The paradox of photography is that the medium conceals as much as it reveals. Take for example the above press-shot of the Apostle Richard G. Scott.  It is of course, like all publicity photos, carefully airbrushed and digitally tweaked to artificially create a light emanating from his countenance, and some subtle halo about his head.  But the irony isn’t that he doesn’t look Photoshopped in real life, no–the irony is that the photo utterly fails to capture the one truly impressive, uncanny, terrifying feature of his face: those bright, piercing eyes.

Oh you can still see a twinkle there, sure; but it still conveys absolutely nothing of what it is like to meet the man in person, like I did as a young elder (lo these many years ago), standing in line to shake his hand, wherein I observed this short, stout, balding, utterly unremarkable looking old man going through the glad-handing motions with all the other missionaries, such that it’s not so much I had low expectations as I really had no expectations at all.

But then it’s your turn, and you look down at the doddering old man to mutter “buenos dias” or “it’s an honor” or some other useless pleasantry, when he suddenly locks his eyes into yours like we all so rarely do–we normally just look at each other (if we’re lucky), and spend our days just watching each others’ mouths and body language, all while we wait for our turn to speak, such that real eye contact is a shock to the system!

But what is even more shocking is that Scott’s eyes are the most supernaturally bright shade of blue–like they could shine in the dark if they had to–they not only look right at you but into you, through you, straight to your very heart and soul, like you didn’t even realize you had.  It’s terrifying is what it is, as though some hackers have suddenly broke through your firewall and now all your secret, most private data is horribly exposed and they are reading everything.

I broke eye contact immediately. I still haven’t recovered from the shock.

I was near the front of the line, so when I sat back down I observed all the other missionaries suffer the same shock, in the same pattern–a sort of blasé saunter up the line, turning to say hi to the old guy, and then immediately jerking their heads away in an electric jolt.  A couple even jumped, I swear. 

It’s a supernally rare gift–not even all the other Apostles have it (I’m told Henry B. Eyering has it, but I can’t speak from experience). I once stood in line to shake hands with Dallin H. Oaks at a stake conference, and though he is far warmer and funnier in person than his conference persona suggests, I was still slightly disappointed to find that his eyes were merely clear, not bright.

Back to Richard G. Scott: I paid much closer attention to his talk after that handshake.  I credit his sermon as the turning point in my mission, in fact–I wasn’t getting along with my companion at the time you see, and I thought my area was kinda ugly and worn-down, and I hadn’t had a baptism in months and hardly any investigators so I was starting to feel like a failure as a missionary.  I really needed this pick-me-up, is what I’m saying.  Now, Elder Scott’s sermon was nothing show-boating, no pizzazz, no evangelical hell-raising; he would have made a terrible Megachurch preacher, for he spoke simply with the quiet confidence of a man who knows exactly what he’s talking about–and what he had to say was deceptively simple and deceptively practical.  He said that our first discussions should be 10 minutes long.  That’s it. 

Yet it hit me like a ton of bricks: I had been talking too long, hadn’t I!  And that was the problem, wasn’t it–I was making the discussions about me, not the person I was talking to. And I rarely made any progress because all that folks remembered about me was that I talked too much, and all I gave myself was a headache.

So from that day on, my companion and I taught 10 minute discussions, tops.  (I actually got mad at future companions if we creeped up to 15.)  And we began to teach a lot more.  And a lot more people began to invite us back.  And some of them even decided to get baptized.  And some of them even still attend church to this day.  Not from anything I said, mind you.  Quite the opposite.

So yes, that brief handshake with Richard G. Scott probably changed my life more profoundly than many close friendships I’ve had.   It’s why I still remember him even as the vast majority of dead Apostles immediately fade from memory. Not from anything he said, mind you. Quite the opposite.

I admired everything about the man–his intelligence, his obvious compassion, his real effort to maintain his Spanish so that his talks were overdubbed in his voice, not some impersonal translator’s.

Most striking to me was his decision to never remarry after his wife passed away–and that in a religion like ours that privileges being-married to almost fanatical degrees, one that still grapples with its legacy of polygamy by encouraging men to get sealed for time and all eternity to second wives just so long as the first one is dead.  But Elder Scott refused to bend to social pressure, he refused even the appearance of disloyalty to his beloved.

Now, he never judged anyone else for getting remarried; but I bet real money that anytime anyone, even other Apostles, encouraged him to “find yourself another woman” and end his loneliness, that he would simply lock his eyes into theirs, and immediately they would trail off, stammer an apology, and never bring it up again.

And in September of 2015, those eyes returned back to his beloved. So on this General Conference weekend, I just wanted to say once more: Requiescat in pace you Apostle of the Most High God, and may your eyes always shine throughout eternity.