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January 1955
The new year sprang hope eternal for our family. 1955 began with heavy snows, something we
were
unaccustomed to in Huntington. Snow enveloped the entire city and neighborhoods,
shutting
down bus service, businesses and most importantly, school. The kids in the
neighborhood
all made sleds out of cardboard boxes and discarded plastic curtains that everyone
had
in their attics. The many hills and slopes around our house were alive with the joyful shouts
of happiness. I had never
been sledding before and this was the most fun I had ever had. Life
was good!
In the meantime, my Father had an appointment
to take his State Exam for a Dentistry License,
something he had been looking forward to for many years. He and I sat for
many hours at the
kitchen table rehearsing and studying questions and answers. I had not seen my Father so happy.
At
last he had the opportunity to provide for his large family and earn real money in legitimate
employment. Father had lived
his life scraping out a meager living and the thought of having a
real job seemed like a dream to him.
April 1955
The
telephone rang and my Father hurriedly picked it up. He had been sitting by the phone, it
seemed, for months, waiting to
hear from the State Board about his License exam. In a
exhalation of glee he threw the phone into the air and began dancing
around the living room. “
Pauline..Pauline” he shouted as he danced, “ I passed. I passed the exam...can
you believe it?”
My Mother ran into the living room and we all danced around like crazed fans at a Little
Richard
concert.
In the month to follow Father went to work at the largest Dental Lab in Huntington, specializing
in making
dentures and partial plates. From that point on, we had meat for dinner, kool-aid in
the refrigerator and new shoes for
school. Life was still good.
As Father
settled into his job he also began studying his bible with great devotion. He began
holding
bible studies with anyone who was interested. Once he traveled the mountains looking
for customers
to make teeth for. Now he traveled those lonely roads looking for anyone who
would join him in learning of God.
Within a year, he had a half dozen studies that he would
faithfully attend and he began
to give discourses at the congregational meetings at the Kingdom Hall.
.
Soon Father had become the Company Servant of the
congregation and would give hour long talks every Sunday. I once heard him in prayer
thank God for allowing him to escape the past corruption of his youth and to now be able
to spread the goodnews of God to all who would listen. I thanked God as well, for giving me
such an excellent Father.
The Holy War
In 1959 we attended a convention of like believers in Clarksburg, West Virginia.
There were several thousand worshippers
from around the state who traveled to Clarksburg for the occasion. The elders had rented the American Legion Hall for a two
day gathering, much to the displeasure of the townsfolk, who saw no merit in holding a religious gathering in their mostly
white, non-denominational neighborhood.
None the less, all was going well until the last day of the convention
when the local residents
began to gather by the front entrance of the hall. The crowds grew larger as the day wore on and
an
hour or so before the end of the convention, some of the unruly crowd began to shout
obscenities and to press against the
front doors. The local police were called earlier but were no
where in sight. My Father was speaking to the congregation
at that moment. Nervously, we sat
and listened to Fathers talk when suddenly a large steel trash can was slammed into the
door of
the hall. As several of the male members of the audience rushed to the door, the crowd outside
began to push
through the double glass doors. It was a very scary scene. My Father, seeing what
was going on, suddenly called out to
the congregation “ Call out the righteous in the name of the
Lord!”
I had never seen such a commotion.
Immediately all the men, and many of the women got up
and rushed toward the front doors. My Father jumped from the stage
and flew by me like a man
obsessed. “Those people outside are in big trouble now” I thought as Father and the
others
opened the doors and poured out into the parking lot.
The malady lasted about ten minutes. Then the police came
into the hall and announced that
the convention was over and it was time to leave.
As we walked out into
the shinning day, there was a large number of people gathered on one
side of the parking lot, some bleeding, some laying
on the grass,
some holding handkerchiefs on their noses.
On the other side of the line was Father, his clothes
bloody, his suit nearly torn off him and smiling ear to ear. The witnesses all began to sing as we exited
the hall and walked toward our cars. The police were holding back the lines of the neighborhood residents, but it didn’t
look to me like they had much fight left in them anyway.
The drive home was quiet. My Mother was writing of the experience
in her daily journal, I was
in the back seat watching the countryside pass by and Father was driving, a large smile still
apparent
on his face.
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