David Mark Price is President of the PPC Board
David Mark Price, son of Richard and Pamela Price, is the president of Price Publishing Company. David grew up in Independence, Missouri, and has been involved in Price Publishing Company endeavors since 1973, when he proofread Richard's first book, The Saints at the Crossroads. He has served on the Board of Directors since 1988, and was ordained to the office of priest at a Restoration branch in 1990.
After graduating from Truman High School in Independence, Missouri, he attended Central Missouri University and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Aerospace Technology. David then became a helicopter pilot in the U. S. Navy, where he saw action against Marxist rebels and was credited with saving a number of lives while flying rescue missions.
While serving in the Philippines he also accepted appointment as a Navy chaplain's assistant, conducting Restoration RLDS services on base and helping local RLDS Filipinos rebuild in the wake of typhoons and floods. Additionally, he worked with other Christian groups introducing primitive tribes to Christ and providing relief to Indo-Chinese refugees escaping oppressive regimes.
Now employed as a flight test engineer for a large aerospace company in Wichita, Kansas, David maintains a home library with thousands of books, including large collections dedicated to religion, history, and the literary classics. He also ministers at a shelter for abused women and children where he and his wife, Charney, volunteer.
By David Mark Price
I wish to testify that at age eight, while receiving my first Sacrament in the Auditorium during the Conference of 1964, as I partook of the emblems, I experienced the baptism of the Holy Ghost. In an unexpected instant I was swept over by the presence of a profoundly intelligent, righteous, and loving power which I believe was the Comforter—the Entity of the Trinity that Christ promised would visit and minister to believers. As my being was filled with His burning presence, this Comforter clearly spoke to me the words, "Jesus is the Christ!"
On rare occasions since, I have heard that same voice again. In fact, the occasions are so rare that when they do occur, I tend to pay attention. Once, this same voice emphatically petitioned me to stop my speeding bicycle. Only after I slammed on the brakes did I—while sliding sideways in a skid—see why. For, in less time than it takes to read about it, a speeding car emerged from a blind alley and ran over the spot I would have been at, had I not already been prompted to stop (missing me by mere inches even as I was skidding to a stop).
While mountain climbing in Greenland I found myself in the path of an immense, roaring landslide of hundreds of ricocheting rocks and boulders that were rapidly falling toward me. While scrambling toward an outcropping for cover I heard that same voice definitively order me to abandon my quest for the outcropping and to instead drop prone— even though still in the path of the oncoming landslide. Obeying, I dropped flat and the destruction passed me by. One boulder the size of a washtub passed so close to my face that I felt a blast of air as it passed me and disappeared down the mountainside, and another smaller rock came so close that it knocked the camera out of my hand, but I was unharmed because of the warning voice.
While canoeing—and not really thinking of religious matters but instead just enjoying the sunset—the same voice suddenly directed, "Move to the other side of the stream." As I dug in the paddle to comply, the other fellow in the canoe turned and said, "Why are you doing that? I like the view from this side." Before I could even answer him a huge dead tree clinging to the bank above us cracked and fell down exactly where we had just been! The tree was so large, and we were so close to it, that the wave of its impact in the water nearly capsized us. We were showered with bark and small twigs from the top of it, but were spared the impact of the trunk and large branches which landed exactly where we had been seconds before. Had that voice not warned us, we would have surely been killed and buried beneath it.
In one primitive village in the Philippines a child had become gravely ill, and the villagers called for the elders to come and administer. I was not in the priesthood then, but the only elder in the area asked me to accompany him anyway. When we arrived we discovered that the child had been unconscious and without food or water for three full days and nights. As we entered the grass hut we found him not only comatose, but in the throes of a seizure which had been ongoing for the previous twenty-four hours. The family was sure he would die soon, and funeral arrangements were already being made.
The RLDS elder I was accompanying had never even seen an administration performed, and was troubled as to how to proceed. Having grown up in Independence and having witnessed that holy rite on many occasions, I felt led to explain the protocols of administration to him, and to encourage him in his office—assuring him that it would be his faith in Christ (and not any special schooling or exacting ritual) that would result in a blessing that day.
As we positioned the child for administration the convulsions continued, but the instant the elder anointed the child's head with consecrated oil, the convulsions ceased! Seeing that, the pall of terror stalking his weeping family was washed away, and all who could crowd into that little hut were, instead, swept over by a Comforting Spirit—the same Spirit of love and assurance that I had experienced at my first Sacrament. The child soon awoke from the coma— healed! He, and seven other villagers who had experienced the miracle, promptly asked to be baptized into the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints! I, like some others, have my times of doubt and despair in this wicked world. But when I recall the very real and undeniable miracles I have witnessed, I am reassured of the truth of the Gospel, and of the reality of the reign and Kingdom of God!