The Dream Pushers: Captivated by a System of Deceit by Daniel M. Walker

2008-10-15T09:28:00.000-07:00

Title Page

THE DREAM PUSHERS--CAPTIVATED BY A SYSTEM OF DECEIT

BY
DANIEL M. WALKER
Email: thedreampushers@yahoo.com

Agent

Appendix: Thy Shall Not

2008-10-15T09:26:00.000-07:00

Appendix

Thy Shall Not

The Ten Commandments from God was not enough for Jehovah's Organization so they mandated another 105 commandments.

Accept Blood
Associate on a regular basis with nonbelievers
Associate with ex-members
Associate with disfellowshipped ones
Attend Alcoholics Anonymous
Attend another Church (Spiritual Fornication)
Attend Religious Schools
Attend class reunions
Attend school prom
Box
Be hypnotize
Become a Cheerleader
Become a Police Officer
Buy Girl Scout Cookies
Buy lottery tickets
Build or remodel any other religious church building
Buy a raffle ticket
Campaign for a Candidate
Celebrate Mother's Day
Celebrate Father's Day
Celebrate Grandparent's Day
Celebrate Birthdays
Celebrate Thanksgiving
Celebrate New Year's Eve or Day
Celebrate Christmas
Celebrate Halloween
Celebrate Easter
Celebrate Flag Day
Celebrate Independence Day (Fourth of July)
Celebrate Hanukkah
Celebrate St. Patrick's Day
Celebrate Valentine's Day
Celebrate "Any" Holiday
Curse
Create Holiday artwork in school
Contribute to the Presidential Campaign Fund
Date without supervision - young or old
Divorce unless scriptural (adultery or fornication is committed by one partner)
Divorcee cannot remarry unless ex fornicates first
Donate Blood
Donate to Relief Organizations like the Red Cross, Salvation Army, Charities and more
Exercise your on conscience if it goes against the religion
Engage in any risky acts such as: Sky Diving, Bungee Jumping, or Hang Gliding
Eat Lucky Charms Cereal (References to Magical)
Fight for your country
Firearms
Gamble
Have a funeral in another Church or attend a funeral in another Church
Have Christian freedom
Have Jesus as your Mediator and Savior
College (only if it benefits the Society)
Join organization that has ties to any religion Christianity included.
Join the YMCA
Join the Military
Join the Boy Scouts
Join the Girl Scouts
Join Sororities or Fraternities
Marry a nonbeliever (If you do, you are judged hard by the congregation)
Marry in another Church or attend a wedding in another Church
Martial Arts disciplines
Own a religious picture or statue
Own a Smurf
Pray, with a nonbeliever if he says the prayer
Partake in the Last Supper or Communion unless you are one of the 144,000 who Profess
to be of the "Faithful and Discreet Class"
Practice Yoga
Participate in holiday parties at school
Participate in union affairs
Pierce ears if male, other body parts if female
Play Bingo
Play School Sports (No competition allowed)
Play Professional Sports
Question the Watchtower Society on anything
Read Horoscopes Promote anything Superstitious
Read negative information about the Society
Run for any Public Office
Run for class president
Salute the Flag
Say "Bless You" when someone sneezes
Say "Good Luck!", "Wish me Luck", "I was Lucky" or "You were Lucky"
Say "It was fate" or mention anything to do with "fate"
Sell cigarettes, pipes or a cigars
Shop at the Salvation Army
Shop at any Store that has Christian ties
Sing the National Anthem
Sing any Holiday Songs
Smoke cigarettes, pipes or a cigars
Stand for Flag salute
Store your own blood before an operation
Strike against a Company
Study Martial Arts disciplines Study other religious articles not from the Society
Sue another Jehovah's Witness
Tattoos
Talk with disfellowshipped ones
Tell ghost stories
Toast drinks (pagan origin)
Throw rice at a wedding (pagan origin)
Throw a penny into a wishing well
Volunteer for the Salvation Army
Vote (Conscience matter now to please Governments, you will be ostracized if you do)
Watch R rated movies
Watch TV sit coms or movies dealing with the occult
Wear Clothing Associated with War; e.g. Combats or Army Tops
Wear blue jeans or casual clothes to the Kingdom Hall
Wear pants to the Kingdom Hall if you are a female
Wear skirts or dresses that are above the knee at any time
Wear any type of long hair if you are a man
Wear a beard in some Kingdom Halls and areas (judged hard)
Wear or own a Cross
Wind charms--they represent a pagan symbol for scaring away demons
Women can't hold a position of responsibility in the congregation
Work for another religious organization
Worldly association
Woman praying must cover your head in the presence of men.
Wrestle

Chapter 26 Outside the System of Deceit

2008-10-15T09:24:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 26 OUTSIDE THE SYSTEM OF DECEIT.

I was elated when I saw Trisha’s older brother come strolling down the hall with Grandma, at lease he was "worldly" and despised Jehovah Witnesses. I thought I might try to reestablish our friendship after all these years of my being so self-righteous and condescending. Lord knows I needed a friend to help me get through this hell.

Every chance I had alone with him I told him about every secret I discovered and reiterated my conversation to him about what I had told Trisha. His eyes popped opened as if he couldn’t believe the words I was saying--they were one hundred and eighty degrees from what I had preached for thirty some years.The extent of his reactions came as he said, "I always knew it was a cult, but Mom is too old, now, to have her faith destroyed. I don’t know whether there is a heaven, or hell, or even a life after death but don’t tell Mom what you told me. It would kill her."

So here, I stood in the middle of a spiritual war and the devil himself was leaving me out to dry. I guess I deserved it. You don’t make friends of an enemy the day of a fight, but spilling my guts purged me from being sanctimonious.
The next to the last time Tren spoke to me was the night her Mom cried out, "Mama, Mama, I want my Mama!"

I burst in tears and ran down the corridor to where several of "the friends" were congregated laughing and telling jokes, and in the midst of the love fest I shouted, "Where in the hell is Grandma?" The laughter subsided--puzzled expressions dotted the faces of the loyal brotherhood, and Alex said, "Why? She went to the motel; she is tired."

"Trisha wants her mama that’s why. Now somebody get their ass in gear and go get her." The fir that was a flying caught fire from the brimstones issuing from my command, and Alex took my advice and jogged toward the elevator.

Tren said," I’ll go sit with Mama. The brothers want to talk to you."
Matt Wells, the Presiding Overseer broke huddle and said, "Brother Walker, there has been rumors you doubt the Organization as being God’s Channel on Earth." The jovial atmosphere turned cloudy as the laughing and conversations ended with Matt’s statement.

You could have heard a pin drop except for my dumb reply, "Huh?" I was expecting the conversation to be about Trisha, their sister in the faith and her prognosis--not about apostasy--not at this time.
"I want to know if you believe the "Faithful and Discreet Slave" is Jehovah’s Channel of Communication here on Earth."

"What are you talking about?" I asked playing dumb, wanting to stay away from answering an incriminating question. I was not prepared to be "disfellowshipped" so I became indignant and blurted out, "I know what you are getting at. You are not interested in my wife or her health or whether she lives or dies." Matt took a step back and every eye shot wide open in surprise.

"That’s not true, we are here to give your family support, but we need to keep the congregation clean. You know that. You were an elder and you know keeping the congregation clean is the most important obligation we have as elders."

"I don’t have time to discuss the Channel of God," I turned around and pushed open the heavy observation doors separating the isolation area from the visitors' area, and as I stepped through the threshold I completed the sentence, "but I’ll tell you something-- they were wrong--about 1975." I should have kept my mouth shut, because with that statement, I placed the first nail on my coffin's lid, and they were searching for a reason to set it, and then drive it in.

Mom arrived with Alex just in time to hear a heart-crushing plea, "Mama, Mama."
There was a pause. Mom walked over to the bed, grasped her daughter’s hands, and said, "Mama’s here baby, Mama’s here." Mom gazed at me, and I glanced around the room and saw disgust and contempt in Tren’s and Alex’s face.

There was another pause as Trisha breathed a shallow breath and once again repeated the phrase I had been hearing for the past forty-eight hours, "Help me--ple-e-e-ease help me."

Mom leaned over the rails, held her daughter’s hand, caressed her arms, and turned toward me and said, "Her hands and arms are so cold." Tears flowed down her weathered face, and then she asked, "Do you think we should turn the thermostat up?" Her question went ignored as Trisha slipped deeper into the coma as she continued repeating, "Help me--ple-e-e-ase help me."

With each plea, her mother looked at me and said, "Help her Rags, help her! Why won’t you help her?"

"There isn’t anything any body can do," I stammered. "I couldn't force her to take a blood transfusion," I lied, applying the techniques I learned throughout the years from the Society's teachings. My lies were about the only part of my spiritual warfareI carried out with precision over the past six days as they wisped her away each morning at dawn to transfuse her with every fraction of blood components except whole blood. "The doctor explained, her subconscious is repeating her last conscious thought before going into the coma." I continued trying to explain Doctor Zuker’s explanation to me, " 'He said the dialysis is no longer working and the uric acid from her Kidney failure is being pumped through out her body and poisoning her system from the lack of oxygen.' " My eyes filled , my voice cracked, as it did when "Lit'el Rags" passed away, and my heart broke again when between Trisha's pleads for help, Mom walked out and said, "I hate you. You are killing my daughter."
Tren agreed with her Grandma as she said, "You’re letting Mama die." Lee stood there like a stump on a log, watching the fall of the Walker family as if it were the fall of the Roman Empire before he left for work--disconnected and un-sympathizing. I getting my just deserts. I was at wits end and Rachelle, the one I would not have bet a plugged nickel on to be with me at the end--stuck with me. Lee returned later that night and sat quiet as a church mouse--emotionless--watching Rachelle and me saturate the bed covers with our heartaches.

It was 4 AM when I press the nurse's button. I knew it was over and the words, she is gone, Mr. Walker, left Rachelle weeping, Lee telling me I needed to call the motel and inform the family, and me numb. The three of us followed Janet out into the dim lit hall where she reached out, touched my shoulder demonstrating a degree of compassion, and said, "The chapel is open." I guess it was the best she could do as a person who witness daily the suffering die, and their families and friends walking away crushed.

"No thank you. That is the last thing I need."

"If there is anything you need, let us know."

"Thank you Ms. Wilcox, just let the morning shift know I appreciated their professional attitude in working with me." There was an eerie quietness as she walked away. I called the motel and stood there dumb-founded with Rachelle, waiting for the family to gather and give me some suggestions. My spiritual stratagem had gone awry, the family arrived and my hopes died.

I do not know if one can go "gently into the night," but I do know that with the death of Trisha I came to the realization that I was going to die. I will never see the new system or live on the promised paradise Earth. I had turned my life and my family's life over to a gang of twelve men. Men who claimed to be the channel of God, who, with a vote of two thirds, not only captured Dorothy, the tin man, the lion, and the scarecrow, but enslaved an entire religious community of over six and one half million honest hearted men, women, and children whose only fault was seeking truth, understanding, kindness, and valor.

In the span of six days, thirty-four years were lost along with my wife, two grand children, one daughter, a son-in-law, three brother-in-laws, a mother-in-law, two sister-in-laws, and over a hundred friendships, and thousands of acquaintances who shared with me, whether they agreed with it or not, an extraordinary bond, a paradisaic dream, of ever-lasting life on Earth. The dream, in which I would see "Lit'el Rags resurrected, the dream, of walking hand in hand with all my resurrected love ones, the dream, which turned into a nightmare for millions of us who became the dream pushers because we became captivated by a system of deceit and freed only by the quest for why.

"There are more instances of the abridgment of the freedom of the people by gradual
and silent encroachments of those in power than by violent and sudden usurpations."
James Madison, June 16, 1788

.

The End

Chapter 25 Hypocrisies Revealed

2008-10-15T09:21:00.000-07:00

Chapter 25 Hypocrisies Revealed

We drifted off to sleep and after I awoke, I drove to the library and the librarian located a copy of In search of Christian Freedom. I bought a library card, took the book home. I had one month before I had to return it. It was large, filled with critical reasoning points, but since I was not trying to re-define religion nor was I looking for another religious organization, or a new belief system, or excuses why religion was the way it is; I lost interest in it, but I thumbed through the book picking topics that titillated my interest. I ran across an interesting point concerning the Governing body and the mystic injection of their self importance using their application of one of the most quoted and paraphrased scriptures ever to be used by the Society:"Who really is the faithful and discreet slave whom his Master appointed over his domestics, to give them their food at the proper time? Happy is that slave if his master on arriving finds him doing so. Truly I say to you, he will appoint him over all his belongings."--Matthew Chapter 24, verses 45 through 47.

Through their creative translation Franz wrote, "In their calls for loyalty and submission, no other portion of Scripture is so frequently appealed to by the Governing Body of Jehovah’s Witnesses ... it is employed primarily to support the concept of a centralized administrative authority," He drives in the stake further as he confirms what every witness is taught, "There is not the slightest question that in the minds of Jehovah’s Witnesses ... the "food at the due time" provided by the "slave" is the information supplied by the Brooklyn-centered Watch Tower Organization."

The arrival of the book, Crisis of Conscience brought about my own crisis of conscience. It was as if I had taken a bite of the Fruit of Knowledge of Good and Bad. The more I read, the more I became disillusioned with the organization even though Franz did not write in a condemning voice as he described the process of how new light came about. The first slap in my face came as I learned the "tacking" and new light was not from consulting the Bible, but it was discussed then brought up for a vote. He discussed the meeting when they were going to consider the subject of changing blood transfusions from a disfellowshipping offense to an approved medical procedure. It needed a two third vote to pass, but one of the members did not show; therefore, the blood issue remained a disfellowshipping offense. Bang! Something snapped! I did not recognize my voice, the curse words came out as if a floodgate opened, "God damn it!" I shouted, "The son of bitches didn’t even pray, they just voted. I lost my son because of a God damn vote."

The next surprise and slap to my face was the explanation of the Malawi atrocities as explained by Ray:"It was under the policies of F. W. Franz that thousands of Malawians were persecuted, their homes burned to the ground. Many witness women were raped and murdered and still others had to wander as refugees. All this befell them because they were forbidden by the Watchtower Society’s unyielding policies to buy a .25-cent party-card which would have simply recognized them as politically non-threatening in the single-party-state of Malawi. Simultaneously, brothers in Mexico had been paying exorbitant fees for many years to bribe military officials to obtain a "cartilla"- This cartilla card would officially mark one as a member of the first reserves, that is, a person who had already fulfilled his military service. (Military service is prohibited by the Watchtower). All these transactions were done clandestinely. When brothers in Mexico read in the WT what was happening to their dear brothers in Malawi, their consciences pricked them. Bethel headquarters subsequently received a flood of mail from Mexico asking what to do about their very similar, but covert situation. The response from Watchtower headquarters? "It’s a conscience matter."

I was now beside myself and no longer endeavored to hide the book or hide my feelings. The deeper I got into the book the less I cared if I was caught, matter of fact I was now brazen in my display of the book. I began laying it on our bedroom TV, set it on the kitchen counter, doing anything to get a reaction from Trisha. She never once inquired about the book so when I completed it I started injecting certain points. Each day as we were preparing supper together I mentioned a point or two and we discuss it. I never tried to ram anything down her throat concerning any of the doctrines until one evening she said, "You’re not the same person I used to know. You don’t go to the meetings anymore and it is affecting the boys. Silas told me last night he wasn’t going to the meetings anymore."

"He’s nineteen now and he doesn’t live here anymore. I’ve talked to-"

"I knew it. I knew it." Trisha said in discuss.

"You know nothing. Look," I said, "I’ve not mention anything to either the boys of what I have been reading or researching."

"Then why has Silas’s attitude changed about Jehovah’s Organization?" she asked, her question opened our "Pandora’s Box" and from it escaped the ills; not of the world, but the multitudes of complaints I had held in my heart ever since "Lit'el" Rags died.

"First of all he’s starting to see the hypocrisy of the brothers. That jerk he works for is about as much a JW as the man in the moon. You know all this Honey. He cusses Silas out. He doesn’t pay. He has even borrowed money and not paid it back. Silas has told us over and over again." I was not telling Trisha anything she did not know, but I could not stop myself and so I continued to have diarrhea of the mouth, "Then to top it all off he fired Silas, which is for starters. There are the Jones boys. They are two faced, they lie and cuss, but they are in good standing, why? Joe is an Elder that’s why!" I was cranked up and my mouth was in overload and I continued reiterating everything we already knew and re-emphasizing the thirty years of crap I had put up with and it festered as a carbuncle and my words spewed out as if lanced, "All the crap Silas has gone through, dealing with so-called friends is getting to him. He’s told us about all this. I think he is starting to put the puzzle together." I continued to bring up more hypocritical practices, "What happen when you had your hip replacement? He was here when Alex and Tren told us the brothers deemed us un-worthy to receive a meal from the congregation because I’m bordering inactive on my field service report. It made Silas and Warren angry."

"I know! I know," she exclaimed, "I know the love in the organization is not what it use to be when we first came in, but where can we go? What can we do? The truth is all we have."

My love of my life began to cry as if her heart had been broken, and her tears broke my heart. I reached out and took her hand. "Let’s go sit on the couch," I suggested as I squeezed her hand and kissed her tear stained face. We sat down and held each other. The tension left Trisha and she became calm so I positioned myself to be able to have eye-to-eye contact with her and said, "Honey," then I took a long deep breath, squeezed her hand for assurance and stated, "I don’t have any answers, but you know I have been doing a lot of research."

"I know that," she answered, "seems like that is all you do anymore."

"Remember when we first started studying the truth I stayed up till two or three o’clock in the morning." I leaned over and gave her kiss and asked, "Why do you think I did that?"

"You said you wanted to make sure it was the truth and you told me then, it was. What is wrong now?" Trisha looked stunned and confused, and why wouldn’t she be; I was in the midst of destroying the foundation I had placed under her.

"I didn’t go outside the Society’s literature," I answered. "I didn’t think a religion would be deceptive and hide the truth, misquote writers, use only partial quotes, not name the writer of the article so the quote could not be found or researched. Wait here I found a letter from a theologian that wrote the Society accusing them of misquoting him. I printed it out."
"I don't want to see it."
"Well, you're gonna see it and I'm gonna read it to you, "I shouted from the office."I'm not making this up." I brought the printout back and showed it to her. Matter-of-fact, I shoved it in her face and said, "No matter what you say, or what excuses you make--the Society did not get this authors approval to use his work, they misquoted him and they have misapplied their scholarly translation of several scriptures to lean toward our Biblical understanding."

"I don't want to see it or hear it," she said jerking her head back from the paper."
"You think I'm an apostate, so you are going to hear this whether you want to or not."

Her face turned crimson then pale from my attitude, which she had only seen once before when she threw her engagement ring back at me and called off the wedding. I was crushed and I slung her to the ground leaving her sitting surprised in the middle of her front yard as I drove back to the base. I was about to sling her to the ground again as I began to read the letter turning the paper, forcing her to see the words.

"'Letter by Dr. Julius Mantey -
Misquoted by the Watchtower Society

Dear Sirs:

I have a copy of your letter addressed to Caris in Santa Ana, California, and I am writing to express my disagreement with statements made in that letter, as well as in quotations you have made from the Dana-Mantey Greek Grammar.
(1) Your statement: "their work allows for the rendering found in the Kingdom Interlinear Translation of the Greek Scriptures at John 1:1," There is no statement in our grammar that was ever meant to imply that "a god" was a permissible translation in John 1:1.
A. We had no "rule" to argue in support of the trinity.
B. Neither did we state that we did have such intention. We were simply delineating the facts inherent in Biblical language.
C. You quotation from p. 148 (3) was a paragraph under the heading: "With the subject in a Copulative Sentence." Two examples occur here to illustrate that "the article points out the subject in these examples." But we made no statement in this paragraph about the predicate except that, "as it stands the other persons of the trinity may be implied ;in theos." And isn't that the opposite of what your translation "a god" infers? You quoted me out of context. On pages 139 and 140 (VI) in our grammar we stated: "without the article, theos signifies divine essence...'theos en ho logos' emphasizes Christ's participation in the essence of the divine nature." Our interpretation is in agreement with that in NEB and TED: "What God was, the Word was"; and with that of Barclay: "The nature of the Word was the same as the nature of God," which you quoted in you letter to Caris.
(2) Since Colwell's and Harner's article in JBL, especially that of Harner, it is neither scholarly nor reasonable to translate John 1:1 "The Word was a god." Word-order has made obsolete and incorrect such a rendering.
(3) Your quotation of Colwell's rule is inadequate because it quotes only a part of his findings. You did not quote this strong assertion: "A predicate nominative which precedes the verb cannot be translated as an indefinite or a 'qualitative' noun solely because of the absence of the article."
(4) Prof. Harner, Vol 92:1 in JBL, has gone beyond Colwell's research and has discovered that anarthrous predicate nouns preceding the verb function primarily to express the nature or character of the subject. He found this true in 53 passages in the Gospel of John and 8 in the Gospel of Mark. Both scholars wrote that when indefiniteness was intended that gospel writers regularly placed the predicate noun after the verb, and both Colwell and Harner have stated that theos in John 1:1 is not indefinite and should not be translated "a god." Watchtower writers appear to be the only ones advocating such a translation now. The evidence appears to be 99% against them.
(5) Your statement in your letter that the sacred text itself should guide one and "not just someone's rule book." We agree with you. But our study proves that Jehovah's Witnesses do the opposite of that whenever the "sacred text" differs with their heretical beliefs. For example the translation of kolasis as cutting off when punishment is the only meaning cited in the lexicons for it. The mistranslation of ego eimi as "I have been" in John 8:58, the addition of "for all time" in Heb. 9:27 when nothing in the Greek New Testament support is. The attempt to belittle Christ by mistranslating arche tes kriseos "beginning of the creation" when he is magnified as the "creator of all things" (John 1:2) and as "equal with God" (Phil. 2:6) before he humbled himself and lived a human body on earth. Your quotation of "The father is greater than I am, (John 14:28) to prove that Jesus was not equal to God overlooks the fact stated in Phil 2:6-8. When Jesus said that he was still in his voluntary state of humiliation. That state ended when he ascended to heaven. Why the attempt to deliberately deceive people by mispunctuation by placing a comma after "today" in Luke 23:43 when in the Greek, Latin, German and all English translations except yours, even in the Greek in you KIT, the comma occurs after lego (I say) - "Today you will be with me in Paradise." 2 Cor 5:8, "to be out of the body and at home with the Lord."

These passages teach that the redeemed go immediately to heaven after death, which does not agree with your teachings that death ends all life until the resurrection. (Ps. 23:6 and Heb 1:10)

The afore mentioned are only a few examples of Watchtower mistranslations and perversions of Gods Word.

In view of the preceding facts, especially because you have been quoting me out of context, I herewith request you not to quote the Manual Grammar of the Greek New Testament again, which you have been doing for 24 years. Also that you not quote it or me in any of your publications from this time on. Also that you publicly and immediately apologize in the Watchtower magazine, since my words had no relevance to the absence of the article before theos in John 1:1. And please write to Caris and state that you misused and misquoted my "rule."

On the page before the preface in the grammar are these words: "All rights reserved -no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher."

If you have such permission, please send me a photo-copy of it. If you do not heed these requests you will suffer the consequences.

Regretfully yours,

Julius R. Mantey'"

"Honey, for twenty-four years they have twisted his man's work. It is unethical." I've also found partial quotes used in the evolution book taken out of context, twisted and used without obtaining the author's approval. I guess if you were planning on twisting and misapplying an author's statement you wouldn't seek his approval, would you?" I was surprised at her response.
"That sounds reasonable. Are you sure this is a real letter?"
"Yes, I looked up Mantey and he did write the book, Manual Grammar of the Greek New Testament. I’m so sorry, but I know in my heart this is not the truth," I continued to spill my guts from both ends as I related everything. I could not stop, "I have other quotes or misquotes. Do you want to see them? You need to see them. It is unbelievable, Honey. Remember the book, Life: How Did It Get Here? I know you remember the book and just like me, don't remember anything in it--for sure not any quotes."
"I remember, and you are right I don't remember anything about it, except that it proved the Society's point of view about creation."
"Well. Listen to this; I began to read the article:
"The booklet says of evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins, referring to his book The Selfish Gene, "At this point a reader may begin to understand Dawkins' comment in the preface to his book: "This book should be read almost as though it were science fiction." (WTBS, 1985, p. 39). Life: How Did It Get Here? by the Jehovah's Witness (Watchtower Tract and Bible Society (WTBS), 1985).The implication here is that Dawkins is "admitting" that his evolutionary theories are uncertain and should be treated as "fiction." In context, though, we can see that Dawkins is saying no such thing at all: "This book should be read as though it were science fiction. It is designed to appeal to the imagination. But it is not science fiction: it is science. Cliché or not, "stranger than fiction" expresses exactly how I feel about the truth. (Dawkins, The Selfish Gene, p.ix) "Creation Science Debunked by Lenny Flank.

I showed the article to her, letting her see where I obtained it and the author's name and credits. "See? They misquoted the author; they didn't use his complete statement. They used a partial to discredit him as a scientist, claiming he called his own work, a work of fiction. How can a religious organization do that? It isn't fair to me or any of the book study conductors. We are the teachers, and giving us inaccurate information is just plain wrong. What would happen if we were at a door discussing evolution and creation and some one brought an article out like this one?"

"Embarrassing?" Her expression was priceless as a little crease developed over her eyes and a coy look spread across her face.

"To say the least," I grinned, "Just thank Jehovah that never happen, but I guess we would have done what the Society taught us to do…

"Refuse to examine the article, shake the dust from our shoes, and call them goats?" Trisha laughed, taking the words right out of my mouth.

"Yeah, exactly," I answered.

I had read everything Ray Franz said in his book about the Society, the blood issue, Malawi, the voting process, the fall of Jerusalem, the generation, and the changed baptismal questions--all are lies of deceit to bolster the prophesy of the last days.

I should have ended the discussion while I was ahead, but instead I said, "Without 1914, Honey, there is no religious basis to our religion." I had mentioned these things before in an underhanded manner--chiseling away at her foundation; but now, she was facing a wrecking ball, and the vibrations of the demolition created a fissure, and her emotions broke free.

Tears flowed, making her make-up and nose run. She jerked her hands free and shouted, "It’s not fair! It’s your fault! You studied! You said this is the truth. Mama was baptized because of you. Our son died, now after all these years you are telling me everything I believe in is just a joke--not real--a hoax, nothing more than any other church of Christendom." Her statement, slurred with ramblings of disbelief turned into fear. "Tren, my grand kids," she cried, "I don’t want to loose them. You know Alex will take them away from me. I’ll never be able to hug them and talk to them. I’ll die; just die, and you have no answers. I can’t leave, even if I believe it is not the truth."

We were captives in a system of deceit and I tried to comfort Trisha; so, I said, "We’ll do what we have to do. I don’t want to lose the kids or Tren either."
I did not rest as the internet became my new best friend and I discovered things about the Society--some I knew of and some I had never heard of, some made my hair curl, some made me sick to my stomach, some made me cultivate animosity. They owned used car dealer ships, auto repair shops in Canada, which repair damaged vehicles and resell them as road worthy vehicles. They owned orange grooves in Florida and sold the harvest to church groups in South Dakota, (the only way I found out about this was a female friend who lived in South Dakota told me several church groups bought the produce.) Why is that so bad? The answer is this: We had been taught to depend on Jehovah--don't buy life insurance, don't gamble, don't join the military, don't fight for your country, don't invest in stocks, don't conduct business with false religion. I was surprised to learn that the Watchtower Organization had subsidiaries:
Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society of Pennsylvania (Incorporated 1884)
Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York, Inc. (Incorporated 1909)
Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New Jersey, Inc. (Incorporated 1955)
Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of Florida, Inc. (Incorporated 1986)
Valley Farms Corporation (Incorporated 1987)
Kingdom Support Services, Inc. (Incorporated 2000
Christian Congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses (Incorporated 2000) and the Religious Order of Jehovah's Witnesses (Incorporated 2000)
The new Christian Congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses and the Religious Order of Jehovah's Witnesses were the only two new subsidiaries I had heard because the Society announced the "new light" in their Branch Letter during a service meeting part. The thought, we sure are starting to imitate the Catholic Church with their orders of this and orders of that , and yet the same organization that told us, the rank and file, not to do these things and trust in Jehovah owned fifty percent of Rand Cam Engine Corporation from 1986, which is filed with the Securities and Exchange Commission.

SECURITIES AND EXCHANGE COMMISSION
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20549
-------------------------------

FORM 10-KSB

ANNUAL REPORT PURSUANT TO SECTION 13 OR 15(d) OF
THE SECURITIES ACT OF 1934

For the Fiscal Year Ended April 30, 2002

COMMISSION FILE NO. 0-23920

Rand Cam Engine Corp. is a privately held company whose stock is reportedly
owned 50% by The Watchtower Society, a religious organization, 34% by James
McCann and the balance by several other shareholders. Mr. McCann has indicated that he donated the shares held by The Watchtower Society to that organization but has retained a voting proxy for those shares. Accordingly, in Notes (3) and(4) above, beneficial ownership of the 5,073,200 shares registered in the name of Rand Energy Group Inc. has been attributed to The Watchtower Society and Mr. McCann. We believe it would be misleading and not provide clear disclosure to list as beneficial owners in the table the other entities and persons discussed in this paragraph, although a strict reading of Rule 13d-3 under the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 might require each such entity and person to be listed in the beneficial ownership table. page 26
This SEC excerpt was taken from the article Watchtower’s Investments in Warfare Technology and The First Casualty of War is The Truth.http://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgar/data/922330/000106299302000371/form10k.txt

Chapter 24 Reinforcing the Doctrines

2008-10-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

Chapter 24 Reinforcing the Doctrines

I hung on until one afternoon when Trisha and I began watching the Oprah show. The topic turned toward the Rev. Jimmy Swaggart. We laughed and was beside ourselves about him being caught in a sleazy motel outside of New Orleans with a prostitute, and we showered the "Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society" with praises of being pure and clean. "Isn’t it nice to be part of a religion that lives its teachings," I said with pride.

"Yes it is. We’re so fortunate to live in a spiritual paradise," Trisha agreed.

"I’m gonna go look up Jimmy Swaggart on the internet and see what else I can dig up on that clown," I said in a condescending tone as I rose from the couch and enter the office and sat down at the computer desk. I typed in Jimmy Swaggart and began scanning the topics. My heart skipped a beat. "Jimmy Swaggart and Jehovah Witnesses" popped up and my hands started to tremble as I clicked the mouse and a window opened. "California Board of Equalization vs. Jimmy Swaggart Ministries." I read the tag line then open the article which stated the state of California wanted to assess sales taxes on the sale of books, tapes, and other items by Swaggart’s ministry. The Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society had filed amicus curiae (a friend of the court legal brief) in support of Swaggart’s position, in which a prepared statement declaring a religious organization should be exempt from such taxation. On Jan. 17, 1990, the Supreme Court ruled against Swaggart and permitted taxation.

It was then,I realized the society’s new policy of asking for donations for the literature instead of suggesting a specific price was a movement to beat the IRS out of taxes because donations are tax-free. I returned to the living room and told Trisha what I had found out.

"The Society is trying to save some money. Everything is up front and above board," she said blowing it off as nothing serious.

"If everything is above board why didn’t they inform the congregations they filed a "friend of the court brief with Jimmy Swaggart," I continued mulling over the discovery and said,"There are some funny things going on. Why did they change our meal program from charging for meals to giving a donation instead? Then why did they discontinue serving meals at assemblies to suggesting we bring bag lunches? You recall all these changes came bang, bang, bang--all after 1990. Remember," I said with skepticism countering her statement.

"I don’t have any different answers from what they mention through their letters to the congregation," she said sarcastically, "You've heard all the letters read as well as me, and we always agreed with the Society’s point of view, ‘these changes are loving provisions from Jehovah.’ All the sisters are happy with the new arrangements. Now their husbands can help them with the kids and listen to the program. You know all the changes are to help the brothers benefit from the assembly programs and receive the spiritual food instead of working during the programs. I don’t know why I have to come to the Society’s defense with you of all people," she said with indignation.

"They didn’t seem to mind how much the brothers missed the programs up until the donation arrangement came into existence, now did they? Could it be all about money, they were making money from the meals, I know that because they encourage everyone to eat at the assemblies because it was "good association and an expression of our faith." We all donated more at the assemblies for the new releases so they make money from the literature, and they make money from the parking tickets; and besides, we are always sending the remainder of the assembly funds to the Society," my response brought about the close of the conversation.

"I don’t want to talk about it anymore," she said adopting a typical application to the Society’s admonition, do not cast your pearls before swine, but shake the dust off your shoes and move on to those who are worthy. "Maybe you should stay away from the computer; and what is that World Wide Web anyway? You’re going to develop doubts if you keep it up. You better be careful," she said warning me.

"If the truth is the truth, then there isn’t anything to be afraid of, is it?" The question I posed seemed perfect and reasonable. The truth should stand on its own. The internet was a source of freedom of which I had never had during the past thirty years. I never researched anything outside the Society’s approved material and what I had just learned, open my mind to new ideas and I was stimulated, and became more adventurous after I picked up Warren’s ancient history book he left laying on the coffee table.. I flipped through the index and found Jerusalem, then searched for the topic "the fall of," found nothing; then saw "the destruction of Jerusalem." There wasn’t any date listed; so I turned to the chapter looking for the date 607 B.B.E.; there was no 607 B.C.E., but there was the date 586 B.C. The year 607 B.C.E. was not mentioned; therefore, I started researching the fall of Jerusalem. Every historical record supported the 586/587 date, even the web site dealing with the antiquities of the Jews placed the destruction to be in 586 B.C.E. Josephus' Antiquities of the Jews also backed up the 586 date. Jerusalem was under siege for many long months as the food ran out and disease and starvation spread throughout the city.

On July 10, 586 B.C., the Babylonian forces of king Nebuchadnezzar broke through the northern wall of Jerusalem and it was just a matter of time. The Jewish survivors were hauled across the Syrian Desert to Babylon, many of them perishing along the way. The Southern Kingdom of Judah had ceased to exist, the monarchy had ended and this marked the end of the First Temple Period and they set fire to Jerusalem and destroyed the outer walls of the city. All military, civil and religious leaders were executed or carried away into captivity. The poorest of the poor even back then were not wanted and left behind in Judah, which was in complete desolation.
Upon reading this, I now knew it was the Society that had everything to lose. Both the Jewish and Babylonian history agreed to the same date and it was not 607 B.C.E. The first person I told was Trisha as she came home from work I didn’t wait for her to sit down and I didn’t wait for her to relax. I blurted out, "Guess what I learned today?"

"What, did you learn," she said irritated.

"Honey, what happened in 607 B.C.E.?" I inquired with a scholarly air, pretending I was a professor of history.

"Babylon destroyed Jerusalem," she answered proudly. "Why?"

"That ain’t what Warren’s history book says. That ain’t what Josephus’ "Antiquities of the Jews" say. The Babylonian History doesn’t say 607," I stated in hope the things I was telling her would encourage her to understand we had been tricked, lied to, and bamboozled, but she held firm to the integrity of the Society’s historical accounts.

"They could all be wrong, you know what the Society says about world history; historians twist dates and facts around to discredit the Bible. Why are you questioning the Society after all these years?" she asked in astonishment.

"Who has the most to loose with the application of the wrong date? Is there any other religion that has its main doctrine based on 1914, and Jesus’ invisible presence? You remember 1975 don’t you? They were wrong about that date--Armageddon didn’t come, "Lit'el" Rags died and now they have changed the, this generation doctrine. Has it hit you yet? We are going to die and we are not going to see the New Order. I followed the Society to the tee. I stayed in a comfort zone, never missing meetings, working for crappy contractors and brothers just to make ends meet. There are not any retirement or medical plans we can fall back on. Why? Why--because I put my trust in God’s Organization, and now I find out it is bull shit." I said my voice turned into the voice Trisha and Rachelle hated. I was preaching a "holier than thou sermon" trying to tear down Trisha's resolve and march with me in an exit performance.

"You need to talk to the elders," her statement crushed me.

"I don’t need to talk to anybody. It’s over," I shouted. We’ve been hood winked, God damn it!" I said, taking God’s name in vain with all my conviction, and it sounded weird coming out of my mouth.

"You don’t have to talk like that," she commanded," call Alex and talk to him."
"You want me to talk to Alex, the guy that threw his TV out in the yard, been hauled before the brothers for fits of anger, and mistreating our daughter and grand children. Are you nuts?"

"That is in the past, he is an elder now!"

"It wasn’t too far in the past. A year ago Tren was here crying and wanting to get a divorce, if I remember correctly. I’ve been deleted longer than he has been a witness. I conducted the Babylon the Great Has Fallen! God’s Kingdom Rules! I know what is taught, but if it makes you happy I’ll call Alex." I dialed his number. "Hey Alex, glad to find you home. Look I’ve been doing some research-"

"That’s good Dad," the inflection in his voice gave proof he was both pleased and surprised I was studying again. "What are you researching?" He asked congenially.

"I happen to pick up Warren’s history book, guess what date Jerusalem was destroyed?" I asked.

"607 B.C.E," he responded, "you know the Society has all the historical data on the new C D Rom-"

"I know," I answered, "but I went to the Jewish Antiquity page on the internet as well as the Historical accounts written on the Babylonian Cuneiform tablets detailing the fall of Jerusalem. Everywhere I searched, 607 was never mentioned."

"Wait a minute Dad, I’ll put in the "Society’s C D and read it to you." I heard papers shuffling, and drawers opening and shutting, "here it is Dad." The whirr of the C D drive kicked in.

I knew he was going to start pulling up the same old dogma I had parroted over the past thirty years; so, before the C D drive stopped its whirring, I said, "Alex don’t waste your time, I can tell you how 1914 is calculated. I know the Faithful and Discreet Slave teaches 607 was the fall and I’m telling you there is not one scholar or history professor who corroborates the 607 date. Both the Jews and the Babylonian accounts state 587/586 as the 18th year of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign, 605 was the first year of his reign. The Society says 607 was the eighteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign when he entered Jerusalem and destroyed the city. What you think Alex?" My counter response fell on a dead moment, and then I heard some more shuffling of some papers, a click which I assumed to be a tape recorder and Alex clearing of his throat just before he asked, "Rags, are you telling me the Faithful and Discreet Slave is wrong?"

"I’m telling you Jerusalem fell in 587 by all accounts except us. That’s all I’m telling you." I knew where he was heading with his questioning. He needed to start the process of "keeping the congregation clean," culling out the dead wood, the "spiritual weak", the doubter, and the independent thinker--"Remove the unclean thing from among you." If he could prove I was becoming apostate; I would be "disfellowshipped" and considered a dog returning to his vomit--something detestable. Though I would be alive, I would be dead to family and friends.

"Do you believe the Faithful and Discreet Slave is being used by Jehovah as his Channel of Communication here on Earth," Alex’s question was trying to get me to admit to apostasy. From this moment on, I needed to be careful in what I said.

"I believe he has a channel of communication," I said having everything to loose and nothing to gain except my freedom, but what good was my freedom if my entire family refused to speak to me, and consider me dead. Shunning was not an option at this time, because my entire family was in the truth. Silas had been baptized for two years, and Warren had plans to be baptized. Trisha’s mother was baptized and she was in her seventies. Trisha had been loosing her health as of late and I was now 55 years old and fighting my own health problems and a multitude of different ailments. I did not want to get disfellowshipped--I could not get disfellowshipped, but I could not accept our teachings any longer.

"I’ll talk to you later at the meeting," Alex said as he hung up the phone. I was not going to the meeting tonight. I seldom went to the meetings anymore.

"Well, Honey," I said turning my attention back to Trisha. "I think fhit will hit the san tonight. I didn’t impress Alex with my research as you could hear."

"I think all that internet stuff is clouding your mind," she said with a shrug, "I don’t know what to say."

"There isn’t anything to say."

"Are you going to the meeting tonight?"

"No, I’m not."

"Why doesn’t that surprise me," she said under her breath as she walked to the bedroom. "I’ve got to get dress for the meeting," her voice increased in intensity, "Warren get your suit on!" The closing of the door punctuated her statement.

I could not wait for them to leave, and when they left, I opened a web page about Jehovah’s Witnesses and ran across an advertisement selling books written by and about Jehovah Witnesses. The two books, which caught my attention, were, In Search of "Christian Freedom" and "Crisis of Conscience," both written by Ray Franz. The tag line for "Crisis of Conscience" stated, "Ray Franz, former member of Jehovah’s Witnesses’ Governing Body and the nephew of the President of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, Fred Franz." I had never heard of Ray Franz; matter of fact, I was never interested in finding out the names of any of the Governing Body, but the description and synopsis jarred my memory, and I recalled some rumor in the eighties concerning a member of the Governing Body being disfellowshipped for apostasy. I remembered hearing a talk suggesting the discarding any material written by apostates, "don't even open the cover." The Society considered this literature demonized and by reading it, suggested the reader was inviting the demons into the reader’s home and mind.

I don’t think many at my level in the organization could have or was interested enough to have named the members of the Governing Body, but after realizing the brother mentioned was a member of the Governing Body we became excited. There was a consensus of "I think they must read and pray all day," as a fiend said one day, and I sure thought they did. I, like most, believed the Governing Body would be officious with the Bible as one member would articulate what he understood from Holy Spirit, and some other member would add to that until there was a unanimous assessment and consensus reached. There was little known about the process of how decisions were made or scriptures came to be understood. I never even thought about them, whoever they were. They were thought of as a group of men in NY who knew something we didn't know, and were obligated to spread the news they learned. "I never thought about their sources of enlightenment," said Sister Lenora Smith, a pioneer sister, one day during a discussion before we left the Hall for field service, "I am just flattered in hearing the latest news, the latest updates, anything that made me think the end is closer."

The Governing Body was a much talked about anonymous agency, much like the wizard in the Wizard of Oz. They were a voice, cloaked behind a curtain, of curiosity and humility using the phrase, "We want to give praise to Jehovah and not to receive praise, for we are just Jehovah’s instrument," as their mantra of reasoning behind the question: Why is there such anonymousness in the literature published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society? This is the only question one could ask about the Governing Body because the organization conditioned us to never question their understanding of the scriptures, and never run ahead. To question them would be to question the Organization, and to question the Organization was to question Jehovah--after all, they are Jehovah's "Channel of Communication" on Earth to distribute the food at the proper time--and to question their decision was a "disfellowshipping" offense.

The advertisement gave life to my newfound interest of why the Governing Body was so secretive; therefore, I ordered "Crisis of Conscience" and then turned off the internet. I did not want to answer any questions from Trisha about what I had been doing. My eyes drifted over to the shelf that held my binder. It had been years and a river of tears passed since I even thought about those words. I walked over and pulled it out, sat back down and opened it to the scrambled words, closed my eyes and ran my fingers over the page and words I had written twelve years earlier. I began to weep as memories open the pain in my heart once again and the words: He came to me again last night, my love flew to a new height fit in so lyrically with the scribbled words of: he smiled and said how are you dad I love you so don't be sad. It was as if a dam of pent up words rushed out, all making sense and rhyme, and I kept on writing, not caring for grammar or punctuation or anything else--for eighteen years I fought the fight you probed me on to my delight I didn't think I could take much more I got tired and opened death's door son what can I do tell me please I don't know dad I don't have life's keys you know I can come and stand in your dreams if you can do it do it by all means I must leave dad while you're asleep no no no I reached out my arms for his soul to keep I'll come again dad so keep your veracities until that time son until that time I'll keep your photographs, potted plants and memories. There it was finished--finalized. I was elated--so many hours had gone into this poem, and bang in five minutes, it was finished. It was my catharsis, and as I finished the last word, a weight lifted from my shoulders and I could feel my body purging itself of the pain, guilt, and heartbreak.

I rushed out when Trisha and the kids came home. I could not wait for the kids to go to bed so I could read the poem to her. We tried not to discuss "Lit'el" Rags in front of the kids because we broke down and it just made the situation go from bad to worst and the kids would end up in tears of sympathy for us--they were stronger than us--we were…. "The brothers were looking for you," she said to me before ordering the kids to go to bed.

"I bet they were," I replied and then brushed it off as I followed her into our bedroom as she undressed. "You know that ditty, photographs, potted plants and memories I was working on since "Lit'el" Rags died. Well, it is finished!"

"Good for you," she said sarcastically.We had been married too long to let a little scorn deter my plans.

"Do you want to read it?"

"No, you read it."

I began to read it, and it was just a mess of words without any meaning. It sounded so good--a work of art--in my mind as it was mentally punctuated. I stopped.

"You need to punctuate it, so it makes sense," she opined before asking, "Are you coming to bed?"

"No, I'm gonna fix this poem then I'll be here."

It was two o'clock in the morning when I completed the poem and woke Trisha up. "Honey,I got it fixed. Listen!"
Photographs, Potted Plants, and Memories
He came to me again last night; my love flew to a new height
He smiled, and said, "How are you Dad? I love you so don't be sad.
For eighteen years, I fought the fight.
You probed me on to my delight.
I didn't think I could take much more.
I got tired and opened death's door.
"Son what can I do, tell me please."
"I don't know dad. I don't have life's keys."
"You know I can come and stand in your dreams.
"If you can do it, do it, by all means."
"I must leave dad while you're asleep."
"No! No! No!" I reached out my arms for his soul to keep.
"I love you Dad and give my love to Mama please.
"Until that time son, until that time I'll keep your photographs, potted plants and memories.

"That's beautiful, Honey," Trisha said through a swelling of tears and crackling of voice and that was the last time I cried with a broken heart over "Lit'el" Rags.

Chapter 23 Oscillating Doctrines

2008-10-15T09:16:00.000-07:00

Chapter 23 Oscillating Doctrines

I was proud to be a Jehovah’s Witness, because of the inculcation from the Society that we are Bible students and as smart as any theologian. I could, and did stand before preachers and argue different Bible topic to the point some preachers ended the discourse by just closing their doors. I walked away pleased I had won, but now as I began to evaluate many of our teachings was altered over the years through the guise of new light filtering through the faithful and discreet slave class I think back--won what? The arguments I won at the preachers’ door would no longer hold water, and maybe they just ended the conversation because I was unreasonable, arrogant, and plain ignorant.

The issue of our baptism came into play. The baptismal candidate were no longer being baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but with "new light," those who were now being baptized were ask if they understood and agreed to giving the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society full authority over their lives. This meant the Society was removing Jesus as man’s mediator and usurping his position as mediator.

Earlier there had been an entire article in the "Watch Tower Magazine" explaining Jesus was only the mediator between the faithful and discreet slave class and Jehovah, while the faithful and discreet slave class moved into the self-appointed position of mediator between the other sheep or in other words the rank and file, and Jehovah.

The baptismal candidates are now under obligation to non other than The Watchtower Bible & Tract Society while Jesus, Jehovah, and Holy Spirit was removed and replaced with God’s spirit-directed organization setting the governing body in position to self-anoint themselves as the mediator. The methodical change via the baptismal questions came front and center in 1991after being accustomed to the new idea. The Organization introduced new light through a new study article, which placed the final nail in re-crucifying Jesus by removing him as the mediator for all mankind. The relationship between Jesus and all mankind was now ripe for the picking and the question was, "To whom is Jesus the mediator of?"
“Christ....is the “mediator of a new covenant” between Jehovah and spiritual Israel, the “Israel of God” that will serve as kings and priests in heaven with Jesus....So in this strict Biblical sense Jesus is the “mediator” only for anointed Christians....The great crowd of other sheep that is forming today is not in that new covenant.” (See The Watchtower, Feb.15, 1991, pg. 8) I sat there that Sunday and as I heard the paragraph read I though, my God, the anointed slave class is taking Jesus’ job away from him. They are usurping his authority as mediator. I no longer have any relationship with Jesus.”

I poked Trish in the ribs and whispered, “Did you get that point?”

“What point?”

“Aren’t you listening?”

“Mediator!”

“Shush, be quite.”

I turned my attention back to the study article and let things slide, because everyone sitting around us had turned toward us with a sanctimonious look of “Hey you’re disturbing us.”

So once again, there was new light, which now has taken all mankind out of the reach of Jesus’ sacrifice and his role of mediator. 1 Timothy 2:5 says, “For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, a man, Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a corresponding ransom for all." The Word of God is very clear, and to me no matter what the organization brought forth as new light about the Mediator between God and all humanity, the mediator will always be one person--Jesus Christ. The Society disagrees with this. It has even gone as far as adding words to 1 Timothy 2:5, citing it as, “There is one God, and one mediator between God and men (not, all men)....” (The Watchtower, Nov. 15, 1979, pg 22)

The mainstream religious organizations maintained their teachings throughout thousands of years with the exception of the Catholic religion that changed eating fish on Friday to approving the eating of meat also. Their members are able to question teachings and harbor doubts without consequences, but as Jehovah’s Witnesses--we can not question the teachings or we are considered doubters, spiritual weak, marked, shunned, and worst of all labeled as an apostate and disfellowshipped.

New Light or new understanding must be accepted without question, whether it was brand new understanding, or whether the new understanding reverted to the previous understanding. This process was not a new aspect of the Society, and in retrospect, the founders of The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society would now be disfellowshipped for apostasy if they did not conform to all the new refinement of understanding, which took place from the founding in 1887.
In 1880 "We need not here repeat the evidences that the "seventh trump" began its sounding A.D., 1840, and will continue until the end of the time of trouble, and the end of "The times of the Gentiles," A.D., 1914, and that it is the trouble of this "Great day," which is here symbolically called the voice of the Archangel when he begins the deliverance of fleshly Israel."

The current changes are major as the doctrine of this generation took on the aspect of new light, because from 1880 to 1914 the Society taught 1914 was to bring an end to this system of things. From 1915 through 1916, new light indicated the year of 1914 was "the end of the gentile times." In 1955, when my family became interested, we were taught 1914 marked the invisible presence of Christ, and the generation that saw the world events, which occurred from 1914, would be the generation to see the end of the earthly governments and the establishment of God’s Kingdom on earth.
1955 "The very fact that, as part of Jehovah's secret, no one today is able to find out how much time Adam and later Eve lived during the closing days of the sixth creative period, so no one can now determine when six thousand years of Jehovah's present rest day come to an end. Obviously, whatever amount of Adam's 930 years was lived before the beginning of that seventh-day rest of Jehovah, that unknown amount would have to be added to the 1976 date." (Watchtower, February 1, 1955, p. 95)
"Just think, 1975 marks the end of 6,000 years of human experience.....Will it be the time when God executes the wicked?....It very well could be, but we will have to wait to see.' (Watchtower, 1/5/1967, p 262)

Nineteen sixty eight "More recently, the book entitled "Famine-1975!" [by W. & P. Paddock, 1967, pp. 52,55,61.] said concerning today's food shortages: "Hunger is rampant throughout country after country, continent after continent around the undeveloped belt of the tropics and subtropics. Today's crisis can move in only one direction - toward catastrophe. Today hungry nations; tomorrow starving nations." … "By 1975 civil disorder, anarchy, military dictatorships, runaway inflation, transportation breakdowns and chaotic unrest will be the order of the day in many of the hungry nations." (The Truth That Leads To Eternal Life, p 88-89, 1968)

Nineteen eighty,If the wicked system of this world survived until the turn of the century (the year 2000), which is highly improbable in view of world trends and the fulfillment of Bible prophecy, there would still be survivors of the World War I generation. However, the fact that their number is dwindling is one more indication that "the conclusion of the system of things" is moving fast toward its end. (The Watchtower, Oct. 15, 1980, p. 31)

The May 1, 1985 WT (p. 4) makes the statement: "Before the 1914 generation completely dies out, God’s judgment must be executed." The society taught from 1955 those born from 1914 and thereafter would never die and they would be the ones who saw the ushering in of the New Order."

The year 1992, the "Channel of God" introduced new light once more, and this time, changing the chronology of "this generation" wield a two-edge sword, and prophetically pushed this generation to the point mathematically: one, those who made up the class of this generation would never see the New Order alive. We were going to die. "Lit'el" Rags would never be resurrected; two, the hope of entering the new order was now moved to a future date in the twenty first century.

The generational teachings changed as much as the teachings of who is the "King of the North" and "King of the South." The Society in their 1958 book "Your Will Be Done on Earth" (pages 263 & 278) stated the "king of the south" is fulfilled in present day Britain and America, and the "king of the north" is the Soviet Union.

The Society taught the King of the North was Russia, and then a new understanding came later the King of the North is the UN. It changed once again back to being Russia, and now-to-date the faithful and discreet slave class after years of "tacking" admitted they could not tell who the King of the North or the King of the South was, or is, and only history would be able to tell, but who cared about the flip flop of which country played what role in history, but the generational flip-flop was a life changing ordeal as my beloved religion’s history began changing right before my eyes, much like the Orwellian concept of "Animal Farm." Where in the past, I would have overlooked it but now I sensed something wrong, but I could not put my finger on it and it bothered me. It is now approaching an unrecognizable stage and no one is paying attention or we are afraid to say anything because we may be marked as weak, labeled as troublemakers, or tagged with the dreaded "apostate label.

The entire progression of recycling "old light" into new light then reverting back into the understanding the "old light" is now the new light took effect on me to a point I began to question Jehovah as to his intelligence. What do I mean by this? I mean any super natural being who created everything could not be so confused as to keep changing his mind on doctrines that kept his servants on Earth confused. Religion should be simple such as Jesus said, "Truly I say to you, unless you turn around and become as young children, you will by no means enter into the kingdom of the heavens." Matthew chapter 18 verse 3 "New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures."

This religion was anything but childlike as we were expected to read study, and accept without question every change brought forth, and in doing so, I was unable to recognize this religion anymore,and the beginning of my downward spiral.

Chapter 22 Nightmares

2008-10-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 22 NIGHTMARES

Tuesday, was Trisha’s Friday and it was always a good day for her, but there was something different when she arrived home. The first words were, ‘I’m so tired Honey, I can't seem to put one foot in front of the other. I’ve not felt good since my hip surgery. I thought I was going to have to call you to help me step up into the cab. We sure need running boards or handles on that van, it’s so high."

"I know we need running boards. It’s just about too high for me and there isn’t anything wrong with me. Sweetheart you went back to work too soon. I told you that the concrete floor you have to walk on is bad. They ought to have rubber mats around the bench. My God, most people take a year off, but no, not you, ‘I have a bakery to run.'" I mimicked her standard comment when the topic of the bakery came up.

"I didn’t come home to argue about anything," she snapped.

"When you are dead and gone do you think Safeway’s bakery will close down," I retorted. "No! I don’t think so-o-o-o-o-o." I was bent on getting my point across as I ignored her statement about arguing.

"I don’t care what they do at the moment. If I’m dead and gone then I won’t have to worry about anything will I?"

"No, you won’t," I replied sarcastically.

"I’m so tired. I’m going to take a hot bath and see if I feel better, then I’m going to bed. Just take care of the kids, OK. I’ll see you in the morning," her voice had softened to a point I thought she was going to run out of air before the sentence was complete.

"I have supper ready if you’re hungry," not waiting for a response I ask, "You want me to bring you a plate? I can bring you a plate Honey. It’s the old stand-by Burritos."

"All I want to do is take a bath and go to bed. Thank you anyway," she said as she limped passed me and entered our bedroom.

The boys burst into the house with Silas pushing Warren through the door, "Knock that crap off right now," I demanded.

Warren asked his most important questions, "What’s for supper?" and "Where’s Mom?"

"Mama is taking bath, she’s not feeling good so I want you guys to be quite and knock all your rough housing off. You hear me? We are having Burritos." I answered.

"What’s wrong with Mom?" Silas asked.

"Her hip is hurting and she is tired, so I need you guys to settle down and cool it."

"Did you fix the Burritos like you always do?" Warren asked.

"Yes."

"With onions?"

"Yes," I answered.

"You diced the onions, or just whacked them up," Warren inquired.

"Diced! Just the way you like them," I replied, then asked, "You writing a book?"

"No, just wanted to get my mind in gear for your concoction."

"Ya’ll sit down and I’ll put supper on the table."

We began to dish up, when I heard Trisha calling, "Rags, o-o-h Rags, o-o-oh Rags."

"I’ll go see what your Mama needs," I told the boys as I pushed my chair back, walked down the hall into our bedroom, and entered the master bath.

"What you want, Honey?" I asked.

"I wasn’t calling you," she replied raising her head out of the water.

It had been twelve years since we lost "Lit'el" Rags and I was caught off guard. Once again, the familiar feeling of helplessness rushed over me and all I could think of was getting out and letting Trisha deal with her pain the best she could. There was no need to have us both crying our hearts out while the boys are in the house; therefore, I responded as I backed out the bathroom, "Oh, okay, I’ll let you go back to enjoying your bath." I closed the door giving her privacy.

"What did Mama want?" Silas asked as I returned to the supper table.

"Nothing really," I replied, "Just reminiscing about "Lit'el" Rags."

"O-o-oh," was the only word uttered, and it came out in unison from both of the boys, then an uncomfortable silence, which we used as an excuse to start the cleaning process of the table and dishes.

The following morning Trisha came out to the kitchen and said, "I think I have to go back to bed. I’m so short winded. It took every ounce of energy I had to get this far."

I pulled a chair from the table. "Here sit here before you fall," I said. She sat and after a few moments, she regained her breath and I helped her back to our bedroom.

"Just sit here and relax. She sat down and took a deep breath as if she had run a mile. She was pasty white, void of all color. "If you aren’t any better in a couple of hours I’ll take you to the doctor."

"I don’t think I can wait a couple of hours," she whispered trying to catch her breath.

"Okay, relax! I’ll go call Doctor Myers." I was surprised the receptionist didn’t argue with me about the request for an appointment ASAP. I guess since Dr. Myers was the primary physician and recommended her hip replacement she realized it was a serious request. I set the phone back into its saddle and relayed the message, "Honey, we got an appointment. They want you there ASAP. Don’t worry about getting dressed. We gotta go. Just go in your house coat," my words were one half a plea, and one-half command.

We were ushered into an examination room without having to complete any paper work, which surprised me. Doctor Meyers rushed in and began doing all the nurses work such as: checking her blood pressure, temperature and vitals, then proceeded with his stethoscope listening to her breathe which she had difficulty in doing. Checked her eyes, examined her neck, arms. His hands traveled to her feet and said, "Mrs. Walker, I want you to lie down." Trisha did as he said and he pushed her nightgown above her knees. "How long have you had problems with shortness of breath?"

"About three days," Trisha’s answer came with a gasping of breath.

"When did exhaustion start?"

"It’s been getting worst over the past three or four days. My hip has been hurting so I just figured I was tired because of the pain and having to stand all day."

"You should have remained on disability for a while longer, but I don’t think your
hip has anything to do with what going on with you now. How long have you had this rash?"

"What rash?" Trisha inquired, then responded, "I haven’t notice any rash or itching."

His brow twitched and he mumbled under his breath, "I hope what I’m seeing isn’t what I think it is."

I leaned over, took a closer look, and ran my fingers over her legs. The individual dots were so small that with a quick glance one would overlook them. Her legs looked more as she had a slight sunburn or had a case of Chiggers--not anything serious.

"What, do you think it is the measles?" I asked showing my ignorance.

"No, if it is what I think it is, then it is much more serious than measles," he said. "I was an intern in San Francisco years ago when I first saw a case of Thrombocytopenia."

"Throm...what," I stammered, "is that?"

"Thrombocytopenia is a serious blood disorder."

"Cancer!" I exclaimed as I peered into Trisha’s eyes and squeezed her hand.

"No, it is not cancer, but just as serious."

"Oh my God!" Trisha exclaimed placing a hand over her mouth as she pulled herself to a sitting position and tears swelled and her breath became even shorter, quick gasps. I took her in my arms to comfort and reassure her.The question, "How serious?" was muffled under the tissue that Doctor Myers handed her from the box near the sink.

"Very--I have an associate practicing over at Lakeside Hospital. He has dealt with the disorder just recently. I am going to call him now and have him meet you at the hospital. They will want to do blood work and give you a spinal tap. I know you are familiar with the tests they will need."
Trisha began to cry uncomtrollably,and the fear I felt made me sick.

Dr. Myers squeezed Trisha’s shoulder and said, "I pray I’m wrong, but there is only one way we can tell. I’ll see you at the hospital after I confer with Doctor Wilbright. We’ll cross our fingers and pray for the best."

An Orderly met us at admitting and placed Trisha in a wheel chair. An Attendant led me to a waiting room where I filled out the admissions and insurance papers. The hands on the clock seemed locked as the minutes dragged on. I was getting more nervous and jittery and in no shape to call the kids; though, I mustered my composure and phoned Rachelle to let her know where we were and what was going on and ask her to check on the boys.

The nurse came and led me to the room where Trisha laid with tubes projecting from her body. Dr. Myers came in and said, "I’m sorry, my worst fear has come true. Your wife has Thrombocytopenia, as I told you at the office it is serious. We are not set up here in Lake County to give her the proper care; so, I am arranging to have her sent to Santa Rosa. She is too weak now and needs oxygen and it is to her best interest to have her transferred by ambulance. Dr. Wilbright has conferred with Dr. Zuker who is one of the top specialists in the oncology and hematology field.
My mind was about to short circuit from the vast amount of data it was having to process. I didn’t have any friends to lean on, and I didn’t know what I was thinking when I arrived home and informed Silas of the doctor’s diagnosis and said, "Call Rachelle and tell her what I just told you; have Rachelle call Grandma, but by no means tell Tren." Tears and fear flowed across and down my face. "God, what a mess, if you never helped me before, please help me now," I prayed under my breath.
The road from Clearlake over Mount St. Helena was not built for speed and the passing lanes were several miles apart and seemed even further. I was relieved as I saw the lights of the ambulance flashing ahead of me. I caught up to it as we reached the Petrified Forest and settled down staying a car’s length from the ambulance. We entered the emergency area and Trisha was admitted.

Trisha was pale her eyes were closed. She had a bruise where the IV was inserted into her hand. Her breath was deep, drawing as much oxygen as she could get through the small hoses entering her nose. The nurse and orderly aligned the gurney with the bed and I helped them repositioned Trisha in bed. She moaned and opened her eyes, saw me, smiled, and drifted off again.

The orderly introduced himself and said, "If there is anything we can get you feel free to ask. Dr. Zuker should be here shortly."

I was just beginning to answer him when the door open and a distinguished looking man strolled through the door and said, "Mr. Walker, I presume?"

"Yes."

"I’m Doctor Zuker, I’ll be attending your wife. This is a serious situation we are facing. We ran another blood panel and performed another spinal tap, and I’m sorry to say it agrees with both Dr. Myers and Doctor Wilbright."

"What’s the prognosis," I asked.

"The future looks dim at the moment. She needs blood transfusions, whole blood as well as platelets, and kidney dialysis to filter her blood. The physical damage is quite advanced. It would have been better if your wife had been diagnosed at lease four days earlier. It is such a rapid and progressive blood disorder."

"Do whatever you need to do," I said, "but I need to tell you my wife is a Jehovah’s Witness."

"Is that going to present a problem?" Dr. Zuker asked. "Do you think she will sign a consent form for the blood? Are you a Jehovah’s Witness?" The scowl on his face deepened even further with the anticipation of my answer.

"Yes I am, but I no longer believe the dogma," I answered. Then told him, "Doctor Zuker, I need your help too, though I no longer believe the witness dogma, I’ll be disfellowshipped if any body finds out. The treatments must be kept a secret. There is a J W, who works in the engineering department. He is an elder in one of the congregation here we were best of friends. There is no way he can know what is going on."

His face softened and compassion appeared in his eyes as he answered, "Mr. Walker, make a list, give it to the Head Nurse and each shift will brief the oncoming shift about your concerns. I will inform her now and she will carry out your wishes. I am pleased I am not going to have to fight with you and get a court order, and I would have. Without blood, your wife does not have a chance. I assure you, we will work with you to keep everything close to the chest. I’ll have the nurse bring you a consent form, you talk to your wife when she awakens and we will start the treatments when it is signed." He turned and asked the floor nurse, "Mrs. Bates, do we have any blood consent forms? If not call the business office and have some sent up."

"I believe we have some on the floor."

"Have Mr. Walker complete the forms." I was ready to continue our conversation when he said, "Excuse me Mr. Walker," and he then turn back to the nurse, "Nurse Bates, would you please come with me?" He escorted her to the enclosed observation room and I could see him pointing at me and gesturing as if he was writing. He patted Mrs. Bates’ shoulder and they returned to where I was standing. "I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Walker, and Mrs. Bates, please carry through with what we discussed."

"Mr. Walker, here is a note pad go make your list and I’ll bring the consent form as soon as I complete the rounds. Everything is set up to start the treatments in the morning." I returned to Trisha’s side and began to make a list of who could be admitted and who could not. It was going to be a task to make everything work without ending up disfellowshipped.

Now with the new light concerning the use of blood fractions stating, "Any fraction of blood could be used or transfused into the body, except for the use of whole blood," did not make sense to me, as I reasoned blood is blood, no matter how it was broke down. If one could use any fraction or combination of fractions then why not whole blood, and with that reasoning, the proverbial line in the sand was drawn. I did not want the Hospital Liaison Committee; therefore, they were placed on the un-invited list, along with every elder in the Clearlake Congregation.

There had been many article concerning "Theocratic Warfare" and its strategy. I had read them all and each time the illustration when I was boy came to mind, and I decided to apply it into the master stratagem to protect Trisha from her sentence of death. I lost my son--I’d be damn if I was going to lose my wife.

I was at the nurses' station, turning in the completed visitation list that just named the immediate family members, when I saw Rachelle, Silas, and Warren appear around the corner approaching me. I doubled time to them and with every step, my rubber souls generated a squeak that proved everyone was correct--I did scrape my heels when I walked. I began cluing them in on my plan, and when we reached Trisha’s room, I heard the word dad echoing down the corridor in an undertone. I turned around and saw Tren and Alex at the corner.

Alex had come along way from the kid trying to find his niche in the working world. You know a person who can fall in a pile of manure and come out smelling like a rose. Alex, stumbled into a job at Redbud Hospital, and he liked it. He could pretend he was a doctor, dress nice, and hob-knob with the department heads, run a computer and wear an engraved name tag with a title on it which gave him something he had lost--his swagger. It returned, and it was walking down the hall beside my daughter. The job suit his tall, dark, and handsome persona that helped him appear professional. I told him one day you could pass as a physician. "I have on several occasions. I know how to look up records and I have learned some terminology so I have fun, he said with a smile on his face and pride in his voice." He was in his environment--in a hospital and next to the nurses' station.
I acknowledge Tren with a wave, stepped into the room and I looked at Rachelle. "Didn’t I tell you not to call Tren?" I asked surprised to see Tren so soon.

"I didn’t call Tren. I called Grandma like you told me to do. I guess Grandma called her."

"Yeah, that’s what happen," I said under my breath. "I don't know what I was thinking about." I should have known Grandma would call Tren, she would call Alex and he would call the Hospital Liaison Committee and the Hospital Liaison Committee would try to run interference for Trisha and me.

Tren and Alex entered the room and Tren hugged me and asked, "Why didn’t you answer me?"

"I needed to get to your mom," I said using theocratic warfare.

"It will be okay Dad; Alex called the Hospital Liaison Commit--"

"I’m so sorry Dad," Alex said interrupting Tren as he reached out his hand and as I grasp his he brought me into his chest as he continued, "Mom and Dorsey sends their love. All the friends send their love and prayers. Dad, I informed the HLC. I knew you didn’t have time to do so before you left home. Brother Smithe will be here to help you with the doctor’s"

"I don’t want the HLC here I don’t want anybody here," I said. "I don’t have time to associate with any of them. I have my wife to worry about. You can call them and tell them to help some other brother who is worthy of their consideration." Alex released me and stepped away from me as if I was contaminated with a contagious disease. He had a confused look on his face and his concern turned into a scrawl. This was not going to be a "Kodak Moment."

Chapter 21 Free at Last

2008-10-15T09:12:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 21 FREE AT LAST

It was now time for my favorite number two daughter to spread her wings and fly away. The wedding was small and performed at Grandma King’s house. The guest list included winners, losers, and family members. I wished this wedding would get over, after all it was not a wedding filled with pride. It was one of hot pants made legal, and all I wanted was for the entire program to end and let every person go their own separate way. Rachelle, unlike Tren, asked me to give the marriage sermon. I found one of my old marriage sermon outlines and appeased her. I used the illustration of a three-stranded rope, which placed Jehovah as the center twine from which their marriage could draw its strength and stability. At the conclusion, I offered a prayer to bless their union and sent them to the Justice of the Peace to legalize the wedding--she was a beautiful bride wearing her mother’s white laced wedding gown.

Rachelle’s, marriage unlike Tren’s, headed in a negative direction--materially, physically, and spiritually--like feces to a fan--it splattered everywhere and it stunk to high heaven while it drifted back to her husband, Anthony who had now taken a job on the swing shift at The Treasure Cove Pizza Parlor. He started staying out later, and later and telling tails of what the management was having him do, how much they liked him and they were training him for the evening manager's position. I knew he was lying, because as the old saying goes, his lips were moving--he wanted to play games, so let the games begin. I had him over a barrel and he didn’t know it.

I was friends with the owner, who was the son-in-law of my best friend Bob who was the manager and maintenance man. I phoned Bob who was the manager and maintenance man and during the conversation said, "Bob, you just hired a guy by the name of Anthony, what do you think of him?"

"He’s a hard worker. How do you know him?" Bob inquired.

"I hired him to do some work for me about a month ago. He was telling me you are training him for the manager’s position," I continued adding snippets of information while not divulging the entire story.

"Yeah, we’re thinking about giving him a shot at the job. His resume is impressive: night shift manager positions, lead carpenter, and supervisor of a roofing crew."

"Is that right?" It was a rhetorical question and I thought, I wonder why he didn’t tell me about his construction experience?

"If he will just settle down and leave the girls alone. I’ll be happy. He sure is a lady’s man."

"He is?" I asked this time I expected an answer and Bob did not disappoint me.

"He’s been leaving with the cute little blonde waitress every night," Bob said, supplying me with information I wished was not true.

"He has? Wow! He is a little Casanova isn’t he," I responded, "what a character."

"The entire crew knows each other and they get along fine. That is all I can ask for. What they do after they get off duty is none of our business anyway." Bob stated giving me his liberal point of view.

"He said you were working him some long hours--"

"Hell you know me. I don’t work anybody more than four hour per shift. You know if it was not you, I would say keep your nose out of my business," he said laughing. "There is more to this than you are letting on, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, it is," I answered. "That little s. o. b. married Rachelle in a quickie last month."

"Well, well, well, I understand now," Bob, said. "So that is why all the bull shit. You can take what I’m telling you and use it anyway you like; we don’t stock one shop with the others’ inventory. We don’t run out of supplies, and if we did, our supplier would be up here long before we open," he explained.

I opened a can of worms; therefore, I might as well spill my guts from both ends, so I continued keeping Bob busy on the phone as I said, "I knew you didn’t work anybody those kind of hours, but I had to call to make sure before I call him a liar. They are living with us now, but his bags are going to be packed and his ass is going to be gone. You can crap on old Dan, but you can’t rub it in. You know what I mean Bob?" Bob was in for an ear full and I was in for a large long distance phone bill as I continued my lambasting of Anthony, "His shenanigans started after Rachelle told him she was getting a five thousand dollar settlement from a car wreck she had this past summer. After they were married and returned from their honeymoon on the coast, we endorsed the check and gave it to them. He talked Rachelle into buying a pickup truck, and the car dealer into a smaller down payment. They opened a bank account where I bank. We had made a pact to let them stay with us for two months until they saved enough for an apartment. The day he was paid, I asked Rachelle to go to the bank with Trisha to transfer the rent from their account into our special account for them, because we were saving the rent for them to use to get an apartment of their own. Now listen to this, this will show you how devious he is. The teller who opened their account told Rachelle there were not enough funds to cover the withdrawal, because her husband came in earlier and withdrew everything but thirty dollars. When they got home from the bank, Rachelle told us when they went over to visit some friends in Fort Brag; he talked the Big O Tire manager into letting them write a check to cover the new tires, and he made Rachelle sign the check. Now there are not enough funds to cover the tires and you know who is left holding the bag don’t you. That little bastard did not intend to pay for the tires. What’s worse than that, he has put Rachelle in a position of a liar and cheat as well as she could go to jail for it. I wouldn’t trust him with my business funds. Well, anyway Rachelle called him at work and asked him why he took all the money. He told her he opened an account with Wells Fargo in Upperlake where he was working. Guess what, Bob-"

Bob didn’t wait for me to fill him in, "There’s no Wells Fargo up there, Dan."

"That’s right old buddy, and that is what I told Rachelle to tell him. He continued to argue and tell her it just open. He has to be the stupidest person alive to think no one would call him on it. I told Rachelle I had applied for a business loan with Wells Fargo last week and they don’t have a branch in Upperlake. After I relayed that bit of information to her she told him he was a liar and I said I wanted him to bring every cent back within the hour or I was coming up there and taking it," I explained.

"Did he bring it back?" Bob asked.
"You bet your butt he brought it back, and he threw it down on the table with big crocodile tears in his eyes and said, ‘it’s a hell of a note when there is no trust in a family.’ I told him I had been married for over twenty years and I had never found a reason to open another account, and I certainly would not do it without telling my wife. The first obligation a person has is to pay the bills he incurs. He explained he was planning to write Big O and ask to pay for the tires on credit.

"Hell, you don’t do business that way," Bob said.

"I know," I answered, "that is why I told him if they were going to give him credit they would have made him fill out a credit application. I asked him why he made Rachelle sign the check when he was standing there. Guess what he said."

Bob's interest grew as he laughed and said, "I can’t wait to hear."

"He said, ‘You know I just got off probation, and if I had signed the check and there wasn’t any money to cover the check they would send me to jail again.’ Right there and then I knew he wasn’t planning to pay for the tires. I told him he wasn’t much of a man to let or make his wife take a rap for him. Well, anyway that is all I wanted to know Bob. I guess I better let you go. Don’t be a stranger, and watch your cash register." I hung the phone up and turned toward Trisha and Rachelle.

This conversation left Anthony without a leg to stand on and Rachelle packed his clothes and asked me to take her to Upperlake so she could give him his clothes and get the truck. The look upon his face was priceless, as he came out and saw his clothes at the back door and Rachelle in the truck. "What are you doing with my truck," Anthony asked shouting as Rachelle drove off.

I pulled up along side of the loading platform where he was standing and asked, "Whose truck?" Before he could respond I continued, "I believe the four grand was used to buy the truck was Rachelle’s, not yours. You screwed yourself dude. Have a good life."

I was not a stupid person and I knew Anthony may try to take the truck back; therefore, the first act--I bought The Club and locked the truck. The next morning I walked out and looked around, there was something amiss, but I could not put a finger on it. I went back in the house to get a cup of coffee and began pouring the coffee, "A-a-a-a-a-h crap, the truck is gone! Rachelle get your butt out of bed," I shouted, "did you give Anthony the truck last night?"

"Are you crazy, Dad. I wouldn’t do that." Rachelle shouted as she came out of her bedroom.

"How the hell did he get the truck? Didn’t you install the club after you came home last night," I asked trying to sort out my actions after I installed The Club.

"Daddy, I didn’t take the truck to the store last night, I used Mom’s car, because I didn’t want to mess with that lock. You put the club on; did you leave your keys out there," Rachelle retaliated with her own set of questions.

"Do I look stupid? My keys are on the hook where I always put them," I retorted. Rachelle walked over to the hook and said, "Well, Dad if you put them there they must be invisible."

"Good god almighty. Am I stupid, or what?" I ask shouting in a rampage. I rambled on, "I did! I did! I did leave my keys in the lock of the club. God, I am so stupid. If my brains were dynamite, I wouldn’t have enough to blow my nose. Damn, I am so stupid. I hate myself. God, I hate myself. Boy, your mom will never let me live this down. Rachelle, don’t say a word, don’t say a w-o-r-r-r-r-d," I instructed her, "maybe he came in last night and took my keys." I weighed the possibility, and concluded, "No, he wouldn’t be that stupid, would he? Nah, it’s me. How stupid am I? Let me count the ways. One; I have now been screwed out of three months rent, two; lost four thousand dollars, three; I have now given him The Club, free of charge. The ole middle finger indicated the final count as I said, number four; I’m just stupid, that’s all there is to it, I’m just stupid."

"Well, we’re going to get your truck back; I’ll be damn if I’m going to be the butt to his jokes. Call that girl friend of yours who lives in Upperlake," I said as I pointed to the phone.

Rachelle picked up the phone, and began dialing. "Is Darlene in? May I speak to her? This is Rachelle. Thank you." After filling in the details of everything, Rachelle returned the phone to its cradle, and said, "Darlene said Junita, lives on Fifth Street, and she is going to drive over there to see if the truck is there. She will call us back if it is."

It was not long before the phone rang. Rachelle answered the phone and I heard her say, "It is, ok, thank you. We’re on our way. Let’s go Dad," Rachelle said as she turned toward me with a big smile on her face.

"Well, Rachelle it’s eleven o’clock now, Anthony will be getting up and start running around. Let’s wait until Saturday. You guys never got up before twelve. I think we will have better luck if we wait until tomorrow, and get there around seven in the morning while he is still in bed. I don’t want to be messing around there and have him see us then hide the truck before we can get it back, you know what I mean," I said rambling on with somewhat of intelligence.

We turned on Fifth St. several minutes before seven o’clock and eased down the street until we saw the maroon truck parked in the driveway, and before we could get to the truck an older man ask in broken English, "What you want?"

Before I could say anything Rachelle said, "Hi, I’m Anthony’s wife, I came to get my truck."

"You get nothing," he said with a Mexican accent. He turned toward a young boy and motioned toward the second story and shouted, "G-e-e-et Antonio-o-o, pronto!"

The child ran into the house shouting, " Antonio-o-o! Antonio-o-o!"

Anthony opened a window and shouted, "What the fuck are you doing here?" The window slammed shut and the screen door flew open as he came running out the house shouting, "How in the hell did you find me?"

I stepped from the side of the house. "A little bird told us," I said.

"Hell, I didn’t see you Dan," he said with eyes wide opened shocked at seeing me.

"Where are my keys," I asked.

"I don’t have your keys," he answered.

"You are a liar, boy; if you don’t get my keys right now I’m going to beat the hell out of you." I took a step toward him and his eyes widen further as he processed whether to flee or fight. He had never seen me angry until now; so, he tripped as he began back peddling toward the door. In a spurt of energy, I sprang toward him and clutched his tee shirt, but I lost my grip as he fell back through the open door into the living room. The little Mexican stepped in my path. I stopped in my tracks and followed the little Mexican’s instruction. It was a bad form of English, but I got the message ordering me to get of his property before he called the "policio," and that was the word that saved Anthony’s ass and he knew it.

I heard, "Here are the keys," I looked up and they rattled pass my head and made a cloud of dust in front of me, "take the truck and get the hell out of here," he shouted. I picked up the keys and we left with little ado, and two big smiles. It felt good to have everything go right for a change. I took the truck over to Bob’s, and parked it behind their camper.

It was not long before the phone started ringing. Anthony was on the other end. Rachelle for the first couple of weeks told him, "Get lost. I’m not interested. No! No! No!" I was pleased with her attitude dealing with Anthony, because from what I understood, he never had to beg to get a girl in bed. He considered himself a "stud muffin", and it was indeed a pleasure to see him beg Rachelle for a second chance.
I felt Anthony was trying the best he could to get close to Rachelle so he could get the truck. After all, Anthony loved the truck and when he was not working or sleeping, he was on the go. He put over four thousand miles on the truck in the first month. I brought up my idea to Trisha.

She surprise me when she said, "You know, we are getting too much alike, it’s kind of scary. The same thought has been crossing my mind too. I don’t trust him. It is hard to believe Anthony misses Rachelle the way she says he does. I’ve already told her if she goes back with him they would have to find another place to live because we were not going to support them anymore."

"What did she say about that," I asked.

"She said she understood and told him if they got back together what she expected of him," Trisha said.

"Good." I was pleased, and since the house was quite I asked, "Where is Rachelle?" "I was going to tell you Anthony called earlier. He told her," and Trisha made quotation marks in the air, "‘he got a job with his uncle in construction.’ He wanted to talk to her about getting back together and finding a place to live. S-o-o-that is where they are; looking at an apartment. I guess Rachelle will go back to that idiot. You know how most girls are, they can be talked into anything as long as there is an I Love y-o-o-u attached."

Rachelle’s entrance interrupted our conversation. Trisha said, "I didn’t hear you drive up."

"I didn’t. Anthony dropped me off at the top of the hill," Rachelle said making an excuse.

"He did what," I asked as Rachelle proceeded to explain.

"He dropped me off at the top of the hill. He said he was afraid of you, because I told him, when we broke up, if you ever saw him you were going to kick his ass. I guess he believed me; anyway here is the good news," Rachelle said pausing to get our full attention as if she hadn’t already, "I’ll be moving out in two weeks. We found a place to live and it will be ready in two weeks."

That news must have been good to Silas and Warren ears, because they both shouted, "O boy! We get our room back."

Their joy was short lived as I said, "Get out of here." They scattered like tenth generational feral cats. They knew when to aggravate me and when not to, and this was one of the times not to.

I turned back to Rachelle, drew in a deep breath and said, "You mean to tell me you let him have the truck?"

"I had to Dad, he got a job with his uncle and he needed a truck," Rachelle said. "They picked up a siding job in Sacramento, and he has to be there tomorrow."

"I hate to say this Rachelle, but I don’t think he’s planning on living with you. I think all he wanted was to screw you and get the truck back. I think he has done both, hasn’t he," I asked. It was not any of my business, so I didn’t press the issue so I said, "You don’t have to lie to me. You’re a grown woman and you are married; so, you have the right to have sex with him." I reached out and gave her a hug, "I’m just afraid he is going to take you for a ride you will not appreciate. If that happens it is going to break my heart to see you crushed again." My voice changed from a loving father into a self-righteous person as I continued barraging her with words of wisdom. "Like your mom and I have told you over and over again all we want is the best for you, and to see you happy. Lord knows we have seen you ripped apart enough."

Rachelle in response said, "I hate that voice, I can’t stand to hear you talk. It is as if you are preaching at me."

"All your daddy is trying to say is he loves you and is concerned with your welfare," Trisha said and grinned at me. "You do have an irritating voice when you are serious. It grates on me too."

"Let’s have a "let’s pick on Dan day now," I grinned and turned away saying, "I’ve had my say; so, what ever you want to do, do it. Have fun."
Anthony came by Sunday evening and they spent the evening together before he left for Sacramento. Rachelle was on cloud nine as she waited for his return on the weekend. Sure enough Friday evening around seven o’clock Anthony drove up and blew the horn. When Rachelle heard the horn, she grabbed her coat, purse, and shouted, "I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up." She ran down the hall to the door. Anthony staying away fit into my plans, while the thought of having to deal with him made me want to puke.

Saturday afternoon came and so did Anthony. When I saw Anthony turn onto our street, I went inside and said, "Rachelle, Anthony is here. Go on outside, because I don’t want to see him much less speak to the little bastard. Just seeing him makes me sick." She met him outside and didn’t come home until Sunday evening when Anthony dropped her off before he headed out of town. Trisha and I had already discussed that situation. Rachelle was elated as she burst into the house with a smile on her face. Trisha hated to destroy Rachelle’s happiness, but she reached out and took Rachelle’s hand. "Rachelle, Anthony is not going to have sex with you on the week end then leave you here during the week. If he wants to be married then he’s going to be married. We’re not planning on supporting you and giving you a place to stay while he does nothing for you but--excuse this expression--screw you."

Rachelle’s joy disappeared and she said, "I’m married, and I can have sex with him if I want to." Her voice strained with agitation and Trisha’s voice matched Rachelle’s.

"That’s right," Trisha, said agreeing with Rachelle, "this week when he goes out of town you, your baggage, and all are going with him. There will be not be anymore free loading. It is time for you kids to make a clean break for yourselves. We need to get on with our lives as a family. All this crap is turning your brothers into nervous wrecks. It is now time for them to have their mama, and daddy to themselves. Rachelle, we love you, but you have to go. Your apartment should be ready for you this week anyway."

The sudden elimination of crap happening seemed worse than crap happening. Trisha was working, Rachelle was milling around gathering her clothes in preparation of her expulsion, and here I was waiting for business calls to come my way, which all set the tone of the day to monotony. We would not have to wait long for the crap to start happening again. All it took was a phone call from Darlene, which came Thursday afternoon.

Rachelle answered the phone and the questions she asked, "What? Where? When? Are you sure," would catch anybody’s attention and the expression, "That bastard," sure caught mine. "Thanks, I’m sure glad you told me before he could make a complete fool out of me. That’s okay, Darlene, don’t feel bad. I appreciate you letting me know. No, I don’t think you are butting into my business. Thanks again. Bye, bye," she said. She hung the phone up and turned to me. "That S.O.B! You know what he did, Dad," she asked but not waiting for an answer said, "That jerk has been working in Upperlake for the past two weeks he is over there now. Darlene said he is helping a couple guys put siding on a house. I’ve been feeling so sorry for him having to travel out of town to work. If I could get my hands on him I would kill him."
I put my arms around Rachelle and said, "Honey, I hate to tell you this; didn’t I tell you all he wanted was to get in your pants. He doesn’t love you and he sure doesn’t care about you. If I were you, I would get a divorce. You are too good for him. I hope--and you had better pray you are not pregnant. I just don’t understand what that boy is thinking. He has to be a pathological liar. This area is too small to be screwing in, because everyone knows everyone’s business. He is so obvious, I guess he wants to get caught,. I’ll be damned if I know. He has me stumped. I’ll tell you again be careful, the way he screws around one poke from him could be deadly. AIDS isn’t anything to take lightly. You can’t get a shot to cure it."

"Take me over there," she pleaded.

"Hon, I’m not taking you anywhere. We don’t know where he is staying, and I don’t want to find him with me being in the state of mind I’m in right now. He’ll weasel in tomorrow night as if he was out of town. You’ll have all the time you need with him to make him wiggle like the worm he is. No you just wait."
Rachelle lambasted Trisha with the events of the day as soon as she entered the house, and to my surprise Trisha stop, looked at Rachelle, and said, "I’m sorry for you, but I’ve had a rough day. I’m going to take a hot bath and soak; anyway, I’m so sick of this soap opera. I’ve about had it up to here," she raised her hand eye-level, "not cutting you short; handle it, just handle it." There was not any sympathy from mom’s corner.

The worm came wiggling up not Friday evening as he did before, but Saturday at one o’clock, no phone call, no nothing--just acting as if nothing was wrong. He couldn’t understand Rachelle’s being perturbed and in due time he wrapped Rachelle around his little finger and persuaded her to go with him so they could "talk."

"There you are. Home so soon--let me hear his lies," I said.

"He said Sears gave them a change order from Sacramento to finish a job they started in Upperlake. They are starting the Sacramento job Monday. The reason he didn’t tell me he wasn’t in Sacramento was he didn’t think it was important anyway because we wouldn’t be able to see each other until today anyway. Well that answers my questions. I’m satisfied with his explanations."

"Well dear, if you are satisfied then I’m tickled pink to know all’s well in "Rachelleville." Did he pay the deposit for your apartment; you know Monday you are supposed to move in," I said reminding her. I already knew the answer she was going to give.

"No, he said "'he had to use that money for the motel and food this past week,'" Rachelle said.

"What is he going to do this week for a place to stay?" I asked belaboring the topic.

"He said he was going to stay with his uncle in South Sacramento while they worked that area. They have three jobs there. He is planning to see me on the weekends here, until he gets an apartment in Sacramento. He wants to move there because there is more work in that locality," Rachelle said informing me of her plans for the coming weeks.

"I don’t know why he’s planning on visiting you here on the week ends, didn’t you tell him you are going with him. You guys are still married aren’t you? Remember what we said if he wanted to be married to you, he was going to support you. When he comes to say his good byes tomorrow just throw your stuff in the truck. It’ll be fun living together. Then when he is paid Friday, y’all will be there to go apartment hunting. I know his family will just l-o-o-ove to let you stay there until you find a place to live."

Chapter 20 The Inner Child

2008-10-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 20: THE INNER CHILD

The trip home was the beginning of the treatment to heal the inner child. This constituted Rachelle entering the twelve-step program through Alcoholics Anonymous. Coming out of the rehab on such a high, caused Rachelle to fly into that program expecting every person attending was there for upright reasons: such as becoming clean and sober, finding the inner person, fighting fear, gaining self-esteem.
Considering all things, the transition was smooth. Rachelle kept all the agreements on the contract we signed at Dove’s Way. She was attending the AA meetings and getting home on time, which impressed me to no end, because I believed she would be bored with the activities and quit. Rachelle’s attachment to the people were getting stronger and stronger and her getting home was getting later and later, even though she would call and let us know where she was, and it was at Denny’s after the meeting. The time of arrival at home was beginning to concern me more so than Trisha. Trisha had to keep reminding me Rachelle was now eighteen and had woman needs which did not impress me at all. All I could think of was Rachelle being in an environment with drug and alcoholic abusers, and this frighten me.

The phone began to ring more and more often and some of the familiar voices I recognized were on the other end asking to speak with Rachelle. I started to question her about who was on the phone and to my surprise; Rachelle never raised her voice to me or acted disrespectful.

"Daddy, don’t worry. I am not going to do anything stupid, I’ve been clean and sober for ninety days now."

"I just want to make sure you stay that way. It seems to me everybody you use to hang out with is calling you again. Are you doing drugs or pushing drugs now?"

"No, I’m not Daddy. When they ask if I want to get smashed I tell them I am doing the AA trip and they should be doing it too. If you have noticed the amount of calls I am receiving now are starting to drop off. They can’t believe I am clean and sober. What’s more, they can’t believe I want to be that way. It won’t be long before they stop calling, as soon as I tell them I don’t want to be around them if they are doing drugs they hang up. The reason I’m staying out later, I met a guy I like and he is real nice."

"Where did you meet him," I asked just to ask, because I knew deep down what the answer would be.

"AA, where else? He’s been clean and sober for a year."

"That’s just great," I said with sarcasm, "I can’t believe you are falling for a guy who has your problem."

"Daddy, just because someone is attending AA does not mean they are worthless. Matter of fact my dentist goes and he is quite successful. What do you think of that?"

"I think you shouldn’t be telling everybody who all is attending," I shot back.

"It’s not like it is a secret society Dad," she said raising her fist, "there are doctors, lawyers, carpenters, as well as people on welfare."

"Well that explains why I’m not getting any business calls; maybe I should go to the meetings. Sounds like it is a network unto itself," I said.

"I’ll tell you one thing, we all stick together and the members do use each other in a network manner."

"What ever makes you happy as long as you aren’t messing around with drugs. By the way what does your boy friend do for a living," I asked thinking I had everything under control and nothing would stump me as I continued to press her on the subject. "Nothing," replied Rachelle, smiling.

"Nothing!" I said shocked as I ventured further into the mystery. "What do you mean nothing, everybody has to do something! Is he on welfare? Is he pushing drugs? How old is he? Is he a pimp?"

"Les is drawing SSI because he is unable to work due to his disability." Rachelle explained.

"What disability does he have that he can’t work? How old is he? He must be older than me if he is on disability," I said, showing my ignorance concerning Social Security Disability Insurance.

"Les is twenty eight years old. The reason he is unable to work is due to being a dysfunctional alcoholic," she said, her actions and attitude was beginning to change so I started to ease off from my self-righteous attitude.

"Rachelle, are you telling me you are falling for a guy the government is sending a monthly check because he is unable to hold down a steady job because he is a drunk? God, can’t you set your sights on somebody a little higher up on the social ladder. You can do what you want to do, but that boy is looking for a free ride. You are going to end up just like Rachael Jones. You do know her husband receives SSI due to his drinking problems, don’t you? Rachael is scrubbing toilets and busting her butt while Sam is sitting home drinking or falling off horses dead drunk. That is all I have to say. I’m concerned about you. I hope you take this to heart before you get too involved and make a mistake you will regret for the rest of your life. After you have a baby it is difficult to get out of the situation."
My great dissertation lay desecrated with her simple question, "You want to meet him?"

"Not really," I said short and to the point, because I cared less if I ever met the bum--just another person who is going to be bad association.
Rachelle wasn’t going to give up easy, "I’ll bring him home tomorrow night and let you and Mom meet him," she insisted, "I’m sure you will like him," she said with perseverance, "he is real nice, and he is not a bum," she looked me up and down, "and what’s more, he dresses better than you." I was standing in my work boots, my stomach pressed against my farmer over-alls.

"That is true," I agreed with her, my three day stubble poked my double chin, "I could do better, but you know; what ever comes in, goes for the entire family," that was my excuse for my appearance, "but you dress well don’t you."
My point was made and we met Les and meeting Les was indeed an experience. Les was well dressed. The weather was in the thirties with wind and rain howling. He wore a black full length-riding coat lined with sheep wool that would be coveted by any cowboy worth his ranch. Indeed, he lived up to Rachelle’s billing of "nice, neat and well dressed" and he even looked intelligent. If Rachelle had not told me Les was on disability, I would never have guessed the young man had any problem what so ever. Looking beyond Les’ beard, he looked older than twenty-eight.

We invited him in, Trisha poured a round of coffee, and we sat down at the dinner table. Rachelle introduced us and she and he made small talk. I wasn’t much on words, I wasn’t much on diplomacy, and Rachelle gave me an opening when she said, "Les, Mama and Daddy are concern about our friendship."

I picked up the ball and blurted out, "Les, my daughter told me you and her are an item, in the words of my father-in-law, "‘what are your plans?’"
"As of right now we are just friends," Les said, glancing over at Rachelle seeking her approval.

"I have never seen a friendship between a man and a woman remains friends," Trisha said, as she looked first at Les then at Rachelle, "it ends up romantic. Are you ready to take care of my daughter? We can’t stop you from having sex, but what I want to know is, if you get her pregnant are you planning on taking care of her," her statement covered every subject we wanted to cover. I would not want to be in Les’ boots. I was intimidated when it was Trisha’s Dad who confronted me, and here we are, two against one.

"We aren’t having sex." Rachelle said in Les’ defense.
I picked up my cup of coffee following Les’ lead and we both took a sip. The rattle of the cup on the saucer led the way to my response to her statement as I said, "Good! I hope you are not."

The grilling session continued as Trisha tapped her fingers in a rhythmic beat next to her coffee cup, "Just remember this," she inhaled and pointed at me then herself and said, "we are not going to take on your responsibility."

"I wouldn’t expect you to take on anything," Les replied indignant. His eyes narrowed into slits, his lips curled giving an appearance of smelling something foul.

"I’m glad to hear that, because I’m gonna tell you like my mama told me," I could see Les and Rachelle was already getting bored, but I continued, "we will be here to help, but you made your bed, so sleep in it. Isn’t that right Rachelle?"

"That is what you always say," her voice held a tone of irritation as she agreed.

"You know you are ten years older than Rachelle," I asked and the question came out as if I was telling him something he didn’t know.

"Actually, I’m seventeen years older than Rachelle," Rachelle dropped her head into her hands hiding her face, "and we have discussed the age difference," he rolled his eyes, "and we see no problem."

"Y’all don’t see any problem," I said, repeating his statement in my most impressive southern drawl, "then I won’t be telling you anything you don’t know when I tell you, you are dealing with a person who started using drugs at the age of twelve."

"That’s nothing," Les replied. "I started when I was eight."

"Eight? Well, mentally where are you at today," I asked, leaning on my newfound knowledge acquired from our multi-thousand dollar rehab education.

"What do you mean," Les asked.

"I mean mentally, you are not thirty-five years old and Rachelle is at lease three years younger than her current age. Les you are still maturing at thirty-five. You know that, from your rehab classes. That was the first point the counselor told us, and you know your mind is stagnated at the age you began abusing drugs. Isn’t that what they teach?"

"That is what they teach, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot or I can’t process information, or be involved in a relationship, does it," he asked, sounding reasonable to me and it made good sense. Gee, I was not an authority on the psychological aspect of an addict. My only understanding of over coming drug abuse was predicated on the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society’s counsel, parroted and paraphrased by every "Tom, Dick, or Harry who accepted the counsel which consisted of the same admonition for every Tom, Dick, or Harry no matter what problem they were dealing with. "Draw close to Jehovah. Associate with those who are examples in the congregation, and increase your field service activity." The problem with that is the "examples" in the congregation did not want to associate with the weak publishers. If you had a problem, you were either ostracized, or marked as bad association. There were not any psychologist or drug abuse counselors in the organization. There were a few college graduates; therefore, the organization was the counselor we depended on, so with my limited training and a few hours of lectures, I continued to state some facts and stay steady on course.

"Both of you need to grow up before you decide to get interested in the opposite sex. I’m not meaning you need to get interested in the same sex either," I said and grinned, realizing the political incorrectness of my implied statement.

"I guarantee you we are just friends and there is not any romance involved between us," Les continued to try to convince us.

"Well, time will tell," Trisha chimed in to let them know she was backing me. Turning to a lighter subject, Trisha inquired about Les’ background, where he was from, if he had been married before, what his out look of the future was. He filled out the blanks and we found out he was from the Bay area. He had been married for five years and they divorced-- due to both of them using drugs, and as for as the future was concerned, he planned to remain in AA, continue to remain clean and sober, and get married if he could find a girl who would have him. Trisha I caught my eye, and we both winked at the same time letting each other know we noticed the under-lying statement after catching Les and Rachelle’s eyes meet and a little squeeze of the hand from Rachelle. It was unbelievable they were sitting there trying to B S us; after all, young love had not been able to hide its exuberant head since Adam and Eve. They lost the Garden of Eden because Adam could not think pass the lost of Eve, and from the male point of view, dying for a little piece of perfection might be worth it. I was thinking, if this man was planning on a little piece, he had better be ready to die if he did not treat Rachelle well, because Rachelle did not need to be trashed again. I would make sure of it one way or another.

Les continued to come over every week after the AA meeting and their nightly trek to Denny’s for coffee. Trisha and I would try to be in bed by the time they returned, not so much to give them privacy, but we had a hard time dealing with a thirty five year old man dating their teenage daughter. We prayed the relationship would soon blow over, and knowing how opposition played a bonding agent to any situation, we did not try to prohibit them to stop seeing each other even though their relationship began to blossom. Trisha and I thought there was going to be a wedding whether we wanted one or not.

The love of the century ended and I asked Rachelle why. Rachelle responded to my question and said, "He was getting too possessive of me. He did not want me working at the restaurant. My friends are not good enough, and all he wanted to do was make out. I don’t want any of that. All I want right now is to stay clean and sober. You and Mom have gone through too much to get me where I’m at today. Anyway there’s a cook at the restaurant who is my age and we seem to get along." It was a matter of fact--a new page turned and history made.

To get rid of that thirty five year old dead beat was enough to make me happy, and I said, "Why don’t you bring this guy over so we can meet him." At least he is working and that is a plus I thought. "Is he an A.A. member or a druggie?" I asked and topped the question with a wisenheimer statement, "I mean Alcoholics Anonymous, not Associate of Arts."

"He is nei--,"

"I know he doesn’t hold an Associate of Arts degree," I said laughing.

"He is neither. Dad, he is a real nice guy. The only thing," she said taking a pause, "his girl friend is pregnant. That is the way things are today." Trisha and I looked at each other stunned at the thought of our daughter had adopted this worldly attitude.

I could not take it anymore and I threw my hands in the air and exclaimed, "Whoopee! Wow! This ones better, he’s just a fornicator."

Trisha put her two cents in and said, "Rachelle don’t bring him here, just leave him alone. Good God don’t try to take him away from that girl. We have taught you better morals than that."

"Look, he told me it wasn’t his baby, and anyway she has moved to Oakland. Anthony said he was not moving there," Rachelle stated with an attitude warranted an adjustment. It was hard for me to picture our daughter breaking up a couple, or wedging into a love triangle.

"You ought to write a soap opera Rachelle," Trisha said. "Your morals are about on the same level of the characters. I am at a lost with you on relationships; about the time I credit you with sense enough to get out of the pan you jump into the fire."

"What is Mom talking about, Mom," asked Rachelle in a confused tone of voice.
I was standing to the side with a puzzled look on my face, could not believe my ears when Rachelle asked for the explanation of jumping out of the fire into the pan. Gee, I thought, she must be brain dead from all the drugs she used.

"Rachelle if I must explain. Your Mom was talking about you jumping out of the relationship with Les, who was seventeen years older than you, an alcoholic, a drug abuser, and a welfare bum, and into the fire with this oth--"

"Okay, okay, I get the message," Rachelle said before I completed the illustration. Rachelle’s life had more passages than a warren. Hell, wandering around in a warren would be more feasible than trying to find your way out of Rachelle’s predicament; which, at this moment she did not consider as a predicament. No sir ree bob, she was in love, true love, and all Trisha and I could do was watch, because if we tried to nip it in the bud all it would do is make Rachelle coddle it harder. We prayed if we ignored this situation as we did with Les, Rachelle would get bored of this guy also.

That was a mistake. I should have kept my guard up, because two weeks after meeting Anthony, he had moved in and was sleeping on the couch, with no intention on leaving. This seemed to be an instant replay of me after I met Trisha as I spent every moment at Trisha’s house when I was not pulling duty. I settled the situation in my mind of what turns around comes around, and the least I could do was treat the boy in a civil manner.

Anthony was not all bad; he would get up and clean the house before going to work and he brought groceries home and cooked dinner. I was even more impressed when I hired Anthony to help on a construction job. That boy was a hard worker. He crawled under the house and dug foundation footings in places no other employee would go. Anthony was wrapping me around his little finger, and when he and Rachelle asked if they could get married. We gave her our blessings, after all Anthony was not a bum or a free loader. The best circumstance I could imagine was Rachelle married and out of the house and beginning a family of her own, and thank god for small favors. In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, "Free at last, free at last, free at last!"

Chapter 19 Getting Straight

2008-10-15T09:09:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 19 GETTING STRAIGHT

Thursday came, and Rachelle packed her luggage. We arranged with Trisha’s mother to pick Silas and Warren up from school. Rachelle cried, complained, and begged us the entire trip to Santa Rosa to take her home. To listen to her you would think we were sending her off to prison for life without parole.
We followed the instructions given us and turned into the parking lot. I was surprised to see so many vehicles. In response to the filled parking area I said, "Good Lord! Is everybody on drugs, but us? You may feel right at home here Rachelle. I’ll bet there is a good chance you will know some one. It looks clean--that’s a plus."

I found a parking space at last, and followed the directions to the lobby. The receptionist handed a clipboard with several forms and said with a smile, "You need to complete theses forms before you are briefed by the administrator. Make yourself comfortable. Ms. Smith will be here shortly. Could I get anybody Coffee, Coke? Excuse me I should have said soft drink. We try not to say coke around here." I didn’t pass up anything free so I accepted coffee and she returned with the coffee at the same time Ms. Smith entered, and introduced herself, and invited us to follow her to her office.

It was not long into the introduction of the different programs Dove’s Way offered that my education on drug rehabs began. Each program, whether thirty, sixty or ninety days cost twelve thousand dollars for each thirty-day increment. Ms. Smith explained, due to the agreement with the insurance companies that they offered the thirty-day program. I was relieved at that, because even with our insurance the administrator said we still had a two thousand dollar co-payment. Trisha and I looked at each other not knowing what to say or do.

"Well, Ms. Smith the person we talked to earlier this week said our insurance would pay for the entire treatment," I stammered.

"That’s right," said Trisha backing up my statement. "When I talked to the business office they told me they called my union and we were pre-approved for the treatment. We were given this appointment, and instructed to bring Rachelle on down."

"Do you know who you talked to in the business office, Mrs. Walker," Ms. Smith asked. Her insincere smile ceased as her lips closed and thinned into narrow strips of lavender colored lip-gloss. Her eyes became active as they moved from side to side and the aqua blue color became more evident now, as they were wide open. She tilted her head in disgust and glance d to her left toward the wall displaying a beautiful seascape.

"No I don’t," said Trisha agitated, "I had no idea I would have to confirm any conversation or would need to take names or record conversations."

Ms. Smith’s shifty eyes focused back toward the phone as she lifted it and punched a number, and said, "Jennet, did you talk to Mrs. Walker yesterday about her daughter Rachelle’s appointment for today? Oh! Do you know if there is any record of a conversation with Mrs. Walker? Okay, thank you. No, I have the Walkers here with me now." She replaced the phone into the cradle, our eyes locked, she tapped her pen on the edge of her desk and said showing little concern, "There is nothing I can do except call the business office and explain the situation and authorize a special payment program for you. Would you be interested in that kind of arrangement," she asked reaching for the phone. I squirmed in the soft leather chair, knowing we were about to be screwed again. We were at the mercy of the institution. We had no other recourse except to try some other treatment center, but we already knew every center was the same as far as the cost, and the time lines. The other centers were further away and they all had mandatory programs in which the parents were required to participate. The chemical dependency and abuse lectures held weekly would be an added hardship with our time not to mention our finances, so we swallowed hard and signed the admission papers, and let Ms. Smith arrange for financial assistance.

"Too bad Rachelle was not arrested for breaking some law." I said to Trisha as we walked across the facilities to the business office. "No wonder Doris was so pleased about Jodie getting caught and sent to CYA. That meant a free ride through a state funded rehab center."

"Why should this be any different? We always miss the boat," Trisha said disgusted with the turn of events.

I said in response as I answered, "If crap was gold, I wouldn’t have a bunghole."
Rachelle s said, "Daddy, don’t talk like that. It doesn’t sound like you."

"Yeah," Trisha said, Rachelle is right, "using that language won’t change our situation."

"I know, but it seems to make me feel better, when I know I’m getting it up the old yen-yang," I said. "Remember no matter what happens in the office, don’t bend over." Rachelle burst out in laughter, I was grinning, and Trisha just shook her head giving up trying to make me shut up. The more she tried the more ridiculous I became until we entered the office and placed my left hand on my buttocks and spread my fingers as if protecting my Gluteus Maximus.

Trisha pulled my hand away as she exclaimed in an under tone, "Behave!"

The office worker greeted us, "May I help you?"

"Yes, we are the Walkers, and this is Rachelle," Trisha said as she pointed to Rachelle, "I can’t understand why your facility is not a primary care with my union, especially after I was told yesterday you have worked with Bakers Health and Welfare and to bring my daughter on down."

"I’m sorry for your inconvenience. If you would like to forgo the treatment plan we can cancel your appointment now, but we would certainly be pleased to take care of you."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," I muttered to myself looking out the window.

"Pardon me, sir I didn’t quite hear you," the woman said as she pointed to the lounge chairs in front of her desk. "Have a sit."

"I was just talking to myself, nothing of importance," I replied as I shifted from leg to the other, "I’ll just let the women sit. Thank you anyway."

The woman started shuffling the papers on her desk, arranged them in a neat pile, and looked at Trisha and her words came out business like, "We can give you two years to pay this off. We can arrange the payments on the first, or fifteenth; when would you prefer the payments to start?"

I was perturbed and I let it be known, "It doesn’t make any difference, if you bill us on the first it will be the fifteenth before we could pay; if you bill us on the fifteenth it may be the first. We can’t give you any defiant answer. I’m self-employed, and my business has been slow. We’re between a rock and a hard spot. Somebody in this office told my wife they were going to call her union and get us pre-approved so the insurance would pick up the bill. I feel lied to. We’ll pay what we can; when we can."

"Mr. Walker, if we have trouble receiving payments; then our only recourse is to have a collection agency handle the account. I’m sorry, but that is all we can do. You and your wife can sign here and complete the registration. I hope we can work together and help get your daughter the help she needs. Here are your copies. Take them back to Ms. Smith and she will have a nurse take you to the youth wing."
We turned Rachelle over to a nurse, and she whisked Rachelle away. They took the luggage we brought into the nurses’ quarters and searched both for contraband. "If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this is a taping of a movie," I said to Trisha pointing to the clothes being removed, shaken, and thrown aside in a pile. When Rachelle returned, she was so upset and I could see she had been crying.
I asked what happened, she cried, "They stripped searched me! Can you believe that--how humiliating."

"I couldn’t believe how your bags were searched," I said. "After seeing that, I’d believe anything. Hey," my shoulders raised in an involuntary shrug, "when you play you have to pay. I guess some people have tried to sneak everything imaginable in here; don’t you think so Trisha." I wanted Trisha’s point of view.

"Yes, I’m sure they have seen every situation imaginable," answered Trisha as the nurse who accompanied Rachelle returned.

"Rachelle," said the nurse, "gather your clothing, and put them in these plastic bags. Your parents can take the baggage home when they leave."
Trisha began to walk to the office to help Rachelle. The nurse reached out and said, "Not you Mrs. Walker, this is Rachelle’s responsibility." Rachelle stomped off, opened the door. We stood at the threshold, watched Rachelle throw the bag beside her rumpled clothes, and began stuffing the bag. When she finished the nurse gestured for her to return. Rachelle, carrying the bags returned to Trisha’s side. The nurse in the mean time tried to put our mind at ease as she introduced herself, and started to explain the actions that were taken against Rachelle.

"I’m Lisa Dillard, I’m head of the youth wing. Most parents are concern like you when they see how we treat their children during the indoctrination period. We have learned most children have not taken responsibility for their actions or learned to follow family rules. The first project the kids have to do here is pick up their clothes, and when we take them to their rooms, a dresser and locker will be assigned to them, and they must keep their belongings together and neat. We use a point system and if they don’t earn any points then they lose their visitation rights which means the only time their family gets to see them is during the lectures once a week. I can assure you we do not abuse the children, but they learn we mean what we say, and they conform to the rules."

Lisa turned to Rachelle and said, "Thank you for getting your clothes. If you and your parents will follow me, I’ll show you to your room, introduce you to your room mate, and let you get settled."

It was now past visitation hours, and after Rachelle arranged her clothes, Lisa suggested, "Rachelle, walk your parents to the entry and say good night. It was nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Walker. We will see you Monday evening 7:30 for the drug lecture. Don’t worry we’ll take care of your daughter." Trisha and I headed toward the door. I hated this moment, because I knew Rachelle and Trisha were going to break down and cry. We reached the door, and I was right. Rachelle burst in tears and began begging us not to leave her. Trisha, in tears, explained to Rachelle she did not want to leave her, but it was the last choice we had to get her straightened out.

Rachelle threw her arms around me and said, "I know you’re glad to get rid of me Daddy."

Her words cut and in response, I returned her hug and said, "Rachelle, I love you, so yes, I am glad to leave you here. I don’t know anything else to do with you. I don’t want to see you die, and we can’t help you," relinquishing my embrace I gave her as much encouragement as I could muster and finish my statement, "we’ll be here every week to see you. Hang tight. We had better go before you get in trouble. It’s late and Mom has to get up early. Our hands touched and there was a sensation we both felt, and I know Rachelle felt it also, because we locked fingers at that moment as whatever it was; some sort of energy but not a shock one receives from static electricity from a carpet. It was more about yin and yang, or some kind of aura, but I know it was not God nor were we having a spiritual experience, but it was something I had never felt before. Maybe it was a bonding moment and it was something special that invaded our lives at this time that had evaded us for some time.

I could not believe Trisha and I were so ignorant, innocent, and naïve. After all, we never passed a documentary concerning drugs, and alcohol, matter of fact our best friend lost his business and family due to his drug addictions. We were not heavy drinkers. We did not smoke. We never used drugs; therefore, with that reasoning we considered ourselves good examples--more than that--excellent examples. We were unlike many parents; we sat down and helped our children with their homework, asked about the day’s activities, went to school functions, were regular at our religious gatherings, discussed the programs or articles with the kids, and participated in family prayer at meals and bedtime. We gave the children the "good old quality time" that all the experts were shouting about in both media outlets as well as the Society’s literature. In view of how we took care of our family business, it was easy to fall in the "It will never happen to me" syndrome, because drugs and child abuse happened to others, after all--we were Jehovah’s Witnesses and Jehovah Organization inculcated proper family values in us.

After driving the one and a half hours to acquire greater knowledge of the adverse affects drug and alcohol dependency has on family life, and society; all my mind was able to focus on were the young patients sitting at the tables. They were laughing, grinning, and acting as though this was an imposition to them and their attitude upset me to no end; therefore, after the conclusion of the introduction to the first series of Chemical Dependency and Drug Abuse classes, I turned my attention to Rachelle and began preaching to her concerning the cost of the program. I had figured out during the class; twelve thousand dollars, divided by thirty, equaled four hundred dollars per day, and I did not appreciate her lack of interest in the class.

"We are making a financial sacrifice trying to get you straightened out. I think it is reprehensible how all of you leach on society sat in that room and acted the way you did. You all need to give your parents, the insurance company, or society their money’s worth," I said standing on my soapbox as I cornered Rachelle in the hall by the nurses' office. Before I realized it, I had amassed a group listening to me make an ass out of myself, and nothing I was saying was sinking in. I was standing there embarrassing Rachelle in front of her chemical dependant friends.
Trisha shook my arm, trying to gain my attention and smooth things over as she exhorted me, "I said hush. This is not the time or place to talk to Rachelle. Let’s go home." I was cooling off somewhat, and began feeling like a fool. I turned around and walked down the hall toward the lobby.

The young stud who had been the leader in the smart aleck comments and laughter brushed passed me and said, "Yea dude, why don’t you leave? You don’t know what you’re talking about anyway." I did not reply or acknowledge his rudeness; there was no need to make a bad situation worse.
During the next week’s session, the instructor taught us what the druggies already knew-- not intellectually, but through physical dependency. Their attention span was no longer than a baby’s. They were not trying to be "cool" or to impress anybody. They were incapable of focusing their minds on anything longer than a few seconds at a time. This helped me understand why on many occasions when she heard a song or entered the living room and saw a particular program she would blurt out, "I love this song, or I love this program. I, expecting her to sit down and enjoy it found myself talking to myself. She acted as if she was in another world. Hell! She was in another world. She needed a hit, a line, a drag, anything but interplay of words, because she was not capable of listening, much less thinking.

The weeks went by and many mysteries were unraveled. The lectures brought out the attitude of self-centeredness, low self-esteem, promiscuity, and lack of morals were all related to drug use, or drug induced, therefore the usage of "sick" instead of "weak" made sense. We learned the addict or alcoholic are in search of perpetual pleasure, and alcohol releases neurotransmitters and other chemicals that produce pleasurable feelings such as Dopamine, which produces euphoria and a sensation of a reward. Repeated alcohol use increases sensitivity to dopamine. Serotonin produces feelings of well-being, and opioid peptides are important for well-being. Instead of getting sick when using these substances their bodies learned to tolerate greater amounts. We also learned the difference between the cheap drunk, who throws up or passes out after several drinks; and the functional drunk--the person who can drink a case of beer, tear down an engine, and rebuild it without missing a beat.
The "Party Hound," the person who we envied, lacked the genetic make-up to metabolized alcohol into Acetaldehyde and Acetate which is toxic and in high amounts causes to flushing, dizziness, and nausea. The cheap drunk was blessed with having the genes. They may get sick, pass out, and throw-up but due to this genetic factor, they are far less prone to become alcoholic.

The lecture ended with the counselor saying, "If you ever have given a small child a sip of your mixed drink or taste of beer you will see one of two reactions... they either like the taste, or they can’t stand the taste. If they like it ..., be careful. Do not continue to think it is cute, because it could lead to a serious problem."

I had two main condescending questions when I entered the class: How can a child hide their drug habit from their parents and what kind of a relationship does that family have? Those words were never going to leave my mind, because they were branded in my brain, and they came back to bite me in my butt. Compassion and empathy became my coat, and I wore them with complete appreciation of how other parents adjusted to bring forth wisdom out of ignorance. I sat somber and quite absorbing every word of the lecture, and each session was a learning experience. I digested my condescending attitude concerning other parents who lost children to drugs and alcohol, and purged it from my system by becoming one of the same.
The lectures had been enlightening. Trisha and I were getting a grip on our situation. Rachelle started to appreciate our visits, and overall, seeing her now being clean and sober was seeing spring break after a stormy fidget South Dakota winter and even then, there may come a late snow. The late snow arrived the day the psychologist approached us and told us Rachelle needed to tell us something.

"Mr. Walker, I have to ask you to leave. Rachelle is too embarrassed to say anything in front of you. She feels what she has to say you would not understand. Your wife can tell you if she desires to," she said, as she ushered me out. "You can wait in the lobby or cafeteria if you want to. We will be in conference for an hour. I am sorry, I do realize you are the father, but we have to honor Rachelle’s request. What she has to say needs to be dealt with before she can advance any further toward recovery. We’ll see you in an hour." I did not bother to pry, because I knew it would be a waste of time.

The hour seemed to drag by as I dallied around from lobby to cafeteria. Somewhere after my tenth or twelfth trip passed the Doctor’s office Trisha and Rachelle emerged with tears in their eyes, wiping their noses and sniffing. When they saw me, they both rushed to me and we embraced. They wept even harder and because I did not know how to react to the situation, I just tighten my embrace and let my silence do the talking.

The tears subsided and as they did, the Doctor approached me and said, "Mr. Walker, I’d like to make an appointment with you for next week. Rachelle said there are some hostile feelings between you and her need to be confronted."

"There sure is," I said. "I feel I have the right to have these feelings."

"Then next week is fine with you, Mr. Walker?" Ms. Willows ask confirming the new appointment then said, "We’ll kill two birds with one stone, and save you a trip."
I agreed to the appointment, "Thank you, we’ll see you next Saturday."
I turned and asked, "Rachelle, what are you talking about; hostile feelings?"

"Daddy, you act like you don’t love me," said Rachelle in a little girl’s voice as she began to sway with trepidation unsure of my reactions.

"Look Rachelle, if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t be sending you to this rehab center and I would not be here every week listening to all this crap, you realize it’s not free, don’t you? I have other things to do, but I am trying to regain a relationship with you. After all, it is more your fault than mine. You’re the one doing drugs, not me," I said throwing mud at her, which made me feel better by getting some of the pent up emotions out of my heart.

Trisha broke my train of thought as she said in her most stern voice, "Rachelle! It is neither the time nor the place to be venting feeling of this kind now. We have next week to handle them and we will have Ms. Willows to help us work everything out without fighting. I can see you are heading for one of your typical fights. You won’t accomplish anything except building an even higher wall between yourselves."

"She started it," I said pointing at Rachelle.

"I’m ending it! Act your age. You sound just like Silas and Warren when they fight," Trisha said, scolding me as if I was a child. I broke out in a big grin trying to hide my embarrassment.

"I’m only telling it like it is," mumbled Rachelle as she frowned at me.

"Enough is enough, Rachelle. It’s getting late. Let’s grab a snack before we head for home," Trisha said trying to smooth over any contentious feelings that may have arisen.

On our trip home I asked, "What happened while you and Rachelle were in the office with Ms. Willows that made you cry?"

"I don’t think I should tell you while you’re driving," Trisha answered and I could hear the raw emotion rising in her voice.

"Go ahead and tell me. I can take it. There is nothing that will surprise me. I don’t think what you have to say can be any worse than what we have gone through," I said, begging to be let in on our daughter’s deep secret while the tires squealed as I renegotiated the switch back curve encountered while talking to Trisha.

"I think you’re wrong, this will tear your heart out," Trisha said.

"What happened," I inquired again, sounding perturbed.

"Rachelle remembers being molested when she was three years old. Ms. Willows hypnotized her and Rachelle said there were three kids standing over her while she was held down on a little table." Trisha said. She was right--this was far worse than anything I could conceive happening.
I swallowed hard and said, "When was she ever away from us when she was three."

"The only places I remember letting her stay, was at Mom and Dad’s, or Lois Babcock’s the summer I was selling Avon. Ooh yeah, Lee’s boys spent the summer with Mom and Dad. The only kids Rachelle was ever around were Lois’s son, Jimbo, and all his friends. I do remember Rachelle crying every day I dropped her off at Lois’s, but I never gave it much mind. I just thought she didn’t want me to go to work. You know how possessive she was at that age. She never wanted us out of her sight, except when she was at Mom’s then she could care less where we were," Trisha said, recalling the entire events of that summer. She was trembling so bad she had difficulty controlling herself, and I was just plain nauseated from what I just heard.

"The little bastards," I said hitting the steering wheel emphasizing my statement.

"If I knew who they were I would kill them."

"That isn’t all that Rachelle has happened to her. When she was thirteen, a man that offered her and Ava Johnson a ride home from town raped her--"

"What happened to Ava," I asked.

"She jumped out the car when the man stopped at the signal light."

"Why didn’t Rachelle get out?"

"She said the man grabbed her arm and told her he had a gun, and if she got out he would follow her home and kill us. This was all horrible, but the incident that drove her to drugs was the death of "Lit'el" Rags," Trisha said, tears flowed down her cheeks now.

"I can understand that Honey, it almost drove me crazy too," I said, my voice broke, "that girl must have gone through hell! God only knows besides her what she endured as a child. It makes me take back everything I ever said about her. It makes me sick. I’m so very, sorry. I wish I could put my arms around her and let her know how much I love her."

"Rachelle said, the night before he died, they were playing around and she threatened to hit him as she always did. She said Lit'el Rags told her, if you hit me, I’ll die. She told him he would not die, that he was going to get better as he always did and it was just taking longer this time and when he started laughing, she punched him in the stomach. Can you imagine how ornery he was to have said that to her knowing how sick he was--not just, but he told all his friends with Rachelle standing there if he was going to die he wished he would die soon, because he was tired of fighting, and the treatment he had completed did him in."
Everything Trisha was telling me was making me sicker and sicker. I was fighting back tears and Trisha was crying. Cold chills raced across my spine as the feelings I tried to bury were being exhumed.

"That little jerk!" I exclaimed. This was the first time I had ever brought up a negative thought about "Lit'el" Rags. He had worked hard, fought hard and after two weeks of hell undergoing treatments he died, died hard, and to me he was a hero.

"He wasn’t a jerk. He didn’t know he was going to die any more than we did. The entire three years has been a nightmare to all of us." Trisha said taking up for him.

"Why the hell did he do that to her? Good god, no wonder she is so screwed up," I said answering Trisha while I recalled the changes in Rachelle’s actions and attitudes after he died and how she screamed and fell down in a heap of broken heart.

"She is carrying a burden no adult could carry. Her nightmares and sleepless nights are because of a practical joke which went wrong," Trisha said.

"I thought she was making things up after he died so she could get pity. She was going through hell, wasn’t she," I ask trying to get a hold on the situation.
Trisha reached out, squeezed my arm, and said, "It has been difficult on Rachelle and we must stand by her now as we stood by him. Some things we are going to have to accept and swallow hard as we deal with Rachelle. She is no longer a little girl, and we can’t treat her as such anymore. We have to be there when she needs us," Trisha said.

"I can’t believe we’re home. It sure has been one short trip. A hell of a one at that," I said as I turned into our drive.
My brain was trying to sort and pigeon hole everything I had heard; and in the midst of its job, a stupid little game that meant nothing to anybody except the kids and me slipped in and for a fleeting moment, the "you like me better game" crossed my mind. Yeah, he was not a jerk after all he was my favorite number two child. It was corny; but, they laugh and nobody ever came out feeling second.
I murmured under my breath, "Yup, you are my favorite number--"
Trisha elbowed me breaking my magic moment. "Well honey, it’s your favorite number three we have to help now," she said. Her voice was soothing and comforting. She opened the door then reached over and touched my inner thigh, slide out leaving me wishing…. "I’ll unlock the door," she said with a devilish smile as she walked away toward the chain link fence separated the parking area from our narrow front yard.

"Okay," I called out, "I’ll bring in some firewood and go get the boys tonight so we can sleep in, in the morning." Trisha unlocked the front door. I saw the lights come on and I walked around to the back where we kept the wood and carried some in and started a fire then went and picked up the boys.
It was a pleasure to awaken with the sun peeking through the windows. The smell of breakfast being prepared and the sound of the boys wresting brought a smile to my face. I threw the covers back and slipped on my overalls. This was Trisha’s day off and she always made country breakfast, which consists of bacon, fried eggs, grits, hash brown potatoes, and gravy; everything that causes a slow death in today’s cholesterol-counting society. Mom and Dad home, no school, and country breakfast, and I said the blessing over the food, and we dug in.
The dinner table was the place where we discussed everything that came to mind and some that did not, and this morning was no different. Silas asked "How’s Rachelle and when will she come home?"

Trisha acknowledged Silas’s question after she sipped some coffee, "Well boys your sister is beginning to respond to treatments. She is off drugs now and the doctors say she is clean and sober. We’re thinking about taking you down there each week until she is release. How would you like that?"

"All right! Yeah man," the boys shouted in unison.

"While we’re with the doctor you and Silas can watch TV in the lobby. That’s what I did yesterday when your Mom and sister talked to the doctor. It will take about an hour. After we get finished, we all will take Rachelle out to lunch at the Good Earth. That’s the place where you guys liked the cashew chicken salad. We will make a day of it Saturday," I rambled on as I stirred my eggs, bacon, and grits together with a squirt of ketchup. The kids finished their breakfast and left the table heading outside to play.

"I’m glad we are taking them with us this week. They seem contented with the situation with Rachelle," Trisha said

"I’m surprise they want to visit her the way she treated them in the past. They may need to see the shrink. Give me your cup. I’ll get you some coffee while I’m getting mine," I stated as I pushed my chair back with my legs and headed toward the coffee maker. The week passed as so many others did, Trisha working, me waiting for business calls and doing my wifely duties. I was slow on cleaning, but efficient on cooking. Everyday was a new invention with meals. What would take Trisha an hour to cook, I squeezed out four hours. I cooked, broiled, basted, skinned, de-boned, tenderized, chopped, diced, minced, and sometimes we would eat it.
Saturday afternoon we headed for Dove’s Way after Trisha came home from work and bathed, washing the smell of donuts down the tub. I was nervous about what I had to face. The boys were doing boy things; aggravating each other, Trisha was telling me about every cake, donut, cookie, and how many gallons of French bread she made, and just to get her goat I ask, "Why do they measure French bread in gallons; when they sell it by the pound?"

"Just shut up. I’m not telling you again," she said pouting her lips.
We entered the parking lot, found an empty parking place, and headed for lobby where Rachelle met us with open arms. It was a joy seeing Rachelle hugging the boys and dance around holding their hands. We walked down the corridor to the cafeteria at Rachelle’s suggestion. She offered to buy lunch, so we let her. It was a nice treat even if it was with the money we left with her the past visit at least she was thinking of somebody else beside herself, and that was an improvement. Sitting here together brought back memories when we use to enjoy each other before our lives blew apart in fragments of lost self-respect, nightmares, and sleepless nights. Now here we are laughing out loud and having fun for the time being.
It was time for our appointment so we showed Silas and Warren the TV room and instructed them on staying there. With the final words, "Be-have yourselves you hear," were enunciated by both Trisha and me as the echo emphasized our command.
Ms. Willows met us at the door of her office, invited us in and offered us coffee which we refused due to "over loading" in the cafeteria. Dr. Willows started the session by informing me of Rachelle’s feelings of me and then turned to Rachelle and said, "Rachelle, you and your Dad started expounding your feelings last week just before they left. Now we have time why don’t you tell your Dad exactly how you feel about him."

"Daddy, I have never been able to compete with Tren or "Lit'el" Rags..."

"I never expected you to...,"

"Mr. Walker, please let Rachelle continue," Dr. Willows said interrupting me.

"When Silas and Warren were born I was never able to compete with them. It was as if I was pushed to the rear. I was too little for one set and too big for the other set. I didn’t have anybody to associate with my own age. When I made friends they turned out to be jerks, and I would always get in trouble. At school I was expected to be like Tren and "Lit'el" Rags--I couldn’t. I realize you and Mom have been through hell--so have I. After "Lit'el" Rags died, you withdrew from the family, even before he died you stayed in your own world. You isolated yourself from all of us. You haven’t let go of him yet; you still have his ashes in the cedar chest. Why don’t you get rid of them? I can’t compete with a dead brother. I felt like you hated me, and you were not interested in me. You always told me to leave if I wanted to…."

"Whoa, right there," I said feeling my hackles rise and the sense of flee or fight kicked in and I chose to fight and save my reputation.

"Rachelle," Doctor Willows said, "let your Dad answer some of your complaints."

"Thank you Doctor. First Rachelle, you were given more privileges than either Tren or "Lit'el" Rags. The new car sitting out there, who paid for the insurance so you could drive? We did. How many wrecks have you had? Two, who paid the deductible? We did. When did I start telling you to leave? Wasn’t it when you started telling me you hated it at home, and you started sneaking out at night? We even bent over backwards and let you smoke. You were not happy about that. You wanted to smoke in the house; when we would not let you, you told us we had no say about what you did. Hate you, damn right, I hated you. You were the most self-centered one person I have ever seen. Everything had to revolve around you. You destroyed our car, our family life, and our rules. You bitched at your Grandma about a suede coat knowing she had financial troubles. Where is the coat? When you ran away with Shawnee you lost it, some of your fine friends stole it, or you sold it for drugs. Yes, I still have his ashes, but I or we don’t have them in any shrine do we? I am unable to let him go. We fought battles with him everyday as we watched him undergo chemotherapy, spinal and bone marrow taps, being sick. Rachelle, you know what everybody has gone through, even yourself--putting him in the ground or scattering his ashes over the mountains is like tearing out my heart. I know I need help. Why can’t I have my son for a little longer? It’s getting easier to think about burying his ashes," my voice was cracking and tears swelled. Trisha was weeping and holding on to me. I guess it was a heart-rending site to see, because Doctor Willows helped me out as she took charge of the conversation.

"It’s all right to cry Mr. Walker; you need to let your emotions out. You never have finished your grieving, have you? You will never be able to let go until you have completed the grieving. When he passed away, did you get angry at him?" Doctor Willows said. I hated being quizzed because every question was an invasion of my privacy, which tore my soul apart.

"Are we going to play hundred questions, or watch Dan cry," I asked the doctor.

"I would like to see how far along you have progressed in your grieving," she said. "Though there is no time period for grieving there are several steps one goes through in the process. Some of the feelings are anger, helplessness, guilt, loneliness, relief, loss, powerlessness to relieve your pain, abandonment. It is important to allow yourself to feel honest painful emotions. You need to be able to accept and express your feelings, and when you can; then you are on the road to healing Mr. Walker. That is why I asked you about your feelings."

"Well let me say this and put everybody’s mind to rest. Yes, I felt helpless, I felt, damn angry; he had his entire life ahead of him. If he was going to die, why didn’t he die when he was two? I am angry with God, it was as if we sacrificed "Lit'el" Rags eighteen years ago and he didn’t accept the sacrifice; but now he had a job and a future, he had desires to get married, have children; he was also making advancements with his relationship with God. My god, our hearts were ripped out once before and now they are ripped out again. I have had all those feelings and now I am starting to be able to handle them better now than ever before. Once I work out my feeling with God then I will be able to put him away forever. I don’t know how long it will be to work things out with God. I can now at least talk about him sometimes without crying. Believe me Rachelle I am getting better, but I can’t promise you the eighth wonder of the world. You will be the first to know when I remove your brother.

I looked at Doctor Willows, ‘You said acceptance and expressing of my feeling is a key to full healing. I am on my way,’" Doctor Willows smiled but did not say anything so I returned my attention to Rachelle, "Rachelle, my love for "Lit'el" Rags did not deaden my love for you. You were the one who killed my love for you. I never tried to make you compete with any of the other children. Trisha, have you ever used any of the kids to belittle Rachelle? Have you ever said, Rachelle, why can’t you act like Tren, or "Lit'el" Rags was so much easier to raise than you were. Did we ever say, Rachelle, why are you so dumb, you’re so stupid, or anything like that?"

"No," exclaimed Trisha shocked that I would even ask that of her.

"Nor have I," I said. "We have told you we didn’t want another Tren, "Lit'el" Rags, Silas, or Warren. Haven’t we Rachelle? Be honest," I said spewing every heart felt word I had hidden for so long into the open for God and all humanity to hear--there, my secret was out.

"All we ever ask from you," said Trisha, "was to be yourself, stand on your on two feet, be your own person, don’t follow the crowd. Just be Rachelle, don’t worry about trying to be anybody else. We have never torn you down or belittled you to yourself or in front of any of your friends."

This was the first time that Trisha and I ever took the time to expound on our son's death or even bring it up; now the lid was off and the nest of worms were unraveling. I couldn’t stop myself and I opened another can of worms when I said, "Rachelle, as far as being in my ‘own little world’ as you said; I worked hard all my life, and I had a job to go to everyday until recently. The construction business is a hit and miss business. Some take off and become a success; others just struggle. I spent hours studying to get my contractor’s license. I thought that becoming my own boss and having my own business would take pressure off us. Everything fell apart about that time. Rachelle you can’t imagine the things I have gone through, not to mention what your Mom has gone through. You cannot blame me for your drug problems. I have never touched any illegal substance. I have beg and pleaded with all of you kids not to try the crap. I refuse to take the blame. You--you take the responsibility of your actions. I may be a crummy provider, but you cannot accuse me of your drug problem. Rachelle, I’m sorry about everything that happened to you. I know from what Mom told me and you can rest assured she didn’t tell all the details of your experiences while you lived in hell with that S O B of a drug dealer. I could kill that guy. I’m so tired of butting heads with you all I want is to become friends again Rachelle. I love you."

"I can tell you have poured your heart out, Mr. Walker. Doing so in front of stranger takes courage and from what you have said I agree you and your wife as well as the entire family has been through hell. Do you know what amazes me, Mr. Walker?"

"No, I don’t," I exclaimed wiping my eyes and nose with a tissue.

"Not once did you mention divorce as being an answer to your problem. It is unusual to see a family go through what yours has and not become a divorce statistic. Most of the kids here have two or three stepparents, and I have not meet one that has dealt with what your family has dealt with. It is commendable to see a family that has gone through hell stick together," Dr. Willows said extolling our family. Turning her attention to Rachelle she continued, "Rachelle, do you realize that when you leave here you will be going to a drug free environment within your own home. Do you know how many kids here today can say that?" Rachelle was attentive and she answered no by moving her head. "Some of these kids will complete the treatment and get home to parents using, selling, or buying dope. You are lucky to have a family that cares for you. Noted, it is not a perfect family. I would say it is dysfunctional and will be until each one of you let go of "Lit'el" Rags. It will be hard, but if any family can do it, yours can. Rachelle do you feel you and your Dad can compromise?"

"Compromise, about what," questioned Rachelle looking shocked.

"Family rules, for one thing. You do have family rules, don’t you," asked Dr. Willows.

"Yes we do," I answered, "that’s the problem. She doesn’t want to follow our rules.
I keep telling her every place has rules. I’ve been in construction for twenty years; and every job I go to I have to frame or build the way that contractor wants. If I don’t conform to "my way" then it’s "the highway." I can’t seem to get that through her thick skull."

"Between now and the end of next week, I am going to draw up a contract between you and Rachelle. What are some points your family could agree with Rachelle on? How about smoking." ask Dr. Willows.

"I don’t want her to smoke,’ I said rigid and uncompromising.

"Mr. Walker, you have to face the facts, Rachelle uses cigarettes! Now how can you and your daughter compromise, and reach a win-win situation? Since she smokes and the family rule states, no smoking in the house, maybe we will write the contract; Rachelle can smoke, but not in the house. Is that agreeable, the Doctor asked. I looked at Trisha to see her reaction and then agreed to that arrangement.

"Let’s continue. Here are some more points you can put in the contract. One: eleven o’clock curfew. Two: She has to tell us where she is going and give us a phone number where we can reach her. Three: She has to get up in the morning, and clean her room. Twice a week she cooks supper. Four: she can only use the phone after business hours--"

"Five: She must continue her out-patient treatment until this center has fulfilled its contract with us, Trisha said interrupting Doctor Willow."

"Rachelle do you have anything you would like brought out," Dr. Willows asked turning her attention to Rachelle.

"Yes, I want them to stop hassling me," Rachelle said with a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eyes. "No, not really, everything seems reasonable to me. The only thing I want is for Dad to remove "Lit'el" Rags and his stuff out of my bedroom."

"Well, I can do that. We will not hassle you either, if you don’t give us a reason to. You know that is our job," I responded feeling much easier now that all the bitterness had come out and we knew where we stood with each other.

"What is your job," Rachelle asked looking puzzled.
Trisha said, "Harassing you."

With that said in jest, the session was closed by Dr. Willows request, "Let’s stop now, I believe that we have opened several points to work on, and it seems that you all are in a good frame of mind now. One session will not bring a cure, but at lease, you know what to work on. Rachelle will be going home next week, and as I said, I will have a contract written to be signed by each of you. I thank you and applaud you for your time and honesty, Mr. and Mrs. Walker. I see nothing but blue skies for your family, because you will work on everything that we discussed. I have another family to see before I can call it quits. Thank you and we will see you next week at Rachelle’s dismissal. Have a good day and a safe trip home."
Saturday, the final day of imprisonment for Rachelle came, and Rachelle, Trisha, and I entered Dr. Willows’ office. We stood there while she was on the phone, after a few seconds Dr. Willows motioned to the chairs and whispered, "Go ahead and sit down. I’ll be with you in a moment." After a few moments she hung up the phone and smiled as she said, "Rachelle, are you ready to go home?"

"You know I am, I can’t wait, but it’s going to be hard because I am going to miss you all," Rachelle answered with tears in her eyes.

Dr. Willows said, "You have nothing but good things to look forward to from now on as long as you stay clean and sober. Here are the contracts that I promised you. It has everything you agreed to last week. There are curfew hours, schooling and homework, home cleaning, associations of drug free people; you cannot have any associations with any your past associates. Do you agree? If you do, then sign the contract, and pass it on to your parents. I want to see you sign this, grab your bags and get out of here. I never want to see you again." We signed the contract and Dr. Willows walked around her desk to her door and opened the door.

"You as a family have so much going for you that I can’t imagine ever seeing you here again, and as we stood up the doctor walked over and put her arms around Rachelle and said, "Rachelle, you are a good kid and you have good parents that are interested in you. If you start having problems let them know, talk to them; keep an open line of communication," she paused and looked at each of us and continued, "If you all adhere to the contracts and follow your family rules then I guarantee Rachelle will remain sober." She hugged Trisha and me and again praised us as good parents. We accepted the praise and told her how much we appreciated the program, and wish her the best.

Rachelle was now in tears, sobbing and as she said good-bye to her peers, she burst out in a crying jig. I looked at Trisha and said, "Why is she crying? I thought she wanted to go home."

Rachelle, through her sobs answered me, "I went through hell with these guys, and I am going to miss them." I knew what she meant as I recalled the day I graduated from boot camp in San Diego. There was not a dry eye on the bus as we headed for the airport. She was right; the friendships you make in hell you never forget.
I put my arms around Rachelle and said, "I know honey, just cry and get it out of your system. We have a whole new world to look forward to."

Chapter 18 Hell Revisited

2008-10-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 18 HELL REVISITED

Trying to keep control of Rachelle was an all-consuming occupation. Sending her to school was even more of a chore. Getting detention slips, chinch notices, teachers’ conferences, and flunking grades should have been a tell tail sign indicating existing problems for us but she did such a great job of pulling the wool over Trisha’s and my eyes as we met with the school principal or teachers. Rachelle had every base covered with an excuse for her every action. To listen to her, one would think the world was against her and answering the obscene phone calls and messages we received each night were of any indication the world was against her; then the world was against her.

How could we be doing anything wrong? We were Jehovah’s Witnesses. We followed Bible principles to the law. It had to be everybody else’s fault but ours; so, there was not much Trisha and I could do or would do but take Rachelle’s word and back her stories until she was caught in a lie and then we decided to remove Rachelle from school and place her in home study.
That decision rubbed the school district the wrong way and the school principal and I faced off in two different opinions. "Mr. Walker, I think you are doing a grave injustice to Rachelle taking her out of main line school," said Mrs. Smith with concern.

"Mrs. Smith, I appreciate your concern, but for the last two years we have become on first name bases. Trisha and I have to come to school as much as Rachelle, so I say the school system has failed her, and it is my right that I should find another option her education. The only thing the school will miss from Rachelle not being here, is the money," I argued.

"Think about her social skills. She has to learn how to get along in the work place, with other people," responded Mrs. Smith.

"What has the system taught her so for?" The question was rhetorical so I did not give her a chance to respond as I kept tossing soft balls; "She is flunking, can’t do math, English is a joke, and to top the social skills; all she does is fight with her peers. Why?--" I stopped to inhale and before Mrs. Smith responded, I answered, "Because they are saying she is screwing their boy friends. I don’t know how she could be doing any worse at home, do you?"

"You don’t mince words do you," she said in a blanket statement as she opened her desk drawer and signed the instructions letting us take Rachelle home and setting a schedule for Rachelle’s monthly test then we signed the withdrawal slip. Rachelle had to sign a performance contract and we dropped the papers off at the continuation school, which was on the opposite side of the campus in a doublewide mobile home sitting under a large Oak tree.

Rachelle, after one year of home study, had improved her grades from Fs to Bs and everything seemed to be going fine. Rachelle was happy with the progress she was making and every so often, she would ask about returning to mainstream school. Trisha told her as soon as she could prove she was mature enough to take care of all her homework without us having to badger her then she could set a goal to be mainstreamed in her junior year.

The junior year came and Rachelle had improved both scholastically and responsibly. Trisha, Rachelle, and I sat down and we discussed which would be best for her to attend the high school or the continuation school where she could work at her pace and still receive all her credits and graduate if she wanted to, or graduate the following year with her regular class. Rachelle chose the continuation school, because both her older sister and brother attended that school and graduated with honors as their classes Valedictorian.

Rachelle came home after the first week, and told us drugs were prevalent in the school. I could not believe what I was being told, because I knew some of the children’s fathers and none of them used drugs, so I pushed it aside with a flippant attitude of "Birds of a feather, flock together" and exhorted her to associate with the kids who did not use drugs. It seemed impossible for that school to have disintegrated in such a short time. You know the old cliché--hindsight is twenty-twenty. It was not long before Rachelle had fallen into her old habits, which was the beginning of reliving hell.

Everything was revolving around Rachelle again, and there seemed to be no brakes to apply. When she was home, it was a continual battle to get her out of her room. Sleeping was her forte. There were no family functions for her now. The only time she came out of her room was to answer the phone, and if the phone could catch fire from being used it would burst into flames. Her attitude had become so bad, when she had to watch her younger brothers she would hit them so hard welts appeared. On one occasion I walked in at the time, she punched her brother in the back. The punch made a solid "thud" sound, and I lost my temper, grabbed her arm, and threatened to spank her. She twisted away from my grip, and shouted, "If you lay a hand on me; I’ll report you to my teachers and have you arrested for child abuse." Yes, she had slipped to the point of no return. I knew I lost her and I let a wedge be driven between her and me. The sounds of her climbing out her window, landing on the deck, and the sound of a car’s engine starting deaden the two feelings of love and hate. Relief rushed over me as she ran away again. I did not try to stop her and I did not hold a thread of guilt.

It was not long after her leaving--maybe two days when Rachelle came riding up in an old wreck of a truck. The driver was a scraggy haired boy, with a skinny unkempt girl sitting next to him. Rachelle introduced the kids to me, and said, "I came to get my stuff, okay?" "Sure get your stuff, and get out. Don’t expect any help from us. See how much help your friends will be when the going gets rough," I said, my voice, sounded calm and low-keyed, but it got the boy’s attention.
He responded to my statement with an order to Rachelle as he said, "Get your shit, and let’s go!" They grabbed the sheet from her bed and started throwing, and dumping all her belongings into it. The sheet was bulging at the seams as they tied it in a knot. Her "shit" they under estimated, because when they reached her bedroom door it became a pushing, pulling, and squeezing contest as the sheet conformed to the opening. I could see the relief on their faces as they dragged everything Rachelle owned down the hall and repeated the entire process of getting the "shit" through the front door. This was one mathematical theory those "three stooges" would not soon forget. All I was able to do was shake my head and grin as they dragged the sheet through the gravel and dust to the truck where they hoisted it onto the wheel well and let it fall to the bed of the truck scattering the contents in all directions. I thought, Boy, what a life she picked. I watched in amazement as the truck pulled away in a cloud of black smoke and dust.

School began, and Trisha called Rachelle’s school to inform them of the situation. The principle assured Trisha he and the staff would keep us informed of Rachelle and how she was doing. I was taking Silas and Warren to school on my way to work. Rachelle was standing at the bus stop. The boys were excited and waved as Silas said, "Look Dad! There is Rachelle. You see her?" Rachelle turned her head to keep from speaking.

"Yes, I see her. She’s where she wants to be. At least she is going to school. I’m glad of that," I said using that moment to expound my anti-drug lecture and plead with them to stay away from any person in school who encouraged them to experiment with any drug.

The school authorities agreed to keep us informed daily concerning Rachelle. The reports were encouraging for awhile, but by December the principal called and told us Rachelle had not came to school all week. This was the last report we received from the school, and as the reports subsided Rachelle began visiting her Grandma’s, and of course, Grandma would feed her and let her take baths and wash clothes. Trisha and I started getting news concerning Rachelle through Grandma. Rachelle went to her sister’s house if Mom was not at home. Rachelle instituted a good situation--a health and welfare system all of her own without any responsibility toward anybody. This did not set too well with me in particular after Trisha told me Rachelle came by and she let her clean up and gave her some food. My attitude was, if she did not want to live with the family, then she should not have the luxury of the family conveniences Grandma disagreed, she felt the family should be a safety net. I felt the same way under other circumstances. This coddling to Rachelle went on until the day I was watching a talk show dealing with the subject "Teens who run away and are substance abusers." The consensus of the panel was not to be free with helping them. They must realize life is not easy, and the world does not owe them a living or anything else. The conveniences of home should not be given to them while they are running the streets in rebellion.

I told the family what I had heard on the talk show, and how the teens agreed with the panel and with their parents after becoming clean and sober they would never have come back or cleaned up if their parents continued to help them. We agreed to stop giving Rachelle any help. It was a hard decision. Grandma, Trisha, and Tren cried every time Rachelle came by and wanted something. Every one stood firm and after several times she got the message and stopped coming around. She was so far gone in the drug scene now her language, morals, and attitude was so filthy it was a relief not to have the boys around her, due to the influence her life style could have on them.

She dropped deeper into the drug world and began dealing. We saw her at Red Bud Park in the center of a crowd of long hair scrounges hugging and kissing one of them as she reached into her rear jean pocket and placed something in the boy’s open hand. He raised his hand, said something to Rachelle then pointed toward us. Rachelle followed his directions, turned toward us, and I swear she began to laugh when he shot us the finger.

I do not know if he did it to show us how far Rachelle would go to please him or if he wanted to embarrass Rachelle, but they began taunting us as they danced, laughed, and shouted obscenities. It was all we could stand so we packed our picnic and went home.

We had talked to the city cops about Rachelle but all they ever said was they were keeping an eye on her. They knew where she was, whom she was with, and everything she was doing, but they would not help in returning her home.
Rachelle was where she wanted to be and all we could do was pray she would be safe and live to talk about it. Dealing may have been glamorous to Rachelle at first, but as Trisha and I found out the dealers worked with the same threat to their lives in this small town as any dealer worked with in any large city. The lost of substance or moneys could mean the lost of life. There had been murders reported in areas of the town was notorious for drugs. That was a concern to us because Rachelle’s boy friend was one of the biggest dealers in town, thanks to his father. Clearlake seemed to breed the drug culture and produce second generational druggies waiting in line at the post office to get their Social Security Disability checks.

I could say this about Rachelle, she seemed to miss the family relationships after being gone for a few months and began calling home at different times of the day. If I answered she would hang up and if Trisha answered she would talk to her and ask about the family and more so about her brothers and nieces. I always told Trisha to ask Rachelle if she was ready to come home, and each time Rachelle said, "I’m not ready; I’ll let you know when I want to come home."

Trisha after hanging up said, "I can tell in her voice she wants to come home, but she is embarrassed to have to admit she can’t make it on her own. I think you intimidate her."

"Intimidate! I’m the one who keeps asking her to come home, it’s me not you being turned down. I should be the one who is intimidated," I said shrugging my shoulders in complete confusion. "I don’t know what to do, or what to say anymore. All you can do Trisha is convey my feelings for her and let her know she is welcome to come back any time if she accepts our family rules. No matter what I said to her; I love her in my own love-hate way, and it is our responsibility to help her if she wants to clean up."

"Honey, when she hits bottom she will come home, and not before. You, I, or nobody else can make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. That is the fact of life with druggies. Get use to it! I hope she will straighten out before she is killed or overdoses. I’ve set my heart on that, and maybe we will be fortunate enough to get her back alive," her words made me feel better. I was shocked, what she said sounded like me, and I must have looked confused. Trisha saw I was dumb founded and began laughing, "You look stunned at what I said," she said and poked me in my belly. "You look like a bear, and you act like a bear, but you’re nothing but a big old pussy cat. I know how you feel and that’s why I have put up with you for all these years. Why jump out of the pan and into the fire. After all, you’re pretty sweet, not good-looking, but pretty sweet. I think I’ll keep you around a while longer." It was not often we got to banter back and forth, because the kids interrupted any conversation or playtime Trisha and I found outside the bedroom. This was no exception, as Silas and Warren ran into the room asking for something to eat. The moment was broken and "mother hen" headed for the kitchen to satisfy her "brood’s" hunger, if possible.
The months went by with no word from Rachelle, just sightings of her at different places around town. She was always with the same bunch of low lives. The nights grew colder and colder when the phone began to ring around two A.M. interrupting the all night news cast on CNN. I jumped up to keep the phone from waking Trisha. I wondered who could that be this late at night. I picked up the phone and spoke softly, "Walkers, may I help you?"

"Daddy, come get me please," the words were slurred, and the helplessness in the voice got my adrenalin flowing as I started to hear my heart pumping and my temples pounding from his blood pressure rising out of shear fear of what was going on at the other end of the line. "I need help, my chest hurts, I can’t catch my breath--I think I’m going to die."

Oh god! Not that again. We haven’t gotten over our son's death. I thought as I began to imagine my little girl lying on a filthy floor over dosing on some concoction her wonderful fiends had given her. "Where are you?" I ask gripped by fear.

"You know the blue cottages on Lakeshore Drive. Hurry Daddy! I want to come home; can I," she asked--with desperation in her voice.

"I’ll be there, don’t leave, you stay there, I mean don’t you move I’ll be right there," I said. My voice must have wakened Trisha because she came out of the bedroom.

"Who is it? What’s wrong," she asked excitedly.

"It’s Rachelle, she’s in trouble. I have to go get her; from what she said, I think she has overdosed on coke or something, but I don’t know; anyway, she wants to come home. I’ll bring her home if she is okay; if not I’ll take her to the emergency room," I said as I plucked the keys from the hanger. My fingers felt as if they were made of rubber and I dropped them. "Slow down," I muttered to myself. "You know you’re no good in emergencies." My fingers grasped the large set of keys and I ran out of the house. No matter what, I thought, it was my daughter and my God, given responsibility and come hell or high water I was going to bring her home.

The thought of losing Rachelle in death plagued me. I knew if Rachelle died, it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. We did not need to grieve for two children. We had never been able to let "Lit'el" Rags go. I still cried when I tried to talk about "Lit'el" Rags, and right at first I used to respond to Trisha’s calling, "Rags, o-o-oh Rags, thinking she needed me to bring something when she was alone taking a bath until one evening she told me, "I didn’t call you. I was just thinking about "Lit'el" Rags."

Running out of the warm house at two a. m. on a cold damp winter night shocked me. I hated cold weather, but I did not have time to warm up the truck. I had to get Rachelle. My heart was pounding. It took five minutes to reach the cottages on Lakeshore Drive. In his mind’s eye, I further played the options over and over again as I imagined having to call 911, the cops, the ambulance; hell, even the coroner. Is it Rachelle’s day to pay the fiddler? Thank God, it was not. Rachelle came running I stepped out of the truck and she threw her arms around me. She had played me again but I did not care. I was relieved she was able to walk as well as talk. The relief turned into coldness, and the tenderness of the moment disappeared. My voice became harsh as I commanded Rachelle, "Get in the truck. We have things to talk about." Rachelle did not hear me. She was too sick and too tired to listen. I could feel a knot tighten in my gut.

I knew all hell would break loose at home. Rachelle and I fighting wakened Silas and Warren many a night. It could happen again tonight, but Trisha met us at the door and took Rachelle in her arms, which softened the moment. In the living room Rachelle passed out or fell asleep, one or the other; it was not important. Trisha and I met the breaking of dawn head on along with Mr. Coffee as we sipped the brew.
"Maybe we can get everything settled now so I’ll get Rachelle up." Trisha said breaking the silence.

"Sound like a plan to me, after all she’s had more sleep than us," I said as I headed to the bathroom to get my day started. While I was in the bathroom, Trisha made Rachelle get up along with her grumbling and complaining.

After hearing details of her excommunicated life from us I could no longer say I had seen and done more than her. In the short time she was gone she did more damage than I did in my forty-five years. The tracks in the veins of her forearms made me sick. She was so thin and to be blunt she looked like crap, and that is a kind word. I asked, "What are we going to do with her. She needs help; more help than we know how to give." hoping Trisha had answers, because I was at the end of the rope.

"Doris told me about the CYA, maybe we could--" "

"I’ll tell you one thing," my voice was in my "holier than thou" tone as I jerked my thumb over my shoulder in Rachelle’s direction, "she may be screwed up, but that damn Burris clan is a basket case. Kate needed help with more than just drugs--her father was the cause of all their psychological damage. I still say Lyndon’s molestation of Kate ruined her marriage and caused her and Fred to get a divorce. She was wild; now look at August she’s not much better."

"I know. We told Doris what he did was going to damage those kids beyond repair," replied Trisha.

"It was good that you persuaded Doris to report him to the authorities. I still don’t know why he’s not locked up, or had his gonads cut off. I swear, finding out he was a pervert made me feel strange knowing we associated with him. It wasn’t a surprise when Doris told us was it? Remember the first time we were invited to their house for dinner--"

"Yes, I remember, but please don’t go there again. How can I forget? Every time we mention the Burris family you repeat the same old sto--"

"Okay, okay forget it," I said cutting her sentence off in mid word, but my lack of manners did not curb the remainder of her statement.

She jump started her statement again and completed her thought by saying, " it was funny at the time how you told me, ‘If Lyndon isn’t a pervert, I’ll kiss your butt,' " she chuckled and flicked her skirt imitating a belly dancer wiggling her hips and playing castanets, "too bad he turned out to be a pervert; I could have collected on that bet."

Rachelle started laughing and I replied, "Yea, and I would loved to have paid you off. You know Doris is nice, but being three hundred pounds--hell he had to be doing something to vent his frustrations. It’s a shame the kids are paying for his warped actions. I still say all perverts should have their balls cut off. Now getting back to Rachelle," my smile vanished; Rachelle stopped laughing, and I continued the conversation "actually, what you said about a drug rehab program may be our best bet. We can ask Rachelle what she thinks about enrolling in one, not that it will have any bearing on our decision. I’d pay through the nose to get Rachelle straightened out." Little did I know; I would.

Rachelle after coming down so hard wasn’t worth a hill of beans. She stayed on the couch watching TV with the boys. To look at us now, one would never know how dysfunctional we were. We agreed Monday would be the day we would start checking out rehabs, but for tonight as the day came to a close we could relax knowing our daughter was home safe, if not sound.

We set out on Monday searching for a rehab program. The first rehab we called was the CYA. They told us as much as they would like to help, but to enter the CYA program one must be convicted of a crime and be sentenced to serve at the CYA facilities. If the crime were drug related then the sentence would include going through the drug rehab program. Well, that was out we did not qualify for state help so we called several drug rehab facilities and found a program that Trisha’s insurance accepted. Trisha was elated about the prospect of her insurance plan paying for the rehab program.

I asked Trisha, "What did they say about the insurance plan?"

"The receptionist said she would call our insurance and get pre-approved since we are on their provider’s list. They will give us a call as soon as they receive a confirmation. So we better stay close to the phone." It was a "hurry up and wait situation, and we waited, waited, and waited. The phone rang around three thirty. Trisha answered it, "Yes, yes, okay, sure, good, Thursday afternoon, four fifteen, okay we’ll be there," Trisha said.

"I guess they got the confirmation from your insurance," I said more in a statement than a question as I assimilated the one sided conversation.

"They sure did, and they want Rachelle to begin her program Thursday. Thank you, Jehovah," Trisha said with a sigh of relief in her voice.

In total agreement, I raised my hands heavenward and said, "You can say that again."
The news pleased Trisha and me, but on the other hand Rachelle went berserk. She started crying, "I’ll be raped, and abused there. They just want to get me there so I won’t be able to see you. I’ll clean up myself," she pleaded, "please don’t take me away. I’ll never be able to come home. I’ll get rid of all my drugs." She turned and ran to her room and we followed her. She reached behind the bed and pulled out several tiny bags of white powder. I was dumb founded. Rachelle turned and handed them to Trisha and said, "See, Mom, let’s flush them down the toilet, I’ll get some more." She opened the closet bent down and pulled the carpet back from the tack strip. Holy crap; there in her out stretched hands were more tiny bags.
I stammered, "G-o-o-d G-o-d Al-migh-ty!" I did not know what the contents were, but I was sure the bags were full of some kind of drugs.

The question, "What is that?" poured out as synchronized by some prewritten script. "Get the rest of that crap. Trisha, flush it down the toilet, NOW!" I exclaimed in my most commanding voice, leaving Trisha to handle the situation as I often did.

"That’s speed, and that is how it is sold in nickel and dime bags," Rachelle responded to our question.

I was not familiar with drug terminology so I said, "Talk English, Rachelle. What do you mean?"

"The bags are called nickel or dime bags, which mean it, cost five dollars for the small bag, and ten dollars for the larger bag. The stuff in the bags is speed, methamphetamine, as you would know of it. It helps people lose weight. That’s why I got hooked on it. Remember Daddy when I got real thin and you told me I looked real good. Well I had been using speed. That is why I could never sleep at night," she said without drawing a breath. Her explanation tied everything together. Her actions over the past year became clear and understandable, even to me.

"God!" I exclaimed, "Rachelle do you realize if you were busted here we would have lost the house. The children could be taken away. Your mom and I could have been arrested and sent to jail even though we are stupid as a rope and ignorant when it comes to drugs." My speech fell on disinterested ears although Trisha winked at me as she returned from flushing the bags.

She gestured to me and said, "Come with me."
I turned to follow Trisha and exhorted Rachelle, "Think kid, just think! Do me a favor, use your brain. Okay," I said, showing displeasure in both my words and actions as I turned and followed Trisha from Rachelle’s room into our bedroom. Trisha closed the door. "What do you want Trisha?" I asked.
"Rachelle thinks I flushed every pack down the toilet, but I saved one." Trisha said patting herself on the back.

"Are you crazy," I asked, "we could get in trouble if Rachelle finds out and gets vindictive? We may get in deep poop."

Trisha nodding in agreement said, "I know, but if she takes off again, we will have proof she was dealing drugs then they would have to send her to the state drug program. We have to be just a little smarter than her."
I opened the door to make sure Rachelle was not listening. "Okay, that sounds like a good plan," I said agreeing with her, "I just hope she never finds it. Where did you hide it?"

Opening our closet door Trisha said, "Would you ever think of the doll collection boxes. She never messes with them or comes in our room."

Rachelle grabbed her mom’s arm as we returned to the dinning area, and asked, "Are you still going to make me go to the rehab center," before we answered her she blurted out, "but I gave you all my feces."

"We didn’t make any concessions with you regarding disposal of the drugs. You would have gotten rid of them anyway sooner or later, and it would have been hell to pay if we found that crap," Trisha said with conviction in her voice. "You might as well get use to the idea of spending a month getting cleaned up. It is your choice. Either you can go through the drug program or you can move out. I cannot take much more of this. Rachelle, the boys, your Dad, and I need to get on with our lives, and I am standing behind your Dad concerning your attitude about being treated for your drug addiction. Either you can join us as a family, or you can leave now. I’m not planning on you tearing my heart out again. Make your choice. You have until Thursday to decide." I almost dropped my watch as I was so surprised at hearing Trisha give Rachelle the "what for."

"Well, be that way," Rachelle said as she stormed off and slammed her door. I took a step toward Rachelle’s room.

Trisha reached out, seized my arm, and shook her head no and said, "Remember, she’s been doing drugs for a long time. I’m sure she must still be coming down or something, I don’t know. You don’t know. She may even need a fix. Let it go. We have time to discipline her after she gets straightened out, Okay?"

Chapter 17 The Gates of Hell

2008-10-15T09:04:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 17 THE GATES OF HELL
Once again Rachelle’s demons took procession of her with "Lit'el" Rags’ relapse in June nineteen eighty-eight one week after he graduated from high school. We spent a week with him in San Francisco undergoing treatments. Over the past eighteen years he relapsed four times and we were blessed each time with the development of a new wonder drug such as Chlorambucil, Cyclophosphamide, Predisone, Cladribine, and every remission brought us closer and closer to Jehovah as we felt he was blessing us for our service to him and his Earthly Organization. I was so sure God would supply us with another miracle with the latest development of three more wonder drugs: Fludarabine, Rituximab, and Alemtuzumad became our new hope--our last hope. He did not respond and we were sent home with the hope the drugs may kick in, they did not and he continued to get worst.

There is nothing worst than knowing your child is going to die except knowing your child knows you know he knows he is going to die and there isn’t a damn thing either can do. You spend your days holding hands, praying, crying and trying to be strong for the other, but god damn all you can do…I did not know what you could do, so we ask Tren and her husband to take the kids to Great America. They had been through so many traumas over the past two weeks and we were expecting "Lit'el Rags to pass away that day, and god knew we did not want the kids to experience their brother’s death.
It was just Trisha and I alone with him and I called the ambulance. We told the ER Doctor to do everything possible to resuscitate him, and I can’t remove his image from my mind. Rachelle fell apart; yes fell apart in hysterics as she lay on the ground sobbing at our answer to her question, "How is "Lit'el" Rags?" Silas and Warren were too young to comprehend what happened while Grandma, Grandpa, and the rest of us sat speechless in denial and grief that afternoon. I do not know how anybody else got through it--but I know--I did not. I could not get a grip on "Lit'el" Rags’ death.

Questions gushed forth as my relationship with Jehovah began to weaken even further, and I began to question him. Why tear my guts out now? He had a job, a girl friend, and just graduated. Why didn’t you let him die when he was a baby before he experienced life? He will never…. I felt betrayed by my God to whom I had put complete faith in for so many years. A great chasm developed and it continued to grow wider with each passing day as I listened for the creak of the back door, the shuffle of his shoes across the floor, the chuckle he produced as he would grab his mama and give her a hug and kiss, and tweak my ear lob and say, "Weenie, weenie ear."
Tears poured and hearts broke each day at five-thirty as Trisha and I waited in denial. Every night one of us would wake up to sounds from his room or his voice, or his visits in our dreams. His first visit came that Saturday night--the day he passed. I woke Trisha. I woke myself shouting, "No! No! No!" I was shaking, and the words How are you Dad? I love you, so don't be sad burned into my brain. I related what happened and what he said, and we both cried hysterically. I wrote his words down and placed the note in a binder that I kept my collection of little ditties in ever since high school and that was the remaining memento my mother did not throw away when I joined the Navy. Over the weeks after his death, if one of his friends asked if they could have this item or that item to keep as a touchstone of him--we let them have it.

We woke up one day looking into his room--there was not anything in it. "We gave everything away," Trisha said in shock. Tears welled into her eyes and all I could see was a magnified glare coming in the window through my own tears. She sobbed, "All we have is that old potted plant that I've watered, and some photographs of him throughout the years. What else? "Memories. That is all we have of "Lit'el" Rags, photographs, potted plants, and memories. Thank God for memories." I open my binder when we returned to the living room and wrote just above his words--photographs, potted plants, and memories. Good title for a song, I thought as I fought back tears and slid it back into its position amongst the albums and Bible literature we collected over the years. Every so often, I would take out the binder and play around with some words--it remained an unfinished work--poem, song, limerick…. I don't know or didn't know what it was--maybe therapy later on but not now. Nothing helped and we continued to grieve, not knowing there was a formula or process for grieving, but we did know the Society's formula, and we once again received grief counseling from the association of brothers, the same encouragement that we received at Mama’s funeral as Brother Newman said, "You must not grieve as the world grieves; for Jehovah is a God of the living, not of the dead." We put on a good front, "Whoopee, we will get to see our son in the New Order, but behind closed doors--we wept together and Trisha called out for "Lit'el Rags in her subconscious process of grieving. I was unable to speak his name or think of him without being crushed.

"Lit'el" Rags’ death led us into another crisis. Trisha’s Dad was diagnosed in an advanced stage of Alzheimers Disease which explained his memory lose, living and talking about his experiences as a young boy back in Missouri. The two people Rachelle loved most were gone--one in death, and the other mentally. Grandpa no longer remember his family and it broke Rachelle’s heart because she love him more than life itself, and she began a new journey which weaved down the straight and narrow road in which she veered off and found herself in a living hell. She adopted a new way of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," and disposed of everything Trisha and I tried to inculcate in her while playing us like ignoramus fools.

Rachelle applied at the local theatre and turned in the application the same morning. It seemed Rachelle was heading in the right direction, by taking the initiative of wanting to work. This made Trisha and me pleased, because we knew keeping Rachelle’s mind occupied would help her get over her grandpa’s death since he passed away the week before. His illness had taken a toll on everyone, but Rachelle was effected the most because she was her grandpa’s "bright and morning star." Grandpa’s death rated right up there with the death of her brother. These two tragedies were the tip of the iceberg and we did not know how deep her problems ran, because we were still dealing with our own grief.

She came home and told us she was "hired on the spot" and was to start that afternoon. "You can use the car Rachelle, but come home after you get off work," I suggested with a twinkle in my eye.

"Thanks, Dad. I’ll be back around five this afternoon after the feature is over. Love ya!" Rachelle always said that when she got her way either by asking or by hinting for something. There were not too many things she did not get because she made life hell for the family, and if Trisha or I was unable to get it for her then Grandma was her next target and Grandma made sure Rachelle was happy. This is what hurt the most, because we went beyond the call of duty to make her happy. Rachelle was the only child out of the five not to appreciate the sacrifices made. Her attitude was--we drove clunkers and lived in a mobile home just to embarrass her, not realizing, or caring I was struggling getting the construction business going and her Mom was working at a local bakery. The recapitulation of the entire situation concerning our family was Mama’s Family without the canned laughter.
True to her word, Rachelle arrived at home a little past five o’clock. Dashing into the house full of vim and vigor she exclaimed, "Guess what! I did so well the manager wants me to come back this evening so I can learn how to use the cash register, and open the snack stand."

In reply, Trisha with a big hug stated, "I’m so happy for you, because it will get your mind off of everything for awhile each day. You should be proud of yourself."
I blurted out," What are they paying you?" The question rolled off my inquisitive tongue, because I did not have much faith in her.

"Since I am in training, Don asked me to work for one week before they put me on the payroll. So I won’t be getting paid for the first week." This sounded out of place, because I knew the state laws did not allow for a free training period, but I decided not to press the matter. Hell, it was a common practice in the Lake County construction industry for the contractors to pay under the table--even not paying. All she could lose was some time. All she could gain was experience; therefore, I was not going to rock the boat.

Trisha and I agreed to let Rachelle return to work that evening and as I dropped her off; I pointed my finger at her said, "Call me when you get off work, because I’ll come get you. I have to work late tonight anyway to finish the insurance estimate."

"Okay, thanks Dad. See you later. Love you."

"Love you too. Be sweet and have fun." I replied as I watched her head toward the entrance and saw a young girl open the door for Rachelle.

"It must be on the up and up," I muttered to myself. Satisfied with what I saw I turned on the ignition and drove away. I reported everything to Trisha, and eased her mind as she gave me a good night kiss and headed for bed. She had to wake up at two o’ clock in the morning, because she had to "break out" the entire day’s baking products, which took all of her energy.

Eleven o’ clock came and the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Dad, the manager told me he would give me a ride home tonight since his girlfriend lives in our direction. Is that okay?

"Yes, that will be fine. Tell Don I said thanks. See you in a few minutes, bye, bye."

"That worked out nicely, saves me a trip," I thought aloud and smiled to myself as I placed a log in the wood burner and returned to the insurance bid. Rachelle was home in about fifteen minutes that was about how long it should take to get home from the theatre. I was gaining confidence in her little by little, and it felt good, no, it felt great.

This scenario went on until the week Rachelle was to be paid. Friday night Rachelle came home at eleven o’ clock. I met her at the door with a smile on my face and pleased with my daughter. She, at last, accomplished something by herself. "Well, young lady lets see your first pay check. I bet you are pleased with yourself," I said expecting her to whip out her check and show me.

The blood drained from her face. "What’s wrong, Honey?" I asked concerned from watching the transformation of her physical appearance.
She stammered, "D-d-dad, the checks didn’t come in today. Don said they will be here tomorrow."

"Don’t worry, those things happen when checks have to come from out of town. It’s not pleasant, but the world won’t come to an end even though you were expecting to be paid today. You’ll appreciate it tomorrow."

She seemed consoled by my reasoning and in turn said with a yawn, "I’m tired Daddy, I’m going to bed. All that standing around made my legs hurt."

"You'll get used to that type of work and then you’ll be able to stand all night and all day. Takes time. See you in the morning gal," I said slapping her on her butt in a affable manner like a football player, which brought a smile to her beautiful face.
This turn of events started me to think about the last two weeks and how happy Rachelle was. She had nothing negative to say about anybody, which was unusual for her. There has to be something going on that she is hiding, I thought so I mentioned to Trisha what had crossed my mind, and Trisha said, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." I did feel guilty, but not guilty enough to stop me from playing chauffer for her that evening. Rachelle’s response was of total shock, and she threw a fit which reminded me of the old Rachelle when I told her I was taking her to work and picking her up. Yes sir re bob, I had hit a nerve and I was going to take it to the limits. There was going to be no, "ifs, ands, or buts" about tonight. I took her to work at six o’ clock, and said, "I’ll be here at eleven. Have a good night." She slammed the car door and headed for the entrance. I felt disturbed, and a little evil for doubting her, but there were too many loose threads on all her stories: training period with out pay, manager willing to bring her home every night, paycheck not arriving on time, and now the latest, Don having them stay until midnight to clean the theatre. Rachelle might have gotten away with all of the fabrications, but I knew the theatre chain put out a cleaning contract to the local janitorial services, because Ralph Bowden, a friend of ours won the bid. I felt I had to check out her stories, and if they were true, I would have to hope she would forgive me for my lack of faith in her. I needed peace of mind first; then I could work on our relationship again. It was a sad situation, one, not of pride.
The evening seemed to crawl by, because I wanted to get to the bottom of the problem. When the hands of the "Hobo Clock" reached ten thirty, and the old drunken hobo started to whistle the tune, "It’s two o’clock in the mor-r-r-ninggg..." I picked the car keys up and told Trisha I was going to the theatre a little early just in case the movie let out before eleven. I wanted to be there when she came out. It was quarter to eleven as I arrived at the theatre, as the disk jockey wrapped up the news headlines and began to play a classic golden oldie when the theatre doors opened. The customers started filing out in a smooth flow with the older people leading the way until they reached the stairs, and at that point the teenagers started to run and jump past them in a manner that caused me to squirm in the seat expecting to see somebody get knocked down. It was now top of the hour, the lobby lights were off, and three young girls exited the building, none of which was Rachelle. The last person to come out was a tall slender man who turned toward the doors and with a twist of his wrist locked the main entry doors. The description of Don fit this man, so as he turned around I walked over and introduced himself as Rachelle’s father, and a puzzled look appeared on the man’s face.

"You are Don the manager of this theatre aren’t you?" I asked, "I’m Rachelle’s f-f-father," I stammered feeling like a fool. I was getting embarrassed from the reaction of the man.

"So, what does that have to do with me?" Don inquired more mystified than concerned.

"What do you mean, 'What does that have to do with you?' I asked. "You’re her boss aren’t you?" I began trembling not from the cold and not from fear of Don, but from the anger and the embarrassment, I felt standing before a man who was supposed to be his daughter’s boss.

Where was this man’s head for two weeks, up his butt! That was what I was thinking Don was thinking, as I heard Don reply, "Hell no, she just hangs out here with several guys. We had to run them out today, because they were disturbing the patrons. She left with three guys earlier this evening. She has been doing this everyday."

Matter of fact, the tone in Don’s voice gave proof he was thinking what I was thinking he was thinking, where is your head, up your butt? With that exclusive thought, I excused myself and said, "I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thanks for the information." Yes, if a hole opened up at that time I would have jumped in and pulled the hole over me. God, did I feel like a fool. I sure was played as one; one well tuned fool. Damn, I’m angry. I was shaking; shaking so hard I had a hard time breathing. My heart was beating as if I sprinted hundred yards. I was thinking about how I was going to handle the situation, and the thought, I’ll kill her, I’ll kill them all, played over and over. I was now obsessed with finding that bunch of worthless humanity. I reached the car, opened the door, and slid behind the steering wheel all the while muttering to myself, Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn, how she played me, what a conniving, little bitch she was, damn her anyway! This was no way to talk about your own daughter, but damn her! I could not compose myself, but most of all I wanted to beat the living hell out of her, and I would have, if she was here. That attitude prevailed as I reached into my pocket with trembling hands, searching for the keys. My eyes were focusing on the ignition switch as I started the engine. I flipped on the headlights. The lights must have surprised the driver of the black Chevy, because at that moment the sound of squealing tires caught my attention as it raced out from the shadows of the side street.

My headlights broke the darkness inside the Chevy and I recognized Rachelle’s face staring out of the rear window with what I used to consider in my Navy days as a "shit eating grin."

I took off like a herd of turtles, cursing the little Hyundai. They lost me after a half block, and since I was realistic, I headed for home knowing it was hopeless to try to follow them. I was still seething as I jolted to a stop in the driveway; stumbling out of the car I almost tore the door off the hinges. Unable to control my anger I pushed the front door so hard when it hit the wall it woke both Trisha and the boys. Words were coming out of my mouth which I had not used for over twenty years, words my children never knew I knew existed. Their wide eyes and startled faces caused me to burst into tears, not because of Rachelle’s actions, but because I felt I had lost my integrity to God, not to mention the high esteem my boys held for me.

It was not long before the phone rang and Trisha with fear and tears answered with a shaking voice, "H-h-hello," and then "Okay." There was no emotion in those words; just words letting the other party know they were acknowledged. Trisha turned toward me and said, "That was Rachelle, she told me to tell you she is off work, and you can come get her now."

"Off work, hell!" I shrieked. "The only work she’s been doing is screwing. Screwing all those S O Bs. Does she think I am stupid, or what? Good god doesn’t she realize the game is over. She was caught red handed. I swear she must be doing drugs. Yeah, I’ll go get her, but by god she’ll regret the day she was born." I stepped toward the door in the direction of the parked car.

Trisha grabbed my coat sleeve and pleaded, "For god’s sake, please don’t do anything rash! Bring her home. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Please, don’t hurt her! Let me go get her." The tears were streaming down Trisha’s contorted face from the agony of having to go through this situation again.

"No, you stay here and get those boys settled down. Now, let go of my arm," I said as I twisted away from Trisha’s grip, and ran to the truck. I was not going to let them get away this time, so I took the truck instead of that funky little car. As I backed out of the drive onto the street, I popped the clutch and the truck shot off in a jolt of spewing mud and gravel from the unpaved street.

Trisha’s voice pleading, "Please, don’t hurt her," kept passing through my mind. It was more of a warning to me now than anything else was.

Hell, I thought. I’m not going to hurt her, because I don’t want to spend the night in jail. I would like to kill them all, but I’m not going to hurt them. This thought was a continual loop and I kept vocalizing it for the fifteen minutes it took to get to the theatre. Knowing there was nothing I could do, and what was done, was done; seemed to settle me down to a degree I was able to control my anger. There was no Rachelle at the theatre, so I headed for the shopping center a block away. Sure enough, there she stood looking like an angel. God almighty! She was smiling, actually smiling, and acting as if nothing was wrong. I pulled to the curb reached over and unlocked the passenger’s side door and pushed the door opened.
"Get in, Rachelle! What in the hell is going on!

"What are you talking about, Daddy?" Rachelle asked answering my question with a question of her own. Sometimes that is a smart maneuver, but not this time.
I saw the "spit ball" coming and I shot a line drive straight back to the pitcher as I said, "Don’t play me for a fool; you know damn well what I’m talking about. You did not work today!"

"Don let me off early this evening, so I spent the afternoon with my friends," answered Rachelle with the decorum of an angle.

"Rachelle, please shut up! The game is over. You have out smarted yourself this time. You didn’t work today. You didn’t work yesterday, or the day before or ever," my voice was increasing in pitch, pace, and power to emphasize I knew what I was talking about.

"Ask Don, if you don’t believe me," Rachelle said belligerently, and her eyes blazed into me without any fear of being caught in a lie. She used this stratagem often, and she got away with it. We never checked on her tales of grandeur, so mark up one: parents five, Rachelle five.

"At last I took my head out of my butt, and I did talk to Don today. You were never hired. You lied to me and your Mom so you could run around with all those guys and act like a whore. What is wrong with you? Shut up! I don’t know why I am asking you anything, because I know all I’ll get out of you is one lie after another. You are a compulsive, if not a pathological liar, that is all you have ever been and that is all you will ever be. I hate your guts Rachelle. You are just a whore, and you will never make me believe you are anything else." I knew what I said should shame an ordinary person into repentance, but as we entered the house, Rachelle was denying everything.

Trisha listen to the entire story from me then as usual asked Rachelle to tell her side of the story. I cut Rachelle statement off short, as I told Trisha, "All you’re gonna get is a bunch of lies Trisha, that is all that girl knows how to do, is to lie. Hell, she has told the same story so often to herself that she believes it’s true. Good god, you know she is nothing but a compulsive liar-"

"Shut up, you’re badgering the hell out of her, and I can’t take it anymore," Trisha shouted. The use of the word hell shocked me, because she never cursed. Realizing Trisha meant what she said I shut up, cooled down, and listened as Trisha with tears streaming down her face and a strained voice ask, "Rachelle are you on drugs? Please tell us the truth. We want to help you, but we can’t if you won’t let us."
Rachelle lifting her head erect and facing me screamed, "Okay, okay, god damn it! I’m doing drugs, and have been doing them for over a year. Now get out of my face, and leave me alone!"

That did it--I was back on my feet shouting, "I’ll get out of your face all right. I’ll knock you’re face to the other side of your head. Don’t you ever speak to your mom or to me in that tone of voice; drugs or no drugs!"

"I hate it here, I hate you, and I hate this house!" Rachelle screamed as she stomped down the hall to her room.

"If you want to leave, then leave, get out now and let us get on with our lives. If you stay here, you’ll live by the family rules." Rachelle placed the exclamation point on the word "rules" as her bedroom door made a resounding echo in the house, as it met the doorstop.

"Tear the house down," I said under my breath, grinning at Trisha, letting her see I had not lost my sense of humor. I was too tired to care anyway. I poured a cup of coffee, and Trisha went to bed, though I do not know how she could. She had about two and a half hours before she had to head for the bakery.
There was another problem I was faced with, it dealt with the spiritual aspect of our lives. Though I resigned as an elder, I still felt the need to keep the congregation clean; therefore, I called Brother Moorse and arranged for a meeting at our home for spiritual guidance.

We agreed to meet Friday night. Eight O’clock rolled around and Brothers Thaxter and Moorse arrived. We brought Rachelle in and we sat around the dinning table where they interviewed, interrogated, prayed, counseled, probed, and prodded her to come back into Jehovah’s Ark of protection. They promised they would place her on restriction and read a letter of public reproof and in six months, they would work with her to restore her relationship with Jehovah and his Organization.
It sounded fine with Trisha and me, and Brother Moorse said,"Rachelle, I’ve known you ever since you were born. You use to sit on my lap, hug and kiss me. It breaks my heart hearing this. I want to help you. Will you let me help you? Will you let Jehovah’s Organization help you? What do you think about what we have discussed?

"I think the organization is the biggest cult on the face of the Earth, and filled with hypocrites."

"Rachelle," I shouted, "apologize!" My face was beet red from embarrassment and Trisha was pale white. Rachelle stormed off in a huff, Brother Thaxter’s squinty eyes shot wide open showing the whites and his mouth twisted into a condescending sneer then said, "Yeah, just what I suspected, head strong and undisciplined."
Brother Moorse, said, Brother Walker, I’m sorry. Just stay faithful and if Jehovah wants her then your good works will be an example for Rachelle."

"I’m sorry we wasted your time," my apology was weak but there was not anything else to say--we had always been faithful in every aspect of our lives.
Brother Thaxter stood up and said, "Brother Moorse, there isn’t anything we can do here, so we might as well go home to our families. Brother Walker, thank you for informing us. We will report to the body and there will be a letter of public reproof read at the service meeting. Our main purpose is keeping the congregation clean."

"I didn’t want our family to be the object to block Jehovah’s Holy Spirit," I replied walking them to the door and wishing them a good night. I turned on the stereo and began listening to some old Elvis tunes, popped a cold beer, guzzled it down, and closed my eyes. Trisha checked on the boys and said, "I’m going to bed. You coming?"

"No, I’m gonna listen to some music then watch the Late Late Movie."
The movie came on and the credits began to run when I thought I heard a thump on the deck by Rachelle’s room. When I opened her door, the window was open and Rachelle was gone. It was no surprise to me, but I sure hated to tell Trisha. I thought, I’ll wait until tomorrow when she gets home. I didn’t have to wait until tomorrow. I felt Trisha shake me and heard her as she said, "Honey, Rachelle’s gone!"

"I know," I answered sitting up letting the covers fall across my lap.

"You didn’t let me know?"

"No, she climbed out her window just after you went to bed. There isn’t or wasn’t anything you could have done, so I let you sleep. I heard a thump on the deck so I checked on her she was gone."

"I have to get to work. I just wanted to tell you Rachelle was gone. We’ll talk later," Trisha said as she gave me a peck on my cheek.

"I always thought that thump was a dog," I muttered as she turned to leave.
It was a mystery how Rachelle could have been so ignorant to have entered the world of drugs. She knew several families which drugs had been the downfall, if not the death of either the child or the parents. Our best friend became addicted to cocaine. What a mess. Ralph Bowden, deteriorated from being a success in the janitorial business to being a bum who could not run his business any longer. Ralph lost all his accounts. The last time Susan Bowden saw her husband, he was pushing a cart in San Francisco’s Mission District. His current circumstances were far from the sixty thousand dollars a year he made cleaning offices. Knowing all this and talking about what happened to Ralph should keep one away from experimenting with any illegal substance, wouldn’t it? I thought so, because I had no desire what so ever to try drugs. The movie, "The Man with the Golden Arm" impressed--no,scared the hell out of me and I never had a desire to use drugs. I was afraid of getting hooked. I also preached and hounded the children about the illegality of the drugs and why drugs were offered free at first. The children were educated about the effects. So what went wrong?

Chapter 16 The Playgrounds of Hell

2008-10-15T09:02:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 16: THE PLAYGROUNDS OF HELL
Rachelle, as a toddler was never interested in staying home. She ran over to her grandparents who lived next door every chance she got. Why not, she received everything she wanted over there. Grandma’s belief was, if your parents say no; ask grandma. Yes, Rachelle was a spoiled rotten child, and her talent from God was the gift to wrap you around her little finger.
She was well mannered, cute as button, and with a hug and a smile she had you hooked, and what God gave her, she used as an advocate of the Devil. A rebellious seed took root as she began to reject the rootstock of our teachings and adopted the ideologies of her aunts, uncles, and cousins, which were a hundred and eighty degrees opposite of ours, with their lying, cheating, promiscuous life style. They encouraged our kids to disobey us, all the while declaring with pride, "We are good Catholics."
Aunt Neva grew into a tall, slender, voluptuous, pot smoking, drinking, no morals, screw any man who would look at her twice gem of a free spirited hippie. The difference between the "good Catholics" and the hippie was you always knew where the hippie was coming from straight from the pelvic area. She flaunted her life style in the face of the entire family, brash and unashamed and enjoyed relating her shocking escapades.
She was a wordsmith and could weave her audacious experiences into enthrallments of interesting, and arousing stories turning the gleam from a bean can in a garbage pit into a sparkling jewel of life. Rachelle picked Aunt Neva as her idol and did the best to emulate Neva’s personality. Yes, that entire segment of the family seemed to be pulling our family’s footing from under us, and the summer Rachelle spent with Neva proved to be a rip tide and the introduction to smoking pot was the undertow.
The monster within her became exposed and she became familiar with the playgrounds of hell, and we started playing with the Devil from that summer onward due to a cornucopia of events, which began with my request to step aside from serving as an elder.
I had worked hard to reach out to serve as an elder, but hard work does not matter if your service report shows lower than the national average of ten hours per month in the door to door work, and mine did. My service record or lack of came to a head when the circuit overseer visited our congregation. His visit commenced as always looking over the congregation’s files and the publishers’ record cards. When he saw my publisher card, he questioned me about my hours, "You know your hours are well below the national average, matter of fact they are below the congregation's average."
"Yes, I know my hours are bad."
"Well do you feel you are an example to the congregation?" He continued his quiz.
"Well Brother Gunther under the circumstances of the past year I feel I am just as good example as anybody else." Brother Smith tried to help me out as he explained my situation. The rest of the body also came to my defense. I explained my reasons for the fall of hours were due to my son’s illness, we had a new baby, and I had been laid off for awhile and I had been assigned to the Middletown bookstudy which was nineteen miles south of Clearlake and it took all I had to take care of the assignment. I continued to explain about the family car and the problems I had every week with it as well as keeping my work truck running. It was mandatory my vehicles ran; due to having "Lit'el" Rags’ doctor appointment in Santa Rosa and my work in construction was all over the county.
He was sympathetic to my reasons, then asked if I saw any future date my situation would turn around. I said no.
He said, "In that case, why don’t you give up the book study and serve in the literature room. You can still hold your position as an elder but you won’t have any responsibilities."
My pride stepped in. "Oh! I can still be an elder in title only," I said.
"Yes, that is right," Brother Gunther answered.
"So, I’m an elder in name only? You mean after all I have done in this congregation and the time I spent at the beck and call of the single sisters and the time my family has spent letting brothers and sisters stay with us until they got in better shape don’t count for anything." I felt like a creep and a jerk, because I never blew my own horn or praised myself. I was from the generation who said, "Awww shucks, it was nothing." This was something--my spirituial life was on the line not to mention my reputation as a elder and spirituial man.
"You have to be an example," he said without a lease bit of contrition.
"There are Brothers sitting here who have ten hours a month who never are seen out in field service," I said opening a can of worms.
"How do you know Brother, you are never out in service yourself," Brother Gunther said lobbing the ball back to me taking care to protect the elite as stammering, studdering, and shuffleing of shoes resounded through out the small room before Brother Deal raised his hand and was given the floor by Brother Gunther.
"Brother Walker, I have two Bible studies I take care of on the week ends and so does Brother Bufford. We meet at my house and leave from there before field service arrangement."
"Maybe you do. All I know the friends who go out regular, visit us and while we are studying they joke about field service arrangements. It is a joke. At lease the friends know what I have done and why I haven’t been able to go out in field service, and I will tell you right now I will not remain an elder in name or title only, nor will I serve behind the literature coun-"
"Brother Walker, don’t do anything rash," said Brother Moorse who had taken me under his wings after I was appointed as an elder.
"You can delelete me as an elder," I said and paused as I watched the expressions on their faces range from shock to confusion.
Brother Gunther said, "I-"
"If I’m not good enough to care for the flock," I said interrupting Brother Gunther, "then I don’t want to be an elder."
"As I was going to say, Brother Walker. I accept your resignation. I don’t know if Jehovah does or not since he appointed you by holy spirit, but if that is the way you want it we will sign the paperwork and send it to the society. You are free to leave this meeting." I left. That evening during the topic under "Congregational Needs," Brother Gunther spoke about being head strong, running ahead of Jehovah’s organization, and thinking more of one’s self than is necessary all the while glancing at me.
It was a known fact if a brothers was reaching out to become an elder he must be acting as an elder and the congregation should be considering him as an elder or at lest a spiritual man and presiding over a spiritual family; therefore, our family began investing in my appointment as an elder. We had an unique friendship with the single sisters, widows, and divorced sisters as well as the male counterparts. We spent our time together laughing, joking, studying, playing games and watching TV. Our home was a safe house and shelter for these ones as they would tell us we made them feel at home more than any other couple.
We were called on several occassions to help Sister Brooks look for her teenage daughter who had a small rebellious attitude and did not toe the line. Our family accepted Doris Burris and her children into our home because when she told the elders her husband was molesting their children they suggested she move out and file for divorce. We suggested she tell the police, but she told us the judicial committee was going to handle the situation, because they did not want to bring reproach upon Jehovah’s Organization as it would be brought out in court.
The committee handle the case and he was disfellowshipped with an announcement which stated: After meeting with Brother Burris on several occasions the judicial committee through thoughtful prayer and meditation feels it is to the benefit of Jehovah’s Organization and this congregation Brother Burris be disfellowshipped from the Christain Congrgation for "conduct unbecoming of a Christain"--not one word was mentioned of child abuse, incest or molestation. At that time, it was the responsibility of the judicial committee to inform the congregation in private concerning the disfellowshipping action with admonision we should not talk about it or we could be brought up before the committee for gossip which was also a cause for disfellowshipping.
We had loaned money, gathered food, helped the needy and our service was well documented in the minds of the friends. I am quite sure many other families were just as giving as ours and we did not stand alone on kindness for we had been recipients of kindness also. What turns around, comes around and for the most part life worked that way for us.
I was burned out, felt used, then forced out because of hours--hours, segments of a day, time, something so precious once it is gone you never get it back. Time, I would not turn in just for the sake of time. I stopped to visit a sick member I never counted the time--others did. Traveling to and from the territory I never counted the time--others did. Taking a donut break I never counted the time--others did. I guess it was a conscience thing, but when I was baptized you did not count anything but "at the door" time. My time was used by everybody...time I never regained but I was willing to surrender it to anything that came with serving the friends.
My removal was announced three weeks later. Brother Deal strolled to the stage where he introduced the song, ended the Ministry School, and introduced the Service Meeting. The song concluded and Brother Deal cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and lowered his voice a couple of octavs displaying the seriouness of his announcement,"We regret Brother Walker’s decision to no longer serve as an Elder. The servant body along with the rest of the congregation will miss you Brother Walker and we will be looking forward to the time you will serve the congregation once again. That is the announcements tonight," with that he changed the subject and said, "let’s turn our attention to Brother Langston as he discusses the benefits of our door to door work."
Brother Langston invited his wife and Sister Kingsley to the stage where they gave a demostration of how refreshing it was to go out in service, the proper demeanor at the door, and how to conduct the first Bible study standing at the door.The demonstration brought about applause as Brother Langston praised the sisters for they hard work.I looked at my watch and though, Will this night ever get over? Brother Langston concluded his talk by asking a rhetorical question to introduce Brother Smally, "How do you conduct yourself at work and school? Let’s give Brother Smally our undivided attention to this topic."
Brother Smalley waddled up to the stage, he kept tugging at his trousers trying to adjust them over his wide waist as he took the steps to the podium. The attendant adjusted the microphone and Brother Smally adjusted his big blue tie, placed his outline on the stand, opened his Bible and let a big sociable smile appear. His talk was a rehash of all the other points on that subject over the past thirty years, nothing new, just fill time for the meeting. He concuded the talk with our old standby phrase, "Friends, to sum up this talk our actions at school and work reflects upon Jehovah’s Organization. So let’s be cogitate of our conduct." Brother Smally, was a nice man and he like to present himself as an intelligent person so he went out of his way to insert one word in his discourse to expand our vocabulary. We open our song books to the pre-selected song, "Kiss the Son lest God Gets Angry" and upon the completion of the final note Brother Smith was invited to the podium to close in prayer. His prayer was a summation of the entire program accompanied with the background music of smacks landing on on the arms and legs of squrimming children followed with whispers of, " shhhhh, shhh, hush, and be quite."
It seemed to be the older brothers or the brothers who were "reaching out" who rambled on covering every aspect of the meeting without any thought of the parents or children. One younger brother said it should be manatory to hold a baby when you are called to offer prayer. Brothers Smith’s "Amen" was followed with my being inundated with well wishes and "We’ll miss you Dan." I thanked them and there was saddness in my heart for I had served the friends with their best interest at heart.
The following Sunday I was standing at the back of the hall with some of the more unfortunate friends whom I associated with. They were the ones who did not put on airs, did what they could do and felt bad they were unable to do more. They were often referred to as submarine publishers--appearing to surface during the Curcuit or District Overseer’s visits, the Memorial of Christ’s death otherwise known as the Lord’s Evening Meal, and the April "Special Talk."
The more promanent brothers and sisters arrived and said hi, but didn’t stop to talk to any of us. They rushed to get to their assorted groups where there was hugging kissing and smiles all around. I never noticed or paid attention to the different cliques before, it was a treat, the pioneers gathered in one group close to several elders who were talking to each other with their wives at their side, Trish was surrounded with the single sisters. The same two elder’s sons were accepting they assignment and instructions from Brother Jones concerning the handling of the microphones. The other kids were all hanging out together by age except for the teens were leading a double life distanced themselves from the goody-two-shoes, and having been an elder I knew who was who. It was like a bee hive, a buzz, the drones trying to keep the hive cool as the worker bees regurgitated their nectar to fill the comb. Excitment filled the air and I felt it was because of me. Tuesday night book study rolled around and I was neither ask to read, nor open or close the meeting in prayer. When I was told we’ll miss you, I didn’t realize it was going to happen so soon. The process was as if I had been disfellowshipped. With each passing week I seemed to be more ignored and of course I didn’t help the situation either as I no longer went out of my way to impress anybody any more. I was a different man now, since I stepped aside from being an elder I continued to make the meetings, but I started listening to the talks and study article from a new point of view--critical thinking--skepticism? Yes, more skepticism than critical thinking.
I guess being thrown away without any consideration broke my heart. Fragility set into my faith and hairline fractures began appearing and permeated deeper and deeper as time elasped from my deletion. The years of service to Jehovah and all the brothers and sisters meant nothing either to God or his Earthly Oganization. It was all about time and literature placement nothing more, nothing less, just unconscionable pad your hours. The entire arrangment was a caricature, every change of scriptual viewpoint, new light, flip flops, ruined lives, deaths, and disfellowshippings rushed to memory and my most important loves--my religion and my God--I now I detested--much as a spurned lover, and as time went by I began to spend more and more time away from field service, less and less time attending congregational meetings, and when I attended, I picked the talk, and the brother apart. I chuckled, poke Trisha, and sometimes even dozed off, after all--any new information was recycled old information wrapped in a fresh title recognizable within the introduction sentence.
Tren graduated from high school and planned to temporary pioneer, but instead accepted a paying job offered to her by her best friend who worked for the human resource department at Gus Anderson's Insurance Agency. She was a happy little girl going to work, spreading her wings, and venturing into a new world of life’s experiences when she came bursting through the door "Mama! Daddy! Guess what, I just met the most gorgeous man in the world," Tren exclaimed rushing into the house after being at Brenda Jones. "Brenda’s brother just moved here from Arizona. He is s-o-o-o good looking he makes me feel ugly, but he asked me out on a date."
"Is he in the truth?" Trisha asked. That question was the first and foremost question any dedicated Jehovah’s Witness was going to ask their daughter.
"He is studying for baptism. He plans to get baptized at the next district assembly." Tren’s comment brought out the biggest glow on her face that I had ever seen, and I was happy for her.
"Are you planning on dating him?" Trisha asked.
"Yes, of course," a broad smile made Tren’s brown eyes twinkle and a giggle burst forth as she said, "Why wouldn’t I? Who would pass up a gorgeous hunk that may never come around again?"
"He’s not the last man on Earth-"
"Or in the Organization," I said interrupting Trisha displaying my spiritual side by directing Tren to The Society’s recommendation. "The Society recommends chaperoned courtships." I was reiterating what we Jehovah’s Witnesses already knew as it had been pounded into our heads for as long as I could remember. The practice, though antiquated, was a safety switch to guard against petting, necking, and pre-marital foreplay of which we all did before dedicating our lives to Jehovah.
"First, let me get this out of the way. I know you graduated and have a job, but you still live here. You are going to have a chaperone and you have to bring him here so we can meet him," Trisha said laying down the law.
Alex, was a handsome young man--tall, and dark--"Portuguese," he said. He carried his filled out six foot four inch frame with pomp and pride. He could have made an outstanding Marine, but told us he was a diesel school dropout.
Alex began spending more time with Tren either at our house or at his sister’s, and only God knows what happened in between our house and his sisters, but whenever they wanted to go to a movie or some other place Rachelle serve as their chaperon. Since Rachelle had a problem with stretching the truth, we didn’t believe her or we wouldn’t believe her when she related what Tren and Alex were doing in front of her after several dates
"Tren wouldn’t do that," we argued with Rachelle, "she is baptized and dedicated to Jehovah." Rachelle became frustrated and refused to chaperon them unless the boys went with her. They returned from a date and told us about all the hard panting and breathing. I blew up and approached Alex and Tren. They said Rachelle did not like chaperoning them and was making up stories so they could not date. "Why would your brothers lie, they don’t know what dating is?"
"I guess Rachelle persuaded them to go along with her," Tren said straight forward with out a flinch in her mannerisms or her voice. It was an uncomfortable situation in the first place so I dropped it and Trisha and I leant toward the direction of believing Tren. After that incident Alex asked for Tren’s hand in marriage to which we agreed to which led to another "panting and moaning session" brought to our attention again by our assigned chaperons?
Their courtship played the same as Trisha’s and mine. We were hot and heavy in our make out sessions but we were covert, at least in our minds we were covert, because Trisha’s parents never quizzed us--of course we did not go at "it" when Jimbo went with us. We played it cool with Trisha sitting next to the passenger’s door, and I joked and talked to him for the most part, but Tren and Alex’s were plain stupid as they continued play us as fools even though each time after the date we heard the same stories.
Being the protector of our daughter’s morals, and keeping God’s Organization clean so his Holy Spirit would not be hindered in the congregation Trisha and I coerced a confession out of the two lovebirds. They begged us not to report them to the elders because they wanted a Kingdom Hall wedding, so keeping the congregation clean went out the window, and we obliged them with a warning. "You better thank Jehovah I am not an elder anymore, or your butts would be brought before the judicial committee. If I get another report from Rachelle or the boys, you will find yourselves confessing to the committee. You want a chaste marriage and marriage bed? Then be chaste! Jehovah knows what you did so ask him for forgiveness," I said scolding them as I never was one who believed in confessing to another human and when I sat on a judicial committee private reproof was my choice, while discouraging disfellowshipping.

I always looked forward to the time I would not just give my daughters away in marriage, because being an elder and an ordained minister within the Society it was a tradition and privilege to perform your daughter’s wedding and bless the marriage in prayer. I knew the performing of Tren’s wedding was not going to happen as I had requested my removal as an elder, but I did hold out for the prayer to bless their marriage, but my slide from grace had began.
I didn’t impress my future son-in-law, and he being new in the truth and wanting to prove his maturity and seriousness as a spiritual man did not allow any person in "his" wedding who was not an elder or ministerial servant and having a run in with him about morality and being a partner in his crime didn’t help the situation either; so, I even lost that small privilege--August 2, 1986 I gave our daughter away wearing a beautiful white wedding gown she bought in San Francisco.
In every parent’s life, they dream the wedding of their daughters would be somewhat of a "Hollywood Production" something to look back on and smile about--at lease that was my dream. Neither Tren’s or Rachelle’s weddings were the typical Hollywood production and neither came close to The Father of the Bride or The Wedding Singer with father and mother toasting, dancing, and singing with the new couple. My daughters' weddings were nightmares, and in there own manner more on the order of a neighborhood production of Meet the Parents or Meet the Fockers--with bad timing.
Tren’s marriage headed in a positive direction--materially, physically, spiritually. In sexual matters I believe they were confused with the Society’s opinion--not that either came and talked to us about it, but just finding the 1983 Watchtower bound volume opened to the article Honor Godly Marriage after meeting Tren on her way out gave me evidence something was going on. I did not press the issue and Trisha did not fill me in. It was a kind of taboo subject and I did not want to hear the details of my daughter’s sexual life anyway. We were having our own problems dealing with the Society’s flip-flopping on their rules and regulations concerning sexual foreplay and penetrations. That was an issue they would have to work out and I guess they did, because they were always smiling like two Cheshire cats.
Alex made me proud as he stood his ground on his Bible convections by refusing to sell tobacco products and decorate the store for the holidays during his stint with Safeway--he was fired. We stood by him as he continued to learn how to fly by finding his next jaunt in the manufacturing of hot tubs, but that job cut into his "meeting time" so he moved on; and on December 6, 1987 we were blessed with our first grand-daughter.
His knowledge of construction was in "the need of want" and as he would borrow my power tools he would bring them back with stripped gears, plugged paint hoses and an airless sprayer, but bless his heart, I loved him, and accepted his ignorance with a grain of salt. He did try. He picked up several jobs as a laborer but didn’t like hard work so he faltered once more, but we became grandparents to another beautiful baby girl on December 16, 1989.

Chapter 15 Sweet Home, Lake County

2008-10-15T08:59:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 15: SWEET HOME, LAKE COUNTY
It was time to call in some markers; so, I did my part by calling the contractor who Willie and I worked for before I moved back to Mississippi. "If you can hold out until after the first of the year you have a job. I have three start-ups then. Yeah, I’ll be happy to have you back."
My brain began a session of calculations using my fingers and toes, twelve from thirty-one is nine-teen, nineteen days, yep, we will be able to make it, and Thank God, it was December 12. Mental calculating played havoc with me and I lost my train of thought. "I’ll give you a call on-huh, huh, When-? What day-?"
"Are you smoking wacky weed?" laughter followed the question.
"No!" I barked back without an inkling of amusement in my voice.
"Maybe you should," he joked.
"Maybe I should, but that would be unlikely. You have known me a long time-"
"Yeah; I have, and that is why I said, maybe you should," he began laughing and I could just see his freckled face turning beet red.
"Harold, you’re not funny. I’ll get back with you in a couple of weeks then. Thanks a lot," I said not wanting him to think I was desperate for a job, because he would try to skin me alive, and I would be working my way back to the top of the pay scale again--a dime at a time. I was set, had a job. Now I will get back into the swing of things.
Trisha called Doris, in Lowerlake and cashed in another long over due chip as arrangements were made for us to stay with her for a while. We packed our old station wagon and began the journey through beautiful Napa Valley, past Christian Brothers Winery and over Mt. St. Helena’s winding highway into Lake County to Doris’ house.
Doris befriended us five years earlier at the Kingdom Hall during our first move to Clearlake. She was kind, pleasant, jovial, and extroverted. She did not let her disabilities hold her back. Her teeth were bad and she hid them behind an open hand as she smiled. She and her husband was an odd couple such as described in the nursery rhyme--"Jack Frat could eat no fat, and his wife could eat no lean."--she was a large woman, as round as she was tall, setting the scales to over three hundred pounds while he weighed one hundred and thirty soaking wet.
Lyndon was on the other side of the spectrum, introverted, and shy. His manners were as shabby as their tiny unkempt cabin. Their two little girls, who took after Doris' personality came screaming as they opened the door to our knock. Doris came limping to the door and invited us in, "Lyndon, this is Brother and Sister Walker. They just moved here from Mississippi, and these are their kids. They are the same age as Sandra and August isn’t that sweet?" Lyndon did not respond to Doris nor did he bother to stand and greet us, but pushed himself deeper into the overstuffed leather chair. I walked over to him and extended my hand, and then did he acknowledge me. His greeting was a limp handshake accompanied with a soft "Hi." We did not make eye contact as he gazed pass me to where the kids stood, and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses straddling his narrow chiseled nose. The thick coke bottle lenses magnified his eyes to the size of saucers and a sinister twisted grin spread across his face as he squirmed his narrow feminine body deeper into the overstuff chair. He remained in the chair as we ate. His one-word answers were his only responses as we tried to involve him in the conversation. He loosened up by the time we left and said, "Good-bye, It was nice to meet you."
When we got home I said, "Honey, if that guy ain’t a pervert I’ll kiss your butt and give you fifth-teen minutes to assemble spectators. It ain’t no way our kids are going over there by themselves."
The new house we drove up to was a far cry from the first house Doris lived in. Everything was white and fresh, a chain link fence surrounded the property, shrubbery landscaped the northern and western foundations and she now had a garage. The same committee of friends who threw our going away party for us in nineteen seventy-seven were standing in the driveway now waiting to greet us. Trisha’s mom led the reunion, and upon seeing her mother, Trisha opened the door and ran to her. Their embraces brought the phrase, "There is no place like home," to mind, though I can’t recall the origin; but "no truer words have ever been spoken," and seeing them together re-enforced my opinion as well as warmed my heart.
Its funny how time lapses into a time warp and it seems as if you have never been gone. The conversations and personalities are the same and you fall back into the old routines and friendships. The solitary distinction was, Lyndon was no longer living with
Doris--she turned him in for child molestation, but he never spent a day in jail, the congregation reproved him and disfellowshipped him but did not turn him over to the authorities, because as Doris said, "The Society doesn’t want Jehovah’s name dragged through the court system.

Chapter 14 Hairline Crack

2008-10-15T08:57:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 14 HAIRLINE CRACK

We made it through the winter months with the little money we brought with us, and it was a blessing when spring came. The first job I tackled was the roof and it was a godsend and a blessing, because the big red Cadillac convertible that passed our house daily came to a stop.

"Hey neighbor, yuh looked like yuh know what yuh’re doing," the old man shouted with a Southern drawl, "got a moment?"

"Yeah sir," I shouted back using the word sir, knowing southern etiquette when speaking to an older person, "what can I do for you?"

"I’m Otis Magee," he shouted as if I should know him; but to the contrary, I had only heard about him when I was in school, and what I heard was not good, "I live down there on the corner," he raised his arm over his head and his thumb pointed behind him, "with the big Magnolia tree. I’m a builder and I’m looking for some help. Yuh interested?"

"Yeah," I shouted back and I started moving toward the ladder.

"What’s your name neighbor?" Otis asked.

"Dan, Dan Walker," I shouted back.

"Dan don’t come down," he ordered. "I’ll be driving back and forth and when yuh are finished. I’ll stop by and we will talk," he waved and shouted over the screeching of burning rubber "see yuh later."

Otis was a godsend, and I worked for him until he became so mean and ornery we would about get into fist-a-cuffs. The last day I worked for him, he started throwing lumber up to me and James standing three sections high on scaffolding. If we dropped any, he cursed us up one side, down the other, and threw it even harder the next time shouting, "Catch the god damn board." The material ricochet off the cross bars and shot past James’ head and fell back to the ground. "God damn yuh, I said to catch the god damn material."

"Don’t throw it so hard Otis," I shouted maintaining the fruitage of the spirit"

"Don’t tell me how to throw the shit, just worry about catching it," he picked the fallen fascia board up and once again tried to knock us off the scaffolding. It hit the top rail, shot up, hit the varge rafter, slid off, and landed on the plank. I looked down. He was smiling. I picked up the board, he shouted, "James, give me the next measurement."

"Otis," I shouted. He glanced up and I shot the fascia board right back at him, "I said don’t throw the boards that hard at us. You’re gonna hurt one of us." The fascia board stuck into the soft muck in front of him.

"Yuh’re fired! Get your tools and get off this job," he shouted, "I don’t need you."

"I quit," I shouted back and began my descent from the scaffolding with James shadowing me.

"James, where are yuh going," Otis asked. "Get back up there and let’s get to work."

"Nah sir, Mr. Otis, I quit too," James said.

"Nigger if you don’t get back up there, you’ll never work for me again." James and I continued down and swung off the lower section and started picking up our tools on the way to our trucks not saying a word until he called out, "Come back here and I’ll pay you for today’s work."

"Really," I asked shocked.

"Mr. Otis, yuh pulling my leg," James said, surprise written all over his face as his white teeth made his black skin seem even darker.

"No, I’m not joking. I’ve never beat a man out of his pay," he answered pulling out his wallet and handed us thirty dollars each, "This should cover the two hours you boys put in. Take the day off, have a bair or two and think about it. I’ll see y’all tomorrow."

James and I took Otis’ suggestion and left. I followed James from the job site down an old gravel back road into a parking lot filled with beat up pick up trucks and old Cadillacs. The painted sign on the dilapidated building read, The Brier Patch. James slid out of his truck, motioned to me and said, "Come on, let’s get a "bair."
I opened my truck door and joined him step for step. The rhythmic blasts of the saxophone and Wilson Pickett’s booming voice singing, "…All you wanna do is a ride around Sally, ride Sally, ride" sent my memory back eleven years to an "off limit" district in Waikiki, Hawaii. The same song was playing then, "…All you wanna do is a ride around Sally, ride Sally, ride" and the same feeling of uneasiness began to creep up my spine now as it did when I stepped into the all black bar where a near nude woman was dancing the Pony in the middle of the bar. I could still see her in her six-inch heels, the tautness of her legs and the bouncing of her breast with each galloping step.

We reached the door and as James stepped into the joint ushered by his shadow cast before him by the sunlight everyone turned around to see who came in. My shadow followed James’ and as I appeared through the threshold the joint became a buzz saw of low murmurings and sneers several octaves lower than the jukebox blasting, "…All you wanna do is a ride around Sally, ride Sally ride, ride Sally ride." The further I advanced with James the clearer the sneers and snide remarks became the backup vocal to, "ride Sally, ride."

The good looking girl with her skirt so high you could see paradise strolled over to James, put her arms around him, and ask in a condescending voice, "Whas ya got wit you baby?" The hair on my neck stood erect. I felt out of place, and as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. James kissed her neck and shouted over the final lyrics, "Be cool brothers--this is Rags, my friend. He’s a cool honky." He’s the "honky" that parties with the Mcfees."

I was a celebrity with the blacks and did not know it. James sanctioning me as his friend made all the difference in the world, and after he related the incidence between Otis and me, the biggest man at the bar began wheezing as his king size belly rose and fell with exerted laughter saying, "Serve dat ol son of bitch rat. He keep dat shit up and he be building houses alls by himself."

"Dat ol bastard is gwana runs out of help," said the bar tender. "Y’all all useta wurk fer Otis one time or nutder, hadin y’all?"

A roar of laughter, and shouts rattled the large glass window. "Y’all ditn’t come jere to talk; so, yuh want yor double shot of S C bro," the bar tender ask James as he began pouring the double not waiting on an answer. "Wauta yore drink Honky?" I must have looked dumb struck as a deer "caught in a crossing" so he repeated, "Boy, wad id be fer yuh?"

"M-i-l-l-ers," I stammered over the scratching of the juke box's stylus tracking a groove as it engaged the screeching voice of James Brown's "Ohhh, I feel good…"

"Can or bottle?" The bar tender inquired.
The words, "I knew that I would now…" forced me to shout, "Bottle," topping the voice of the "Father of Soul."

The bartender slid the double to James and set an iced covered can of Millers in front of me.

"Jere’s yore bottle," he laughed and everyone at the bar joined in, drowning out the song.

I raised the can in a salute. "Here’s to the Brier Patch," I said, lowering the beer can to my lips and took a long guzzle, "a-a-a-ah, best bottle of bair I’ve ever had." The Millers tasted good and it agreed with the sign hanging over the bar bragging, "Our bair is colder than a well digger's ass. The ice chips fell into my open collar and instantly melted which caused a shiver to run through my shoulders. I sat the can down, James burst out laughing, and several of the customers came over and gave friendly slaps on my back

Someone shouted, "Yuhs alrit in my book."

One of the girls came over and put her arm around my neck slid her other hand into my hip pocket and asked in a sexy throaty voice, "Whats can lit’le ole Mattie do fer yuh?"

"N-nuting," I stammered slipping back into my old Mississippi brogue letting my eyes drift deep into her exposed cleavage, "I’m married."

Mattie giggled, and joined James Brown as her lips touched my ear sending shivers coursing through my body as she whispered the words, " 'I feel nice like sugar and spice, so nice, so nice, cause I got you. When I hold you in my arms I know I can’t do no wrong now, when I hold you in my arms, my love can’t do me no harm, so good, so good, cause I got you--so good, so good, cause I got you, hey yeah.' "

"Mattie! Gits away from dat boy. We doesn’t need no trouble here. Anyway yuh need moe than dat boy can give yuh," the bar tender shouted, followed by an outburst of laughter which drowned out the last musical rift.
I took another long swig, finished off the beer and patted James on the back, "Buddy, I hafta git."

Mattie patted my butt as I left James sitting at the bar, "Whens yuh wants some action baby, come see Mattie." I ignored her.

"See y’all later," I said raising my hand over my head waving good-bye.

"Yuh is alrite," some one shouted as I pulled the door open.

"Rags, yuh's always welcome here," the invitation came from another unfamiliar voice.

"Thanks, I may be back," I lied knowing certain I would never return. I pushed the screen door open and it responded with a squeak as I stepped onto the rickety porch covered by the tattered lean-to awning offering defused shade from the noon sun.

I was shaken, unnerved, and my conscience pricked me. Boy, am I glad to get out of there, I thought taking the key out of my right pocket inserting it into the ignition of the old 68 GMC.

I guess I would be known as a sneak, because I didn’t tell Trisha where I was or what I had been doing, but I did tell her I had quit my job and she became as unhappy as an old wet hen with my quitting Otis. "What are you going to do," she asked her voiced possessed a tone of extreme concern. "Our funds are getting lower and lower..,"

"I know that, but I ain’t gonna let some jerk knock me off a scaffolding. I will run an ad and start my own business. Don’t worry!"

"What am I suppose to do? Not one thing has gone right since we got here," she said. She was right--Tren closed Rachelle’s finger in the hinged side of our front door, and we had to take her to the emergency room and get the tip reattached. The following week Lit'el Rags wrecked his bike and I had to dig a rock out of his knee and take him to the emergency room to get stitches. The next week Rachelle slipped while climbing a tree and rammed a branch stub in her thigh. This time the doctors ask Rachelle what had happened. I began to explain the accident.

"Shut up! This is the third time in three weeks you have brought one of your children in for medical care I want to talk to your daughter," the doctor's voice was intimidating and I followed his instructions and shut up. Rachelle explained how she was climbing the tree and slipped. In the interim, they cleaned and stitched the wound. The doctor apologized and explained there had been a rash of cases of child abuse and they were mandated to inform the city police of any suspicious accidents.
No, it had not been a good year and the next day I did not make it any better when

Otis stopped and ask, "You coming to work?"

"No, Otis I’m not. I quit."

He gunned the engine and said, "Okay, I gotta get." He was just as calm with my quitting as he was with my hiring.

The only ray of sunshine came when Trisha handed me the new February 15, 1978 Watchtower magazine. "We just got the new issue today. Read Questions from the Readers," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Why," I asked, "is there new light?"

"Just read it," she said. A smile spread across her lips, "you’ll be pleasantly surprised."

"I don’t want to read the magazine right now," I said. "just give me an inkling of the article and I’ll read it later."

"No, read for me, okay," she pleaded. "you won’t be disappointed." I turned to the rear of the magazine where the Society placed Questions from the Readers and I scanned the first paragraph on page 30 and saw "oral sex." My interested peaked and I began reading the article:

"In the past some comments have appeared in this magazine in connection with certain unusual sex practices, such as oral sex, within marriage and these were equated with gross sexual immorality. On this basis, the conclusion was reached that those engaging in such sex practices were subject to disfellowshipping if unrepentant. The view was taken that it was within the authority of congregational elders to investigate and act in a judicial capacity regarding such practices in the conjugal relationship. A careful further weighing of this matter, however, convinces us that, in view of the absence of clear Scriptural instruction, these are matters for which the married couple themselves must bear the responsibility before God and that these marital intimacies do not come within the province of the congregational elders to attempt to control nor to take disfellowshipping action with such matters as the sole basis." W78, 2/15 p 30-1
I glanced up and asked, "What you think honey?"

"I’m glad I’m not on my period," she stepped toward me and a hint of perfume filtered through her tight jeans as pressed her thighs into my face. "I can’t wait until tonight when the kids are in bed." I ran my tongue over my lips and let my smile speak for me.

My thoughts turned verbal and I muttered, "About time, they get out of the bedroom." The February 15, 1978 article was the sixth article discussed on oral sex. The thought, I wonder if those who were disfellowshipped will be re-instated crossed my mind, but knowing retroactive was not in the vocabulary, of the Faithful and Discreet Slave Class, the past sanctions remained, and it became benign and a non-issue.

There it was; new light in ink, on page thirty, once again removing the sanction placed on behavior in the sanctity of the bedroom. "I probably shouldn’t say this Honey; but, it makes me wonder who of the Governing Body got married, doesn’t it?" A devilish smile punctuated my statement, and a twinkle appeared in Trisha's eyes.

We anticipated the evening hours through out the day and after the kids settled in bed we made a couple of relaxing Wine Coolers, lit candles around the tub of steaming water as my lover reclined into my arms. We sipped our drinks, kissed, and did not bother to dry off as we raced to the confines of our bed. The new dimmer switch set the lighting perfect as it generated a soft glow which reflected from the mirrored headboard giving off enough light to expose our images making love. I received a twinge of conscience each time she gasped as my tongue caressed her inner thighs, and a fleeting thought came over me. If Jehovah can’t decide what is right and what is wrong, why should my conscience bother me, and as quick as the thought appeared I pushed it aside and turned my fill attention to how my lips kept seeking her. I drank her passion and love. Throughout the night until the early dawn, we consumed each other.

Exhaustion enslaved us as we woke the kids for school. I placed an ad in the classified section of the Enterprise Journal and helped a brother build and install concrete septic tanks until I received a business call requesting an estimate. The job was in the "Black" side of town referred to as "Algiers." I gave them an estimate for a carport and new roof. It was a large job so I called James, but he was working. I had no other choice. I ask the last person on the face of the Earth who I did not want to ask--AdamThompson. Yeah, that’s correct, the same Adamwho the congregation sent to Bethel had now returned to McComb. In his stint at the world Head Quarters of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, he found Sophia, a nice Italian girl he brought home and married. Let us say the congregation came to his aid again, took up another collection and paid Sophia’s way to McComb where they were married and renting our granny unit. Adamwas under the impression since Sophia was serving as a Special Pioneer he was exempt from paying rent, so all I received from him was the first month’s rent. I did not have a mortgage on both properties so I let him slide month in and month out. When he did not make his pioneer hours he was removed from the pioneer’s list and the congregation stopped "palming" him, and he bummed from one job to another.

Adamand I worked well together and completed the Algiers’ job. I received more business calls and took Adamin as a partner, nothing legal, just split the jobs fifty-fifty, and as time went by I did the work and Adamslacked off claiming he was doing public relations work, and with his public relations in full swing we were getting less and less work.

What else could start to deteriorate? It was not long before I found out as several members of the body of elders visited me concerned over the blatant friendship between the McFees and my family.

"Dan, this is Mississippi, not California. We still have racial problems here," Jimmy said.

I blew them off, "Look I have lived in the same neighborhood all my life and my neighbors have known me since I was just a boy, ain’t nobody gonna hurt me. Matter of fact I don’t think anybody really cares what I do or who I have over."
"You are not the first family who has tried to socialize with our black brothers. We tried, we have all tried, but there were innuendos and rumors running throughout town about us--even bomb threats received. We corresponded with the Society concerning inter-racial association."

"Jimmy, I’m not trying to be ornery, but the McFees and my family like each other and our kids get along great Sandra and Tren just love each other. I haven’t had any trouble while having them over here and when we go see them we give a nice witness to their neighbors. Their neighbors come over and want to know what is going on. We get to witness to them and several have come to the hall as you well know."
"The Society’s suggestion is--, we keep the socializing to a minimum or do our visiting at the Hall; so, foretold, is forewarned," he said and gave me a friendly slap on the back. "You know buddy, just because we don’t visit does not mean we have anything against our black brothers. It’s just playing it safe."
Bro. Louie, Sr. gave a talk on congregational needs during the following service meeting, which dealt with interracial association. "…while association among our brothers are commendable we need to be careful that showing our love for each other will not incite those who hate Jehovah and his people. I suggest it would be better if, our white Brothers visit us in our homes, as it is more tolerable at this time." A cold shiver ran down my back, I was embarrassed and my heart went out to the entire congregation of the black brothers and sisters. I wondered just how far had the Society advanced from the days of "Jim Crow." They had court decisions overturned on every human rights issue, but did not want to make an issue of the right to racial association.

Brother Willington, and Brother Reed, lived through the days of the "Jim Crow" law as well as been in the organization long enough to remember the Society’s view on the Negro Race.
"...The negro race is supposed to be descended from Ham, whose special degradation is mentioned in Gen. 9:22, 25. (Zion’s Watch Tower, August 1, 1898, p. 230)
The Watchtower of April 15, 1900 said the following regarding blacks not participating in the "pioneer" work:

"There are probably as many as a hundred colored brethren on the Watch Tower lists, some of them clear in the truth, and very earnest in its service, financially and otherwise. We have received letters from several of these, who had intended engaging in the volunteer work, expressing surprise that in the call for volunteers in the March 1st issue we restricted the inquiry to white Protestant churches. They rightly realized that we have not the slightest of race prejudice, and that we love the colored brethren with just the same warmth of heart that we love the white, and they queried therefore why such a distinction should be made in the call. The reason is that so far as we are able to judge, colored people have less education than whites -many of them quite insufficient to permit them to profit by such reading as we have to give forth. Our conclusion therefore is based upon the supposition that reading matter distributed to a colored congregation would more than half of it be utterly wasted, and a very small percentage indeed likely to yield good results." (p. 122)

Once again through the Society’s writings they held to their opinion concerning blacks. They published this saying:

"Noah declared, prophetically, that Ham’s characteristics which had led him to unseemly conduct disrespectful to his father, would be found cropping out later, inherited by his son, and prophetically he foretold that this degeneracy would mark the posterity of Canaan, degrading him, making him servile. We are not able to determine to a certainty that the sons of Ham and Canaan are the Negroes; but we consider that general view as probable as any other." (Zion’s Watch Tower, July 15, 1902, p. 216)

April 1, 1914 Watchtower Magazine released another article placing the Negro race in a somewhat servitude position through the magazine’s viewpoint:

"If nature favors the colored brethren and sisters in the exercise of humility it is that much to their advantage, if they are rightly exercised by it. A little while, and our humility will work out for our good. A little while, and those who have been faithful to their Covenant of Sacrifice will be granted new bodies, spiritual, beyond the veil, where color and sex distinctions will be no more. A little while, and the Millennial kingdom will be inaugurated, which will bring restitution to all mankind - restitution to the perfection of mind and body, feature and color, to the grand original standard, which God declared ‘very good,’ and which was lost for a time through sin, but which is soon to be restored by the powerful kingdom of Messiah." (p. 105-106)

"While it is true that the white race exhibits some qualities of superiority over any other, we are to remember that there are wide differences in the same Caucasian (Semitic and Aryan) family; and also we should remember that some of the qualities which have given this branch of the human family its preeminence in the world are not such as can be pointed to as in all respects admirable....The secret of the greater intelligence and aptitude of the Caucasian undoubtedly in great measure is to be attributed to the commingling of blood amongst its various branches; and this was evidently forced in large measure by circumstances under divine control." (Zion’s Watch Tower, July 15, 1902, p.215-216)

Once again, as late as 1929 the black brothers became the subject of degradation through the pages of the Golden Age Magazine, known today as the Awake! The newer black publishers who were younger and had not gone through the civil rights movement did not know of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society’s past view, nor did the majority of us younger whites, because the Society did not write any study articles concerning their racial history. The black brothers who were serving today in the McComb congregation received their appointments serving Jehovah in the black segregated Kingdom Halls under an earlier system did know how the Society felt about interracial marriage as an article was published asking the question

"What is the view of Jehovah's Witnesses toward interracial marriage? .. [while interracial marriages are not intrinsically wrong, 'deep-seated prejudices' remain 'in the world' and] "A Christian, being realistic, must face life as it is - not as he wishes it might be." {WT Dec 1 1973 755-6} [i.e., if such a marriage would compromise one's potential to give a witness for Jehovah, it might be theocratically imprudent to pursue it]

During the circuit overseer’s visit, the body of elders presented my letter of recommendation from the Clearlake congregation and the C O agreed to send a letter of recommendation to the Society for my reappointment. Our body of elders received a response from the Society four weeks later and through Holy Spirit, I was reappointed.

Louie, Junior who served at the World Headquarters of the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society in New York for four years became a ministerial servant there had the credentials and by all rights should have been a shoe-in for an appointment as an elder. He was articulate and knowledgeable in the scriptures and he could answer any question concerning the Society’s doctrines. He was serving as a book study conductor and all the black publishers were looking forward to his appointment as an elder--but he was passed over, and upon being past over, several brothers approached me about their concerns of the ratio of blacks to whites in the congregation. I reassured them there would be no discrimination on my part, and Jehovah’s Organization did not tolerate prejudice.

I felt strange taking over Louie’s book study group with him serving as the assistant. The first official act as the book study conductor was to assign all the qualified brothers to rotate in the reading assignments as well leading our group in the opening and closing prayer, and these arrangements satisfied everyone.
Louie, Sr. dropped by the house one day and we began talking about the black and white issue and he reminded me, You remember when I told you I was glad you returned because I believed Jehovah had sent you back here."

"Yes, I remember. What is the problem Louie?

Louie nervously grinned and rubbed his hands together, "There are problems between the blacks and whites here-"

"Yeah, I know. You told me you couldn’t hire a white man when I ask you for a job."

"I also told you my crew was all black and beside my son everyone else is worldly, you would never have lasted out there. They would treat you like a nigger, excuse the pun, anyway that is water under the bridge. I need you to be a character reference for me, because you know how construction works. You know sometimes you go over budget, run into unforeseen problems; and with all that you may be late paying your bills and run over on your completion date."

"Yeah, I know everything you are saying is true, s-o-o-o?"

"Brother, I’ve been building houses longer than you have been alive, and never had any problems until recently, now there are complaints not only from the whites but from the blacks too, even my brother-in law is starting to find fault and complaining. My suppliers are telling me several people have inquired about my business practices and if I’m current with my payments. I believe I am being drummed out."

"Are you? I ask.

"What? Louie asks.

"Are you current with your bills and payroll?"

"You know how it goes Dan. I pay when I get paid."

"Okay, look Louie all I can do is come to the judicial meeting if asked, but I haven’t heard anything about you since I returned. This is the first I heard. You can depend on me."

I began to call around and inquire about Louie. I called some of his clients, long time friends, wholesale suppliers and the consensus I discovered was; he was well liked, he overbook appointments, usually was late for appointments, most of the contracts were completed even if not on the specified completion date. The worst complaint was from Sister Jones, who implied her watch came up missing after he came over for a walk through and gave a bid on a remodel job. I called Brother Reed and told him Louie had came over we discussed the problems he was having.

"He told me you and he was having problems, what’s your side of the story?"

"Brother Walker, I don’t want to start any problems. He is family and his sister is my wife," he said and I could hear concern and regret in his voice.

"I know that, but if you have any complaints about his business practices then this is the time to say something. Our actions reflect on Jehovah’s Organization, and our objective is to keep the Society free from reproach," I said parroting the Society.
He tried to side step the issue as he hemmed-hawed around. His voice implied, I really stepped into it this time as he said, "All I know is Louie has money to go to this assembly and that assembly, throw get-togethers, gives public talks out of town. The crew and I have problems getting paid. That’s all I’m gonna say, and I probably should have kept my mouth shut."

"Brother, if there is any wrongdoing, Jehovah is going to find out one way or the other. The committee will be fair, as the meeting will have Jehovah’s spirit directed upon it. Let’s just rely on Jehovah and everything will work out."

"Don’t tell Louie we talked. I gotta go. See you at the meeting," he said
A month passed and I received a phone call requesting my presence at the judicial meeting concerning Brother Louie Willington. It was set for a Saturday night. There were ten vehicles in the parking lot when I arrived, more than I expected to see and the majority of them were unfamiliar. I open the door to the Kingdom Hall and saw everyone sitting in a circle and I sat down beside Jimmy Morton. Twelve brothers formed the circle, our four elders, and five elders, which I recognized from their giving Public Talks in McComb.

The committee chair began the meeting with prayer and after he began asking questioning Brother Reed, Brother McFee, and Brother Smith. Brother Reed tried to white wash his story to make nothing out of it. Brother Smith said he always had problems getting his pay on a regular basis, and Brother McFee said it was a common fact all the wholesale suppliers complained about Louie being late with his payments. I was questioned and I did not tell them what Brother Reed told me, but I related Sister Jones’ story, and as soon as I opened my mouth I wished I had put a sock in it, I became the source of hearsay. It was Sister Jones’ story, not mine; she should have been there, not me. I should have asked to be dismissed due to ignorance instead of letting myself get caught up in the moment.

The meeting came to and end. The chair informed us they would contact the Society and get their recommendation and at which time they would inform us how to handle the situation. The special committee panel dismissed themselves for privacy and returned in agreement that Brother Willington should continue serving in his position until they received the Society’s recommendation.

The Judicial committee received a response from the Society and set a date to present the recommendation. Jimmy read the letter during the Thursday night Service Meeting. The Society recommended the removal of Brother Willington from his position as elder, mixed no words as he stated "for actions unbecoming of a Christian." Gasps and murmurings resounded throughout the auditorium followed by applause when Brother Morton concluded the announcement, "We will be looking forward to Brother Willington’s re-appointment in the near future." Brother Morton’s statement informed the congregation that we should not shun or mark Louie. The congregation accepted the news better than I expected even though there were murmurs about the ratio of blacks to whites, and murmurings of "it won’t be long until we will not have any representation."

McComb seemed to have been a mistake, jobs were hard to find, wages were low and it began to look as if we would not be able to make it through another winter and now, there was an undertow of racial discontent. "It took 121 years to get a black man in a top administrative position in the WTS. It has been 7 years and several GB members have died but no others," Blondie from JWD brought out in a recent discussion.

I was never so happy as when I answered the phone and heard, "Rags, this is Willie. How are you? Betty and I saw Lurene this past week, and she said you may be interested in moving back to California. Are you?"
I did not want Willie to know what a hell this move to McComb had been. "We might be. Why?" I ask.

"I bought a piece of property in St Helena with Pete, Emmett, and several brothers who live in St. Helena. We are planning on building a tract of homes and there is one extra lot we are going to sell after we have our houses built."

"Sounds good to me, but where do I come in?"

"I’m the project manager and part owner. I can get you nine bucks an hour."

"Willie, I’m making twelve bucks here when I work. My house is paid for. I don’t want to sound greedy, but--"

"Dan if you come out, I’ll guarantee you I’ll get fourteen an hour. You know Betty and I love you and Trisha as if you are our own. We want to give you a chance and help you out." The five-dollar increase without batting an eye should have been a red flag, but it was not; naive and trusting was my nature and I jumped on the chance to move back to California, and I felt privileged that I was thought of as a son, and should I question my "Father Figure."

"Give me your phone number and I’ll tell Trisha what you said." I wrote the number down and told Trisha about Willie's offer. There was not much of a discussion about it. Trisha wanted to know when we could pack up. We put our arrangements together and told the brothers we were moving back to California and about the opportunity, we had. Jimmy bought my pick up truck. We placed our house with a realtor and then rented it to a brother who just moved to McComb with his family. We were off. "Voila!" "Dictum factum", no sooner said than done, we left McComb as fast as we arrived.

"Déjà vu" greeted us as Willie, Betty, Pete and his family came running out to see us. We drove out to the construction site and discussed the project and their visions. I was not part of the vision except on the aspect of working for them as a framer. I was not led to believe I would be given a chance for anything, and I was not. I tooled-up the following morning after our arrival, signed my W2 without a question. The secretary did not mention wages and I did not ask. I took Willie's word as gospel, walked over to the safety meeting and listen to Brother Klienman as he read a portion of the OSHA manual. He closed the manual tossed it along with the binder onto the unit of two by fours stacked beside him. "Brother Lopez that means you will have to wash your lunch down with something other than Dos Equis. You know aqua or coke?" Laughter broke out throughout the crew and wisenheimer remarks flew around as humiliating javelins until Brother Klienman shouted, "Let’s hit it, times-a-wasting."

We started to scatter when I heard Willie shout, "Rags." I turned around and saw him step out of the job shack, wait up. I got some good news for you." He had a little spring to his step and his smile was broad and appealing. He took a deep breath as we met and with affection placed his arm around my shoulder. I could tell he was proud of himself and pride ushered out when he said, "Emmett agreed to give you 11and hour."

I was dumb-founded and in disbelief as I repeated his words in reverse, "Eleven an hour? Emmett agreed." You promised me fourteen if I showed up. I was making twelve in Mississippi. I came out here on your word. You-you-you," I was lost for words, but "you promised me," blurted out and I knew I was getting another unfortunate screwing from another trusted friend. I continued to expound the point, "you told me you were part owner and project manager. What happened? You called me. I didn’t call you. What does Emmett have to do with my wages?"

"This is Emmett's project," the crow’s feet around Willie's eyes disappeared with his smile and his lips thinned, "I run the job, Dan that is all I do. Everything goes through Emmett. There isn’t anything I can do."

"You lied Willie," I said raising my hands in disgust with both him and myself. I had never called a man a liar to his face before, and I hated doing so now. I found it objectionable to be cruel or confrontational, but I needed a release, my head was pounding with each beat of my heart. "I am in a bind. I’m close to being out of money, I'm living in an old farm house full of rats gnawing in the walls, and you say there isn’t anything you can do." My fist clinched in a ball and the strike burned when it landed in my open palm emphasizing my question, "Why?"

"Lurene told me you may be interested in coming back, and I told her I would give you a call."

"Well, you got me here and there isn’t much I can do, is it?" My response came out as broken as my spirit. I was taken advantage of, or I let myself be taken advantage of. Mass hysteria ran amuck. I thought, when would I learn? When will I start standing up for my rights? When will I get a backbone, demand my rights, and expect such. This was just another case of letting someone run rough shod over me for the shake of peace, and looking back sometimes peace is not worth keeping.
The subject died and so did my respect for the St. Helena brotherhood. St. Helena was a learning experience. It taught me the difference between the haves and the have-nots in the organization, and the most daunting experience came after being assigned the position of Calistoga book study conductor and taking a car group to work Calistoga Road in field service and watching the caravan of cars led by Willie and Betty. Willie's son and his family, Emmett and his wife, the Shires, and the Puckers pass us. Emmett motion for me to pull over. I found a side road and turned onto it. He pulled off the road onto the gravel shoulder and stopped in front of us. A wide smile appeared as he leaned into the car through the driver's window.

"Brother Walker," he said greeting me, "I wanted to catch you before you left the Kingdom Hall. Several of us are going to Santa Rosa shopping. We need to start decorating our homes, but I also need this territory completed," he removed a territory card from his breast pocket, "we are right here on this road," he pointed to the map, "I need to have this road worked and returned to Service Overseer. Would you mind having your group work it?"

"I guess not. I’m not familiar with this territory, though." I answered, leaving wiggle room with my excuse of not knowing the territory.

Emmett was sharp, "Sister Wakefield," he pointed to the rear seat, "knows the territory. She’ll help you; however, if you follow this road and work the last four ranches past the Franz vineyard you will run into Highway twelve, turn left when you reach Glenn Ellen and another left onto one twenty eight at Oakville. From Oakville, you know how to get home. Right?"

"Yeah, we will finish your territory," I said begrudging I didn’t have the gumption to tell him to finish it himself."

"Thanks, I owe you one. Don’t forget to fill in the "not at homes, okay."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, "have fun."

He swaggered back to his car scrapping the heels of his cowboy boots through the gravel making small clouds of dust covered the cuffs of his dark blue suit trousers. A puff of blue smoke escaped the exhaust pipe into the warm morning air as he gunned the engine. He made a three-point turn around and spewed gravel at us as he accelerated pass us.

"That group is always sending their groups out and then heads off to Santa Rosa or Napa to shop," said Sister Wakefield as she reached her old wrinkled arm forward and patted Trisha on her shoulder. "You will see what I’m talking about if you stay here. I just don’t know how they get their time in."

"They may have studies, and then they all give public talks and have family studies." Trisha answered.

"I guess, it is not any business of mine any way. Jehovah sees all, so I guess I’ll leave it in his hand," the old sister said as she removed her hand from Trisha and began brushing Tren’s dress trying to straighten the wrinkled pleat.

I did keep track of who was at what meeting and I attended the field service arrangements after the Sunday Watchtower study though I never went out in service. It was a big farce, and everybody knew it, because we would run over each other at Safeway and make excuses why we were there and not in service.

The project continued into the completion phase. I received a two dollar an hour raise and everybody else began occupying their homes. The week Brother Molar, who was the chief building inspector for the city of St. Helena, signed off the permit for occupancy for Willie and Betty I received my pink slip. The Calistoga brothers got their houses and I "got" to find a new job. How ironic!

Staring down at the pink slip, I asked myself, what happened to, ‘we have enough work to keep everybody busy into the near future.’ This must be the near future and I had not prepared for its arrival; and not prepared, was an understatement even though we were beginning to break even from our move. Our bank account was moving from red to black, and by God, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Wow! What a privilege it is, to be part of a family "that loves you like their own."

Chapter 13 Southern Roots

2008-10-15T08:55:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 13 SOUTHERN ROOTS
Indeed, nineteen seventy-five faded into the past, and in nineteen seventy-six we started thinking about moving back to McComb, because our house had not sold and Buck was getting the rent to manage the property even though he lived in Mobile, Alabama. We believed it would be an opportunity to move back and start our own business. We would not have a house payment. We could do more spiritually, and "Lit'el Rags was still eligible to receive care at UMMC. With all things considered and all stones turned, we called the Mortins to let them know we were planning to move back to McComb.

In the meantime, waiting for our property to sell the TV series Roots became the most exciting program on TV, and we would rush home from the meeting to watch it. It made me feel shame, and it seemed to bring up old feelings between the two races in the Clearlake community as well as within our congregation. The black community became sarcastic, and the younger the person was, the more sarcastic they were, even to the point many refused to talk to white witnesses when we called on them in our door-to-door ministry. The black community often criticized the black witnesses for being out in service with the "whities" as they referred to us. This was the first time I had ever heard the term "Uncle Tom" used verbally in person, though I had heard it in movies as well as in some novels, I had read.

My view concerning the history of the slaves leaned toward the position of my ancestors were not slave owners, though Mama employed a Negro woman to do some chores around the house a couple of days a week. Beulah Waxsman, cleaned houses and ironed clothes. Her reputation made her desirable and the entire neighborhood used her.

You could recognize her from her limp as she turned the corner a block away. Her appearance dated her pre-twentieth century, straight from Africa, cold black, obese, and dressed like the original "Aunt Jamima" with a large red bandanna covering her head and hiding her hair. The large print dress, covered with large red flowers set on a background of different colors of green outlined her heavy breast and draped past her calves, giving an open area displaying a series of large multi-colored pink scar tissues formed into one large flame of twisted flesh which circled her Achilles tendon and her ankle. Curiosity got the best of Buck and he asked Beulah what happened. After Mama scolded him for being ill mannered and "it is none of your business," Beulah told us her sister-in-law cast a voodoo curse on her and sprinkled a black magic powder on her marriage bed and it infected an open wound on her leg, and it left "me as Ah am. Y’all wouldn’t knows me back then. Ah was a beautiful young girl. Dat jealous sister-in-law done went and messed me up and dat man of mine left me with child. Dat’s why Ah has to work like dis."

I wasn’t raised to be prejudice, and one of the worse fights I ever saw between mom and dad concerned Beulah when she stopped by to see if mama had any ironing to do. Mama did, and so she entered and set up the ironing board, and began ironing. Mama started fixing tomato soup and cheese sandwiches for dinner. Buck and I she set the table and invited Beulah to sit down and eat as she always did. Dad just returned from fishing, came into the house bragging about catching his limit of Bass on his way to the bathroom and when he returned to the dinning room he ask, "What’s that?"

"J B, that’s lunch honey," Mama said pointing to his place at the table, "we’re having soup and sandwiches."

"I’m not talking about the food. I’m not eating with a Nigger," Beulah rose from her chair, her eyes widen in shock, and disbelief at what came out of Dad’s mouth as he stood pointing his finger at her with contempt.

Mama bristled and told Beulah, "Beulah, sit down!"

"Miss Helen, Ah needs to go. Ah needs to get home."

"No, sit down and finish your meal."

"It’s me or her," Dad stated with authority. Beulah was now between a rock and a hard spot. Fear rushed over her face and embarrassment flooded her eyes as she stood indecisively by her chair.

"Well JB, I guess it’s her. Here, take your plate and get your ass out there with Bing. You want to act like a dog, go eat with one."
Dad was seething as he grabbed his plate from Mama and slammed out the house and threw it at Bing, "You eat this god damn food."

Beulah devoured her food pushed her chair from the table and said, "Thank y’all Miss. Helen. Ah’s appreciate whats you went and done." Mama gave her some money. Beulah picked up her basket from the floor, and rushed out as fast as her old decrepit legs could carry her.

Dad came back in and reinitiated the argument, "Don’t you ever belittle me in front of a nigger again," he said.

"Don’t ever insult a friend of mine again. Beulah is not a nigger, she is a hard working woman who works to support her children because she has a trifling-ass husband who won’t work; and by the way she will eat at the table with us like she has done every week while you were gone."

"I won’t eat with her."

"Fine, suit yourself. You and Bing make a great pair and I’m sure he’ll like your company." Dad slammed out the screen door once again and went into the little garage he turned into a wood shop.

The following week when Beulah showed up for work Dad spoke to her then called out, "Helen, I’m going to Percy Quinn Park. I’ll be back after sun down." Mama won both the battle and war.

My conscience was clear, but the racial undertone permeating the meetings made me feel terrible as I saw decisions made locally to assign more talks to the black Brothers and Sisters to compensate for any racial undertow. The Service Overseer would be diligent with assigning service-meeting parts. The majority of the field service demonstrations highlighted the black sisters as the teacher and the white sisters played the parts of the householders or students. The qualified brothers were used more to open and close the meetings in prayers and given more service meeting parts.

Once again, I was leaving in the mists of a controversy. We listed our home with a realtor and lived through the release of Rocky, and the death of Elvis before our house sold in November making it possible to move back to McComb.
We arrived in McComb in early December and in the five years we were gone the entire town had evolved into a city. The North Western section of town where I use to play in the empty fields as a kid were now fully developed properties with new names on the street signs, Highway 24 was now called Presley Blvd West and Presley Blvd. East. The McComb publishers referred to the west side of town as Snob Hill, and I later learned why as I met for field service. The west end of Delaware Ave. was now an area of medical centers and hospitals. The airport was relocated from the center of the town to a more secluded area now away from the residential zoning. The town looked new, clean, beautiful, and a far cry from the dried up dusty city of Clearlake.

We drove East on Delaware Ave. toward the old downtown area and turned right at the signal light onto Third Street until it intersected with Earl Street and I made another right as I entered into my old neighborhood past the Chandler’s and the Magnum’s and left into our drive. We unloaded a few things and went inside. Mama’s old room showed signs of a leaking roof as the flashlight picked up the stains on the drywall. My first thought as I stared at the stains was, Buck didn’t even bother to have the roof fixed, and he received all the rent. Well at least I know how to lay shingles. We have the money, thank God. We left and drove over to the Morton’s and spent the night at their place then the following morning had the utilities turned on.

The physical changes in McComb were not the only changes incurred since we moved to California. The state, counties, and cities were now fully integrated and the Society followed suit and it was not anymore evident than when we turned into the parking lot which exuded newness from the clean white stripes and filled with blacks and whites milling around, talking, and laughing.

We parked and got out, and all eyes turned to us. Sister Thompson, an older black Sister started walking out to our car, squinted her eyes and shouted, "Is dat you Brodah Dan and Sistah Trisha? The Mortins told me y’all wassa coming back." She hugged me and then pushed me back, looked me up and down, "Ida claire Brodah Dan, you done got s-o-o-o-o fat ah didn’t hardly knows you and Sistah Trisha. Lawdy me boy, California done did you foks some good," she grabbed Trisha and wrapped her arms around her, "Girl, I just gotta give yous a big hug. It’s so good to haves you home again, and y’all done brought some moe younguns into this world, and good looking too. Lawdy me, come here and met youn new brodahs and sistahs."

She escorted us over to a large group and started introducing us. Some were a little standoffish, while others greeted us open heartedly and the remainder of the congregation who knew us or had heard of us were excited to have us back, even "Ma and Pa Kettle" who was still around after the 1950s greeted us with hugs, grins, kisses, and hand shakes.

I entered the hall and standing around the podium was a group of seven men of which I knew five; Jimmy Mortin, Thorson; Joe Buckley, Louie Willington and Robert Reed who was Louie’s Brother-In-Law. Jimmy saw me and motioned me over, and as I reached the group Louie broke out in a big grin and grabbed, my hand brought me into his chest for an embrace, "Boy, it’s good to see you again. I’m sure Jehovah sent you back for a reason and I’ll talk to you later about what I mean," he then pointed to a young handsome well-built black man, "Brother Walker this is my son Louie, Jr. He was in Bethel when you moved to California. You remember my brother-in-law, Robert." There was one more person in the group to meet and Jimmy introduced us, "Dan this is James LaBeau he just moved in from Tickfaw, Louisiana," there was mischief in his voice as he said, "this here is the Dan I’ve been talking about."

"Umm," James responded in a strong Cajun accent as he rubbed his chin in a pondering manner. "So this is the Dan." He wore a I know something about you smirk on his face and mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Pa Kettle stepped to the microphone, "Ya’ll need to find yourn seat, cause da meetings bout to stot." He then introduced Louie, Jr. as the Public speaker, and after the public discourse, Louie Sr. took the lead in the Watchtower study and Joe read the paragraphs familiarizing everyone to the prescribed questions set out at the bottom of each page pertaining to the paragraph just read. The study moved along with both, blacks and whites participating in the Watchtower study.

The following Thursday night after the Theocratic School we introduced ourselves to several young couples standing around talking. Trisha pointed at the end of the isle, "Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen," she said as we turned our attention in the direction she pointed and saw Tren skipping up the isle hand in hand with a little black girl.

"Is dat yourn youngun?" asked Joleen. She didn’t wait for an answer. She pointed also and said in a loud scolding voice, "Judy! Whatsha doing girl? Stop dat running. You know you ain’t spose to run in Geehovah’s house." The warning went ignored as they continued to giggle, laugh, and skip toward us. They continued to squeeze their new friend’s hand swinging their arms to and fro over their heads and suddenly Tren looked up and ask, "Why is she chocolate?"

A burst of laughter exploded from our group and a friend from the other side of the hall ask, "What’s so funny over there?"

"Brotah and Sistah Walker’s baby wanted to know why Judy is chocolate." There was uproar of laughter. Two little girls brought two families together.

Chapter 12 The Significance of 1975

2008-10-15T08:53:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 12 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF 1975
The significance of what may happen in 1975 as The Watchtower Magazine’s article "Rejoicing over God’s Sons of Liberty Spiritual Feast" captured and reviewed a convention talk by Fred Franz in 1966 during the Baltimore assembly. Fred Franz, who served as a member of the Governing Body of The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, in his closing remarks made some interesting comments regarding the year 1975 by casually saying,

"Just before I got on the platform a young man came to me and said, ‘Say, what does this 1975 mean? Does it mean this, that or any other thing?’ "
In part, Brother Franz went on to say: ‘You have noticed the chart [on pages 31-35 in the book Life Everlasting[[ in Freedom of the Sons of God]. It shows that 6,000 years of human experience will end in 1975, about nine years from now. What does that mean? Does it mean that God’s rest day began 4026 B.C.E.? It could have. The Life Everlasting book does not say it did not. The book merely presents the chronology. You can accept it or reject it. If that is the case, what does that mean to us? [He went into some length showing the feasibility of the 4026 B.C.E. date as being the beginning of God’s rest day.] ‘What about the year 1975? What is it going to mean, dear friends?’ asked Brother Franz. ‘Does it mean that Armageddon is going to be finished, with Satan bound, by 1975? It could! It could! All things are possible with God. Does it mean that Babylon the Great is going to go down by 1975? It could. Does it mean that the attack of Gog of Magog is going to be made on Jehovah’s witnesses to wipe them out, then Gog himself will be put out of action? It could. But we are not saying. All things are possible with God. But we are not saying. And don’t any of you be specific in saying anything that is going to happen between now and 1975. But the big point of it all is this, dear friends: Time is short. Time is running out, no question about that. Rejoicing over "God’s Sons of Liberty" Spiritual Feast "Let us make the most of the time and get in all the good hard work to Jehovah while the opportunity affords," he urged in the second Watchtower study article of October 1966 on page 631.

We’ve been having world wars, famines, earthquakes, pestilences and we have these conditions still as we approach 1975. Do these things mean something? These things mean that we’re in the "time of the end." And the end has to come sometime. Jesus said: "As these things start to occur, raise yourselves erect and lift your heads up, because your deliverance is getting near." (Luke 21:28) So we know that as we come to 1975 our deliverance is that much nearer.’" (Watchtower 10/15 1966, p 631)
The October 8, 1966 Awake! carried an article entitled "How Much Longer Will It Be?" and under the subheading "6,000 Years Completed in 1975,"it too reasoned the millennium would be the last 1000 years of a 7000-year rest day of God it said on page 19-20:Hence, the fact that we are nearing the end of the first 6,000 years of man’s existence is of great significance... It means that within relatively few years we will witness the fulfillment of the remaining prophecies that have to do with the "time of the end."

The messengers were starting to abandon the original statement of Franz, who said, "And don’t any of you be specific in saying anything that is going to happen between now and 1975."

It became urgent times as everyone began anticipating the future. We all had family members or friends who had fallen into acts of disfellowshipping such as: saluting flags, celebrating Christmas, Easter, birthdays, Mothers day, Fathers day, Valentines day, News Years, Saint Patrick’s day, Thanksgiving, reading apostate material, gambling, associating or talking to apostates, interfaith worship, apostasy, associating outside the brotherhood, praying with unbelievers, Halloween, joining armed forces, joining or using the facilities of the YMCA or the YWCA, receiving blood or giving blood for transfusions, reading unapproved books, and of course the four sins which even the world recognizes as wrong; drunkenness, greed, adultery, and extramarital affairs. Urgent times demanded drastic measures; so, the New World Society developed public discourses, and special arrangements to contact the disfellowshipped ones and encourage them to return to Jehovah’s flock, while setting stricter views of tobacco and smoking.

Those who owned or farmed tobacco could no longer have anything to do with raising, selling, or smoking tobacco. Those acts became unchristian; therefore, those who held jobs in grocery, convenient, and retail stores had either to quit or excuse themselves from the sales of those items or be marked as spiritual weak and bad association. This new light moved fast and any Bible student who continued to smoke became ineligible for baptism from 1973 onward, and the friends who smoked had six months to quit or be disfellowshipped.

While tobacco became outlawed, the November 1, 1972 Watchtower Magazine on page 32 continued to approve a long-standing view concerning two questionable lifestyles: "While both homosexuality and bestiality are disgusting perversions, in the case of neither one is the marriage tie broken."

Reading that statement was strange and even though Trisha and I discussed the article we left it in the hands of Jehovah knowing his organization would be guided into the proper understanding if Jehovah so desired. That is an interesting point. New light concerning the use of tobacco traveled faster through the channel from Jehovah than the new light dealing with bestiality. The Society’s viewpoint at this time did not consider having a homosexual relationship, or sex with an animal as a divorcing offense, but if you "lit up" after these sexual encounters you would be disfellowshipped the same as a married couple who pleasures each other orally would be disfellowshipped without lighting up. December 1, 1972 pages 734-736 stated in the article "Questions from Readers":"It is certainly not the responsibility of elders or any others in a Christian congregation to search into the private lives of married couples. Nevertheless, if future cases of gross unnatural conduct, such as the practice of oral or anal copulation, are brought to their attention, the elders should act to try to correct the situation before further harm results, as they would do with any other serious wrong. Their concern is, of course, to try to help those who go astray and are ‘caught in the snare of the Devil.’ (2 Tim. 2:26) But if persons willfully show disrespect for Jehovah God’s marital arrangements, then it becomes necessary to remove them from the congregation as dangerous "leaven" that could contaminate others.--1 Cor. 5:6, 11-13.

To be fair, new light flowed through God’s Channel once again and after many years and much discussion concerning the word of porniea the Governing Body of Jehovah’s Witnesses deemed bestiality and homosexual activity immoral and a perversion, which now became grounds for divorce as well as an act of disfellowshipping. So as suspected and having confidence in Jehovah and his organization our faith was galvanized with the new light.

The months flew by, and some of the disfellowshipped took the encouragement to return to God’s fold, but their meeting attendance was irregular or non-existence. The majority of smokers felt like Emit Jones who told me I got disfellowshipped the first time because I could not stop. What makes you think I can quit now. No, I’ll just take my chances God understands."

The middle of the year 1974 an article in our field service guide, "The Kingdom Ministry" ask this question, "How Are You Using Your Life?" then gave an example:
"Yes, the end of this system is so near! Is that not reason to increase our activity...Reports are heard of brothers selling their homes and property and planning to finish out the rest of their days in this old system in the pioneer service. Certainly this is a fine way to spend the short time remaining before the wicked world’s end." ("Kingdom Ministry", May 1974, p.3)

The above article threw caution to the wind, and by the fall of 1974, Circuit and District Overseers took the full sail and began tacking in every direction keeping the sails full with drama and antics as they visited their assigned congregations. I still remember our Circuit Overseer’s first visit after the May 1974 "Kingdom Ministry" article.

It was January 1975 and the year’s text hung across the stage from a banner quoting the Bible book, Psalms. 91:2, "I will say to Jehovah: ‘You are my refuge and my stronghold.’" Brother Filmore walked under the banner onto the stage and stepped to the podium; all eyes focused on him as he cleared his throat in a dramatic manner, extended his left arm, and exclaimed, "Brothers!" You could hear a pin drop and the silence became uncomfortable as he stood emulating Moses commanding the Red Sea to open as he pointed toward the west wall. He began a slow precise sweeping motion with his arm toward the audience. We were on the edge of our seats hanging on to his introduction anticipating the next scholarly comment. He softly spoke dramatically drawing out every word into the microphone, "I-don’t-want-to-alar-r-r- m y-o-o-ou but," his arm was now pointing directly at us, "do you know what time it is?" he ask as he brought his forearm to his chest ever so slowly until his left wrist was directly in front of his face. He slid the sleeve above his wrist and a large gold wristwatch shot a beam of light as it caught the overhead lights as he methodically rotated his wrist and glanced down. "The time is now 10 months, 14 days, 23 hours," he stated then paused and glance at his watch again and continued. The words fifty-nine minutes, and forty-three seconds broke the silence and he concluded his dramatization, "remaining until the month of Oc-to-berrr, nine-teen seventy-five."
The rest of the meeting meant nothing. We could not wait for the meeting to end so we could regurgitate the Circuit Overseer’s talk and praise his theatrics. What a presentation! What skill in public speaking. We were now excited and ready to serve Jehovah to our utmost and in doing so incorporating Bro. Filmore’s public speaking skills in to our future public talks. I as well as the entire congregation knew without doubt this talk was directed by the Governing Body in expectation the end was here--just around the corner, and our son wouldn’t die, our family would live forever, and all our friends would be with us.

The Society began writing articles with the purpose of encouraging us to keep awake and to be mindful of 1975 as a specific date and to set fire under us to be more zealous in field service, with admonition to place even more literature. In the midst, of keeping awake and preparing for the conclusion of this system of things, the Society presented us with a new issue; the persecutions of our African Brothers and Sisters in Malawi. The Malawi situation had been the focus in a series of articles published as early as 1972 in the December 8 Awake! Magazine, page eight, "Why Does God Permit Such Persecution?" "Why Persecution Comes?" pages 9 and 10 "Christians Flee Cruel Persecution in Malawi," and the final article "Christians Flee Cruel Persecution in Malawi," on page 24.

Once again the Society deemed it necessary to put Malawi back on the front burner, and in the March 8, 1973 Awake! Magazine they released more information to their reading public in these three articles, "A Shocking Record of Inhumanity," "Brutal Persecution Breaks Out Again," and "What Is Happening to Christians in Malawi?" These articles found on pages 17 through 21 clued us in to how Satan’s Wicked System could turn on God’s People at a moment’s notice; therefore, we continued to engage in the Lord’s work of extending invitations to the disfellowshipped and spiritual weak. The vast majority of those invited to return to God’s Protective Ark did not accept the offer and those who did return, did not stay, and the Society’s mantra, "Their love of the world is more important than their love of Jehovah. Like dogs, they will return to their vomit from where they came." Those of us who remained faithful to the Society accepted and uttered the same explanation without a question.

January turned into September. Our new baby girl was now eight months old. I was getting antsy even though there was nothing happening in the news indicating God was on the war path, or "The Wild Beast" was about to take position in opposition to Jehovah’s loyal worshippers. The only excuse I conjured up was Jesus told his disciples, "it will come as a thief in the night;" therefore, I continued to stand guard as October ended. The first of November caught me being awaken by Trisha dressed in her meeting clothes and shaking our bed. "I guess we’re still here, huh? Nothing happened." I muttered, embarrassed and not expecting an answer, nor did I want one.

"No, nothing happened," she said, "and nothing is going to happen, except this; it’s Saturday and we made plans to meet Dorothy for field service today. Now get up and get dress. I have the kids ready."

We arrived at the Kingdom Hall for service and the same old gang was hanging out and doing the same old thing; Laughing and joking around. Most of the jokes referred to the end of the system and the "We’re still here theme," along with an occasion of, "The years not over, yet. The end will come as a thief in the night."
I guess I was the only stupid one there, because I deeply believed what the society had prophesied would occur. I kept my questions, doubts, and opinion to myself; after all, I didn’t want to be the only one questioning the Channel of God thus being labeled a doubter. Repeatedly as I waited for the meeting to start my mind played the question, how will the society present this unfulfilled prophecy?
The unfulfilled prophecy embarrassed me, but did not cause me to loose my faith in the Society as being God’s Earthly Organization. I was neither disappointed nor elated over the unfulfilled prophecy. Deep down in my heart, I felt maybe God delayed the end because the work was not complete and this lull in time may give my brother and his family the opportunity to enter into the life saving ark.
The month of December arrived and I thought, God there is only thirty-one days left of this year. I was still clinging to the theory the end was still going to come. I was the one in 1972 who didn’t landscape his yard. What was the use? Fire and brimstones would rearrange it anyway. I was just beginning to settle down from missing Armageddon when a special letter from the Society to all USA congregations came and it told of the blatant persecution, killing, raping and taking the homes of brothers and sisters Malawi.

The Society engaged with the suffering of our brothers once again in Malawi, and a crescendo was written into the act, which was highlighted by a cymbal-clashing announcement in December 1975. It turned our attention from the unfulfilled prophecy of the end of this system, to the renewed issue of Malawi. The December 1975 "Kingdom Ministry" (km 12/75 2) page 2 of the editorial, "Your Service Meetings" program.

WEEK STARTING DECEMBER 14
10 min: Song 63. Discuss Branch Letter and highlights of December 8 Awake! report on Malawi. The Society allowed a ten minutes part for reading the article "A Beastly Record-When Will It End?" The report dealt with what was happening to our African brothers and sisters and the article encouraged a letter writing campaign. Instructions on how to write the letter and what to say to the Malawi political officials concerning the putting an end to the persecution of our brothers and sisters were outlined by the Society, and we followed their instructions to a "Tee" as we distributed the list of political officials and their addresses obtained through the following letter
km 12/75 1-2 Branch Letter

Branch Letter
Dear Kingdom Publishers:
Our brothers in Malawi are now experiencing another Siberia, another Nazi concentration camp, another Roman arena. "Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda, a staunch elder in Malawi’s Presbyterian Church of Central Africa," as he was described in Time magazine of December 8, 1972, has again shown his hatred for Jehovah’s witnesses. Why? Because these Christians refuse to carry political party cards, with Banda’s picture and signature on them. It is a showdown! Banda insists they be his followers; Jehovah’s witnesses are determined to stand uncompromisingly for God’s kingdom!

The Witnesses from Malawi who were residing in Mozambique now have been driven out of that country because they refuse to shout ‘Viva Frelimo,’ in favor of the new dicdator government there. Forced back into Malawi, about 4,800 of them fled to ZambiAlcoholics Anonymous gain. But on October 22, we learned, these brothers were repatriated to Malawi a second time.

So upward of 30,000 are now back in Malawi. They have been harassed and brutally persecuted. Hundreds have been stripped naked, severely beaten and have had itching beans rubbed into their wounds. Our sisters have been fiendishly raped. What atrocities!

The latest development: The police are rounding up Jehovah’s witnesses and putting them in detention camps. Another Siberia! Another Nazi concentration camp! Children are being separated from their mothers, the persecutors thinking that they can train them to be followers of a man rather than followers of Christ Jesus.

This is information that should go to the world! We have not read anything about it in the newspapers of America yet, but the December 8 issue of Awake! will carry the whole story.

What can you do? The elders in each congregation are requested to select five capable brothers who have business letterheads, if possible, to write "His Excellency the Life President of Malawi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda, Central Government Offices, Private Bag 301, Capital City, Lilongwe 3, Malawi, Central Africa," and ask him a few questions as to his viewpoint of Christianity and why he treats humans the way he does. Let him know that you have heard about what is happening in Malawi.
It would be good if one or two of the five writers selected could get an airmail letter off to Banda right away. The others may want to wait until after they have read the December 8 Awake!

Another thing, try to have your newspaper publish an article about what is going on in Malawi. You can write a news release based on the Awake! material. The Society has given the United Press and other news agencies details, and we hope the facts will get into newspapers world wide.

What more can we do? Give it publicity by distributing the Awake! magazine; also keep it before Jehovah God in prayer as our early Christian brothers must have done when their brothers were thrown to the lions in the arena in Rome. Let us all be courageous and continue to preach the good news of the Kingdom until God’s government brings relief to his servants on the earth.
Your brothers,
BROOKLYN BRANCH OFFICE

This letter made me think the governments were starting to turn on Jehovah’s people now and the Society was just a couple of months off on their chronological calculations. Maybe their prophecy isn’t wrong after all maybe they aren’t the false prophets I was beginning to think they were, after all December was not over, and 1976 had not arrived. Persecution was beginning to be rampant. These thoughts and expectations were discussed and played with as the congregation carried out its assignments to write letters to Governmental Officials. To expedite the campaign the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society later supplied the mailing addresses of the government officials to the congregations so the whole association of Jehovah’s Witnesses could inundate the African nations with request to stop the persecution of our fellow Christian brothers.

OFFICIALS TO WHOM TO WRITE

His Excellency the Life President of Malawi
Ngwazi Dr. H. Kamuzu Banda
Central Government Offices
Private Bag 301
Capital City
LILONGWE 3
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable R. A. Banda, S.C., M.P.
Minister of Justice and Attorney General and Minister of Local Government
Private Bag 333
LILONGWE
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable P. L. Makhumula Nkhoma, M.P.
Minister of Health
P.O. Box 351
BLANTYRE
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable D. Kainja Nthara, M.P.
Minister of Community Development and Social Welfare
P.O. Box 5700
LIMBE
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable R. T. C. Munyenyembe, M.P.
Minister of Education
Private Bag 328
Capital City
LILONGWE 3
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable N. P. W. Khonje, M.P.
Speaker of the Parliament of Malawi
P.O. Box 80
ZOMBA
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable D. T. Matenje, M.P.
Minister of Finance, Trade, Industry and Tourism
P.O. Box 30049
Capital City
LILONGWE 3
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable R. B. Chidzanja Nkhoma, M.P.
Minister of Organization of African Unity Affairs
P.O. Box 211
LILONGWE
Malawi, Central Africa

The Honourable Muwalo Nqumayo, M.P.
Minister of State in the President’s Office
P.O. Box 5250
LIMBE
Malawi, Central Africa

Mr. Aleke K. Banda
Deputy Chairman/Managing Director
Press (Holdings) Limited
P.O. Box 1227
BLANTYRE
Malawi, Central Africa

Mr. Richard Katengeza
P.O. Box 5144
LIMBE
Malawi, Central Africa

This letter writing campaign became more important than the end of this system and for three weeks there was a certain buzz around the Kingdom Hall as everybody with a business card or letterhead sat in groups writing. I don’t recall if there were any feed back from our letter writing campaign as the Malawi problem also fell by the way side and fewer and fewer articles were published about our African Brotherhood as the situation calmed down and slipped away as fast as 1976 arrived
The push to invite the disfellowshipped ones back into Jehovah’s fold went the way of the 1975 false prophesy, and of the ones who did return to Jehovah’s fold during this time, many of them left on their own terms this time.

A chink appeared in my spiritual armor on July 15, 1976 as I read that issue of the Watchtower magazine and I filed that article away. The whole issue became preposterous. The question now, would the Society ever take the blame and own up to their error as the prophets in the Bible did? If so, when and how long would it be, and would Jehovah chastise them as false prophets? Only the future would tell.
Not many questioned the Society openly, and those that did, were marked as unbelievers and doubter who were to be considered bad association only to be recognized at theocratic activities, or they drifted from the organization on their own. The older publishers explained away the prophecy as a test and called those who left the organization, weak and apostates who only associated with Jehovah’s People to "cover their butts."

There were always articles such as the May 1, 1957 issue of the Watchtower that the older publisher would bring out or quote to encourage the flock to remain faithful to the organization during turbulent times. On page 274 was one of the strong indoctrination points of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society:
"We must recognize not only Jehovah God as our Father but his organization as our Mother. Pages 283-285: Showing respect for Jehovah’s organization really resolves itself down to our attitude toward God’s visible channel and the trust that we place in our proved, faithful brothers. If we have become thoroughly convinced that this is Jehovah’s organization, that he is guiding and directing his people, then we shall not be unsettled by anything that happens. We will not ‘forsake our mother’s teaching’ by immediately beginning to criticize and find fault... gratefully and willingly show our respect for Jehovah’s organization, for she is our mother and the beloved wife of our heavenly Father..,"

Those of us who remained accepted the counsel and considered each other as spiritually mature and loyal to Jehovah’s Organization. We accepted the attitude adjustments dispersed by Jehovah’s Earthly Organization:"Do we truly appreciate how Jehovah is directing his visible organization? When we appreciatively accept the spiritual provisions that come through the ‘slave’ class and its Governing body, for whom are we showing respect? Their duties include receiving and passing on to all of Jehovah’s earthly servants spiritual food at the proper time."

"How vital it is for everyone in God’s family to submit loyally to the teachings and arrangements of the Great Theocrat, Jehovah, and his King-Son, Christ Jesus, as transmitted through the ‘faithful slave’ on earth!"

Earlier in 1916 after a failed prophecy of the same sort, Charles Taze Russell said in his defense,"It certainly did have a very stimulating and sanctifying effect upon thousands, all of whom can praise the Lord--even for the mistake."

The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, throughout history labeled other religions as "false prophets" when their predictions of the end of the world failed; but yet, the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society considered their prophecy a mistake blamed on everybody but them, even God himself. They explained the error in this manner in the July 15, 1976 Watchtower Magazine on pages 440-441:"It may be that some who have been serving God have planned their lives according to a mistaken view of just what was to happen on a certain date or in a certain year. They may have, for this reason, put off or neglected things that they would have cared for. However, they have missed the point of the Bibles warnings concerning the end of this system of things, thinking that Bible chronology reveals the specific date.

In their words:"It is not advisable for us to set our sights on a certain date, neglecting everyday things we would ordinarily care for as Christians, such as things that we and our families really need. We may be forgetting that, when the "day" comes, it will not change the principle that Christians must at all times take care of all their responsibilities. If anyone has been disappointed through not following this line of thought, he should now concentrate on adjusting his viewpoint, seeing that it was not the word of God that failed or deceived him and brought disappointment, but that his own understanding was based on wrong premises." ." (Watchtower, July 15, 1976, p. 440 and 41)

Many who became Jehovah’s Witnesses since 1975 regard the incident as the work of a few over zealous publishers; others believe it was a test from Jehovah. Why? Because that is what the Society has publicized. Many of their reference and research books have been altered, removed from the local congregation's library. These new ones are not encouraged to read any old publications and many of the books are outdated and are no longer published or even found in the local Kingdom Halls. The current publications have been altered to change any evidence of the 1975-failed prophecy. The history of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society is simular to George Orwell’s book, "Animal Farm."

Pastor Russell,the founder of the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society would be disfellowshipped for apostasy today, because the original doctrine and history has changed so drastically. While some may be interested in the history of the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society, others would say as I did when I began to study with the Jehovah’s Witness, "The past is the past--all that matters is the future." This thinking is incorrect--"for the past,"as Louis L'Amour said,"gives light to the future and insight to the creation."

Chapter 11 The Birth of the Rebel

2008-10-15T08:50:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 11 THE BIRTH OF THE REBEL

In June 1974 we found out Trisha was pregnant and in the November 1974 the Awake! Magazine came out with an article that brought a twinge of guilt on us as we were reminded about the Society’s admonition concerning having children in this system of things.

"Today there is a great crowd of people who are confident that a destruction of even greater magnitude is now imminent. The evidence is that Jesus’ prophecy will shortly have a major fulfillment, upon this entire system of things. This has been a major factor in influencing many couples to decide not to have children at this time. They have chosen to remain childless so that they would be less encumbered to carry out the instructions of Jesus Christ to preach the good news of God’s kingdom earth wide before the end of this system comes. Matt.24:14." (Awake!, Nov. 8, 1974, p. 11)
It was too late to do anything about the predicament we were in. We would just have to trust Jehovah concerning bringing forth a new person into this world, and that day I will never forget. It was a gloomy winter day when she burst into life, and burst I mean. I received a phone call at work; it was Trisha telling me I needed to get home and take her to the hospital.

The hospital was just down the highway three miles, which did not present any problem, but by the time we parked and arrived at the registration desk her contraction became ten minutes apart. The nurses came and took Trisha to the labor room and now the contractions were now five minutes apart as she lay on the birthing bed spitting fire and damnation at me through clinched teeth dourly saying,

"Get your hands off me! See what you did to me! O-o-o-h God," things didn’t get any better, "Don’t you touch me! You, you, you, see what you did to me. I gotta push! I gotta push!" She groaned through gritted teeth and clamped jaws.

I bent over her and tried my coaching technique, "Breathe, Baby, Breathe, like this," I produced a series of short blast of air in a rhythmic manner as taught through our Lamaze class. Evidently, when I said, "You can’t push, Honey," I spoke out of turn.

Trisha questioned my team spirit with a nasty, "W-h-y, not?"
Pleasantries were not the special of the day; and being the fool I am, I simply stated, "The doctor isn’t here and you can’t push." I continued to comfort her. I took her hand.

She twisted away, "Well, she better get here," came her response, followed by, "if that doctor doesn’t get here soon I’m going to tear everything apart," the arrival of the doctor’s entry met the dramatic statement, "I can’t wait!"

"There now," were the doctor’s words of comfort as she adjusted her surgical gloves, "let’s see, what we have here." She stepped to the foot of the bed, "Mrs. Walker, I need you to uncross your legs and I’ll help you place your feet into the stirrups.

Trisha balked at the suggestion, "If I do that, the baby will tear me apart."

"I’m here now. Just follow my instructions and you will have a fine new baby. Now let’s uncross your legs." Trisha’s Mom took a position behind the doctor and gazed under the sheet. The doctor said, "Mr. Walker come here." I pushed Mom out of the way and took her spot, "see your baby’s head. It’s just about out." I stared under the covers and saw a wrinkled slick scalp with a mass of black hair stretching its escape route wider and wider, to a degree I wondered would it ever get back to its original size?

I heard Mom, "I’ve given birth," I turned my head in her direction. She back away and winched, "but I’ve never seen anything like this. Let me out of here. It looks like a dog’s butt," a shutter ran through her body, "come get me when it’s over."

"Okay?" I answered and she stepped out and closed the door.

Trisha did not hear her Mom leave or at least she didn’t acknowledge it, nor ask for her, because at that moment Doctor Walls used the precious word, "Push!" I moved to the head of the bed where I helped Trisha raise to a semi sitting position. Her face turned beet red and a loud grunt and moan came out. I guess it placed too much pressure on the crown of our baby’s head, because Doctor Walls instructed Trisha, "That’s good. Hold on! Stop! Don’t push!"

"Igottapush, Igottapush," Trisha’s statement were words running together, but they stated a fact.

Doctor Walls understood the rambling, "I said, don’t push," she ordered," if you push before I tell you to, you’ll tear wide open. I have to turn the head. You hear me?"

"Please, please, please," Trisha begged, followed with a gasping of air as she followed my example using a series of short exhales, "Who-who-who."

The assisting nurse took my place holding Trisha in her sitting position and told me to watch the birth. I took my previous position behind Doctor Walls and the pressure on the swollen vulva looked unbearable. Doctor Walls began to push her outstretched fingers between the partially exposed head and the vestibule relieving the pressure on the head, "Now gently push," she ordered, another groan came and the little head escaped its confines, revealing a red face, squinty eyes, and a wrinkled nose, but then the exit stopped; with the trapping of the shoulders.

"Don’t push! I need to turn the shoulders," Doctor Walls said, "let me turn the shoulders, "okay, okay," she turned the shoulders vertical, "now push gently, push gently," a moan and grunt came from Trisha’s throat, "that’s it, that’s it, that’s it." Dr. Walls said. Trisha gave one more grunt, and the baby became a slippery projectile. Rachelle shot out from between her mama’s spread legs, and through Doctor Walls’ outstretched fingers; she was a malfunctioning snap from center, and all quarterback Walls could do was knock the projectile down onto the cushioned delivery table. Her eyes were as big as silver dollars. Her laugh held a connotation of nervousness as she said, "I’m glad I didn’t tell you to push hard. I have seen some sights, but I have never seen a baby fly out like this. If I had not been standing here, she would have missed the table."

I received the honor of cutting the umbilical cord while passing on the suggestion by one of the nurses that we take the placenta home and eat it. Watching the passing of the placenta was the worse part of the birthing process, second only to the sutures repairing the urogenital region of the torn perineum.

Doctor Walls made the final loop of the seamstress job, smiled and patted Trisha’s leg and proudly stated, "You will have a little discomfort, but that thing of yours will be as good as new." Those words were good news to me. "Just keep it clean--front to back, you know what I'm talking about." Her instruction came while removing her rubber gloves and pointing toward the cleaning station where they were washing our little bitty Rachelle. "I have to say, she certainly is in a rush to start life. You have a beautiful addition to your family. If there isn’t any problems Ms. Walker, and I don’t foresee any; I’ll see you tomorrow before I release you. Congratulation!

It was 1:30 PM January 23, 1975, I had the third arrow in my quiver, and it was time for me to get serious about the coming fall months of this featured year we were looking forward to since 1966 as God’s chosen people.

The recommendation of the past articles dealing with the time and season and whether children should be born in this system played on some brothers and sisters decisions not to have children. This type of reasoning set off a state of urgency among the Super Fine Apostles and Superfluous Publishers who rhetorically ask, "You are aware, during the fall of Jerusalem in 607 BCE, parents often ate their own children?" Admonition was subtly given in everyday conversation about needing to heed Mother’s counsel, as the Society was referred to, "she won’t lead you wrong."

Chapter 10 The Surreptitious Journey

2008-10-15T08:48:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 10 THE SURREPTITIOUS JOURNEY
"Jonah" arrived in Clearlake, California and driving through the rag tag town was a surprise to us. The warnings given to us before we left McComb such as, "Ya’ll gonna get out there in those big cities and get lost from God’s Organization," and "Ya’ll gonna fall away, mark my word," left my mind as we turned west onto Lakeshore Drive.
The first impression was a far cry from a big city one could fall away in. Everything looked dilapidated in need of repair and it reminded me of Fort Adams an old fishing camp along the Mississippi River with a Gulf Oil gas station, a beer joint, and a bait shop--more water moccasins and copperheads than humans.
Turning right at the Beacon Gas Station on Old Highway 53 led us up the street where small ticky-tacky houses and mobile homes in need of paint lined the undeveloped road. There were not any sidewalks, curbs, or gutters. The grass was uncut, brown and had turned to seed far from the lush green lawns and landscapes of McComb. The scrub oaks and digger pines were covered with dust from the lack of rain, and their only saving grace was the shade they offered in this dry 100-degree heat.
We reached the top of the hill. Mom was standing in the gravel driveway separating their house from Dad’s shop. She motion and directed us to an unmarked parking space in the shade of a large digger Pine. Dad walked out of the shop drinking a beer, flipped the cigarette off to the side, and Trisha pushed the door open, jumped out hugging Mom, then rushed over to Dad, and gave him a big hug and kiss. Tren and "Lit'el Rags became instant celebrities with Mom as she continued to hug one, then the other. She and Trisha shared tears and smiles. I was recognized by Dad as he shook my hand and said, "Glad you made it here. Your Mom was starting to worry," the statement "your Mom" gave me hope for our relationship, that it could be rekindled.
The stress of the spiritual activities of Mississippi were behind us and I didn’t run right out to find a Kingdom Hall and Trisha didn’t seem to mind it either for she never asked or suggested we look for one. She was happy being home with her parents.
The first item we checked off was scheduling "Lit'el" Rags’ doctor visit and drove to Santa Rosa on a fifty-seven mile picturesque winding single lane mountainous road and for a "Flat Lander" it was nerve wracking, though breathtaking tall pines, cedars and redwoods towered above us on one side and on the drivers side Pope's Valley meandered far below displaying its valley of vineyards as far as one could see. We passed Old Faithful as it erupted spewing steam and water just above the trees and began our ascent as we turned on the old Calistoga Road passed the Petrified Forest and thirty minutes later we dropped down into another valley and I used the Black Forest Mall as a landmark for our return journey home.
We met Doctor Murray and his staff. They took several blood samples for minor blood work and set up an appointment in six months and wrote a prescription to fill as well as gave us stipulations for us to come back at any time before his appointment if we felt a need or if he began to bruise easily.
I worked for Dad for a while until I found a job at a cabinet shop then we rented a small house a block away. Dad and I began our friendship over again and that meant being drinking buddies. Drinking at home didn’t bother me, but my conscience was pricked and became ill at ease when Dad and I frequent the corner bar. I couldn’t wait to get home.
It was one of those conscience days as we returned from the bar and popped a cold one from the "frig" and sat down in the shade of the large Oak tree as we always did. Dad looked over my shoulders and said, "Oh, oh." I turned around and saw a tall, dark, handsome man along with a tall beautiful sexy looking lady strolling up the gravel parking lot hand in hand. They were both smiling and squeezing each other’s hand as came abreast of our chairs. The man had a pleasant smile and a pleasant tone in his voice as he made his introduction,
"Hi, my name is Joe and this is my wife, Sarah." He then ask about our well-being and commented about the weather and the heat while opening his book bag and brought out a green hard bound book which I recognized as the New World Scriptures of the Holy Bible. Dad excused himself as Joe started asking questions about the state of the world affairs and if we thought man would ever be able to change and correct the problems. I didn’t let on I was a brother in the faith, because somewhere in the deepest part of my soul I wanted to fade away, get lost. Just the short time away from the rigors the meetings had refreshed both Trisha and me. We were happy being with her family again, not seeking out the Kingdom Hall or the brothers, and not having to check our Ps & Qs.
I guess I should not have kept my feelings to myself, and in turn, Mom may not have asked the couple, "Are you Jehovah Witnesses?" In addition, she may not have pointed me out and introduced me as she did, "This is my son-in-law Dan, he and my daughter are Jehovah's. They moved here from Mississippi." Then I would not have had to smile a, "you caught me grin," and I would never have known fading away was no longer an option, or my goose was cooked when Joe answered, "Yes."
I stood up and greeted him then we shook hands, he hugged me, and I hugged him as if we were long lost brothers who found each other. I dragged up another chair and invited them to have a seat. They replaced their books into their book bags and the gracious interrogation began. Mom dismissed herself and followed Dad’s footsteps into the house. Trisha came out of the house with her cheerful smile followed by Tren and "Lit'el Rags. I introduced Trisha and the kids then continued to fill in the blanks about "Lit'el" Rags’ illness and making excuses why we had not visited the Hall.
Sunday morning came we dragged ourselves out of bed and got dressed and drove over to the Kingdom Hall where Joe and Sarah greeted us and started the introductions, "This is Brother and Sister Walker. They moved here from Mississippi."
I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a familiar voice, "Missisip, what are you doing here?"
Joe asked, "Dan, you know Pete?"
"He’s my foreman." I responded.
Pete answered Joe, "He works with me at the cabinet shop."
The meeting was getting ready to begin as we all started finding our seats. Pete patted me on my back again and suggested getting together after the meeting.
The meeting ended with a song and prayer and Pete approached us carrying Annie, his daughter. He waved to an older couple, and gaining the old man’s attention, he raised his voice,
"Dad come here I want you to meet someone." Pete's dad and mom walked briskly through the crowd and toward us. Pete introduced Dad, Willie and his mom, Betty. Willie was the opposite of Pete. Pete was thin and slight of built, Willie was stocky and muscular, carrying his weight quite well. He had a full head of hair cut short and parted on the side. His suit was a western cut and pointed toes of cowboy boots gleamed from under the dress slacks.
Betty was a rough looking woman. She carried her self as a man her purse tucked under her arm. There wasn’t anything sexy or feminine about her. Her hair was styled between a Page Boy and a Beatles' cut. Her dress hung below her knees as did all the sisters, but what overcame her "Plain Jane" attributes, was the radiant smile traced lightly with red lipstick outlining thin lips creased her weathered beaten face with the exposure of a sexy smile. She was not shy and upon meeting Trisha and me, she opened her arms toward Trisha and engulfed her, as if she knew Trisha her whole life. She shook my hand with a grip any man would envy, and then bent down and scooped up Tren. Hugging her she whispered, "Cutie pie, you can call me grandma. Willie, let’s take these cuties home with us. "Willie did not agree or disagree; he ignored her as he continued to engage me in small talk.
We followed Pete and Chrissie down a narrow road into the Dam Road Trailer Park. Pete opened the fridge and offered everyone a beer and then turned on the tape player and ask, "Do you like Willie Nelson?"
I didn’t, but I lied. I was still into the 60s rock and roll and Elvis Presley. "He’s okay," I answered.
"You’ll just love this song, "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain."
"Oh yeah, I heard that song and I really like it, but it's just I have a hard time with nasal singing." Pete sang along with the tape and surprisingly he had a nice voice. He walked over to the refrigerator and passed out another round of beer and the beer kept flowing. I had never been to a witness’s house where beer, wine or spirits did not flow.
Jimmy Mortin's comment, "Before I came into the truth, I smoked all I wanted to as a Baptist, but couldn't drink; now I’m a witness, I can drink all I want, but can't smoke. I’m glad I’m a Witness. Pass me another beer.", rushed to my mind and I couldn’t help but smile at his words.
Monday morning at work was all together different. Pete found reasons to come to my workstation and talk; whereas, before he did not have two cents to say. It amazed me with the complete 180-degree turn around. We became friends and his parents took a liking to me and my family. They teased us about adopting us since we did not have any family in the truth. That was a good thing, because I was fired from the cabinet shop, and being "adopted" by Betty, Willie hired me as soon as he heard, and he began teaching me the building trades and for the next year, we traveled around Northern California building Capp Homes, which was a subsidiary of the now defunct Home Base.
Willie got tired of traveling and decided he wanted to stay in the Clearlake vicinity. Pete introduced his dad to a local builder and he hired Willie and me as a framing crew. I was now able to progress spiritually since I was home now and able to make all the meetings. Instead of falling away as the brothers in McComb said, we would, and as I had planned on doing; I became stronger and regular in field service, and proselytizing. We joined the Theocratic Ministry School and settled into a theocratic schedule demonstrating an attitude of reaching out.
The longer I remained regular the more responsibilities and privileges I received.
I started reaching out for the positions of ministerial servant, which is the first step to becoming an elder; the same positions, responsibilities and privileges I ran away from in McComb.
Clearlake was different from McComb, due to the quantity of qualified brothers in Clearlake compared to the lack of qualified brothers in McComb; therefore, I was used as a book study conductor in McComb, but overlooked and not needed in that capacity in Clearlake. I had something to prove--qualifications--I studied harder and longer preparing for any canceled Ministry School assignments.

Chapter 9 The Great Influx

2008-10-15T08:46:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 9 THE GREAT INFLUX
The Society reminded us, in every book, pamphlet, brochure, study article, and all the rest of their published articles, of our unprecedented privilege of working with Jehovah’s faithful anointed slave class.
"Consider, too, the fact that Jehovah’s organization alone, in all the earth, is directed by God’s Holy Spirit or active force" and later on the same page, "Under the influence of God’s Holy Spirit, you can share in this grand work of finding, welcoming and educating those who will become fellow praises of Jehovah." The Watchtower73, p.402
Each anti-typical prophecy was used as a touch stone to point to the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of Pennsylvania as the organization God is using in these modern times to carry out his work.
The Truth that Leads to Everlasting Life was a "bomb shell" of a book as the Society called it in 1968 as it became the main tool used in the worldwide work to prick the conscience of " honest hearted people" and prod them into the ark of God’s protection.
I was surprised when I walked into the Kingdom Hall and saw several newly interested ones and recognized Jimmy Mortin and Kay his high school girl friend. Jimmy was the last person I pictured would attend a Jehovah's Witness meeting. His reputation was one of a wise ass, smart-aleck, and he and several dorky goons exercised by chasing Buck from school through the graveyard until they caught him and kicked his butt. They loved it, and Buck hated it and them, so my first observation began with a glance around to see if any his goons were with him. There were no goons, but there were three little children, two girls and a boy standing in the mist of the blooming love fest that was bustling all-around the four.
His tall, lanky frame had filled out and his once prominent nose was no longer the dominant feature of his face. Kay had not grown and inch since she graduated. He looked ill at ease dressed in a suit with a tie. Their red hair was lighter now and its color indicated the children standing next to them were theirs.
"Hey Jimmy how you doing? I’m Rags Walker," I said introducing myself, giving him a touchstone, "you were four years ahead of me. Mark and I were in the same grade."
"You’re Buck’s brother, right?"
"Yea, it has been a long time--I guest eight years. I just got out the Navy and moved back here."
"You remember AdamThompson don’t you?" Jimmy asked as he pointed to a tall man with long unkempt hair and matted beard sporting tiny dark sunshades.
"Yea, how are you George? I didn’t recognize you," I said scanning him up and down and slapped him on his back. "Man, you sure shot up; not the little squirt you use to be."
"What happened to you," he asked parting his lips in an insincere smile showing yellow teeth.
"I came from a good looking, but short Swedish tribe," I answered laughing, knowing the only knowledge I possess about Sweden was my Papaw immigrated from Sundsvall in 1885, we ate Swedish meatballs, and Mama appeased Papaw by giving me his middle name, Ragnar, which means "Wise Warrior," but just called me Rags.
Sister Hilbright continued the introductions by turning her attention to the third man. Her pleasure increased as her smile broadened when she placed her arm around a monster of a man and said,"This is my nephew, Joe Buckley." I had heard that name. It was well known throughout the McComb area and synonymous with "bad ass," and his face reflected that fact as his nose was off center a little to the left and his lips and eyebrows gave proof he defended the title a few times. If he were the winner then I would hate to see the looser. His scowl turned into a affable smile, and a twinkle lit up his eyes, his handshake was firm--much like a vise--so firm I thought he was trying to break my hand. Joe was like his grip--tight and strong.
The eleven of us became the best of friends. Trisha and Katie bonded through the friendship of our children. Joe was divorced and he split his free time between the Mortins and us while Adambecame a thorn in all our sides.
We spent our time together discussing the Bible, playing Bible games, and drinking beer, bar bee cueing. Just plain good ole good wholesome fun. Jimmy and Adammust have memorized the entire nine hundred plus pages of the Aid to Bible Understanding over the next several months, because they spewed Bible knowledge in a showy display until the games became a heated contest no longer enjoyable. Jimmy or Adamwould win, brag and find points to ridicule the rest of us until the get-together ended.
Jimmy, Joe and I progressed over time and were used as assistant book study conductors. Adamwith his abundance of Bible knowledge was over-looked because as the scuttle-butt goes, he was prideful, did not have a job, took hand outs from the congregation, wore out his welcome, and to top it all off he had spoken about masturbation which the Society deemed as an un-clean practice.
Adamset his goal to be a volunteer worker at the New York head quarters of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, known as Bethel. The literature is printed and published there as well as being the home of the Governing Body who is used by Jehovah as his channel of communication and source of new light. To be accepted there one needed to have an irreprehensible reputation and character; so, his first step was finding a job, which he did. He became more responsible and over time he applied to regular pioneer. With each step, he took the more the congregation accepted his service and then Thorston recommended him to the Circuit Servant who in-turn sent an application to the Society for approval. His application was accepted and the congregation took up a collection and sent him to New York. "It was the best money ever spent," announced Thorston during the following Service Meeting.
The Circuit Overseer recommended the three of us for positions of "Book Study Conductors" and with the letter of approval from the Society we were assigned different study groups. I took over the Magnolia book study where I kept the old timers in "stitches" as I ran a loose study group which started with my first opening prayer addressing God as Our Great Grand Father in heaven at which I began an uncontrollable belly laugh of snorting and giggling which became contagious and the entire group joined in. I couldn't stop, and between snickers I asked Brother Mondale to pray and take over the study. Half way through the study Trisha leaned over and whispered, "You're making a fool of yourself. It is no longer funny." Then, and only then did I regained control of my emotions and felt a blush creeping over my shoulders, up my neck, and into my face. I began to perspire from embarrassment. I apologized after the meeting, we bonded as a group, and an air of relaxation came over us. That meeting set the tone or personality of our group. We always looked for something to discuss and have fun with other than the verbatim remarks. We always found ways to make light of scholarly quotes that opposed the Society's viewpoint.
The old brothers--when I say old, I mean old--fell asleep more often than not while they were in the midst of reading--"Hey Brother, you're snoring," I would call out. His wife would punch him and we would laugh. That is how most of our studies went when Brother Mondale was the reader. These old brothers were farmers, and "early to bed; early to rise;" made these men anything but "healthy, wealthy, and wise." They were just plain tired. They raised hogs and cattle, while some others adopted soybeans as they "new cash crop." More time than not, when we showed up for field service they would meet me at the door with tails of whoa, "I won’t be able to go today cause, the hogs got out, and I spend all night long out chasing them down."
These excuses worked out fine with us as we would make a couple of house calls on our return home. The regiment of chemotherapy weaken him and his immune system, but his situation did not dampen my drive to advance in the Society. I continued to take the lead in field service and became more and more inconsiderate of my families feelings. My ego began to drive a wedge between Trisha and me as I continued my active roll in reaching out to become a spiritual man. I was doing more in the congregation and less in our family. Trisha began complaining I was never home anymore and I, in my quest to build a reputation trudged ahead making arrangements to attend the circuit assembly in Hattiesburg without her, and to her protest, "Honey, please don’t go to the assembly this time. I have so much to handle with your mom and Lit'el Rags," she pleaded.
"Trisha, you know if I want to be considered a spiritual mature man I have to show my faith and you need to rely on Jehovah to give you strength," I answered.
"But you don’t have to stay home, you expect me to stay," she quipped.
"Honey, that is your job, mine is making a living and be the head of this family, and in doing so I am required to attend all the meetings," I said, "anyway I’m leaving the car here if you need it. I can’t renege on going. It’s not costing us a dime. They are sharing their room with me."
"I don’t care about the money. It isn’t right you leave us here."
"Nothing is gonna happen, OK? Jehovah will be with you." I reiterated.
A rap at the front door brought our conversation to a halt as Joe and Renea stood smiling through the screen door.
"You ready?" Joe inquired through the screen door.
I invited them in and Renea gave Trisha a hug and said, "Trisha, we’ll take care of your Honey. Don’t worry. How is Helen today?"
"She’s just like she was for the past two weeks; still can’t walk without help."
"That’s sad, I’m so sorry," Renea said with compassion as she walked over to the bedroom where Mama laid. "Is it okay to go in?"
"Yes, you can go in." Trisha answered
"I’ll just say hi," Renea replied, and I walked over with Renea and opened the door and whispered, "Mama, Mama, Renea is here."
She answered with shallow breathing and an inane movement of her left hand. Renea stepped next to the bed and squeezed Mama’s hand. Mama’s lips twisted into a distorted smile.
"Helen, this is Renea, I just want to tell you we love you, and you are in our prayers, so you get your sleep now. Bye, bye."
"We better be on our way," suggested Joe. "Trisha, I wish you and the family could come and partake of the fine spiritual meal we’ll be receiving."
"You have a good time." Trisha said as she gave me a peck on my cheek. I could feel the undertow of her statement as I picked up my suitcase and book bag.
"I’ll see you Sunday night." I said.
I didn’t enjoy the next two days because my thoughts kept returning home to Trisha. The trip home was one of anticipation. Dan turned into the driveway and let me out. "We better get home Dan. We have the goats to feed and I know you have things to do also. We enjoyed having you with us and I know Trisha is waiting to hear about the assembly."
I opened the door and walked into the house. Trisha was in a bad mood. "I hope you had fun," was my greeting from Trisha.
"How is Mama?" I asked ignoring her snide statement. The kids grabbed each of my legs.
"You know that answer." I dropped the bags and picked up Tren and "Lit'el" Rags gave them a hug and a kiss and told them I loved and missed them.
"I’m glad you’re home Daddy," Tren said as she squeezed my cheeks in between her two hands, forcing my lips to form a fish mouth, then placed her lips on mine, "you look like a fish, Daddy."
The interplay seemed to ease the situation with Trisha and me, and then "Lit'el Rags grabbed my left ear lobe and caressed it as he always did saying "Weenie, weenie ear," with a giggle then wormed his way down to the floor and started playing with his dump trucks.
I set Tren down and said, "Let me tell you about the assembly, Honey."
"I don’t care about what happen or what was said, matter of fact I’m getting sick and tired of it all. You seem to be so involved in religion anymore. I feel left out," she said baring her heat and opening her soul. "You’re always gone, doing this, doing that, going here and going there," her hands emphasized her words as she pointed her hands in every direction. "We seem to be drifting apart."
"I’m sorry; maybe I’m wrong about everything," I said apologizing. I loved her so much and did not want her to hurt and I told her, "I love you and want you to be happy."
"I don’t have any adults to talk to."
"Maybe you ought to go to the meetings for a while and I’ll stay home.
"None of the friends visits me anymore. It’s kind of like--huh, ‘out of sight, out of mind.’"
We began alternating going to the meetings and this arrangement continued until Mama had another major stroke. We admitted her into the hospital where she continued to have stroke after stroke and after a week of struggling for her life, she passed away.
The day of her death was both sad, and a relief. We held a Wake as practiced in the Deep South, though it was not and could not be called or sanctioned as a Wake by the Organization, but Trisha and I sat at the funeral home for three days greeting friends and family and accept their condolences.
Thorson gave the memorial talk in which there wasn’t too much said about Mama’s life. He did not give a eulogy, or celebrate her life. There was not any mention of her past deeds good or bad. Her death was a reason to preach to the captive audience of Aunt Ginny, Uncle Ralph, and Aunt Vera, Buck and his family and several of our neighbors. There were murmurs throughout Thorson’s discourse each time he mention Jehovah’s earthly organization, the blessed promise of the resurrection, God’s new order, the cleansed paradise earth, no more death, sorrow, or sickness. The captive audience left after the burial services and not one person beside Aunt Ginny and my brother’s family spoke of her again, except in passing phrases such as, "she is better off," "she will be resurrected," "you’ll see her again in the near future," "Armageddon is just around the corner," "the new system is just around the corner." Her death was just as the Bible said, "from dust you came and to dust you shall return."
The mindset of God’s Organization about death was, "you must not grieve as the world grieves, for our God is a God of the living, not of the dead," therefore we never used any time to adjust to Mama’s death and grieve as the world grieves. We used that time to readjust our meeting schedule because Lit'el Rags recuperated from his chemotherapy and regained his stamina; therefore, we began attending the meetings on a regular schedule again.
New light concerning those taking the lead in the congregations was distributed to God’s people through the pages of the December 15 1971 Watchtower on pages 755-62, The new term Elder was to take effect, and the arrangement would be appointment by Holy Spirit via the Governing Body with the recommendation of the Traveling Circuit Servant.
Thorson hinted on several occasions about recommending me as an elder. The appointment I was reaching out for, frighten me so much I told Thorston we were thinking of moving to California. There were not any strings attached to McComb anymore since Mama died. Thanks to me, I severed my family relationship with my brother, his family, and Aunt Ginny; after all, I was the true Christian and they were of the world. Did not God command in the second book of Corinthians chapter 6 verses 14 through 17 of the Bible:
"Do not become unevenly yoked with unbelievers...what sharing does light have with darkness...what agreement does God’s temple have with idols... ...therefore get out from among them and separate yourselves says Jehovah, and quit touching the unclean thing… "
I, like all witnesses, felt superior to those of the world, but at this moment, I felt much like the coward Jonah did when he refused his preaching assignment to warn the city of Nineveh about the coming destruction. His coward act took him aboard a ship as he tried to hide from God, but God knew where he was and brought about a tempestuous wind. In order to save the ship, at Jonah’s request, the crew threw him overboard. He was swallowed by a whale or some large sea creature that later vomited him out on shore, and in keeping with the theme of Jonah, I began my exit from McComb to be vomited out in California.
Mama had a little inheritance stored away for Buck, Aunt Ginny, and me. Buck received all the rental property that consisted of two; two-bedroom houses and a duplex, Aunt Ginny got ten grand, and I received the family house and the granny unit plus twelve grand.
Mama took care of everyone, and there were not any disgruntled recipients to the will and all the legalities were behind us. We contacted "Lit'el" Rags’s doctors about moving to California. We learned the leukemia study and research field conducted different programs of treatments throughout the United States, and we needed to consider the positive as well as the negative elements of any new treatment program. He did give us the name and phone number of a hematologist / oncologist in Santa Rosa, California.
We called about "Lit'el" Rags’ situation and his medical regiment. Doctor Murray described the program he was involved in called for a spinal tap every six months instead of every month and that alone was a primary reason to consider moving. The regiment of having a spinal tap every month was turning his back into a bruised pincushion. The new information and treatment program reinforce our decision to move to California. Mama’s prediction, "I bet it won’t be a month after I die you will move back to California," was wrong. I won the bet by five months.
"I’ll probably catch hell from her when we meet again in the new order," I said.
Trisha laughed, "Knowing your mother, I’d say you are right."

Chapter 8 Into the Fire

2008-10-15T08:43:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 8 INTO THE FIRE
In preparation to our baptism, we had to answer over eighty questions prepared by the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society. The topics covered such subjects as: growing beards, saluting the flag, singing the National Anthem, observing Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving Day, New Years Celebration, and Halloween as well as reading unapproved religious literature, research encyclopedias, interfaith prayers and gatherings. Who is God? What is his name? Who are the faithful and discreet slave? Who are the anointed? What is God’s view of blood? What and who is Babylon the Great? What is the significance of the year 1914? When did Jesus begin his Earthly rule? The purpose of the questions was to make sure those dedicating their lives to Jehovah understood the severity of the commitment they were taking as a Christian. The society did not want any person saying, "I didn’t understand."
We completed the questions and in conclusion, they ask us if we had any reservations as to dedicating our lives to Jehovah. We assured the brother we understood the position we were taking, and we recognized the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society was God’s Earthly Organization and his Channel of Communication. We received praise for making our decision to become Jehovah’s Witnesses, and our excitement began to build as we prepared for the upcoming assembly and our baptism.
The announcement of the up-coming assemblies was read, and we were assigned to the city of Shreveport, Louisiana. The Society’s instructions were carried out to a tee, and we sat in the intolerable July heat, sweltering in the convention center. The brothers’ white shirts were soaked through, and the sisters’ hairstyles lost their curls, came apart, fell over their eyes, and down their shoulders due to the humidity. There was not any air conditioning, just large fans blowing the stale air from one side of the stage to the other. It is amazing; no one passed out or suffered a heat stroke. The children were also miserable from their situation as the Society expected them to "be seen, and not heard." Spankings were the norm for discipline, followed by clasping our hands over their mouths to muffle their cries.
Sunday morning came and after several Bible discussions, using the daily text it was time for the baptismal talk. The candidates stood and were instructed to answer yes to the both questions if we agreed. The speaker began quoting the questions from the manuscript supplied by the Society:
(1) "Have you repented of your sins and turned around, recognizing yourself before Jehovah God as a condemned sinner who needs salvation, and have you acknowledged to him that this salvation proceeds from him, the Father, through his Son Jesus Christ?
(2) On the basis of this faith in God and in his provision for salvation, have you dedicated yourself unreservedly to God to do his will henceforth as he reveals it to you through Jesus Christ and through the Bible under the enlightening power of the holy spirit?" WT (The Watchtower) 1973 5/1 page 280 Baptizing Follows Discipline.
For some goofy reason as the questions were ask I said, "no," under my breath, then just as quick overruled the "no" with an audible "yes." The affirmative answers brought applause and the applause continued as we were ushered out of the auditorium into the locker rooms where we dressed-down for our baptism. The water baptism was an integral part of our dedication to Jehovah. The body must be submerged; therefore, they erected a makeshift pool between the women and men locker rooms. Two pool ladders were attached, one for entering and the other for exiting. The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society is an organization, which prides itself on expediting and efficiency, and we were expedited with efficiency through our baptism experience. Now we were official, we could be called Brothers and Sisters and our confirmation came at the conclusion of the assembly program, as the brother summed up the entire convention during his prayer and at the conclusion said, "... and for you newly baptized Brothers and Sisters this is not the end, but the beginning, for you are about to fight the fine fight. Jehovah, we again plead for your support of the Governing Body and your Earthly Organization."
From our viewpoint, it seemed our material and spiritual needs were met by God, because we had our health, a job, and we were happy. It was a spiritual paradise and even Mama and I was getting along like two bugs in a rug.
Our family was on top of the world. Life could not get any better in this system of things, and life did not. Our little baby boy, was eighteen months old now when our euphoric world tumbled down around us and we faced the test of our life. "Lit'el Rags began having night terrors, screaming, continuous crying and our first inclination was a prowler or a prankster outside his bedroom; so at first, I checked outside for footprints around the windows. I found none. This scenario became a nightly ritual. "Lit'el Rags would wake up screaming and it would be hours before he settled down. Trisha gave him milk and cookies then put him back in bed where he fell asleep exhausted. We never gave thought he may be ill, until Mama pointed out his color and lethargic manner.
"The baby is exhausted, don’t you see it? His eyes are yellow. I think he has Jaundice. See the dark circles around his eyes. Look at his mouth, his lips have a greenish gray tinge. You got to get him to the Doctors."
I received a call from Trisha and she told me the doctor said the night terrors were from lack of oxygen in his blood, and he diagnosed "Lit'el Rags with lymphatic leukemia, but he wanted a second opinion from the staff at UMMC. We had to be in Jackson at the University of Mississippi Medical Center no later than 6pm.
We spent the trip to Jackson in tears and prayers, pleading the diagnosis would be wrong. We met the medical team at the registration desk and the nurses took control, placed "Lit'el Rags on a gurney, and left us to register after which we received directions to the children’s wing. We followed the painted yellow arrows on the floor and turned left at the Children’s Hospital wing foundation plaque. The corridor was painted in bright colors along with Disney and Warner Brother’s cartoon characters. It was a far cry from the traditional institutional green in the older section. The nurse’s station was manned with an older nurse who watched us as we approached her, "Are you the Walkers?" she inquired.
"Yes, we are," we answered.
"Follow me," she said taking the lead as we walked down the hall and stopped at the third door from the nurses’ station. She pulled open the door and held it open for us then followed us in and walked over to the bed, "I’ll have another chair brought in for you. Let’s pray you will have a long stay here." She walked over to the bed, pulled the cord, "if you need anything to drink, feel free to ask any of the nurses at the station." The florescence light flickered and then cast a shadow on the wall above the bed, as it became a steady source of light. She took some time, explaining the procedures "Lit'el Rags was going through concerning the x-rays, spinal taps, and blood typing, before she excused herself, "If you need anything just let me know. I have to make my rounds now before the next shift arrives."
It was 10:15 when they rolled our little baby into the room on a gurney. He was exhausted and asleep. You could see dried tears on his cheeks. The nurse removed him from the gurney and placed him on the bed. The IV attached to a shunt in his little forearm pinched him and he moaned, but did not wake up. "He’s exhausted," she explained, "you should be proud of your son. He was so-o-o-o good during the entire procedure. He is an amazing little kid."
"Thank you. We are extremely proud of our baby," Trisha said with pride as she reached and grasped his small limp hand. Tears were streaming down her face and rolled onto her lips before I could hand her a tissue from the box beside the bed.
"I wish only the best for him," she stated with a compassionate pat on Trisha’s shoulder, "if there is anything the staff can do for you, please let us know."
"Thank you. We sure will," Trisha said as she moved even closer to "Lit'el Rags and covered his bruised and pale body with the bedding and love.
I stood weeping while my mind began to play games with me as we were waiting for the second diagnosis. Guilt began to toy with me as thought, am I being punished by Jehovah because I answered "No" to the baptism question, or could it be the Gamma Globulin shot Trisha needed to off set the RH-negative factor after "Lit'el Rags was born. The antibodies produced during some women’s pregnancy attacks the fetus as an unrecognized foreign body or virus. The mother’s enzymes need to be controlled through Gamma Globulin shots; therefore, we needed the future protection of Trisha and any fetus thereafter. I kept those two thoughts to myself, not wanting to burden Trisha with my doubts.
The doctors came in at eleven thirty. The new nursing staff arrived and every person who was assigned to "Lit'el Rags stood before us and Trisha could be heard pleading, "Please Jehovah, don’t let it be leukemia." The youngest of the group broke the silence as he introduced himself as Doctor Boyd. He asked us to follow him, and we followed him along with the entire group of Doctors and nurses out the door and down the hall to a conference room. The room was cool as the somberness of the doctors. There was a dead moment, which produced anxiety. Trisha squeezed my hand and my heart pounded in my chest. I knew there could not be anything-good coming from this situation.
The older man began to speak, "Mr. and Mrs. Walker I guess I’m nominated to give you the news. This will be a test for you and your little son. We received the blood work from the lab," he pointed to the group, "the team here, after studying and visiting all other possibility, finally, and I have to say with heavy hearts we must agree with your family doctor’s diagnosis. I am so sorry. Your son has lymphatic leukemia." His hand gripped my shoulder.
Trisha’s response came in a high pitch, "No-o-o! No! No! It can’t be."
I became nauseated and burst out in tears. We reached for each other in a death grip of emotion. Paradise was so far away. We questioned God with only one question asked, "Why? There was no answer given.
Another consolatory apology of, "I’m very sorry," came from the doctor who gave us the bad news, "let me say this, we have the best team of specialists here. There is hope," then he sliced to the bone as he completed his sentence, "even though so slight. Dr. Boyd will be in charge of the team."
We returned to the room after Dr, Bass lined out the treatments and procedures thankful "Lit'el" Rags was still asleep, and there were even more tubes coming out of his little arm and nose.
This was the last scenario to cross my mind. How could Jehovah do this to me? I covered this situation back in 1956 when I was eleven, with the death of Danny Nichols. I did not know him personally, but had played Little League Baseball with his younger brother. The Enterprise Journal, published his story; describing his life, interests, and family. I cried as I the article and begged God, "Please God, when I have a family don’t let my son die of Leukemia!" Now my son is dying of the one thing, I had begged God to protect me from, and to top it all off, the only treatment is a blood transfusion. The only treatment we could not agree upon, the only treatment Jehovah God will not sanction. There was nothing I could do except draw on the example of Abraham’s sacrificial offer of his son Isaac, and I also placed "Lit'el" Rags’ life in the hands of Jehovah.
I believed if our son died, he would be resurrected in the near future, and our love and devotion to the most high God, would be rewarded with everlasting life through the resurrection. The year 1975 is just around the corner, and God’s Organization promised us we would see the end of this system by October.
The expectation of the end of this system played loud by the President of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, Brother Nathan Knorr’s special talk given in San Francisco, California in 1972 through a special telephone hook-up. He spoke of the coming of 1975 and weaved into his public address the Society could be as far off as one year in its calculations, which could bring Jehovah’s fury as early as October of 1974. He further spoke about the coming of 1973 and suggested we should keep watch for the occurrences that would take place, because of rumors oil and gas prices would increase, the US dollar had been devalued and no longer under the gold standard or backed by gold. Each prophetic statement he made played into our thinking due to studying the Bible and applying anti-typical reasoning to typical situations such as recorded in the Bible book of Ezekiel: Chapter 7 verse 19:
"Into the streets they will throw their very silver, and an abhorrent thing their own gold will become. Neither their silver nor their gold will deliver them in the day of Jehovah’s fury."
We never made a decision without looking to the Bible and this was not any different. With all this information about the last days running through my mind and having discussed the situation for an hour with Trisha, our decision was to remain loyal to God and his organization, "no matter what." Our situation; under the worst scenario, would resemble Jesus leaving his father’s right hand to come to Earth where he lived thirty-three and a half years. His death brought an instantaneous gift, which was his resurrection and return to his father in Heaven forever; likewise, Trisha and I reasoned we would have "Lit'el" Rags with us on Earth forever, and it would be just a few short years. This thinking ran rampant in my mind, but this trade off was still a punch in my gut, but a trade off which we had to take. Our hearts were breaking. The fine fight began and our family was stuck between a rock and a hard spot--Leukemia was a death sentence without using blood transfusions, and I knew what it meant from past studies and recent articles pointed to the 1945 mandate issued by the Governing Body of Jehovah’s Witness concerning the "denunciation of blood transfusions as pagan and God-dishonoring." Watchtower, July 1, 1945, p. 198-201.
In nineteen sixty-one, view of blood transfusions by the governing body of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society under the leadership of N. H. Knorr moved from denouncing blood transfusions as being "pagan and God-dishonoring," to being a disfellowshipping offense. This New light issued forth from the Channel of God through an article appeared on pages 63 and 64 of the Watchtower magazine titled "Taking a blood transfusion is grounds for disfellowshipping." Later in the article on page 123, the Faithful and Discreet Slave placed another weight on the shoulders of the sheep as they suggested further inquiry of blood, and blood binders to keep God’s people free of those products; therefore, they mandated, "Ask your bakers and candy makers if blood is used to make the lecithin used in their products." WT, p. 123, but later, on page 480.
The Faithful and Discreet Slave again showing their superior knowledge tackled another field of medicine; organ transplants: In 1961, organ transplants was a conscience matter WT, 1961, p. 480.
Two years later in 1963, more information and demands came through the Watchtower magazine, "…any fraction of blood considered as a nutrient not to be used in medical treatment." WT, Feb. 15, 1963, p. 124, and the following year, 1964 both the Watchtower and its companion the Awake! Magazine condemned fertilizers, pet foods, and cosmetics derived from or used blood as an additive. Three months later another mandate came to life; sick pets could not receive transfusions. Awake! May 8, p. 30; WT p. 127, 128.
I discovered during some research in the Nov. 15, 1967 Watchtower magazine on pages 702-704 the Faithful and Discreet Slave deemed organ transplants as a form of cannibalism to be shunned. So within six years the Faithful and Discreet Slave with their superior knowledge tackled the field of medicine and with Jehovah’s help realized their pervious understanding was wrong and the new light must be conformed to without question--and it was.
Science and technology advanced, and so did God’s Organization. They scrutinized the medical field beyond the scriptures; insomuch as God’s people were well informed concerning the application of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society’s Bible trained conscience."
That night, Trisha and I explained as well as showed from the Bible the scriptures that persuaded us to follow God’s command not to use blood as a life saving treatment. The doctors and nurses would not or could not see our point of view, and they continued to pressure us to consider using blood transfusions. We were at a standoff, and the situation boiled down to... "Without the transfusions, Mr. Walker, if you want your families to see your son alive please call them now, because he won’t be with us by the end of next week. I am sorry, but the cancer cells are multiplying too fast. We could get a court order to force the transfusion but the staff does not want to do that after you sharing your beliefs with us from the Bible. I’ve had other Jehovah’s Witnesses tell us to get a court order so they could stay in good standing. Would you and your wife consider that option?"
"No, we would not consider that at all," I answered.
"We would get the court order and take the decision away from you. No one would ever know you consented to the treatment; just you and this team."
"You would still have your good standing in your church if that is your concern," said
Doctor Everett.
Responding to his tempting words, I said in one breath, "I would know, my wife would know, and most important of all, God would know. It would ruin our relationship with God. You can use anything to transfuse him, but you can’t use blood. I have to rely on God not man." He was processing my information and before he said anything I ask, "Can you guarantee me that with the transfusion he will live?" I was fighting back tears at this time and holding Trisha’s hand for insurance and assurance.
"No, I can’t, and nobody else can either," he answered in a raw and irritated tone of voice to my questioning him on the subject of life or death.
"Then we will have to depend on God," was my response, "he guaranteed us even if we die we’ll be brought back to life if we remain faithful to him. So I guess we will have to pass on your suggestion." My voice trembled from fear of man.
He surrendered with a shrug and concluded our conversation as he said, "We will do everything we can for your son. May God be with you, because it will be him that lets the little guy leave here alive." Those words sent a chill down my spine as he turned and walked off showing his displeasure.
The treatments began, and the best prognosis the doctors could offer was ten days. and those ten days were pure hell, because we not only had to deal with the possibility of losing our son, but we continued to fight with the doctors, so we could prove God was on our side and our religious beliefs were right. We were thorns in the side of the devil, and our stand brought whispering, pointing and rudeness from the medical staff. Our unpopular stand against the medical treatment turned us into enigmas, and the only comfort we processed was our passion to bring glory to God’s Organization.
We took the doctors suggestion and placed calls to California to tell Trisha’s parents and I called my brother who lived in Alabama. Trisha parents arrived in Jackson, Mississippi the following day as did Buck and his family. Trying to introduce both sides of the family to each other while every one was crying and asking questions was like a Hollywood scene of a large Italian family gathering without any laughter, just sadness and commotion. Sympathy ended as the formalities ended, and we began our job of explaining why "Lit'el" Rags was unable to receive blood transfusions. Each family member had his or her say, and the shaking of his or her heads in discuss summed up the confrontation as Mom King brought it to a close, "I can’t go along with your decision. That is your child, not mine. You do what ever you want to do with him. You have to live with your decision, not us."
When all was said and done, we were still standing alone. Buck and Dianne agreed with Trisha’s parents. The discussion took a toll on each of us. It was late. "We’re going to Mama’s," their exit emulated his southern drawl--long and drawn out and I waited, then Buck finished his statement and said, "if anything happens call us, because there isn’t anything we can do."
I was elated when the family left. The circus ended, but my brain continued to run amuck. There were so many questions to consider: How were we to handle the family? What would happen if "Lit'el" Rags died? Would I lose my brother? Would Trisha lose her parents? Are we doing the right thing? How firm is our faith? How will Jehovah bless us with our stand? Will "Lit'el Rags become the "anti-typical Isaac," saved by God? These questions kept playing as if they were on a looped recording, or a scratched vinyl record.
The nurses and technicians came into the room throughout the night and with an air of curtness answered our questions. It was a different story with the arrival of Trisha’s parents. The staff talked, joked and consoled them as they visited extensively. Mom and dad seemed warm and calm and after talking with the staff they came in and suggested Trisha go to their dorm room and freshen up, and told me to go home get some rest and go to work while they were there. I protested until they ask if I could afford to be off work for an extended time. Realization hit me, and I knew I needed to return to work. I took their suggestion and went home and each evening I drove to Jackson.
Relief came to Trisha and me only when we were barraged with the brothers and sisters in the faith led by the biggest country bumpkin in Amite County, Red Vines, he could have been John Candy's twin. God bless his soul. He took up the entire door way and his smile and love smothered me as he wrapped his big arms around me and said through his raspy Andy Devine voice, "Brother, if that baby can stay alive till seventy-five he'll be home free." Mom and Dad found excuses to leave. The brothers read scriptures and prayed with us, and for us; and their love and encouragement formed a deeper bond between God’s Organization and my family, and our expectations of a spiritual paradise became ever so valid.
The hematologist stopped by and gave us outstanding good news. The abnormal cells had stabilized while his red blood cells were beginning to multiply. There was light at the end of the tunnel and our hope soared on the craziest roller coaster ride of emotions I ever experienced, as each day the lab report returned with substantial improvement.
"The little guy" was responding, his pale skin regained a healthy glow as his life force, full of oxygen, flowed with strength keeping him in the "land of the living." All Trisha and I could do was give thanks to God for his love, and I knew now without a doubt, that I was serving the true God and this was his Earthly Organization and Trisha and I gave our whole life without reservations to God at that moment.
The complete remission had taken a little over ten days. When the day of release came and it was time to check out, the entire staff came out, applauded, and inundated "Lit'el" Rags with hugs, kisses, and gifts while ignoring Trisha and me, but that was okay, it was "Lit'el" Rags’ day anyway, but with that said, Dr. Boyd was the lone wolf who approached. He held out his hand to me and as we locked fist we began pumping each others arm in silent approval until he broke the silence saying, "Mr. Walker, thank you and your wife for helping me understand your belief in God." This was a surprise statement and I was shocked as he continued, "I don’t agree with you, but as a physician I can work with you."
"Dr Boyd, thank you for working with us and keeping the courts out."
"Mr. Walker, we obtained a court order and almost had it enforced. My team held a lengthy and hot discussion concerning your stand against using blood. We did not enforce it because you and your wife had sufficient knowledge and understanding of your religion. We were ready to enforce it, but your knowledge and positive understanding of what your decision meant for your son changed our mind and we decided to do everything possible for your son and leave it in God’s hand."
"Saying no to the blood transfusion was the hardest decision we ever did. We were scared but we put faith in Jehovah," I said, feeling in my heart if "Lit'el" Rags had received one ounce of blood he would be dead.
"You can be sure God was the one who brought your son into remission, not me or any of the team. The only thing we did was applying our medical knowledge. I would not have made a bet your son would be alive this day," he tapped on his watch, "I’m talking about this very minute. I am glad everything worked out for the both of us and we were able to keep the courts out of your decision. It was a great experience and one I shall never forget," we shook hands again, "this will be the last time I see you. My reserve unit has to report for active duty. I better get going. I have to complete my rounds," he stepped past me and completed his statement, "may God bless you." I watched him walk through the double doors into what I considered medical history.
Doctor Bass’ was a stand-up man, and his conciliatory comment was the only approval we received from any of the staff or his team. It must have been hell for them having to deal with us, because I know it had been hell for us, and as we signed out and received an appointment for our next visit, a flood of relief rushed over me. I saw a twinkle in the eyes of my wife as the will to live returned to her. An aura of exaltation consumed the family as we paraded down the sidewalk pulling "Lit'el" Rags in the Radio Flyer wagon Grandpa, and Grandma King bought for his return home.
Considering Doctor Boyd’s statement, I realized "Lit'el" Rags’ illness was a great testimony for Jehovah and his people. I buried my thoughts of Jehovah punishing us and was satisfied with my decision not burden Trisha with them because she had problems of her own just trying to keep peace between Mama and her parents. Mama made cutting remarks about Trisha’s dad’s drinking habits and reinvented herself into an asinine bitch, which continued until the day we drove them to the airport.
I was glad to see Mom and Dad leave, not because I no longer loved them, but because I was so embarrassed over her rudeness, but I did not want to make a scene, though I should have. I should have drawn a line in the sand and sided with my in-laws; after all, they accepted me and treated me as if I was their son. God, I hated my mother, the domineering witch, but I hated myself more because of my cowardice.
I knew when Trisha’s mom said, "We will be leaving this week end, because there isn’t anything we can do now. The baby is doing fine now, thank God, but your dad is bored," she glanced toward me, "you have to work and Mrs. Hinson--, she isn’t well, so I guess it is best for us to go home," she pointed to Jimbo and Neva, "and take care of these two." I read between the lines of her excuse underscored by the inflection in her voice, and knew her true reason to leave, was just an excuse to get the "hell out of Dodge."
It was an uncomfortable trip to the airport. Tension filled the air as we drove the fifty-five miles north to Jackson. They didn’t mention anything about my mother, but did tell me I was not the boy they knew and could not understand how any religion could change a person or put such demands on the members. We tried to explain our religion. The explanations fell on deaf ears; therefore, we gave them the book The Truth That Leads to Eternal Life and told them to read it and they would understand.
We arrived at the airport, and after checking their luggage, we entered the restaurant where tension strained the air. I don't know what may have been said if Tren and "Lit'el Rags were not with us. They were a lifesaver as well as a conversation saver as most of Grandpa and Grandma’s attention were focused on them as we waited for our orders of burgers and fries. I could not wait for their flight to depart and I believe I was not the only one who felt relief when the boarding call for flight 549 came over the PA system. We hugged, kissed, and shed tears. Mom and Dad and Trisha’s little brother and sister walked out onto the tarmac and boarded the plane. We waved and watched the plane taxi to the runway pick up speed and lift off into depressing cloudy skies. Trisha was now crying and so were the kids. Memories of the good times played through my mind and I acknowledged to myself they were lost; lost, never to be regained.
The meetings proved to be a source of encouragement. We were held up as examples of faith and received phone calls from all over the state wishing us well and congratulating us for our stand in behalf of Jehovah and his organization. We became celebrities with-in the local congregation and circuit. The local brothers and sisters adored "Lit'el" Rags we could do no wrong--we were celebrities.
Our schedule returned to a regiment of theocratic activities in-between "Lit'el" Rags’ routine weekly appointments for blood work in McComb and his monthly appointment at the University of Mississippi Hospital in Jackson for his spinal tap. Yes, joy was abundant inside the little Kingdom Hall as we had seen the workings of Jehovah and how he had brought "Lit'el" Rags back from the doors of death and handed him back to our loving arms. We knew we passed the test James, the brother of Jesus, spoke of in the Bible book he wrote, and in the book of James quoting from The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures starting at verse 2: "Consider it all joy, my brothers, when you meet with various trials. Verse 3: Knowing as you do that this tested quality of your faith works out endurance. Verse 4: But let endurance have its work complete, that you may be complete and sound in all respects, not lacking in anything...,"
These words of encouragement gave us the feeling we won the greatest battle of integrity for the freedom of the sons of God.