My Friend The Bishop

By Elder Wayne M. Hancock

During my early teenage years in Glendale, California, my father, Wayne M. P. Hancock, was not a member of the Church, had habits contrary to the Word of Wisdom, and was a traveling salesman frequently gone from home. Harry V. Brooks, bishop of the Glendale West Ward, took a special interest in the youth of his ward and became my personal role model, counselor, and friend. I would do nothing that would disappoint him or bring him sorrow.

This man, large in stature, would dissolve in tears every time one of his youth gave a talk in church or received some special recognition. We in turn would become teary eyed because we knew our bishop loved us.

What he was and had accomplished excited in me the desire to emulate him. For example, his fireside talks and frequent references to his mission in Hawaii and the beloved Hawaiian people created in me a singular desire to serve a mission in Hawaii. I even purchased a ukulele with a Hawaiian songbook and taught myself to play some songs. Hawaii, its people and music, are still a part of me.

During periodic dental exams and treatment he would talk to me about what I was interested in for my life’s work. As it turned out, I did follow the professional path, but as an attorney rather than a dentist.

When it was announced that there would be a centennial Scout encampment at Salt Lake City in 1947 as part of the centennial celebration, Bishop Brooks determined that his Scout troop would participate. He readily saw in my nonmember father a man with organizational skills and a salesman’s boldness. Dad was called by him to be finance committee chairman. The close association that developed between Bishop Brooks and my father led to Dad’s joining the Church when I was 16 years old.

Shortly after I was ordained a priest, Bishop Brooks came to me and said, “Our daughter, Linda, will soon be eight years old, and we would like to have you baptize her.” How proud I was to exercise my priesthood authority by baptizing my bishop’s daughter. Only in later years as a father myself did I really appreciate what Bishop Brooks had sacrificed—the privilege of baptizing his oldest child—so that one of his priests could have the opportunity to perform that sacred ordinance.

Bishop Harry V. Brooks was a great friend. He molded my life during a time of need. I shall eternally reverence and be grateful to him.