A HALLOWEEN PARTY chapter 43

The high school years are a time of self-discovery for everyone. I felt like the last two years of HS were where I learned the most about myself. L learned to good, the bad and the ugly. I understood my fears better, and was beginning to discover some skills I might have. I learned new things about myself all the time. I was in the process of becoming the person I would – er… become.

I credit YFC director, Pete, for guiding me in the discovery of another skill or gift. Frankly, I have never really figured out the difference between these two. He put me on a citywide planning committee for the 1959 YFC Halloween party. I learned I liked planning and organizing things and the wilder and more creative it got, the more fun I had.

I don’t know how often we met, but even the meetings were fun. The committee was expected to be there early for the sent up and each of us had a portion to direct and explain. I didn’t even mind that. I guess my fear of large groups was dissipating. The party was a blast. I must have had plenty of time, or I recently got a brownie camera, because I took a lot of photos, at least a lot for me.

I’m sure we did many of the things typical of the day. We were encouraged to come in costumes or the theme was “country.” There were a lot of farmer outfits. Maybe those were just the costumes we had readily at hand. We had sack races, bobbed for apples, a pie eating contest and for some reason someone threw a pie. I have the pictures, but don’t know why we did it.

I so request not putting names on the back of all my photos. Fifty years later, I recognize people and would know them right away, if they hadn’t changed, but for the life of me I am not even sure some had names.

A few photos will tell this story the best.

Let to right: Tom Scott, unknown, Chuck Davis, Terry Porter

Gerry Ann most likely winning the race.

Kathy is dressed and ready to receive a pie — why?

A NEW CHURCH chapter 42

A NEW CHURCH chapter 42

It was late in my sophomore year when I asked Dad if I could change churches. I had my doubts that he would allow it, but I could no longer tolerate the one in which I had been reared. My involvement in Youth For Christ introduced me to a group of kids living for God and the church many of them attended. Not everyone I met attended the Tabernacle, but it was interesting to see how many of us gravitated there over the years, if not permanently, at least for visits.

I was rather anxious about approaching dad on the subject of a new church, but it was change or quit as far as I was concerned. If I was going to grow closer to God, it was unlikely that it was be in my home church. I believe my dad also has a sense it was decision time for him as well.

The pastor of the new church was fairly well known in Omaha. He had been the radio pastor for WOW radio for years. He broadcast on Sunday mornings, but I am not sure my father ever heard of him. However, dad remembered him from the great flood of 1952.

The flood of April 1952, still stands as the flood-of-record for the Missouri at Omaha. The river over flowed its banks and thousands were at the waters edge piling sand bags as fast as they could be filled. Dr. Brown and his congregation were noted for providing coffee and food for the workers. A team from the church was there day and night. Dad remembered that and admired the pastor for that act of service. He consented.

I was somewhat familiar with the church building, at least the main entrance. Our weekly Youth For Christ club had moved from the covenant church to the Tabernacle. It was one block east of Central high, a longer walk for me.

The sanctuary was much larger (about 1000). Public prayer was a shocker. It was so quiet. Only the one leading prayer prayed out loud. I had to look around to see what was going on. They clapped at the singing, but not like my Pentecostal church. The new church clapped with the beat. The old one clapped on the offbeat, much more rhythmic I thought. I have never really adjusted to that.

On Wednesday night everyone would gather in the sanctuary for a brief talk, and then divide into smaller groups for prayer. The teens met in a room off the stage and I could not believe they kneeled to pray, and what prayers they were. They were sincere, honest, heart grabbing desires for God to intervene in life. These moments more than any other drew me along in what was becoming a growing faith.

The church was a good fit. I stayed with the Tabernacle, went off to one of their Bible colleges and worked in their churches for 37 years. I guess you could say I found my place — or God placed me where He wanted.

Missouri River flood 1952, Omaha, NB

THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING chapter 41

It was only a few months after the infamous “placing a VW Bug between two tress” incident that the first serious down payment was made on what would become on going payments.

I was beginning to walk around like a crippled old man — hunched over and limping. The pain in my groin was irritating. The doctor said I had a hernia, whatever that was. All I was sure of was that it hurt. It turns out that it was only going to get worse unless I had surgery, but the sooner the better.

I chose mid January of my senior year. Of course, I had planned on healing very quickly. That didn’t happen.

I checked into the hospital on a Sunday night with surgery scheduled for 7:00 the next morning. This was my first stay in the hospital so I didn’t really know what to expect. It was a little disconcerting when some guy walked in with a pan of warm water, a razor and shaving cream telling me he was going to shave me, ahem, down there. WHAT! Yes, sir, that is right where the incision is going. It must be done. After adjusting to my embarrassment and accepting the inevitable, I prepared myself emotionally for him and the surgery.

I think they came along about 6:30 a.m. to wheel me upstairs. The ride was pleasant with a friendly driver. He pushed me through the double doors and right along side a cart with enough shiny silver instruments to take on the entire Omaha stockyards. Someone adjusted a light over me and another person took my right arm and gave me a shot. I was told, “This will relax you.” I hoped so, as tension was mounting.

I didn’t hear anything for a few minutes and when I looked around there was no one in the room. To my left were all the knives up close and personal and the room was getting cold. They did not put a blanket over me and I didn’t know where everyone had gone or why they left. I wasn’t even sure that if I shouted anyone would answer.

It felt like it had been an hour before anyone returned and then if was a lone nurse who walked in, ignored me and went to my left doing something along a counter. I gave her a few moments to determine I was here before I called out, “Nurse.” “Yes.” She turned and came over near me. “What is going on?” “Didn’t anyone tell you/” “Tell me what?” “Did you know it snowed during the night?" “No.” “Well apparently, the doctor scheduled to do your surgery is stuck in the snow in his driveway and when he gets dug out he will be here.” “You’re kidding, why am I here in this freezing cold room?” “Would you like a blanket?” I would if I’m going to be here much longer.” “They want you ready to go when the doctor arrives.” “How long will that be?” “I wish I could tell you.”

I think it was another half an hour before the doctor arrived. Someone mentioned that I have been in the operating room over an hour. I also think the nurse was feeling sorry for me. She stayed to talk until the doctor was ready. I learned she was a graduate of Central high and that her younger brother was a student there now. Worse yet, I knew him. I turned red just knowing this girl, the sister of a friend, was about to see me lying stark naked in just a few moments. I wished we had never talked.

The surgery went well and family and friends began arriving that evening. I wanted Tom banned from my room. He was determined to tell one joke after the other and every laugh pulled on the newly acquired stitches. It hurt like… (I don’t say that word). He was funny and I couldn’t help but laugh, but I didn’t want to.

That was the only surgery I had for that one act of stupidity, but I have seen chiropractors hundreds of times and certainly more than paid of any one of their Mercedes.

THE FOREVER RETREAT chapter 40

I had gone to camp as a kid. I remember very little except that it was not a very good experience. I could hardly wait for the week to be over and I could go home. I remember feeling alone. I am not sure why as I was with some kids form my own church, but we never were the best of friends. Most of the guys in my cabin were from another church and they were close friends. I felt excluded.

It was fall when my Youth for Christ club began promoting a fall retreat for all the schools. Previous experiences told me I should stay home. I certainly had more friends that I had at the last camp, but what if it sucked. (I don’t believe we were used that word, but it fits.)

Gerry-Ann had brought Steven around YFC. As I recall he was a foster kid and my heart was already reaching out to those hurting and rejected. He was certainly included and we became casual friends. He asked if I was going to go and I told him I doubted it (I was developing the practice of indirect answers). He didn’t quite bed me to go, but did at one point threaten to stay home if I didn’t go. How to you reject that. I packed up my things to join the migration.

I have no idea where the camp was or its name, but I knew it was fall and the weather was cool. The first evening was fine. There was some music, some games, some snacks and lots of laughter.

I wish I could remember how we were assigned cabins for the night, but Steven, another guy and myself were in a cabin with no supervision. That was not the issue. There was no heat and it was cold. All three of us were shivering and could not get warm. We put on every piece of clothing we had. It didn’t help. I think it was Steven who suggested we put a couple of mattresses on top trying to block out the wind. That didn’t work. Eventually we put several mattresses on the floor and all crowed together and piled more mattresses on top. That helped some.

No one really believed: 1) there were only three in our cabin. 2) There was no heat. 3) We crowded together, and 4) we hated how comfortable everyone else seemed to be.

It was definitely better at breakfast and for all the indoor activities in the heated room. I remember hanging out by the heat source. The rest of the day went well. If I could remember who talked me into this next stunt, I would send them my doctor’s bills. There have been hundreds.

“Come on, it will be fun” Well, it sounded fun. The plan was that four of us would lift the directors VW bug and place it between two closely placed trees. We succeeded. He never saw us, but dud fund out who did it.

Everything was fine. No problems at first, and then — that's the next blog, and after three years and I pulled a muscle working as a summer dairyman in distant Red Deer, Alberta, Canada. I was trying to life and eight gallon can of ice cream mix while bent over in an Econoline Van. It was more than a muscle and I have seen a chiropractor off and on to this day. Just saw one on Monday. 

I "NEED" TO DRIVE chapter 39

I wanted a car; even a driver license would have been nice. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about my dad as he was a wonderful and Godly man, but (there’s always a but) he did not believe teenagers should drive and he was determined that I be 20 before getting on the road. That hurt.

All my friends were driving. Some even had their own cars. It was during my junior year when my dad bought a car. It was the first one I ever recalled we had.

I plotted several ways to get my drivers license. Dad worked at the Union Pacific repair yard, a short walking distance from Central High School (about 13^th Street). I also knew where the extra car key was kept. It was hanging on a hook on the back porch. I reasoned I could take the key on a given day, leave school early for work, get Dad’s car, drive to the examination office, write the exam, take the driving test and be back, work a bit and still be home before dad so I could return the key. I couldn’t let mom see what I was doing.

A great many things would have to align properly to pull this off. I got the drivers manual and studied it thoroughly. Since I had never driven a car, I was a little concerned about that, but figured if I could get to the exam location without an accident, I had a chance.

It all worked like a charm. I passed the written test and took the driving exam and then at the end he asked me to parallel-park. Oh no! I had no idea how to do that, but I tried and screwed it up. Not bad, but enough to fail. Of course, then I had to get out of the lot without the examiner seeing me driving away.

I would have to try again a week later, which I did. This time I practiced parking several times before arriving. This time I passed got my license and legally drove away. Next, get a car. I had a job and some money, but did not know how I would put this off and had no ideas.

Early in the fall we went to southern Nebraska to visit my brother David (my favorite brother) and his family. During the visit David asked me if I had my drivers license yet. I explained the whole story. When he got done laughing he asks, “Are you going to get a car?” “I want to but don’t know how I’ll pull that off.” “Come with me.” We went to an old garage in which he had stored at 1949 Pontiac Coupe Deville. “I’ll sell it to you for $50. After gasping and sputtering and spewing out gratitude, I told him I had no idea how I would ever be able to convince Dad to let me have it especially since he doesn’t even know I have a license.

David, being the aggressive, bold and confident guy that he is, went over to dad sitting in his swing. “Dad, I’ve got an old Pontiac sittin’ in the garage that I will sell to Clyde. It runs great. Doesn’t need anything done and is going to rust out if it don’t get used.” “Well, I don’t know” dad said. “I’ll let him drive it back to Omaha and he can send a check when he gets home. It will be easy since he already has a license.”

I thought I would die right on the spot. I gasp and waited for my dad to throw a temper tantrum. All he said was, “He’s got a license, huh? I guess that would be OK.”

I was excited but waited for the other shoe to drop. It never did. I had my very own car and for only $50. The first gas I brought was 19¢ a gallon and remember paying only 11¢ during a gasoline war. Now those were the days.

Of course I felt guilty for all my deception, but I had a car and could drive. That was a tough joy to squelch.

1949 Pontiac Coupe, black (repainted metallic blue - another story) with sun visor. 

I NEED MONEY chapter 38

It wasn’t a universal rule, but most business’ wanted teens to be at least 16 before they would hire them. I had some limitations. Any job I got had to be near a bus stop or close enough that I could walk or bike. So, after turning sixteen and with only a couple months of school left, I set out to find a job. I had no idea what I could do. The primary goal was just getting money.

The first week I looked in the paper Kinney Shoes advertized for a part-time salesman. I had my doubts, but kept it on the back burner. After about a week of finding nothing of interest to me, I noticed the Kinney’s ad was still running.

Monday after school I walked down the hill from Central to 16^th and Dodge to check out the store. J.C. Penny’s was on one side of the street, a hole in the wall greasy spoon was directly across the street and Kinney’s next-door to the eatery. I sat on the bus bench in front of Penny’s and watched. The store was busy. I could see at least four, maybe five salesmen hustling around. I knew the inside look of the store. That’s where we bought shoes. The more I looked the more threatening it became. After an hour, I went home. However, I came back the next day and the next day and waited an hour both days.

Finally summing up the courage I walked into the store and asked to see the manager. I was startled that I did that as I was scared. I don’t what why I was scared, but I was.

I was taken through a back maze of shelves and shoes, up a steep narrow staircase to a long narrow room (if you could call it that) the width of the tore and with a ceiling so low everyone entering was bent over. The room had one-way windows that over looked the sales floor. Mr. Lause looked out one of those windows.

I sat next to his desk and he asked what he could do for me. I told him I was here to apply for the part-time sales position. He looked seriously at me and laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, more of a surprised laugh. “I doubt you would make much of a salesman.” My heart fell to the floor. He went on, “But I do need a stock boy. If you comeback Monday at 3:30 I’ll give you a try.”

I had no idea what a stock boy was, but it was a possible job so I was there on Monday. When I checked in he had two other boys and we were going to compete for one job. We were to “run” stock and flatten empty show boxes. How hard could that be?

He spread us into three separate areas so we would have no contact with one another. Running stock meant moving the shoe boxes close together and leaving no empty holes. He wanted the front to look like the store had plenty of shoes no matter what the back looked like. Flattening boxes destroyed the hands. Every shoebox had a string running around the top edge of both the box and the lid. Ripping each corner dug into my hands.

I was determined to beat the other guys and do a great job. I wanted the work. When the day was done, I learned the other boys had left sometime ago and I was to come back Thursday after school. I would be working Monday, Thursday and part of Saturdays. I was walking on air. My first job, that is if you don’t count the one day my neighbor tried to get me to sell Watkins door-to-door or the occasional weekend unpaid job I had helping my brother-in-law make donuts in what I thought was the middle of the night. I hated donuts after that.

My connection with Kinney’s was to last four years.

The interior view looks identical to the store where I worked. The exterior view had just been changed before I applied. It had a full glass front allowing one to see the entire store from the outside. The sign is correct, however the "open to 9" portion was an addition to the stand alone stores they were just beginning to build at I left for Canada. Kinney's operated from 1894-1998. Foot Locker began in 1974 as a division of Kinney's. On September 16, 1998 the Venator Group, Woolworth's successor, announced that Kinney's 467 shoe stores and 103 Footquarters stores would close. The Foot Locker division, started in 1974, continues to this day, with Venator changing its name in 2001 to Foot Locker. If you even owned a pair of Buster Brown shoes they were made my Kinney's.

THEATER, OR AT LEAST SKITS chapter 37

 Somewhere along in my high school career I developed an interest in theater. It seems strange, as I was always terrified of being in front of any group of people. I am still not sure how he did it, but my Youth For Christ Director, Pete, was the first get me in front of anyone one.

I hated public speaking. I only passed a speech class because of the paper work. I never appeared at school to give a single speech. I got physically ill. I could even make myself throw-up. I was terrified. Part of it was that I never believed I had anything worth saying or that anyone would benefit by from hearing me speak. I was terrified of being laughed at. Those concerns make my entering the ministry even stranger.

What Pete did was ask me to make announcements at our YFC club with a supportive audience of only 18-20. He handed me this book of humorous skits to use to present announcements. I usually had a partner so was not facing everyone alone. Practice helped especially with someone saying we were doing it right. In time it got to be fun and practice ended.

I loved the school plays and musicals. I thought they were all spectacular. The acting was incredible and the sets amazing. I had a hard time believing the stage could look so good. I heard the set designer had worked on Broadway stages. It looked professional to me. I wanted to do that, but knew I could never get on that stage.

       Two of CHS Shows 

Mr. Murray, my English teacher, was also an influence. We would read Shakespeare in class while verbally acting out the various parts. Since good ole’ “Shake” wrote like they did in the Bible, I could read it with a degree of ease. That didn’t mean I understood it any better. It was just as confusing as the Bible. Rather than coming out of the class with a love for Shakespeare, I was beginning to think acting was cool.

When Pete showed a film at an YFC banquet that had been filmed and produced at his college, I was willing to give up becoming an architect and wanted to go to Bob Jones University to learn filming. That didn’t happen.

The outcome of all of this was the beginning of a love for theater. I reached the point that I could not only do the announcement skits, I looked forward to doing them and got confident enough to do them on my own adlib and write my own. The thought of tackling a serious subject in front of a crowd, never improved, but acting and writing got better,