Gary and Carla

The scene of Nathan's "crime". 

Our very first introduction to Gary and Carla, the neighbor couple I wrote about a couple of days ago, was before we had even moved into the house in Bountiful in the spring of 2001.   We were invited to a social at our new ward (LDS congregation) that featured some sort of program involving “talent” or “family heritage,” I cannot now recall which.  What I do recall, however, was Carla’s presentation as she droned on and on about her Cannon heritage (Cannon was her maiden name).  

One of the things that used to drive me nuts about many members of the Mormon Church, particularly after we moved to Utah, was how they would take tremendous pride in their “pioneer” ancestors – especially if these ancestors had some claim to fame in the history of the Church.   Not only were these “pioneers” lionized to the point of canonization (no pun intended), but their descendants also had the maddening tendency to arrogate to themselves the “righteousness” and “specialness” of their ancestors.  

This was certainly true of Carla.  She was extremely proud of her Cannon ancestor who had joined the Mormon Church on the Isle of Man and then emigrated with his family to Utah, where he eventually became an apostle and a member of the First Presidency of the Church.  She extolled his virtues that night and shared a poem she had written as a paean to her Cannon ancestors, the refrain of which ended with “O, O, the Isle of Man” – a line that became a standard joke in years to come as we referred to our neighbors.

Carla also regularly shared her “testimony” in the monthly church meetings set aside for that purpose.  For the benefit of non-Mormon readers, the main church meeting on the first Sunday of every month is set aside for the “bearing of testimonies”; members get up and speak extemporaneously about their feelings for the Mormon Church, for their families, etc.  The idea is that members share their “testimonies” of how they know the Church is true and/or how God has blessed them.  Carla would often stand and “bear” her testimony, in an affected and pious manner, perhaps giving the impression to a stranger that she was a humble, spiritual, loving person.  Those who knew her – most of the congregation – knew differently.

Carla also liked to consider herself a decorating diva and silk-flower-arranging goddess.  She apparently used to be more involved in this, running a business out of the front of her husband’s welding shop.  We never saw the inside of her house, but there were certain tell-tale signs on the exterior that, shall we say, conflicted with her self-image.  Such as the plastic geraniums that decorated the wrought-iron window boxes along the front of her home.  Or the gigantic (24”) plastic Easter eggs that Gary dutifully hung from the branches of the scrub oak trees in front of their house every spring.

Carla is a stout woman.  Overweight, but solid.  The kind of woman that you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.  We had heard rumors that she had decked her husband on more than one occasion, and my ex-wife was informed just recently (by other ward members) that she and Gary had called the police on each other on several occasions.

Her hair is likely grayish-white now, but she dyes it a dark brown shade that presumably approximates her hair color some 20-25 years ago.  Like other women her age in the ward who also dyed their hair, she wasn’t particularly concerned when a good inch or more of gray roots showed on the crown of her head, creating a sort of Zebra-like effect.  

I don’t really remember when we started having real difficulties with Gary and Carla.  Initially, my impression was that Gary simply did what Carla said in order to keep the peace, and if something was irritating Carla, Gary was commissioned to do something about it.  So, I tried to get along with Gary the best I could and steered a wide berth from Carla.

I mentioned the Levi and Annie episode in Saturday’s post.  But I’ll repeat it here for flow and effect.  One time about three years ago, Gary came to the front door, visibly shaking with anger.  He told me my kids were throwing mud at his house and if they did it again, he'd call the police.  

I went out to the back yard and saw that Levi, 4, and Annie, 2, were playing in a bit of mud next to the fence that had been created by water leaking under the fence from Gary's fountain.  They had apparently, being kids, started throwing a bit of mud around, and some of it - perhaps the size of their tiny fists - must have gone over the fence and hit the side of Gary's house.  I couldn't help but laugh at the silliness of the situation, but sternly warned the children that Gary would call the police if they threw mud at his house again.  After all, mud only washes off if one applies water to the brick.

There were other incidents, equally silly.  We had to warn the children that they were not, under any circumstances, to go into Gary's back yard, e.g., in case their ball accidentally went over the fence into his yard.  They were to be careful to stay on the sidewalk when in front of their house and never step on their grass, etc.

There had been incidences before this.  I think there was a period when Nathan was tossing rocks over the fence into their back yard when he was a pre-schooler.  You would think based on Gary’s reaction that he was throwing stink bombs. I could probably think of other incidences if I really thought about it.

Then there was the dog.  Shortly after we moved in during the spring of 2001, we adopted a Golden Lab mix, Boomer, who has to be one of the “best” dogs that has ever lived.  He was good with the kids, good-natured, and rarely, if ever, barked.  

This was in contrast to the dogs of the Italians who lived across the street from us.  They were nice people, also members of the ward, who had immigrated to the States in the 90’s.  The parents lived downstairs in the split-entry home, and a younger couple lived upstairs with their two children.  Both families had dogs.  The younger couple kept theirs in the back yard, and he barked incessantly, including at members of our family.  The older couple had a dog that they let out early every morning to go and poop in all the neighbors’ yards, then bark at them.  I recall going out for a run once during this early-morning ritual, and the bloody dog came charging across the street at me, barking his head off.

I recount this to give some context to another Gary and Carla “situation.”  But before doing so, I need to also relate, by way of background, the story of the raccoon catcher.  

Gary and Carla had a “fish pond” in their backyard in which they kept goldfish.  Well, raccoons were and are rather plentiful in Bountiful, and – surprise – they like goldfish.  So, every night, Gary would set a raccoon trap.  And virtually every night, he would catch a raccoon, which he would then deliver to Animal Control in Fruit Heights, a good 15-minute drive north of where we lived.  

Well, one day, an Animal Control officer knocked on our front door.  He had received a complaint that our dog was barking “all the time.”  He commented, however, that he had sat in his truck for a while before coming to the door, listening, and he had heard no dog.  Nor had he heard one when he knocked on the door.  My ex-wife asked if the complaint had come from Carla and Gary.  The officer couldn’t say, but in the ensuing conversation, Jean must have said enough to trigger something in the officer’s mind.

“Wait,” he said.  “Is this the guy who keeps bringing raccoons into Animal Control?  If so, then I totally understand what’s going on.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m sure your dog is fine.”  With that, he turned and left.  Unfortunately, once Animal Control ceased responding to his complaints, Gary started outright threatening to kill the dog that Jean acquired a couple of years ago – a Labradoodle named Bailey.  

Gary has made other threats, including some against our young children.  I will be writing him a letter this week, making it clear that we will pursue legal action if necessary if he ever makes another threat against one of the kids.  A copy of the letter will be sent to the LDS bishop for that ward.  The Utah Mormon ecclesiastical structure can be somewhat useful in policing things like this, but Gary may need to face civil and criminal penalties before he backs off.

The thing is, the entire neighborhood and ward knows about Gary and Carla.  Everyone tries to get along, and – surprisingly – Gary and Carla act as though nothing is amiss when they go to church every Sunday.  In fact, their high opinion of themselves seems to insulate them from reality.  

It’s extremely weird.  Or it was.  I am no longer part of that world, thank goodness.  And because I don’t have to worry about stepping on anyone’s toes, I can tell him, in a polite but firm tone, that he’s going to end up in jail if he doesn’t stop messing with my kids.

But there may be other remedies.  A couple were suggested by our friend Phyllis in an e-mail on Saturday: “Want me to get them a subscription to some nasty transvestite porn?  We could send them 500 baby chicks (guaranteed live) except then I'd worry about the chicks.”

Indeed.

“I do not believe the meaning of life is a puzzle to be solved. 

Life is. 

Anything might happen. 

And I believe I may invest my life with meaning. 

The uncertainty is a blessing in disguise. 

If I were absolutely certain about all things, 

I would spend my life in anxious misery, 

fearful of losing my way. 

But since everything and anything are always possible, 

the miraculous is always nearby 

and wonders shall never, ever cease.”

~ Robert Fulghum