Ye Old Artist
Eric has been accused — largely from himself — of being an old man in a younger man’s body. He loves the gray-haired crowd, and he relates to them as one of the few young folk artists in the country. His patriotism and love of old-fashioned family values led him to the folk style.
“I grew up in a patriotic and community-minded family,” he says. “We would go weed the park because my parents couldn’t imagine all 12 of us kids sitting still. That’s an older way of thinking, but I still carry that philosophy.”
He continues to admire the farming community — he raises chickens and peacocks on his property — and he says he doesn’t worry about competition coming up in the folk art or puzzle arena except for one scenario.
“As soon as a dairy farmer becomes a folk artist, I’m nervous,” he says. “Them are the hardest workers. What’s the difference between a dairy farmer and a guy in prison? The guy in prison doesn’t have to milk cows.”
Joking aside, hard work is a trait Eric admires, teaches and emulates. He tells his children that the world is not waiting for the smartest person — it’s waiting for the hardest worker.

Unwrapping Christmas
With a large and frugal family, Christmas expectations in Eric’s youth were minimal.
“I remember getting last year’s Christmas presents again — aren’t these the same wooden blocks from before? But this time Dad sanded them down!” he jokes.
He also remembers seeing his future wardrobe on his brothers.
“Hey, don’t mess up that shirt. It’s going to be mine!” he recalls. “We were 10 boys, and Christmas was about food.”
The big family had little room for art or art supplies.
“We had food, and that’s all we cared about,” he says. “If there was room for a picture on the wall, there was room for a shelf of bottled jam.”
He and his wife, Deb, like to “top” each other’s stories of growing up as the 10th children in two large families. Eric refers to them both as the “tithing child,” which was also a trait of Ben Franklin.
“The tithing or entitlement child back then was sent to the best schools and given great opportunities because his life was supposed to be a donation to society,” Eric says. “Anything Ben Franklin invented, he gave away.”
Although the Dowdles do keep a living to provide for their family, their abundance mentality has been good for business. When other artists utilize Dowdle Folk Art to print or distribute their art, there are no messy contracts.
“If we do a good job for you, then we hope you’ll stay,” Eric says. “If we don’t, good luck to you. I’ve made enough mistakes signing contracts in my life, that I don’t want to do that to other people.”

Home for the holidays
The 2011 holiday landscape at the Dowdles will be simple. When Eric and Deb aren’t out meeting the public and selling art and puzzles, they love to be together with their blended family.
“We like to create memories, and we often do it through staycations,” he says. The family eats together and plays together — and does puzzles together.
“It’s my research and development,” he says.
Another of Eric’s favorite traditions is getting together with his brothers and their families around Thanksgiving.
“Our extended family is full of good people and good kids, and it’s our favorite tradition to get together with them,” Eric says.

Path of painting
Eric’s own “folk art” of life involved living in Boise, Rexburg and Boston, the later being the genesis of his folk art career.
“On the East Coast, folk art is big,” he says. “But I was reluctant at first because I had been painting realism. I had grown up in a family where if art didn’t look like a photo, it wasn’t good art.”
Eric’s paintings aren’t photo-like or drawn to scale. And don’t call them cartoons either — that’s an insult to this artist that takes his “folks” seriously.
He’s also not one to insult other artists. Some of his local favorites include Michael Coleman, Ian Ramsay, Greg Olsen and James Christensen. These and other various signatures can be found in the corners of wall hangings in Eric’s home. For many years, Eric didn’t hang his own art. He displayed Michelangelo paintings, for example, to which a guest once pointed and said to Eric, “That’s your best piece right there.”
Eric says Utah Valley-ites may not recognize the glut of talented artists in our backyard.
“We’re all trying to make a living so we’re painting things people actually like,” he says. “We’re not trying to get deep into recesses of the mind. We’re appealing to the masses. Once you start to get weird, your audience will diminish.”
Unlike many artists, Eric is also complimentary of Thomas Kinkade.
“If you can’t say Kinkade’s pieces are great art, you are just jealous,” he says.
Eric’s staff teases him that if this art and puzzle gig falls to pieces, his new career could be stand-up comedy. His lively interaction keeps the corporate culture pieced together.
“Thanks for wearing that hat,” he tells a fellow Cougar fan as he walks through the warehouse.
When he introduces Ursula, he says, “Everyone needs an Ursula.”

Evolution
When Eric began holding a paint brush full time, he admits he would spend two months on a piece. That’s when he learned why artists are described as “starving.”
“Nobody wants to be involved in a business with the word ‘starving’ attached to it,” he says.
His key to turning the coins was to churn out the paintings at a faster rate. He now completes about 30 a year.
“I would love to spend more time on a piece — maybe that would help me be less critical of my own work,” Eric says. “Unfortunately artists can be critical of tiny flaws.”
But Eric has learned that’s not a trait you want to take home.
“You can’t walk in the house where everything is totally clean except one book on the floor and notice the one imperfection,” he says. “Nobody likes that.”

Sensory overload
Deb describes her husband as sensory.
“He needs to taste it, feel it, smell it,” she says.
Which is why he can’t paint a city after flipping through a picture book at the Orem library. He needs to fly there, sleep there, eat there and talk there. And talk. And talk.
“He talks to everyone,” Deb says.
For the sake of all involved, Eric often goes alone on research trips.
“I do what the tourists do,” he says. “I ride the Maid of the Mist. I go to the Imax. I ask people what they are enjoying. In many ways I feel like a reporter.”
Eric brings sights and sounds to his painting studio, too. His favorite sounds? David Lanz, the Mormon Channel and sports radio.
“I used to listen to political radio shows or regular radio music, but now I’m an old guy and I like classical music and stories about the LDS Church abroad. The Mormon Channel is my favorite channel, and it’s not even close. “

Profit and prophet
One of Eric’s life highlights was spending a family home evening with the late LDS President Gordon B. Hinckley. The two connected after Eric painted and presented President Hinckley with “All Nations Flow Unto It,” which was commissioned by Zions Bank and the Salt Lake Chamber of Commerce. Eric incorporated the church leader’s life story — as well as the growth of the religion and the Utah landscape — into the painting.
“I wondered where someone who is given so many gifts would put yet another item. In the closet? The bathroom? But he hung my painting above the couch. Maybe he took it down after we left,” Eric quips. “But I could give an entire talk on our evening together.”
President Hinckley suggested Eric make a puzzle out of his painting, and Eric asked, “Make a profit on the prophet?” He was given the green light “as long as I paid my tithing,” and the puzzle is now available at
dowdlefolkart.com.

For U and You and BYU
One of Eric’s current canvases is based on the football-crazed culture along the Wasatch Front. Fans can purchase some of Eric’s dabs by sending in a photo of themselves cheering the Cougars or the Utes. The finished product with hundreds of mini-commissions throughout the stands will be ready early next year.
Eric is spending much more time on the BYU and Utah paintings than his usual 1 1/2 to 2 weeks.
“The crowd needs to be detailed — it needs to look like Aunt Rhoda or Uncle Joe,” he says.
(Learn more about commissioning Eric to include you at dowdlefolkart.com.)

Coming to America
Eric’s loyalty to BYU is only rivaled by his patriotism for America. One of his dreams is to build a Mount Vernon replica as his corporate headquarters in Utah County. It will be a celebration of folk art, America, the founding fathers and agriculture. It will also be a reception center and gathering place.
“I love picturing the future of our business in a building that was instrumental in the history of our country,” he says.
Eric does his part to strengthen America and her economy. This year, all of his puzzles are manufactured in the United States — Indiana, to be exact.
The stateside manufacturer came within 15 cents of his bid from China, and that price differential was worth it for him to add to the economy of the country he loves.

PAINT BY NUMBER
Eric, who named his goat “Art” and has been spotted at Kneaders with the animal, adds personality and color to walls, puzzle tables and conversation. And there’s more to come. He recently started researching a Mardi Gras painting and watched a film on the festivities.
“I watched 10 minutes and had to call my bishop,” he laughs. “I’ll be doing a G-rated version.”
Eric’s feel-good depictions have pieced together a successful career for him as well as hours of enjoyment for art lovers, puzzle-doers and travelers who appreciate his folksy brush with reality.

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Tale of two houses
For the past two years, Gary and Jeanette have called the second floor of the mansion home as they host dignitaries and tourists on the first and third floors.
But they still consider Utah County their home base and return each weekend — and sometimes more often. Jeanette doesn’t sleep at the governor’s mansion if Gary is out of town.
Having a foot in both worlds comes with a few frustrations — groceries are often in “the other refrigerator.”
“I pack a suitcase going both ways,” Jeanette says. “It doesn’t matter what I do, things always end up crossing and I only have part of an outfit somewhere or jewelry in the opposite place.”

You’re hired!
Being Utah’s First Lady comes without a job description or a paycheck — unless you count the $1 every other year that the state pays.
Each woman (or husband, in the case of Gov. Olene Walker) can determine her level of involvement as spouse to the governor.
“When I first got in I had a lot of requests to sit on boards and represent organizations,” Jeanette says. “People would ask what my initiative was. I would say, ‘When I see it, it will feel right.’”
Jeanette began to be drawn to issues relating to children, parenting, families and reading. As owner of the Kids Connection in Orem for 23 years, Jeanette had a front-row seat to parenting,
“I saw a lot of moms and dads struggling,” Jeanette says. “Their child would be out of control, and they wouldn’t know how to handle the situation.”
Jeanette learned from her parents — and from her kids — that being friends first and parents second is a third-rate approach to raising a family.
“Parents worry if they discipline their children, they won’t love them,” Jeanette says. “But kids crave boundaries. I want to help parents gain power. Kids are up against so much in today’s world, and parents need to be extra vigilant.”
On May 24, Jeanette announced her initiative, Uplift Utah Families, at the Salt Lake Bees game.
“Our organization believes that to have a strong viable state, we must have strong viable families,” she says.

Single-handed mom
Jeanette’s own parenting journey includes having six kids within 12 years and a husband in real estate. Translation? Jeanette felt like a single mother at times. But she didn’t sit around making a honey-do list for Gary.
“My parents are do-it-yourselfers, and I am also very independent,” she says. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a repairman until I was 12 and I saw a man messing with the washing machine at a friend’s house.”
Gary saw this side of Jeanette from their first date. When Gary pulled up, she had a Corvair up on blocks while she was putting in a carburetor kit.
“Jeanette takes great pride in not needing repairmen when it comes to plumbing, sheetrock, landscaping and cars,” Gary says. “She’s always got seven or eight projects going at once. She’s a go-go-go girl — but not a go-go girl.”

Springing from Springville
Daughter Kimberli Cahoon describes her mom as the most unique First Lady the state has ever known.
“She’s just Jeanette Herbert from Springville, Utah,” Kimberli says.
Those small-town roots gave Jeanette big confidence for her life ahead.
“Springville was a wonderful place to grow up — small town Americana,” she says.
Jeanette’s dad managed the JCPenney in town, and she remembers him walking across the street to SOS Drug Company and visiting with other businessmen. She went with him and they would pull up a stool and have an ice cream.
Jeanette also loved living in Art City for the inspiration derived from the moniker and the Monets. She took her high school art class in the basement of the Springville Art Museum, and her art education prepared her for this chapter.
“We have so much artwork here at the mansion, and that’s one reason I love living here so much,” she says.
Jeanette may be from a small town, but she’s comfortable in the big city.
“She is very independent, and I don’t worry about her at all,” Gary says. “I don’t spend time making sure she’s comfortable in this role. She’s always anxiously engaged in good causes.”
Kimberli says her dad is the hardest worker she’s ever known, but even he has a hard time keeping up with Jeanette.
“She is 61, and she keeps picking up her pace,” Kimberli says.
Gary describes a conversation he had with Jeanette about a trip to Hawaii.
“I want to go and just relax,” he told her. “Will you let me do that or will you need to be on the go the whole time we’re there?”
Jeanette considered bringing along a daughter to go see the sites with her while Gary took his downtime. In the end, Gary and Jeanette met in the middle.

Princess dreams
Jeanette clearly remembers pretending to be a princess and thinking about growing up and living in a castle.
“Who would have thought I’d end up living in the governor’s mansion?” she says. “It feels surreal to this day. It is a real honor to be here and to represent the state.”
Jeanette’s “princess life” began in Preston, Idaho. Shortly after her birth, her family moved to Pocatello and then Milford, Utah. When Jeanette was 5, the family put down roots in Springville.
Jeanette developed a strong work ethic and later worked at the Orem State Bank (where Key Bank is now on State Street) as the first driveup window teller in Utah County. Gary had recently returned from his LDS mission and came into the bank where he talked to one of Jeanette’s co-workers. He asked her to line him up with Jeanette.
“Afterwards the girl came over to talk to me about Gary, and I looked out the window just in time to see him drive off,” Jeanette says. “He was driving a brand new 1968 GTO. And I thought, ‘If that’s his car, I’ll go out with him.’”
They started dating, and a month later she learned he had been driving his uncle’s car.
“But I was already hooked,” she says.
Their relationship pattern was set on their first date when Gary tossed Jeanette the newspaper and told her to pick a romantic show for them to see. He still depends on Jeanette to help make decisions.
The two dated for six months before Gary was drafted into the army. The Herberts got married amidst his basic training and national guard duties.

For better or for worse
Gary and Jeanette Herbert celebrate their 41st anniversary this month — a patriotic month for a patriotic couple.
“Some newlyweds don’t have the commitment it takes to make marriage work,” she says. “You’re going to find out that your spouse squeezes the toothpaste wrong and does quirky things that get under your skin, but you’ve got to talk about it and stay committed.”
In fact, Gary says it’s Jeanette who squeezes from the top.
“She resolved that issue by starting to buy us each our own tubes,” Gary says.
Jeanette says marital conflicts can also arise because of a problem child, which is another impetus for her to plan a conference on families.
“Every marriage has times when things are strained, but you have to hang in there through the tough times,” she says. “We’ve been married over 40 years, and we’re so comfortable with each other. It pays off to stay together, and most people find they are very compatible if they choose to see it that way.”

We are family
Although the Herberts have seen the world as they represent Utah, they are still largely focused on home sweet home and family sweet family.
“You don’t need an exotic vacation to enjoy family time,” Jeanette says. “Studies show kids choose not to drink or smoke because they want parental approval. Parents matter. Families matter.”
Jeanette serves up parenting along with meat and rolls every Sunday evening at her Orem home, and her six kids and 13 grandkids are all invited.
“Family is what life is about,” she says. “If you have a close family, you’ve got it made. It doesn’t matter how much money you have or if you are famous.”
Gary says Jeanette is a top-notch mother, but she’s an “all-world, first-team grandma. I mean all-world!”
She sews Halloween costumes for her grandchildren and baby blessing outfits for the little ones.
“I’m always making some kind of craft,” she says. “ I love it.”
She also loves attending as many games and recitals as possible, which is why she starts her schedule by putting in the “big rocks” of family — and golf.

Fore!
Jeanette golfs at Hobble Creek Golf Course every Tuesday with friends.
“It’s important to keep balance in life,” she says. “I enjoy that time when I set aside my other worries and concerns.”
Except for the worry of hitting a tiny golf ball.
“I shouldn’t love anything about golf,” she says. “It’s the most frustrating sport. You hit one good shot and then it might be 10 more shots before you can do that again. But I like to see the improvement from the last time I played.”
Jeanette’s love affair with Hobble Creek began before she hit double digits. Her father would come home from work and take her to the course with him. Sometimes they didn’t finish nine holes before the sun went down, but they enjoyed the evening breeze and the time together as they were the last ones on the green.
“Hobble Creek is my course,” Jeanette says.
Jeanette took up golf with earnest when she sold her Orem child-care center a few years ago and planned to quietly focus on grandchildren and home improvement projects.
But Gary’s political aspirations changed her game. Gary put together a bid for governor in 2004 before stepping out and joining Jon Huntsman’s ticket as lieutenant governor. The two won big that November. Then in 2009, Huntsman left the state to be an ambassador in China, which put Gary in the top seat. Gary was re-elected in 2010.

Politics as usual
Although Jeanette has no legislative power, she feels a responsibility to understand the issues.
“I need to relate to Gary and the emotions he’s going through,” she says. “Our whole family has become very politically involved. A lot of the conversations around the table are about state and national issues. I read all the newspapers, but I generally avoid the blogs — they are too negative.”
Jeanette considers herself a “Fox News person,” but she seeks out the other side to round out her knowledge. The only TV she takes time to watch is recorded programming — such as “Dancing With The Stars” — so she can zoom through the commercials.

Public figure
Although the Herberts get recognized and consequently stopped whenever they go out in public, they don’t let it limit their behavior. But being out and about takes longer than it used to.
“People come up and usually say they appreciate what we are doing,” Jeanette says. “We are both people persons — is that how you say that in plural? We like talking to people. Gary is usually the last one to leave the room, and I’m pulling on his coat tails. That’s one of his good qualities. He enjoys hearing people’s issues.”
Being a public figure and living in the governor’s mansion caught small-town Jeanette by surprise, but the depth of Utah’s greatness did not. As a volunteer herself, she’s well aware of how Utah earns its distinction of being the No. 1 state for volunteerism.
“And that’s a badge we wear with honor,” she says.

Women’s work
Jeanette’s mother was a housewife and didn’t work a day. Jeanette never aspired to be a working mother either. But in the late 1970s and early 1980s, interest rates were high and home purchases were low. Soon after she had her sixth child, she and her Realtor husband realized a second income might be necessary.
“I decided to build a child-care center so I could take my kids to work with me,” Jeanette says.
She was usually at home when the children left for school and back home again when the backpacks returned. Her children grew up and held jobs at the center.
“I became so attached to the children,” she says. “We were open so long that people who had been there as kids were bringing their own babies back in. It was hard to walk away.”
Owning a day-care center forced Jeanette to organize her time and work closely with all types of personalities.
“In addition to my business, being a mother prepared me for this more than any other career could have,” she says.
Jeanette is an optimistic person who looks forward to the future and hopes her grandchildren take notice.
“I want them to realize there is a lot of good out there if they have the right attitude,” she says.

Joke’s on you
Jeanette is serious about parenting and dead serious about grandparenting, but she is quick to laugh and find the humor in life.
On April Fool’s Day, she called her husband and told him Donald Trump had figured out Obama wasn’t born in the U.S. and had found proof. Hours later he called back saying his staff couldn’t find out more about her news. She reminded him what day it was.
“I love joking around,” she says. “I like informal occasions more than formal occasions.”

Politics as usual
As much as Jeanette prefers jeans and family, a life in politics is a life in the spotlight. Many lunches and dinners are spent at catered tables, although the couple often craves a simple bowl of cereal for dinner. (The night before our interview, Gary came home and happily poured himself a bowl of Cheerios.)
The Herberts rub shoulders with Utah’s elite, including a close friendship with both the Romneys and Huntsmans.
“We supported Romney in the last election, and we thought the Huntsmans were also supporting Romney,” Jeanette says. “So it was awkward for us when the Huntmans put their support behind McCain. We have friendships and relationships with both couples, so we’ll likely stay neutral. I just hope they don’t beat up on each other too badly, which can happen in a contested Primary.”
Jeanette knows something about taking a beating. The 2010 campaign season was smattered with headlines questioning the governor’s integrity.
“At times we wondered if it was worth it. What were we doing this for? It was actually our kids who kept us in the race,” Jeanette says.
At one of the traditional Sunday night dinners, the adult children passionately persuaded their parents to stay in through the hard times.
“They told us we were there for a reason and to hang in there,” Jeanette says.
They knew their children had been well-taught, and they listened.
“You have to know what is right and stand tall, and when you do that everything works out in the end,” Jeanette says. “My skin has gotten thicker. Neither one of us takes offense when offense wasn’t intended.”
Sometimes offense is intended, which is when Jeanette and Gary lean on each other.
“We help each other through situations,” she says. “As a spouse sometimes I’m defensive of him and I want to punch somebody’s lights out, but it’s important to stand above it and see things through. This journey will end at some point, and we want to have done the most with this chapter of our lives.”

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Playing in the pros (and cons)
Vern’s weight room growing up was throwing milk cans around a farm in Idaho, and that work ethic took him straight to the top of the sport he loved. Vern played pro from 1950 to 1967 during what he describes as “the golden age of baseball.”
He also raised six kids (Vance is #3) while playing 16 years as a pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates.
Vern’s stories read like a history book. For example, he was asked to pitch a game on two days rest against Hank Aaron’s Milwaukee team at home in Pittsburgh. At the end of nine innings, it was tied 2-2. Vern stayed in. Twelve innings. Fifteen innings. The coach wanted to pull Vern.
“After pitching this long, let me win or lose this thing,” Vern remembers saying.
After 18 innings, Vern was pulled and went in to shower while he listened on the radio as the reliever pitcher won the game. In today’s sport, a pitcher gives five or six quality innings and then a reliever is called in.
“I’d have a hard time pitching today. I don’t like the idea of somebody else coming in and determining whether we win or lose,” Vern says. “I’d be in the doghouse of my manager all the time for asking to stay in.”
Vern played baseball before major leagues meant major salaries. A rookie today makes more in a signing bonus than Vern did in his whole career.
“It was fun when baseball was a game,” Vern says. “Now it’s a business. Back then we had the reserve clause that held us to our ball club until we were traded or sold. Our team stayed together for a good length of time and matured together. That’s why we are so close even today. And that’s why the fans back in Pittsburgh relate to us more than any other team. They knew who was going to be out on the field every year. People loved that.”
People also love Vern’s generosity.
He brings donuts and chocolate milk to the baseball team — and the women’s basketball team — before they leave for road trips.
“He has always put other people first,” Vance says. “He has set an example of kindness, integrity and honesty.”
Vern as been called the LDS pioneer of baseball and was known as “Deacon” to his teammates, opposing players and umpires.
“At the time I was an elder in the LDS Church, but nobody knows what an elder is, but they do know what a deacon is. And the name stuck,” Vern says.
Vern says his post-game interviews always ended up discussing his faith and religion. Even during the World Series, Vern was referred to as the Mormon boy from Idaho. The Catholic sisters were big fans.
“It was a pretty site to see 10,000 wearing black and white habits in the stands,” he says. “And they would come to the dugout and holler, ‘Deacon, come here!’ So I would visit with them for a few minutes.”
Vern says he knows he wasn’t the best pitcher in the world, but he made the best use of the talent he did have.
“As a result, I had some success,” he says. “I wanted to succeed as bad as anybody. When people asked about my faith, I wanted them to respect me enough to listen to what I had to say.”
One person Vern didn’t want to listen to and follow was Babe Ruth. When Vern met the home run legend, Babe was holding a beer and had an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“I’m not a Babe Ruth fan. He could have done so much more with his influence. I had a lot more respect for Lou Gehrig,” Vern says. “Lou showed humility.”
Vern showed his own humility when he was asked to endorse Marlboro cigarettes and turned it down faster than he could throw a fastball.
“Young people admire and respect ball players, particularly in Pittsburgh,” Vern says. “Kids do exactly what players do, and I had been outspoken against cigarettes to my teammates. Plus, I wasn’t going to endorse something I didn’t personally use.”
He did endorse hard work and sports with his children, who saw varying levels of success. Vance had a stand-out career as a BYU baseball player before being drafted to the Pirates, the same team his father pitched for.
“I didn’t have anything to do with his signing,” Vern says. “He had to make it on his own, which he did.”
Vance played pro from 1978-1991.
His father often reminded him how important it is “to keep your nose clean.” The media spotlight — especially on Mormon athletes — finds flaws both on and off the field.
The two former boys of summer are now dads and grandpas (and in Vern’s case, a great-grandpa), which means baseball takes a distant back seat.

Filling the family roster
Vern was slated to pitch the second game in a Fourth of July 1962 doubleheader when he got a call that VaNita was headed to the hospital to deliver their youngest son.
He pitched a 7-0 shutout. The last play of the game was when Norm Larker popped-up a fly ball and catcher Smoky Burgess caught it. Vern says Norm turned to him and said, “Now go home and read your Bible.”
Vern went home to something more important — his newest son. Vern and VaNita have never retired from their position as parents. Vance and his siblings continue to turn to their mom and dad for support and advice.
For example, Vance got thrown his toughest parenting pitch 24 years ago when his then-4-year-old daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor.
At the prime of his major league career, Vance was struggling between two priorities: providing temporally for his family and providing emotionally.
Both sets of parents lent their shoulders. Toward the end of Vance’s season with the Montreal Expos, they let him go home and play general manager for his wife and daughter.
“That was an amazing example of an employer letting me put family first,” Vance says.
This daughter is now 28 and holds down two jobs despite challenges. Vance now sees this experience as spring training in his early parenting career.
“Nothing was more important than being there for my daughter and wife,” he says. “This helped us grow as a family and see a bigger picture. Up until that time, I had been focused on progressing my baseball career.”

Like father, like son, like son
Vern was an assistant coach at BYU under Glen Tuckett when Vance came out for the team as a freshman. They told Vance he would clearly have to be the best player at his position or he’d have to wait his turn.
“It turned out he was the best player at his position, so I didn’t worry,” Vern says. “He was always in the right spot at the right time. But it’s a little bit of pressure for a dad to coach his son.”
Now Vance is the coaching father while his sons line up for the Cougars.
His son Tim played third base for three years. Andrew is on this year’s squad as an infielder, and Adam will return to the team after finishing an LDS mission in Zimbabwe later this summer.
“It can be stressful to watch your own sons play because you want them to do well,” Vance says. “You want every hop to be a good hop. You don’t want them to strike out. In the end, baseball is a game of averages. And my boys have been around baseball their entire lives, so they have baseball common sense.”

Father knows best
Although Vance and Vern are close on and off the mound, Vance credits his mother with being the stability factor when he was growing up.
“During my dad’s playing days, I was around my mother more than my father,” Vance says. “Even though she’s a small woman, whatever she said went. And our respect for her has never diminished.”
When Vern retired from professional baseball, his father role intensified.
“He became a guidance counselor for me,” Vance says. “He was my coach here at BYU, and he helped me progress through my college days and into my pro career. He always continued to throw batting practice to me. And who better than a Cy Young winner to throw BP?”
But it is Vern’s off-the-field tosses that Vance appreciates most.
“He is a tremendous example of integrity and honesty,” Vance says. “Even with all the notoriety he got being one of the best pitchers in the 1960s, he always lived and acted like he was a normal guy.”
To this day, Vern will get out of his seat to snag a foul ball.
“Some of my guys complain about getting foul balls, but nothing is beneath my dad,” Vance says.

BYU by Law
Vance says there is an identifiable absence when his 81-year-old father isn’t in the stands to watch Cougar baseball.
Vern regularly watches practice, and he’s at nearly every home game and many away contests. Being in the stands to watch Vance’s team take the field is one of Vern’s top priorities.
“If he’s not at a game, there must be something pretty important going on,” Vance says.
Vern has also become a regular face at BYU women’s basketball games. When he missed a few of their games this past winter for a knee replacement, the players asked, “Where’s Coach Law?”
He’s still known as “coach” by many — and the only title he loves more than that is “father.”
The father-son duo wishes more people understood the beauty of baseball.
“There are subtle conflicts that go on between the hitter and pitcher,” Vance says. “Some people think it’s slow moving, but when people understand baseball they see it is an exciting game of strategy.”
Baseball is also a team sport — at times you sacrifice your own stats for the good of the ball club. It’s also a game where failure is expected. The best players fail seven out of 10 times offensively and still keep coming up to bat.
Sounds a bit like fatherhood.

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 When Michael McLean produced “Mr. Krueger’s Christmas” 30 years ago, he was practically a little drummer boy. In his late 20s, Michael had no business working with the legendary Jimmy Stewart to produce a holiday film featuring the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. But he’s never forgotten what he learned from the class act who also starred in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” In fact, Michael’s memories of creating the LDS holiday favorite film inspire him as he leads a Christmas tour reminding audiences of the true meaning of Christmas.
 Now in its 19th year, “The Forgotten Carols” has become a holiday tradition as it tours the West in November and December. From the humming, strumming “Homeless” to “The Innkeeper” pleading with us to let Him in, the story adds a jingle, a jangle and a juxtaposition to the Christmas story and its application to modern-day.
 Michael lives in a cabin-like home in Midway, which he describes as “the house that The Forgotten Carols” built. Fittingly, he keeps his Christmas tree out all year next to the room where the first performance of the stage production was tested in front of his close-knit family — who cheered as he acted out the parts of Connie Lou and Uncle John.
 Not surprisingly, the man who also wrote “Together Forever” is focused on family. His sweetheart of 37 years, Lynne, accompanies him on tour and sings “Mary Let Me Hold Her Baby,” which “she owns when she sings,” Michael says. His three children and two grandchildren come up in nearly every conversation. And now his aging parents and in-laws live in the upstairs of this Midway home.
 With a family roll call this long, Christmas dinner is no small feat for the McLeans. Nearly 30 or 40 people gather around the table to celebrate the holiday that has made Michael a household name. Michael’s only problem? Staying upright after traveling through six states and giving 24 performances of his now-NOT-forgotten carols.

UV: What is it like for you to watch “Mr. Krueger’s Christmas”?
Michael: Honestly, I’m much more likely to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life,” but I loved doing “Mr. Krueger’s Christmas.” It was amazing. You can’t not love that show because it tells you that Jesus loves you, and it’s great. But the other Christmas movie I did that’s more meaningful to me is “Nora’s Christmas Gift.” It was about receiving. The film didn’t do as well because it demanded something of people they didn’t want to hear. Christmas isn’t about giving — it’s about receiving a gift we cannot give ourselves. Mormons are better at giving than receiving because we are in control.

UV: What did you learn from working with Jimmy Stewart as Mr. Krueger?
Michael: It was a miraculous thing — he is George Bailey! “It’s a Wonderful Life” has always lifted my heart and mind, and working with Jimmy Stewart was amazing. He had a son named Michael McLean, so we had a special bond from the start. I went with Jimmy to Western Costume in Hollywood to pick out two outfits for Mr. Krueger. He was interrupted every 10 minutes with people saying things like, “My dad was in the military with you.” Jimmy showed a graciousness I’d never seen before. He’s an actor, but he wasn’t acting. He was genuinely treating them with such class, gratitude and reverence. It almost made me cry.

UV: So did you eventually pick out the costumes?
Michael: What should have taken 45 minutes took more than three hours. I was exhausted. I was 27 and he was 72, and I asked him how he had the energy to do that. He said, “Michael, my dad ran a hardware store. He believed that everybody who bought a hammer or saw from him was his partner, and he treated them as such. Everyone who buys a ticket to see my movies is one of my partners, and I owe them a friendship. They are the ones who bought my house and put my kids through college. If I don’t have energy to thank them, I stay home. But when they see me, I owe them everything.”

UV: Wow! I knew I liked Jimmy Stewart.
Michael: Exactly. And I’ll never be at Jimmy’s level, but for those people who have had a sweet experience with my songs, I better take time for them because they are my partners. I hear stories about how “You’re Not Alone” helped them or they were adopted and “From God’s Arms” means so much. If they meet the guy who wrote a song that helped them and he’s a creep, that ruins the experience for them.

UV: What does Christmas mean to you?
Michael: Christmas is about making Christmas for other people.

UV: What do you remember about Christmas when you grew up?
Michael: What I loved most was the food, the aromas, the magic of the stories, the great Christmas movies. I remember when my parents got their first stereo, and we listened to Nat King Cole.

UV: Did you always plan to do a Christmas album?
Michael: I was told early in my career that I should do a Christmas album. But I didn’t think there were any new songs people wanted to hear at Christmas. “Messiah.” Check. “Chestnuts On An Open Fire.” Check. “Silent Night.” “White Christmas.” It’s done. That’s what we love about Christmas music — we know it! There hadn’t been a new Christmas hit since “The Little Drummer Boy” in 1957.

UV: When did you open your mind to the idea of writing “The Forgotten Carols”?
Michael: I was sitting at my piano, and I started playing what was to become “The Innkeeper’s Song.” The words came like this, “I am a man forgotten. No one recalls my name …” And I thought, “That would be an interesting take on the Christmas story. Maybe something could be contributed to Christmas music.”

UV: That song is my favorite of your carols.
Michael: It resonates with a lot of people. So I’m playing around with this new song, this new idea. And my son Scott comes in who is 13. Now, I was the one who had made the “dad” commercials. I earned awards while I was often too busy to be a dad to my own children. And here comes Scott, and it’s obvious he wants to talk, but I’m too distracted to talk to him. I’m writing this song about a guy who needs to “let him in,” but the innkeeper was actually about me and my son. I needed to let him in. Every night when I do “The Forgotten Carols,” I’m privately singing about my own kids. Did I let them in? Did I love them? Did I? Did I? And at that moment with Scott, I didn’t. I was the innkeeper, and I missed that chance.

UV: So that song has multiple meanings.
Michael: Yes. Jesus is saying “let me in.” He tells us if we’ve done it to the least of these — and the least of these are family. How ironic that I made successful commercials for the LDS Church about being a dad, and I missed many “dad” moments. I’ve been trying to fix that.

UV: You’ve also been open about trying to “fix” your depression. How has that affected your career?
Michael: Now I manage it with medication, but sometimes I would fake my way through a day. I had an experience in Dallas before I got some meds. I had performed “Forgotten Carols” as part of a Time Out for Women concert, and afterwards I was out schlepping CDs and trying to sell T-shirts. I call this “overhead time.” I was thinking I hadn’t been very good, and that I should quit. The fraud police are surely waiting in the wings. Then a woman came up and without looking me in the eye she said, “I think maybe I can like Christmas again now.” She left and her friend came up and said, “That was my best friend in the world. Eight years ago, she was raped on Christmas Eve and she completely wrote off Christmas. I’ve been trying to get her to put up a tree or go to a Messiah concert. I finally got her to come to this. We sat on the aisle so she could leave if necessary. During one of the songs, she tapped me and said, ‘I’m feeling Christmas again.’ Now how do I thank the guy who gave my best friend Christmas back?”

UV: Wow! How did that make you feel?
Michael: I realized I needed to get over myself. I’m not going to be able to sing like my son, Jeff, who has an amazing voice. But if I can connect with people, I should just quit worrying about it. I’m not going to be everything I wish I was. I’m going to trust the material and keep going, and maybe good things will happen. Maybe it’s a gift that I’m not a rock star. I don’t write to show off how talented I am. I don’t write songs so that when I sing them, my voice hits that perfect ‘A.’ I write songs about the audience. My songs aren’t about how cool I am, it’s about how cool the audience is.

UV: No wonder you connect with the audience so well.
Michael: This show isn’t about Mike. Maybe people see me like their uncle or a cool cousin who is clearly sincere and too emotional — I cry at everything. The audience can feel like I’m doing the show for them. They are the innkeeper who misses stuff because they are too busy. Or they are the shepherd — they’re just a regular guy who has to take the whole idea of Jesus on faith because they are hearing the stories secondhand. You have to decide if you feel the magic in the air. I love that idea! We’re all “Mary Let Me Hold Her Baby” because in some way we are all barren. I get so emotional when I sing about Handel’s dream because all of us want to know if our voice will be heard.

UV: How has the show evolved over the years?
Michael: It was originally a one-man show, and I played all the parts. I used to wonder if everybody who needed to see the show had seen it, and I wasn’t sure people would keep coming year after year. When I brought in singer Katie Thompson, it got a little more structured. She is brilliant and would stay in character no matter what happened. And I knew people would pay money to hear her sing “Arise and Shine Forth.” She’s a spectacular performer, and we were lucky to have her for those years. She is now the most well-known New York diva who’s never had a Broadway hit. When Katie went back to New York, I didn’t feel like anyone could replace her. My son Scott — who is an actor — said to me, “You can keep doing your show this way and you’ll be fine. But how would you like to fix it? You could make this a real play instead of winging it every night.” He wrote this well-structured show with multiple characters, and the show evolved to what it is today.

UV: Does the show still feel exciting to you even though it’s in its 19th season?
Michael: Yes! I would think that after this many years, I’d feel like, “Well, it’s nearly Christmas so it’s time for me to bring in the sheaves and go to work. This is my gig.” (Dragging his arms) But it’s amazing to me that I’m still excited.

UV: And how did the book “Forgotten Carols” come into play?
Michael: I got this idea that there should be a book to accompany the music. So I talked to Sheri Dew around the first of April a few years ago. She said if we wanted it out for that Christmas, it would have to be ready by April 13 for the board to review. So on a Sunday night I started writing the book. Just before I’d go to sleep, I’d tell my subconscious to work on it while I slept. “Here are the problems I’m working on in Chapter 2. And here’s all the input I have right now. Let’s set an appointment for 6:30 in the morning, and I’ll see what you’ve got for me.”

UV: So when you’d get up in the morning, the story had been worked on?
Michael: Yes. I’d go to my computer and say, “Thank you, subconscious, for all the work you’re done. Now just let it come.” I would write frantically until 8:30, and then I’d go to work. And that night when I’d come back and look at it again. I would be so engaged and interested in what was happening. I’d think, “I don’t know how we’re going to pop out of that hole tomorrow.” But then the stuff would show up the next day. I definitely did some tweaking and fixed structural flaws as they would manifest themselves, but largely the story just came. And I finished it on April 13th — my birthday — and presented it to the board.

UV: Wow! Maybe my subconscious should write this article.
Michael: Try it! As I would write the chapters of the book, I would leave them around the house. We’ve raised multiple families at this house. For a few years my sister and her kids lived here. Now both sets of parents live here. So I would leave the chapters around to get feedback. And along with my family members, I couldn’t wait to see what would happen tomorrow in the story.

UV: And now thousands of books, CDs and DVDs of “Forgotten Carols” are spread throughout the world. What does it feel like to be on tour with the same group of people Christmas after Christmas?
Michael: I love these people. I really love these people. We all go to dinner the night before the last show. We have special presents we give out, and then I give predictions for everyone. The good thing is that nobody writes them down.

UV: What kinds of predictions?
Michael: Well, I’ll do one for you. In 2011, you’re going to have a strange encounter with a publisher who wants to do a Mormon National Enquirer. He’ll slip you $200,000 if you dish dirt on Mormon celebrities. They know you have dirt. You’ll think about doing this, and then in the spring they’ll up the ante by saying you’ll only have to pay 6 percent tithing. And by August, the ante goes up to a million dollars. You’ll try to negotiate an even lower tithing rate, too, but the church won’t budge.

UV: (Laughing) I’ll let you know if that happens to me next year! What does it feel like to end your year with such an aggressive tour?
Michael: I basically collapse. The show is relentless. We have rehearsals all day long, and then we do the show. And then we do the signings and talk to people. Sometimes the aftershow is more important to people than the show. The show owns me from Nov. 10 till Christmas Eve. One year we surprised the kids and had them meet us at the airport, and then we took them on a cruise for Christmas. But usually we get back to our home on Christmas Eve. This is the most Christmas-y place in the world. We have a great dinner. None of us has had time to shop, so we haven’t bought anything for each other. We often “give” each other donations to Hope Projects, which was founded by my friend Jerry Simons to help people who have been “forgotten” in the South American villages.

UV: Are you a New Year’s resolutions kind of guy?
Michael: Like everyone, I plan to get those last eight pounds off. But like everyone, I give up around Feb. 9. Actually, lately I’ve realized I can’t control anything. So I’m going to trust Jesus and put my faith there rather in my ability to control. In the past I’ve had too much faith in my own ability to work things out. The philosophy of “if it is to be, it’s up to me” totally undermines our ability to live a happy life because we aren’t in control. I just finished a song about this called “Real Life.”

UV: What makes you nervous in real life?
Michael: I’m really nervous when I’m asked to speak in church and at firesides. I’m not the hot guy I once was. (laughing). I used to do 60 or 70 firesides a year. I’m not that guy anymore. I am always nervous about whether I’ll pick the right thing to share. I’m not nervous about whether I’ll look good or sing the songs right. I get nervous that people are coming to these events hoping there will be an answer for them — an answer for something they are wrestling with. We may not say it out loud, but when we turn on conference or attend a meeting, we are hoping there will be an answer for us.

UV: How do you know if you’ve picked the right message to share?
Michael: I don’t always know. I make a living by knowing how to push buttons as a writer. But what if I am pushing buttons but not touching hearts? This weekend I’m going to be in Plano, Texas, to put on a concert for 2,000 women. I can perform stuff I know works or might sell my albums, but what if somebody needs me to sing “As I Am” and I’m not listening? What if I’m so consumed with being hip or being adored that I don’t do the right thing? It’s an easy temptation.

UV: Do you have an example?
Michael: I was doing an energetic Time Out For Women, and I got this feeling I needed to do “From God’s Arms.” And I think, “Maybe I can sing that song later when it fits better.” But I get the feeling I should do it RIGHT NOW. So I try to find a way to segue to that song. Later I find out that at that exact moment, a woman who had eight years previously placed her baby for adoption had come because her husband thought she needed a break. She walks out of the restroom and at that moment a woman finishes buying a book. The two hear the music and recognize each other as the birth mother and adoptive mother of the same child. They start to sing as I sing that song, and when I heard about this later it was extraordinary. What if I’d missed that moment by not singing that song?

UV: Thanks for creating so many unforgettable moments through the years.
Michael: Thank you!

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