By Brittany Rogers
Above image courtesy Ensign College
A high school class clown channels his energy with the help of Ensign College.
Jay Cannon’s antics started early.
In first grade he liked to wear a suit; the class called him “Mr. President,” and Cannon ate it up.
In middle school he bought a personal universal remote, turning classroom devices on and off at will. “That was something I would do on a consistent basis,” he says, especially when there was a sub.
Then there’s his high school senior portrait: “Google ‘cul-de-sac hairdo,’ ” Cannon says. His mom, Heidi, helped him shave the bald-up-top look. “She was always supportive of my wacky ideas,” says Cannon. Simultaneously, she tried everything to motivate him to do his homework.
Suffice it to say that Cannon was not known for his scholarship. With a dyslexia diagnosis, “every class I signed up for was a struggle,” he says. “I was rarely above a C.”
That was then.
Today Cannon is a straight-A business management major at Ensign College in Salt Lake City.
School didn’t suddenly become easy for Cannon. And while he certainly buckled down, his newfound success took more than just increased effort. According to Cannon, the turnaround came when he finally started to believe what his biggest cheerleaders have known all along: he is capable of hard things.
“I’ve always had an encouraging, supportive team around me,” says Cannon—except for that one seventh-grade teacher who suggested he drop out, he laughs. “I just had to want it.”
And in Ensign College, he found a school that met that desire with the tutors, mentors, and community he needed to thrive.
STRENGTHS IN DISGUISE
As disruptive as they may sound, Cannon’s youthful high jinks could also be endearing.
“He did spend a lot of time in the principal’s office,” Heidi admits. But the principal also regularly assigned Cannon to befriend other office frequenters—“kids who were sour or sad,” says Heidi. “He knew Jay could always cheer them up.”
“I find the most joy in making other people laugh,” Cannon explains. “I’ve been trying to get that kind of reaction from day one.”
And while he loved the spotlight, the spotlight loved him: he played the high school mascot, Leo the Lion, and landed leading roles in theater.
Cannon auditioned for his first dramatic foray as a brand-new middle schooler fresh off a family move from California to Oregon. A prepared solo was required. Cannon, who had not prepared a wink, sang “Popcorn Popping” like it’s never been sung before.
“Why is this kid not in my choir?” Heidi recalls the choir teacher asking. Choir, it turns out, fell during Cannon’s remedial English period. The choir teacher personally volunteered to tutor him in English—she wanted Cannon in her class.
Cannon got recruited again his senior year—to AP government, no less. The simulation-based class competed in Model United Nations. “I intentionally gave Jay the role of the ambassador of the United States,” says Todd Jones, who taught at Oregon’s West Linn High School for 20 years. “It’s a big role,” Jones explains. “It’s not a role he could hide from. . . . And Jay did what I expected him to do: he rose to the occasion.”
While some teachers considered Cannon the “Ferris Bueller of West Linn,” Jones saw in him charisma and magnetism that could be channeled. To the amazement of his West Linn High administrators, Cannon ended up earning an A in the class. “He needed someone not to dismiss him,” says Jones. “He did work he was proud of, and he discovered that feels good.”
Cannon’s only regret: a seamless commencement. Teachers and administrators alike told him they couldn’t wait to see “the Jay way to graduate,” expecting something big. But it was touch-and-go up to the very end; he had to cram “years’ worth of makeup work into two weeks” to get that diploma. Exhausted, he strode the stage with no gimmicks. “I apologize,” Cannon says.
MATURING ON THE MISSION
Cannon submitted his mission papers after high school with one hesitation: should he disclose the dyslexia?
“He didn’t want it to affect his call,” says Heidi.
He is grateful he did. A senior missionary at the Missionary Training Center had pertinent background and worked with him extensively; Cannon says he made more progress in those weeks than in 12 years of specialized services. “He, like, reads novels now,” says Heidi.
“Having the Lord’s name on my chest definitely helped me mature a little bit,” says Cannon. “But I wasn’t a boring missionary. My mission president probably wished I was a little more boring.”
The president’s take on Elder Cannon: “Jay knew how to make hard things enjoyable,” says Steven Bednar, who led the Pennsylvania Pittsburgh Mission from 2017 to 2020. That said, Bednar would like it noted that it was only in his interview for this article that he learned it was Elder Cannon who had plastic-wrapped his car. For the record, Bednar says, “I felt flattered that [the missionaries] would view me and Sister Bednar in such a light that they would feel comfortable having fun with us.” And he hopes Cannon hasn’t lost his playful touch.
Bednar describes Cannon as gregarious, effervescent, and interpersonally fluid. “I would hope that he’s not only retained that but that it’s burgeoned, that he’s found a way to use that to his advantage,” says Bednar, adding that Cannon, who hung an American flag in every mission apartment, might well be a US senator one day.
But first, school.
As Cannon studied the Church’s My Plan curriculum for returning missionaries, the prompting came loud and clear: “You need to go to school.”
A NEW IDENTITY
Considering his high school transcripts, Cannon didn’t exactly have his pick of schools. His older sister, however, did—and she chose Ensign College, formerly known as LDS Business College, in Salt Lake City. Cannon says that following in her footsteps was an easy choice.
“I love that Ensign is downtown,” says Cannon, an extrovert who is energized by city life. He also loves the school’s small size. “You’re not some face out in a 200-seat auditorium,” he says. But there’s a catch: in a class of 10, “the teacher is going to know you. Your name is going to get called.”
It was exactly the kind of expectation he needed, but the learning curve was steep; he tanked his first semester.
“It was really discouraging because I was trying harder,” he says. “It was like, ‘Yep, I’m a terrible student.’ ”
He took a pause from school to “work on himself” and save up money. “It really was a moment for me,” says Cannon, who took up podcasts and self-help books and even considered running a marathon. “And I hate running!” he says. “I had to prove to myself that I could do something hard. School just kept coming back to my mind.”
About this time, he met his wife, Ashley, who already had her degree in supply chain and a job at Lucid Software. “She’s a boss lady,” Cannon says.
“We’re kind of opposites,” says Ashley, certainly the more reserved of the two. But she—and her family—expected Cannon to expect more of himself.
Cannon returned to Ensign College with a new mindset: the grade didn’t matter—the learning did. “I had this mind shift,” he says. “I would actually want to do the reading.”
Ensign’s focus helped. The school prioritizes career preparation; courses are often taught by practitioners who have a pulse on what’s most relevant, and most assignments involve applying course content, not memorizing. In short: fewer tests, more presentations. Presenting, says Cannon, he can do.
A business management major, Cannon has utilized Ensign College’s free tutoring services for his hardest classes—including accounting, “always accounting,” he says. He also attributes his success to attending Ensign College’s weekly devotionals—something he didn’t do that rough first semester. “It’s a great spiritual boost,” says Cannon. “Now I prioritize that, and God has blessed me.” He plans to graduate June 2025.
Is the comedic Cannon gone? “I hope he’s not completely dead,” says Cannon, “just a little bit more constructive.” One of his future goals: to help kids like himself. “You are most qualified to help the person you once were,” he says. “I used to be the person who believes they aren’t good enough. The class clown thing—I put on that identity. I believed that was who I was.”
“He’s still Jay,” says Ashley, citing a getup he put on for a rodeo; she asked him to “tone it down.” “I don’t know if he’s calming down or if I’m just getting used to it,” she says, but the antics seem to be more filtered now.
Last year the couple welcomed their first child, Samuel, and Cannon has taken to studying with an infant in one arm. “He’s just starting to smile and laugh,” says Cannon. “And making him laugh, that is my favorite thing in the world.”
