A Lasting Legacy of Love, Faith, & Craftsmanship

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Mark Wylie Hornibrook, 70, was a loving and kind man who radiated joy and faith. He passed away at his home in Wilsonville, Oregon, on February 9, 2022, having been lovingly surrounded by his wife, children, and grandchildren. 

Mark was born on December 28, 1951, in San Bernardino, California, to Patricia and Rex Hornibrook. From an early age, he showed a natural inclination for building things. This resulted at first in bike ramps and treehouses, then in a summer job constructing homes, and eventually in founding and building great companies. After graduating from Saddleback High School in Santa Ana, California, in 1970, Mark attended Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, where he received a Bachelor of Architecture degree and the AIA Award of Merit as the student with the highest GPA in his graduating class. 

Soon thereafter, in Provo, Utah, he met Ane, who would become his best friend and the love of his life. Ane led the singing at Mark’s baptism when he joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they were married one year later in the Salt Lake Temple.

Together, Mark and Ane raised five children—four sons and one daughter. Proud of the amazing and compassionate individuals they have all become, Mark loved his family dearly and enjoyed every moment he spent with his children and his 19 adorable grandchildren. 

As Mark and Ane were starting their family, Mark shifted careers from architecture to business. He received his Master of Business Administration from the BYU Marriott School of Management in Provo, UT, and he helped found the company Forethought, where his ingenuity was on full display as he created industry-defining insurance products. He went on to create PreQuest in 1990 before starting Lincoln Heritage Funeral Planning in 2004, which was later named Precoa, The Preneed Company of America. For the last decade, Precoa has been the fastest-growing preneed company in America, and it has been recognized numerous times for its values-based workplace culture.

Mark also loved to travel. It began when he backpacked across Europe as part of a Senior Project in college. In the years since then, he and Ane have ventured around the globe, sharing many sweet and fun-filled memories. Over the course of their journey together, they also lived in many places across the United States, including California, Utah, New York, Indiana, South Dakota, Ohio, Texas, and Oregon, which is where they finally settled.

In 2012, when Mark was diagnosed with Stage 4 Metastatic Melanoma, they thought he had only months to live. Innumerable tumors were found, yet with the power of countless prayers and the help of new cancer treatments, Mark survived for another decade. The cancer returned many times, and Mark was willing to try everything to fight it. This last decade of Mark’s life was challenging, but it was also filled with blessings as he and his family experienced more love, comfort, hope, patience, and faith than they ever thought possible.

Even during the hardest times, Mark had a wonderful sense of humor. With his quick wit and dry delivery, he made his family and anyone else who knew him laugh. He was an exceptional designer and gardener who created a beautiful backyard paradise complete with meticulously placed flowers and plants, along with a play structure and zip-line course (which he, of course, built with his family)
Through Mark’s example, many have been inspired to become better leaders, parents, and friends. His kindness and steadfast faith served as a model in his roles as bishop and counselor in the stake presidency, and he made it his quest to listen closely to any spiritual promptings he received and to have the courage to act in faith.

Mark is survived by his wife of 43 years, Martha Ane Hornibrook, his mother and her husband, Patricia & Conrad Zagwyn, and sisters Gail Pilen (Doug) and Julie Gardner. He is also survived by his five children and their spouses: Jon & Amanda Hornibrook, Michael & Heather Hornibrook, Tyler & Kelsey Hornibrook, Eric & Jessica Hornibrook, and Rachel & Tighe Racicot, as well as 19 grandchildren and many extended family members and friends. 

Childhood Memories:
I was born in Loma Linda Hospital and lived in San Bernardino. My dad was born and raised there, so that was unusual at the time to have two generations of Californians in one town.
I've been told that when I was two years old, I fell off a chair and broke my collarbone; so far (age 60), that is the only bone I have broken. I think I vaguely remember having my arm in a sling.

One Christmas, there was a special box under the tree when we went in. Gail and I were told to be very careful when opening it. Inside was the cutest little puppy. She was a Cocker Spaniel mix, blonde with a short tail. We named her Toy. What a sweet dog she was. 

Each year, as we grew up, we would spend a week at Grandma Rote's during the summer. She kept a very neat and formal home. It was good for us to learn how to eat properly, etc. She would always take us out on the first day, shopping to get a toy or something we wanted. What a treat to be one-on-one with Grandma and to have a new toy! 

Grandma Hornibrook was sweet and loving. She always had Goodies on top of the refrigerator in an aluminum baking pan with a slide-on lid (I like to think that they were just for me:-). She loved genealogy and had a huge corkboard on her dining room wall, FULL of pictures of ancestors and how they were related.  

My Younger Years:
I almost flunked kindergarten because I couldn't skip and couldn't sit in the traditional Indian style. I did learn how to skip, but the Indian part — my legs just don't bend like that. They passed me anyway.

In the first grade, I remember carrying a girl over the threshold of the classroom because that's what they did on TV. It looked fun, and I did like her. 

I liked to build ramps on the sidewalk in front of our house that I could ride my bike over. Pretty soon, all the neighbor kids came to try it out. Hours were spent building things in my extra-large sandbox, which my dad and Grandpa had built for me. I started getting American Flyer electric train sets, which I set up on our enclosed back porch and on the living room floor.

Julie was born in May of my first-grade year. It was fun to have a new baby in the house. Gail moved out of her room and into mine so that Julie could have her own room. We had bunk beds at first, but I fell off the top bunk several times. One night, I hit my head so hard that the neighbors next door heard it and came running over to see what had happened. Even with a railing, I fell down the other side where the window was. So, we changed to a trundle-type bed. I didn't fall off the bed after that.

I was so pigeon-toed that I couldn't skate without falling. Mom and Dad took me to a foot doctor in Redlands every week or two to tape up my feet. After a couple of years, it worked. I was able to walk straight and skate without falling. 

Elementary School:
Second grade was not my favorite. My teacher and I had a mutual 'dis-appreciation' of each other. She was young and new at teaching, but she did have some cool little John Deere farm trucks that I liked. One day, I really had to use the bathroom, so I went to her desk and asked if I could go, and she said, "No." Immediately, I felt a warm trickle coursing down my leg. Then she said, "Now you can go." Fortunately, her desk was in the back, but I think everyone probably knew. That was totally embarrassing!

She placed me in the lowest reading group, which was probably where I belonged. Math was all memorization at that point; therefore, I was not doing well at anything. Dejectedly, I took my report card home, which showed satisfactory or poor grades. My mom and dad must have known ahead of time, because they seemed to be well-prepared. They talked about the world needing truck drivers and road graders and how much I enjoyed that kind of thing (I had a road grader that I played with in my sandbox). We started discussing that as a profession for me, and I was okay with that. Then, to my surprise, my dad took me out and bought me a fishing pole to express his support when I was having such a tough time at school. That is one of the most impactful memories of my childhood. I didn't care that much for a fishing pole, but I definitely felt very special and loved. 

In third grade, we moved to a bigger house, so I changed schools and had Mrs. Kanaga as my teacher. She was the best teacher I'd had so far. She saw potential in me. We started doing long division, and I remember sitting at a table of about six classmates, teaching everyone how to do it. I had gone from being a dummy to actually teaching my classmates. That was a very different experience, which I much preferred. Mrs. Kanaga also talked to my parents and told them that I did have intelligence. It just didn’t show until I started doing long division. That was most encouraging.

Mrs. Kanaga read Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books to us, which I thoroughly enjoyed. She thought that if I attended summer school, I could return to my normal reading level. That's what I did, and the next year, in 4th grade, my teacher administered the test and placed me in the regular reading group.

I met Howard Cowlishaw on one of the first days of third grade, and he became a best friend through high school. We happened to be in the same class each year through 6th grade, but even in middle and high school, we often had classes together. He was a nice guy and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, commonly known as the Mormon Church. 

My 4th-grade teacher, Miss Miller, was great, too. I remember we were learning our multiplication tables, and she had a chart up on the wall. It was a ladder of 2s, 3s, 4s, etc. I remember looking at it at some point. I was in the 4's or 5's somewhere, and some people had already gotten to the 12's. I thought, "Wait a minute, math is the only thing I'm good at. I can't let others beat me." Immediately, I started learning multiplication tables until I got through the 12's. Although memorization was challenging for me, I remained motivated. 

Occasionally, we practiced what to do if we had an atomic bomb threat. Get under our desks and cover our eyes. If we had enough warning, we would go home, get into the center of our house with food and water, and cover any glass. One family on my walk to school had a bomb shelter buried in the front of their house.

In 5th and 6th grade, I had Mr. Campbell, who was also a great guy. Howard and I were in his 5th-grade class together, and then in 6th grade, we were the only two students he asked to have back, which felt kind of cool and special. One day during recess, we were just playing, and someone picked up some rulers. We then played a game of swords with the rulers in the classroom. Being the strategic thinker I was, I got the 3-foot yardstick to play with while they were having these little 1-foot rulers, and I was doing a good job, but when the teacher came in and saw me, I had the big, big stick so I was in bigger trouble, and he took me to the principal's office. I don't remember if they gave me a spanking then. I remember getting some of those. But even though I got in trouble, Mr. Campbell still liked me.

One of those years, President Kennedy died. The TV in the corner was pulled into the center of the room, and we watched the motorcade go by and the president getting shot. That was traumatic! We also had the Cuban missile crisis, so when we grew up in the 50s, we were concerned about atomic destruction, and so people had bomb shelters, and we put concrete blocks up in our bathroom because it was the only room in the center of the house. We didn't realize until much later that it would have been totally useless. We would have died instantly, but it seemed like a good idea. We had bomb drills to know what to do when atomic bombs were coming.

In 7th grade, Dad was trying to encourage me, so he said they would pay me $20 for every 'A' I earned in school. I attended summer school and earned straight A's (in only two classes, one of which was drafting). That was the first time ever. My parents were surprised, pleased, and concerned. $40 was a lot of money. The next semester, I earned 5 A's, and my parents spoke kindly to me about how proud and pleased they were, but they couldn't afford to pay the $100 for all those A's. I understood, and that was the end of the financial incentive. But now, I wanted good grades on my own. I never thought of myself as intelligent, but I started being assigned to the more advanced classes. I remember taking a test in 9th grade. My math skills were at a 12th-grade level, but my spelling skills were at a 6th-grade level, so I averaged 9th-grade skills.

Lots of Animals:

Dad loved his time on the farm, so he thought it would be great for me, too. I got to take care of lots of animals and wrote about it in my fifth-grade paper. "I have: a dog, 3 cats, 9 guinea pigs, 29 rabbits, 20 chickens, 2 pheasants, 2 pigeons, 11 doves, and 1 duck. All together we have 78 pets, I take care of 74 of them. Our dog has had 10 babies. One of our cats has had 9 babies. We used to have 78 chickens. If we kept all of our rabbits, we would have about 80 rabbits. If we kept all of our guinea pigs, we would have about 50 guinea pigs. We have kept all of our doves, pheasants, and our pigeons. We would have 7 ducks. We used to have 2 turkeys too. We would have about 253 animals. I took care of all of them except for the cats." 

Dad and some friends built a nice structure for the rabbits and guinea pigs. At one point, my parents had several friends over, and I was tasked with showing off the animals and the building. I had it all cleaned up perfectly for the event. When I took the first group out to show it off, I was horrified! There were brand new baby bunnies (tiny, hairless, helpless) struggling for life. It was a disaster! There must have been 40-50 newborn bunnies on bare wire. I quickly sent the people back to the house and began the sad process of trying to save the bunnies. When you breed the mother rabbits, you mark on the calendar three weeks later to put them in the nice wooden hutch with soft hay on the bottom. The mother then prepares the bunny bed by pulling the soft hair from her chest and making a wonderful nest for her bunnies. I had not kept track as I should have done. I had nightmares for years of baby bunnies bouncing on the ceiling of my room, asking why I killed them. Normally, I took much better care of my animals, but that day was awful!

Nickname, Needle & Near Death:
Somewhere in grade school, I got the nickname Horny-toad, and then it got shortened to Toad. I accidentally ran over a Horny toad on my front lawn one day and felt so sad hurting my namesake. A new friend of mine from school came over to play with me. He asked for Toad when my mom answered the door. She said, "There isn't anyone here by that name," and sent him away. He didn't know my real name. She mentioned it to me later, and I explained that I was Toad.
Mom and Dad went out for the evening, a bit concerned about us being able to take care of ourselves. I was 11 or 12. The three of us were sitting on Gail's bed watching TV. I did something to annoy Gail, and she kicked me with the bottom of her foot right at my hip. Then she let out a scream! I was thinking it didn't hurt that bad--what is the issue? She held up her foot, and I saw it, a crochet needle sticking out the bottom of her foot! Yikes!! Now what?!? It was too far in to just pull it out, and she was in obvious pain. We called our parents' friends, the Neelys. They quickly drove over. He thought he should pull it out, but was very concerned that there could be a hook on the end of it. We all agreed that there was no hook, just a straight needle. Mrs. Neely kindly held Gail tight. Mr. Neely then held her foot and pulled quickly and forcefully on the needle, and it came right out. It had been in about an inch and a half. Gail yelled again as it came out, but then was fine. It didn't even bleed much. Phew, that was scary!

Building was a favorite pastime. Dad would get used lumber, pipes, etc., take out the nails and stack them neatly on racks. He had a great shop. He let me use it all, except the power saws, as long as I put it back (no rusty tools in the yard!). My biggest project was the tree house. Dad helped me secure the first two main support boards to the tree, and then he let me do the rest. I learned to hammer on that tree house. Most connections to that main board had ten bent-over nails and 2-3 good nails that went all the way in. After several years, the original tree house had become a bit creaky, so I determined that we needed a newer version with fewer bent nails. I drew up plans and showed them to Dad. He indicated that it looked nice, but a lot like the old one. He wondered if I might come up with something more imaginative. I was a little dejected, but he had a good point, so I went to work. I came up with slanting walls, some of the roof was fiberglass for more light, an elevator seat with a huge block and tackle lift, a crow’s nest, and slingshots at all corners. He was happy with that, and I went to work. The slanted walls were nicer to sit against, and you could see down better. It was quite a nice tree house. 

One day, Julie, a friend of mine, and I were up there. The tree house was about 20 feet above the ground. Julie was getting onto the block-and-tackle elevator, and my friend and I were nearby. Julie accidentally grabbed the wrong rope and started to free-fall backward out of the tree. We saw what was happening and rushed to stop her fall. I remember thinking, “Arms get moving,” but they were going so slow. I grabbed all the ropes and held them tight, which stopped the movement and her downward fall. She held on to her rope, and my friend helped her back into the treehouse. We were all safe, but man, the adrenaline was flowing. Later, I realized that in situations like that, your mind goes into super mode, and everything seems to be in slow motion, even though you are moving at a faster speed. You see more details and understand more when it is critical. Fortunately, that quick response saved her life that day.

Bike Bashing:
I rode my bike everywhere: to school, to work, to friends. I bought a used 10-speed with the money I made mowing our half-acre lawn. My friend Glenn and I rode together to and from Del Vallejo Jr. High every school day. There was a back path that we preferred, which led down through an orange grove to the railroad tracks, across a railroad bridge, down a dirt path to the back of a church, and then on to the residential streets, where we lived. Right before the railroad bridge, there was a steep up-slope that you could go fast over and get some air. One day, while doing just that, I went up a bit too far to the left, and my tire came down into a crack, just wide enough for my tire. My front tire stopped immediately, and the back of my bike and I kept going over the top and onto the railroad track. I had to disentangle myself from the bike, check for injuries, and brush myself off. It took a bit to remove the tire, and I had to unbend my wheel. I think I walked my bike the rest of the way home that day.

A few months later, while on the same trail, my friend Glenn was stopped on his bike at a drinking fountain outside the church, a frequent stopping place for us. I thought I would surprise him by coming up close at high speed and slamming on the brakes. When I pulled hard on the brakes, the cable snapped loose, resulting in no brakes. It was too late; I had no time to turn, so I slammed right into the back of my friend. He was really surprised! I felt bad and apologized, but it still hurt him a lot. 

Merriest Christmas:
I had several American Flyer train sets: steam locomotive, passenger, freight, and army. My Dad suspended a 4x8 sheet of plywood from the ceiling in my room for me to build train layouts. I had cool accessories like a cattle yard that vibrated the cows up into the cattle car. I lowered it down every Saturday morning to play. The wench made a loud squeaky noise and woke everyone in the house.

Climbing with Cousins:

Each year, Grandma and Grandpa Hornibrook would take the oldest cousins to Joshua Tree National Park. We would camp out in their Air-stream Trailer, and Randy and I got the back of the truck. We climbed huge rocks all day and enjoyed Grandma's great cooking, especially Goodie Bars and Grandpa's stories around the campfire. 

The last year we went, Julie got to go. She was still young, but athletic, and kept up with us for most of the way, until we came to the big leap. It was a challenge for each of us to jump over a very deep ravine with rocks at the bottom and an elevation change, landing on a small, sloped area. It was tricky. Julie couldn't do it on her own. I took the position to catch her after the leap. She looked at me as if to say, "This is not a time to play games, can I trust you to catch me?" I reassured her that I would catch her. She backed up, ran forward, and leaped across the chasm right into my arms. I caught her and set her down safely. We all were relieved and went on climbing.

Reminiscing High School through College Days:   

Football: Dad really liked football, so I played in 9th and 10th grade. At one of the 9th-grade practices, I was playing left tackle. The play was that the left end next to me pulled off the line, technically making me eligible. All the defenses ran right through the line. I stepped forward a few steps, and they threw the pass to me. I caught the pass and turned around to a wide-open field. I then tripped over my own foot. That was probably the highlight of my football career. 

At one of our practices in tenth grade at Pacific High School, I got to be across the line from "The Refrigerator," who went on to play first string at USC the following year. I tried getting through, around, or under him, to no avail. I just bounced off of him. Finally, to try and stop him from going anywhere, I threw myself right at his feet to at least trip him. He just walked over me. Football was not my thing. To add to the agony of it all, I wore Dad's 24-year-old cleats (shoes) and got blisters on my heels that were open sores most of the season. That was the last year I played football! 

Box Boy Adventures:
Spatial relationships were one of my strong points. Bagging groceries was just 3-D Tetris. I double-bagged everything and then filled it up. I was the fastest box boy at ABC and Safeway. I could keep up with three checkers at a time. Except for one amazing lady checker, she was so fast I could only take care of her. The bagging process requires you to throw what is to be bagged from one hand near the conveyor belt to your other hand over the bag. To go fast, you had to throw fast. One day while doing so, my hand over the bag missed the catch, and a ripe avocado flew across the exit aisle onto the store's front window. SPLAT! One of the other responsibilities of a box boy was to clean up messes. I got to clean up my own that day. Some of my best clean-up opportunities were an end display of dishwasher soap in glass bottles and a large stack of eggs that crashed to the floor. Messy doesn't do it justice!

Mustang & Musings:
Between my Junior and Senior years of high school, my family moved 60 miles southwest to Santa Ana. The greatest motivation to work was to get a car. I needed one before we moved, so I could drive back to San Bernardino to visit my friends, drive to work, and attend school. One of Dad's coworkers was selling his two-year-old Mustang. It wasn't exactly the color I wanted, nor did I really like the white Landau top, but it was only two years old and a nice car. I had a good down payment, and Dad helped me get a loan for the rest. It was only $1900 in total.

The new Safeway in Santa Ana hadn't opened yet, and I had to get to work to make my car payments, so I applied and was hired at Jack-in-the-Box. This was in the days before computers. There was a grease pen board in the corner over the cash register where we took orders. Writing out the amounts and adding them on the board was really slow, so I just added them in my head. The guy in charge was impressed with the speed and accuracy, so he had me do it all the time, even when I wasn't working the cash register, which meant I was calling out totals from all over the store. It was fun to keep my mind working.

All hamburgers had grilled buns (top and bottom) and meat patties. A bonus Jack had three buns (top, middle, and bottom) and two meat patties with shredded lettuce and cheese. All meat patties were topped with chopped onions, seasoned with salt and pepper. Everything got super sauce and two pickles. Within 30 minutes of being on the grill for the first time, a lady came to the front window and ordered 30 cheeseburgers for her softball team. While I was working on the 60 buns and 30 patties with onions, salt, pepper, and cheese, the drive-up window received an order for 5 and then 9 Bonus Jacks, along with our regular orders. I threw down the other 28 patties and 42 buns, along with all the accompanying items, and I had a completely filled grill. I had never seen the grill filled before or since that day. It was wild!! But we got it done.

Another worker and I were the only ones in the store one night. He got me a strawberry shake, but something seemed strange. I questioned him, and he said there was nothing wrong with it. I asked him if he had put pickles in it. He said he didn't. I felt something was wrong, so I poured it on the stainless-steel counter. All was normal until the very end, and then plop, plop, two dill pickles came out. He cleaned up the mess. I only worked at Jack-in-the-Box for one month, but it was memorable, and I made my car payment.

Decisions, Decisions:
Picking a college was an interesting challenge. I had known for years that I wanted to pursue a career in architecture. I had always tried to design a house that my mom liked. I wanted to attend a reputable architecture school. The options were the University of Southern California (USC), Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo, the University of California, Berkeley, the University of Oregon, and the University of Washington. USC and Berkeley were very expensive, and USC was in the middle of Watts, which got even worse during my time at school with rioting and unrest. Oregon and Washington were far from home, and I would have to pay out-of-state tuition. My two most likely choices were the University of California, Berkeley, and California Polytechnic State University. Deep down inside, I just felt best about Cal Poly, so that is where I went. It was a great experience — just right for me.

Grandpa Rote headed up the Construction division of Parsons Corp, one of the world's largest Engineering and Construction companies. There were several years when Grandpa traveled entirely around the world, visiting many of the jobs they had all over the globe. They worked on oil refineries, mines, smelters, power plants (including nuclear power plants), airports, and any other large and complex projects.
Once, when I was younger, Grandpa and I went on a day trip to Catalina Island. When we got home, Grandma asked how the day was, and we both said, "Great!" Then she asked what we had talked about. We looked at each other and said, "Nothing." She said, "You spent all day together on the boat and around town, talking about nothing?" Yes, that's exactly what we did, and we had a great time.

The summer before college, I worked two jobs—forty hours at Safeway and forty at Mural Masters. There, we assembled DIY paint-by-number kits for wall murals. That is when I discovered I was ineffective at an 80-hour work week but needed money for school, so I did what I could. 

Grandma and Grandpa Rote lived in Hawaii while Grandpa oversaw the major construction of the Honolulu airport, preparing it for the new 747 Jumbo jets. They invited me over during my sophomore summer to visit Grandpa's workplace daily and talk with the people there. I was to learn about business and engineering. It was a great experience. An added treat was the banana splits Grandma Rote made for me every night for the entire six weeks. The rest of the summer was spent in Albany, New York, framing condos on a project my dad had developed. At 6' 4", they called me "Stretch."

Backpacking in Europe for Six Months:
Bill Benjamin and I were placed together as roommates in our freshman year. But after having other roommates, we decided to get an apartment together for the rest of our schooling. Bill came up with the idea of attending school straight through for our 3rd and 4th years (no summer break), then taking the spring and summer terms off the following year, and completing our Senior project in Europe. With Grandma and Grandpa Rote's help, that is what we did. It was a great experience! We visited 17 countries with backpacks and Euro rail passes for five months. We studied successful plazas all over Europe. In Monaco, we were at the Grand Prix in the stands right across from Elizabeth Taylor's apartment. She came out and waved to us during the race. Queen Elizabeth had her birthday celebration the day we arrived, and she waved to us from her carriage. Rothenberg ob der Tauber held its 100-year celebration. The weather in Zermatt was not so accommodating, as the only day we had to ski the Matterhorn was a blizzard day. That did not stop us. As we were just about to leave on the chairlift, the operator told us not to ski on the other side of the yellow flags, as there were deep crevices that were very dangerous. When we got to the top, we were alone. No one else was up there, for good reason. We looked for the yellow flags and saw several rows going in all directions. We had no idea which side to ski on, so we skied down right next to the flags. We went down once, and that was it. So, I skied the Matterhorn! One of my favorite places was near Interlaken, Switzerland, in the village of Lauterbrunnen. From there, you can take a cog railway up to a path that goes to Murren. At one point along the path, I had to stop. It was so breathtakingly beautiful, I just couldn't keep going; I was overwhelmed with awe.

Tense Crossing:
After Europe, we landed in Montreal and drove to my sister Gail's house near Albany, New York. Her husband, Todd, helped me find a used MGB, which I drove back to San Luis Obispo. The day I took off, it was raining. At the entrance to the freeway, a hitchhiker was holding a sign that read "California," so I pulled over to let him in. Soon after getting in, he asked where I was going. When I said California, he threw his sign in the back seat and introduced himself. The car stalled at a toll booth a few miles down the road. He pushed it, and I popped the clutch, and it started right up, and away we went. At this point in my life, I had received five speeding tickets, including one for traveling 61 mph in a 55 mph zone. Therefore, I drove at 55 mph the entire way. Except late at night in the middle of Kentucky, as it was a new little sports car, I floored it up to 85 and dropped it right down. Immediately, I saw the lights behind me. I couldn't believe it, 55 the whole way except for 1 minute, and there he was waiting for me. The police escorted me to the courthouse to pay the fine. We stopped in Tennessee at a friend’s house and tried to get the car fixed, but of course, it was running smoothly at the time. The problem persisted for the rest of the trip. By the time we arrived in Phoenix, I wanted to detour up to the Grand Canyon, and since he was done with car problems, we separated. I went up and briefly toured the Grand Canyon with a stick, holding down the gas pedal so that the car wouldn't stall, as I couldn't push the car and pop the clutch simultaneously. It was a brief glimpse, as I ran to look over the edge and then back to the car, but spectacular at sunset.

The next day, I headed across the desert. It was extremely hot, and my car began to overheat. I had the top down, so I turned on the heater to help cool the water. There was nowhere to get more water. Finally, I reached a town and a gas station. I inserted the stick to keep the car running and frantically tried to cool the radiator with water so that I could open it and add more water. Before I could get it cooled down, the car stalled. I waited for it to cool down and started it again. It sounded terrible, so I called AAA. The guy who came listened to it, looked at the water in the radiator, and told me that the block was cracked, the engine was dead, and the car was useless. "Sorry, I can't help you anymore today." I walked to a cheap hotel and felt totally dejected. I thought about my situation with no money and still far from school, with no transportation. It was a sad night. I think I might have even prayed. The following day was Saturday, I called the foreign car garage, and fortunately, they were open. They suggested I get it towed to their place. The AAA guy came back and towed me there. I tried to start it, but it wouldn't. The mechanic climbed into the back of my car and found the battery. He quickly changed the cable connector and said to try it again. It started right up and purred like a kitten. It was perfect! I had never been so happy with a mechanic! He asked for $10; I gave him $20 and wanted to hug him. I drove home with no more issues!

Driving on the Beach:
Harold Humphrey was my other best friend. We would often drive to the beach together. There were several great beaches only 15-20 minutes from school. Our favorite was Montana de Oro. That night, however, we decided to go to Pismo Beach, where you could drive right onto the beach. On the way down the beach, we crossed several small streams and thought nothing of it. Eventually, we got to the end of the drivable beach and discovered that the only way out was to go back the way we had come. We stopped, talked about what was happening in our lives, and then headed back. When we arrived at the first stream, it appeared to be a bit wider than before, but we crossed it without any problem. When we reached the second stream, it was significantly wider. Evidently, the tide had come in. It was difficult to gauge the depth of the water from the surface. We headed in cautiously. Slowly, we went deeper and deeper. Then the engine stopped. We started it up again and thought we must be almost through, so we kept going forward, deeper and deeper. The headlights were submerged, and the engine stalled, refusing to restart. By then, a gentle little wave came in over the windowsill, and water was rushing in under the doors. We both bailed out at the same time, opening our doors to a flood of water. Amazingly, some lights turned on just ahead of us, and a tow truck with a wench appeared. It took some effort, but he managed to pull it out, and we were towed back to an auto repair shop. Money was scarce. I had no idea how I could afford to have my car fixed or if it was even fixable. Someone mentioned calling my insurance company. So, I did, but felt rather hopeless, as I had driven the car into the water myself. When I told my agent, he said, "Oh yeah, that is flood coverage." I reminded him that I drove the car into the water. He said again, "That is flood damage." "Okay!" I responded with grateful amazement. The garage was familiar with this kind of problem and had it fixed in a week or so. It never smelled quite the same, but it worked just fine!

Graduation from California Polytechnic State University:
My Strength of Materials professor wrote with both hands, one on the top line, the other on the line underneath. He had two huge blackboards that he would fill and then grab his massive 1 1/2' by 2' eraser, erase the board on the left, and start again, writing two lines at a time. We were aghast. No one could keep up with him. We quickly partnered up to write alternate lines and combine them later. One student finally brought in a Polaroid camera. We all paid a little to get the notes. Why the teacher didn't have them printed, I don't know. But it was impressive to watch.

I graduated with a Bachelor of Architecture Degree in the spring of 1975. It was a challenging 5-year program. Receiving the AIA Award of Merritt as the one with the highest GPA of the 400 graduating from the school of Architecture was a total surprise. There was one student who had a higher GPA, but he was studying abroad in Italy at the time. None of us had a job lined up after graduation, as the economy was in a recession. That issue, along with the generally low pay of architects, is why I left the field later to better support my family.

Peace Corps, Morsion, Harold, and I decided to apply for the Peace Corps because the economy was in recession. We both were accepted and assigned to French-speaking Morocco. It was awesome, as I had studied French in both high school and college, and it was close to Europe, which I loved. However, there was such a rush at graduation and getting things packed and stored, and we both left our girlfriends, sold cars, etc. I felt in a dither. The Arab culture felt quite different from the European culture that I had really enjoyed. However, I was learning the language amazingly well, and deep down inside, I felt like I should be there. It was fascinating to tour the country and see places like Casa Blanca, Fez, and Marrakesh. As we swam and played around in the Mediterranean Sea, I came up behind a guy underwater, and he accidentally kicked me in the ear with his heel. My eardrum broke later that night because of the pressure. While driving on the highway through Meknes, I had a clear feeling that this was to be my city. At this point, none of us had been assigned to a city. Later, as I was getting ready to go home, I found out it was. This leads to another entry title, "The Best Story Yet."

Four of us rented what they called a car, which was super tiny, and traveled out into the country. We found a place to camp and spend the night. One of the guys forgot his sleeping bag. So, I offered to share mine. We unzipped it and laid it out flat, and I had a blanket or two to go over us. He was one of the guys we hung out with; he was black and gay, but none of us cared. However, within a minute of getting under the covers, he snuggled right up behind me, super close, too close. Startled, I jumped up, turned around, and exclaimed, "What are you doing?!" He sheepishly responded, "I was just checking." I said, "Did you find out?" He said, "Yes." I concluded with, "I am fine with you sleeping with me, but if you do that again, I don't care where you sleep." We continued to be good friends. In retrospect, we both could have been more sensitive to each other’s feelings. 

Things did not go well when returning to San Luis Obispo from the Peace Corps. Before going, I'd traded in my car for a camera, which was more useful in Morocco than in the U.S. There was no work for architecture graduates, returned to construction. While finishing up building a house in San Luis, I looked out over the valley, seeing trucks, trains, and cars moving about, and I couldn't help but ask, "Why? What is it all for? Just to keep us all alive? For what purpose?" Later, I moved down to Laguna Hills and then to Pasadena, California, where I worked at Tetra Tech, building and testing hydrodynamics models. On weekends, I often drove down to Buena Park to visit Gail, Todd, and George (their 3-year-old).

A couple of months after moving to Utah, George was hit by a car and killed instantly. What a tragedy for all! I remember the moment Julie told me on the phone, my knees buckled, and tears flowed. I flew down immediately to be with my family. It was such a sad time. I had gained a new understanding of life and tried to share love and hope. It brought me much peace at such a difficult time. (Refer to The BEST Story, Yet!) 

   

THE BEST STORY YET!!! By Mark W. Hornibrook

My childhood was filled with learning responsibilities, developing my talents, and building meaningful relationships. My best friend from 3rd grade through high school was Howard Cowlishaw. We had the same classes and teachers from 3rd through 6th, which was most unusual. I knew he was Mormon but didn't know what he believed except that smoking and drinking were prohibited, and he didn't think that he would ever do so. That was so common in my life that I bet him $10 that he would someday. In high school, I remember asking him what he believed. He said that he believed in a Heavenly Father and Mother with physical bodies. This was so far from my understanding of reality that I thought it was ludicrous. I had other high school friends who were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, including an ex-girlfriend, Kristi Jones, who had previously been a member of my church.

When I got to college, I continued attending my parents' church, the Church of Religious Science. For the first time in my life, I realized I was making decisions that would impact my life, some of which might be critical. Knowing why I was here or where I was going afterward would help me make better decisions now. After church one Sunday, I went to the minister and asked her those questions. She asked if I had read the textbook. I indicated that I had not and would study it this week. The following week, I returned to her and indicated that, although I had not read it cover to cover, I had searched through the textbook and found nothing that helped. She said, "Some things are just mysteries." That is likely true, to some extent, I thought. However, if a religion couldn't answer those basic questions, what good is it? So, I left and never returned. I became agnostic; I felt like I didn't know if God lived, who I really was, why I was here, or where I was going.

After reading several books by Carlos Castaneda and Hermann Hesse, I felt that I needed to become impeccable in character to contribute to the improvement of the human race while I was here. Like Don Quixote, I wanted to "right the unrightable wrong, to fight the unbeatable foe, to go where the brave dare not go."

When returning from home in Delmar, New York, the Christmas of my sophomore year, donning a scruffy new beard, a young lady my age sat next to me on the plane. We talked for the entire four hours, from my connection in Chicago to Los Angeles. It was enthralling to me. She was Mormon and shared her feelings openly. She encouraged me to read The Little Prince, which I did, and another book, but I don't remember the title. In retrospect, the reason I had felt so good while we visited was that the spirit was bearing witness to me that what she was sharing with me was true.

My contact with Howard Cowlishaw was limited during college, but we did get together a few times. One of these times, he came up to San Luis Obispo, and we went out for a beer together. I had won my bet, and he was now more like me, but I felt sad. Here was a man with standards with strong ideals, and he had fallen to my level. That was not something to celebrate. I was interested in my feelings and the contradiction between my sadness and my standards. But I didn't change.

I procrastinated taking a required speech class as long as I could. Finally, I enrolled in this introductory requirement class in the last quarter of my fifth year of college. The final speech was a five-minute persuasive speech. Two students chose to work together and give a ten-minute speech. To my amazement and respect, they persuaded us to read The Book of Mormon. What guts it took to talk of such things in this California college campus of the early 1970s: co-ed dorms, beer parties, free love, living together, marijuana, etc. I was impressed, took the book, and thought I might read it. I put it on the shelf and left it safely there.

Getting in Touch with My Feelings

My friend Harold Humphrey and I applied for the Peace Corps because we wanted to go overseas, and there was not much work for Architects in the U.S. We were accepted and left for Morocco the day after I graduated. I was in quite a state of confusion. I had felt right about the Peace Corps and Morocco, but it all happened so quickly, and I was mentally and emotionally swimming. I had left a girlfriend, who seemed to be having a hard time with me being gone, and I felt responsible. I was sad. Harold was going home to marry Kat, his girlfriend, who was now expecting a baby. This just added to my sadness. Nevertheless, deep down, I felt this was where I should be. I convinced myself that it didn't matter what decision a person made, that they wouldn't know what the other path would have been anyway and would therefore convince themselves that their chosen path was correct. I also decided I had a right to be happy, and I wasn't feeling very happy at the time in Morocco. I also rationalized that Morocco was years behind the U.S. in architecture, so I would be even farther behind when I returned. However, when I broke my eardrum in an accident in the Mediterranean Sea, I wondered if it was a symbolic indication that I wasn't listening to what I should do.

A few things had happened that confirmed that I should be there. For one, I was learning French unusually quickly, which was not like me. While we were touring the country during our training, we drove through the city of Meknès. As we went through, I felt this would be the city where I would be stationed. Once I told the local leader of the Peace Corps that I wanted to return to the U.S., he told me that my city would have been Meknès, just as I had felt it would be. Deep down inside, I knew I should stay, but I talked myself out of it.

I flew back to San Luis Obispo, CA. I was happy for a day or so, and then things just went wrong. Even though I had a 5-year degree and was one of the top students in the class, the only work I could find was helping a gentleman build his house. Once I finished that job, I couldn't find work, and I didn't have a car. I had absolutely no guidance. From August to February, it went from bad to worse. Finally, I got a construction job offer. I shoveled sand all day and then asked what my pay was. He said it was $2 per hour, less than I had made in high school as a box boy. I explained my experience and asked what I might look forward to. He was so un-encouraging that I quit that day. I was so BEAT down. Humbled. Nothing I tried was working. I knew what I had done wrong, going against the feeling. What I didn't know was what to do to get it back!

On February 27, 1976, I stayed up late, and while standing in the living room by myself, I talked to The Feeling. I had no idea of the source of the feeling, just that it had guided me in the past to things that were right for me. I knew I had gone against the feeling, and things had not worked out. I no longer had guidance, which seemed just, for I had not followed it. Now I wanted it back. I spoke openly to The Feeling and expressed my regret for having gone against it, and I wanted it back again. I said I would follow the feeling, no matter what it said or how silly it seemed. Immediately, the feeling returned more powerfully than I had ever felt, saying, "Get up and get out of there." I knew exactly what it meant — I needed to move out of where I was living. It was an undeniable feeling of peace and warmth.

The next morning, I broke up with my girlfriend and caught a ride with my friend Harold Humphrey, who happened to be driving down to his parents' house in San Diego. I asked for a ride to my grandparents' home, which would be on his way. I stayed there for a few weeks, and with their help—and I am sure Heavenly Father's help—I found a job. The entire experience humbled me, but I was also very grateful to have been guided again. The guidance was infrequent, only at crucial times, but it was back!

Ready to Learn

Within three months, we hired Larry Toscano. When I interviewed him, everything went well, except that he indicated he couldn't work on Sundays. That was odd, but it wasn't critical for the job, so it wasn't a job stopper. He was a calming influence on the job, which at times became quite hectic. He didn't swear, even though this was a construction-type job, and everyone else did. We found ourselves cleaning up our language around him just because it didn't feel right in his presence. He always said silent prayers before lunch, so we started being quiet, too. It probably helped with digestion anyway, to calm down a bit. He was impeccably honest. He would take time off on his timecard if we were discussing the church. I could trust him with anything.

Larry told me about his church even though I didn't look or act like your typical potential convert or pre-Mormon. I remember staying late one evening after work. He shared his incredible joy with me and that his life was now a straight path, not a winding one like it had been. He was a recent convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because I studied my feelings, I was interested in his joyful feelings. However, I had felt such feelings, so I didn't think his were so unique. Of course, I was wrong, but that is what I thought at the time.

Even though the story of his conversion was interesting and well done on his part, I was not the least bit interested. Other times, he would bring it up, and I would listen just to be polite. I thought that I was fine and that Christians and other religious fanatics were weaker people who needed the crutch of religion to get them through life. I didn't need such a crutch. Now, having read the books and considering my thoughts and feelings, I felt I should strive to be the best I could be. Also, I now had access to the guidance of that feeling. Although I did not know its source, I was not too concerned about that.

I had been a discusser of religion or philosophy. I was known by my friends to be "heavy" because I would jump right into deep discussions of life and philosophy with anyone at any time. I would take the opposite side of the argument, regardless of the discussion topic. It made a more interesting and insightful discussion.

After Larry had been with us for a couple of months, I felt, from that guiding feeling, like I needed to be open to hearing about all philosophies and religions. Also, I should not discuss (or argue) about them, but I should listen, and the guiding feeling would lead me away from things that were wrong and toward things that were right. And so, I did. I openly discussed the philosophies and religions of several of my contacts and friends. I visited several of their meetings. I remember specifically going out to lunch with Larry and asking him to teach me all about his church. I told him I had plenty of time and wanted to learn all about it. He was so excited that he talked during the whole lunchtime and hardly touched his food. He and I met regularly to discuss his religion. Larry gave me a Book of Mormon, which I read daily, and finished it within a few weeks.

Larry encouraged me to pray. My first attempts felt awkward. I was even afraid to kneel there with my eyes closed. Was I talking to myself, or was someone or something really listening to me? Soon, I got more comfortable with it. However, praying in a group was quite intense. It seemed that my fears and self-consciousness collided with the assistance of the Holy Ghost. I would get shaky and teary, and my heart would feel like it was about to burst, but I could tell that it was a good thing. Father was trying to help me overcome my weaknesses.

In mid-February, I attended a group meeting with another family friend. When I arrived, they claimed to be acting as mediums to speak on behalf of people from outer space. They spoke in strange voices. After a little while, a voice came into my mind, "Would you like me to come in?" While it was a mild voice, it all felt wrong. The feeling was evil. I immediately said, "No!" and couldn't wait to get out of there. So, I thanked the host and left right away. The evil feeling followed me all the way home. I didn't know what to do, so I called Larry. I told him that I had felt the influence of evil spirits. If someone walked into my apartment, I could defend myself, but I had no idea what to do if an evil spirit were to enter. Yet, at that moment, I felt an evil influence in my apartment. He told me that they had their bounds and that I could send them away by using the authority of Jesus Christ. He told me to raise my right hand to the square and command it to leave in the name of Jesus Christ. After I hung up, I did just that, and it went away immediately. I was amazed and comforted. The following week, I wrote in my journal, "So on to Mormonism. The soft man, Larry Toscano, and self-verification and positive feelings win again." I wrote much about joy, love, giving, and goodness.

Willing to Change

On April 17, 1977, I wrote, "It is now that I endeavor to clean up my life, to change, to soften my heart to the Lord and our Savior, Jesus Christ. I have yet to receive a witness; however, at this point, I am believing and studying. Today, I am moving toward a life guided by the Most High. Repent." On April 30, my entry indicated that I felt the spirit with warmth, joy, and tears, and wanted to work diligently to grow in knowledge, faith, and love. I needed to humble myself, for I am but a newborn baby grasping for truth.

Previously, I told Larry that I knew how to evoke any feeling I wanted. He said that the prompting of the spirit came when the spirit wanted to. One weekend, I felt the spirit three times and discovered that I couldn't control the feeling. I told Larry about it, and he told me that he had fasted and prayed that I would feel the spirit. One of the feelings I had before I was baptized was that my wife would be a member of the church, and that my baptism date would affect our marriage date. I had no idea why, but later discovered that it did. It actually set our wedding date. I also felt that I should be baptized, and that Larry should do it. (He did).

By early June, I was on a trip with Larry, taking him to the Mission Training Center in Provo, UT, and temporarily relocating there to be among the Mormons. I continued to learn and feel the spirit at times. We lived in a house of guys near BYU. They were all members, and it was neat to visit with them. The missionaries began teaching me the discussions. It was wonderful. It was like coming back home.

While visiting alone with Larry's brother, Paul Toscano, he told me that the story about The Carpenter (Jesus Christ) was true. Feelings of peace, joy, and love, and tears welled up in me. I thought it was him and the way he said it. I didn't realize that it was the spirit bearing testimony. In late June, I went to serve with other BYU students on the Navajo reservation. While driving alone on the highway, not thinking of anything in particular, these words were put into my mind, "God lives. Jesus is the Christ. He suffered and died for you." At the same time, I felt strong, wonderful feelings of peace, joy, and love. Tears welled up, and I knew it was true. This time, there was no one else to blame; it had to be the spirit.

Ready to Commit

I was baptized on July 6, 1977. I was concerned that I wasn't clean yet, but I realized I couldn't do it all on my own. I needed the Savior's help. I had fasted and prayed several times to know that the church was true because Larry wanted me to know. I couldn't say for sure that I knew the church was true, but I felt good about it and being baptized.

As a condition for baptism, I had an interview with the ward mission leader. He asked about my testimony and worthiness. As he did, I remembered an incident a few months earlier that I wondered about. But now I knew it was wrong. A neighbor to the Rotes had backed into my car, causing damage. I had the car repaired and had the shop modify the receipt to show a higher amount, similar to another bid I had. I asked for the higher amount from the neighbor. Before being baptized, I personally committed to right that wrong when I could. Within a month, I was back visiting the Rotes. I promptly went to the neighbor, explained what I had done, apologized, and gave him a check for the amount I had overcharged him. It felt so good!!

My baptism was wonderful. I felt love, joy, and a deep sense of peace. Thirty close friends were in the room, and I had been in town for only that many days. The year before, I had been in Pasadena, CA, for 12 months and had three sort-of friends.

Since that time, I have learned and grown in the gospel. I have felt more peace, joy, guidance, and love than I ever imagined was possible! I know that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ, and that God lives and is, in fact, my Heavenly Father. I know that He loves me, and I know that He loves you. I know that Jesus Christ lives and that He suffered and died so that I and all men and women can live forever. And, if we will repent and live valiantly, we can live with Him and our Heavenly Father forever. I know that families can be forever through the blessings of the Temple. "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."(Isaiah 1:18)

I encourage you to seriously consider the Gospel of Jesus Christ, The Book of Mormon, and the teachings of the missionaries. Because of the thousands of spiritual experiences that I personally have had, I know that this is the Lord's church, that The Book of Mormon is true, and that you will draw nearer to God by following its precepts than any other way. The result will be more peace, joy, love, and happiness than you can currently imagine.