(See Cover)
As God's chosen people (which they believe themselves to be), the Mormons think they have a direct line of communication to the Almighty. In the church's turbulent early years its leaders were able to report direct and literal heavenly guidance on even such mundane subjects as Illinois real estate. But a divine revelation in 1947 would amaze no man more than Mormonism's tall, white-bearded, 77-year-old President George Albert Smith, seventh successor to the prophet Joseph Smith, and the mortal instrument through which a heavenly message would be received.
Mormons today do not expect divine intervention in this sinful world before they have exhausted their own final resources. And 100 years after the Mormons' perilous trek to Utah's Great Salt Lake, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is far from being exhausted. In its self-made oasis on the Western desert, it is flourishing like a green bay tree.
The once hostile Gentile* world no longer howls for Mormon blood. This week a Mormon party of 143 men, three women and two children—the exact complement of Brigham Young's advance guard in the great trek of 1847—started west from Nauvoo, Ill. to commemorate that event. They anticipated nothing more dangerous than flat tires and Chamber of Commerce luncheons. Their shiny new Buick and Studebaker automobiles were disguised by plywood oxen and white canvas tops. To please the church's publicity department, they camped out every night.
The Holy City. Mountain-rimmed Salt Lake City (pop. 183,000) is no longer a fortress and a prison. Last week the town which Brigham Young laid out "foursquare with the compass" with wide streets and ten-acre blocks, was a center of Western commerce and trade, hub of three railroads, four airlines, four main highways. It is one of the cleanest and friendliest cities in the U.S., and one of the healthiest. The descendants of the lean and desperate Mormon pioneers have a well-fed, well-dressed, freshly scrubbed and glowing look. Mormon women walk with a high-bosomed and girdleless litheness which seems a little startling to visitors.
It is still a Holy City, the Zion of the faithful, but as such it is as peculiarly American as Mormonism itself; to most U.S. citizens Salt Lake City is a "tourist attraction." When Mormons observe their Utah Centennial next week with parades, dances, music, speeches and religious services, thousands of non-Mormons will crowd the bunting-hung streets. They will stare at the multi-towered Mormon Temple, marvel at the acoustical wonders of that famed and enormous Quonset hut, the Mormon Tabernacle, where the Mormon choir thunders out hymns. But what will most awe them will be the spectacular manifestations of Mormon diligence and industry.