Dare to be a Mormon

I shall ever remember the first Sunday at San Diego. The chief petty officer said to us, "Today everybody goes to church." We then lined up in formation on the drill ground. The petty officer shouted, "All of you who are Catholics—you meet in Camp Decatur. Forward, march! And don't come back until three!" A large number marched out. He then said, "All of you who are of the Jewish faith—you meet in Camp Henry. Forward, march! And don't come back until three!" A smaller contingent moved out. Then he said, "The rest of you Protestants meet in the theaters in Camp Farragut. Forward, march! And don't come back until three o'clock!"

There flashed through my mind the thought, Monson, you're not Catholic. You're not Jewish. You're not a Protestant. I elected to stand fast. It seemed as though hundreds of men marched by me. Then I heard the sweetest words which the petty officer ever uttered in my presence. He said, "And what do you men call yourselves?" He used the plural--men. This was the first time I knew that anyone else was standing behind me on that drill ground. In unison we said, "We're Mormons." He scratched his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face, and said, "Well, go and find somewhere to meet--and don't come back until three o'clock." We marched away. One could almost count cadence to the rhyme learned in Primary:

Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm,
And dare to make it known.