MY FIRST FULL-TIME PASTORATE
With the call from the Community Church in Houstonia, Missouri, we could pack up and leave Pasadena. By this time we had a large collection of household stuff, and had to have a professional moving company help. We filled our car with ourselves, camping equipment, and clothing. We put as much as we could in our little one-wheeled trailer, and were ready to leave. Of course, it was hard to leave the familiar city, the wonderful school and teachers, and our many student friends.
Because the crossing of the California desert was reported to be so unpleasantly hot in summer, we planned to leave Pasadena about midnight. Thus we could drive in the "cool" of the night. That turned out alright, but I became terribly sleepy. David and I enjoyed seeing the many kangaroo rats hopping across the road, and an occasional coyote caught in the headlights. It was a very warm night. We arrived at Needles, California, on the Arizona border, at about 6AM in the morning, to find the temperature already at 110 degrees in the shade--and no shade.
We cooled off a bit while we ate breakfast in a restaurant, then drove on to Williams, Arizona. There we looked for a motel room, and holed up for the day. The air-conditioned room was a delight. We all enjoyed the rest, though the children were bored. Early next morning we set off to the north to visit Grand Canyon. I took a few good pictures, on black and white film. Later I learned how to make slides from such negatives, and we have enjoyed those.
After that diversion, we drove as quickly as we could across Arizona, New Mexico, the corner of the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma, and on to visit Jane's sister, Evelyn, at Attica, Kansas. We later stopped at Jane's mother's place in eastern Kansas for a short visit. The weather was very hot, and the car unpleasantly warm without an air conditioner. On the hottest days we bought a block of ice, that we kept in the car in a wash pan. We cooled wash cloths on the ice, and used them to keep our faces (and my head) cool! That was a great help.
It was only a short day's drive from Savonburg, Kansas, to our new church town, Houstonia, Missouri, about seventy-five miles due east of Kansas City. Mr. Neef, the church elder who had entertained me in their home on my previous visit, led us to our new home, the parsonage. The house was adequate, though it was terribly old--built before the Civil War! There was a partial basement, dark and damp, but Jane could use it for washing. One central gas furnace located in the floor of the living room, and a fireplace, provided heat when needed. We had a fine front porch, and stored our bicycles there. The large yard offered plenty of space for a garden, though it was too late to start one that year. We had arrived late in July, 1958.
Directly south of the house, in the same block, stood the church, a big, square old brick building, formerly owned by the Christian Church. That congregation had become too small to support the work, so had changed the church to "community church." The congregation had kept some practices of the Christian Church. Other procedures had been borrowed from other churches. Former Southern Baptists and Methodists rounded out the congregation. The sanctuary was bowl-shaped, with plenty of old wooden theatre-type seats. The church yard was pretty weedy, and the grass desperately needed mowing.
I soon learned that the congregation was truly a mixed group. The church board told me on my first visit that the church had some three hundred members. Now I found that there were no really adequate church records, and many members were no longer active, or not living in the area. As soon as I could afford to do so, I ordered a proper church record book, and began to enter membership information, baptisms, weddings, deaths, funerals--all the things that are so important in church records.
The first day we were in Houstonia there came a knock at the door. There stood a couple in their forties, who pleasantly announced that they were the nuts! That is, their name was Nutt! They became good friends, and were very helpful all the time we were there. Her parents and grandparents had been among the founders of the Christian Church, in Indiana, I think it was. Later Mrs. Nutt showed me, with great pride, portraits of many old long-bearded serious-looking men, real "pillars" in the early Christian Church movement.
An important beginning task was to make calls in the homes of the active members in the area, to get acquainted, and find out their thinking on the needs of the church. That was very educational. The Higgins family, actually several families, lived out on Higgins Road (naturally!) west of Houstonia, on farms carved out of the original plantation. The old family home, a beautiful red brick building with white pillars in front, had been built by slaves long before the Civil War. It was no longer lived in. All the Higginses had been former members of the Christian Church.
How well I remember my first visit to one Higgins' home. They had just brought from town a new set of Danish modern living room chairs, and I was invited to try one of them. I seated myself carefully in the low chair, and immediately found myself tossed over backward, doing a complete summersault! The back legs of the chair had collapsed! They, and I, were embarrassed. I assured them that I didn't usually break up the furniture in homes.
The largest family in the area, representing some 60% of the entire congregation through marriage ties, was the Killion family. The patriarch of the whole brood was old "Elder Killion;" that was how everyone knew him. Their farm was about three miles out of town. That farm, the ancestral home, was encircled by farms occupied by sons, and sons-in-law, a very large and influential group in the church. I think they may have originally been Baptists, though I never really knew.
On one of my early visits to Elder Killion’s I found him in the barn, milking. As I visited with him, I leaned against a square upright supporting timber. From old tool marks, I saw that it was hand-hewed. Testing it with my pocket knife, I found the wood to be black walnut--straight as a string, perfectly sound, and some fifteen feet in length. I asked Mr. Killion for the history of the large barn. He said that his grandfather had built the barn from black walnut trees cleared from the land. There was a small fortune in well-cured walnut in that one building!
While I always got along well with Mrs. Killion, I soon found myself out of favor with Elder Killion. There was an old Black lady living in Houstonia, who had been born a slave. She was the only black person in the little town. Jane and I were told about her, and we went down to visit with her one day. We found her a delightful person, a real believer in Jesus. Her Bible was simply a stack of loose pages, it was so well worn. I offered to get her a new one, but she refused it.
After our visit to the black lady, the next time I visited the Killions, he addressed me as "nigger lover," and we never got along well after that. He had heard that we had gone to visit the old lady. It was only a month or so later that Mr. Killion became very ill, and was taken to a hospital in Kansas City, seventy-five miles away. I felt that as his pastor I must visit him no matter where the hospital might be. So we drove all the way to Kansas City, found the hospital and went to his room. When he learned that it was I who had come to visit, he turned his face to the wall, and refused to talk with me. I left the room, while Jane remained by his bedside. After a bit he was willing to talk with her. That was not the last frustrating contact I had with that man. The one hundred and fifty mile round trip to see him was wasted effort and expense.
Checking on the state laws of Missouri, I found that I must be ordained if I were to perform weddings. That wasn't a simple matter, since neither that "independent" church nor I had "ordaining" connections with anyone. From one of my courses in seminary, I had a general idea of how I might go about getting ordained.
I called the pastors of several neighboring churches, asking them to serve on an examining council. The pastor of the Methodist Church, just across the street to the north of the parsonage, agreed to help. I then got the pastor of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church out in the country about ten miles east of town. Two pastors from churches in Sedalia were also willing to come. The Southern Baptist Church pastor, with whom we became good friends later, refused. I think he thought anyone pastoring that community church simply couldn't be a real Christian!
On the appointed day the ministers met at the church, with several members of the church board. I gave a testimony of how I came to believe in Jesus, and told of my training at Fuller Seminary. I then urged the members of the examination panel to ask me questions. No one volunteered any! One or two of the church board members intimated that I seemed all right, and that was the extent of that examination! I had typed up a document stating that I had been examined and ordained on that date, and the several ministers all solemnly signed it. Later, I had that paper recorded in the county recorder's office. I then considered myself officially ordained. No one in Missouri ever questioned it!
Soon after that ordination procedure, I did have a wedding. One day a very shy young woman came and asked if I would conduct a wedding ceremony for her and her fiance. Her father opposed her marrying, chiefly, I gathered, because he would lose a good farm hand! I agreed to help, and we set a date.
The girl, her mother, her fiance, and Jane and I composed the entire wedding party. I carefully checked the license, found it OK, and had the two stand before me, in the empty church. As I read the wedding service, the girl became more and more upset. When we came to the vows, she was unable to speak, and broke down in tears. After a little, when she had regained her composure, we tried again. Same problem! That wedding took longer, I think, than any other I ever conducted. Finally the plain little ring was on her finger, and the ceremony was over. The young couple moved away somewhere, and I think I never saw them again.
Going back to the many inactive members on the church rolls-- I found that there were only about one hundred active members living in the community. I proposed to the Board that we contact the inactive people, to find out whether they wanted to continue as members. They agreed, and I sent out dozens of letters, run off on the ancient mimeograph, asking whether the persons were interested in continuing their church membership. Very few responded, so after waiting a decent interval, I dropped the unresponsive from the rolls, and sent letters notifying them of the action.
Then I learned how much the people in that area treasured their church membership. Several people protested having friends, or even far-distant relatives, dropped from church membership. I persuaded most of them, I think, that church membership is properly for those who really belong to the congregation, and support and attend the activities of a church. The whole business didn't win me any friends.
Houstonia had only one small grocery store, and one tavern. We did most of our shopping on weekly visits to Sedalia, a fair-sized town about twenty miles away. There was a very old, semi-retired doctor in Houstonia, whose abilities everyone questioned. When we needed a doctor, we usually went to see one at a clinic in Sweet Springs, about twelve miles away. There was a large Air Force base in the area, and at least one couple from there were members of the church. There was a small hospital in Sedalia, but most of the folks, when seriously ill or injured, went to a hospital in Kansas City. I made several trips to the city to call on sick people, including the visit I described above.
I soon came to dread the church board meetings. The board was large, about fifteen men, many of whom were heavy smokers. The air would be blue with smoke at every meeting, as they didn't hesitate to smoke in the church building. There were a few earnest Christians on the board, but even they were woefully ignorant of the Bible, or of how a church should operate.
A matter of great pride among the men was their pet project--"God's Acre." One farmer member had offered the use of seventy acres of good farm land for the church to farm. The men had planted soy beans, working cooperatively. The crop was well along when we came to Houstonia. I enjoyed working with the men on those beans. The first work day we all worked at weeding. Later we had a good day combining the beans. The crop brought in a very good return, over $2500, if I remember correctly.
I soon learned that the soybean money was not to be used for any current expenses of the church. It was put in savings, to draw interest, until the board chose some worthy project. Mr. Killion, a member of the board, frequently reminded me in the board meetings that my salary would never be paid out of that fund! Speaking of salary, we soon found that I had agreed to a truly minimum income! Our total salary was only $300 per month. We had to pay our own utilities, buy food and clothing, and drive all over the territory on that money. Jane is a good manager, and we managed to eat well, anyway. Occasionally a farm family gave us eggs or chickens. There were many cottontail rabbits in the nearby thickets. We ate more than a few rabbits that winter! I also shot a few squirrels with my great little .218 Bee rifle, and enjoyed occasional early morning squirrel hunts in the countryside.
I remember one occasion when I had taken the rifle along while out calling in the country. After completing my planned calls, I took a little jaunt up through a likely-looking wooded area, hoping to get a squirrel for supper. When I came back out to the road, carrying the rifle (but no squirrel!), I was just in time to see the Baptist pastor and another man driving by. Jimmy Eads, the pastor, stopped, and they gave me a bad time (joking, of course) about my method of trying to enlarge my congregation at gunpoint!
The other man was a visiting evangelist, and they invited me to their meetings. I did attend that evening, and again they got some good laughs telling of meeting me with the rifle. By that time I had met many of the good Baptists, and we were friends. I attended Jim's church when I could, and Jane and I loved both him and his wife, Naomi, and their children Houstonia was such a little town nearly everyone knew everyone else. I called on many in town, simply going door to door, to get acquainted, and to win anyone possible to faith in Jesus. One little old lady and I became good friends. She was a staunch Baptist, but that didn't hinder my visiting with her, or sharing a Bible passage and prayer time with her. She was nearly blind, and later became totally so. Yet she lived alone, and managed very well. Before we left Houstonia, that lady had cataract surgery, and regained her vision in one eye. She always called me "Brother Cumming," and I just couldn't pass her house without at least calling in a greeting to her. She knew my voice, too, and would ask (when she was blind): "Is that you, Brother Cumming? Come on in!"
There was no suitable space in the church for a church office, so I set up my "study" in our bedroom. I placed a bird feeder just outside the window that first winter, so I could watch the birds. I did leave the ancient mimeograph at the church. I used it for printing the weekly bulletins and some letters. I had learned how to operate a mimeograph while in the CCC’s--another instance where my past experience was of great help.
All too soon winter came on. Then we had to use the gas furnace, located under the living room floor, to heat the house. Several farmers offered tree trimmings for firewood. I cut lots of wood, mostly black locust and oak, to burn in the fireplace. The hardwoods gave off plenty of heat, and always left a fine bed of coals for roasting weiners, or making toast.
David and Mary were soon well established in school in Houstonia. The school was not far from the church. Jane and I became active in the PTA, attending meetings regularly that winter. In those days the ministers of the town, taking turn, had fifteen or twenty minutes to speak at each PTA meeting. It was a great opportunity to speak to a good crowd.
We went to Jane's mother's home for Thanksgiving, and had a great time with Bill and her other brothers and a flock of their sons, hunting quail and rabbits. That was a good visit. I also preached at the little Methodist church one evening. There we met the pastor of the Evangelical Covenant Church located out in the country near Savonburg. On the next visit to Savonburg, I was invited to speak at the Covenant church.
For our own church Christmas program I took pictures of the children of the church in a manger scene--a real one, complete with animals--and scenes in the church yard of the shepherds, etc. Then we showed those slides for the Christmas program. The plan worked out well. The parents, at least, were delighted, though the slides weren't really very good. I kept very busy in ministry, preaching a sermon each Sunday morning, and teaching a men's Sunday School class. For the first few months I also directed the choir and later sang in the choir.
In the fall of 1958 we invited a representative of Moody Bible Institute, Dr. Will R. Johnson, from Galveston, Texas, to come for a week of meetings. He was a grand old fellow, a retired Methodist minister, and did a good job of teaching. He conducted Bible studies at the church each morning, and preached in the evenings, for a whole week. Though he was very good, there was little response to his ministry. As no one else seemed interested, or offered to entertain Dr. Johnson, we put him up at our ancient house. He slept in the narrow "upstairs bedroom" where David had his cot. That worked out fine, except that one morning we heard a terrible thumping, and found that Dr. Johnson had fallen down the stairs! Fortunately, he was not injured! He taught us to sing that great song by Charles Wesley "Oh, Can It Be?" That has been one of my favorites ever since.
Oh, another thing! I wanted some way of presenting Bible stories visually. Jane sometimes used her hand-drawn flannelgraph scenes when telling Bible stories. I wanted something more professional. With my sister Jean's financial help, we bought a good screen and projector for use with both slides and film strips. We still have both "tools," and use them frequently. They were helpful. For the Sunrise Easter service in 1959 I showed a film strip of the crucifixion, and sang a solo "Were You There." I think probably the people were sick of my singing solos!
David obtained the job of mowing the city park soon after we arrived in Houstonia. That meant we must buy a power mower. It was a large area to mow, and sometimes I had to spell him a bit to get the job done. Mary soon became a member of the local 4-H club, and made many friends there. David also mowed the church yard. For entertainment, he often went fishing with neighbor boys, and had much fun doing that, and swimming in the farmponds.
In late winter, about March of 1959, we all came down with Asiatic flu, that was epidemic in the whole area. We all became sick at once. To get medical care, we had to drive to Sweet Springs, to the nearest clinic. I was almost too sick to drive, but the girls were very sick, and needed shots. We went up there two or three times, and had to sit in the waiting room each time with crowds of other sick folks.
After one of those visits to the doctor, I really thought I might die! My pulse that night was down to about 50, and I was terribly nauseated and suffering from diarrhea, as well. Every time I made a dash for the bathroom I became very light-headed, and fainted once or twice. Eventually, of course, we all recovered.
Apart from our visiting with Jimmie and Naomi Eads, the Southern Baptist pastor and his wife, we had no contact with other ministers. I felt that we needed that. Also, there was no church camp anywhere in our area where we might send our children. So after getting the address from the Covenant pastor at Savonburg, I wrote to the Covenant Camp near Grand Island, Nebraska, and asked if there were any possibility that we could attend their family camp. They replied at once with a cordial invitation. That turned out to be a most pleasant week. We took a day driving up, and had lots of fun in the classes, meetings, at meals, fishing, etc. When the camp was over, the pastor of the Covenant Church in Lindsborg, Kansas, invited us to stay at his place overnight, on our way to visit Jane's mother. We did that, and had a great visit with him and his wife.
In the spring of 1959, one church member, a farmer, came and plowed the garden spot for us. I put in a large garden. It did very well, as we had plenty of rain. Jane canned many jars of produce that summer, and we had enough to share with others. A lady in the church, and a farm family who were friends, though not active in the church, loaned me their garden tillers from time to time. The machines helped keep the weeds controlled.
We have always enjoyed harvesting things from nature, mostly to eat. There were many black walnut trees in the countryside around Houstonia. With permission of the landowners, we gathered sacks of walnuts in the fall of 1958 and again in 1959. Sunday afternoons, to help me unwind after preaching, I sometimes went down in the basement and cracked black walnuts for an hour or so. That is slow work, as you may know, but the meats were tasty in cookies and cakes. We also harvested wild grapes, and made jelly from them each year.
In the fall of 1959 the church board approved my suggestion that we invite Harold and Mary Lou Tannehill, from Billings, to come for a series of evangelistic meetings. They came down, as scheduled, and we had "so- so" attendance. Harold preached the first two or three nights on prophecy, jumping hither and yon in the Scriptures in a way that I was sure was confusing to the congregation. It worried me, so after praying seriously for the right way to handle the situation, I decided I must say something. I asked Harold the next morning if it would not be better for him simply to give us good old-fashioned salvation messages. That offended both Harold and Mary Lou, and I was almost sorry I had said anything. But from there on Harold preached for decision, and on the last night of the meeting, one high school girl come forward. I had the pleasure of praying with her to receive Jesus. I think the Tannehills went home a bit unsure whether I was really a sound Christian, as things were a bit cool between us for years after that.
There were some very fine Christian people in the church, and we really appreciated the support they gave us. Most, however, were indifferent. A family reunion or just about any other excuse was sufficient to keep them away from worship and mid-week services. I feel that I was probably wrong in that I always wondered about the absentees, instead of rejoicing in those who did come. I had many a silent struggle with the problem.
In February of 1960 I received an invitation from the Covenant Church to attend their midwinter conference in Kansas City. I think that was a response to our attending the family camp in Nebraska. That was great, and I could hardly contain myself at the prospect of having fellowship with the many pastors who would be there. I went to the conference, and had several interesting conversations with older men in the Covenant.
One, an old traditionalist, must have been afraid that I was trying to weasel my way into the Covenant. He told me strongly, after learning that I did not believe in the baptism of infants, that there was no place for me in the Covenant! Another distinguished man, Gilbert Swenson, senior pastor of the large First Covenant Church in Rockford, Illinois, talked to me at considerable length. I told him that I felt I should move on from the church in Houstonia, but didn't know where to look.
As it turned out, he thought I could work well in the Covenant. Only a couple of weeks after the conference I had an invitation to come to Rockford, Illinois, to candidate at Evergreen Covenant Church, a small, new church on the outskirts of the city. That was encouraging! Jane was invited to come, too, and we took the train from Sedalia to St. Louis and from there to Chicago. We were met in the Chicago station by a friendly couple who drove us to Rockford, about eighty miles away. I preached at both morning and evening services, had a meeting with the board that evening, and immediately had a call to come there as pastor! I accepted, and we returned to Houstonia very happy!
Although it was awkward for David and Mary to have to change schools in the middle of the school year, we arranged to move to Rockford in early April. We had stayed longer (about 20 months) in the community church than any one of the previous twelve preachers. One man had boasted to me that they had "gone through" twelve preachers in a period of 13 years! The new opportunity in Rockford was encouraging, so there was no question whether we should go there. The small, but active, congregation of Evergreen Covenant Church was an energetic group. They had built the church building as a team, and now were ready to try something new. In a series of phone calls, we arranged a date when a group of the men would come to Houstonia to help us move. They would bring a moving truck, gather up all our possessions, and move us to Rockford in one day! Though only a few hundred miles, it sounded like a big undertaking to us.
We set about packing, and had everything ready on the appointed day before the move. That evening we had been feeling a bit sorry for ourselves, since it appeared that the church in Houstonia was totally indifferent to our leaving. Oh, a few folks had come by to say "good-bye," but not many. I remember we ate in the little cafe down town, and then drove back home right at dusk. When we walked in the front door, the lights came on and we found nearly everyone from the church crowded in the house! They had planned a grand farewell surprise party, and carried it off very well. There were gifts and little speeches, and then they all left. They had given us a set of china, that I thought was beautiful
Very early the next morning, while eating our breakfast, we noticed a strange truck parked near the church. Then came a knock at our door! The men from Evergreen Church in Rockford had arrived during the night. They had slept in the truck, and now were ready to load our things. With a busy crew, that didn't take long. One man stayed to ride with us, to make sure we didn't get lost. After a final cleaning of the house, we were on our way to a new start in what I hoped would be a very different situation. How different it was must wait for a later chapter.

LAST YEAR AT SEMINARY
As I begin this account of my final year at Seminary, I find I have omitted mentioning a very important member of our household--a lovely small multicolored female cat, acquired as a kitten during my first year. We all loved that little creature.
Often while studying late at night I had a little relief from the monotony of study watching the antics of our little cat, who loved to play with me. She would bring objects to me to toss or hide so she could run and catch them. She delighted in trying to get a little wad of paper out of the toe of my slipper. She loved to jump up into the empty bathtub while I was shaving in the morning. She would crouch down, then sneak up to the edge, and try to reach out to tug at my pajama leg. One morning, unknown to her, I had already run my bath. She took her usual flying leap into the tub without looking! She was one wet and bedraggled little cat, terribly insulted. I lifted her out and dried her off with a towel. Our lovely little cat died in the spring of my final year, apparently from poisoning, causing real grief to all our family.
My third, or senior year, in seminary was much like the first--extremely busy with studies until late at night, and working long hours at the library to make financial ends meet. On rare occasions we went for a picnic; once we went to Malibu beach. I realized later how hard it was for Jane and the children, for I really neglected them. I deeply regret that! New neighbors, a Seminary student and his family, moved into the little house behind us on the lot, and we became good friends with them. My courses were more difficult than ever, but I managed to keep my grade average well up on the scale.
During the winter, I began contacting different mission organizations, seeking a place where we could serve when I had graduated. I went to several prayer meetings with people associated with the Latin America Mission, West Indies Mission, and one or two others. None of them showed any interest in a man of my age with three young children! It just seemed there were no possibilities, though I wished later that I had tried harder. In my heart I wanted to become a missionary, rather than serve as a pastor in the states. Some of the faculty at the Seminary urged me to become a pastor.
At almost the last minute I began contacting churches looking for a pastor. A Mennonite church in Pennsylvania wrote, after reviewing my application, that I was not mature enough for them. Openings were scarce!
Graduation came all too soon. I successfully passed the required three days of oral examination by a battery of seminary professors, and received my Bachelor of Divinity degree. (In the early 1960's, the seminary offered to issue a new diploma for $25, granting me a Master's degree. I couldn’t spare the $25, I didn't feel it was worth the $25 fee anyway, and so didn't ask for the change.) My Dad came to Pasadena to be present for the graduation, and we enjoyed a good visit with him. It was the first time he had been in California, and he seemed to find everything interesting. We went up to Mt. Wilson, and all around the area.
One day while he was there we went to see the huge Museum of Power and Industry, in Los Angeles. I was taking care of Martha, while Jane and the other two children went off somewhere else. Suddenly I missed Martha! She was no where in sight! Then she called to me--from overhead! She had shinnied up a brass pole about five inches in diameter, perhaps twenty feet high, clear to the ceiling! She came down much faster than she had gone up, but I caught her without trouble. She was a great climber!
The graduation ceremony was very formal, and somehow sad. It meant for us in the large class the end of a period of very hard work, and was a relief, in that sense. But it also meant that we graduates were now about to go out into the world to serve the Lord. Several, like me, didn't know where that was going to be. Solemnly we marched up and across the platform, to receive our diplomas (phonies!--the real ones came to us later by mail), and shake hands for the last time with Dr. Charles Fuller, Dr. Carnell, Seminary President, and one or two other prominent Christian men. All went well for the first thirty or forty of us. Then one graduate, who had a very serious vision problem, somehow missed the stairs leaving the platform. Instead, he turned down into the orchestra pit. There he wandered around for several moments, with giggling, snickering, some open laughter from the audience and the faculty on the platform only further confusing him. Finally someone left the platform, and led the poor chap up and out, and back to where he belonged. I felt sorry for him, as he was visibly severely shaken and embarrassed by the whole episode.
A day or two later, Dad returned to Montana, and we saw our friends and co-workers Wilfred and Carolyn Naujoks and their two children off for the east coast. They travelled in their little Volkswagen "bug," having sold their van. They ate their last meal in Pasadena at our house, and left late in the evening. The little car was loaded to the hilt, with the children wedged in the back seat with luggage. We prayed together that they would have a safe trip. We learned some weeks later that they ran out of gas out in the middle of the Mohave desert that night. Wilfred had forgotten to fill the reserve gas tank! He had to leave Carolyn and the children alone for several hours, while he walked and hitch-hiked to find gasoline! That was the last time we saw them! They returned to Germany, where Wilfred was later involved in the smuggling of Bibles into Poland and Russia. We lost touch with them, finally--a wonderful couple.
Soon after graduation, a church in Walnut Creek, California, sent a delegation to interview me, but that also came to nothing. Finally, a fine Christian woman from a little community church in Missouri wrote to the seminary, asking if there was an evangelical man available. The seminary placement office referred the letter to me. I called and talked to the lady by phone. I decided I should take a chance on a trip there, to candidate, as the church offered to pay the expenses for the bus ticket.
That was one long bus ride! I really enjoyed it, taking advantage of the brief stops in New Mexico and elsewhere to look around a bit. I didn't eat much enroute, and slept poorly. Finally I arrived at the little town of Houstonia, about seventy-five miles east of Kansas City. An elderly couple from the church met me, and took me to their home for the night.
Next day I rode to the church with them, and found that the church leaders expected me to plan and lead the whole service! They had no plans whatever! A lady was available to play the piano. So I hastily conferred with her, selected some hymns to more or less fit my sermon, and went ahead. There was a fair crowd in the old church, and the seating arrangement and acoustics were good. I guess I did all right, as the church board met after the service and immediately voted to ask me to come as their pastor.
Although I had serious misgivings, and the salary they offered was minimal, (only $300 per month, pay our own moving expenses, no car allowance, and live in the parsonage (a house built before the Civil War), I decided that I should accept their offer. I had no other place to go, and our savings were almost gone! Later I learned that twelve different pastors had served that church in the past thirteen years--or was it thirteen in the last twelve years? The turn-over rate was rather high!
Taken back to the bus depot that same evening, I began the long ride back to Pasadena. At last I had a call to a church! My seminary days were over; I was ready to work, though I was disappointed at not being able to become a missionary. My experiences in that little church as a green pastor just out of school I will tell briefly in the next chapter!

SEMINARY MIDDLER (1956-’57)
Late in August, after a good summer staying with my sister Jean and her family, we loaded up our little trailer and headed back to Pasadena. We stopped the first night at a little church in a small town near Bozeman, Montana. There we took part in a worship service in the evening. Next day we drove on to Boise, Idaho, touring the "Craters of the Moon" national monument enroute. From there we drove across Oregon, and camped near Prineville, Oregon. We had to pitch our tent on a gravel bed that made sleeping very uncomfortable despite our air mattresses! Then it was on across the Cascades, where I got some good pictures, and down along the Oregon coast. We stopped once to pick blackberries from a big thicket right along the highway.
We camped one night at a big redwood grove, where we all were amazed at the size of the giant redwood trees. One burned out stump near the campground was large enough to have accommodated our tent, and possibly the car, as well. Next morning a herd of elk, perhaps 30 head, were seen in a nearby meadow.
We finally arrived in Pasadena very late one night, only to find our apartment full of sleeping people! The seminary receptionist had followed our instructions, and given the key to a new student family just coming in--John and Elaine Rex with six (!) children, and a dog. So we got out our own camping gear, and joined some of the children and the dog on the floor. This family became good friends, and we enjoyed many a pleasant time with them in the next two years. John Rex became a Presbyterian pastor after graduting from Fuller.
Soon the second year of school began. As a second year student, my new title was "Middler." I had courses in advanced Greek, and began the study of Hebrew, a very tough language. With a full schedule of classes, and my continuing work at the library, we were very busy. Jane did some child care work, to provide extra income.
I learned, soon after classes began, that another student was looking for someone to help him pastor a little church, Museum Heights Community Church. The location was in the foothills between Pasadena and Los Angeles, about fifteen miles from where we lived. I found the student, a senior, working at a parking lot, and we hit it off very well. Wilfred Naujoks was a German national, a son of Salvation Army workers in Hamburg, and had come to the United States to study for the ministry or missionary service. He was one great fellow to work with. He had been forced to serve in Hitler’s Youth Corp during the World War II.
The church we served was a tiny little non-denominational group that met in a hall above a liquor store. Used Saturday nights for dances, the hall had to be cleaned and swept each Sunday when we arrived. We threw out dozens of empty bottles and other debris from the partying of the night before, preparing the room for Sunday School and worship. Sheets strung on wires served to provide a measure of privacy for the bathroom stool and wash basin. Wilfred had a fine wife, Carolyn, whom he had met while attending a Bible School in the New England area. They had one small daughter, Karen.
Wilfred drove a new Volkswagen van, the first one I had seen. We usually rode back and forth with them to the church, as the van could carry both our families easily. Sometimes on week nights Wilfred and I went calling on homes in the neighborhood of the church, especially Sunday School families, trying to help people to know the Lord. Driving around the hills of the neighborhood, we saw coyotes, coons, and possums.
We took turns preaching on Sundays. When Wilfred was to preach, I taught the adult Sunday School class, composed of about six or eight women and, sometimes a couple of men. When I had the sermon Wilfred taught the class. It was great experience in every way. We still keep in touch with one family from that little church. The tiny compensation given us barely paid for the gasoline used in driving to and from our homes. We worked together in that little church until the spring of 1958, and then found two other students to carry on the work. Sadly, the church dissolved not long after we left Pasadena, largely because the leading families desired to have their children in a larger church.
My work load was very heavy, especially the study of Hebrew, which is one difficult language. Of course, I didn't really master it, at all. We did manage to translate the whole book of Esther in class, and found that a good way to sample the language and grammar. I was working 25 to 30 hours per week, and money was scarce. Yet it was in this 2nd year of seminary that we became good friends with some wonderful people. We seminary students freely shared what we had, plain food and good fellowship, even clothing, with anyone in need. We often had big pot-luck dinners together.
Also, Jane and the children and I did some "touring" of the area. We visited Mt. Wilson and Mt. Palomar observatories, and the nearby beaches when we had a little time on a Sunday afternoon or a holiday. Jane was active in the seminary wives' organization, and that helped her to get acquainted with other young women. We were older than most of the students. I was actually a year or so older than the president of the seminary, Dr. Carnell! The year went very quickly.
In the spring of 1956 I had purchased a Japanese 35mm camera, and took a few pictures that second year in school. Now that camera came in might handy! In oneChristian education class, Jim Dyer, a fellow student and a fine artist, and I teamed up on a project. Jim did a series of simple paintings of the missionary journeys of Paul. Jim did the art work, and assisted me in taking the slides of his pictures and maps. I composed the narrative, and recorded it on tape. It was a pretty good production (at least we received good grades on it), and I used it a few times in churches in later years. We each had a copy of the booklet and slides.
Perhaps my most interesting class was one on preaching. We studied many famous sermons, and also had to present short sermons in class, subject to very detailed criticism--of the message, the language used, gestures, facial expression, etc. It was very helpful experience!
David became a paper-boy that year, equipped with a good bicycle. We often had to help him with the heavy Sunday papers, and on rainy days. We also purchased a used bike for Jane and one for Mary. Sometimes we all rode our bikes together on a Sunday afternoon. I carried Martha, still pretty small, in the front basket on my bike.
School was over by the middle of May, in 1957, and I at once looked for a fulltime job for the summer. I was fortunate in having had such good experience with the Bureau of Reclamation. I walked into the U.S.Civil Service Commission branch office in Pasadena one morning, looking for work. I’m sure by God’s arranging, a representative from the Army was there in the office looking for a management analyst to do the same sort of organizational studies I had done with the Bureau. Because I had "permanent status" with the U.S. Civil Service,(that is, I could be rehired without examination) by afternoon I had an excellent short term job with the U. S. Army!
I worked for the Army for about three and half months, quitting in early September. The Army office was only three miles from our apartment, so I rode my bike to and from work most days. I took my lunch and rain gear, when rain threatened. The work was difficult, as is often the case. People don't like an "efficiency expert" poking around, asking lots of questions why they do something this way, instead of that. I was first assigned to do a thorough study of the Inspection Department. I ran into considerable opposition, but came up with a good plan for reorganization of the Inspection department, that saved the government an estimated $10,000 per month in working time and car mileage. I presented that plan before the Commanding Officer and, of course, the Major in charge of the unit, and his assistants. The CO gave his approval to my plan. The Major in charge of Inspection claimed he got stomach ulcers over that. I wasn’t there long enough to see how well the plan was carried out. I also did a study of the Civilian Personnel Office, and was able to give some help to the newly appointed Personnel Officer in developing a good team. My experience during the war helped me greatly in those studies. I had learned a lot about inspection in the aircraft manufacturing plants and also knew the Civil Service rules pretty well.
I was free on weekends, except for serving the little church. We went on lots of picnics that summer. Over Memorial Day we went to a public beach near Santa Barbara, and camped for a couple nights with two other couples. That was fun. Jim Dyer, our artist friend, made some beautiful watercolor paintings of the pier, the flowers, and clouds. I envied his skill, and wished I could paint!
Late in the summer, just before school began, we went on a week-long camping trip with the Lowes, our Chinese friends, who had never been camping before. We drove across the Mohave desert, and up the east side of the Sierras, and into Yosemite National Park. The first night, in that high country, we about froze! Water left in our washpan froze solid! All of us were cold in the night, but the morning sun was warm, and we soon were cheerful. On the second day in the park we drove down to the lower, west side area. There we found a grand place to set up our tents, right by the horse corral! At least the children all thought it was ideal though Jane was not in complete agreement on that! Martha had a pony ride after convincing us that she wasn’t too little, and one morning David and I took a trail ride with a large group. Our mean horses did their best to rub our legs against trees and rocks all the way!
We all needed to get back to Pasadena soon--the Lowes to their thriving business, and I to my third year at Seminary. We left Yosemite Park on the Friday night before Labor Day weekend, planning to camp one last night at Grand Sur beach, on the ocean. We had forgotten that many folks would be out camping that weekend. We found all the campgrounds jammed full, so we decided to just drive on home to Pasadena.
We arrived about one o’clock in the morning, to again find our house full of people! As in 1956, we had left our keys at the seminary office, so that any incoming students needing housing for a few days could have a free place to stay while looking for housing. This time it was the Ray Andersons, with their three children and a dog. Ray was from South Dakota, a farmer who had felt called to leave the land and prepare for Christian service. So we dug out our sleeping bags and mattresses, and bedded down on the floor with some of the Anderson children and the dog. Again we thus became acquinted with people who became good friends. Ray went on to get his Doctorate, and later returned to Fuller Seminary to become a professor and then head of a department.
We spent the next few days getting settled in again. I went back to my job at the library, and David to his paper route. Summer of 1957 was over--a great one!

FIRST YEAR AS A SEMINARY STUDENT
The good people at the Region 6 Bureau of Reclamation office, and some from the Yellowstone District office, where I had worked years before, gave me a fine send-off, though few understood just why I was making such a change. Their major gift to me was a big leather briefcase, which turned out to be a most practical gift. I used it for many years. While in seminary, I carried 15-20 pounds of books to and from school each day--a regular library--in that briefcase!
Finally the time came for us to leave Billings. The U-Haul trailer was heavily loaded, as was our car. Despite having to pull the heavy U-Haul trailer, the little Chevy ran well. We had no problems at all until we arrived in the area of South Pass, in Wyoming. There our heavily loaded trailer proved to be almost too much for the Chevy--not going up hill, but down! The trailer weighed about as much as the car, and it depended solely on the car brakes.
Beginning a long downward grade, I failed to shift down to low gear. As a result, our speed quickly increased until we were travelling far too fast. In those days cars didn't have synchromesh transmissions, so it was impossible to shift down at our speed, though I desperately wanted to. I tried "double clutching," and racing the motor, but I couldn't shift down. We soon were weaving all over the road! Somehow we managed to stay on the pavement. I was shaking like a leaf when we finally coasted to a stop at the next level area! Surely the Lord was watching over us!
Going up the long grades wasn't too bad, though we crawled along for miles in low gear, with the temperature indicator showing that the radiator was boiling. However, we didn't lose a drop of water, despite the warning signals. The old car was doing very well. We stayed our first night in Lander, Wyoming, and were in Salt Lake City the second night. We had heard much about Salt Lake and the Mormons, and were curious to see their temple and tabernacle. So we drove right up the beautiful wide main street leading to the temple grounds, pulling our big orange-colored trailer behind us. It was late in the evening, so we didn't linger, not even long enough to take any pictures. We found a low-priced motel in which we stayed the night,and were on our way early the next morning.
As I recall, the next day was a long, hot day of travel. We finally came to the outskirts of Las Vegas late at night, almost midnight. We needed to buy gasoline, and were all very tired, but thought we should not stay in such a wicked place! (Yes, we were that concerned about acting as Christians!) After reluctantly buying gas, we drove on out into the desert, heading toward Los Angeles. About one o'clock in the morning I was too weary to go any farther. The on-coming traffic was scary--a solid line of cars heading for Vegas. There were no towns, no place we could see on the map where we might find any lodging. So we just drove off the road a little way in a flat area, and tried to sleep stretched out on blankets on the ground. We didn't get much sleep, as the traffic continued heavy all night--zoom, zoom, zoom--cars and big trucks passing us.
After getting a few hours' rest, we drove on into California, down through Barstow, I think it was, and on to Pasadena. None of us had ever been in southern California before, and we were curious to see what it looked like. After getting out of the desert area, we saw many groves of olive and orange trees, and stopped at a fruit stand to buy some oranges. Finally, well out on the east side of Pasadena, we stopped at a motel. I parked the loaded trailer out behind the motel, and we got some good rest and food.
The next day we began apartment hunting in earnest. We bought news papers, and searched through the listings of the places available. We were looking for something reasonably close to the seminary, but also inexpensive, as we knew we had to be careful, as our savings wouldn't last long. I hoped to walk or possibly ride a bike to school each day, to save on gasoline and time. We also explored the city. We found the seminary and left word at the reception desk that our household goods would be coming in by truck in a few days. I desperately hoped to find suitable housing before that date, to avoid storage charges for the furniture.
Our search went on for several days. Each day we noticed one particular ad in the paper--an apartment at 545 North Madison, only half a mile or so from the school. Thinking that such a place would surely have rented quickly, we didn't even go to look at it. We were earnestly praying for the Lord's help in finding a place. Then one day we happened to be on North Madison, nearly across the street from the place that we had seen advertised. We had looked at several apartments, but had not found anything we thought adequate, or that we could afford. Noticing the address, I thought we at least ought to go over and ask if the place at 545 Madison were still available. Well--we found that the apartment was the ground floor of a large house, with two bedrooms. An airy garage stood out back. There was even a place for our washer and dryer out on the back porch. Best, the place rented for only $85 per month! That was well within our price range. Also, we learned that although the ad had been running for a week or more, we were the very first to inquire about it! The Lord had been reserving it for us--an answer to our prayers! Of course, we took it, and were very thankful. We lived there through the three years I was in school, and found it a fine home, convenient to the school, stores, and churches. Since our shipment of household goods had not yet arrived, I immediately left our new address at the front desk at the seminary. I asked that the truck driver be instructed to bring the stuff directly to North Madison. But when the van arrived in Pasadena, the driver phoned the seminary, and his call was transferred to a professor whose name I will not mention. That gentleman, without making any effort to find out about us, told the driver he had never heard of me. He told the driver to put our stuff in storage. That cost us over $100!
Having rented a place to live, we returned to our motel. We quickly checked out, hitched up the U-Haul trailer, and spent that afternoon unloading the beds, tables, and other things that we had brought with us. These were the essentials for living until all our goods could be delivered. I remember having a very bad time that afternoon as we became acquainted with the famous Los Angeles smog. The smog was terribly thick, and I coughed and wheezed, and had trouble breathing. Finally the work was done, and the trailer returned to a nearby U-Haul dealer. After we learned that our things were in storage, they were delivered in a day or two. Classes at the seminary were about to begin. I quickly shopped for and bought a well-used English three-speed Indian bicycle, and learned how to ride it. I purchased and attached a wire basket on the handlebars, to carry my briefcase and other gear. Later, after riding that bike a few times on wet pavement, I added fenders, to avoid having the cold water spraying me fore and aft! I also purchased and installed a light and generator, for night riding. The local laws required such a light when riding a bicycle at night.
One of the first things we had to do was set up a bank account, cashing in our remaining travelers' checks and depositing our small savings. We had carried those savings in a certified check. At first the suspicious bank officer refused to accept even the certified check from the Billings bank, or the travelers' checks! We had to wait a few days while they carefully verified the checks! Disgusted with that attitude, I later changed banks!
On registering at the seminary, I learned that I must attend a week-end orientation retreat for new students, before classes began. It was held at a resort several miles from Pasadena. That meant that I must leave Jane alone with the children for two or three days. The orientation was great, with good speakers, opportunities to get acquainted with several professors, and much good food. For recreation, we went swimming one afternoon in the Pacific ocean, in a chilly breeze, with rough surf rolling in. It was a "learning" experience for me! Soon after I returned from the retreat, Martha, and then Mary, suddenly became ill. We had to take them both to a hospital, where we found they were seriously dehydrated. They soon recovered after intravenous feeding and other treatment. We had no medical insurance, so were hit hard by the hospital and doctor bills.
At last classes began. Mary and David enrolled in a nearby elementary school. Mary was fortunate to have a fine Christian lady as her teacher. Martha was too young to go to school. Caring for her at home kept Jane busy. I immediately plunged into a tough course of study. Because I had not had Greek in college, I had to take beginning Greek, five days a week, without credit! That was one of my toughest courses that first year. The school felt that an entering student should have had Greek well in hand before starting. I had lots of company, as most of the men and women in my class had not studied it previously, either. That was a good course, though it took a lot of time. I frankly do not remember what other courses I had, though my transcript contains the record. Everything was new and challenging, and very interesting.
Attending graduate school was different from anything I had experienced before, even my graduate study at the University of Montana. The seminary had very strict requirements regarding the preparation of papers. The professors required literally dozens of research papers, two or three in each course each quarter. Surprise quizes, and scheduled written exams were common. Also, one had to maintain a grade average of "B" or better, to receive credit!
Oh--I forgot to mention getting a job. We had to have some income to avoid using all our savings in the first year. I asked around, and learned that the Pasadena public library was hiring clerks. I went to city hall (a beautiful, impressive building) and was given a standard typing test. I asked the young lady giving the test how fast one needed to type, to qualify, and she said she thought about 50 words a minute would do. I had no trouble typing at that rate. The result--I had a part-time job beginning immediately, at a branch library up in Altadena. The library was more than two miles away from our home. My tight schedule did not allow my struggling up hill those two miles by bicycle, so I had to drive the car to work. We needed income requiring about 25 hours of work per week.
I worked in that branch library several weeks, usually putting in 10 or 12 hours on Saturdays. Then I transferred to a similar position at the main library, about a mile from our apartment. That was much more convenient. Here I worked in various jobs, receiving and checking in returned books, issuing books, shelving, and working the telephone switchboard some evenings. That particular assignment sometimes gave me an opportunity to study, as there were few calls in the evenings.
I worked in that clerical job at the library all three years I was in seminary, working 25 to 40 hours per week. I had a difficult time with all those hours of work, beside keeping up with my studies and family activities. I also missed the casual meetings many students enjoyed, talking at length with professors, and so on. I still don't know how we managed, though I know I often studied until long after midnight, and missed hours of needed sleep! My study space was at a small desk in our bedroom, with a desk lamp for lighting. Jane tried to sleep while I studied. My eyes were very good in those days, though by the time I left seminary I needed glasses. I blamed the poor lighting.
One of the greatest blessings of attending seminary, beside the interesting studies, was the daily chapel service. We had many excellent speakers, including Dr. Charles Fuller of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour, and founder of the seminary; Dr. Harold John Ockenga; Billy Graham, and other well-known Christian leaders.
Of course we looked for a good church to attend, as soon as we had gotten settled in our apartment. The first Sunday we went to Lake Avenue Congregational Church, since we had heard that it was a fine one. We liked it, though it was huge, and somewhat impersonal. The adult Sunday School class Jane and I attended had three hundred or more people attending that Sunday!
We went home after church, and had just finished dinner when we had company--a young couple from Lake Avenue church, following up the morning's visitors. Though we thought that was a great church, we decided to attend the Evangelical Covenant Church, within walking distance of our home. We enjoyed the preaching and Sunday School there. Several other seminary students and their wives were active at that church, too. We soon became acquainted with many fine people in the Covenant church, and felt right at home. We attended there regularly through my first year at seminary, and left only because I began helping co-pastor a little church in Los Angeles in my second year.
Among our new friends in the Covenant church were Eugene and Virginia Lowe, a Chinese couple who had three small children. They helped run a family business, and have been great, faithful friends ever since. They invited us to their home several times, including New Year's Day in 1956. We watched the Rose Parade with them, from a stand only a block from their home. Their house was crowded that day, after the parade, with dozens of Chinese relatives. We were the only "whities" in the big family crowd. We have had the same experience several times since then, as they often took us to exclusive Chinese eating places. As with many lots in Pasadena, there were two houses on the lot where our house was located. The small dwelling placed at the back of the lot housed a Jewish family, a lady with two or three children.
They were really good people. Martha played often with the youngest boy, and they had good times together. One morning they had been playing in the back yard, and came running in together announcing that the garage roof was on fire! A quick look verified the truth of their statement--it really was on fire! We called the fire department, and I quickly moved our Chevy out of the way. Within minutes the fire department was there, to put out the fire. There was very little damage. How did it get started? The children had been lighting matches and tossing them up on the roof, just for fun! Firebugs! Martha was only three at the time. That Jewish family lived there for the first two years we had the apartment. We found very interesting their thorough efforts to remove all leavening from their house in preparation for Passover. The mother and daughter scrubbed every corner!
Next door to us, on either side, were two families with many children. The Neideringhouse family to the south of our house had several children, with the mother, a single parent, taking care of them. Our children played with the children. On the other side of us, the family (whose name I can't recall), had two or three terribly dirty little youngsters who played barefoot most of the time. One day one of their little girls cut her foot seriously on a broken bottle in their yard, and came over for me to give first aid. Her mother wasn't home. The foot was bleeding heavily, but was so dirty I felt I must wash it before trying to put on tape to hold the cut together.
Right in the midst of my first aid efforts, the mother, a colossal fat lady, came home. She jerked the child away to take her to a doctor, and never said a word of thanks for our trying to help. That was a strange family, and we were never close friends with them. The lady had a most infectious laugh, that could be heard a block away.
Despite my grueling study and work schedule, and attending affairs at the church, I found time to sing in the seminary chorus. We had a fine conductor, and took part in televised broadcasts that winter, with Dr. Charles Fuller and the choir of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour. Jane, the children, and I sometimes drove down to Long Beach on Sunday afternoon, to attend the radio broadcasting service of the Revival Hour. That was a great privilege!
A month or two before the end of the school year, we received a letter from Dick Gustafson, the American Sunday School Union worker in Great Falls, Montana. He asked whether we would be available to help him with vacation Bible Schools and summer camp in June and July. My sister, Jean, invited us to stay at her house that summer. We accepted quickly! We arranged to keep our apartment rented. Then we went to a cut-rate sporting goods store, and bought a heavy umbrella tent, a camp stove, and light-weight sleeping bags and air mattresses. The cost of the whole outfit was much less than we might have spent at motels on the way to and from Montana. We planned to camp along the way, both going to Montana, and returning in August.
Final exams were soon over, and we locked up the apartment. We left the apartment key at the seminary office, telling them to let some needy incoming seminary student family use the apartment if such a need came up. Then we were on our way. We had purchased a little one-wheeled trailer to pull behind the Chevy, loaded with our camping gear and clothing for the summer.
That was a fun trip! We camped the first night at Lake Mead, above Hoover (or Boulder) Dam. We got along well with our new tent and equipment, though we found the sleeping bags far too warm. The following day we toured Zion National Park, and stayed in a campground in Bryce Canyon National Park. Highlight (or low point) of that night's camping was when Jane and the girls got lost in the big campground. David and I had a time finding them.
Next day we went on into Yellowstone Park--and back into winter. Heavy snow lay along the roads, and in the timber. We rented a cabin at Old Faithful Geyser Campground, and nearly froze despite having a fire in the little wood-burning stove. We saw many wild animals, and I got a few pictures. We spent one night in Billings, with friends, and then went on to Jean's farm sixteen miles west of Big Sandy.
Without going into details, we had a grand summer. Jane and I conducted six Vacation Bible schools, and we spent a week working at the youth camp in the mountains near Lewistown. We ate too much, but enjoyed the work with the farm children. With only a few exceptions, they were all well-behaved, and appreciated what we were doing. I got to "preach" at the closing exercises after each school, and sometimes at Kenilworth Sunday School, near Jean's. Life at Jean's was somewhat hectic, since beside our five she had my sister, Mary, and her daughter Pam; my father; Judy Eckles, a Bible student from Canada; and Jean's own family. We literally ate in shifts. Jean was very busy, running the big farm, making frequent trips to town for groceries and supplies, and managing the household. I found some spare time evenings and some weekends. One day we found a rattle snake near the front porch of the house; I shot it. Jane and I spent one week working at a Conservative Baptist summer camp for ministers and their wives, up in the Big Horn mountains of Wyoming. There we helped some old friends from the Montana Institute of the Bible, who were doing the cooking and maintenance of the camp.
After the summer Bible camp, Jean, her daughter, Faith, Jane, Martha, and I went camping for a few days in Glacier National Park. We had a great time together. When we returned we found that not everything was well at the farm. While doing haying, the children had managed to either fall off a load of hay, or had turned the hayrack over--I don't remember which. More serious, Jean's son, Dave, and our David had been out shooting gophers, and Dave shot himself through the foot! They had taken him to town to the doctor, but the wound gave no trouble, as no bones had been touched.
Near the end of August we packed up and headed back to Pasadena and school. More about that in the next blog!

LIFE-CHANGING CHOICES

LIFE CHANGING CHOICES!
It seemed good, in the spring of 1951, to be returning to Billings and the northwest. This is not to say that we hadn't enjoyed our stay in Nebraska. While living there it had been much easier to get to Jane's home for visits, and the work had been interesting. But I am a devoted Montanan, and wanted to live in my home state again.
The government picked up the tab for our move, which was again officially "for the convenience of the government." The Bureau of Reclamation crew at Indianola did most of our packing and loading. All we had to do was take our personal things needed for the trip. Off we went.
We had been forewarned that there would be no Bureau housing available for us. So we went to a motel, a very small and simple one, just a few blocks from the Region 6 office where I would be working. We lived in that motel two or three weeks, and then learned of a family that was looking for reliable house-sitters. We went to see them, and arranged to live in their very nice house for a couple months. We were to take care of the lawn and yard, keep the house clean, and, of course, pay for our own utilities.
While we were living in that fine home, David was learning to ride a bicycle. A little neighbor boy of about his age was willing to let David learn on his bike. David was not quite five years old, but fearless. He had a lot of help from me, trotting along behind him, holding onto the seat to keep him from tumbling. As soon as he had learned to balance fairly well, he took off on his own. He took many falls, but kept on trying.
Meanwhile, we were house-hunting. The new position I had paid well, and we were sure we could afford to buy a house. We found one, partially completed, and signed the contract for it. It was a bit small, only 970 square feet, or something like that, but we thought it would do us for the moment. The cost: $12,500! That was for the lot, and a brand-new house with attached single garage. Of course, we had to put in the lawn and trees, and fence the back yard. The land had formerly been part of an alfalfa field, and the soil was rich. Oh--something quite new to us--the gas furnace was in the attic; there was no basement. We bought the house under the provisions of the GI bill, so the monthly payments were low, less than $100 per month.
We moved into the new house in June, and I put in a garden, and lawn. The house was about two miles from the office, so I had to drive back and forth. Other Bureau people lived near us, so I sometimes shared rides with them. Most of our neighbors were very civil and friendly people.
In those days power lawn mowers were almost unheard of, so I bought a new push type reel mower. We had a dandy lawn all the time we lived there. I put in a strawberry bed, too, which did well, and planted some rhubarb out near the alley. A little honeysuckle shoot set out by our bed-room window grew quickly into a fine bush. When in bloom, the fragrance was great. We lived in that house, at 1611 West Yellowstone, until 1955, just a little over four years. Of course, while we were getting settled down, I was busy at my new job. At first I worked as assistant to the Regional Classification Officer, Betty McDonald, the lady who had asked for my transfer. She was a good instructor, and I learned a lot from her. I worked both on the classification of positions (deciding what title, grade, and pay rate was appropriate, based on the duties) and on the preparation of wage scales for our "bluecollar" construction and maintenance workers in Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas..
That part of the job was the most interesting, as I made many road trips, collecting wage data from contractors and large operating and maintenance organizations. We developed a wage scale accepted by all the federal agencies, and also some state and county agencies in our four-state region. That wage scale had to be reviewed at least annually, and was always a touchy matter.
The work took me out to the construction sites and maintenance operations of the region--clear over into the Dakotas, and down into Wyoming. The Bureau had many operating projects in all four states, and was also building a small dam near Devil's Tower, Wyoming--a very remote site. Much of my travel was with Bill Snyder, the Bureau pilot, in either the single-engined, or twin-engined planes he flew.
Only a few months after I came into the job, Betty left as she had planned to do, and I was promoted to her position, that of Regional Position Classifier, at GS-11. This was a middle management rank in the Federal civil service at that time. Journeyman level for engineers, economists, geologists, and other professional fields was GS-9. I was very fortunate!
With the new job, I made several visits to the district offices and to the field jobs, and quickly became acquainted with many fine men, specialists in all sorts of work. I got along as well as one could expect with such a wide variety of people. My boss, Howard Watts, was good to work for, and we men in the personnel office had many good fishing and hunting trips together. Also, now being close to my sister Jean's home, we frequently went there to visit, at Christmas and other times. We also saw my parents more frequently, though that was a considerable drive from Billings to Glasgow--about 350 miles.
As I have already mentioned in an earlier chapter, during the years while we lived in Nebraska, and now in Billings, my sister Jean wrote frequent and long letters, urging us to become Christians. We thought we were--weren’t we active in the Methodist church? I was very self-righteous, and thought I didn't need anything at all.
As I described previously, on the Friday after Labor Day, 1952, I made the life-changing decision to trust in Jesus Christ as my personal savior. We continued to attend the Methodist Church for a time, thinking that we could change things there, and bring people around to trusting in Jesus. However, after the pastor publicly belittled the blood of Jesus one Sunday, we began to attend the Church of the Air, an independent church with a daily radio broadcast. We learned a great deal about the Bible and Christianity there and in the home Bible study group. Our leaving the Methodist Church disappointed my mother. I think she never really understood our action. That winter I directed the choir in a little independent church in Laurel, 16 miles west of Billings. I also helped with daily services at the Salvation Army mission for transients in Billings. I sometimes went to the mission alone, though I was very green at the business of preaching. I often sang an old hymn or two, before speaking, trying to get the men to respond to the Gospel.
Those first attempts at leading a service were doubly difficult because of the horrible atmosphere provided for the services. The Salvation Army made no attempt to conduct evangelistic services. The many transients were housed in a damp, dark basement, equipped with double bunk beds. The latrine had a wide, open door, and the lighting was very weak. I stood in the doorway of the latrine to sing and speak, with men coming and going past me, often walking right in front of me. The men who cared to listen sat on a bench about ten feet away, facing me.
Because I felt that music was important--and partly because I was very much interested in sound recording at that time--we invested in one of the earliest tape recorders placed on the market. It was a Pentron, using the large reels of tape. I had Jeannette Sedlak, a fine pianist and member of our Friday Bible study group, help me record the piano accompaniment for several hymns and some solos, and used that machine to provide the background music. That helped a little bit, though not much. More of the men showed some interest in listening to the service. I did see a few decisions made, some of them very firm, with men's lives changed completely.
When the Salvation Army saw what success we were having down in the basement, they made a little chapel available to us, and even provided a piano. At the Church of the Air Jane and I enjoyed the fine Bible teaching and preaching.
Biggest event of early fall of 1953 was the birth of our daughter, Martha, on September 23rd. Everything went well with her birth. Jane's mother came up and helped again. Again we had a fine little one in our household.
In the fall of 1953 I was invited to join the radio choir, at the church, helping with the music for daily half-hour radio broadcasts over a local station. That was good, and I was intensely interested in the work. We rehearsed and recorded the broadcasts on two afternoons a week. I had to leave work early, and the recording took until six or later in the evening. Also we often formed groups from the church to go to nursing homes, and to the local jail to sing and speak. Both Jane and I passed out many tracts in those days.
Early in the fall of 1953, Jean's husband, Wayne, decided he would like to go deer hunting with me. He came down to the area near Harlowton, Montana, and met me on a ranch there. We had a good camping and hunting expedition, though Wayne didn't get a deer. Just a couple weeks later, Jean called one morning, saying that Wayne had fallen from a ladder while painting their barn, and was in a coma at the hospital in Havre. Two days later she called again--Wayne had died!
We went up to their town of Big Sandy for the funeral, leaving the older children in Billings with a friend. On the way we wondered what in the world we could say to Jean. She was now left alone with a big wheat farm and five children, one a baby just a few weeks older than our Martha. We hadn't decided when we arrived. Then on our way into the house we saw on the blackboard in their back porch the words Jean had written: "Rejoice in the Lord, always, and again I say, rejoice." Jean demonstrated the life of a true Christian during those very difficult days.
The big funeral was held in the high school auditorium in Big Sandy, because of the large crowd that was expected. It was a very sad time for all of us. Because of my mother's serious condition, she was not told of Wayne's death. We knew that it could only hurt her.
I haven't mentioned before that Jane's father passed away in 1947 or 48. Now it was my turn to lose a parent. My mother had been suffering from cancer for two or three years. She had a series of operations, the last one done in Great Falls. The last time I saw her was there, in midsummer, in the hospital. She went back home, dreadfully ill. Aunt Eckie, one of her sisters who lived in Wisconsin, came out and helped take care of her in her last days. Mom asked that we children not come to visit her, because of the condition she was in, so none of us went. How often since I've wished that we had gone, despite her request!
About three weeks after Wayne left us, Dad called one morning to tell us it was all over--Mother was gone. Again we set off, going by way of Jean's to take her and her baby, Faith, with us to Glasgow to the funeral. Robert came, too. Our sister Mary, ill with multiple sclerosis, and living at Jean's, was unable to make the trip. The big funeral was held in the old Methodist Church, where Mom and Dad had been so active for many years. It was a cold, miserable day, as I recall, and the time at the graveside was especially difficult. I was shivering so hard I could scarcely stand.
Afterward we went back to the church for a dinner provided by the women of the church. Several of our former school teachers and old neighbors from the homestead years were there, and that helped a lot. Dad was greatly distressed, naturally. A short time later he sold their little house, and went to live at Jean's. There he was a big help to her, raising chickens, and taking care of the livestock. We went back home to Billings, and then came back to spend Christmas with Jean and the children. We went again in 1954. We still have some photos I took that Christmas of 1953, and a fine stockman's pocket knife that Jean's boys gave me as a gift.
Another special event took place in late 1953. The Regional Administrative Officer asked me to move out of Personnel, and become a part of the Regional Director's staff. My new job title was "Organization and Methods Examiner," still at GS-11. Earlier I had passed up an offer to move to Washington, D.C., as a GS-12 in personnel work, simply because I didn't want to leave Montana. My new work was more difficult in some ways. I attended all regional staff meetings, and wrote up the minutes of those meetings, and the instructions given by the Regional Director to his district administrators and staff people. I shared an office with the Regional Information Officer, and we became good friends. Also, I now was assigned a secretary. I worked very closely with the Regional Administrative Officer and the Assistant Regional Director. One of my jobs was to go to the district offices and construction projects to advise on staffing patterns and organizations. One study I made was in the District Office in Bismarck, North Dakota, overhauling their whole central filing system. It was good experience!
Not all my recommendations were popular, of course, and in some ways I missed the work in personnel. Howard Watts, my former supervisor, moved to Washington, D.C., to the Postal Department, in 1954. I still fished and hunted with the men in personnel. Those were good years! I won't try to tell of my hobby of shooting and other activities! I know now that I spent an unreasonable time in those matters, not helping with the family as I should have done. In the spring of 1955, while much involved in work at the church, at the Salvation Army mission, and taking courses at the new Billings Bible Institute, a new thing entered my life. I was enjoying helping with the preaching at the mission, and on one occasion, had preached at a small Free Methodist Church in Billings.
On Easter morning, while helping with the dishes, I had tuned in the local Christian radio station. It was then I heard, for the very first time, a reference to Fuller Theological Seminary, founded by Dr. Charles Fuller of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour. We often listened to that radio broadcast. Later that morning, at our church worship service, a retired missionary, Mr. Huber, said to me suddenly: "John, I think you should go to seminary." We didn't discuss it, but that was the second time that day I had heard the word "seminary."
We had a guest for dinner some weeks later, Dick Gustafson, the American Sunday School Union Missionary for central Montana, a good friend of my sister, Jean. Dick suddenly said: "John, I think you should go to Fuller Seminary." After he had gone, we talked about it, and I did a lot of praying. After a few days I came to the conclusion that God wanted me to go to school, to prepare for missionary service.
Accordingly, I wrote to Fuller Seminary, received their literature, and began to make plans to leave my job and go to Pasadena in the fall. When I applied to the school, a condition was laid down for my acceptance. I must study widely in the field of philosophy, as I had very little background in that area in my college studies. All summer I read heavy books about the different schools of philosophy, and philosophical theory. I don't think it helped very much, but I boned up on it, anyway.
In August I announced at the office my decision to resign and go back to school. Many with whom I worked thought I had really flipped! It was beyond their experience that anyone would give up a good job like mine, to become a missionary. It gave me a great opportunity to talk about my faith in Christ with my supervisor, Bill, who was a faithful Catholic.
The time passed quickly. We advertised our home for sale, and at the last minute sold it, though at a considerable loss. We paid off the mortgage, leaving us only a small remainder, much less than we had counted on having. I also withdrew all my retirement savings, a good sum. As difficult as anything for me was selling my precious Mauser rifle that had given me so much pleasure. We sold many precious things. Then we rented a U-Haul trailer actually larger than our little old Chevy car, and loaded up for our big move.
This was a tremendous change for us. It was not a mere mid-life crisis, but a completely new start, seeking to be obedient to God. I knew that the way would not be easy, and that I would have to work while going to school, but didn't mind that. I had worked hard while going to school in the past, though then I didn't have a family to support. In early September of 1955 we were on our way to Pasadena California, so I could attend Fuller Theological Seminary. Three difficult and wonderful years lay ahead of us! We fully trusted that God would see us through.

GETTING STARTED IN A NEW CAREER
Our decision to leave the University of Montana, and my half-completed work toward a Master's degree in personnel administration, and to return to the working world, seemed forced upon us by our financial situation. Our savings were nearly all gone, and the income from my position as Graduate Assistant was inadequate to keep us in groceries. It simply didn't occur to me to borrow money to continue in school to complete my Master's degree. The only thing to do was to go to work. As I related in my previous chapter, I had several good job offers, and decided to go back to work for the Bureau of Reclamation, this time in Billings.
So. . . .we packed up and made our move. We drove to Billings, of course, in our "new" 1936 Plymouth sedan. We had sold decrepit "Mabel," the Ford roadster, because the top was badly worn, and it was too small and cold for a family car. This Plymouth car had a new 1946 straight six engine, and was in good shape. It was a good car, though always difficult to start in cold weather.
The trip to Billings was fun, generally speaking. David was just short of two years old, was already talking a lot, and was very knowledgeable about cars and tractors. I had spent many hours looking through magazines with him, and pointing out the ads for Fords, Dodges, and different makes of cars and tractors advertised in the Saturday Evening Post. On this trip David displayed what he had learned. He would see a car approaching, and tell me what make of car it was long before it reached us! He was correct nearly every time! Also, he identified tractors as John Deere's or Cases,etc., working in fields at some distance from the highway.
We arrived in Billings late in the day, and took lodging in a low-priced motel on the east side of Billings. Next day, reporting to the office, I found that the Bureau did not have living space available for us right then, though that had been promised. The result was that we stayed in that little motel for a month or more. The Bureau had paid for our moving expenses, and put our household goods in storage for us. Soon after our arrival, and while we were living in that motel, David became ill. That gave us much concern, as we didn't know any doctors there. He recovered quickly, however.
The location far from the office wasn't all bad, for we were near open range country to the south of us. I soon explored that area in my spare time, and found great places to hike and shoot. I spent many hours out there in the next few years. My new job was in the Yellowstone District Office of the Bureau of Reclamation, one of five districts in Region 6. Region 6 included the state of Montana, the northern half of Wyoming, and the Dakotas. Yellowstone District extended from around Livingston, at the west end, down the whole of the Yellowstone and Missouri River valleys, the area including Fort Peck, to the North Dakota line. As I had worked at Fort Peck earlier, and done survey work along the lower Yellowstone, I felt quite at home. Billings was a pleasant, growing city, with many interesting facilities,and a generally good climate. We were very happy there.
I found the staff in the Yellowstone District Personnel Office fine people to work with. The personnel head was Ben Kleinbach, a strong Christian, and a good leader. My job was in position classification, something I knew a little about, though there was much to learn. I received good help from the position classification person, Betty McDonald, in the Region 6 office, just a few blocks away. Also very helpful was the District Administrative Officer, Frank Dorfler. Because of my successful passing of the entrance examination, I was starting at grade GS-5.
Most of my work was with paper, though I visited the various offices of the district, and occasionally made a field trip down the river or to Fort Peck. It was interesting work, and I liked it. One girl in the office was a former student in my economics class at the University, and we often chatted about her studies. In the economics class she had been much more interested in boys than in the law of supply and demand.
After about a month of motel living, the Bureau had a small duplex available for us, in the Bureau housing project. This was a two-block long double string of log houses, mostly duplexes, built by the Bureau to house employees. Though our assigned space was small, it was adequate. I was now much closer to the office, and that saved time and gasoline. Now we met many new friends and neighbors. My supervisor, Ben, and his family lived just a couple doors from us. Ben was seeking a transfer to Alaska, which he undertook about a year later, after we had left Billings. One couple who lived near us, Bill and Noreen Snyder, became our close friends. Bill, a civil engineer, was employed by the Bureau as pilot of their planes, a single-engined Comanche (I think it was called) and a twin-engined airplane, a Beechcraft. That plane was made in the plant at Wichita, with which I was so familiar from my service days. He flew all around the region. In later years I often flew with him to outlying offices of the Region. His wife, Noreen, was a registered nurse. They had no children. She and Jane became fast friends.
David now had many children to play with. He was just two years old, and, we thought, could never get in trouble. He had been carefully instructed "don't fight, be nice." Jane heard him say that one day. But a few days later, when a little neighbor girl antagonized him in some way, he clobbered her on the head with a toy hoe, drawing blood!
Jane and I began to attend the Methodist Church, and I became involved in the choir that summer. Otherwise, I spent much of my spare time very selfishly, resuming my shooting activities at every opportunity. The area south of Billings provided many things interesting to me. A huge prairie dog town covered a roughly circular area two or three miles in diameter. The thick sandstone formations seen in Billings extended far south. I found huge sandstone caves supposedly once used by hunting Indians as shelter. Also there were interesting abandoned homestead buildings to prowl around, and to photograph. I often took the big rifle on my hikes, and carried a knapsack holding the heavy old Graflex camera.
I did a lot of reloading of shells for the 30-06 rifle that summer, both for shooting prairie dogs, and in preparation for the hunting season in the fall. The rifle was very accurate, but I learned that minor changes in loads (i.e., amount of powder used, and type of bullet) made significant changes in accuracy. Finally I settled on a heavy big game load, using 180 grain bullets at near maximum velocity, to be ready for deer, elk, and antelope hunting in the fall.
Antelope season came first. I had my permit well ahead of time, to shoot a buck antelope in an area north of Roundup, about 50 miles north of Billings. The day before the opening of the season I spent driving around through the area, to spot a likely place to hunt. Just about sundown I located a large herd of thirty or more, including several good bucks. I watched them until the sun went down, when they went out of sight in a coulee, and had, I was sure, bedded down for the night. The land wasn't posted, and it was right alongside the highway, so I could hunt there in the morning.
I went in to Roundup and had my supper in a cafe, then drove back out to a spot near where I had seen the herd. I planned to spend the night in the car, parked in the ditch along the road. It was dusk when I had undressed, down to my BVD's, and had my bedding all laid out in the back seat. I then got out of the car to do the necessary, slammed the door shut--and it locked! I was literally very much "out in the cold," in plain sight of the road (though there was no traffic), in a temperature just above freezing, and locked out of the car! A herd of curious yearling whiteface heifers had come up to the fence just behind me, to watch me in my efforts to get back into the car.
After some very shivery attempts, I pried open the trunk--the lock wasn't a very good one--to get the long jack handle. I then inserted that through the top of one car window, and after repeated efforts in the dusk, unlocked one front door. Boy, I was glad to get back inside! Getting into my makeshift bed, I finally got warmed up. The night was a frosty one, and I learned then how cold and miserable it can be trying to sleep in a car in cold weather.
Early next morning, with no breakfast, I dressed, took the rifle and binoculars (an ancient pair of World War I field artillery glasses) and went hunting. I had enough ammunition with me to start a small war, and carried my fine hunting knife. At first I couldn't spot the antelope herd, but after a bit I located them, still bedded down in a coulee about a mile away. I went back to the car, drove a mile down the highway, parked, and made my approach on foot and then crawling on my belly.
When I finally was in a good position for a prone shot, I checked the herd carefully, to locate the best buck. The one I selected was lying facing me, at about 200 yards. I aimed right at the center of his chest, and fired. The shot scared the herd, of course, and they scattered wildly. My buck just dropped his head, and never moved. It was a messy job dressing him out. While working at that, the herd came running past, very close, and one much larger buck almost ran over me! I hung the carcass of my buck on a fence post, to cool, while I went back to the car to eat some of the food I had brought.
I was home with my game early in the afternoon, very happy with my rifle and load. I took the antelope to a local butcher shop where they processed game meat, and after a few days we had a fine batch of antelope meat to eat. There was a problem with that, though, as Jane was pregnant again, suffering from morning sickness, and couldn't stand the smell of the wild meat cooking. Thus David and I ate most of it. Those loin steaks were simply terrific, we thought. Though I went hunting several times, I didn't manage to get either a deer or an elk that fall.
Back at the office, things were going very well. In December a phone call came from a Bureau office in Nebraska, inquiring whether I would be available for a job in personnel work in the western part of that state. I learned later than Betty McDonald, the lady in the Regional personnel office, had recommended me for the job. I would get a two-grade promotion. That looked like a good proposition, so I accepted the offer. We planned to move right after Christmas.
We spent Christmas with my sister, Jean, and her family, out near Big Sandy. I don't know just why we didn't go to Glasgow, where my parents lived. We had been there for a visit earlier in the fall. That Christmas at Jean's was the first of many that we would enjoy in the years to come. We left Billings the week after Christmas, driving the old Plymouth. The Bureau was taking care of our move--"for the convenience of the government." Our household stuff would be all installed for us when we arrived at Indianola, a little town in western Nebraska.
As you may have heard, the entire West suffered a terrible blizzard in the closing days of 1948 and into 1949. Whole trains were buried in the snow drifts in Wyoming and Nebraska. We started out right in the midst of that storm! No doubt it was very foolish to do that. Though the snow was heavy, we made good progress until we got to Buffalo, Wyoming. The town was just digging itself out a bit. Huge snowbanks lined the highway through the business section of the town, so that one couldn't even see the buildings from the road! We almost decided to stay there, the weather was so threatening. Instead, we closely followed a highway snowplow truck going south, and drove on to Denver, arriving late at night. We stayed with my brother Robert and his family for a couple of days.
Jane then took David with her, and went to Colorado Springs by train, to stay with her sister, Margaret, until I could come to take them to Indianola. Despite the severe storm, still raging, I drove on alone to Nebraska. I wanted very much to arrive at the new office on the date I had promised. That was a wild drive, and I often wished I hadn't started out. At times the drifts across the road were so high and thick I was sure I would be stalled. There was almost no traffic on the road. The car ran well, and I was warm enough in the closed sedan. Finally, late in the afternoon, I arrived at Indianola. I inquired in the little town for the location of the Bureau camp, and soon found it, about a mile from the town. My new boss, Struve Hering, gave me supper, and I stayed with them over night.
Next day I got partially settled in our assigned apartment. Our household goods had arrived OK, though they were still packed, of course. A small central gas heater provided heat for the whole unit. I spent the next few days becoming acquainted at the office, and getting started at my work. I had to park the car about a block from our front door, and that was inconvenient. Also, the car was very hard to start in the cold, stormy weather.
On the following Sunday morning, early, I started out to drive to Denver to meet Jane and David and bring them to our new home. I was also scheduled to visit the Region 7 office, our headquarters, while in Denver. The weather was cold and clear, though there was a stiff wind blowing, and some snow drifting. While getting ready to leave, I had heard on the radio a little prayer that went something like this: "Oh, God, give me the understanding to know that there are things I can change, and some things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference between them." I thought it interesting, and it stuck in my mind as I drove away from the camp.
Just a few miles down the road, the snow was drifting clear across the cut a highway snow plow had made in a huge snow drift. I couldn't see through the cut, but gunned the engine so as not to get stuck, just as I had done on my way out from Denver. I got nearly through when suddenly a large animal jumped into the road directly in front of me. I struck him broadside, and he came up over the hood. One of his feet broke the windshield, and gave me a good blow on the forehead. Then he went on over the roof of the car. One of his hoofs broke the left rear window, sending a long sharp sliver of glass through my overcoat and other clothing, causing a nasty scratch on my ribs. At almost the same instant, I felt another bump, but didn't know what that was.
The car didn’t swerve at all; I coasted on through the big cut (the motor had stopped) and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. I was surprised, as I looked around, to find that I had no serious injuries. Behind the car lay two big Missouri-type farm mules, as large as horses, both dead, one on one side of the road, and the second in the ditch on the other side. The radiator and hood of the car were literally molded tight around the engine block. Both headlights were gone, and the radiator fluid was pouring out. That car wasn't going anywhere that day!
I suppose I was somewhat in a state of shock. I am ashamed of what I did then, when I should have been grateful that I wasn't seriously injured. I remember shaking my fist in the air, and demanding of God why that had to happen to me! I was so self-righteous, I guess, it never occurred to me that I might have perhaps deserved trouble! That little prayer I mentioned earlier kept running through my mind, and I concluded that there was nothing much I could do about this situation!
Looking around, I spotted a farm house about a half mile away, and walked there through the deep snow. I found the family up, and about ready to leave to go to the town of McCook to church. While I was telling them about the accident, one youngster pulled the big sliver of glass out of my back, and it was only then I realized I was bleeding a bit under my clothing. The mules didn't belong to them, they said, but to a neighbor down the road a few miles. They gave me a ride to the nearby town of McCook. I had called the Highway Patrol from their house, and asked to have the car towed in to McCook, to the Plymouth garage there.
I then hitch-hiked a ride back to the Bureau camp, got an official car, and drove back to McCook. I left the car there, and caught a train in to Denver, got Jane and David, and we came back out by train a couple of days later. I was sore and stiff for a few days, but was thankful that I hadn't been badly injured. Foolishly, I had the old car repaired, to the tune of over $500, far more than it was worth! The patrolman had told me that the farmer would be responsible for the damage, since the mules shouldn't have been out of the road. But the farmer hired a lawyer, who challenged me to prove that the farmer was habitually careless, letting his stock run on the road. That, of course, was not true. Someone had left his gate open. So we had the bill and the car, but at least it ran well again. It was an expensive lesson, but fools don't learn otherwise.
The next months went by swiftly. We soon became very much involved in the little Methodist church in the town of Indianola. The building was badly run down, and we helped a group improving things--new drapes at the windows, painting most of the church inside and out, and so on. I even undertook directing the choir, as no one else was willing to try it. I never was a well-trained musician, and proved it in that position. But we put on a cantata for Easter, and that went over well. I also taught Sunday School classes, as did Jane, and we made many new friends.
The Bureau had many construction projects going in the Republican District to which I was now assigned, dams and canals, mostly. The district area extended to the north and west to the Colorado and Wyoming borders, including Ogallala, Nebraska, on the North Platte River. Down the Republican River valley the area ran clear to Red Bluff, where the Republican River ran into Kansas. The northwestern quarter of Kansas was also included. My job was to serve as general assistant to the Personnel Officer, particularly in position classification. I also had the responsibility of visiting the field offices to help with personnel problems right on the spot. It was very interesting work.
I loved to watch the heavy equipment used in building the several earth-fill dams then under construction, and to spend time with our survey and inspection crews as they did their work keeping everything in line, and seeing that the earth fills were properly compacted. On one project, in northwest Kansas, the excavation for the spillway encountered a bed of clay literally full of petrified clams and oysters, many as large as saucers. I took some of those home with me, but I don't know what became of them. On these trips to the field offices I drove "company" cars, big new black Pontiacs, terrible gas-eaters. I stayed in interesting little hotels, often seeing other Bureau employees from the district or Region 7 offices.
On June 4th, 1949, our daughter Mary was born in the hospital at McCook, Nebraska. Jane was anticipating the birth at any moment, and had asked her mother to come to stay with David and me. Jane and I went to McCook to a movie one evening, and then to the hospital, and sure enough, the baby was born the next morning. I believe that the delivery was considerably easier than David's. I have to admit I dozed off sitting in the waiting room. I remember how disgusted the nurse was who brought the baby in for me to see, to find me asleep! She thought I should have been wide awake, worrying, pacing the floor, or something.
I have so many pleasant memories of those days in Nebraska. In the spring of 1949 a plot of ground, level and irrigated, was subdivided to provide gardening space for any of us who wished to have a garden. I jumped at the chance! We had sweet potatoes galore that year, and a fine garden. I did much fishing with my boss, Struve, and some men on the building maintenance crew. They were "natives" of the area, and knew all the good fishing holes.
I soon got acquainted with a young fellow named Burt Whitlock, who worked as a clerk in the personnel office. He was the best shot with rifle and shotgun that I have ever seen. He bought a fine .222 Remington rifle and scope, to use on prairie dogs and crows. That encouraged me to spend money on a little Winchester .218 Bee rifle. Burt and I spent many happy hours together, shooting, hunting crows, loading ammunition, and the like.
I also bought a 16 guage shotgun that summer, and when pheasant season opened, was ready to hunt them. Later, duck hunting was great, though my shooting wasn't! I burned lots of powder, missed a lot, but had a great time. Others gave us enough game birds to eat. In the winter of 1949, several of us fellows helped Struve build a big, heavy 12-foot boat. I don't know how many fine brass screws went into that heavy boat! When spring came around, Struve invited another chap and me to take the boat out for fishing on Lake McConaughy, a man-made reservoir on the North Platte River. With three of us in the boat, and Struve, a heavy man, at the rear, operating the outboard motor, the boat rode pretty low in the water. A strong wind came up, and we were forced to run down lake in front of it for a couple of miles, heading back to our camp. We almost got swamped, with waves coming in over the stern, and two of us bailing like crazy. The wind blew continually the rest of the day, and we didn't dare venture out on the lake again. One very interesting activity in the office was the formation of a Federal Credit Union. I was one of the original board members, considering and approving loans, and so on. The credit union was very successful, and helpful to many. My work often required me to go in to the Regional office in Denver, riding on the Santa Fe trains to and from McCook. How I enjoyed those rides, especially one night when returning to McCook, and riding in the vista dome car, I watched an eclipse of the moon! I got along well with the regional office personnel people, and that helped.
In the spring of 1950, my sister, Mary, and her little daughter, Pam, came to stay with us. They had been staying with Robert and his family in Denver. Poor Mary, she was so helpless with multiple sclerosis, she had to be fed, taken to the bathroom, etc. In her situation she couldn't properly take care of or discipline her little girl, and didn’t want Jane or me to correct the child. I know that I was often too critical, and perhaps too harsh with little Pam. In May we all piled in the car and headed for Montana, taking Mary and Pam to stay with my parents, in Glasgow. Though my mother was even then suffering from cancer, I was not really aware of the seriousness of her situation. We shouldn't have left her burdened with Mary and Pam, but we did. Mom had only a little over three years of life remaining, and during that period had repeated major surgeries for the cancer. Dad was working at the big combination elementary and high school, doing maintenance work. He was very popular with teachers and pupils. All his life Dad was really a teacher at heart. Working at the school seemed a fitting closing of his working years.
The country around Indianola offered lots of interesting outdoor activities. We picked wild grapes and made jelly. Burt and I spent hours, and many .22 shells, shooting at moving targets--glass bottles and tin cans from the city dump, tossed high in the air. Burt seldom missed, and would often break two tossed at the same time. I could hit one such moving target pretty regularly after a lot of practice. There were some squirrels to hunt, too, and I learned how to call squirrels to come out to where I could get a shot. Lots of cottontail rabbits were harvested, too. Burt was deadly on crows, and we both learned to call crows, sometimes bringing in large flocks of them. Pheasants were plentiful, and I had many great days hunting with Burt, Struve, and others.
Early in the spring of 1951, I received a phone call from the Region 6 office in Billings, asking if I would be interested in returning to Billings. I could take over the job of Regional Position Classifier, at grade GS-9 to start, with promotion to GS-11 soon. Though I liked Nebraska, and we had made many friends there, the opportunity to return to Montana was too good to turn down. I quickly agreed to the transfer and promotion, and we prepared to leave Nebraska. We still write to several of the friends we met there, though most have long since left the Bureau. Those were good days!