In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

25 Weatherford, Texas, in 1950, was about one hundred honky-tonks, body shops, and revival tents west of Fort Worth. Back then I don’t think moral standards dictated that honks and the canvas crowds had to be zoned five miles apart. The bar owners knew there would be backsliders and the bible thumpers knew that dancers and boozers needed saving—at least once a month, if not every Sunday morning and Wednesday night. The town itself was protected by rolling plains and its own set of serious church congregations. Of course we joined the First Baptist Church. It’s where I gave myself to the Lord and was full-body baptized, totally submerged. If I remember correctly, both sides of the family, Methodist and Presbyterian included, came from all over to give witness and support for this Baptist equivalent to bar mitzvah. Not that I knew what a bar mitzvah was. I don’t remember meeting a single Jewish person in those years of my childhood. There may have been a synagogue in Weatherford , but I never saw it. I’m not sure I even knew Jews existed as living people, although the Bible of the Baptists was chock-full of references to them. Jesus was one. Jesus was never a Christian, which came as a shock to me thirty years or so later when I began to revisit religion. Of all my church-related activities in Weatherford and elsewhere, none was more rewarding than the work David and I did for the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering. To my recollection, I thought then that Lottie Moon was a missionary to the unsaved of ฀frica. I thought all missionaries went to ฀frica. I think she did a great deal of work with children. She was near sainthood in a church that did not recognize earthly saints, or at least they had to be dead for centuries. Moon was a living symbol of Christian sacrifice, and money was raised in her name and for her work. What prompted my brother and I to fulfill our Weatherford, Texas CHAPTER 4 SMALL TOWNS AND GROWING HORIZONS 26 mission to the greater glory of the Lord was she shared Mother’s first name. I was also intrigued with ฀frica, because I had read all of Richard Halliburton’s travelogues, and was fascinated with National Geographic, having seen the pictures of bare-breasted women who certainly needed saving as soon as possible: not a moment to lose for funding for Lottie Moon. Given all the Playboys, Penthouses, and worse on the newsstands today, maybe the Baptists should have brought Lottie Moon home to save us. We must have had a long lead time because David and I took it upon ourselves to deliver a huge jar filled with pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. This was no easy task since we certainly would not miss a Saturday cowboy movie or hamburger, and we had also been saving for bikes. But it was the Lord’s work and had to be done—one mowed yard, one BB-gun sparrow shoot, and one caddying job at a time. We saved in secret, not even telling Mom. I know this because our arrival and presentation was planned and dramatic. On the appointed Sunday, we rolled our full jar in a wagon to the church. I’d guess Mom had gone earlier to play the piano or organ. We came in stealth and entered in grandeur. I can’t remember where we waited, but at the end of the service a call went out to fulfill the Lottie Moon pledge drive. David and I walked down the center aisle, pulling the wagon with the jar prominently displayed. There was a hush throughout the congregation, then a round of applause, which was only given among Baptists when the situation was entirely unique or the rapture great. Our entrance and gift covered both. ฀fter church, the pastor asked us to stand at the front door and let people shake our hands. Mother beamed. We ate downtown, then walked home to 307 Cleveland Street. ฀s it grew dark, we listened to The Jack Benny Program and Amos ’n’ Andy. We read and studied and then went to bed. Many years later I learned Lottie Moon had done her missionary work in China. No matter. There were plenty of unsaved there too. Once again we had moved to a new town because Mother had a different job. This time it was...

Share