and his friends dammed up the creek a half mile away from the house and made a swimming hole.It wasn't a very good one, small and rocky and not very deep, but they loved to drop into it from the trees on August afternoons.

One day as he and Emily drove home from the library, they heard the whoops and cries and looked up to see shining brown bodies dripping from the low branches of trees, plunging with fierce yodels into the water.Emily was frightened and questioned George that night at dinner.She could not bear the thought of him taking such chances and asked him to promise her he would never go there.But occasionally, George and his friends sneaked away to the swimming hole.It was Cummings' responsibility to soothe Emily and explain to his son why he couldn't go-on the grounds that he was unique, in no way replaceable, in every way precious.Cummings noticed as he and George stood in the backyard and talked it over how tanned George was, how free his hair in the wind.He hated clothing him in caution and responsibility but he did it anyway; he tried to make the clothing light.

Two weeks after -school began that fall one boy dove into the swimming hole and broke his neck.The three of them fasted and prayed-along with the rest of the ward-as he lay in the hospital in critical condition.When he died they grieved, but Cummings noticed that an unacknowledged tension gradually faded from their home.

Cummings remembered the summer, remembered the look, remembered talking to Suzanne.It could have all happened the same summer, last summer, the summer soon to arrive-it was simply a question of chronology. it was all, somehow, still a part of the present.He remembered how Suzanne began to ask an occasional question and her effort to look at him squarely.He saw the blood rise in her face even before she spoke and tried to encourage her.She came to his office once or twice before the final exam and registered for his advanced French class the next semester.They were friends.

Suzanne was not like Althea, a girl he encouraged years and years before Suzanne.He had been much younger then, in his late forties, although Althea obviously thought him elderly and always treated him with an unconscious condescension which amused and irritated.

Cummings had noticed Althea first by her eyes, too.He could actually see her intelligence sitting just behind the blue of her irises, see the thoughts formulating in her head."Got it," her eyes would snap as he made a point or added a subtle touch of humor.He found himself glancing at Althea as he lectured to see what was getting through.Althea loved to argue, too, and a couple of weeks into the quarter was perched on the edge of a chair in his office, blond hair tucked behind her ears, books balanced precariously on her knees.The words flew between them, and she fought intensely for her ideas.

One day her arrogance got the best of him."Why don't you just call me Uncle Bill?"he asked.

Althea wrote a long note and pushed it under the door.The note explained that improprieties of that title and he read it and laughed.She had missed the point but her arrogance seemed a little less after that, her confidence a little more.

He wanted to take Althea home to Emily, but they would not have understood each other.He had taken Suzanne home.Emily loved reading Suzanne's Christmas cards.

Ah, what they would have given for a daughter, he thought, crossing another street and pausing by a maple to catch his breath and remove his sweater.The familiar pain gripped his heart, a claw that had lived there so long he was accustomed to the pain.George was divorced now and had no daughter.
...
After George, more miscarriages, early, bloody, formless, but then a few years later a pregnancy that seemed to catch hold.For months they held their breaths watching Emily grow, watching her slow, careful movements, the nourishing food she lifted bite by bite, the depth of her sleep.Then one day, suddenly as he was preparing their lunch, the cramps came hard and strong.He didn't dare move her-she was beginning the eighth month-and the doctor said he would come.

He didn't come soon enough and with Emily's instructions given from between gritted teeth, Cummings lifted from her body a perfectly formed baby girl.He could still remember how little and light that daughter had been in his hands.He could have held her in one hand, had he not been careful to support the tiny, wet head.He did all that Emily told him to do (in a flat, urgent voice), he did all he could think of to do.But when the doctor arrived, that daughter still crouched motionless in his hands, her delicate features closed, her bony chest smaller than his palm still, her curled arms and legs limp.Cummings believed as much as he believed anything that they would possess that daughter in eternity.He could not believe that there could be such brutal waste.

After that he had not been sure for a long time that he could bring Emily back.It had taken almost more patience than he could find, and it was as selfish a thing to do as it was loving.

Once be took her to California.It was ten or twelve years ago and her forgetfulness was becoming impossible to ignore; not just little things that he forgot too, once in a while, but a kind of vagueness.Emily's sister had just lost her husband and Emily was hearty and well for the most part.Cummings thought the trip might be good for everyone, that the change would heighten their senses, and her sister, Anne, would have company.

They stayed with George and his wife at first in the suburbs of San Francisco.Cummings was disappointed, though, that George and Bev had no desire to go to the city.They drove through San Francisco one night very quickly, through China Town, over the Golden Gate Bridge and down the coast."You wouldn't believe the things in that city," Bev said with a shudder."We never go there."

"You know, Dad," George added, "you can look around our neighborhood in San Pablo with its neat houses and yards and our garden and almost feel that you're back home in Provo."It was true, Cummings thought.He was not closer to San Francisco, no closer to the sea.

The house was tense although George and Bev were unfailingly polite to each other and warm toward Cummings and Emily.
...
"It's just for the summer," George said."He'll be starting school in the fall. "

"If he registers," Bev added sweetly.

"He'll register!"George snapped and went out to mow the lawn.

Emily's sister developed influenza and Emily cheerfully packed her suitcase and moved over to be with her and care for her.Cummings was now stranded with Bev during the day while George went to work.He thought about taking the bus to San Francisco, but Bev was so alarmed he decided to forget about it.

That night he asked them to drive him down to see Paul.There was no telephone at the beach house and it might be a long time before he returned to California.
...
George and Bev smiled indulgently at Paul, but Paul looked at them coolly, then stared out to sea.
...
"Oh no, Dad," George said, clapping him on the shoulder.
...
"There's not even a lock on this door," George announced.
...
The next day George brought Cummings' things.Cummings hadn't dared the long drive back to San Pablo, afraid they would talk him out of it, or he would have second thoughts, or Paul would.

It was easy to remember the sea, for the morning traffic filled his ears.
...
Hillam, president, Idaho Falls South Stake, coordinator of volunteer labor effort; Richard Barth, Church Welfare Services Department; Harold Brown, Church Social Services Program; James Brooks, commander, Idaho National Guard and chief of Idaho Bureau of Disaster Services; Hugh Fowler, Federal Disaster Assistance Administration; Carlos Renteria, U.S Department of Housing and Urban Development; Robert Smith, president, St. Anthony Stake; George L. Stone, bishop, Wilford Ward; Diana Leslie H. Stone; Eldon P. Romrell, counselor, St. Anthony stake presidency;

* George Stone becomes Church of Ireland bishop of Armagh

George Stone was born in London and was educated at Westminster School and Christ Church, Oxford.After he had taken holy orders he came to Dublin as chaplain to the Lord Lieutenant, the Duke of Dorset.In 1733 he became Dean of Ferns, and in 1734 Dean of Derry.In 1740 he became Bishop of Ferns and Leighlin, and in 1743 Bishop of Kildare and Dean of Christ Church.He was appointed Bishop of Derry in 1745, and Archbishop of Armagh, Lord Justice and a member of the Irish Privy Council in 1747.

21. ROBIN HOOD AND THE BISHOP (coll by Hammond from George Stone, Wareham, Dorset) - 3'43"

67 wins from a rotation of Phil Niekro, Ron Reed, Pat Jarvis and George Stone was underrated.
...
SP - Niekro, Reed, Jarvis, Stone, Closer - Cecil Upshaw

George Stone. Bishop of Derry, 1745. Tr. to Armagh, 1747. d.1768.

How he'd hated disciplining George, having to face that look.When George was eleven he and his friends dammed up the creek a half mile away from the house and made a swimming hole.It wasn't a very good one, small and rocky and not very deep, but they loved to drop into it from the trees on August afternoons.

One day as he and Emily drove home from the library, they heard the whoops and cries and looked up to see shining brown bodies dripping from the low branches of trees, plunging with fierce yodels into the water.Emily was frightened and questioned George that night at dinner.She could not bear the thought of him taking such chances and asked him to promise her he would never go there.But occasionally, George and his friends sneaked away to the swimming hole.It was Cummings' responsibility to soothe Emily and explain to his son why he couldn't go-on the grounds that he was unique, in no way replaceable, in every way precious.Cummings noticed as he and George stood in the backyard and talked it over how tanned George was, how free his hair in the wind.He hated clothing him in caution and responsibility but he did it anyway; he tried to make the clothing light.

Two weeks after -school began that fall one boy dove into the swimming hole and broke his neck.The three of them fasted and prayed-along with the rest of the ward-as he lay in the hospital in critical condition.
...
George was divorced now and had no daughter.
...
After George, more miscarriages, early, bloody, formless, but then a few years later a pregnancy that seemed to catch hold.For months they held their breaths watching Emily grow, watching her slow, careful movements, the nourishing food she lifted bite by bite, the depth of her sleep.Then one day, suddenly as he was preparing their lunch, the cramps came hard and strong.He didn't dare move her-she was beginning the eighth month-and the doctor said he would come.

He didn't come soon enough and with Emily's instructions given from between gritted teeth, Cummings lifted from her body a perfectly formed baby girl.He could still remember how little and light that daughter had been in his hands.He could have held her in one hand, had he not been careful to support the tiny, wet head.He did all that Emily told him to do (in a flat, urgent voice), he did all he could think of to do.But when the doctor arrived, that daughter still crouched motionless in his hands, her delicate features closed, her bony chest smaller than his palm still, her curled arms and legs limp.
...
They stayed with George and his wife at first in the suburbs of San Francisco.Cummings was disappointed, though, that George and Bev had no desire to go to the city.
...
"You know, Dad," George added, "you can look around our neighborhood in San Pablo with its neat houses and yards and our garden and almost feel that you're back home in Provo."It was true, Cummings thought.He was not closer to San Francisco, no closer to the sea.

The house was tense although George and Bev were unfailingly polite to each other and warm toward Cummings and Emily.
...
"It's just for the summer," George said."He'll be starting school in the fall. "

"If he registers," Bev added sweetly.

"He'll register!"George snapped and went out to mow the lawn.

Emily's sister developed influenza and Emily cheerfully packed her suitcase and moved over to be with her and care for her.Cummings was now stranded with Bev during the day while George went to work.
...
George and Bev smiled indulgently at Paul, but Paul looked at them coolly, then stared out to sea.
...
"Oh no, Dad," George said, clapping him on the shoulder.
...
"There's not even a lock on this door," George announced.
...
The next day George brought Cummings' things.
...
Hillam, president, Idaho Falls South Stake, coordinator of volunteer labor effort; Richard Barth, Church Welfare Services Department; Harold Brown, Church Social Services Program; James Brooks, commander, Idaho National Guard and chief of Idaho Bureau of Disaster Services; Hugh Fowler, Federal Disaster Assistance Administration; Carlos Renteria, U.S Department of Housing and Urban Development; Robert Smith, president, St. Anthony Stake; George L. Stone, bishop, Wilford Ward; Diana Leslie H. Stone; Eldon P. Romrell, counselor, St. Anthony stake presidency;