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Last But Not Least
The Memoirs of Kenneth-Merrill Bolender
Part I
Let me explain my choice of title and cover picture for this book. Being lastborn of the six children of my parents, Herbert and Gertrude Bolender. I was also the lastborn grandchild of John Jacob and Sylvia Bolender.
In the picture I hold our youngest and ‘supposedly’ last grandchild, Sydney Elise Bolender, daughter of our youngest and last son, Roger Merrill Bolender.
Thus the title, LAST BUT NOT LEAST, seems to me a good title for this book of my memoirs. As you read these stories of my childhood, you will come to understand why I chose this title.
Part I
Chapter 5 Marriage and Beginning Family
To Parts I & II
Several years ago, I was reading Psalms 71 when verse 18 was quickened to my heart. I was impressed by David the Psalmist's burden to ask God for the opportunity to declare to his generation how God had been faithful to him and to the generations that were to come. I decided there and then to begin writing my Memoirs.
Psalm 71:18 “…when I am old and gray headed, O God, do not forsake me, until I declare Your strength to this generation, Your power to everyone who is to come.” NKJV
In the Introduction to my earlier book, SHAKING THE BRANCHES (A Genealogical History of the Bolender and Shinkle Families), I bring out what I think is the need for us to leave a written legacy for our children and our children’s children. I stated:
As we study past history, we find it was common practice in ancient civilizations to hand down stories of ancestors and forefathers to descendants for many generations. Ancient tribal peoples told and retold tales of their ancestor's courage, determination, and stamina when faced with difficulty and challenges. The Old Testament is full of such stories, which even today enable the Jewish people to feel like they know their forefathers even after millenniums of time. It was considered a duty to share the stories, thus leaving a legacy for their children and children's children.
Today, how many grandchildren even know their grandparents, or their aunts and uncles? Many of us live in historical vacuums unable to name more than a generation or two of our ancestors. At times I have felt disappointed in my lack of knowledge concerning the genealogy of my family. It's hard to feel like I know ancestors who left no diaries, letters or journals. With only names and dates and not much else, how can we know the stock from which we descended? I strongly wish they had left a record of their lives for our generation to read and enjoy. This could provide families and friends with a link to history, which can be cherished for generations to come.
In today's world we stay in touch with our loved ones by telephone and E-mail. Few write letters and rarely does anyone keep a diary. We preserve no written record of all the ups and downs of our lives and the times in which we live. How will our grandchildren and their children ever know from whom and from where they came, or the condition of the world in our time unless we record our memories in a form they can keep?
The Memoirs are in two parts with the Part I containing the first eight chapters. I have been waiting for years now, to complete writing the entire book. Recently, I began to realize that if I wait to complete the entire book, many of my generation would not live to read it. So, I decided to write Part I and make it available to my immediate family and first cousins. This was printed and distributed in 2002.
Part I, basically covers my memoirs from birth up to 1970. Part II will cover my years from 1970 through 1988. Several chapters are yet to be written.
John Ashcroft wrote a book, LESSONS FROM A FATHER TO HIS SON. In it he made the suggestion, "It is important for a father to pass on his strengths, wisdom and insights, but also to model how a son should handle weaknesses, failures and insecurities."
I believe that my generation will be able to relate to some of the Christian heritage, blessings and struggles that have shaped my life. To my sons and their families it is my desire to share with you the rest of my life story, Part II, TO LIVE, TO LOVE, TO LEARN, TO LEAVE A LEGACY.
LAST BUT NOT LEAST
Birth to Age 6
During the great depression and before World War II, a baby boy was born on September 7, 1936. The setting was a 120-acre farm in southern Ohio, 35 miles east of Cincinnati, four miles north of the Ohio River, and one mile from the small country town of Felicity. In a white two-story farmhouse, Gertrude Bolender gave birth to her sixth and last child. The attending physician, Dr. Cecil Barber, assisted in the home delivery. Herbert, the father of the household, came in from working in the fields and took time to look the new son over. Being assured the baby and mother were all right, he returned to the fields. They named the baby Kenneth Merrill Bolender. The middle name 'Merrill' became the name used by the immediate family. However the grandparents, aunts, and uncles continued to use the first name 'Kenneth.'
I, Merrill, have been told that an apple tree grew outside the house overhanging the 'little bedroom' where we children were born. For years I’ve told people that I was born under an apple tree. Their faces display a puzzled look until I explain. One of my siblings claims that this tree was gone by the time I was born, so I’m not really sure. I jokingly say that it is scriptural. Song of Solomon 8:5, reads, “Under the apple tree I roused you; there your mother conceived you, there she who was in labor gave you birth.”
I am the lastborn grandchild of John Jacob and Sylvia Hill Bolender. Being the 'baby of the family,' I often struggled to overcome feeling like the 'least' of my brothers, sisters, and cousins. Truth is, I may be the last but I certainly am not the least.
My earliest recollections as a baby are dim. I remember being held by the young girls at church including my older sister, Wanda. I remember being in a white metal baby bed. I have pulled the nipple off my bottle leaving a large wet spot in the middle of the bed. I am sitting there playing with ‘Crazy Ikes’ (toys similar to Tinker Toys) that were kept stored in a green metal cake cover.
Our farmhouse had an attic and three upstairs bedrooms. The main level had two additional bedrooms, an all-purpose 'square' room, a 'library' (a parlor used only for Sundays and special occasions), a family 'long' room and the kitchen. A pantry stored household items and a cellar held our home canned goods such as fruits, vegetables and home canned beef. Homemade jams and jellies also lined the shelves. The family room had a wood-burning space heater, rocking chair, couch, dining table, cupboard and a pendulum clock on its own wall shelf.
Carbide gas jets, with occasional use of kerosene lamps, were our source of light. Imagine a home with no electricity, no running water, no indoor bathroom, no television, no air conditioning and no microwave.
In winter the only rooms in the house we heated were the family room and kitchen. The kitchen had a wood burning range where the meals were cooked in winter. A water reservoir on the side of the stove heated water for cooking and washing. In warm weather Mom cooked family meals on a Magic Chef gas range. The 'Pyrofax Company' delivered the gas in a tank truck and pumped the gas into two tanks outside our back door. The tank stood outside the kitchen near the generator where the carbide gas was produced for our lighting. Not until after WWII did we get electricity through the Cincinnati Gas and Electric (CG&E).
On winter mornings Daddy would rise early and build a fire in the family room stove. The rest of the family hurriedly dressed in their unheated bedrooms and then gathered around the stove to get warm. The room would still be cold so you had to slowly turn around in circles to warm yourself evenly. If you stood still, you would freeze on one side and burn up on the other.
Plenty of quilts, comforters, and blankets were needed for our cold bedrooms. These covers were handy for ducking my head under when I became afraid of the dark. An old-fashioned clothes iron, heated, wrapped in towels and laid in the foot of our beds, kept our feet warm at night.
Two pictures hung on the wall in my bedroom, one of Abraham Lincoln with his manly beard, the other of George Washington with his white shoulder-length hair. Until I learned better, I thought they were husband and wife.
Our toys weren't many but we enjoyed what we had. One of my favorite toys was a metal airplane. I used to leave it lying on the floor where others might stumble, so Daddy put it on top of the cupboard where I couldn’t reach it. One day I was rocking the cupboard back and forth trying to get the plane to fall off so I could play. Suddenly the plane came down with a crash right on my little toe, almost detaching the toenail. A trip to the doctor was necessary to finish removing what the airplane failed to remove. When asked what happened to me, I am told that I replied, "An airplane landed on my toe."
Our front yard had four large maple trees, two weeping birch trees with white bark, and a tall Norway spruce. We mowed the big front yard with a reel type mower, not easy to push. A long sidewalk ran from the front of the house toward the road. In warm weather we children would play sidewalk games such as, 'Mother May I' and 'Go Go Stop,' the caller conveniently sitting on the steps of the 'long' porch. On summer evenings we caught lightning bugs putting them in glass jars with holes punched in the lids. These made pretend 'kerosene lanterns.'
One of my childhood heroes was Rev. Morris Clay, our pastor at church. He was the strongest man I had ever seen. He could throw a rock farther than anybody. He picked me up and threw me high into the air and caught me. In the later years of his life, Rev. Clay told of his visits to the farm and of me with my pockets full of treasure such as marbles, pieces of string, pretty rocks, and maybe a toad.
Tent revivals often took place during the summers of my childhood. C. B. Fugett was the evangelist when I went forward to the altar to commit my life to Christ. My Dad had helped lead C. B. Fugett to Christ many years before. This was a fulfillment to a scriptural principle, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, and it will return after many days.” Ecclesiastes 11:1.
Our family car was a secondhand 1936 dark blue Ford V-8, purchased soon after I was born. Having eight members in our family meant I always had to sit on somebody’s lap. No child-safety seats in those days. Sixteen years later, I learned to drive in that same car. By this time the steering was quite loose and the brakes required twice the normal distance to stop the car. But I learned.
As a child, I was always excited when the 'huckster wagon' made its weekly stop. The 'huckster wagon' was a bus loaded with groceries. The driver let us step inside to see what was available. I remember seeing crates tied on the side with live chickens inside. I can remember reaching through the cracks and pulling feathers out to make the chickens squawk. A penny would buy bubble gum with an inside paper liner covered with cartoons.
For our 'worldly' entertainment we had an old cabinet model Zenith radio with big tuning knobs. We could hear squeals and static until a station was tuned in. Clip jumpers connected to a large six-volt car battery sat out of sight on the bottom shelf inside the back of the cabinet. When the battery was getting low we would have to sit very close to the cloth-covered grill to hear the speakers. On Saturday evenings after our 'weekly' bath, we tuned in the 'Grand Ol Opry' from Nashville, TN. I still remember hearing Minnie Pearl come on the stage saying, “Howdyyyyy! I’m just so proud to be hyar.”
Sunday was always a special day for our family. We rose early, ate our breakfast, put on our best clothes and piled into the old Ford for our one and one half mile drive to the church in Felicity. Usually we would be among the first to arrive, so one of our family rang the bell. The church was a simple white frame building with a belfry on the roof. The belfry housed a bell with a long rope that came down through the ceiling. At the end of the rope was a knot that hung about four feet from the floor. Sometimes I got to ring the bell. The bell had so much momentum that it lifted me off my feet, much to the amusement of those watching.
Returning home from church, Mom prepared the main meal of the week. Sunday dinners might be fried chicken, beef roast, or country fried steak. Side dishes might include mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes, and homemade cottage cheese. We also usually had homemade bread or biscuits with homemade butter. Dessert might be apple, peach, cherry, blackberry pie or cobbler with rich 'Jersey' cream over it.
One Sunday morning when I was about four years old, a friend and I took our Sunday School offering money to a nearby grocery store during Sunday School. We purchased some fig bars and returned to the church, where we were sitting on the front church steps eating when someone spotted us. Do I need to tell you what happened when I got home? Daddy didn’t spank us often but when he did, he made it count. He never punished us in anger and I never doubted his love for me in the process. As I look back, I’m thankful for the discipline he gave.
Daddy lived out the principles found in the Bible that reads:
“He (God) said, ‘My son, don’t be angry when the Lord punishes you. Don’t be discouraged when he has to show you where you are wrong. For when he punishes you, it proves that he loves you. When he whips you it proves you are really his child.’ Let God train you, for he is doing what any loving father is doing for his children. Whoever heard of a son who was never corrected? If God doesn’t punish you when you need it, as other fathers punish their sons, then it means that you aren’t really God’s sons at all--that you really don’t belong in his family. Since we respect our fathers on earth, though they punish us, should we not all the more cheerfully submit to God’s training so that we can begin really to live.
Our earthly fathers trained us for a few brief years, doing the best for us that they knew how, but God’s correction is always right and for our best good, that we may share his holiness. Being punished isn’t enjoyable while it is happening--it hurts! But afterwards we can see the result, a quiet growth in grace and character.” Hebrews 12:5-11
Living Bible
Being the youngest, I was a target for a lot of teasing from my brothers and sisters. As a result I became a big teaser. One day when the hired men were picking apples in the orchard, I slipped up to Frank Schubert’s ladder and shook it, then ran away. This man was known for his gruff personality and he scolded me for shaking his ladder. But I came back and kept it up amid repeated warnings. Suddenly, to my surprise, his ladder crashed to the ground breaking off tree limbs and causing apples to scatter all over the ground. Frank was shaken up but apparently unhurt, except for his pride. He took a small limb from the tree and I stood still while he gave me a good thrashing. I knew that I deserved it. When Daddy found out about it, he also gave me a good lecture and whipping. I never shook ladders again.
Our farmhouse was more than a house. It was a home. Mom and Dad were not the openly affectionate type, but I never doubted their love for me. Our home was a refuge, a warm safe place. I don’t remember ever hearing my parents argue or raise their voices at each other. Being youngest I had all these brothers and sisters to play with and relate to. We had our quarrels, but as we grew older we learned to settle our disagreements peaceably. Looking back I can see they were all good role models for me. Each had areas of strength.
Each day was a new experience. On baking day Mom baked enough bread, rolls, pies, cakes, and cookies to last all week. Throughout the house the aroma of fresh baked bread permeated the air. I remember watching her make pies, preparing the crust to perfection. My thrifty mother used apples that were not suitable to sell to customers who came to the farm. She would take an apple and cut away the bad parts making the best stewed apples, applesauce, apple butter, jelly and pies.
Mom worked so hard without modern conveniences that sometimes her fingers bled. This mostly happened when she was sewing patches on our well-worn clothes. She sewed on buttons and darned our socks to keep our clothes in good repair.
Laundry day was an all day affair. The washing machine was located in the washhouse just outside the kitchen. A one-cylinder Briggs and Stratton gasoline engine powered the washer. It sounded like a power lawn mower. Hot water was heated in a large elongated copper tub on an old range that burned wood or coal. Mom used homemade lye soap that came from the lard of a butchered cow. But in the washing machine she would use store bought 'Rinso.' The washer had a wringer composed of two white rubber rollers that squeezed the water out of the clothes. The clothes were then hung on a back yard clothesline or in the attic if the weather was rainy or snowy. Sometimes in cold weather the hanging clothes would freeze stiff as boards. But the clean clothes would usually come in smelling sweet from the sun and soft from the breeze.
We seldom had new clothes. My wardrobe consisted of hand-me-down clothes outgrown by my brothers. Some were second-hand and some third-hand. By today’s standards we might be considered poor, but we never felt poor. Everyone else in the area lived about the same way.
All six of us children shared the same toys. We had one bicycle and one wagon. I received a BB gun for a gift when I was old enough to be trusted with one. It is the only toy to call my own that I can remember and it was so precious to me that the gun and I were inseparable.
I did not talk plain until I was about school age. One day I ran into the house hollering, “Mom! Nake! Nake!” Mom didn’t understand what I was saying so she followed me out to the yard. There on the sidewalk was a small snake that I had trampled to death with my bare feet.
One day my oldest brother, Arnold, and I were riding home from town in the '36 Ford. Arnold was driving and I was on the passenger side, when suddenly my feet and legs began to feel uncomfortably warm. I looked down and saw flames coming through the firewall. Panicking, I yelled as I opened the door and bailed out. The car was making a sharp left-hand turn as I sailed through the air, catapulting head over heels and landing in a heap of soft grass. Not even a scratch! Arnold quickly ran to a well in a nearby farmyard for water and extinguished the flames. Later the wiring had to be replaced on the engine before the car was back in operation.
I had only one pet during my childhood, a black shaggy dog that I named Teddy. He was a cross between a collie and a chow and unfortunately had all the negative qualities of both breeds. The collie nature caused him to chase cars and to run off to town for hours at a time. His chow side made him mean to strangers. We couldn't seem to break him from chasing cars. One day he was chasing a motorcycle when the driver caused the motorcycle to backfire in his face. It was a long time before he had nerve enough to chase vehicles again. Another time, some customers came to the farm to buy apples. They saw Teddy and wanted to buy him for $5.00. My Dad thought that I should sell him. With some persuasion from Daddy, I decided to take the money and the customers took the dog. My brother Ralph had his eyes on my $5.00, so he offered to sell me his fishing rod and reel for it. We made a deal and I had my first fishing outfit! The next day the people brought Teddy back, saying that as soon as they arrived home Teddy ran into the house and bit the cook. They wanted their money back. Dad realized that selling Teddy had been his idea, and since I had already spent the money, he gave them back their money. He let me keep the fishing outfit and Teddy. Ralph got to keep the $5.00.
'Evening devotions' was a family tradition. Daddy gathered us together in the family room or library and read a portion of scripture from the family Bible. We would discuss its meaning and then pray together. Sometimes more than one of us would pray. Sometimes each of us would take turns praying a short prayer. These times around the family altar left a lasting impression on me. In childhood, I learned spiritual lessons and respect for God that I still benefit from today.
After family altar was over, Daddy would open the pendulum clock and wind it. He kept a bottle of Vicks salve in the clock that he pulled out. He took a matchstick and got a gob of Vicks and snuffed it up each nostril. This helped his breathing due to a nasal problem possibly caused by breathing the vapors of the chemicals used in the fruit orchards. Our family would chat for a while until time for a good night's rest.
Ages 6 to 12
I was naturally shy. My first day in the first grade turned traumatic. Stepping off the school bus, I walked across the schoolyard feeling engulfed by strange faces all around me. Suddenly way across the playground I spotted the familiar face of a friend that I remembered from Sunday School. I ran right over to him thrilled to find someone I knew. Grabbing him and holding on tightly brought momentary feelings of relief from fears of being all alone among strangers, never even realizing that I had grabbed his hair in the process.
The school bell rang and we all gathered in the first grade room. The teacher, Mrs. Cann, was introducing herself to the class when from across the room there came the sound of sobbing. Mrs. Cann walked over to see who was crying. It was my friend whom I had so aggressively greeted. He sobbed out, “Merrill pulled my hair!” The teacher gave me a stern lecture in front of the whole class. I felt ashamed of myself, but also felt misunderstood. I had meant no harm.
A few days later, I came into the classroom with my hat and coat on. I hung my coat in the coatroom and proceeded to my seat. The teacher spotted me and in a mean voice told me to sit in the coatroom until I had learned my lesson. I must have been in the coatroom for 30 minutes or so before it dawned on me what I was doing wrong. I was still wearing my hat indoors, which of course, was against the rules.
I was one of the youngest students in my class as my birthday was near the beginning of the school year. I was less mature than most of the class, leaving me vulnerable and insecure. Looking back, I realize being the youngest in my family and the youngest in my class left me with feelings of inferiority, which would plague me through 12 years of school and into college.
Life on the farm provided a healthy environment in which to grow. The rural countryside with the white house, white barn, and buildings nestled among apple orchards, cornfields, and the pasture was pleasant to see. The pasture field was lush green with a small 'crick' running through it. There was a fishing pond and a small woods where the family went for picnics. Dairy cows grazed the grassy areas and drank from the pond.
I spent many hours of my childhood at that pond. My first fish I caught with a long stick, a piece of string, and a bent pin for a hook. I often came home with a string of small catfish and sunfish. Sometimes I killed frogs with my B.B. gun. Mom fried the fish and frog legs. The fish were full of bones but tasted good anyway because I had caught them.
Early morning brought new sounds on the farm. First, the rooster crowed announcing a new day. In the distance the cows in the pasture mooed to be fed and milked. Later in the morning, the hens cackled as they finished laying their eggs in the barn or hen house. I remember gathering the eggs in a basket or a straw hat. At evening time, with a background of night sounds, we kids would sit in the swing telling stories. Frogs croaked in the distance, katydids and crickets chirped, and maybe the screeching of an owl could be heard coming from the woods.
A variety of scents and odors filled the air throughout the seasons. In the spring there would be the fragrance of apple blossoms. Later, the odor of spray materials permeated the air as various applications were sprayed on the trees to kill the aphids, fungi, etc. Behind our house was a path that led to our outhouse. When the wind was just right, you got a whiff of its odiferous fumes. Our outhouse was more luxurious than most peoples were because it was a two holer. In case of emergency two could share the experience. You didn’t want to linger long there however, in either summer or winter. In the summer, the smell was strong and in the winter it was freezing, especially with your pants down. For toilet paper, we used pages out of an old telephone directory or a Sears's catalogue.
Spring brought the aroma of freshly plowed fields as the ground was prepared for planting corn, soybeans or oats. In early summer we enjoyed the smell of new mown hay. But making that hay was hard work: cutting and raking and hauling it to the barn to be put in the overhead haymows.
In caring for the 80 acres of apple orchards, Dad had to spray eight different applications of insecticides and fungicides. A lot of work went into caring for the orchard all year long. Dad was a member of the “Fruit Growers Association.” He continually learned new and better ways to produce choice fruit. Hired men helped to help pick and process the apples for market. We sold some of the fruit at home to regular customers who came back year after year to buy our apples, cider and vinegar. Most of the apples were sold wholesale at the market and commission houses in Cincinnati. The apples that were not of good enough quality to be sold were loaded on a truck and taken to a commercial cider mill. We shoveled the apples from the truck into a hopper where the apples were ground to a pulp. The pulp was put into a press and the juice squeezed out through a strainer and into the 50 gallon wooden barrels on our truck. We brought the cider home and put it up into gallon jugs and placed corks in the tops. Cider that was not sold one season would be sold as vinegar the next season or used for making pickles. I always enjoyed the treat of going to the apple storage building for a fresh glass of cider and a juicy apple for a mid-day snack.
Up until the 1950’s, Dad milked the cows by hand. Sometimes I sat and watched. We had several cats that lined up along the wall waiting to be fed. Dad would pour milk for the cats into tin cans. Cats were more than pets. Cats were used for rat and mouse control on the farm.
During my early school years, Dad allowed us to take the necessary money for our lunch in the school cafeteria. We took it from a small dark green utility box, called the 'till,' in the cupboard on our way out the door. Temptation was very strong, and sometimes, I yielded and took more money than I needed. A load of guilt began to build as time went on. One day, I was under such strong conviction that I decided to confess what I had done and ask for forgiveness. Dad was milking the cows. I hung around trying to muster enough courage to tell him. I paced back and forth while Dad moved his bucket from cow to cow. When Dad started to milk the last cow, he looked at me, asking, “Merrill, is there something on your heart that you would like to talk about?” I started to sob and told about my theft of money from the cupboard. Dad listened very calmly. He told me he regretted that there wasn’t more money to give us for extra spending. He shared an incident about another person who had committed a similar thing and had made it right. Dad forgave me. It was like a mountain lifted off my shoulders. Uncontrolled joy welled up in my heart bringing release in tears and laughter.
As a growing child I experienced many bumps, scrapes, and bruises. If I bumped my head, Mom would rub cocoa butter on it. I think the butter did neither good nor harm. Her gentle loving touch helped the healing process. Home remedies were used for many aches and pains. For acid stomach, we dissolved baking soda in water and drank it. For upset stomach, we drank peppermint tea. For constipation, we took castor oil. As I remember, castor oil was also used for punishment or a mild threat: "If you don't finish emptying your plate, maybe you need a dose of castor oil." It tasted terrible, but if you held your nose it wasn’t quite as bad. We drank sassafras tea for enjoyment. Mom said it was good for thinning your blood in the springtime after a cold winter when your blood got thick.
One of the treats we looked forward to in the summertime was homemade ice cream. Friends gathered at our house or we went to theirs. The ladies mixed up the ingredients. The men cracked the ice, poured the salt and cranked the freezer. I liked taking turns cranking the freezer, but when I was smaller it was usually my lot to sit on the freezer to keep it from tipping over. We ate crackers with our ice cream. Tasted pretty good!
I was alone much of the time while older brothers and sisters were busy with chores and other activities. I spent many hours climbing the trees in the yard. I hung by my legs, swung by my arms, and chinned myself, building up my arm and leg muscles. Much time was spent hiking through the woods, along the creeks and through fields, where I first began to develop my love for nature.
Dad was faithful to look after the needs of his parents, my Grandpa and Grandma. During my childhood years, Dad would go to Felicity each evening for an hour or more to visit and care for them. It was a sacrifice to be away from the family, but he never complained.
My grandparents owned the farm where we lived until about the last ten years of my Dad’s life. Daddy, therefore, was a tenant farmer most of his productive years. By the time he did begin to buy the farm, it was too late in his life to ever hope to pay off that mortgage.
Once or twice a year Dad would have a neighbor come to help butcher a beef. I watched in wide-eyed wonder as the steer was shot between the eyes. It instantly fell to the ground dead. They would then slit its throat draining the blood into a container. Hooks with ropes attached were placed in the hind ankles and the steer was raised to a vertical position. The stomach and entrails were taken out followed by the removal of the hide. Eventually the beef was sawn into four quarters, which were hung in a cool safe place for a few days to age properly. The beef was then taken to a commercial frozen food locker to be cut up into steaks, roasts and hamburger, then packaged, labeled and quick-frozen. Before we owned a freezer it remained in the locker in Bethel twelve miles from the farm. Whenever we were passing through we would stop and bring a few packages home. For the first couple weeks after butchering, our family ate the extra parts like liver, brains, sweetbreads (I never did know what these were) and heart. But the tongue always went home with Grandma and Grandpa. I never had the 'privilege' of tasting the tongue.
Annual events taking place Thanksgiving or Christmas were family get-togethers. Dad went to town to pick up Grandpa and Grandma and bring them to the farm. When they arrived, they were helped out of the car and Grandpa was led to an easy chair. He was blind and partly deaf, so required special attention. The Poes arrived soon after with Uncle Dow and Aunt Josie and the boys in their big shiny Roadmaster Buick. They all piled out of the car carrying containers of food for the dinner. Lots of talk, sharing stories, jokes and recent happenings filled the air with fresh supplies of funny stories to be heard and be told. There was always a fresh supply of funny stories to tell. Uncle Harry, Aunt Bertha and cousins, Warren and Juanita, came when they were within driving distance, which wasn’t often. They pastored churches in Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, etc. as well as spending a few years on the mission field in the British West Indies.
Living on a farm made it possible for us to grow most of our food. When we needed chicken for a meal, Dad caught a chicken by the feet and held its head on a wood chopping block located in the back yard. Using an ax he chopped off the head holding the chicken while it bled. He then plunged it into a bucket of scalding water to loosen the feathers. After plucking he held the chicken over a fire to singe the pinfeathers. Mom's part was to take the chicken into the kitchen, remove the entrails and cut the chicken into parts. Fried chicken was a part of our diet on the farm.
One day while Dad was away on business, Mom asked if I would kill a chicken for her. This was a new challenge for me as until now I had only observed the procedure. Nervously I held the chicken by its feet, bringing the ax down just as the head and neck slipped sideways. So I cut the head in half leaving the mortally wounded chicken squawking loudly. Feeling sorry for the chicken, I wanted to put it out of its misery in a hurry. I swung the ax again cutting off the rest of the head, all the neck, and part of the breast. This unnerving experience convinced me never again to attempt killing more chickens.
Outside the kitchen door we had an underground cistern fed by rainwater from the roof of the house. A crank pump brought up water for washing dishes and clothes, and for our weekly baths. A spring fed hand dug well was located just outside our front door. This well had a wonderful reputation for having the best drinking water in the area. A tin cup hung by a nail on the side of the house. Everyone used the same cup: family, visitors, everybody. Today I have this cup among my keepsakes, a treasured family heirloom.
Once an animal fell into the well polluting the water. Dad had to remove the pump, climb into the well and clean it out. Soon we were once again drinking from the well.
John Jacob, our Grandpa, was an interesting individual to say the least. He wore a mustache, had a glass eye, was about 98% blind in the other eye, and was very hard of hearing. He was feeble due to his double hernia and back problem. All the years that I knew him, he spent most of his day sitting in an easy chair in his living room. At times Grandpa would get out-of-doors but this became less frequent as he grew older. I remember one day, when I took him fishing down at the pond. I baited his hook, helped him swing the line into the water, and watched for the bobber to go down. I told him when the fish were biting and he pulled in the fish. He chuckled with satisfaction that he could still catch fish. I also used to take him to the hickory trees where the nuts had fallen to the ground. Kneeling down he would reach around finding nuts to fill his basket. Taking nuts home he would carefully crack them and pick out the kernels to be stored in glass jars. For a base to pound on he used a 'tailor's goose' (something like a clothes iron). He placed this upside down on his lap with the handle between his knees then used a hammer to tap the nuts. Almost always they came out in perfect halves. Grandma used the nuts in making cookies, cakes and cranberry salad. Her sugar cookies were kept in a brightly colored floral ceramic cookie jar. Every cookie had one hickory nut pressed into the center.
I remember Grandpa as an excellent gardener. He used burlap material around his knees held on by large rubber bands made from auto tire inner tubes. Then, in spite of his blindness, he would take his hand tools, get on his hands and knees, and work with the soil and plants. His vegetables were as good as any I have tasted.
I never heard Grandpa utter a negative word or complaint. When people greeted him asking how he was, he would always respond, “I’m fair to middling….” When asked about his blindness, he'd refer to it as a 'light affliction,' quoting St. Paul, "For our light affliction which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." II Corinthians 4:17. Even in his handicapped condition, he never lost hope or his expectancy of going to be with the Lord in a land where there is no more suffering, sorrow, or death.
Grandma possessed a strong personality but she also had her handicap, being totally deaf. Communicating with her involved writing on a clipboard containing recycled paper. I used to spend a considerable amount of time looking at her shell collections. She had missionary friends all around the globe who collected and sent her seashells. Sometimes I had the opportunity to watch her make creative works of art from her boxes of loose shells that she collected over the years. She had a glass display case in the living room that was the center of attraction for family and visitors. It was very professional looking and could easily have been a museum display.
Growing ornamental plants and flowers was Grandma’s contribution to the landscaping of their yard. One greatly fancied plant (called a 'snake plant') was the centerpiece of her yard. This beautiful exotic had an offensive odor that kept us children from coming too close. Grandma was a perfectionist in caring for her yard and plants. Sometimes she would hire us to do her yard work. I often got frustrated with her because she made us do things over and over until she was completely satisfied. Everything had to be done exactly to her liking. Though frustrating at the time, it trained us for excellence.
Grandma was a marvelous cook very precise in everything. Cranberry salad was one of her specialties. I remember one Christmas time she used a couple bags of cranberries. She informed us that one bag had 204 berries while another had only 199. We had a good laugh but she never heard us. Grandma made the best sugar cookies I’ve ever eaten. Another specialty of hers was gingerbread cookies. Sometimes she would make large gingerbread boys and girls for us. They were about 12 inches tall with cinnamon red-hot candies for the eyes, nose, mouth, and buttons.
Reading the scriptures was one of Grandma's favorite pastimes. Many hours were spent immersed in the Word. By later years she had read her Bible through dozens of times. One time, she told me how the Lord changed her life and gave her a joy and peace that the world never gave and the world can’t take away. She got so happy while sharing that she was overcome with emotion, shouting for joy.
I have fond memories of meal times at home on the farm. When eight family members gather around the table, a lot of sharing takes place along with enjoying the food. Sometimes after the rest of the family was seated, I would have to crawl under the table to get to my chair. A lot of talking went on which made it hard for me to get any attention when I wanted food passed. One rule in our home was that you couldn’t sing at the table during a meal. To get attention I sang “God bless America, pass the potatoes, please!” Everyone got quiet and looked at Daddy to see if he would scold me. Daddy caught on to my trick, grinned, and made sure the food was passed to me.
I vividly remember the last spanking I received. I must have been about 10 and my brother Ralph about 14. The two of us were helping Dad hoe weeds in the cornfield. Ralph and I began to throw clods of mud at each other. Dad saw and gave us a warning to stop. Before long we were at it again. This time he warned us in a more solemn tone of voice. We hoed steadily for maybe fifteen minutes more when I suddenly spied a large moist hunk of mud way too tempting to resist. Dad's back being momentarily turned gave me my opportunity so I aimed the mud with a big heave toward Ralph, but the hunk of mud slipped out the side of my hand hitting Dad square in his back. Need I say more? Wordlessly he walked to the edge of the nearby woods. Taking out his pocketknife he cut a limber sapling from under a tree. I voluntarily bent myself over. Dad never stopped spanking till the switch was in pieces. He never got angry with me. I knew I had earned my consequences and stood forgiven. Remembering this experience I have understood over the years how the Heavenly Father disciplines me with consequences after times of disobedience. I suffer but also know the Father’s forgiveness. Someone has said: “Blessed are the fathers through whom their children see God.”
When World War II broke out, I was too young to be aware of the impact on the world. It affected our daily lives when my brother, Arnold left home. First he went to St. Louis to build cargo planes for Curtis-Wright. Later he was drafted into the U. S. Army, serving in Europe toward the end of the war. Ration stamps limited the amount you could purchase of certain needed products. Gasoline was rationed, but because we were farmers, we were exempt. Sugar was rationed so that there was ample supply for the men serving in the war.
At school we had air raid drills. At the sound of the alarm bells all students and faculty would file down to the basement, lining the walls, kneeling down with our hands protecting our heads. Only after many years did I come to realize the devastation that took place across Europe and Asia.
One of my favorite pastimes was riding my bicycle. A gravel road ran between the house and barn. Sometimes our big tomcat would lie on the gravel drive, sunning himself. I headed for the cat with my bicycle and enjoyed watching him jump up and run at the last second. One day, the cat must have been sleeping deeper than usual. I headed my bicycle toward the cat, but to my surprise, the cat just lay there. The wheel of the bike struck the big cat, my bike stopped with a sudden jolt, and I flew over the top of the handlebars and landed face down on the gravel driveway. The cat fared better than I did. My arms and knees were skinned badly. I never tried that again.
One of my favorite grade school teachers was Mr. Oscar Sontag, an older man who walked with a distinct limp. The most interesting part of the day was when he told ghost stories. We learned a lot from him because he told us history in the same exciting fashion as he told the stories.
My sixth grade teacher was an 'old maid' (meaning she was unmarried). She was a good teacher but a stern disciplinarian. One day she caught me chewing gum in class, which was against her rules. She warned me by telling me to remove the gum. But a day or so later she caught me chewing gum again. This time she called me to the front and told me to stand facing the class with the gum stuck on my nose. Soon the class was roaring with laughter. The teacher just stood there at the side of the room. My self-esteem died a terrible death that day. A lonely funeral with me the sole mourner. Standing there felt like an eternity. Not until years later did I come to realize to what extent this incident had affected me, both then and in years later. In Part II of this book I will tell the 'rest of the story' and how healing came for this wounding.
Early one summer morning our family and another family from church went blackberry picking on the Ohio River hills. This other family had three girls, the oldest near my age. That day we began a friendship that grew quickly until I was 'head over heels' in love with her. One unusual feature about her was her one blue eye and other brown eye. Of course this didn’t bother me. Soon after this my brother Ralph became interested in her and won her heart. Crushed, I thought my world had ended. Feeling so betrayed, I went into a 'lovesick tailspin' emotionally. I started writing her notes desperately trying to win back her love. In one note I included words from a country and western song I had copied by listening to my brother Arnold’s music record over and over. Unfortunately Arnold had somehow intercepted that note before I got it delivered. He began teasing me in front of my whole family. The words went something like this:
“I don’t want your green-back dollar, I don’t want your silver change.
All I want is your heart darling, just say you’ll take me back again.”
Arnold went around singing this in my presence causing me much embarrassment. After a few days I got used to the teasing. And anyway I was losing interest in my 'girl friend.' Shortly Ralph also lost interest in her. Then she began to write me letters, but I never answered them. Sometime later I forgave her but we were never boyfriend-girlfriend again.
Christmas was a special time for us. Dad, carrying his ax, took us kids to the woods. We would pick out a cedar tree, chop it down and drag it back to the house, setting it up in the library. Then we covered it with various ornaments collected over the years. We strung popcorn and cranberries on thread and garlanded the tree. We also had silver and gold foil streamers adorning our tree. In preparation for Christmas morning we would hang up a sock on the wall near the wood stove. The girls had it over on us because they wore the long brown stockings (more room for treats) but we always got equal amounts anyway. On Christmas morning, Dad rose early, fired up the stove, and filled the socks with all kinds of goodies. There was always hard candy, chocolate drops, an orange, peanuts in the shell, and peanut brittle. One Christmas Eve our oldest brother Arnold came in late from his hunting. Seeing our five stockings hanging there he removed his hunting boots, took off a smelly hunting sock and hung it at the end of the row. When Dad came out Christmas morning and saw this he decided to play a little joke of his own, putting only a large onion in the dirty sock. Arnold hates onions, so this became a family joke. We still kid Arnold about it to this day. Of course Dad also gave Arnold his fair share of goodies, so there was a happy ending that Christmas.
From Age 12 to 17
Junior high school was big step for me. We changed classrooms every period with different teachers for every class, just like my older brother and sister in high school. I felt grown up because of this. That year I began to play trombone in music class. Two of my cousins and two of my brothers had played trombone before me, so it was my favorite instrument at the time. I played in the band at least five years except for when it conflicted with basketball. The band held concerts in the park, marched at county and state fairs and traveled to music contests. This gave us free entry into many events including basketball games.
About age 13 I started to drive the tractor for my Dad helping with the farm work. I drove while Daddy sprayed the fruit trees. I plowed the fields, mowed hay and hauled apples from orchards to the barn.
Being old enough to use the telephone was a privilege. We had an oak wall phone with a crank on the right side and a cone shaped receiver on the left. To place a call we would turn the crank for a few turns while holding the receiver to an ear. The operator would come on the line saying, “Number. Please?” I would give the number '94' that was our grandparent’s number. In a few seconds, a voice would say; “Hello,” and the conversation would begin. Our number on the farm was number '8,' as it was one of very first phones in the area.
One Sunday afternoon our family drove to Cincinnati to hear Billy Graham preach. Billy was just gaining prominence with his crusades and ‘Hour of Decision’ radio broadcasts. He became my hero. I secretly wished that someday I could do what he was doing. Later in life I discovered that God didn’t expect me to be a Billy Graham. He only wanted me to be Merrill Bolender. According to His plan.
My oldest sister Wanda enrolled at Olivet Nazarene College in Kankakee, Illinois. Her major was Home Economics with a goal of teaching public school. Money was scarce so Daddy let her plant beans in the rows of field corn. The corn stalks provided support for the beans to vine. Then the beans needed to be picked before the corn matured for harvest. This meant lots of work for her, so she paid me to help plant and pick the beans. This long hot laborious job was made bearable by the songs we sang as we picked. Wanda worked her way through college with this summer financial boost, along with housework and childcare she performed during the school term. One summer I picked 100 bushel of beans at 35 cents a bushel, making a total for the summer of $35.00. Dad sold the beans for her at the market in Cincinnati along with apples from our orchard.
During my high school years I learned to hunt with my brother Ralph. We hunted squirrel, rabbit and quail. The first time I ever killed a squirrel, I almost wished I'd never killed it. But after that it came easier.
Fur trapping was another sport I picked up from Ralph. I borrowed his steel traps after he was finished with his short career at trapping. I trapped for mink, but never caught one. I caught skunk, possum and several muskrat. A school buddy and I trapped along the Ohio River, catching large muskrats. We would skin them, removing the pelts and stretching them on boards specially shaped for that purpose. I sold them to fur buyers that paid as much as $5.00 per pelt. When I figured my profit and loss at the end of the year I had just broken even, a learning experience for me.
At age 16, I took my driver’s test in the 1936 Ford, as I wrote in an earlier chapter, the brakes were mechanical causing the car to travel a distance before stopping. One winter morning as I was running my trap line with the Ford, I rounded a curve out on a country road. Standing right square in the middle of the narrow road was a large horse. I applied the brakes with all my might; the car coasting to a stop with the horse just inches away. Who was more relieved, the horse or me?
My Dad had a family policy that we had to be 14 years old before we could drink coffee. You can probably guess what each of us children did on our 14th birthday. Yes, we started drinking coffee whether we liked it or not. It was a mark of coming of age.
A funny thing happened on Grandpa’s 91st birthday. Most of the family, aunts, uncles, and cousins were there for the celebration. After a large pitch-in meal came a cake with 91 candles. Someone began lighting the candles, which were closely placed together. As more and more were lit, the heat began to build until other candles started to ignite all by themselves. Suddenly, all the candles burst into flame creating one large flame covering the entire top of the cake. By the time they got the fire blown out, the top of the cake was covered with an even layer of red candle wax, the wicks strewn around like shredded coconut. After the scare we had a good laugh. After removing the wax we all ate our fill of ‘flame’ cake. We had venison that day for a main course.
During my younger years I read avidly: novels, mysteries, and biographies of great people. Inventors, explorers, presidents, you name it. This afforded me many hours of entertainment, an escape from what I perceived as a boring childhood. I learned a lot as well.
My favorite subjects in school were science, biology, chemistry and physics. I made top grades in all these with the exception of physics. My math skills were not strong, especially in algebra. Maybe I didn’t study as diligently as I might have. My dreams were to be a Chemical Engineer with Dupont or to be a FBI agent. Looking back I am thankful these particular dreams never came to be realized. Our school colors were red and white. Each year in high school I played in the band earning a big white letter “F” standing for Felicity High School. I wore it on a red wool sweater. I wore a flattop haircut until my senior year when I let it grow out. I remember getting my senior class ring, gold set with our school emblem.
One day in Chemistry class we were working with mercury. We had been instructed to remove our class rings because mercury will react with gold causing damage to the rings. So I dutifully removed my ring off stowing it in my pocket. We enjoyed rubbing silver dimes with the mercury to make them shiny. At the end of the class I dropped the mercury dime into my pocket forgetting I had put the ring there. A day or so later my ring began to turn chalky and the set fell out. We determined that the mercury from the dime damaged the ring. To my surprise the ring company replaced it free of charge.
One day Mr. Paul Cornelius, my science teacher, asked the science class a difficult question. Everyone in the class had answers that sounded logical. I came up with what I knew to be the correct answer, although it actually sounded illogical. The teacher saw his opportunity for some fun, so he questioned me about my answer. He kept talking about the matter making my answer seem more absurd. Finally, after he succeeded in making the class roar with laughter at my ridiculous answer, he then told the class I was right and the rest of the class was wrong. This brought relief to me, but embarrassment to the rest of the class. I believe the Lord used this situation, preparing me for the future when I would stand alone, bearing misunderstanding in following His will.
After passing my drivers test and obtaining my license, Daddy allowed me to drive the truck loaded with apples to the market in Cincinnati. This really challenged me.
When I was about mid-way through high school, Daddy worked out a deal where he allowed me to own 25% of the dairy herd. This included about ten milk cows, electric milking machine, use of the stable, and the milk house where the milk was stored in a refrigerated cooler. I was to run the business doing all the feeding, milking twice a day, cleaning the stable, etc. This provided me income during my junior and senior years.
At age 16, soon after I got my license, I bought my first car from my brother Leon. It was a 1939 green Ford. He agreed to sell it to me if I would help him overhaul the engine. I paid him $250.00 cash. We overhauled it replacing cast iron pistons with aluminum pistons. This increased the horsepower 10%. I used this car all through high school and into my first year of college.
One day I decided to replace the muffler. I had the car jacked up using a fender jack, but I neglected to put safety blocks under it. Leon was engaged in work nearby in the tool shed. As I was shaking and twisting the old muffler trying to pry it off, the jack slipped letting the car down pinning me in the chest. Painful! Leon let out a yell thinking I may be dead. He ran over, jacked up the car and dragged me out by my feet. The car had come down just far enough to pin me, but not far enough to crush me except for the skinned place on my chest. I sported a scar for the next few months.
The very first week I owned that car I drove it into the town limits of Felicity. A drizzling rain caused wet streets. As I rounded a curve the car went into a complete 360-degree spin, leaving me exactly in the right lane facing the direction I had been heading. This experience gave me appreciation and respect for wet streets in my future driving.
My junior year my brothers Ralph and Leon sold me their well-worn combine, a Case self-propelled harvester for wheat, oats, or soybeans. They had used it for two seasons. I paid them $1,000.00 for it. I did custom work for the farmers in the area who had been their clients in the past. I spent more time making repairs then I did combining in the fields but I made all my commitments. I paid for all my gasoline, repairs, my helper, and the purchase money in one summer. It was about shot when I was finished with it. I sold it for $350.00 that was clear profit. Making the repairs taught me to use tools, make parts, and to do welding. This experience would prove to be invaluable for my future career.
It took two people to operate the combine, one to drive and one to sack the grain, tie up the burlap sacks, and dump the sacks down the chute. I hired a young man named Jimmy. He worked for me most of the summer. He was a polite and rather quiet fellow, but he looked sad most of the time. I had an impression the Lord wanted me to witness to Jimmy, to share the good news of a new life found in Jesus Christ. Being shy, I kept putting off talking to him about this.
Weeks went by until one Sunday; I couldn’t get Jimmy off my mind. After dinner I drove out in the country to his home. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed there were no cars in the driveway. The blinds were pulled in the windows, as I walked to the door. I knocked on the door. No answer. I drove back home. Later that evening I went to church and as I walked in, a friend of mine asked, “Merrill, did you hear about Jimmy?” I responded, “No.” He said, “This morning they found Jimmy out in the barn hanging by his neck.” He had taken his own life. I regret to this day the fact that I had put off sharing the Lord with Jimmy. This was a mistake that I never want to repeat. As a result, God has used me to lead several people to him over the years. I will share some of these stories later in this book.
Charlie was a farmer that attended our church. He had a granddaughter living in Kentucky, who came each summer to visit for a few weeks. Her name was Barbara. She liked me but I wouldn’t pay much attention to her because she was quite chubby. In my junior year, she came for a visit. She had grown about 6 inches taller, was slender, and very beautiful. I decided right then that I did like her and wanted to ask her for a date. I mustered up my courage and gave her a call on the telephone. She was staying at her aunt and uncle’s house. She invited me over for the evening. I washed my car, took a bath, put on my best suit and tie. I drove over to the home where she was staying. I knocked on the door. She greeted me inviting me in. I walked into the living room as she offered me a large comfortable looking rocking chair. Her aunt and uncle were out in the kitchen so we could have some privacy. I sat down in the big chair and leaned back. As I leaned back in the chair it just kept going back until my feet went into the air and I rolled backwards onto the floor. Barbara couldn’t restrain her laughter. Her aunt and uncle heard the commotion and came running in just in time to see me picking myself up off the floor. We all had a good laugh. After all that, the evening went very well.
On our next date, I was driving her home after dark. My tire went flat out in the country miles from nowhere. Barbara held the flashlight as I changed the tire. Friends from the church drove by and saw us. They teased us about it for several weeks.
Next summer I drove down to Kentucky for one visit with her. That turned out to be our last contact. She attended the University of Kentucky, later marrying a football coach for the University of Alabama.
Our senior class play was a mystery ghost story. I had a leading part. My name was ‘Buzz.’ One climatic fast moving scene was in a park around a picnic table. A young man and lady were picnicking when the lady sees a ghost. She screams and faints, while the young man grabs the thermos jug, removes the lid and splashes a small amount of cold water in her face to revive her. At this moment, I come running onto the scene, shouting, "What in the..." Before I could finish my statement, the other fellow cuts in with some excited words about some ghost the lady was supposed to have seen. We practiced the part well and had it down pat.
We scheduled two performances, the first one for student body (K-12) and faculty and the other for the public. The auditorium filled with students and teachers. The curtain went up. The play proceeded smoothly leading up to the climatic scene at the picnic table. Unbeknownst to me, just prior to this performance some practical joker in our class had filled the thermos jug up to the brim with water. The scene in the park was going as planned, the couple enjoying their picnic. She looks up, sees the ghost, screams, faints, just as he grabs the thermos jug. In his excitement he overlooks that the jug feels heavier. He just removes the lid and drenches the young lady leaving water all over the floor. At this juncture I rush in shouting, “What in the...?” My feet hit the puddle sliding from under me. I go scooting on my seat clear across the stage. The audience explodes laughing along with everyone on stage. Several minutes pass until everybody regains composure so we can resume the play. Next evening comes the public performance. Our parents were there. We made sure the thermos contained only a small bit of water in it. All went well this time.
I was elected class president three of my four years of high school. In my senior year, I attended the Junior-Senior Prom Banquet. It was the custom for the junior class to host the senior class. The banquet tables were all set with everything in place for a formal meal. In the center of each place setting was a glass of juice for the beginning course. As senior class president, I stood and gave a speech of appreciation to the junior class for their hospitality. Being a bit nervous, as I sat down, my arm brushed the juice glass in front of me, knocking it right into my lap. Snickers rippled through the room as junior girls brought towels to dry up the spill.
Twenty-four graduated that year of 1954, 18 girls and 6 boys. A few weeks following our graduation, Frank Williams, was killed in an auto accident. The remaining five of us male graduates served as pallbearers at his funeral.
Before moving to the next chapter, let me fill you in on my brothers and sisters.
Eleanor was two years older than I was, so as a result I related more to her than my other siblings. When the cherries were ripe in the early summer, we used to sit in the cherry tree eating cherries and telling stories. We would make them up as we told them. I believe that this practice is the reason that I have an above average knack for telling stories. Eleanor studied piano, practicing by the hour during several years of my youth. As a result I developed an appreciation for classical music. When I was about 16 years old, Eleanor coaxed me into practicing singing solos. We spent considerable time on “The Lord’s Prayer”, “The Holy City”, etc. As a result, I developed a voice that opened doors, over the years, to sing at churches, weddings, and funerals. Eleanor was valedictorian of her high school senior class. She went onto Olivet Nazarene College, majoring in Music Education and a minor in Piano.
My brother Ralph was four years older than I was. We fished and hunted together. We swam in the old water tank near the barn. He was handy at woodworking that he learned in Woodworking class at school. Ralph decided to raise rabbits. In a short time they multiplied into many rabbits. He housed them in hutches along the end of the barn. He became busy with other activities and talked me into caring for them. I still can’t figure out how I got talked into doing so many things for him. Daddy bought a second car when Ralph was in high school. It was a 1941 Chevrolet, which was sold as Army Surplus (material left over from the war).
Ralph had a minor accident crumpling a fender. Late one evening, he and our brother Leon were repairing it. Ralph was under the rear of the car removing the gas tank. When he was disconnecting the line gasoline ran down his arm soaking his jacket arm and pant leg. He was using an electric extension light. Suddenly, the tank slipped and fell on the extension light breaking the light bulb, engulfing the car in flames. Ralph quickly crawled from under the car and stood up, with flames blazing several feet in the air from his jacket and pants. Leon came running to find something to extinguish the flames. He tried to wrap a piece of cardboard around Ralph, but it was too stiff to shut off the oxygen feeding the flames. Leon then remembered a water puddle in the drive in front of the tool shed. He led Ralph out the door and told him to lie down. He rolled Ralph in the water and the fire was out. The doctor and the fire department were called immediately. The car and the building were saved. Ralph had second and third degree burns over 20% of his body. I was asleep in bed when this happened, and no one awakened me. The next morning, Daddy came to my bedroom, awakened me, and told me the bad news.
Ralph was flat on his back in bed for the next 12 weeks. They had to administer morphine to kill the pain. Eventually, Ralph had to have 150 spot skin graphs on the back of his thigh to hasten skin growth. After he healed, there were deep scars on his hand and leg. Later when he would have been drafted into the Army, he failed his physical exam, because of the scars. After graduation from high school, Ralph bought a dump truck, two bulldozers, heavy-duty trailer, and other equipment. He started an excavation business building roads, clearing land, building lakes, etc. for farmers in the area. One summer, I drove the dump truck for Ralph, hauling sand, gravel, and topsoil. One day, I drove the truck to a gravel pit in Kentucky, to pick up a load of gravel. I loaded the truck and started home, when the State Police stopped me for a weight check. They had me drive up on a portable scale and found that I was overweight. Also, the truck didn’t have a special license for driving in Kentucky. They took me to a sheriff’s office, gave me citations with fines of approximately $150.00. I called Ralph to come bail me out. It was near closing time for the office and they said if the fines were not paid that evening, I would have to spend the night in jail. Ralph drove down with a check to cover the fines. That’s the nearest I’ve come to going to jail in my life of "crime."
Leon is my next older brother, being six years older than I am. About 1944, when Leon was 14 years old, the electric company ran electric power lines past our farm. Leon read a book on, "Basic House Wiring." Leon asked Daddy, “Will you let me do the wiring of the house, barn, and other buildings?" Daddy asked Leon some questions about his plans, and soon was convinced Leon was serious. He told Leon to make a list of materials needed. A few days later when the list was completed, Daddy and Leon made a trip to Sears and Roebuck in Cincinnati. They returned home with a load of wiring supplies. Leon set to work with hand tools and kerosene lights, putting in many hours of work. During the following weeks, Leon wired the house, barn, washhouse, outhouse, chicken house, apple storage, tool shed, etc. Leon set up electric poles and strung wire to the pond in the pasture to a pump for pumping water to the holding tank at the barn. An electrical inspector came and checked all the wiring. He found everything up to code except one switch cover in the barn was metal and he made him change it to plastic. He was amazed at the excellence of workmanship a 14-year-old boy could do, remarking, “The quality of work was better than most electricians do.”
Daddy could see the ability and potential that Leon displayed. In a nearby community, an elderly radio repairman was retiring, wanting to sell his inventory, technical manuals and test equipment. Daddy purchased it all for $200.00, gave it to Leon, and offered him use of a small building to set up shop. Leon began repairing radios for friends and neighbors, until soon he had a business going.
In the expansion of his interests, Leon obtained a manual on watch repairing. These were the days before battery operated watches. Leon purchased a few tools and supplies and began repairing watches
Short-wave radio was a growing interest for Leon. He sent away for a kit to build a short-wave radio set. One day he was in the spare room in the house assembling the set. He stood up from his chair to solder an electrical connection. Mom had just finished preparing a meal and asked me if I would set the chairs to the dining table. I took the chair from behind Leon thinking he noticed that I had taken it. About two minutes later, there was a thud and a loud yell that came from the spare room where Leon was working. Leon had been concentrating on his work and didn’t notice me taking his chair. He tried to sit down in the chair that wasn’t there and fell to the floor. After checking to find that Leon wasn't hurt and his emotion calmed down, we all had a good laugh.
Later, Leon took a test and received his Ham Radio Operators License. He still is active as a hobby today in his retirement years. After the war, Daddy bought a Ford-Ferguson tractor. It was a couple years old when Daddy was plowing in the field and the radiator ran low on water. The engine overheated and locked up. Leon was about 16 by this time. He helped Daddy tow the tractor back to the barn. Leon went to work on the tractor, removing the hood, oil pan, and head on the engine to diagnose what was needed. He called the Ford tractor dealer about ten miles away and placed an order for needed parts to overhaul the engine. They were about to close so they set the parts on the back dock. After dark, Leon drove over to the dealer and picked up the parts and started to work. He worked all night and by mid-morning the next day the tractor was running like a new one. From then on, Leon repaired trucks, cars, and tractors on the farm.
After Leon married, he and Dorothy farmed for Uncle Dow Poe. After a time, they left the farm and Leon joined the Air Force. He studied radio at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois, making very high grades. He eventually went overseas to Tripoli to do high security work. To this day, our family knows very little about his operations there. When Leon was back in the states, he was stationed in California to finish out his last days in the service. He visited an I. B. M. office inquiring about the possibility of working for them in Cincinnati after his time in the service. They informed him that he could fill out an application and take a test there in California, and the results would be forwarded to Cincinnati. Upon arrival at the IBM office in Cincinnati, Leon was informed the job application and test results had been received from California. They said, “You will have to take the test over again, nobody makes a score this high.” Leon took the test over again and made a yet higher score. Leon began a career with IBM as a “Customer Engineer.”
My oldest sister, Wanda is seven years older than I am. Wanda was very tender hearted and mature beyond her years. She was valedictorian of her graduating class. She was industrious in making money for college as stated in an earlier chapter. At Olivet Wanda majored in Home Economics. While working on her Master’s degree in Special Education one summer she took a course on Researching and Writing Genealogy. She did some work on the Bolender genealogy at that time.
Wanda taught Sunday School class at the church. When I was about nine or ten years old, I was sitting in her class one Sunday morning. While her back was turned, I jumped out the window. I was a cut-up in my junior class years. Being the youngest of six children, I got by with more things than my older brothers and sisters. Daddy had mellowed over the years and became more lenient.
The first-born in the family is my oldest brother, Arnold. I wasn’t close to him until he returned from the army. He became my hero. We fished together for bass at Grant Lake. We trapped fish and ran trotlines by boat in the Ohio River. One day I was rowing back to shore, when Arnold kept telling me how to row. I wasn’t doing it like he wanted and began to get irritated at his suggestions. Finally, I said, “If you don’t like the way I’m rowing, you can get out and walk.” To my surprise, he climbed over the edge of the boat and walked to shore. I didn’t realize we were over a sandbar that made the water shallow. Arnold had on his hip boots and didn’t even get wet. He had a good laugh. He still reminds me about it today.
In high school, Arnold was an outdoorsman. He had a coonhound dog with which he spent many a night hunting for coon. Sometimes, he would be out so late that he wouldn’t even go home. He would go straight to school. One night his dog tangled with a skunk. Arnold got sprayed with skunk scent. He went straight from hunting to school, which was more than the teacher and classmates could stand. They sent him home to change clothes. Due to his late night hunting, he became run down physically so much that in his senior class picture, he looked rather gaunt and pale.
After his time in the Army, Arnold went to auctioneering school on the GI Bill. For several years he did auction sales, selling farms, livestock, and household goods. Arnold became an official milk-tester for the county. He collected milk samples from dairy farmers and tested the milk for butterfat content. I helped with the laboratory work, using test tubes, centrifuge, and calipers for measuring the butterfat.
Arnold decided to raise turkeys. He built elaborate pens and ordered several hundred small turkey chicks. Just like Ralph and his rabbits, Arnold soon was making a deal with me to care for his turkeys. Some of the turkeys died but we were able to get most of them to market by Thanksgiving time. I don’t think he made any profit that year.
Arnold began a career in the insurance business and worked for several years in that field. Later, he went to work for Chrysler Air-Temp from which he retired after many years.
Each of my brothers and sisters were my heroes and role models. Their relationship to each other and me helped shaped my life in a positive way.
College and Career
The fall of 1954 found me heading my 1939 Ford northwest on Route 52, on my way to Olivet Nazarene College in Kankakee, Illinois. Eleanor was a junior there having completed two years of study. It was helpful to have a big sister to touch base with.
I purposely arrived two weeks before school started in order to find a job. Daddy was helping Eleanor with her tuition and expenses and could not afford to support me too. I knew I was on my own as far as support was concerned.
Homesickness was something I had never experienced. After about two weeks, the novelty of being away from home wore off. September 7 was my 18th birthday. A card arrived from home in the mail. I was walking down the hall in the boy’s dorm as I opened the envelope. I don’t know where Mom found such a perfect card for the occasion. On the front of the card was a family sitting around a dining table loaded with food. There were five children sitting around the table and one empty chair. When I saw that, I burst into tears, rushed into my room, and fell across the bed and had a good cry. After I released the emotions of homesickness, it was over. I don’t remember having any more problems the rest of the year.
I did return home every month or two to visit family and friends at church. It was approximately 300 miles each way. When I went to college, I was dating a girl in the church by the name of Ruth. We continued to write during my first semester in college. One weekend, I decided to drive home without letting anybody know I was coming. When I arrived home, I learned the young people were having a party in the school gymnasium. I arrived at the party unexpectedly. Ruth greeted me and was glad to see me. We spent most of the evening together. I asked her if I could drive her home. I drove her home, visited a while, and went on home having enjoyed a wonderful evening. Sunday morning I drove to church. I sensed that my friend, Dick seemed a bit cool towards me. I didn’t have a clue as to why. Later, I learned from Dick’s sister, the reason why he was upset. The facts were that my friend Dick had asked Ruth to go to the party with him. She accepted the invitation so he picked her up at her home and took her to the party. When I arrived unexpectedly, Ruth was embarrassed because we were still writing and maintaining a relationship. She was too shy to tell me that she was with Dick at the party. When I asked to take her home, she couldn’t bring herself to tell me any different. Well, after a time, Dick forgave me. I believe he also forgave Ruth, because they have been happily married for approximately 40 years and have a nice family.
At Olivet College I landed a job with A. O. Smith, a large factory for the manufacture of glass-lined water heaters. They had their own brand and also made Kenmore water heaters for Sears. I worked at nights, attended classes in the mornings, and attempted to sleep in the afternoons in the dormitory. The afternoons and evenings were the only time I had to sleep. With the noise in the dorm and the schedule of my roommates, I was only sleeping about two hours a day. I would try to catch up on my studies and sleep on weekends. I became more and more run down as the weeks went by. At work, I operated a punch press, which could be dangerous to operate. I would fall asleep at the press. I would stagger, catch my balance, and continue to work. I barely made it through the first semester. My grades were suffering and I needed a change.
The second semester, I moved off campus into a sleeping room, giving me more peace and quiet. At work, I transferred to another department where the work was easier and safer. The company hired another young man to replace me in the press department. About two weeks after the new employee started, he was cleaning scrap out of the press. The press came down accidentally severing his arm below the elbow. I was thankful I transferred out of that department, as the accident could easily have happened to me in my tired sleepy state.
Eleanor left Olivet to return home at the end of the first semester. Ralph’s new wife, Pat, had come down sick with TB on their honeymoon that December in Florida. Eleanor helped care for Pat during her months of recovery.
I completed the second semester at Olivet and went home, never again to return to college. I was exhausted both emotionally and physically. For months I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t even listen to the radio. Nobody in the family or church knew the extent of my condition. I did not even know what was wrong with me. Just the thought of college was more than I cared to deal with.
I decided that before trying to continue college what I needed was to get a job, save my money and finish college some later date. One consideration was to enlist in the military and then go to school later on the GI Bill. I went to a recruiter in Cincinnati, took the tests, and had a physical exam. I was accepted and was told to report at the airport on a certain date. They said I could change my mind up until the time I was sworn in at the airport. In the meantime, I learned that the GI Bill benefits had been discontinued. This left me without an incentive to join the Army, so I changed my mind and didn’t show up to be sworn in at the airport.
Job-hunting was my next alternative. A schoolmate told me that Otis Elevator was hiring in Cincinnati. I drove to Cincinnati to visit the Otis office thinking it strange that a grain elevator company would be located downtown Cincinnati near the tall skyscrapers. I thought it should be in the country near the grain farmers. The construction superintendent interviewed me. He seemed pleased with my farm experience and work with tools. After my filling out paperwork, he asked, “When can you start to work?” I replied, “Tomorrow morning.” He said, “Okay.” I asked, “Where do I start work?” He said, “Across the street.” I looked out the window and all I could see was a large office building under construction. Puzzled, I asked, “What kind of elevators do you make?” He replied, “Passenger elevators, freight elevators, and escalators.” Embarrassed, I replied, “Oh, I thought you made grain elevators.” We both had a good laugh.
The next morning I started work with a construction crew of mechanics and helpers. The project was installing eight escalators in the new home office of Procter and Gamble. I started as an elevator mechanic’s helper making 50% of mechanic’s wages, which was $2.20 an hour. This was big money to me. At A. O. Smith the base wage was $1.60 an hour. I enjoyed the work and the opportunity to learn a trade. The job foremen was a tough speaking and easily angered man from Cleveland, Ohio.
After a few months, I was promoted to temporary mechanic status making full mechanic’s wages. Later, I took the necessary tests and received the title of Elevator Mechanic. Within two years, I was promoted to job foreman. I supervised many installations all over Cincinnati in shopping centers, office buildings, department stores, etc. My specialty was escalators, as most elevator men didn’t care to work on them. When I started my career in the elevator trade I still lived at home on the farm, a daily 70 mile round trip.
Over the years, I sensed the Lord’s blessing on my career as an elevator mechanic. I have faced danger many times but have been protected by God’s unseen hand. One such incident took place in a 60-story office building under construction in Cleveland. There were 24 elevators under construction. One day I climbed out into the elevator shaft on the 45th floor. My toes were on a narrow ledge about four inches wide. I was holding on to the web of a three-inch angle when my fingers slipped off. As I started backwards I reached out, grasping the angle with my fingertips just in time to catch my balance. My blood turned to ice. I stepped out of the shaft and took a long walk to gain my composure. Later on the same job, an ironworker fell to his death from the 60th floor. They picked him up in pieces in a rubber basket. On all the jobs that I supervised over the years, there never was a lost-time accident. Some jobs had as many as 35 men at a time working tens hours a day, six days a week. There have been a few close calls.
Another time I was adjusting an escalator. I had taken ten steps out of it so I could see and work inside the unit to make adjustments. There was a policy that you never rode an escalator with any of the steps out. One day I was in a hurry. I finished adjusting the lower end and needed to go to the top to finish my work. I stepped on the escalator and started up. I looked down and realized that the step I was on was the last step before several empty axles. If I had been one second later, I would have stepped into the internal moving parts. It would have been like stepping into a sausage grinder. Again, I felt my blood turn to ice. During a long walk to calm down, I thanked God for his protection in spite of my carelessness.
Marriage and Beginning Family
At church I was elected Young People's president. Of course, with old familiar feelings of insecurity I felt inadequate for the position. The pastor and I planned for a youth revival. We learned of a youth evangelist who teamed up with a girls' trio. So we made contact and reserved them for a series of meetings. This revival resulted in several commitments to the Lord. I was particularly attracted to Kathy, a young lady in the gospel trio. I wanted to get to know her better. The revival ended and the team returned to their home in northern Kentucky.
Elevator work continued steady so I purchased a new car, a 1956 red and white Ford Crown Victoria with dual exhaust in the rear bumper. It boasted a Thunderbird 202 horsepower engine, seat belts (way before their time), power seats and air conditioning. Driving my new car I headed to Covington, Kentucky, and began dating Kathy. As our relationship grew I made the move to Cincinnati to be closer to Kathy and my work as well. So I went from the family home on the farm to a small but adequate hotel in the big city. Thus several months passed and before long I proposed to her. She accepted and we began planning a wedding. Family members and close friends expressed their concerns about our plans. A major concern was in regard to my age. Nineteen years seemed mature enough to me, so I paid little heed their warnings and admonitions. We continued with our plans and were married in 1956.
Our first apartment was in Covington, Kentucky, but we soon moved to an apartment in Latonia. We went into debt buying new furniture. Family members advised us against incurring debts, but we thought we could get by. With rent, car, and furniture payments plus food and utility expense, we found ourselves in financial bondage. The pressures of finances, differences of personality, and my lack of maturity made for an unhappy marriage. To add to all this, I was unexpectedly laid off from Otis Elevator due to a slump in construction. I obtained a job with the L. & N. Railroad working as a typing clerk. This provided a meager income for three months until I was called back to work with Otis Elevator.
My spiritual life was weak due to discouragement, pressures and my own lack of
discipline in my daily prayer life. I would make new commitments to the Lord, but fail to keep them. My spiritual life was up and down like a roller coaster.
A joyful event took place, May 1, 1958. After 24 hours of hard labor, Kathy gave birth to our first son. I felt like I was ten feet tall. We named our son, Mark Lee. After a year or so, Kathy became pregnant again. Three or four months into the pregnancy, she looked as large as if she were nine months pregnant. Soon afterwards, she began to hemorrhage, which grew increasingly worse. The doctors didn't know what the trouble was. One day, I was working at a construction site in downtown Cincinnati, when I received an emergency call to go immediately to St. Elizabeth hospital. I made a mad dash across the river bridge in my car and arrived at the hospital just in time to see Kathy being rushed to the operating room for an emergency operation. She had hemorrhaged so much that her blood pressure had dropped so low they couldn't get a reading. Her veins collapsed, preventing the doctors from starting a transfusion. They removed a mass from her womb that looked like a cluster of grapes. Kathy had a rare disorder where rapid growth caused the fetus to deteriorate and the womb to enlarge. It is a trophoblastic disease called a 'hydatidiform mole.' It happens about once in 25,000 to 45,000 pregnancies. We were told the operating room was full of doctors and interns who had never witnessed this phenomenon. When I went into the recovery room, Kathy was near death. I called Dad and Mom to explain the situation. I told them there was no need to come because she probably would not live until they arrived. They came anyhow, which provided a blessing because I needed their loving support.
Kathy hung between life and death for about three days. I rarely left her side during
that time. I walked the floor day and night, praying for her recovery. I bargained with God, saying that if only He would restore her, I would serve him with more fervency and faithfulness. About three days later, her kidneys began to work and other signs of improvement were evident. Many weeks later, her health was restored.
Our marriage continued to be plagued with financial pressures. My work slacked off making it necessary for me to work in Dayton, Ohio, during the week. I came home for the weekends to be with the family, but our relationship was stormy at best. I still struggled in my spiritual walk with the Lord and I didn't take my place as the spiritual head of our home.
Another joyful event took place, Feb. 20, 1961. Kathy gave birth to our second son, Jeffrey Scott. We were concerned about the pregnancy because of the major crisis of the previous pregnancy, but Jeffrey was a healthy baby and Kathy weathered it well.
Back on November 5, 1959, I had received a phone call with a message from Felicity that my Dad had passed away. Ralph had stopped by the farm that evening for a visit. He found Daddy leaning against a building between the barn and the house. He was very weak and in much pain. Ralph helped Daddy to the house and called the doctor. Daddy was sitting on the couch with Ralph at his side when he drew his last breath. The reality of this tragic news didn't sink in. To me Daddy was solid rock who would always be there. I had looked forward to having much more time to visit him and learn from his wisdom. We had planned to have many good times in the future.
We drove to Felicity where funeral arrangements were made. All of the family was to view the body before the public. I was supposed to escort Mom and help comfort and console her. As we walked through the front door, I glanced into the viewing room where Daddy was lying. All I could see from where I was standing was Daddy's hands folded across his stomach The reality of his death hit me like a bolt of lightening. At that moment, I realized Daddy was gone. I would never see him alive in this life. A great grief overwhelmed me, and I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair with my pastor and family members gathered around trying to console me.
The funeral was held in the Nazarene Church with the largest attendance of any funeral in the history of Felicity. Herbert Joel Bolender was highly respected and loved by all that knew him. Daddy was born on the farm. He married, raised a family of six children, and died on the same farm. In his lifetime, he never traveled more than a few states' distance, but his influence reaches around the world in ways few people know. He was 69 when he died and never made to their 40th wedding anniversary. He lived to see all of his six children marry. The day of his death he made the last payment to the funeral home for his mother's funeral just thirty days before.
He died at the close of the day. He had finished feeding the animals when the heart attack hit him. Apparently, he lay down in the barn when the heart attack began. He made it partway back to the house where Ralph found him. He had finished his work on earth and God called him home. I look forward with great anticipation to the day when we will be together again and there will be no more death, sickness or separation. I regret that I missed out on being with my Dad more. This loss has caused me to draw all the more closer to my Heavenly Father who fills all my needs as a son, and as a result I grew in my relationship with God as Father.
When Mark was about three years old, he became ill with stomach pain and vomiting which grew progressively worse. He was admitted to the hospital for tests. The doctors couldn't determine the cause. Mark continued to get worse and his temperature began to rise to dangerous levels. When we went to visit him, we were told that he was in isolation. We could only view him through a window at a distance. He was packed in ice to keep the fever under control. As we were peering through the glass to get a better look at him, he saw us. The look on his face communicated the feeling that we had abandoned him. My heart was heavy with grief. These words came to me as clearly as if audibly spoken. "This is the beginning of sorrows." With these words, I knew that God, the Father, was lovingly telling me that he loved me enough that whatever sorrow He may allow was to bring me closer to Him. The doctor was able to get Mark's fever under control. They diagnosed the problem as tonsillitis. It was an unusual case of the symptoms being in the stomach rather than the throat. Mark recovered from the operation and returned home alive and well.
Soon after Mark's bout in the hospital, I went to the dentist with a terrible toothache. The dentist said he couldn't save the tooth and would need to pull it. The tooth must have been infected because Novocain didn't kill the pain. When the dentist was attempting to pull the tooth, I hollered with pain, which made him nervous. To make matters worse, the tooth broke off level with the gums. The dentist was so upset with me that he said, "You'll have to find another dentist to finish extracting your tooth." On top of all this, the dentist had the nerve to charge me for the extraction that he failed to complete. I was in so much pain that I had to find another dentist fast.
A friend told me of one, and I called him and got immediate service. I sat in the dental chair while the new dentist looked the situation over. He told me that he would have to chisel the tooth out. Since Novocain didn't kill the pain, he would have to give me gas. Because of the length of time it would take for the extraction, he would have to give a small amount of gas. I would not be put completely to sleep. The nurse strapped me in the chair and put the gas mask over my nose. As I began to inhale the gas, I felt as if I was falling down into a deep, dark cavern head over heels. I tried to grasp hold of something to break my fall, but to no avail. I went down; down until in the distance I saw a pinpoint of red glowing. As I fell deeper, the red glow grew larger and larger. I could see, by now, it was a lake of fire. Suddenly, to my horror, I plunged into the lake of fire. The searing pain was indescribable. No words can tell how awful it was. Suddenly, I woke up, free from pain. I opened my eyes and looked into the face of the nurse who was wiping my forehead. Relieved to see me awaken, she remarked, "You had a rough time." I replied, "I've been to hell and back." She chuckled at my remark, not realizing how true it was. Later, as I looked back, I could see that this experience of going to hell and back symbolized what was to happen in the coming months.
To Hell and Back
In 1963 I lived out my earlier vision of going to hell and returning. Outwardly I appeared successful. As a 26-year-old father of two fine young sons, I was buying a home, attending church, making good money on my job and enjoying the prestige and an excellent reputation as construction foreman.
But cracks were appearing in the foundation of our marriage. The tests and storms of life gave visible proof that I'd been building on sand rather than the solid rock Christ Jesus. When I began to realize that divorce was brewing I fervently believed that reconciliation could and would take place. But as time passed it became more evident that things were not going to work out for us.
I lost my appetite and experienced difficulty sleeping. In three months time I lost 30 pounds and was down to about three or four hours of sleep a night. I suffered great emotional pain. I told the Lord, “If hell is as bad as this pain, then I sure don’t want to wind up going there.” Feelings of rejection, disgrace and failure weighed heavily upon me.
Day after miserable day I begged the Lord to please put our marriage back together. The heavens were brass. My prayers were falling on deaf ears. At times I felt like I would die of a broken heart. Matter of fact there were times when I wished to die rather than go through divorce. In our family there had never been a divorce. It would be left to me to bring the disgrace of that first divorce.
One desperate night on my knees beside my bed I prayed a prayer markedly different from my previous pleas for help. I heard myself praying, "Lord, until now I have lived my life calling on you as my Helper. I have made my own decisions, done my own thing, then asked you to bless it. In the world's eyes I appear successful, but in my heart I know I am shipwrecked. I feel I'll never be able to smile again. All I have left to me are broken pieces and shattered dreams. Here. Take them. I give you all this broken stuff because it is all I have left to offer you. From this moment forward I place what there is of me in your hands. Please take over. You take control of me. I will no longer question the outcome of this present situation or what will become of my future. I give up."
In those moments of utter surrender a peace came over me that has never left me since. Jesus spoke, “Peace. Be still.” The angry waves no longer threatened my destruction. Calm in the depths of my heart stabilized me throughout the months following. My appetite came back. I began sleeping through the night. I thought now that everything would come back together. I began to see that God had a different plan, much better than I ever dreamed. Things did not happen, as I would have predicted. Nevertheless, God put the jigsaw puzzle pieces of my life together in a brand new pattern. Although storms of life continued to buffet me, I now experienced inner calm, which stabilized me.
The divorce settlement gave me permanent custody of our sons, Mark and Jeff, by now ages five and two. It became clear to me that the former marriage would never have a hope of being put back together. This full reality came clear to me while I was on a visit to Tampa, Florida. One night I stood alone beneath palm trees gazing up into the starry heavens. Talking to my heavenly Father I sensed his presence upon me in great power. Without the shadow of doubt God confirmed to me that Kathy and I would never again be together as husband and wife. Peace filled me as the Lord's words came clear, “God the Father controls my life. My future will be the working out of His will according to His plan.”
This crisis turned out to be a major turning point in my spiritual life. The words of a song became quite meaningful to me at this time.
He washed my eyes with tears, that I might see,
The broken heart I had was good for me;
He tore it all apart and looked inside,
He found it full of fear and foolish pride.
He swept away the things that made me blind,
And then I saw the clouds were silver lined;
And now I understand ‘twas best for me,
He washed my eyes with tears that I might see.
Ira Stanphil
Returning home, I breathed the same prayer night after night, “God, somewhere in this world of yours, there must be a girl that could be my wife and who is willing to be a good mother to two little boys who were not her own.” This period was an extremely lonely time for me. I spent my evenings and weekends with my two little boys Mark and Jeff.
In our church, there was a couple named Audra and Betty, who were a bit older than I was. They were like a big brother and sister providing listening ears where I could pour out my heart. This was a healing time, spending much time in their home. They had several boys so I would take Mark and Jeff with me where they could have friends to play with.
There was a church conference in Cincinnati where Jim Bohi was the special singer. I attended a youth night where Jim Bohi sang a special song, “Follow Me." On the last verse, Jim asked for people to come forward if they would like to rededicate their life to the Lord and seek God’s direction for the future. I didn’t go forward but stood at my seat with my heart open to hear God’s voice. As Jim sang, God spoke to me saying, “For the time being, continue to do what you are doing, continue at your job, continue your church activities, continue to live in your neighborhood, and use opportunities to witness to those who need God.”
Years before Daddy had purchased a book for 25 cents, titled, “Streams in the Desert.” In addition to my Bible, this book was just what I needed at this time. This devotional book by a former missionary clearly illustrated how blessings, growth and maturity come through adversity, reverses and storms of life, just as long as we neither rebel nor resist the lessons God is teaching us. What I came to learn is that the only real mistakes are those from which we learn nothing. For attaining wisdom, adversity can be better than university.
Because God had washed my eyes with tears, it seemed my spiritual sight became clearer during this “dark night of the soul." Other songs came alive to me, which I found myself singing late into the evening. I would burst forth into songs of hope and joy. One song I sang went like this:
In the dark of the midnight, have I oft hid my face,
While the storms raged around me and there’s no hiding place.
Mid the crash of the thunder, dear Lord hear my cry.
Keep me safe, til the storm passes by.
Til the storm passes over, til the thunder sounds no more,
Til the clouds roll forever from the sky,
Hold me fast; let me stand, in the hollow of thy hand.
Keep me safe, 'til the storm passes by.
Mosie Lister
My neighbors were so kind and helpful to me during this time. One day a neighbor said, “Merrill, we’re concerned about you. The other night, about the midnight hour, we could hear you singing. Are you all right?” I responded, “Don’t be concerned about me. God is giving me songs in the night.”
The night when I let the Lord take full control of my life, was a time when “powers of darkness” suffered a great defeat. As long as I remained a nominal Christian, not serious about following God, the enemy of my soul wasn’t much disturbed. When I got serious with the Lord, it seemed the evil one wanted to attack and destroy me.
One such event took place late one night. I was traveling alone, returning from visiting Mom at Felicity. I was driving Route 52 along the river road toward Cincinnati. It was very late, maybe about 1:00 A.M., when just ahead a car with no driver, rolled down off a steep hill right in front of me. I cut sharply to the left, barely clearing the car by inches when an oncoming car came at me at a high rate of speed. I then had to cut sharply to the right to miss it by inches. It all happened so fast without warning. I drove on down the highway thanking the Lord for his deliverance.
Soon after this near accident, I was traveling alone up a steep winding hill in northern Kentucky, when suddenly an approaching car coming toward me down the hill went into a tailspin stopping just inches away from me. Again, I thanked the Lord for his continual protection.
I began to witness the Lord’s care for the boys and me. One Sunday after church, we had been invited to a friend’s house for dinner. Their home was about 20 miles in the country. It was a cold, windy day, about 15-20 degrees, and snowing. We were about ten miles from the city and about ten miles from our destination when I heard a thud under the hood. I could tell by the sound that the fan belt broke. I looked down at the temperature gauge, as it was moving toward the red zone indicating the engine was overheating. Realizing my predicament, it was too far to return to the city for a new fan belt and too far to drive on to the farmhouse without damaging the engine. I began to pray, “Lord, you know my situation. I can’t hitchhike with the boys, as it is too cold. I can’t leave them here alone to go for help. I need a miracle. I believe you care.” Driving as I prayed, I looked down at the temperature gauge in time to see the hand moving from the red zone back to normal. It stayed there until we reached our destination. I had witnessed a miracle of God’s love. It gave me 'goose bumps,' but not from the cold weather. After dinner, my friend took me to the city and we purchased a fan belt and returned to replace the broken one. Little did I realize this would be a taste of God’s supernatural workings in the future.
I worked with a young man named Bob, who seemed to have religious interests. I invited him to attend a church meeting with me to hear a speaker by the name, Leonard Ravenhill. He was a British born preacher who had written a Christian book, “Why Revival Tarries.” In an earlier service I heard Brother Ravenhill speak under great anointing. I thought the exposure would help my friend, Bob, draw closer to God. Bob met me at the church. The meeting and message were high-level in every way. I thought Bob would surely recognize the presence of the Lord and be blessed by it. After the meeting, Bob invited me to a coffee shop to visit.
At the coffee shop, over refreshments, Bob began to criticize and belittle everything that took place in the meeting from start to finish. Furthermore, in his opinion I didn’t have a salvation experience with God because I didn’t receive it in his kind of church and by their formula. He quoted scripture to prove his points even though some was taken out of context. I was not well enough versed in scripture for my own defense.
After returning to my home I knelt beside my bedside to pray. But I could not pray. My faith shattered, I gave up the attempt and crawled into bed. Finding no peace, rolling and tossing, unable to fall asleep, I rolled out of bed and onto my knees once more. This time I prayed, “Lord. You specifically told me to witness to others. I’ve obeyed you. Now just look what has happened to me. My faith in you is shattered. I'll never know for sure now that I’m your child. I feel wounded spiritually, like I'm bleeding to death. Please, I ask you to 'illumine my heart and mind,' so that I will know for sure I am your child.”
A few nights later I returned to hear Brother Ravenhill speak once again. This time several of his statements spoke directly to me. One special saying was: “A man with an experience is not at the mercy of a man with an argument.” At the end of the message, Brother Ravenhill asked for anyone to come forward to pray if they had a need. No one went forward so he turned the pulpit back over to the pastor. The pastor said, “I feel led to do something different tonight. I want the organist to pull out all the stops on the organ and begin to play, “Spirit of the Living God, Fall Afresh Upon Me.” I was standing in the congregation, when I began to feel a chill go through my entire body. My body began to tremble slightly as the chill was replaced with a warmth. As the warmth penetrated my body, I began to be illuminated inside. It seemed I could see through my entire body, as it filled with a golden glow. Pure light. Revealing no spots or wrinkles in me. During this experience I had the feeling of weightlessness. My hands left my side and were raised above my head in a position of worship. Words came to me from the Lord saying, “You are my son. You are on the right track. There is more for you to know, further for you to go.” Then the light faded and I brought my hands back to my sides. Then I came to realize that the Lord had answered my prayer by “illuminating my heart and mind,” assuring me I was indeed his son. My wounded faith had been healed. My peace restored.
Later, I learned more about the church Bob attended, a divisive sectarian group that believes they are the only ones who will be saved because they are orthodox in their theology. Sometime, after this, I saw Bob caught in a lie, on the job. Also he displayed bad habits of smoking and swearing. The scripture I felt the Lord impressed on my is, “By their fruits you shall know them.” Mt. 7:20.
During this time of upheaval in my life, I became aware of my dependency on God. The hymn, “I Need Thee Every Hour,” became real to me. I sensed my need for the Lord’s help and guidance every moment.
I had a growing desire to go into business for myself. I dreamed of starting an elevator business. The thought struck me to contact a cousin, whom I didn’t know very well, who was successful in the business world. After making an appointment, I drove to his home for some business advice. His lovely home was in an exclusive neighborhood. His Cadillac was parked in the driveway near the swimming pool. I rang the doorbell and his wife greeted me, inviting me in. I entered the large living room with a large fireplace on one side and a sound system covering the opposite wall. In a large black overstuffed chair sat my cousin, Harold. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit with necktie and cuff links. He greeted me, offering me a seat near the fireplace. He asked his wife to bring him a drink plus a soft drink for me. He appeared to have been drinking heavily before I arrived. As the evening wore on, he became freer in his speech. He told of his business ventures. He owned a tool and die business doing contract work for the government. He owned a large shopping center, a twin drive-in theater, plus warehouses around Cincinnati. He referred to his competitors as "cats and dogs.” As I observed his attitudes and lifestyle, I breathed a prayer, “Lord, if business success and money would do for me what it has for Harold, don’t let it happen.” The Lord has answered this prayer by blessing me over the years with the amounts he can trust me to handle wisely.
Second Chance
Even though I was praying to find the right girl to become my wife, I did not date anyone. We had a married couple in our church, Charles and Virginia. Charles, my friend Audra and I sang together in a men's trio. Charles worked on the railroad in Cincinnati, but when his job transferred him to Indianapolis, Indiana, he moved his family there. One weekend Audra, his wife Betty and I planned to visit Charles and Virginia in Beech Grove, a suburb of Indianapolis. I planned to go from there on to Otis Elevator in Chicago where I'd been told there was a call for elevator mechanics. I needed to make extra money to bail myself out of debt and I heard there was much overtime available in Chicago.
We went to Beech Grove to visit Charles and Virginia. We attended the Church of the Nazarene with them. Rev. Joe Youmans was the pastor. Our men's trio sang several songs. We enjoyed the service and felt at home among the people. Charles and Virginia introduced me to a young lady who was about a year and a half younger than I. Her name was Donna Ewing. She had graduated from Olivet College and was currently teaching school. My first impressions of her were that she was a lovely lady with both inner-beauty and maturity. Too bad we lived so far apart.
The following day Donna returned to Purdue University in West Lafayette where she was earning a Masters Degree in Mathematics. Before I headed for Chicago, I decided to stop at the Otis Elevator office in Indianapolis and talk with John, the construction superintendent. He informed me that there was no longer a call for overtime work in Chicago. So it seemed useless to make that trip. Here I was in Indianapolis, three days off work and the door to Chicago closed.
I returned to Charles and Virginia's home and reported on my latest development.
Virginia suggested I contact Donna and make arrangements to visit her that evening at Purdue. I gave Donna a call at West Lafayette and told her of my change in plans. I asked her if I could come visit her on campus. She responded in the affirmative and I was on my way to Purdue, 70 miles northwest.
We walked around the campus and drove around the area, getting acquainted and sharing our life stories. I dropped her off at her apartment and headed back to Beech Grove. As I drove, I prayed, "Lord, Donna is a precious pearl, so pure and in love with You. I don't feel worthy of ever becoming her husband, but if you could find it in your Father's heart to let it happen, so be it." I returned the following evening for a visit. Donna fixed fried chicken with all the trimmings. While Donna was fixing supper, I was sitting in the easy chair reading the newspaper. Donna came over, leaned on my right shoulder, and read it with me. This physical contact made a deep impression with me. For the past 38 years, around evening mealtime, my right shoulder itches when Donna is around. She has to scratch it for me. After the meal we went to church together and afterwards played miniature golf. A great evening.
I returned home to Kentucky and resumed my job with Otis Elevator. Donna finished her summer studies at Purdue, returned to her home in Beech Grove, and resumed teaching mathematics at Perry Township Schools. I began going to Beech Grove weekends to visit Donna, staying with Charles and Virginia. Over the next several months, my relationship with Donna deepened. I felt more and more at home in her church. Work slackened in Cincinnati, so I had to start driving to Cleveland to work during the week. I was working with a crew installing 24 elevators in Erie View Towers, a 60-story office building under construction. On Fridays, I drove to Kentucky, visited the boys, and drove to Indiana for the weekends. I didn't mind the 1,000 miles weekly trip one bit!
In September 1963, Donna visited me in Kentucky. I asked her if she would marry me. She said she wanted to seek the Lord's will about it and would need time to pray about it. In the meantime, she talked to her pastor, Rev. Joe Youmans. I also had a lengthy talk with her pastor. Four months later, Donna said that while she was praying and seeking God's will she received a scripture, which came alive to her. "Delight thyself also in the Lord; and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass." The "it" in the last line, Donna felt was her happiness. After receiving this scripture, Donna released the whole matter into God's hand. She was willing to remain single or to marry me. After releasing it to the Lord, He gave her a peace about marrying me. Her answer was, “Yes!" much to my relief. During my four-month wait for an answer, I was at peace, believing that God's will would be done.
During the period of time that I was developing a relationship with Donna, I was asked to sing a special song for a missionary meeting at church. I came across a song, “So Send I You,” taken from the words of Jesus, found in John 20:21. "As the Father hath sent me, even so, send I you." The words, "So send I you," were personalized to me by the Holy Spirit. I was broken before the Lord as I sensed a special call from the Lord to His work. It became clear to me that God was calling me to a ministry unlike any traditional ministry that I was aware of at the time. It was clear that I would not be a pastor of a church or a missionary sent forth by a local church. Little did I realize that it would be years before the fulfillment of this call.
Donna and I began making wedding plans in January 1964, and were united in marriage, August 22, 1964. Ours was a beautiful wedding ceremony, officiated by Rev. Joe Youmans. As Donna came down the aisle, I stood at the front singing, "I Love You Truly." After a lovely reception, we left on our honeymoon. We spent a week driving around Lake Michigan. We went through Illinois, Wisconsin, Upper Peninsula of Michigan where we visited Mackinac Island, through Lower Michigan, and then home to Beech Grove.
I moved my belongings to Beech Grove to Donna's home. We later arranged to dispose of my home in Kentucky. My plans were to start work for Otis Elevator in Indianapolis. Complications with the elevator union prevented me from starting in the elevator trade. Donna's self-employed father, Rue, installed furnaces for Sears. He hired me to help with installations. This lasted about three months until elevator work opened up. Instead of working for Otis, I started work with White-Evans Elevator Company. After nine years with an excellent reputation with a large secure international company, I was now working for a small independent manufacturing company. The change was rather easy. No longer was I an employee with a number instead of a name. I was now part of a family. I knew the owners, designers, manufacturers, salesmen, service men and installers. I did the work of a construction foreman, repairman, and later ran a service and maintenance route.
After one year, Donna stopped teaching school to devote her time to caring for Mark and Jeff and keeping house. Mark was seven and Jeff about four and a half years old at this time. The church was a vital part of our lives. Donna was Young People's President and I was a board member, worship leader, choir director and Sunday School teacher. One day we were visiting our neighbor next door. We mentioned our involvement in church work. "I used to be active in church work," he said. "What did you do?" I asked. "I used to serve beer at Friday night bingo" he replied.
We had financial struggles caused by my divorce, starting a new job and moving to Indiana. Donna and I decided to pray for a breakthrough. We couldn't see light at the end of the tunnel. We knelt down at the couch in our living room and began to pray. For some reason, I couldn’t ask the Lord to meet our needs, but instead began to thank Him in advance for what He was going to do. I found an assurance of faith from that day on that God would supply our needs. In the following weeks and months, we saw our financial needs met beyond our expectations.
Raising a Family
Rain drizzled down as we set up camp at the Lake of the Ozarks. Our 9`x16` tent was brand new, so putting it together had us puzzled trying to figure out all the stakes and poles. Adding to our dilemma was the rocky ground making it near impossible to drive in the tent stakes. Our first camping experience with two little fellows Mark and Jeff to look after was quite challenging. We blew up our air mattresses and settled ourselves for our first night's sleep in camp. In less than an hour we found ourselves lying on sharp rocks, the air having leaked from the mattresses.
Next day's clear sunshine made camping more palatable. Each day we planned a different outing. One day we took a helicopter ride over the lake. Another day we visited a cave. Next day, we rented a motorboat and got in some fishing and swimming. Some of our best vacation memories together as a family were our camping trips.
Around July of 1965, Donna became pregnant. When Donna and I told Mark and Jeff that a baby was on the way, Mark began to laugh and laugh. He couldn’t believe it. Jeff took it more calmly. Nine months later, the morning came when the contractions started. We lived diagonally across the street from St. Frances Hospital. Donna wanted to walk across the street to the emergency, but I insisted we drive. I figured we would get quicker service if we drove through emergency. Beside, I didn’t want to deliver a baby in the middle of the intersection.
April 17, 1966 was “D Day” for Roger Merrill. Donna needed two blood transfusions before she had strength to go home. Donna’s mother, Edna, came to stay, helping with the new baby. Two weeks later while she was visiting us, we received a late night call around midnight. Donna’s sister Mickey was calling us with the bad news that Donna’s father, Rue, had suffered a massive heart attack. She urged us to come quickly.
We loaded into the car and sped to their home in Mt. Comfort. When we arrived, we learned that Rue had died. Apparently he had been mowing the yard in the hot sun when he had the attack. He made it into the house where he passed away on the floor.
We took Roger to our pastor’s home to be cared for during the funeral arrangements. Ruth, the pastor’s wife didn’t have a crib for Roger, so she put him in a dresser drawer. Later, we jokingly told her that if Roger cried, she could close the dresser drawer.
When Roger was a few weeks old, he developed colic. We took him to the doctor and he prescribed 'paregoric,' five drops for colic pain. This had little effect, so the doctor said to double up on the dosage, making a total of ten drops each time.
One evening we decided to get a baby sitter for the evening. Roger was fussy so I gave him ten drops of 'paregoric.' A while later, Donna thought she needed to give Roger his medicine to last him for the evening. We dropped him off at the sitter and went out for the evening. About four hours later, we stopped at the sitter's to pick up Roger. She said, “I never did get to enjoy the little stinker. He has been asleep all the time he has been here." Donna and I looked at each other, compared notes, and deciding maybe we had each given him a double dose of 'paregoric.' We took him home and he slept all night. He apparently survived the 'drug overdose' with no harmful after effects.
One evening our family was invited over for a meal with another church family. Their dog had just given birth to a litter of cute fluffy puppies. The father was kidding around with Mark and Jeff about trading in their baby brother for one of the new puppies. Jeff came running up to me all excited and asked, "Daddy, can we trade Roger for a puppy?" For a moment there he was disappointed that we did not take him up on the trade.
In 1968, Donna and I decided to attend night classes at a Real Estate School. We took our exam and received our State Real Estate Sales License. I returned to school to work toward my Broker’s license. I missed some of the classes and as result I failed my broker’s exam. I went back to school with more diligence and passed the state exam with a high score. We listed and sold properties. Our first sale was a complex of eight apartments. With our first commission, we gave $1,000.00 to a missionary in South Africa. Also, we purchased a desk for our Real Estate office.
An opportunity was given us to begin a Property Management business. We took the responsibility of Diplomat South Apartments in Beech Grove. We were both leasing agents, property managers, did maintenance and redecorating. It was a new complex under construction.
We were the first residents to move in. We managed it for two years to the place where there were 200 apartments to look after, including a clubhouse and an Olympic size swimming pool.
Mark was active in little league baseball. He won a trophy for the most RBI’s. Trombone was Mark’s choice of musical instrument, playing in the high school band. Jeff’s choice was the trumpet. One day, while he was waiting in the rain for his school bus. He stepped into a phone booth to keep dry. When the bus came, he forgot the trumpet and left it in the phone booth. When we went looking for it, it was missing. We made a police report. Later, a pawnshop contacted the police that the trumpet had been turned in.
One practice we had as a family was to pray together before the boys left for school. One morning, I was impatiently waiting for the boys to come to the living room for family prayer. They were slow in coming and I was getting more upset. Finally, I said, “Okay, lets get in the car, we just won’t have prayer this morning.” Hurriedly, I stepped out the door heading for the car. Unknown to me, it had been sleeting causing the sidewalk to be a sheet of ice. When my feet hit the ice, my feet went out from under me so fast that the first part of my body that hit the concrete was between my shoulder blades. Severe and sharp pain went through my back when I landed. I tried to move but was completely paralyzed from my neck down. I thought my back was broken. Not realizing the seriousness of the situation, the boys were laughing. Donna saw me fall and came running. She grabbed a throw rug and placed it under me to keep me off the cold ground. She prayed for me. After a couple of minutes the pain subsided and I began to have movement in my left leg. Soon, I was able to move, and got back up on my feet. I took the boys on to the bus stop in plenty of time. This served as a lesson to me to control my anger, to be more patient and not to take matters into my own hands without prayer.
Mark had a paper route, delivering daily and Sunday papers. He was frugal in saving his money. Then we moved from the apartments to a tri-level home on the edge of the country. We had a barn with a stable and a corral with a white board fence around it. Mark decided he wanted a horse. With his paper route money he purchased a black mare named Kate. She had a white blaze in the forehead and came with a saddle. The horse was half Tennessee-Walker and half Arabian, a very smooth riding horse. Riding her felt like she had built-in shock absorbers. We purchased a one and one half acre lot next door and built a fence around it.
Our neighbor helped us build a wooden gate for the fence near the barn. One day, I was painting it white, when Roger who was about four years old at this time, asked to help paint the gate. I gave him the bucket of paint and brush and let him begin painting the backside of the gate where it didn’t matter so much. I went to do something else and returned in time to see Roger slapping paint on the gate, missing several spots. I said, Roger, you are missing some spots there.” He replied, “Well, nobody’s perfect.” We all had a good laugh over that.
When Mark bought his horse, Kate, he was told she'd been bred to an Arabian. Several months after bringing her home, she was ready to deliver. Late in the evening Kate was down on the barn floor in labor. She was positioned in the corner of the stable with no room for the colt to come out. We pulled and tugged on her trying to move her away from the wall, to no avail. We had run out of ideas. The whole family was gathered there when we decided to pray. We prayed heartily for a miracle because we needed one and we needed one soon. After the prayer it came into my mind to take hold of her feet. When I did that we easily rolled her over where she now had ample room to deliver her wobbly black and white spotted colt. Mark named her, “Sparkle.” After a time when she was trained for riding, the boys had two horses.
Our family traveled to the World’s Fair in Montreal, Canada, “Expo 67,” camping most of the trip. The first night we camped the boys had been talking about swimming in Lake Erie. When we had camp set up along the shore, the boys hurried into their swimming trunks and headed straight for the water. Gingerly they stuck one toe into the icy water. That was all the swimming they did that day. The Canadian side of that lake was very cold.
I used a tent heater at night, due to the cold. In the middle of the night, the heater ran out of fuel. I thought it too cold to go outside to fill the heater with Coleman fuel, so I did it in the tent. I was about half asleep as I was filling the tank, not noticing the fuel spilling onto the tent floor. Roger was about one year old, sleeping in a playpen nearby. Mark and Jeff were sleeping in the other end of the tent at a safe distance. When I struck a match to light the heater, the floor of the tent ignited. Flames leaped up around us. Donna was ready to run through the fire to grab Roger, when I grabbed a sheet and smothered the fire. There was no damage to the tent and the boys never woke up. After a while we settled down and got some sleep. During our time at the fair, we camped around Montreal. At the campgrounds and in the suburbs, everyone spoke French. We found quite a challenge trying to communicate in the stores.
I remember well another vacation to Canada when Roger was about four. We were managing apartments around that time and needing a rest. We eagerly looked forward to a break in the busy schedule. The morning we had planned to leave, we faced a small crisis. Roger woke up covered with 'chicken pox.' After talking it over we decided to go anyway. We could doctor him on the road as well as at home. One pleasant phase of that trip was the visit to Kellogg’s cereal factory at Battle Creek, Michigan.
We each received a six-pack of assorted breakfast cereals. We rented a furnished cabin at Point Peele Provincial Park along the Lake Michigan in Ontario. The 30 boxes of cereal provided our breakfast for the entire week we were there. We fished in Lake Michigan on one side and the marshes on the other. The first day we caught several small fish, which we fried for supper. We put the fish guts and heads in a garbage can alongside the cabin.
Later that night, after we were all in bed, there was a noise outside the cabin. I didn’t know what was making the noise but I decided to scare it away. I pounded the wall of the cabin with my fist. Immediately, from the boy’s bedroom, Mark let out a yell. He had been lying there thinking a bear was outside trying to get in. When I pounded the wall, it was more than he could take. After a time of laughter, we discovered the noise outside was a raccoon eating the fish remains.
About the second day out, Roger developed nosebleed as a result of the chicken pox. We got it under control, but he swallowed considerable amounts of blood. That night when he went to bed, he developed a cough and vomited the blood from his stomach. Another hour or two passed before we were able to get to sleep. Next day he had more nose bleed. That evening we faced the same problem. He started coughing right about bedtime. Looked like we were in for another miserable night. So we decided it was time to pray. I gathered the family around me and prayed for Roger’s healing and for a good night’s rest for us all. After the prayer Roger coughed one more cough, then fell asleep with no problems for the rest of the trip.
One day, we were fishing in the marsh, when the fish began to bite on the boys' lines. Jeff had a large fish right up to the water's edge when his line broke. Not wanting the fish to get away, I took one step in the water to try to grab it. I went in to my waist in the water. I climbed out of the water. We were running out of bait just as the fish were beginning to bite. I told Donna to drive back to the cabin and bring more bait. I was soaking wet and it was beginning to get dark. The mosquitoes began to move out of the trees and attack me. As my body was wet and warm, they were attracted to me. Before long, my arms were black with mosquitoes. I took my hands and raked them off my arms until they literally fell in piles on the ground. It was like something you would see in a horror movie. I began to fear for my life, when I saw Donna returning with the car. I hurriedly hopped into the car along with the rest of the boys and we went back to the cabin.
When Jeff was in Junior-High, he was experimenting with my razor one evening while Donna and I were away. Mark was looking after Jeff and Roger. Jeff was attempting to trim the back of his hair. He kept asking his brothers if his hair was straight. They kept saying, a little more off on this side, a little more of that side. Before he realized it, the whole back of his head was shaved. When we arrived home, he was so embarrassed. Mark and Roger thought it was funny. Jeff had to go to school the next day, so he put a large bandage on his neck to cover it up. We asked him, “What are you going to tell your classmates?” He replied, “I’m going to tell them I cut myself.” In a few weeks it grew out. I don’t believe he ever attempted to cut his hair again.
When Jeff was about ten or eleven years old, he was aware of Mark’s problem with acne. Jeff remarked, “I’ll be glad when I’m old enough to have pimples.”
Having shared many memories about our family life, I will close Part I by sharing a bit about our church life. From the beginning of our involvement at the church in Beech Grove, Donna and I began to pray for revival. Our hearts cried and yearned for a visitation of the Holy Spirit. There were periods of revival but they never seemed to last. It seemed our work was mostly in our own strength. We felt dry and thirsty much of the time. For a period of seven years, this dryness lasted. But the day would soon come when all this would change. Read about it in Part II of these memoirs.
This letter from Roger was penned in a book given to me for my 63rd birthday. I can think of no greater honor that I have ever received than this letter from my son Roger.
September 7, 1999
Dad,
I wanted to give you this book because it has meant a lot to me. I have a deep desire to be a humble, Godly man and this need was planted in me by you! You are a good example of many of the virtues written about in this book. Your integrity, work ethic, wisdom and generosity sets you apart from most men.
This book has inspired me to grow and change and deepen my walk with God. Striving to be like Jesus is very challenging but it is exciting that, with God, we can change and see our dreams come true.
I pray you will be encouraged and even more convicted of the need for men to rise up and humbly lead as our God expects. I hope you dream new dreams and revive old ones long gone. May God's Spirit give you strength as you enter the "Golden Years."
Thanks for being a great Father to me!
I love you and Happy Birthday!
Your son,
Roger
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