By Jeff McClellan, Editor
When I began working full-time at Brigham Young Magazine a few years ago, one of my first duties was to edit the August 1995 issue. Near the end of my task, I confronted the “Deaths” page–a 164-line list of names, class years, and cities in small type. Undaunted, I carefully scrutinized the list, seeking that elusive error I could mark with a flourish of the red pen. About 20 names up from the bottom of the last column, I was stopped short by a familiar entry: Cosic, Kresimir, ’74, Bethesda, MD.
I quickly called Carri Jenkins, a former associate editor of BYM who knew Cosic, to share the news. She had already heard of his death, and she patiently explained that the magazine just doesn’t have room to run obituaries on all the great people who die.
As I hung up the phone, I wondered how many readers would know the story behind that brief listing. Would they remember Kresimir Cosic as the early 1970s BYU basketball star from Yugoslavia? Would they have heard that Cosic was instrumental in getting LDS missionaries into his homeland? Would they know that his listing showed “Bethesda, MD” because Cosic became the Croatian deputy ambassador to the United States when trouble broke out in the former Yugoslavia? Would they know that he died of cancer and left behind a young family? There was a big story behind that name that I had to share with someone.
But the magazine didn’t have room.
A few months ago, I got a call from a new magazine intern who was eager to find story ideas. A professor of education had been killed in a car accident, she said. Could the magazine do an article about him? Unfortunately, I had to echo Carri’s words: Sorry, there’s no room; we can’t run obituaries on all the great people who die. But in this issue of the magazine, he is there on the “Deaths” page: Baird, James Eldredge, ’54, Provo, UT. I wonder how many people know his story. He is one of 222 names that appear on that page in this issue. But to those who knew and loved Professor Baird, he isn’t just another name; to them he was a favorite teacher, a former LDS bishop, a father, a friend.
There’s a story behind every one of the names on the “Deaths” page each issue–stories of love, of sacrifice, of service, of tragedy, of sorrow. I always cringe a little when I see the names at the end of the list with class years like ’98 or ’99, knowing those names represent students who never even had a chance to graduate.
Two years ago, as I edited the June 1996 “Deaths,” I came across a familiar name–Lee, Rex Edwin, ’60, Provo, UT–right below Jorgensen, Wanda, ’60, American Fork, UT. I thought again of the irony of it all: The former president of the university, the nation’s leading Supreme Court lawyer–there on the “Deaths” page in one line, just like the entry in the August 1994 “Deaths” for Benson, Ezra Taft, ’27, Salt Lake City, UT. No bold typeface, no asterisk. Just one line with the name, class year, and city.
I thought also of the beauty of it all. On the “Deaths” page, all are treated equal. Wanda Jorgensen may never have achieved the widespread name recognition that Rex Lee gained, yet her name was listed with his–the same small typeface, the same amount of room, the same treatment. In death, the gospel, and salvation, all are alike. Nephi taught that the Lord “inviteth them all to come unto him and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God” (2 Ne. 26:33). To Nephi’s list of opposites I would add well-known and little-known. No matter how many people knew about them, all are alike unto God–the Kresimir Cosics, the James Bairds, the Rex Lees, the Wanda Jorgensens, the Ezra Taft Bensons, the Marjorie Snows.
She was there in the June issue as well–a little bit farther up than Rex Lee and Wanda Jorgensen–and my heart skipped a beat when I saw that listing: Snow, Marjorie, ’36, Bellevue, WA. There was a story behind that listing, too–a story I knew well. How I wished everyone knew the story behind that name. How I wished everyone knew that the S in my name stands for Snow and that Marjorie was my grandmother. How I wished everyone knew of her profound love for us grandchildren and the lasting impact she had on our lives.
To me, Marjorie Snow is more than just another name on that list. To me, she deserves to have an entire issue of the magazine filled with her story. But then I remember that for each of the other 259 names that appeared on that list in June, there are people who feel the same way. And I remember that there are 259 other stories that could be shared and that we don’t have room for that many stories. But then I remember that all are alike unto God–basketball stars turned ambassadors, solicitor generals turned university presidents, secretaries of agriculture turned prophets, university professors, and normal everyday people. And my grandmother–along with the hundreds of others on that page–holds a special place among them all.
