Whatever happened to Sarah Jean?

It may seem a little weird to have an early entry about my life focusing on someone else, but there you have it. 

Tarzana Ward had a lot of teenagers when I was a teen, and given the prevalence of boomer families at the time, this was not a surprise. The ward boundaries included people both north and south of Ventura Boulevard; with the exception of several square blocks of tract housing (Ventura Blvd - Crebs Ave - Linnet St - Reseda Blvd), most of the homes south of the boulevard were custom-build and expensive, often having pools and other outdoor amenities; those north of the boulevard were less expensive and generally looked like the tract homes in the “exceptional” area south. (Some of the northern homes were on large parcels of land and ultimately ended up being sold for a fortune — but I digress.) Whatever low-income housing there was — and I am specifically thinking of the apartment complexes up near Saticoy — was in the northern part of our ward.

Sarah, 1973 Taft High yrbk

My point is, the ward had wealthy people and not-so-wealthy people, along with a smattering of low-income people. Still, if there were divisions, it was more along the high school rivalry lines rather than socioeconomic per se: southern kids went to Taft High, and northern kids went to Reseda High. (At least one northern kid’s family arranged for one daughter, if not all their kids, to use a Taft High member's address so that she could attend Taft; Sarah also went to Taft at some point, though I’m not sure if she was “geographically eligible,” either — though it may have been that there were no support services at Reseda High.) Apart from that school rivalry, however — exacerbated only when the two schools were pitted against one another in football, nearly all the active kids hung out together and willingly participated in youth events.

Sarah Jean Smith was a girl a little older than I who lived in the northern part of Tarzana Ward. Although she'd been adopted as a baby into a (by all appearances) good family, the gods had otherwise not been very kind to her: she was on the homely side, overweight (at times truly obese), and had both developmental delays and emotional problems. In retrospect, I wonder if she had fetal alcohol or other syndrome, given her appearance. Her father, William Paul (who was nearly always called “William Paul,” probably at first to distinguish him from one of the first bishops I had in the ward, one Paul Smith; even when Paul the bishop died, “William Paul” stuck) — anyway, William Paul, a Canadian, worked as an exterminator. (Note: married Melba Woolf in 1990; died Mar. 28, 2015 in Mesa.) Her mom, Dorothy, was an educated woman and a talented musician — an organist and second soprano who had recruited my mother into the Southern California Mormon Choir. She had served a mission; I think she was a stay-at-home mom. (Note: Died of brain cancer Jan. 6, 1986; I went to her funeral.) I am not clear about where she and Wm Paul met. My understanding is that they did not always get along, which may explain a little about Sarah’s anxiety about her home life — my admittedly faulty recollection is that she frequently worried about whether her parents would split up. 

Sarah had a younger brother, Brad — also adopted, though unlikely sharing the same biological heritage. He tended to being stocky, but he was not bad-looking and was very bright; and like several other boys in his ward cohort, he was completely obnoxious as a preteen and teenager.

I am sure that Sarah suffered in every way when compared to her brother.

Tarzana Ward debutantes (March 1973)

I don’t have any specific recollection of any of my church youth cohort being directly cruel or unkind to Sarah, but what I do remember is that she was rarely if ever included in non-church social activities hosted by any of the cohort. Saturday night social gatherings at someone's home — by no means a weekly affair; sleepovers; TP-ing parties — I do not recall ever seeing Sarah at any of these. Nor do I remember her participating in church sports, nor even Seminary. I also don’t recall seeing her participate in any roadshows. While she was in our “Gold and Green Ball” group, I can’t remember if she went on our trip to Lake Powell, though my handful of photos don’t include a lot of the girls who definitely went.

But if we kids were not necessarily nasty to Sarah to her face, we (and I include myself in this, though I want to think I was not as frequent an offender as some) — we sometimes made fun of her behind her back; and I think what we said, or the way we thought of her and talked about her contributed to our excluding her from the larger “blessings” of belonging to an active church youth group (particularly at a time when the Mormon church encouraged lots and lots of youth activities as a means of keeping kids engaged. — And in large measure, that worked pretty well, at least in “Mormon-dense,” first-world areas.) I don’t know if the exclusion was “active” or deliberate, but there didn’t seem to be much outreach (at least to my knowledge). 

I had a small comeuppance while Tarzana Ward was still housed in the Amigo Avenue building in Reseda prior to the chapel on Topeka Avenue getting built: I was telling my friends (one of whom was Heather Pettit; not sure who the other one was) about Sarah picking her nose. I put my finger in my nose to demonstrate what I claimed to have seen, and ended up accidentally pulling out a big booger — and of course, they were grossed out.

Sarah’s parents were very active — Wm Paul was at various times a scout leader (serving along with my father when my brothers were of that age, as was his son) and a member of the bishopric; Dorothy was one of the usual ward organists and doubtless held other callings of which I was never aware. 

For me, despite the aforementioned lapses, I felt sorry for Sarah and on occasion (whether encouraged by my mother or not, I do not recall), I would accept an invitation (I think from Dorothy) to go over to their home after church and spend time with Sarah. I don’t remember very much about these times, though I have one recollection of being served “eggs over hard” (such an odd detail to recall!). I don’t know what we talked about, don’t know what we did (games? TV?—the latter a forbidden activity on the Sabbath in my parents’ home — no Ed Sullivan, Gunsmoke, Bonanza or the like for me! The only official exceptions were the broadcasts of the semi-annual church conferences on UHF channel 22, which we could barely receive; and the annual transmission of The Wizard of Oz — but I digress.)

One time, however, I was invited to go with the entire Smith family out into the Mojave desert someplace for a weekend. This was a “free” weekend at a new condo development that was, of course, an extended sales pitch. I assume the complex had a pool and other amenities, but it did nothing but rain the entire time we were there — and that, hellaciously. The sky was absolutely dark with low-lying clouds, and the desert highways were flooded, and if we hadn’t been in a car with high clearance, we would have been stuck. Again, I have no idea what we ended up doing while there.

1970 Youth Academy (Sarah circled in orange).

During the last week of July 1970 and into August, I attended Youth Academy (YA) at BYU, and my ride up to Provo was with Dorothy and Sarah. We went up in their large 1960(?) finned powder-blue Cadillac, which I think was Wm Paul’s pride and joy. (The other vehicle I know they had was Wm Paul’s exterminator truck.) I was shocked when we stopped someplace (Barstow or Baker or who knows — in the desert) and Dorothy drank a cup of coffee. She saw my judgmental 14-year-old face and (with some irritation) said something to the effect that it was better for her to drink some coffee than for her to fall asleep at the wheel and get us all killed. I noted in the one letter I sent home that I had gotten to see the St. George temple. Given the highway at the time, I imagine there was no avoiding seeing it!

We all stayed in Helaman Halls and ate in the Cannon Center. Sarah was in an older group of girls and on a different floor, so I didn’t interact with her at all, though I’m sure I saw her in some classes, and we were both doubtless part of the end-of-session musical. I have no recollection of how I got back home, though I imagine it was with Dorothy and Sarah. (I was more preoccupied with my experience that week with my roommate — which story will be its own entry.)

Of all my memories of Sarah, however, what stands out most for me is what would happen when her mother would arrange for Sarah to sing in Sacrament Meeting. To this day, I’m not sure why Dorothy did this: Sarah did have a decent singing voice, but her attempts at providing the “special music” for the meeting were almost invariably disasters: Sarah would often forget the words, or hit a wrong note, and then would lose her composure. I found these events so completely uncomfortable, and felt her embarrassment and humiliation so acutely, that whenever I saw her name on the program, I would leave the chapel right after the sacrament (communion) was passed and take refuge in the Relief Society room, which had an intercom. I would monitor the proceedings and turn off the sound when it was Sarah’s turn. (I didn’t always return to the chapel after she was done, as perhaps it would make my escape too obvious. — Maybe my return depended on who was on the program after her.)

At my baby shower, January 1983

Sarah teamed up with Valerie Simper / Momma::Wolf (whatever) to throw a missionary farewell party for me in mid-November 1977 — an event I have no recollection of (alas, unsurprisingly). I don’t see her in any of the handful of photos I have of my bridal shower, but she was at my baby shower in early 1983. By then, I think she was married to Richard Dain, a slightly “off-the-beaten-path” young man. In a couple of the baby shower photos, she’s holding a baby, but I’m not sure if it’s her own or if she was holding someone else’s. 

Decades later, I cannot find her. Trying to find a “Smith” is pretty much a fool’s game; she divorced Richard Dain (I’m not sure how long they were married), and I don’t know if she kept using that name. I know she had several children, but I believe they were not all Richard’s, and I don’t know if she ever remarried. What I do “know” are tidbits of tales about her pushing a baby in a stroller and the baby had Coca-Cola in its bottle (part of me wants to say that I saw this myself, but I don’t think that’s the case — hooray for suggested memories); that Sarah’s instability and poor choices hastened Dorothy’s death from brain cancer in early 1986 (quite a thing to blame a kid for, no matter how poor their choices! — and what a load of guilt to heap on that kid). I imagine the person who told me these things is the same one who told me that Sarah is confined to a wheelchair.

Her brother Brad, a successful dentist, cut her off years ago. I have thought about contacting him anyway, though as of this writing, he is serving a dental mission in New Zealand. Apparently Sarah’s oldest daughter did attend an event with Brad’s family some years ago. I cannot find the group photo I saw , but the woman identified (by whom?) as Sarah’s daughter was extremely obese. (My mom also saw the photo; I wonder what happened to it or where it got filed.)

Where is she now, I wonder. Is she among the many disabled homeless people similar to those I see here in Seattle? Is she still alive? Would I have anything to say to her? I was, in fact, one of the kids in our ward who was nicest to her, but now, having discovered just how much I value kindness, I wonder how kind I was, and my gut tells me … not as kind as I now wish I’d been.