MEMOIRS OF EUGENE H. LOVELL, SR.
(Portions of this document which appear in italics represent an addendum
provided by the author after the original document was distributed to his
children.)
I, Eugene Hendrix Lovell am the fourth son of
William Henry Lovell and the second son of
Fannie Ellen Fisher. My father, W. H. Lovell
was born near Lynnville, Tenn. in Giles County
on Jan. 7, 1858 and died near Fayetteville,
Tenn. on Nov. 18, 1924. He had married Lena
Storey and there were two sons by this
marriage. My mother, Nellie Fisher, was born
near Lewisburg in Marshall County Dec. 20,
1874 and died Oct. 21, 1957. Mother was
married to John L. Griggs of Williamson
County. He died Oct. 24, 1901, and then
mother married my father. Mother had two
children by her first marriage, but one died in
infancy. Mother and Dad had 7 children, of
whom I was the second.
My father, William Henry Campbell Lovell,
was the son of James and Mary Hannah Lovell.
He was the tenth child of the eleven. His
father, James Wesley, was born on October 11,
1811, and died on July 22, 1859. His mother,
Mary Hannah, was born November 20, 1820,
and died on March 3, 1882. So you can see
that his father died while he was quite young.
At the close of the Civil War, his mother Mary
Hannah, moved to Texas from Giles County, as
did a great many others of that county. She
took with her this large family, and bought
land. Dad worked on the farm until he was 21
years old. When but a youth, he was converted,
and some years later was licensed to preach.
Seeking a place for continuing his education,
he came back to Tennessee and entered
Vanderbilt (it had another name and had not
become Vanderbilt then), but later seeing the
need of more foundation work, entered Webb
School at Bell Buckle, where he finished the
course.
Dad was a Methodist preacher, having joined
the Tennessee Conference in 1888 at the
conference held in Fayetteville Oct. 17- 22, with
Bishop J. C. Keener presiding. His first
appointment was Alex Green Circuit in the East
Nashville District, with Payten A. Sowell as
Presiding Elder. His brother, Isaac Wilson,
was also a Methodist preacher. He was
traveling the Nashville Circuit at the outbreak
of the Civil War, and died in a Camp in the
Confederate Army. Their mother, my
grandmother, was a deeply spiritual woman,
and the salutary influence of her life on him
was acknowledged by him. Isaac Wilson, the
preacher brother, was the oldest of the several
brothers. He had come into the Tennessee
Conference on trial at the 1861 Annual
Conference, held at Athens, Alabama Oct. 2- 8
with Bishop John Early presiding. He was
appointed to Swan Creek and Beaver Dam in
the Centerville District, along with William P.
Warren who was the Senior pastor, we
presume. He became a chaplain in the
Confederate Army, and died as recorded above
in a Mississippi army camp March 14, 1863. So
far as we know, Dad, Isaac Wilson, and
Thomas Riley, another brother, were the only
ones to return to Tennessee. Isaac Wilson did
not live until the end of war, hence did not go
with the family to Texas. There were seven
brothers, and 4 sisters. It is thought that our
grandfather Lovell, James Wesley, came from
Kentucky or Illinois. He was buried at the
family cemetery at Yoakley, Tennessee, between
Columbia and Pulaski. Dad served 9 charges
before I was born, and 12 others after my birth.
He was always a circuit rider. In looking at the
Conference records, I notice that his salary at
White House started at $300, and increased to
$320 his last year there. He was pastor there 4
years, and White House was a Mission charge.
We know nothing of where our Grandmother
Lovell originated, or even her maiden name.
We hope that it may be possible to discover
some facts about both families some day. We
do know that our grandfather Lovell died of
T.B. And we do know that our grandmother
was of the Wilcoxson family. She died of
 2
Typhoid fever.
One can find the history of our mother's family
in the Fisher Scrapbook written by Bill Jones.
Her family was a well- known family of Bedford
County. I mentioned the fact that Dad and
Mother were married before, and their
marriage took place after the death of first wife
and first husband. Mother had two children by
her first marriage, lost the little boy in infancy.
Mildred Griggs was the survivor, and lived
until May 2, 1968. She had married Clarence
Jones of Burwood. He survived Sis only a few
months. They had an only son, Thomas, who
teaches at Columbia Military. Joe and Jim
were the sons that Dad had by his first
marriage. By the second marriage of the two
(Dad and Mother) there were 6 more, 5 boys
and 1 girl-- John, 'Gene, Marsh, Gil, Margaret,
and Marvin. Quite a family, but that was
customary in those days.
My mother's uncle was another Methodist
preacher. This meant that we children grew up
in a Christian home, where many of the luxuries
that are enjoyed today were missing, but we had
a happy childhood in spite of all this. Dad had
already served several charges when I was born
on October 19, 1905. I was born at White
House, Tenn., in Robertson County. I think that
Dad built the parsonage in which I was born,
but have no verification of this. Of course, I
was too young to remember anything which
took place there or at the next few places that
we lived. My brother, Marshall, was born at
Pleasant View, Tenn. two years later. I
remember a story told of my childhood, of how
my father had to come down from the pulpit
and rescue me after I had gotten my head
between the railings of the altar of the church. I
am not sure where this happened.
It was the custom of my parents to put their
children to sleep inside the altar railing if there
was a night service. My first dim recollections
start at Santa Fe. We were there in 1910-1911
and I started to school at Santa Fe. The Cook
family were among those that are remembered.
We played with a neighbor boy named Early,
and I can still hear his mother calling to him,
"Early, go fetch the eggs." We played in the
creek back of the parsonage. In those days
there was malaria, and my older brother became
sick with it during the summer.
You will notice that I passed over the periods
from 1905 to 1913, for I have little memory of
events during those early days of my life. We
had now lived at White House, in Robertson
County, at Pleasant View in Montgomery
County, where Uncle Marsh was born, then at
Bethlehem, in Williamson County, and near
Nashville- -just between Nashville and
Franklin. Also I have little memory of Santa
Fe, where I believe I first attended grammar
school, and there to Nolensville, where we lived
for two years, 1911- 1913.
Memory does clear a bit when we moved to
Dellrose in 1913. We were there a couple of
years, and some of the memories of those days
were again stirred when we went there to serve
as pastor during 1933-35. Names of families,
places where they lived, and other matters
renewed themselves in our memory.
Throughout the years, even though my
pastorates in the Tennessee Conference were
few in number, I served two places where Dad
had served while I was a boy. Dellrose and
Cumberland City were these places. We were
assigned the Dellrose and Bee Springs Circuit
when we came home from Congo in 1933,
during the Depression. Life was pretty hard,
for there was little money in the country, but
somehow we made out, and even managed to
accumulate a few personal belongings. We
started out in the ministry at Cumberland City,
and were we green at the work?! Cumberland
City was on the railroad, but Dover, the county
seat was not. So the two towns were connected
by means of a mail boat which made the
journey down the Cumberland River to carry
mail and passengers. This was before the days
of good roads.
Dad drove a horse called "Telephone" from his
height, and later secured "Molly" with whom
we grew up. My memory of things had
deepened at Nolensville in 1911-1913. I recall
that we had neighbors who were socially a
 3
notch or two above us. They even had a Lazy
Susan table, and the lady of the home played
the organ at the church, I believe. My brother
Jim had the job of pumping this pipe organ
during the summer vacation, and usually came
home wet with perspiration. This family went
to Florida for the winter, and the boy shared a
few things that he brought back with him. It
seems that I remember the first coconut from
those days.
I remember stealing a pencil box at school one
day, and the pangs of conscience I suffered as a
result until I had to tell my parents and return it
with an apology. Our grandmother on mother's
side came to live with us while we were there,
and she died at the parsonage. She used to
regale us with stories of the Civil War until we
were fearful of going to bed. This usually
occurred when she baby-sat with us on Sunday
nights.
Dad always had a good garden, and so taught us
to help out in this work after school. We were
taught many things by our parents, for it was
difficult for them to stretch what little money
came in to feed and clothe so many children. I
believe that my sister, Margaret, was born at
Nolensville. We learned very early how to cut
wood for the kitchen stove and for the
fireplaces, for that was how we heated the
parsonages in which we lived. Later we had
grates and burned coal. We learned how to care
for the cow, Molly, and any other livestock we
might have as a calf, colt, or pigs. Dad had to
have water that was not limestone water, so we
carried his drinking water from an artesian well
from the Waller home. Somehow I seem to
remember that there was a suicide in the family
during the time we were there, and of course
this was a matter of fear to us at that time. It
seemed a long way to carry a heavy bucket of
water, but it really wasn't too far.
Dad was often invited to the homes of people
on the circuit, and occasionally we joined him,
for Sunday dinner. Mother used to have to
question him about where he had eaten, for she
found that he would forget and bring home the
dinner napkin. The railway was being built at
this time, and they used to pull cars and other
equipment by on the road that ran in front of the
parsonage.
When we moved to Dellrose for 1913-1914, we
found it a rural community about twenty miles
from Fayetteville. Even when Mildred and I
lived there some twenty years later, things had
not changed much. The Mansfield family was
one of the older families as was the Sherrill and
the George family. Dad drove through the
country in the buggy when he moved, and we
led the cow behind. We stayed at the Mansfield
home, and I believe Dad returned for the rest of
the family. Anyhow the first day of school was
a disaster for me, for I was so timid that I ran
away from the school over to the parsonage and
hid in the utility shed for the day. When the
family all arrived I was soon happy in school.
We hunted all sorts of nuts in the woods above
the parsonage. Jim was at Massey School in
Pulaski, and on one occasion when coming
home, he wasn't sure of the road, so decided to
let Molly find it, and she came directly home.
The railroad was being constructed through
Dellrose, and the town was divided between
New Town and Old Town. We lived in Old
Town. Mother usually had extra milk and
butter for sale, so we went to the cars to sell it.
I believe that the price was about ten cents per
gallon. There were no conveniences at the
parsonages in those days, and so we had no
bathrooms or electricity. It was the custom to
get out the wash tub before the kitchen stove on
Saturday nights and bathe. Of course water had
to be heated on the stove for this purpose.
When we moved to Cumberland City in
1914-1915, we attended the W. T. Thomas
Academy. It later became the public school.
We often were able to buy fresh fish here, and
Dad secured the garden of a neighbor in
addition to our own for raising vegetables. It
had Bermuda grass in it, and what a time we
had trying to get rid of it. We threw it into the
alley and it even took root there in the hard
ground. Many years later we lived at Dover,
and the grass on the yard came from the
Bermuda that we had thrown into the alley,
which had been collected from the garden.
 4
Dad's fellow pastor carried it there and set it
out. This was my first charge in the conference,
and where we began our married life. Dad also
rented a field down in the creek bottom a little
way out from Cumberland City so that we
could have corn, beans, and other things.
I drank some water from the creek and soon
developed a case of Typhoid Fever. I first
noticed it by the chills I had on the hot summer
morning, for I was so cold I usually wound up
behind the kitchen stove. The rest of the family
were vaccinated, and so escaped it. I was a sick
boy all that summer. Sometimes I had to be
bathed in ice water, and of course was denied
any solid food. This was before the day of
miracle drugs, and the family must have
worried a lot over me that summer. I was
starved for something to eat and remembered
that I had thrown part of a biscuit in the grate
weeks earlier, and so crawled over to get it.
That dry biscuit was real feast. I don't suppose
that it harmed me much, but it was enough to
kill me. I had been fed soup, raw eggs, orange
juice, and other liquids until I had to have
something solid. My hair all came out, and I
was a scrawny creature when fall came. I could
not so much as pick up a few pieces of wood
without fever returning, but gradually it left and
I can attribute most of my health today from
that summer of fever. The bottles emptied of
medicines as Castor Oil and other things piled
up, until it was unbelievable.
While at Cumberland City, mother asked me to
take some empty jars to the smoke house, and
in some way one hit against another and I
received a very bad cut on the hand. I have the
livid scar to this day on my right hand. The
Stackers, the Bayers, the Billahans, the
Daughterys, the Thomases, and Bradfords were
friends who welcomed us back there when I
started my ministry years later.
We moved to Springfield from Cumberland
City in 1915 and stayed until 1919--the longest
sojourn that we remember. We lived on the
edge of town, and Dad was Pastor of the Red
River Circuit. We attended Peoples-Tucker
Preparatory School. Peoples- Tucker
Preparatory School was one of the many
Preparatory Schools in the state of Tennessee,
and a very good one. There were both
boarding students and those who walked in
each day. We were less than four miles away,
and walked back and forth most days.
Sometimes, if the weather was too bad, Dad
took us in the buggy. We always rushed home
after school hours, for there was much to be
done, like cutting wood, helping in the garden
in the growing season, and other kinds of work.
We were kept busy. Mother canned a great
many fruits and vegetables, and we raised most
of our food, for there was too little money to
buy much except the necessary staples. "Buck"
Peoples was head of the school, and a real fine
Latin teacher. Sometimes we had to stay after
school to make up the Latin we were not able to
recite in class.
I think I was put in school too early at
Peoples-Tucker so had to return to Grammar
School another year or so. Miss Lora
McClelland must have been an excellent
teacher, for she introduced me to art and music.
I enjoyed these years. When I returned to the
P.T., "Buck" Peoples really bore down hard on
Latin, and gave me an excellent foundation in
that subject, which I am still using. When one
could not recite properly, he was called to go
down to the Raspberry patch and recite. One
was kept after school in those days too.
Chataqua came into our lives while there.
World War I was being fought, and we saw
patriotic marches, special services and the first
flying machine, as it was called. How thrilled
were we on Armistice Day which was
celebrated twice. They were a bit previous with
the announcement.
We usually attended First Church on Sunday
mornings, and then went to Woodland Street in
South Springfield for the afternoon service.
When Faxon Small was pastor there as a
student, we rang the church bell all the time it
took him to walk from the crossroads, and did
he light into us. Mrs. Faxon Small is now here
at McKendree Manor. We knew Faxon's sister,
Mrs. Jim Majors. Jim and she taught school
for many years and now live at Clarksville.
 5
John, our older brother-- two years older than
I, was with the family until we moved to Sumner
Circuit, I believe in 1920. I think that he was
sent to Massey at that time. Massey was
another Preparatory School and used military
training. It was located at Pulaski. Our
brother, Jim, had graduated from there.
Dad was rather puritanical in his discipline of
us, and we all had the rod laid on sometimes.
One day I ran away when he called me in for
my share of punishment. He went on to town,
and when he had returned, he asked me to come
forward, and I started off across the field. He
finally caught me as I was getting over the
fence, and was it "hot and heavy" for me. John,
my older brother rebelled, and this hurt dad a
lot. He and Dad just didn't see eye to eye after
that. He didn't want to be disciplined any
longer. I worked on the Davis farm a summer
or so, and also on the Dowell farm next door, to
us, with a black family who lived there. Sol
and Frankie were their names. Once after Sol
had taken a drink of water with wiggle-tails, or
mosquito larvae in it, he cried out, "Sister
Frankie, Sister Frankie give me a cup of hot
grease." He was afraid of what the wiggle-tails
would do to him. On second thought, I believe
that this was a friend of theirs, or Frankie's
brother, not Sol himself. We found Sol and
Frankie wonderful neighbors.
The winters in those days were real winters, and
one winter the snow stayed so long and so deep
that schools closed, and naturally, we had lots
of fun sliding down the hill on the pike in front
of our home. The wagons and teams had a hard
time climbing it. I spoke of the winters being
hard in those days. Of course, most of the time
the parsonages were heated with only a grate
fire or a heater, and most of the house that was
not used was shut off, and only when company
came was the parlor used, or in the summer
time. We kids usually slept in a cold room. The
washing tub was brought out on Saturday
nights and water heated on the kitchen range
for baths. We wore long underwear, and long
stockings, and button shoes were in vogue those
days. The outdoor "john" was found most
everywhere in those days too. Water came
mostly from wells or cisterns.
We were an outdoor family, especially we
children, for there was never much room in the
house to play. Mother helped us with our
lessons, and the boost she gave me on Latin
remains with me until this day. While at
Springfield, Dad bought a surrey, or
fringed-topped two-seated buggy for the family.
We enjoyed it a lot. We had friends that we had
known somewhere else settle in Springfield, the
H. T. Thomas family. He soon bought a model
T Ford, and we enjoyed many rides with him,
although he was a rather wild driver and often
scared the wits out of one, going around the
corners on two wheels and other wild capers. I
suppose that this was one of the first cars in
which we rode. Swimming, hanging on wild
grape vines, hiking, and attending "protracted
meetings" were a lot of fun too. We had to
work, but there was time for fun too.
Mother used to make fried fruit pies for us to
carry to school, and how we enjoyed them. She
also made a fried sugar pie, and the fellows at
Peoples-Tucker just couldn't wait to get their
hands on them, and we bought peanuts with the
dime and were satisfied. We had lots of
Rhubarb in the garden, and mother canned a lot
of it, as we had pies and other dishes of
Rhubarb. We also dried fruit, for there was an
apple orchard on the parsonage property. The
two older boys were at Agricultural college at
U. T. and told Dad how to prune and spray the
trees. We also had cherry trees, and we picked
berries here, there, and yonder. One other thing
we did was to raise peas. We sold a lot of
these, plus beans and other things, but we put
up big carbide cans of peas for the winter, so
we ate well. Farmers often gave us pork at
hog-killing time, and most of the time we had
pigs for butchering. Once we kept apples in
cold storage until Christmas or later. We
hunted nuts, etc. We somehow managed to
survive the childhood diseases that afflicted us
at seasons of the years. It is still a marvel how
my parents managed to help two sons at
college, and keep some of us in preparatory
schools and other in Grammar Schools and still
keep going from year to year.
 6
Mildred, our sister, began to attract the attention
of boys, and we enjoyed some of the gifts that
came to her from their hands. We all learned
the value of a dollar, and how to work with our
hands, and hope that we have been able to pass
this on to others. We saw something of
rationing during the war, but our sugar
managed to hold out as well as other foods
except when they needed replenishing. A
Powder Plant was being built at Jacksonville,
now called Old Hickory, and bus loads of
workers used to pass by each day. Model T's
were beginning to be somewhat plentiful, and a
few of the luxury class cars as well.
We left Springfield with regret, and went to
Theta in Maury County. It was in 1919-1920.
When we went to Theta in 1919 from
Springfield, it seemed as if we were going to the
backwoods, for Theta was quite a distance from
Columbia or Franklin in those days. The
school was an incomplete High School, and we
lost out on our school work that year. I
remember that "country singing" classes were
held in the church, and I can still hear, "Life's
evening sun" being sung. The year at Theta
was a full one for we cut wood for sale,
grubbed sprouts, and did a lot of other work to
help make ends meet.
The school there was limited in its years, so
some of us had to repeat what we had had
before. Dad always made a point of trying to
move to a place where there was a good school,
but could not always be successful. We were
kept busy, for we cut wood in the places where
the loggers were getting out timber, and even
though this was mostly on Saturday, we found
that Dad had big plans for the vacation. Before
school was out some of us were taken out of
school and started grubbing sprouts off land
that had been fallow for some years. There was
a barn where we could go when it rained. We
soon thought we had poison oak, or something
worse. It turned out that the barn was infested
with pig fleas, and we even got the parsonage
infested. Fumigation had to be used. We
learned to plow with a Hillside Plow, which had
a mold-board that could be switched from one
side to the other, and one simply switched it at
the end of the furrow and came on back. We
made an excellent crop of corn, but didn't get
much for it, since we were moved, and could
not bargain too long. We had learned to break a
young mule to riding, how to stack up a neat
cord of wood of the firewood kind and of the
kitchen stove kind. We also had a good garden,
and even a cantaloupe patch, I believe.
During the summer revival, when the church
had a visiting evangelist, I publicly
acknowledged my call to preach for the first
time. I cannot date my conversion, for it was
gradual, and experiences were many that
deepened my faith. One of the happy
experiences that came was to care for the
pressure lamps in the church, and to do other
things that were helpful.
We were allowed to visit our cousins at a place
called Boston, not far from Franklin, for Uncle
Will Lewis had moved there and bought a farm.
Tom and Sallie May were first cousins, and
children of Aunt Margaret who was mother's
sister, and had died some years previously, and
Uncle Will had married another wife. I believe
that we went coon hunting for the first time, or
was it possum hunting?
A Jewish family kept a general store at Theta,
and we learned a bit more about Jews. The
other storekeeper said that we were not like
most of the preachers' kids, for we worked and
were behaved. There were three
churches--Campbellite, Baptist, and Methodist.
They were so close together that the story goes,
when one sang the song, "Will there be any
stars in my crown," the answer came back from
another, "No, not one." Singing schools were
then in fashion, as today, and our church had
them from time to time. I believe that listening
through the open windows of the parsonage
next door, and the comments of my father gave
me a dislike for them until this day.
Dad had several churches, and at Burwood
lived a man named Clarence Jones. I do not
know where our sister Mildred met Clarence,
but he started coming to the parsonage
 7
seemingly to ask Dad for church information,
and before we knew it the news that she had run
away and married him just about bowled us all
over. It was most difficult for Dad and he was
quite upset for a long while, and never became
reconciled to the matter. Clarence was always
rather peculiar, and we laughed far too much at
the poor fellow. He never seemed very happy
for some reason or other. I am sure that he
showed Sis a lot of troublesome times. They
are both gone now.
Mildred, our older sister, lived during the first
years of her married life on the Jones family
farm at Burwood. It got so they had a hard
time making ends meet, and Grandpa Jones,
Clarence's father, ran a market wagon. I do
not know how well he did in those days. It used
to be the custom for a country store to have a
regular route for such business throughout the
countryside for people could not always come
to the store, especially during the depression.
They had little money, few cars, and quite a bit
of produce as eggs, chickens, etc., which they
traded for store bought goods. When we lived
at Dellrose in the mid-thirties, both the Jean,
and Sherrill stores had market trucks running.
When conditions got worse, the Jones family
sold their farm, and moved to Old Hickory,
where Clarence found work at the DuPont
plant. He always hated the place for some
reason or other, and had very few good words
for it or the Campbellite church. Big Sis was
Clarence's aunt, and Emma was his sister.
They took boarders too, for nearly everyone did
in those days. DeBow Street was one of the
streets filled with big duplex tar-paper houses
put up during the days of the Powder plant at
Old Hickory, and most every family had a good
many of the men and girls who worked at the
plant boarding with them.
When we moved from Theta in 1920, it was to
the Sumner Circuit to which Dad was assigned.
We lived in a small community called
Ocana--about 6 miles from Gallatin. We were
pleased to find that there was a good school not
too far away. It was the Williams Preparatory
School. Marshall and I rode in to school with
Walter Dorris and his two sisters, Josephine and
Mary. The girls were in high school, while
Walter and we were at Williams. Sometimes
the model T had to be helped up the hills, and in
the snow, we often had to assist it. When gas
was low, Walter had to sometimes back it up
the hills to get enough gas to the engine. On
cold mornings, a tea kettle of hot water had to
be poured over the manifold to start it. The
church, next door to the parsonage was called
Douglas Chapel, and there were several
influential families connected with it. Mrs.
Harris, my S.S. teacher made a very vivid
impression on my 15-year old mind and soul. It
was there that I put on long pants, which in
those days was a big event in the life of a
growing boy.
During the summer vacation, we secured jobs
with local farmers, the telephone company, a
group baling hay and other places. I was
fortunate in that day and got me a job with a
family near Cottontown, I believe it was called.
The man I worked for was one who milked 13
cows, and it often fell my lot to do the milking,
the separation of the cream, and other duties
about the place. I learned to run the big mower,
and to do many other things. He also raised
"bearded barley" for feed, and operating the
winnowing machine was about the most
breath-taking job I was called upon to do. It
was a "lung busting" job. I did not know it
then, but found out later that the crib of the barn
where we kept the feed was Strother's Meeting
House, a celebrated Methodist Chapel. It now
stands on the campus of Scarritt College.
While at Ocana I remember cutting Marshall's
hair on the promise that when I finished, he
would do the same for me. I made such a mess
that it took a local barber a long time to finally
straighten it up. When Marsh wanted to claim
my promise of letting him do mine, I was too
afraid of what he might do to let him start, so
the promise is unfulfilled until this day.
We borrowed a team and wagon and hauled
wood from the top of Pilot Knob, a very high
hill. We had to lock the wheels coming down
to control the wagon. Once I went with Dad to
 8
Shackle Island where there was a large mill, to
hold the funeral of a returned soldier's body.
That was about as far as I got away from home
during that year, save the trips to Gallatin to
school.
Once Earl Stilz, home on furlough from his
work as a missionary to Congo, visited the
church and gave a talk. I can still see some of
the curios he brought along. It made an
impression upon me, and gave an urge to want
to do likewise.
We moved to Dover in 1921, and lived there for
three years. It was a long move, and the circuit
was large. The parsonage was a large two-story
house built of green lumber, and unable to heat
in the winter to any satisfaction. We had a
good public High School there, and both
Marshall and I graduated at Dover High School.
We made many friends there. Professor
Gorham was the school principal, and an able
school man. There were other good teachers.
Mr. Gorham was a good disciplinarian, and we
heard that he committed suicide in later years
because of deep depression. It was sad to hear
such of so good and so worthy a man. He did
not claim affiliation with any church, but
certainly upheld high moral principles. One of
my teachers simply could not understand how I
could do so well in Plane Geometry in daily
classes and just about fall flat on the final
examination. I have never cared for math of
any kind, and after that course, never took math
again. Latin was my favorite subject, and
History was next. I have always been sorry that
I did not major in History in college instead of
Philosophy. I detested Philosophy, so guess I
was looking for an easy way out.
I believe that the first year we were at Dover, I
went to Columbia to stay with Joe, my older
brother, and Louise, his wife. I was given the
opportunity of helping them by caring for the
cow, the yard, and the chickens, as well as
running errands, and could attend class. I
enjoyed my school days there. Agnes Malloy
was my French teacher and I came to like
French through her efforts. Everrett
Derryberry, the president of Tennessee Tech
University, was a fellow classmate. My stay
with them helped out matters at home in cutting
down by one those who had to be fed. When
school was out I went to Burwood to visit sister
Mildred and Clarence and Jones family. John,
my older brother was there from Massey. He
was restless, and still was rebellious about any
parental control. I can well imagine my Dad
having to handle him with "Kid Gloves." He
cared little for Massey, and was sent to stay
with Joe and Louise at Winchester, while I
entered Dover High.
I had heard of Granite City, Illinois and how
much one could make there, so persuaded the
family to let me have a try. A good many men
from Dover were there at work and doing well.
Permission was granted, and I soon found a job
working at loading tar. I believe that I first had
to dig the stuff up, and load it into cars on the
railroad. One had to smear oil all over the
exposed surfaces of the body to keep the fumes,
and the dust of the tar from blistering one in the
hot sum. I soon decided that this wasn't the sort
of job I wanted and sought another. I soon was
employed at the St. Louis Coke and Chemical
Co., in the same city. I was a "Second Helper"
which meant that I was to blow out the tanks
where the Napthelene was being extracted from
the by-product department of the Coke plant.
This called for passing by the very hot furnaces
where the coal was being processed into coke,
and another job was to stir the mixture in the
napthelene tanks, or vats. The odors of that
place almost lifted off the top of the head, even
beating the Ammonia extraction place.
Ammonium Sulphate was another by-product,
as well as Benzine. Our locker space was very
near the ammonia tanks, and sometimes those
tanks ran over, and the wall of water in the
shower was a fair protection. Even then, one
had to get out of the shower stall, and without a
stitch on get away from the ammonia. I saw
people coming toward us stop as if they had run
into a solid wall, when the wall of ammonia
suddenly stood in their pathway. Another job
was to load heated tar. One had to measure the
temperature so as not to have it too hot or too
cool. It was a ticklish job up on the tank car
doing this work. After some weeks, I decided
 9
that I would live longer back home, and left.
Dad had gotten a job for me at a sawmill as an
"Off-Bearer", which meant carrying off the
slabs as soon as they were peeled off by the big
circular saw. After a few hours of this, I
volunteered to help cut timber instead, for after
all I knew how to handle a cross-cut saw.
During my stay near the lumber project, I
boarded with a good family, but when I heard
of a much cheaper place, I left and tried it out
for a night or so. The family were very poor,
the food miserable, and the sleeping
accommodations worse. I found out that after I
fell asleep at night, the parents brought the
children to my room, and I woke up next
morning with some of them in my bed, and
others on the floor about. I soon decided that I
was in the wrong place for work, and secured a
job on a farm.
It was a nice place, and I spent the rest of the
summer, cutting and baling hay, cultivating
tobacco, making apple cider, and doing the
thousand and one things that a farm calls for.
Finally when the worms became bad on the
tobacco and the farmer sprayed it with Paris
Green, I used to get sick and vomit. I suffered
out the days until we cut the tobacco, and hung
it in the barn. Sometimes I had to stand
spraddle-legged in the top of the barn and
receive the tobacco plant as it was handed to
me. One gets used to the heights in time. Once
in the apple orchard, the son of the farmer
showed me how he made more cider for sale
later for vinegar. He would add a lot of creek
water to it. When I protested that this was
dishonest, it rolled off him as if no protest had
been made. I enjoyed the cider until it became
too hard to drink. I hope that I missed the creek
water mixture.
Our class at Dover School had fifteen members.
We were a closely knit group, and enjoyed our
days together. The Cherry girls, Nova and
Viola, Walter Brigham, Lucille Keel, Oscar
Vaughan, who married Viola later, Burrus
Lewis and others were people for whom one
had high respect. Lucille came in from the
country each day, and had cheeks as pink as a
rose. I was asked to keep up with her after
graduation, but have not done a good job of it.
Another student in the class just a year ahead of
us, Henry Oliver, was the son of a Free-Will
Baptist preacher. He graduated in short pants.
He was one of the best graduates of the school.
He himself became a Baptist preacher, and
teacher. He was at one time principal of East
Nashville High School, and later
Superintendent of the Nashville Schools. The
story is told of how his father was enrolling him
at Southwestern College, then at Clarksville,
and now at Memphis. Henry still wore short
pants. When the Dean saw Henry, he asked his
Dad to get him long pants before he came to
college.
We did not have preaching services every
Sunday, so we went to the Christian church on
alternate Sundays, and sometimes attended the
services of the Baptists who were beginning an
organization and meeting in the courthouse.
We took care of the church and the pressure
lights. It was a pretty church and had a special
window in the end of it to commemorate the
end of the Civil War, with the gray and blue
shaking hands. Fort Donelson is at Dover and
one of the decisive battles of the Civil War was
fought here.
It was the custom for each graduate to deliver a
short oration during the closing exercises. Mine
was about Carrie Nation. I have long since
forgotten the contents, and recall only one
phrase, "Carrie Nation with a Hatchet." It was a
great day for each of us. Marsh graduated the
next year, so there are two Lovells who are
alumni of Dover High School.
Dad always envisioned a college education for
his children, and so we began the search for a
college. Emory University was the Methodist
College which took the place of Vanderbilt, and
in those days offered some cuts in expenses for
preachers' children. That was the place. I have
always felt that I might have received just as
good an education closer to home, and probably
at less cost, but Dad wanted me to be in a
Methodist school. He was always sad that
Vanderbilt had been weaned away from the
 10
church. What a greenhorn I was. I hardly
knew which end of the street car to catch, but
met a boy on the way to Emory, while we were
on the train, and he helped me some. The
dormitories were full, so I stayed off campus in
a private home along with others. Some weeks
later, I was able to get into Alabama Hall, the
Freshman dorm. I was always strapped for
money, and work was hard to find. I finally did
get a job delivering suits for the pressing club.
Later I found work washing dishes along with
others at the dining hall. My grades were only
fair but slowly I became adjusted to University
Life.
I suppose that Freshman English was one of the
hardest subjects, and the many themes were
really difficult to compose. We had a rather
hard boiled teacher who used a percentage
grading system. I never did too well in his
class, but passed the course. Bible was a
subject I enjoyed a lot, and even though John
Knox was a good teacher, I must admit that my
faith was a bit shaken by some of the "Higher
Criticism" I heard for the first time. I had been
reared in a theologically conservative home. I
was able to take it in my stride, and have
always been thankful that I was taking a course
in biology which helped. Later, Evolution and
Genetics, with Eugenics were of great help.
Fosdick's, "Modern Use of the Bible" helped
me in the change of theological change. I saw
others who seemed to have their faith wrecked.
I continued my study in Latin, and in Greek, as
well as in French. We had excellent teachers. I
went to the different churches in Atlanta, and at
times taught a S. S. class during my student
days. The older students in the Candler School
of Theology manifested a great interest in
others who would come after them, and often
assisted us in finding churches where we could
be of service. I shall forever be grateful to
them.
When summer came in 1924, I went back to
Nashville, where I met Marshall and we took
training from the Southwestern Book Co., on
selling Bibles and other books. We stayed at
the old Merchants Hotel on lower Broadway. It
was a rather weather beaten place, with poor
beds and poor food, but about as cheap a decent
place where the company could house and feed
us. I remember some of the men climbing over
the wall of the bathroom to take a bath, so as to
save the quarter of a dollar charged for that
ablution. At the close of the training period, we
were assigned to go to Maryland. It seemed a
long way off, but we finally arrived at
Westminster, and secured a boarding place.
We soon set off through the town and
communities of that part of Maryland with our
sample cases. We found the work hard and
interesting. We stayed with anyone who
invited us at night, and lunched with those who
asked us, and made it back to headquarters on
the week- ends. We attended the local
Methodist church. The church had a college
there called Westminster. We were kept so
busy that we kept out of mischief. Some weeks
were good, and some not so good. By the end
of the summer, Marsh had more orders than I
had. I was able to deliver most of my orders. I
found that keeping the sales record was an
excellent way to develop memory, for I could
start at the beginning of the order book, give the
name and address of each person, and tell the
item bought. I lost that art some months later.
What a memory I might have developed.
I ran into family quarrels, strange food, and
many experiences. I was even bitten by a dog.
One house I went to presented a dilemma. As I
walked up the walk to the door, the little girl
came out and said, "Mama doesn't want any."
That was it. Usually we were well received,
and found hospitality. I learned to eat
smearcase for breakfast (cottage cheese). One
Seventh Day Adventist family gave me bacon
for breakfast. On one occasion I was ordered
out of the garden by an irate farmer, but not
before I finished selling his wife a Bible. That
was one I sent C. O. D. on deliver date. I made
something over $400 that summer, and that was
a big help in meeting expenses at college.
Marsh accompanied me to Emory, and we had
been there only a few weeks when a telephone
message came telling of the death of Dad. He
 11
had been at his new circuit at Medium and
Harms, had sold Molly, bought a model T and
was ready to start his pastoral work. One
morning as he went to milk the cow, he had a
stroke and died instantly. Marsh and I came for
the funeral at Franklin where he was buried.
We were not sure that it would be possible for
us to stay at Emory, but Mother insisted that we
return. We did so, and it was proposed that we
transfer to Cumberland University at Lebanon.
However the Tennessee Conference offered
some money on loans and a small scholarship,
so we stayed at Emory. Mother moved to
Franklin, for she had lived there some years
while in school and it felt more like home to
her. With her were Gilbert, Margaret and
Marvin. Marvin was the last, born at Dover. I
believe Gilbert finished High School and went
to work in Nashville.
During the summer, Marshall decided to sell
aluminum, and I was scheduled to sell
stereopticon views, but the more I thought
about it, the less I liked it. I decided to go to
Old Hickory and try to get a job at DuPont. It
was a pretty raw looking place, with all the
barrack type homes, and crowds of people there
working at the Rayon Plant. Sis and Clarence
were there, so I stayed with them, and sought
work. It was not an easy matter to find just a
summer job. One was accepted if there were
prospects for long time employment, but not for
three months.
I was about to leave, when something happened
that greatly affected my life. Clarence's sister
Emma had told me when I had said something
about not seeing a girl at Old Hickory that I
would care to go with, about a girl down the
street that might change my mind. I summoned
up courage to try and see her. I knocked on the
door where the Wright family lived and saw a
young lady at the piano playing a hymn with
one finger. She was soon introduced to me as
Mildred Wright, and we sat down for a
conversation. I must admit that I liked her very
much. I think that she thought that I was a
stuffy college boy. This was in the time when
"Little Mary Fagan", and "Floyd Collins" was
played on the phono from one end of the day to
the next. I suppose that having to hear this
music gave me a great distaste for country
music.
I am sure that I talked to Mildred of my
difficulties about getting work at DuPont. She
did a bit of work behind the scenes, for she was
working there, and soon I was hired as
"spinerette cleaner". The little thimble like jet
heads for the viscose to pass through often got a
bit of dirt or dried viscose, and had to be
carefully cleaned and inspected. It so happened
that Mildred's father was working in the same
department, and when the fellows found out
that I "was keeping company", with his
daughter, I got quite a bit of kidding. I fear that
I was a better Baptist than a Methodist that
summer, for we both got a great deal of
pleasure in being together all that we could.
We had a busy summer together and all too
soon the time came for me to return to school.
The Methodist Church was just organizing that
summer at Old Hickory, and Rev. W. H. Saxon
was the pastor. The congregation met in the old
"Y" building, where the community hall stands
at present. Sometimes Mildred went to church
with me, and by the end of the summer, we
were engaged, although we both knew that it
would be a long time before we could marry.
In those days it was not the custom for a
marriage to take place before schooling was
finished. I should say that it was rare. So we
courted in the summer of 1925. We still have
some of the notes that we exchanged as we
went to work, for I would go by her desk and
pick up one and leave one. I felt that the Lord
had enriched my life in giving me someone to
love, and cherish. We continued to correspond
almost daily, and sometimes were able to see
each other during the vacation periods from
school.
Mildred returned to High School at
Goodlettsville, where she graduated. She had
to have transportation to and from school, so
bought a model T, and once while I was there,
we went for some reason or other to the old
home place at LaGuardo in Wilson County. I
took over the wheel of the car, and learned to
 12
drive. Mildred vows and declares that I have
been a speed demon from that day until this.
I devoted most of my time to school, for I
attended summer school in order to shorten the
time that I could be in school. I came home
only occasionally for money was not plentiful.
Once I was able to make a trip to Jefferson
City, where Mildred was in school, at Carson
Newman. She had taught school a year at
Goodlettsville, after graduation. We had a very
happy few days together. During this visit, our
first kiss took place, and many others followed.
I was in "seventh heaven" all the way back to
Emory. She had about two years at Carson
Newman, and we agreed that if we were
married before she finished college, that she
could return and finish while we were in the
pastorate.
I had considered no other work than the
pastorate, but was influenced by Marsh who
was a Student Volunteer, while at Emory. I had
asked Mildred if she would go to Africa with
me if the Lord directed us there, and her reply
was in the affirmative. We both felt that this
was right, and later developments led us to this
very thing.
Once while at Emory, and while I was still
washing dishes to help care for expenses, we
the crew felt that we were getting the little end
of the deal, and I took it upon myself to talk
straight to Peggy, the dietitian. Her boy friend,
whom we called "High-Pockets" threatened us
if we said more, so it was not long until I was in
the midst of quite an uproar, for the students
backed us. I was called upon the carpet by Dr.
Parker, the Dean of the Seminary, by the Dean
of men of the college and finally by Dr. Cox,
the President of the University. I was finally
told that I could either apologize or be kicked
out of the university. I felt that things had gone
far enough, so chose to apologize, and the affair
blew over. There were reforms made in the
dining hall. I lost my job, but things were
corrected to a large degree.
I had worked a combination course in College
and Seminary, so I was ready to receive my A.
B. degree in March of 1928, and my B. D. in
June of the same year. Summer work was
received in an offer from the pastor of the
Cumberland City Circuit, who asked me to
assist him while he was in revivals, and looking
after his sick wife. Just as I was about ready to
go, a letter came saying that I would have to
take over from him, for his wife was worse and
that he had taken her to Missouri to her home,
and that he would have to be with her. I had to
borrow the money to get there, and along about
the middle of June I arrived in Cumberland
City. I was brand new, and such a
responsibility almost floored me. Everything
was in a state of confusion, so I finally managed
to find a place to board at the little hotel, and to
more or less settle down to my job. I decided
that visiting the parishioners was the best way
to get acquainted with the people and their
needs, so spent most of the summer doing just
this. Since I was on foot, I accepted hospitality
where it was offered, and they seemed glad to
have me. The parsonage paling fence had been
torn down, and it was scattered all over the
place. I tried to clean up that mess, but I am
afraid I did not do much for the house itself. I
walked all over the place, and I fear I spoiled
the people for my next year when I bought a
car.
There was a lot of backwater that year for the
Cumberland was out of its banks, so a car
would not have really helped much that
summer. I was returned by the conference and
the Bishop. Mother was persuaded to come
down and keep house for me. At the same
conference I was received on Trial and ordained
a deacon. The Daugherty, Bayer, Stacker,
Gillahan, Thomas, Bradford, and Dunbar
families were especially kind. There were
others who had a keen interest in helping a
young green preacher come into his own. I
boarded at the hotel with the Bedwells when in
the little town. I stayed at home more now that
mother and the children were with me. And
naturally some said the preacher did not visit
like he used to. The first Sunday there with the
car, when I got stuck in the creek on my way to
an afternoon appointment, led one old
gentleman to say, "Well, Preacher, when you
 13
were walking you made it each time, but now
with the car, you aren't able to get to us." I had
to go over that little road and spend hours
cutting all the branches that seemed determined
to reach out and scratch up the car. I also tried
to fix some of the deep mud holes.
Mildred and I were to be married on February
25, 1929, so Mother and I set out for Old
Hickory. I do know that I was so poor that
before Mother and I could drive to Old
Hickory, I had to go to the bank and borrow
money against my salary in order to go to the
wedding. That wasn't too hard, for Mr. Alex
Daugherty was the cashier, and he knew that
he would get the money back when the
stewards collected the quarter's money for the
quarterly meeting.
There was some snow on the ground, and it was
plenty slushy. Some of the roads were closed,
so we went by way of Clarksville, and tried to
go the Joelton road. At one place we got
stopped just as the car slipped off the road on a
culvert, and almost tipped over. I got some
help and soon we were on our way. Brother
Saxon performed the ceremony at the Wright
Residence, and our lives were united. We had
asked Sally Brooks, a nurse that I had known at
Emory to play the violin, which she did
beautifully. At our wedding ceremony, Mary
Davis, a cousin of Mildred's played and (the
vows were) said in the living room of the
Wright House in Rayon City. Mr. Hunter now
owns the house and has made many changes.
I believe that Mary Davis sang at our wedding,
"I love you truly, dear." It has slipped my
memory. About the only things I remember
are: Mildred and I were married in her
parents' home, with Rev. W. H. Saxon,
performing the ceremony, Sally, a nurse friend
of Emory days playing the violin, driving to
Nashville and folk passing by laughing at the
"Just Married" sign on the car. It was an
occasion of so much joy that a lot of the details
have been forgotten. You will have to consult
your mother for more. She can tell you.
On our way to Nashville, people kept blowing
their Horns and looking at us laughing, and we
finally stopped and found a "Just Married" sign
on the car. There may have been some old
shoes, but I do not remember. We went to the
Sam Davis Hotel for our Honeymoon night, and
I was so unaccustomed to signing the register
that I wrote E. H. Lovell, and wife. We were so
happy to be together that we didn't sleep too
much. There was too much to talk about.
Because of the high water, we were unable to
return home immediately as we had planned, so
we went to Laguardo to visit with Mildred's
Uncle Lee and Aunt Lena Wright.
By the time we arrived back at Cumberland
City people were wondering where we were.
They had planned a reception and shower for us
at the church. Miss Margaret Stacker was the
person responsible for most of it. She and her
mother were dear souls, and lived out a mile or
so from town. I had not even told many that I
was off to be married, or when we would be
returning. As one would guess, there was quite
a crowd at the church to welcome the bride, and
groom. We were very happy, and gradually life
returned to somewhat normal conditions.
When we finally returned to Cumberland City,
we had to skirt some of the backwater of the
swollen Cumberland River, but finally made it.
Mother, Margaret and Marvin were all living
with me before our marriage, and so we
decided to continue sleeping on the screened
back porch, even in the winter time. That was
in the days before too many slept in single or
twin beds, so we made out fine. There was a
tiny room on the end of the porch where I had
an office if it could be called that. I think we
had a small heater there, so could get warm
before going to bed, and dress there in the
mornings. Mother lived with us until we moved
to Palmyra, when she went to live with Marsh,
who was still single, and needed someone to
keep house for him.
We slept on the screened in side porch, which
was quite cold during the winter months.
Spring was on its way and we had a garden, and
Mrs. B. Stacker across the alley-way asked if
we would not cultivate hers also. Salaries were
 14
low in those days and with the fresh meat that
came from farmers at hog-killing time, plus
other gifts, we were able to make it quite well,
even keeping up the payments on the car.
We were in the Clarksville District, and most of
the District meetings were held there, so we did
travel a bit. The roads were not so good toward
St. Paul's church, and I sometimes got stuck to
the axle and on both at the same time in the
ruts. I used fence rails to get out, and pass by
the worst places. Once I arrived at the church
to preach, all muddy after my bout with the car,
and found one person to hear the sermon.
Another time we got stuck in a flooded ford at a
creek, and had the valve stem cut off. Water
got into the gas tank through the vent hole, and
we had to unscrew the filter bowl many times
before we reached home. I took the car to the
garage the next day, but they found not another
drop of water. Another day I decided to
remove the distributor of the car, and was soon
in such a muddle that I had to call the mechanic
to put it right. I knew nothing about the
"timing" of the engine.
When we went to the church on the other side
of the river, we usually stayed several days to
visit. We had to cross on the ferry, and go
across a long causeway. In high water, this was
almost impossible. The Dunbar home was a
favorite place to stay in that community. When
we were on the other side of the river, we often
spent the night with the Dunbars. Our bed was
in the spare room, and about the time that we
would be ready to go to sleep, "bam, bam,
bam" could be heard all over the house, with
the slats falling out. He was one of the mail
carriers. They were very, very, nice people.
There were many cases of pellagra, for they ate
mostly "sow belly" and cornbread, which
lacked the elements of a good diet. Greens and
other things were preventives, but the people of
that section were very poor. Often we would
go to bed, and the slats would fall out one by
one until we were on the floor. Some of the
people were share-croppers and very poor.
They had a good deal of pellagra in that
community from eating "fat-back" and corn
bread. Their diet was unbalanced. In the
summer, we were invited to meals which were
bountiful but over which the flies swarmed, for
many of them did not keep the screens repaired
or shut. We did not seem to suffer from those
meals.
One of the few marriage ceremonies that I
performed while at Cumberland City was one
for my brother Gilbert, near Franklin. Gil
married Margaret Whitfield, and the wedding
was in the home of the Whitfields. I was really
filled with "butterflies" in performing the
ceremony. But I guess I came through it all
right. I believe that it was the first wedding I
conducted. Another was of Paul Williams of
the Tennessee Conference. When he and
Maggie decided to get married, the ceremony
was performed out of doors while they were in
the car or standing near it. I think there was
some question as to whether the license was
good in Stewart County, or it may have been
Houston County.
Dad had a lot of books and commentaries. One
was Matthew Henry, and the other may have
been McClinton and Strong. We felt that we
would not be using them since the theology of
our day was a bit different from that of Dad's
day so we decided to sell them. We felt that we
needed the money, but have always wondered if
we did the right thing. The commentaries
might have been of far more value that the
money we got for them.
Jim Majors and Anne, his wife, boarded at the
Bidwells, and we became good friends. She
was Faxon Small's sister. On one occasion
Mrs. Stacker from whom we often got milk and
butter, offered us part of a ham if we could
open the smokehouse door. I tried and tried,
but did not realize that the lock was a double
one, so failed to get the promised ham. She
gave us some slices as a consolation prize.
They were very good to us. We tried to
reciprocate by taking them places in the car.
The elections were coming along, and I thought
that I would vote, so went out and got them.
When I went in to the polls, I was asked my
business there, and told that I had not been in
the county long enough to be a voter. I always
 15
felt that I voted, for the Stackers would not have
been able to get to the polls without my taking
them there, and they voted as I would have. I
suppose that it was against Al Smith.
When the end of the conference year came, we
were moved to Palmyra, just about 13 miles
away, nearer Clarksville. We did not have far
to move that fall. We considered Palmyra a
promotion and it was a good appointment. The
Swift family were very good to us. We may not
have had much money, but enjoyed our work
there. We stayed with them only about six
months, for we soon felt that our work lay on
the mission field of the church. Here we had
several churches again, and spent a great deal of
time in visitation. We had a somewhat better
parsonage, and we found the people very
friendly and hospitable. Mother decided to
keep house for Marshall, since he was assigned
to the West Point circuit. He was not married.
The Swift, Broome, and Allen families were
very nice to us, as well as many others. Once
we were staying in the church community
across the river from Palmyra, and being fresh
air fiends had the window open. The next
morning, we had a lot of snow in the room by
the window. We still have a little oak table we
were given there. Once I was holding a funeral
and forgot my Bible which I laid on a
tombstone while I was having the graveyard
service. I missed it, and could not imagine
where it was. Some time later, I was handed
my Bible with the comment that this preacher
must not use the Bible too often.
We ate many sweet potatoes, for they were
given in the poundings. I once shocked
Mildred when I took my bowl of soup out on
the porch to cool. She couldn't imagine a
person not wanting food that was hot. I
surprised some of the Russelites and 7th Day
Adventists who came through selling books.
They told some of my people that I seemed
somewhat prejudiced against them.
During the winter months, we did a great deal
of reading, and much of mine was on Missions.
I was greatly interested in what the church was
doing overseas. We attended a Student
Volunteer Conference at Maryville College
along with Marsh. He had met Eloise, and she
was one of the officers of the conference. So,
we met our sister-in-law. They were married
later. When W. E. Tabb sent a cablegram from
Congo, saying, "Africa needs you," we felt that
we were ready to make the decision to go. The
story of David Livingstone in my father's
library, and other books influenced my life in
that direction a great deal. Mildred's call had
come when she was a teen age girl, but her
mother said that young ladies did not go as
missionaries. So it was in 1930 that we
answered the call to become missionaries, and
the Board (Mission) thought of China for us,
but as we had a strong leaning toward Africa
through the Tabbs, and Maws being there, the
Board finally acceded to our request for service
in Congo. It was a moment of high resolve, and
happiness as we prepared for our work there.
Mildred had felt the call to be a missionary
while a girl, I suppose that I had been on the
verge of it for a long time. Tabb, and Joe Maw
were my classmates who had gone to Congo in
1928. Another Emory man was in Congo
also--Dr. William Hughlett and his wife Violet.
I do not remember when we applied to our
Board of Missions, which was then located in
Nashville. I do remember Bishop Cannon
interviewing us at the old Tulane Hotel, and
being very impressed when Mildred told him
that she liked to raise chickens. We were
consecrated in McKendree Church along with
Foye Gibson, who was to go to Poland. David
Livingstone's Africa would now become a
reality. Plans were made for us to sail with the
DeRuiter family. They had two children,
William and Martha, then a baby in arms. We
separated but were to meet in New York, and
sail to Antwerp, Belgium where we would buy
our supplies, and arrange for our trip to the
Belgian Congo.
It was the first time that either of us had been
out of the state, and so travelling by train
proved interesting. We stopped off in
Washington to see a bit of the sights, and when
it came time for us to leave I was at Union
Station getting tickets etc., I made the mistake
 16
of practicing old time southern chivalry, for I let
ladies go first. I found out that this had cost us
the train that we were to be to New York on.
When I looked for Mildred, I could find her
nowhere. I searched and searched, and was
upon the point of going to the police to report
her lost, when she came out of the ladies'
lounge where she had been for a nap. We
arrived in New York rather late, and when at
our hotel, found no one who sounded natural in
speech save the elevator man, who happened to
be from Georgia. We have never cared for
New York, because of the rush of life, the
noise, and the hustle and bustle of things. We
did get so we could understand the ordinary
person when he talked. Some were interested
in our way of speech, for they would have us
repeat and repeat in order to hear our southern
accent.
We met the DeRuiters, and were soon on the
S.S. Pennland. The voyage was a never to be
forgotten experience for us, since we had not
been on the ocean before, or even seen it. The
width, depth, and movement of the sea was
indeed fascinating. The meals were superb, and
we found the voyage very interesting.
When we arrived in Antwerp about ten days
later, a thief stole one of the DeRuiter bags. It
happened to be the one in which the dirty
diapers were kept, so I can well imagine his
utter surprise. William took us out to a little
place to eat, and although he explained about
the custom of bringing the food for one's
approval, we were hardly prepared for the huge
platter with a large fish beautifully prepared,
which had been ordered by Mildred. We
helped her eat it, and it proved to be a gourmet's
delight. Little William DeRuiter had some
escapades back at the hotel, riding the elevators,
and into a thousand and one things. He was at
that age. Little Martha was a sweet
well-behaved baby.
We were soon at the big store buying our
equipment, foodstuffs, and clothing that we
would need. I am sure that we bought some
things unwisely, but people new to the tropics
had to learn from experience. The heavy
helmet, the stomach bands, and the spinal bands
were things that we could have left off. Only
the following years proved this. The Belgians
always thought the sun far more dangerous than
it really was.
Mosquito nets and mosquito boots proved very
helpful, especially in the evenings when there
were always plenty of mosquitoes and other
insects. We took along some permanganate in
which to wash green vegetables, but I do not
believe that we used it very much, for several
washings in good water were sufficient. There
was much speculation about the tropics, which
wasn't true. It was like "Old wives' fables". A
bath-tub trunk was really useful, for this was
before there were any permanent bathtubs or
bathrooms in our part of the world, and it was
simply a tub in the shape of a bath-tub, with a
wicker basket inside it for holding clothing
when not in use as a bath. It had no drain, and
we had plenty of men around who didn't mind
taking it out to empty it. We later installed
bathrooms with tub of cement and even a toilet
commode of the same substance. These served
their day, and were later replaced by real
sanitary fixtures. Water was usually rain water,
or water poured in to the gas drums which
formed the water system of a residence.
We had opportunities to visit Brussels and see
the sights there, the Cathedrals, and the
Museum, to mention two. We also visited the
Cathedral at Antwerp. There were many
famous paintings there. We went one day with
Mr. DeRuiter to the organ factory to buy a
folding organ. When not in use, it folded up
like a small suitcase. The case was of metal to
protect it.
Soon the time came for the trip to Congo--a sea
voyage of about eighteen days. We were to sail
on the S.S. Anversville--Anvers being the
French for Antwerp. We were all eyes as we
sailed out of the port and soon came to the
North Sea, and later the Bay of Biscay--a rough
body of water which makes the unwary
traveller very seasick. Once the purser asked
me to conduct the services on Sunday, when we
were leaving Antwerp. I asked what our
location would be on Sunday morning, and
 17
when told "the Bay of Biscay," I hastily
excused myself, for I knew that I would be in
bed sick as a dog--in other words seasick. And
this was true.
We enjoyed a brief stop at the Canary Islands,
and I believe that was the only stop until we
came to Matadi. As we approached the mighty
Congo river and saw its waters, all muddy,
flowing out into the Atlantic Ocean, we felt that
we were nearing the end of our dream of many
years. Sailing up the river itself was most
interesting, and we stopped for a while at
Boma, where we met the first Congo
missionaries save the ones with whom we had
travelled. The Ennals family had been of great
help to us, for Mr. Ennals gave us lessons in
Kingwana a dialect of Swahili. He made us
have class on the Fourth of July. Canvas had
been spread over most of the deck and one had
plenty of room to play shuffle board, lounge in
the sun, or recline in the lounge chairs, and
read. The ship carried a library. The Ennals
were English. It was the rule of the Baptist
Mission Board for them to leave all young
children at home, for they felt that would be too
hard on them to endure the tropics. Mrs. Ennals
was really sad about this and missed her baby
very much.
Matadi was a very busy port, and there was lots
of activity when our ship arrived. We managed
to get our bags through customs, and were
seeking a cooler place at the A. B. C. hotel, or
was it the Swedish Mission. We now had to
arrange for the trip by train to Kinshasa about
300 miles up the river, and around the rapids. It
was a long hard day from early in the morning
to late in the evening. We had to take along
water, and food for this was before the day of
the dining car. We had with us several cans of
Bear Brand Milk, which we enjoyed very
much. We could be consoled by the fact that
this journey used to take two days with a break
for the night at a place called Thysville. In
those days, the rail line was narrow gauge, and
the train travelled slower. There were many
stations en route and we stopped at many of
them. Chinese workmen had been imported to
work on the rail lines when built.
Mr. Hearn in charge of the Hostel for
Missionaries met us at the station at Kinshasa.
This hostel had been built some years before
and was operated by the 6 mission societies
who had put up the building. Our church was
one of the 6 societies, so we had no trouble
getting into the hostel. We heard a voice
outside the train shouting, "Open the window,
and get your bags out." We quickly obeyed,
and soon were speeding over the cobblestones
of the city, in a car chauffeured by one called
Lutete. He was a speedy driver and Mr. Hearn
called him down from time to time. We
remained at Kinshasa for two weeks since Mr.
DeRuiter had been charged with the finding of
a buyer for the mission steamer, The Texas.
The depression was already being felt in
Congo, so this was not an easy task. The reason
that our society had the boat was because it had
been so difficult to get passage on the state
owned steamers. Many of the societies on the
river had such boats. The same thing was true
of the Hostel, called the UMH.
We now faced another long journey into the
interior--18 days by boat up the Congo, Kasai
and Sankuru rivers to Lusambo, with a change
of steamers at Port Franqui, the end of the
railroad from Elizabethville. We had to take
along drinking water, and things like candy, and
a few other delicacies. They did have bottled
water, of the carbonated variety, but we would
want something else besides that. We did buy
lemons en route, and made carbonated
lemonade. The food was fair, especially for the
first few days, but then got progressively worse.
Meat and potatoes were always the basic foods.
Sometimes we watched a goat being butchered
for our dinner. The boat had cabins on the main
deck, and these were screened for protection
against the mosquitoes and other insects. There
were plenty of Tsetse flies, and we didn't care
for Sleeping Sickness. The walls at night
would be black with all kinds of insects. We
did not travel at night, but stopped just before
dark to load up wood for the next day's journey.
Most locomotives and boats were wood burning
in those days. We saw hippos, and crocodiles.
It was our custom to take a walk after being
 18
cooped up on deck all day to take a walk in the
villages in the evening.
I made my first acquaintance with driver or
soldier ants on a walk. I had been warned not
to get too close to them, but didn't pay too much
attention, and it felt that a bulldog had me by
the leg. The head came off as I pulled him from
the calf of my leg, and I found that his pincers
were embedded in the flesh. Once was enough.
We were interested in the villages, and in
seeing the people. We were tired of travel and
rejoiced to be at Lusambo where we were to be
met by our colleagues. It was a real joy to find
that Elmo Tabb was one of those who had come
to meet us. We enjoyed our visit with the
missionaries of the Wescott Mission, where we
spent the night at Lusambo. They were of the
English Brethren Society.
Setting out the next day in the green Chevrolet
and a truck, we headed for Minga, about 165
kilometers in the interior. The roads were rough
and very sandy, and we were worn out by the
time we came to Minga. What a nice time we
had there talking with Joe Maw and others. All
too soon it was time to leave Minga after a good
night's rest and head for Wembo Nyama. This
was not a full days' journey.
William DeRuiter Sr., soon came down with
Typhoid Fever. I suppose he drank some of the
river water they had on board. It was supposed
to be filtered, but had not been boiled. We
visited at Wembo Nyama for some days while
preparations were made for our trip to Tunda.
One morning after arrival at Wembo Nyama,
Mr. Anker whom we called "Uncle Pete" asked
me to come to the "Palaver House". This was
the place where domestic affairs, and other
matters were heard and settlement attempted for
all of the Africans living on the Mission Station.
I had received some inkling of what our
meeting might be about from Elmo Tabb, and
soon discovered that I was right in my surmise.
Mr. Anker wanted to know about my beliefs in
the doctrines of Christianity. I was able to reply
in such manner as removed most of his fears
that I might be another "heretic" as was
considered Tabb. Uncle Pete and I were great
friends for many years after we came to an
understanding that we had slightly different
beliefs, and we became tolerant of each other.
We found that William and Isabel DeRuiter had
given us a pretty fair introduction to mission
life, and although we realized that we were not
exactly able to see eye to eye on some things,
they too became great friends. The first years
of mission life must have found me rather
unbending in my disagreements, but I learned
to become tolerant of my colleagues across the
years. The Hughletts, the Reids, the Tabbs, the
De Gosseries, the single ladies that included
Dot Rees, Dora Jane Armstrong, Helen Farrie
and others were very nice to us during those
days.
Preparations were soon completed for the
Tabbs to accompany us to Tunda where we
were to live and work. Elmo and Mary Taylor
drove us to Onema, the closest road point at that
time, where we spent the night in a government
"Gite" or Rest House. We were off on bikes
and Mildred in a kipoi, or hammock chair the
next morning. It was to be a journey of two
days. I was riding a bicycle, and soon learned
to get along fairly well on it. I had practiced a
bit at Wembo Nyama. Mildred wanted to go by
bike too, but it was felt that it would be easier if
she went by hammock. We travelled over the
plains and through the hot sun until in the
afternoon, when we stopped at the village of
Shutsha for the night. Setting up equipment for
the night was done mostly by the African men
who accompanied us. We watched to see how
things were done, and how food was bought for
the men, for we knew that we would have to go
through the same experiences another day.
I fell off in the swamp the next day, but suffered
no damage, and a few hours after we crossed
the Lomami River, we came to Tunda.
Crossing at the river was done in large dug-out
canoes made from the trees of the forest. There
were many Tsetse flies, and we were warned to
shake them off before they could bite, for we
were to beware of Sleeping Sickness. We found
the trip tiring, and hot, so were happy for
frequent stops. Once I got ahead, and passed by
 19
the tent of a Belgian Official, who tried to talk
to me, having invited me to have coffee. I am
afraid that I refused his offer, for I did not drink
coffee, and knew only a wee bit of French. I
hope that he understood.
The Africans from Tunda came out on the path
to look for us, and what a reception we
received. We were very happy to come at last
to the mission station, where we could talk to
someone. We were duly welcomed, and made
to feel at home. I think that there was some
curiosity on the part of the missionaries to
ascertain just what work I had been asked to do.
I got the impression that we might not be able
to fit in too well in the work assigned us. Of
course we first had to learn enough of the
language to be able to communicate, and we
had to set up housekeeping, and get established
before we could do much of anything. We
were invited to board with the Ayres. "Pepe"
and Verna Ayres were a couple who did
industrial and treasurer's work. We lived in a
big adobe guest house, where hospital patients
from the Europeans stayed while getting
treatment. Dr. Lewis had a big reputation as a
surgeon.
Mr. Wheeler agreed to give us lessons in
Kingwana, adding to the ones given us by Mr.
Ennals. As this was a day by day affair, we had
time to get into other things. Our things had not
come for housekeeping, so we had to be content
as guests for some months. We helped Pepe in
stopping leaks in his own house, and as he was
busy on a new residence for the single ladies,
we assisted in helping to get up the roof
structure. "H. T." (Mr. Wheeler) took us to
some of the churches in the district, and we
even went with some of the others to sing a
special. We had to wade the swamp up to our
waists, so were rather bedraggled when we got
up to sing.
We often went out to the out-villages to preach
on Sundays. I remember one of the first times.
Mr. Wheeler asked some of us to join him on a
bicycle trip to a village not too many kilometers
away. We were to sing "Life is like a Mountain
Railway." The sun was hot, the way seemed
long, and when we came to a waist deep stream
which had no bridge across it, we had to
plunge in and wade across. There we were,
sopping wet below the knees, and to the waist,
trying to get out breath before trying the song.
The Africans enjoyed it, but I have a suspicion
that a lot of them enjoyed the sight of those silly
white people all wet and bedraggled standing
up before them to sing a song that was in
English more than they actually enjoyed the
singing. Many were these experiences between
1930 and 1933 on the Tunda District. Most of
my itinerations were somewhat like that--for
there was much water on the road, or
pathways, for there were no roads as we know
them in these days. Many times did I stand
before a congregation with squishing shoes full
of water, and all muddy.
I helped some at the local school, and helped
with the boarding boys. Mildred was busy at
the house, at the school, and helping to look
after the Wheeler girls who were small. Jane
Lewis soon became a favorite at the house.
Billy was small at the time. We enjoyed coffee
and peanuts at the Lewis home most every
afternoon. Later Dr. Lewis said that Zaidee his
wife had to put gussets in his pants when they
went home on furlough.
We had quite a few visitors, and one of them
was an old English plantation owner. He was
also a hunter, and furnished the mission meat
from time to time. Mr. Baggett was a teller of
tall tales. We often wondered if some of his
tales did not come from the Bulawayo
Chronicle, published in Rhodesia, to the south
of Congo. There were many wild animals in
great herds, and we had elephants come to the
station during the night. They played havoc
with the Lewis banana patch. Large pythons
were frequently found in the workman's village.
Tunda was on the edge of a large forest and
miles from any town of any sort.
The road to Tunda was built, but there were
some bridges which the state had not finished,
so our goods arrived only on Christmas Day, by
the first vehicle that ever arrived at Tunda 1930.
What a day of rejoicing this was. We were kept
 20
quite busy for some weeks to come getting
things stored away, and our kitchen set up.
I had been told that missionaries and other
whites usually took a siesta at midday. I paid
no attention to this for some time, but worked in
the garden. It was some time before I learned
that a siesta was really necessary, and not just a
waste of time. It could be a time for a good nap
or for some quiet reading. Young missionaries
have a lot to learn. Many were "green" as was
I, but usually with experience comes more
knowledge. On some matters, it takes just that
to convince a new missionary that old ones
have adopted some skills after all. The working
during siesta hours was one matter on which I
had to convince myself. The hard work digging
in the garden under the boiling sun helped to
remind me that there were other ways I could
spend this time.
It was not long before I was making trips on the
district with H. T. We had two little
motorcycles, and used them for some trips, but
they were belt driven, and not so good for the
tall grass and the dew, so we used bicycles to
good advantage.
Sometimes during the rainy season, we waded
swamps, and crossed streams that came to our
chins. H. T. advised that I carry my bicycle
across these deep streams and I soon found out
why, for the weight of the cycle held one on his
feet, otherwise he would float downstream.
The grass had needles on it and so the tires on
the bikes had to be repaired over and over
again. Sometimes, we had to use bacon grease
or palm oil to grease the bikes, when motor oil
ran out, and the bearings became dry from
riding through knee deep water by the hour.
The paths through the tall grass were worn
down into the soil, and lower than the rest of the
plains, so water often filled the path like a
trench. When one found the path leading across
a large anthill, there was usually water in a pool
on the other side, and many times the bike
would slide around and throw you off in the
mud and water.
The Wheelers went home on furlough, and we
took over the evangelistic program for the
district. When the Wheelers went on furlough,
the evangelistic work was left to me and there
were just some preachers that I thought lazy
and not fit for the job. I fired some of them, and
really bore down on some others. Wheeler
returned from furlough and promptly hired
most of them back. Maybe he was right, but I
thought that I should have been consulted
more, for I considered myself a fair judge of
character. I think that I was able to persuade
the chief of the village to get food for my men
who were carrying my chop-box and other
things on the trip. I made one of the chiefs and
his headman go ahead of us to push down the
tall grass. He always was very friendly and
respectful after that occasion. I tried to be
firm, without exerting too much authority that I
thought a white man should have and I did pay
the men well. I think the folk grew to like me,
and those I met in the years following were
very friendly.
We spent a lot of time on the path. Checking
on the schools and the work of the church and
preaching in many of the villages gave us
fluency in the Kingwana. We had a leader from
the Africans named Ona Omba. He was our
travelling companion, and gave us a great deal
of help in these early years. We got acquainted
with the chiefs and head men in most of the
villages. We saw people who had seen very
few whites and many of them were very much
afraid of us. Sometimes we had to be a bit
dictatorial in demanding food for our workmen
who were carrying the chop box, containing our
food and bedding.
In later years, we were able to travel over the
district by car, and much of this work--i.e. the
selection of the trace for the routes was done by
Wheeler. He used salt as the gift to encourage
the Africans to help him. Wheeler did a great
deal for Tunda. He brought out a small saw
mill for cutting lumber. Usually it was done in
a rather primitive way of cutting the tree,
dividing it into sections, and rolling it on a pit,
and then one man stood on top of the log, while
the other was underneath in the pit. They
pulled the saw back and forth on charcoal lines
 21
that had been traced until they had the whole
sawed into boards. Some of the lumber was
really of very fine quality. Tunda had many
forests nearby and excellent hardwood could be
obtained. After the boards were sawed out, the
timber was transported into the station on carts
(push-pushes) or carried on the shoulders by the
workmen. One of the dining room tables at
Tunda station was topped by a board 4 or 5 feet
wide. Beams were also secured that cannot be
had for any price these days.
At Tunda, I was one of the judges at the station
tribunal which was held once a week to settle
palavers. Dr. Lewis was station chairman was
the main man, and when he spoke, he was
obeyed instantly. I can still see the old
policeman jump when doctor yelled at him for
listening through the window. Doctor was a
firm disciplinarian. Most of the palavers
concerned adultery, stealing, beating one's
wife, and other domestic problems.
We were sadly in need of a connecting road
from our station, and indeed from our side of
the river to the other side, so Pepe Ayres and I,
with a large group of workmen decided to lay
out such a road. I suppose that the impetus for
it came from the news that Wheeler was
bringing back a car, and would not be able to
get it home unless there was such a road. We
spent a week on the plains from near Onema to
the Lomami. The sun was hot, and we really
had a time deciding where the route should go.
At one small grove, a hornets nest caused us to
veer around where the road should go. When
the route was completed, that veer or curve still
remains until this day. We also selected a new
ferry site, if I am not mistaken, somewhat some
distance from the old, bicycle path. We were on
bikes, but did a lot of walking that week. Pepe
liked to hunt so killed an antelope for us and for
the men. We enjoyed the delicious antelope
steak.
Both the Lewis family and the Ayres family as
well as the rest of us enjoyed this road across
the Plains of the Otodi. It was a long straight
plain of many miles. Joe Maw and I were the
first persons to travel over the road, for I was on
Dr. Lewis's motorcycle and Joe in a Model T
truck. It was a bumpy ride, but I was young
and could take it. We made it to within a few
miles of the river, when the truck quit running,
and there was nothing we could do to get it
running again, so we left it for some days
before trying again. The trouble was probably
the firing points. When we went back for it, we
came to the ferry--a new one mounted on
dug-out canoes, but we had no boards. Joe
knew what to do. He sent the workmen for
poles, which he tied together, and soon was able
to drive the old truck onto the ferry. We carried
the poles over the river, and used them to get
off the ferry. Later, boards were sawed for both
sides.
During the three years that we lived at Tunda, I
felt that something should be done about the
courses that were being taught in the Bible
School at Wembo Nyama, for the students
knew more about the Devil than they did about
Christ, so I tackled Pete Anker, and his courses.
This was not appreciated, and soon I had a fuss
going between the conservatives at Wembo
Nyama and myself, and the Board, for they had
been told of the argument. I was about to be
put into school work, which I did not care for
and as the depression had cut funds for the
Board, they were looking for ways to
economize. We were the latest couple to come
out, so were selected as the first to return home.
Funds were being cut here, there and yonder.
Before we left the field, I had appendicitis, and
was operated on by Dr. Lewis, and Dr. Hughlett
at the old grass covered operating room. A
sheet above the table kept particles of dust and
grass from falling onto the table. I had a roll of
fat on my tummy, so it was hard for the doctors
to make the stitches hold. I finally recovered,
but have a big scar to show for the job. There
was lots of malaria at Tunda, and I really had to
take lots of quinine. I was soon able to take 45
grains a day, and still play tennis. We did play
tennis in those days, after the work of the day.
Mildred and I had planned for children, and
after waiting for two years decided that we
should start our family. We were delighted
when she became pregnant, and especially
 22
when Jeanette was born on December 31, 1931.
We had hoped that the first would be a boy, so
decided to name her Jeanette. Her other name
was Mildred for her mother, and Jeanette was
for Gene, her dad. She was the most beautiful
baby ever, and we tried to do everything by the
book in her care. By the time we came home,
she was walking, and talking a bit. What a
change she made in our lives.
As I have recorded, our first daughter,
Jeanette, was born on December 31, 1931. Her
mother wanted to call her Jeanette for she
looked so much like me. While she was still a
baby, I found a "Basenji" dog which we called
Spot. When I brought the dog home, he was
full of fleas. I doubt that we ever got rid of all
those fleas, for this was before flea collars, and
other medicines which are used today.
We had several men helping us at Tunda. Papa
Kahudi was one. He had a house full of
children, and seeing twin bananas on the stalk
would lead him to say that Mildred would have
twins, etc. Bichu was our cook for a while.
The washjack was a backwoodsman, and even
though I went to all the trouble to build him a
wash bench, the first time he used it was funny.
He stood on the bench with the tub of clothes
on the ground, and tried to wash them that way.
The nearest place that we had for a vacation
was Lake Makamba, which was in the Asongo
country, and in one corner of the District of
Minga. It was a small fresh water lake, and
later stocked with fish. There were many horse
antelopes, and other game animals nearby. The
missionaries finally were able to get a cottage
or so built on its shores. We had to travel to
Minga to secure the Chevrolet truck to take us
there. We had first thought of having a
vacation at Lake Munkamba, near Luluabourg,
in Presbyterian country, but had so much
trouble by the time we arrived at Lusambo that
we decided to turn back to Lake Makamba. We
hadn't gone very far until we discovered that
one of the front wheel bearings was missing or
giving trouble, so sent for Joe Maw, who was
the mechanic and transport man. He got us all
fixed up, and we set out, only to have a rear
axle break about half way to Lusambo. This
meant that we had to stop in the middle of the
road, and await a mechanic from Lusambo to
come with a replacement. We asked the
villagers to bring us some food, and soon had
rice and a chicken all beautifully cooked by the
African women. We had one spoon, which was
Jeanette's so ate in relays.
Late next day the man arrived to fix the truck,
and we made it on into Lusambo, where we
were soon bathed and visiting with the Moyes.
We decided to return rather than face other
incidents on the road. We had a long trip back
to Minga, spent the night and were off the next
day for Lake Makamba. With us were
Catherine Parham, and the Lewis family. The
road was new, and very sandy. We carried
extra water for the radiator which was soon
boiling furiously from pulling through the deep
sand. I could not begin to guess how many
times we were forced to fill the radiator, which
boiled away the water so quickly, The truck
would often be so hot that its engine would
continue to run with the key off.
We enjoyed the good swimming, and hiking,
but tragedy soon struck again. Dr. Carroll
Mount, who was our youngest doctor came out
for a day or so of recreation, and while out in
the boat was drowned. When the Africans
brought us the news, we ran to the scene and
searched and searched for his body, but to no
avail. Finally, I was the one selected to go to
Minga to carry the sad news to Helen, his wife,
and to the others and to get help for finding the
body. Joe Maw came in the car with me, and
finally grappled for the body and found it. We
had to hastily prepare for a return to Minga, for
decomposition was setting in rapidly. What a
journey, and what sadness at the other end.
Helen was pregnant with their first child. The
funeral took place the day we arrived, and many
things were said to the young widow which hurt
deeply, for remember most of the missionaries
were very conservative in their faith and
theology, and should have kept quiet. Some
weeks later, after the death of the baby, Helen
planned to travel home with us. We had sold
our little accumulation of supplies, our bikes
 23
and what food was left, and were taken by truck
to Kibombo, our nearest railway station, where
we were to board the train for Kindu, where we
would be taking a boat to Stanleyville, and a
still larger boat for Kinshasa, then by rail to
Matadi, and by Ocean steamer to Europe, and
then home to the U.S.A.
We had some happy times on the way home,
and were able to cheer up Helen to some
degree. She took care of Jeanette a great deal
on the voyage. On the river steamer from
Kindu to Stanleyville, she used to take out her
teeth, and amaze the Africans with this feat.
We stopped at Wayika to see Mr. Whitehead,
an old English Baptist Missionary, who had
been ordered home by his Board, since it was
difficult to care for him, and he was entrenched
in one spot all to himself. He had a long white
beard, and looked like Santa Claus. He had
done a lot of work on Kingwana, and was the
recognized expert in this language. Upon our
arrival at Ponthiersville, we found that we
would take the train on into Stanleyville. We
arrived there and stayed at the hotel, if I am
correct in memory. We spent a day or so there,
and were soon boarding a very large river
steamer--the Kigoma.
This steamer had been made for the
Mississippi, they told us. It seemed as large as
an ocean going one, and the decks were quite
large. We had many passengers, and Helen
spent so much time letting them admire Jeanette
until some of the women wanted to know from
Mildred, whose child she really was. Jeanette
learned to stand erect in my hand, and balance
herself. She accumulated so much candy from
fellow-passengers that we had to eat a lot of it
ourselves to keep it from her.
We were amazed at the size of the Congo river.
There were so many islands, and it was miles
wide in many places. It was good to see some
of the mission stations en route to Kinshasa.
We were able to buy a few pieces of ebony
wood, and other trinkets. I think that most of
them are scattered about these days, until we
have only a small piece of it. On the
continuation of our voyage toward Europe, we
made several friends, and enjoyed many hours
of fellowship with them.
At the table in the dining room, Helen said that
she would try most of the cheese offered, but
when it came to Horve, she had to take her plate
to the nearest porthole and empty it. We spent
a day or so in Antwerp, and then went over to
London. While there, we took the opportunity
to see one of Shakespeare's plays in an open-air
theater in one of the parks one evening. It was
very good and even though the August weather
was very cold, we came away much impressed.
We also toured London, got lost in its
underground, took Jeanette to Westminster
Abbey, where she literally wiped up the dust of
the centuries. Her clothes and hands were
black. We also took in Wesley's Chapel, and
went to a Sunday morning service there.
London was a very interesting place.
I bought my one and only Tuxedo suit there, so
that I could dress for dinner on the steamer
coming to New York. I finally had it changed
to a regular suit, and suppose that it finally
clothed some African man. We were travelling
with a couple of Mennonite missionaries, and
they were very strict. I fear that we influenced
one a bit from her teachings, for she finally
consented to going to the Shakespeare play with
us, while the older one was our baby sitter. One
lady we met on the steamer coming home was
able to give us an insight into church life at
Riverside in New York. One took time to learn
much from such a voyage--far more than in
later years when we flew back and forth from
Congo.
After spending some weeks with our families, it
was finally time to go to Conference, and we
were sent to Dellrose. I was ordained Elder at
this conference in 1933. We knew something
of Dellrose from my boyhood days, and really
enjoyed our stay there, even though the salary
was very low, and we were starting out again in
the conference. Jeanette was small while we
were at Dellrose, and we thought that it would
be a good thing for her to have a dog, so when
one of the members offered us a Collie or
 24
Shepherd puppy, I took it home to her. It was a
beautiful animal, and she enjoyed playing with
him. We could not break him of the habit of
running after cars that passed on the road in
front of the house. One day he was hit by a car
that never stopped and we had to kill him, for
he had many broken bones. Jeanette was
heartbroken for a while, and when we moved to
Adams got her another dog.
There were two charges in the Tennessee
Conference where Dad served where I served--
Dellrose and Cumberland City. Marsh also
served at Dellrose and at Bethlehem, where we
lived when we were both very small. It is a
rather difficult thing for people who have
known the father to keep from considering the
son still a boy even though he is a minister in
his own right. Such was true especially at
Cumberland City, our first charge, but we
found a bit of it at Dellrose, however not so
much.
There were three churches on the Dellrose
charge. Dellrose, Bee Springs Memorial at
Bryson, and Shiloh, on the road toward
Fayetteville. The easiest one to serve was Bee
Springs Memorial, for the people were better
educated, had better material resources, and
were different in their background. The folk,
with few exceptions, at Shiloh, were good
country people, but mostly poor folk, and
without much education. The ones at Dellrose
were "sot in their ways" and not about to make
any changes for a boy preacher. They even
accused us of having bossed the African people,
and of trying the same stunt on them. There
were, of course, some real good folk there. It
was during the depression and money was
about the last thing one was able to get hold of.
We used up what little savings that we had, to
get reestablished. We had to start from
scratch, buying a bed, refrigerator, and some
other things. Just why the Methodist system
thinks that a missionary who has returned to
his home conference has to start at the bottom
again, I will never understand, but it is true.
Jeanette picked up Trench Mouth or something
akin to it, while we were there at Dellrose, and
we had been so careful with her. The doctor at
Fayetteville was able to treat and cure her after
some days. I developed a back trouble while
cutting the high weeds off the church yard. No
one else would volunteer for the job. I wanted
them to do something about the water that got
into the basement, but no one was interested
beyond keeping it out of the furnace. Audie
Ross usually took care of the furnace. He could
make it do, when no one else could. Mrs.
George played the piano, and sang in a certain
way which was not pleasing. She did not
appreciate you calling for another person to
play, even though she might be late a bit. I
suppose that the Sherrill family were among the
largest contributors, but one could not count on
any extra. We bought our first radio there. It
went out on us, and could never be fixed. We
had gotten it second hand from Dorvall Jean.
The Stone family was one that we could count
on too.
I somehow developed an ear infection while at
Dellrose, and the ear drum was perforated.
The local doctor didn't help much, so a
specialist in Fayetteville finally healed it. I
went to a doctor there for my back--a
Chiropractor, but he didn't help much. I even
bought special shoes. I think, the light of
experiences later, that it was a slipped disc.
Lumbago isn't a disease to make one rejoice,
especially when it hits you all of a sudden.
I helped in a meeting at Blanche, not too far
from Shiloh. I ate fried chicken 45 meals
straight, and still like it. Once, my white linen
pants split while I was at the church, so I had to
be careful getting onto the rostrum and off and
away to keep people from noticing it too much.
Mother told Mildred that she wouldn't wash
and iron such a suit.
Sometimes, we lacked the funds to buy postage
stamps, and walked a bit in visitation. We were
able to have a cow, and chickens, so had plenty
of fresh eggs, milk and butter. We also had a
good garden, and enjoyed the many fresh
vegetables. People were very kind to us, travel
wasn't too difficult, and though we saw Hoover
buggies (model T's that had been cut in two and
 25
shafts inserted for a horse to pull) and heard
much of hardships, I daresay we did not suffer
too much. We had the experience of following
a pastor who was slow paying his bills, so had
to wrestle with the iceman and the electricity
people before we could have either ice or
electricity. We managed to convince them that
our bills would be paid on time. In time we
bought a small TVA model electric refrigerator,
so the ice man no longer had to come. We even
managed to have the Board of Stewards over
for a dinner and meeting. I mean all of the
stewards of the whole charge. Churches were
Dellrose, Shiloh, and Bee Springs. It was an
easy charge to serve, so far as travel was
concerned, however they didn't have much
money and thought if they paid the salary they
were doing well. They left it to the preacher to
get the money for benevolences as they were
called. I tied a chicken coop on the back of the
car, and collected hens for sale to raise some of
the funds. Some gave their Sunday Eggs for
the project.
One of the men of the church at Dellrose
became very angry with me when I suggested
that he could give some cow feed in place of
money. He let me know that he would give if
he wanted to, and would choose whether money
or otherwise. He was a nut and cared very little
for the church. Another, at Shiloh, got angry
with Marsh who had served there and came to
church only occasionally. He refused to take
any active part or contribute to amount to
anything. I found the people at Bee Springs to
be the best of the lot. They were so kind, and
hospitable, appreciative of one's efforts, and
with some vision.
We served there for two years and then moved
to Adams, where Anne was born, on January
17, 1936. This was a charge of two churches,
and the easiest to serve that I had in my years of
active ministry. The churches were about four
miles apart. When we moved to Adams, we had
only two churches, and they were just four
miles apart. Adams was where the parsonage
was situated, while Sadlers was on the road to
Guthrie. It was an easy charge to serve,
although when it got cold, and the roads were
icy, I thought a bit differently. Folks at both
churches were very friendly, and knew how to
treat a pastor and his family.
The parsonage was a big ramshackle house,
very hard to heat in winter. The parsonage was
a big old house, and impossible to heat in the
winter months. We lived on one side of the
house and had a big coal heater in the living
room, and a grate fire in the other. We had
swapped our old Chevrolet for a Plymouth,
after we moved to Adams, for we felt that we
needed a car we could depend on. Mr. Glover,
to whom a good many preachers went for cars
gave us a good deal, and we were quite happy
to have the Plymouth. We were too poor while
at Dellrose to buy gas for visitation, and
walked a good bit, especially around Dellrose
itself. We didn't have much of a garden. It was
a dry year, and we were not at home enough to
do much.
Part of the time, we had to depend for water
upon the town well, for the cistern was low.
One of the projects I undertook was to secure a
lot of piping (second-hand) and a pump for the
deep well that was there, but not used. The
water was diagnosed as almost pure. Our first
attempt showed that we did not get the piping
low enough in the well, for when we added
another twenty feet, we had sufficient water. It
was quite a job, and I did most of the work
myself.
It got down to ten below zero, and our water
pipes froze. I had to carry water from the town
pump, when the cistern ran dry, so decided to
see if there was not something I could do about
the well that was on the place. I managed to
collect enough pipe, and get an electric pump
from Gil--a used one, and we soon had water,
however as the summer was dry, I had to add
another 20 feet of pipe. We had plenty of water
after we did that. I had it tested in Nashville,
and they rated it pure. The well was originally
150 feet deep we were told. The water was icy
cold. Once when Henry Atkins was helping us
in a meeting, we would pump the long hose
pipe full of water, and let it rest in the sun by
day, so that he could have a shower at night
 26
after preaching. It was good and hot, at first,
then got colder and colder. Once while Henry
was showering, I slipped out and turned on the
water full force, so that the cold water came
quickly. You could almost hear Henry yelling
all over town.
Anne was born at Adams on January 17, 1936,
and during the real cold spell we were having.
She cried a lot with what some thought was
colic, but it was because she was cold. She has
suffered from cold weather ever since. She was
a big baby, and Mildred's bag of water
ruptured before she came and scared the wits
out of me. I ran for the neighbor, and we put
the doctor on stand by. The D. D. had given us
a small bottle of whiskey to make a toddy for
her colic. We gave her some, but it wasn't a
help for she was cold, and O.K. when she could
get in bed with her mother to keep warm.
We managed to find a Jersey cow, named
"Beauty", and she was a picture, and her milk
was as rich as she looked. She was gentle, and
often wanted to play. On one occasion she took
the handkerchief from my back pocket. We did
have a beautiful Jersey cow. She was small,
and her name was Beauty. She was a fine
milker, and we enjoyed the milk and butter.
She was playful enough to reach back in my
hind pocket and pull out my handkerchief. I
was sorry that when she was with calf,
something happened to her bag and teats. I
should have called a vet, for she needed some
attention and I fear she was not so good after
that. We had to sell her when we left Adams in
late October, when we decided to come back to
Congo. We often wished for all her good milk.
We had Rhode Island Hens, and they did lay,
even in winter, when we had to run out and
collect the eggs before they froze, for our winter
there was bitterly cold. The day Anne was
born, a bucket of drinking water on the
mantlepiece about the grate froze, and there was
a fire going. We had a large stove for the living
room. It was a fruitful year, and I profited
much by it. I have always wondered where I
would be today had we stayed at Adams and in
the Tennessee Conference. But, an opportunity
to return to Congo could not be turned down.
We were asked to return to Congo to more or
less take the place of a fellow-missionary who
had gotten into trouble of a nature that was best
to return him to the states. When we left New
York in November on our way to Congo for the
second time we had two children, and the sea
was rough. We were flooded once by the sea
water which got into our porthole. We reached
Antwerp, and were met by the Belgian Pastor.
That winter was a rough one. I had intestinal
flu while at the pension with the Savels.
The Board gave us a three months stay in
Belgium to learn French, as if a person could
learn French in that time. We set sail for
Congo, going to Brussels for our study, and
arrived in Antwerp on Thanksgiving evening.
We were met at the boat by one of the Belgian
pastors, and taken to his home in Molenbook.
It was very cold, and I remember that we asked
for a gas fire, which would naturally cost
something. The room where we stayed was
enormous, and we kept the fire going for 48
hours before we even turned it down a bit.
Jeanette and Anne were small, and we could not
risk their taking pneumonia. We spent several
days there, and then found a boarding house or
"pension" with the Savels family. They had
been missionaries in Congo. At one time he
was the Father Superior of the Catholic Mission
at Lusambo.
Mrs. Savels was a very nice woman, while he
was a bit brusque in manner. They had two
sons. When Mr. Savels gave thanks at the
table, he did so with his eyes open. Jeanette
couldn't understand this. The Savels kept a
"Pension", or boarding house, and there were
several missionaries staying with them. They
served good meals, and the only thing that we
suffered from was the cold. The doors were so
placed that the wind would whistle up a storm
underneath them, and we had to go to bed at
night to keep our feet warm. The heat was
never allowed to get beyond somewhere in the
sixties. One took a bath about once a week. I
had intestinal flu, and was sick for some days.
The weather was miserable. We didn't get too
 27
much French, for the verb was stressed by my
teacher more than anything else. I can still hear
him saying, "The verb is the soul of the
language." We stayed in Brussels until April, if
I remember correctly. It was hard to find even
a little sunshine in which to take the children
walking from day to day, for the weather was
very fickle.
Dorothy Rees was there at the same time, so we
set sail from Antwerp for the Congo along with
Dorothy. We were glad to be off to Congo in
the early Spring--in April, I think. Dorothy
Rees was on her way back too, so we travelled
with her. On board our ship was a Dutchman,
who attached himself to us at the same table. He
was always doing something to embarrass Dot.
One day he came to lunch in shorts and just his
shirt. The steward sent him back to the cabin to
get his "jacket." It really riled him, for he
looked at the Belgian ladies who were in their
tropical shorts, and halters, and asked "what
about them--am I not dressed as fitting as they
are?"
I believe we made the voyage to Lobito, and
from thence to Elizabethville, and on to
Luluabourg from there. When we arrived in
Luluabourg, we could find no room at the hotel,
so were forced to hire a truck to take us and our
baggage to Mutoto, the Presbyterian station.
We found Luluabourg in 1937 to be only a
small country town with a few stores and a
hotel, post office and railway station--little also.
What a different place is this same town, now
called Kananga, with 450,000 people living
there. What a dirty trip it was then to ride a
train, with dust and sparks from the wood
burning locomotive blowing in the windows
which had to be left partially open for air.
Later, Congo had air conditioned trains.
We were to be at Wembo Nyama to work in the
schools, and naturally this led to all sorts of
other jobs. It was good training for us to
become a "Jack-of-all-trades." We bought a lot
of the things that the Bardens left for sale.
From that day in 1933 until now, we have not
seen them, although we do communicate on
rare occasions. John was a good educational
man, and "Gene" was a fine musician. It was
too bad that he was a homo-sexualist, and had
to leave for the good of the work. He taught for
many years at Appalachian Teachers College at
Boone, N. C. The trouble that our colleague
had evidently had something to do with
homosexuality. We didn't know enough about it
to recognize it, and were told very little by our
other colleagues. From what the Africans told
us, we judged it to be this kind of thing. We
were occupied mostly with school affairs
during those days, and knowing little about
things (African educational affairs) had to pay
close attention to things.
We were in charge of the Mission (school) Boys
or the boys who boarded in the dormitories, the
buying of food, the teaching of Agriculture,
making brick, carpentry and a host of other
things. One of the many things one had to
check daily with the students was itch (similar
to scabies), and jiggers (a very tiny flea-like
insect which bores under the skin causing
painful sores). I usually let the teachers get out
the jiggers. They usually had the students who
had them wash their feet, and if they spotted
jiggers, they scrubbed the soles of the feet with
brickbats until a lot of the hard sole was gone,
then they could get out the little critters. I
usually was able to get sulphur powder, and
plenty of palm oil, and then secure a bit of
Carbolic Acid from the hospital, then mix it all
up together, and it did wonders for the itch. I
kept long swabs to use on their heads and
bodies, and they were usually greased up well
before they got out of the office.
In our work at Wembo Nyama, we learned to
make and burn brick, and to give some
instruction in gardening. We were able to burn
a pretty fair kiln of bricks which the boys made
with boxes, and we built a dormitory for them.
What they had were falling down. They still
needed others. We took orders and made a lot
of stools, toys and other things for the different
families for Christmas. I also made a set of
wheels for a baby carriage, and attached them
to the hubs and spokes of the carriage, so that
they worked quite well. We still have one of the
little stools that Mildred gave to her sister, and
 28
she gave it back to us. We made tables and
chairs and some nice furniture. The
Agricultural class were able to harvest some
manioc, but that is about all for the ground was
very poor. We had many beautiful zinnias and
some other flowers around the school
buildings.
The boys boarding department was always a
difficult department to run, for one had to be
responsible for buying grain, and meat for the
boys, seeing that they prepared their food, and
all of the other details. We hope that we were
able to teach them some things. Our
outstanding failure was to show them how to
make corn hominy and to prepare it for eating.
We made it all right, but when it came to their
liking it, they just didn't because it was
something new and they were not accustomed
to it. I suppose that the old dormitory that we
built of brick which we built is still standing.
They say that either I or Inman Townsley were
the ones who fired or dismissed Patrice
Lumumba from the school, because of his
misdoings. We never thought him fit for a
Prime Minister.
We stayed at Wembo Nyama long enough for
me to finally become Director of the Monitor's
School. I finally became the Director of the
Monitors' School, where we trained the
teachers for the Mission schools. With the help
of an Otetela, we worked out several new
courses. I still have a copy of the small book
on the "Beginnings of Things".
I, who knew nothing of educational policies,
had now become head of a school for the
training of teachers. We managed to get some
things done, like translation of a course in
history, telling of the beginnings of things. I
always thought that this course was badly
needed, for the Africans needed to understand
from whence had come some things--our
culture was different from theirs, and there were
many things that must have been a puzzle to
them, just as many things in their culture were a
puzzle to us. We also gave them a start in
agriculture, carpentry, and other matters. I
think that they appreciated my efforts, and I
found it better than being director of a primary
school. Mildred was teaching some too, when
she could get away from the care of the children
and the running of the household. We both
were kept busy.
Gene Jr. made his appearance in late 1939, so
now we had three children--two girls and a boy.
He developed rather slowly, and it was not until
we went to Lubondai to teach in the school
there that goat's milk seemed to give him what
was needed to help him come out. The war had
started in Europe, and some supplies were cut
short, but we managed to get along. During the
war, which broke out while we were at Wembo
Nyama, I had been keeping up with things on
the radio. I listened to some of the news
programs in French as well as English. I heard
the announcement of the attack on Pearl
Harbor, and I was probably the first one to
hear the news. It was told very quickly. We
were on a limited rationing plan. Gas was
scarce, but kerosene seemed plentiful. Some
groceries were scarce, but we made out fine.
We planned our furlough, but nothing came of
it because of the war. In the summer of 1942,
at the Annual Conference at Wembo Nyama,
someone was asked to volunteer their services
to go teach at Lubondai at Central School for
Missionaries' Children. Dr. and Mrs. Lewis
volunteered, but were rejected, for he was
needed as a doctor. Mildred and I volunteered
and were accepted. It was quite a change for
us to take the family to Lubondai, and begin
actual classroom work, but we managed.
We volunteered to go to the school for
missionaries' children in 1942, I believe it was,
for the Presbyterians were having a hard time
getting teachers out. We knew that it was only
temporary, and so we were prepared for several
months of hard work. Mildred had charge of
the kitchen, and we had classes in Latin,
French, European History, Bible and
Geography etc. We were there from August to
December.
I had to study as hard or harder than the ones
 29
that I taught. I hope that I did a good job.
Mildred was matron of the Dining Room, and
did some teaching, and taught Anne and Gene
Jr. Latin was a particularly hard subject to get
into once again, but I enjoyed it more than most
else. I also taught Geography and Bible to the
children in Grammar School. Ginny Anne
King had one stock answer for the products of
agricultural countries: Corn, wheat etc. The
Bible textbook was something beyond my
comprehension, so I appealed to one of the
trustees of the school, and he told me to teach
what I wanted to teach. The textbook was filled
with the theology of the Rapture and many
other strange doctrines which I could not
accept, and found rather repulsive. European
History was a subject to which I had had little
exposure, so I had to study it very much before
teaching it.
We enjoyed this new experience, and I had to
study harder than the children, for a lot of the
subject material was new, or it had been many
years since I had studied it. Lorena Kelly
followed us, in January and we moved to
Minga. We were supposed to be going home
on furlough but our term of service lasted from
1937-1944. Lorena Kelly had agreed to go to
Lubondai to take our places for the second
term. The reason that we were helping out was
that during the war, it was practically
impossible for the Presbyterians to send out
teachers. We then went to Minga to spend
another year and a month or so in doing most
everything that needed to be done there.
We had been scheduled to travel home on
furlough from Durban, but the ship was sunk by
a German torpedo and that settled all
possibilities for one to travel for that time.
When it seemed that the war would continue on
until no one knew the end, we asked the Bishop
to let us try going home by way of Capetown.
He agreed, and so we left Minga in February
1944 to go to Luluabourg to take the train to
Capetown in South Africa. Dr. Hughlett took
us to the station in his panel body car. In the
early months of 1944, we left Minga to go to
Capetown, at the recommendation of the
Executive Committee and the Bishop, where we
would wait on a boat. We needed dental, eye
and other health care by this time, for we had
been in Congo since early 1937. We contacted
Cooks (travel agent) in Capetown, had some
dental work done, and waited for a boat. We
hardly knew what to prepare for on the journey,
but made it fine. Since we were at the Avalon
Hotel, we were constantly on the search for
another place where it was cheaper, but were
never able to find anything satisfactory for our
needs.
We could not find a very good place to live, and
so had to go to the Avalon Hotel, located close
to the foot of Table Mountain. It was in a very
pretty part of the city. We tried to fan out from
the city and see if we could find a cheaper
place to board, but there seemed to be nothing
for there were many others in the same boat.
The Avalon, although with a high rating, was a
rather second class facility. There were bed-
bugs galore, and we were accused of bringing
them from Congo. The meals were only fair,
for South Africa was doing all it could for the
war. Pumpkin, and no white bread save on
Easter Day was the style of life there. We had
a good time, seeing some excellent movies,
visiting various parks, and other parts of the
country near Capetown. We also went
swimming in the Indian Ocean, and got very
sunburned. When we tried the Atlantic Ocean,
with our friends the Molyneux, we found it too
cold--just like ice water. The Moyes from
Lusambo were there, and a hosts of
Presbyterians. The McKinnons of the A.P.C.M.
were there too, and others. They soon returned
home, or back to the field.
Most every day, we checked with Cooks' hoping
to find passage home, but nothing was offered
until June, and then it was a coastal steamer
from Argentina. We had spent all our funds
and had to ask the Board for more to pay our
passage home. Gene Jr. found the escalators
very interesting, and the stores were
interesting.
The trouble about finding a boat there was, that
they would carry men, but not women and
children. Finally after a wait of four and a half
 30
months, we found an Argentine Coastal
steamer, and set sail on her for Buenos Aires.
What a voyage. We were all seasick for days,
and poor Jeanette was sicker than all the rest.
We finally got her up before the twenty day
voyage ended, but she was weak and listless.
We had on board the ship several of the
A.P.C.M. (Presbyterian missionary) families
who helped us a lot.
The voyage to Buenos Aires was indeed a
rough one. We took some seasickness pills
before leaving the harbor at Capetown, but not
soon enough to prevent the Cape Rollers from
turning our tummies all upside down. We had
plenty of food, the cabins were all right, but we
were all seasick, and poor Jeanette was sick
most of the twenty days it took to get across the
Atlantic in the winter time at that. She lost
pounds. We were helpless to attend her, and
had to depend on the folk in the cabin where
she was to look after her. We were so sick that
finally when one of the A.P.C.M. missionaries--
Earl King, Sr. suggested it, we tried a little
Brandy, but it was worse than the seasickness,
so we tried no more of it. The smell of the food
from the dining room made us sick. It was
close by, and the sea was too rough to try to
open the porthole to amount to anything. I am
sure the room or cabin smelled, for we were
told by the Kings that it did. There was little
that we could do to avoid it.
Toward the end of the voyage, we did manage
to get up, and got Jeanette out on deck a bit.
There were rumors that the Germans were
following us with a submarine, and we would
not know when they might show up to check for
Americans on board. Nothing came of this.
We were all happy to finally arrive in the Port
of Buenos Aires. We had to go through
customs, and it was a rigid inspection. We left
most of our baggage at the port facilities
because of the "Red Tape", and the agents
acting for us finally got everything settled.
We all finally arrived in Buenos Aires. The
children had bronchitis and deep colds, but we
finally got cleared by a North American doctor
just before we were to fly out for Miami,
Florida by way of Salta, Lima, Panama City,
and over Cuba, and on to Miami. What a trip,
and what sights awaited us.
We were sent to a large hotel in the heart of the
city, and found it very comfortable, save for the
cool nights and mornings. We bought a small
electric heater for warmth, for the steam heat
came on only a few hours per day. Oranges
and apples were very cheap--one could buy a
dozen of these fruits for a quarter. The steaks
at the hotel were very thick, and very tasty. The
children were sick with colds, and one or more
of them had bronchitis and laryngitis, so we
found the one North American doctor in the city
and got him to treat the children. We arrived
on Saturday, and we went to church at the
American Protestant church. We were a bit
late at the service, for we stopped at the Air
office to see if we could get reservations to the
states on Pan-Am-Grace airlines. We were
able to get them for the next Sunday.
It was now a question of getting the children
cleared by the health officials, and this we were
able to do--just barely. At the last moment
before business closed for the week-end, we
found out that we might have to divide up along
the way, so were advised to get two passports.
One for Mildred and two children and one for
me and the other child. We rushed around like
mad to get this done. It looked hopeless for a
while, for the pictures had to be made, but
finally the Consul signed the passports before
they were filled out, and we had to dash by taxi
to the Panamanian Consul's office after he had
closed to get our visa, for going through
Panama. We finally got it all done, and were
able to make it to the airport on Sunday
morning, a week from our arrival. The plane
took off, but had to return a few moments later
to fix something about the oil pressure. We
finally took off and soon landed at Salta, then
Antefagusta, and there spent the night, if I
remember correctly. We went from there to
Lima, where we spent the night, and from there
to some place in Colombia, and then on to
Panama.
Flying over the Andes was quite an experience.
 31
None of us had flown before this trip, and we
filled our eyes with the ice and snow all below
us. We finally had to suck oxygen to feel well.
Gene Jr. didn't want to do so, but was finally
persuaded to do so. When we got to Panama,
the electric eye doors caused a lot of
amusement on the part of the family for none
had even seen one before. While we were in
Lima, we had a chance to visit the Cathedral,
and marveled at the beauty of many things seen
there, but were also impressed by the poverty
seen. The flight over the city in the early hours
of the morning was a glorious sight. The
sunrise was magnificent.
When we flew over Panama, blinds were put
over the windows of the plane for this was
prohibited territory, and one was forbidden to
see anything of the defenses of the country. We
flew over Cuba on our way to Miami, and
landed there in the late afternoon, I believe.
We sent a telegram to Violet Hughlett asking if
it would be convenient to stop off and visit her
and the children at Cocoa, Florida. She
replied that she would be standing on the
platform of the station, and we were to watch
for her. It seems that there was some question
as to whether or not she would be home, for if
we saw her we would know to get off. The air
conditioner in our car had gone off and we had
to move forward to another car, so when we
arrived at Cocoa, Violet was there and we had
to rush like mad to collect our baggage and get
off, before the train left the station. We made it
by the skin of our teeth.
We enjoyed the visit very much. Doctor was in
the process of trying to get back to Congo, and
had already left. The mosquitoes attacked us
on the street even at 9 A.M. It was hot, and
after a day or so with the Hughletts, we set out
for Nashville. At the last minute we were able
to get a drawing room on the train for sleeping,
but told that we would have to be out of it in the
early morning, before getting to Atlanta. We
made it. What impressed us was the crowds on
the train, and the surliness of the conductors.
They were harassed by so many passengers
demanding so many things, I suppose.
We arrived home in late August, I believe, and
enrolled for some classes at Scarritt. We were
able to get an apartment in the upper floor of a
big yellow house belonging to Peabody
College. We settled down at Peabody in an
upstairs apartment of a big yellow house, on
the hill, the only place close around. It was on
the third floor. Someone gave us a Manx cat,
and he was a fighter. In spite of the heat, we
survived. I had the Mumps, and the cat jumped
in the big electric fan we had in the third story
window. He was knocked out, but soon came
to, with a cut on his nose, and as mean as ever.
The children went to school at Peabody
Demonstration School, and we felt that we were
fortunate to be able to get them enrolled there. I
am sure, from what they said later that they felt
somewhat not clothed as well as some of the
others, and that there was a big difference in the
scale of living of the families but somehow they
didn't say much about it at that time. The Board
did want to know why we did not put them in a
public school. There just were none within
easy walking distance, and I was away on trips
so much.
We managed to get everything squared away
for our return to Congo during the late summer,
and faced the question of returning with or
without a car. We had a second hand
Plymouth, and finally drove in it to New York
and had it boxed for shipment. They stole some
of the tires off it before it left New York. We
had to sail for Lisbon, Portugal in 1945 because
the war was not over in Europe, and so had to
go on a neutral ship. The tail end of a storm
(hurricane) caught us some days out, and the
old ship was turned here and there, and almost
capsized. Our baggage was shifting around
from one end of the cabins to the other. The
Hughletts were with us on that voyage. Dr. had
already gone out, while Violet and the children
stayed home. We also had some of the
A.P.C.M. missionaries with us. We all found
places to stay in Lisbon.
While we were in Lisbon, I preached one time
in an English speaking service. I think possibly
that I had an interpreter. We visited many of
the Catholic Cathedrals, observed the dinginess
 32
of parts of the city, went to some of the Sunday
afternoon meetings of the Protestant groups,
and spent one day at one of their famous
beaches. We also took a trip to one of the
cities, near the Spanish borders. There were
many points of interest. We enjoyed being in
the same apartment with the Hughletts. It was
good to have Violet in on our activities, and the
children enjoyed being with the three Hughlett
children.
We were impressed that the Bank where we
sometimes got our checks cashed had the name,
"Bank of the Holy Spirit." We had been
warned that we might pick up fleas in church or
on the street cars, and I suspect that we did on
occasions. Mr. Grancha did a good job
feeding us, but some of the food was highly
seasoned with too much olive oil. He did give
us liberty to ask for changes when we didn't like
some of the foods. The Hartzlers were in
Lisbon studying Portuguese, and we also took a
few lessons in it. It seemed hard. The
Hartzlers were preparing for work in Angola.
We tried by every means to find some way to
get on back to Congo, but there were no planes
going direct. One line did go to Liberia, but to
find the connections from there were difficult.
Finally, when we had been there many weeks--
6 in all--we managed to get third class on a
Portuguese steamer for Lobito. Some of the
A.P.C.M. (missionaries) did give a bribe and
got second class accommodations, but we
refused to do this. It was really a rough way to
travel, as we were to learn in the following
days.
We were with the Graneia family in a new
apartment. Portugal impressed us as a not very
clean place. There were fleas on the street cars
and in the churches. The Hartzlers were
studying there in Lisbon preparatory to work in
Angola. They were not able to return to the
Congo for some reason or other.
We spent six weeks in Lisbon before we were
successful in obtaining passage to Lobito. We
had to take third class passage, and found things
pretty rough, on our voyage back to "the Dark
Continent." When we were shown our cabins,
we found that the family was all divided. The
beds were very hard and the pillows worse.
The children below six were supposed to sleep
with their mothers. I had a cabin along with
Bill Worth with several Portuguese men.
Mildred had one with the children. Some
missionary ladies and their children were in the
same cabin.
The third class portion of the ship was filled
with people of the peasant class of people, and
down in the hold there were others. When they
got seasick, they upchucked right where they
were, and the rats were all over the ship. One
ate a special melon Bill Worth had under his
bunk, and then came and crawled over my face.
I slapped him off with my hand, but such was
our life on that voyage. Mildred had one crawl
through her hair, for she was sleeping on the
floor on a rubber air mattress. I finally bribed
the steward to get her a mattress. We had been
forbidden to complain. It was a ship packed
with people like sardines. We ate in the second
class dining room, and were served with
octopus, and other delicacies which the
Portuguese liked. We had for breakfast, black
coffee, rolls, and fish cut up in rice. We had
purchased some jam on the way down, and had
milk for the children.
They denied us the use of the lounge, so we had
a rear deck, where we had prayer meeting, and
school for the children who would be late for
Lubondai. We made out, but it was trying, and
we were not the only ones who were tried.
Roseva Loring, the principal of the school at
Lubondai had a cabin with Portuguese women,
and their husbands used to come busting into
the cabin to shave, for they had no mirrors
down below, and poor Roseva who wasn't used
to all this often said that, "I could bite nails in
two this morning." The worst was to come.
When we came to the town next to Lobito, they
coaled the ship. There was the dumping of the
coal on the deck, and then it was shoveled into
the chutes. Coal dust was all over the ship--we
had it in our hair, in our food and in our beds. It
was an experience that no one would want to
 33
experience twice. We left the ship and strolled
around the city, visited a while at the mission
station there (Methodist), and even after the day
spent away from our quarters on the ship came
back to it with the "coaling" still going on. It
was good that we arrived at Lobito within a day
or so, for this gave us a chance to clean up by
bathing, swimming in the sea and washing our
clothes at the hotel. We were soon ready for
the next stage of the trip--several days train ride
through Angola and on up into Central Congo.
It was a long hard journey. We carried some
food along for the children, but the dining car
service was not too bad, considering all things.
The ride was a hot and dusty one, for it was the
dry season.
Dr. Hughlett met his family at the Angola
border, I believe. We were all glad to see him,
and especially his own family. He had carried
us to Luluabourg when we left for furlough,
and now we were to be together again. We had
to go through customs at a point on the
Congo-Angola border, and the authorities were
inclined to deal very lightly with us in customs
until Dr. Hughlett rather insisted that they see
everything, and so stirred up their curiosity as to
what we might have. Then we had to open
most everything. Some of the folk were rather
provoked with the whole thing, and wished that
Dr. had kept his mouth shut.
We finally came to Jadotville, now called Panda
Likasi, where we stayed at the hotel until the
train for Luluabourg, now called Kananga, was
made up in Elizabethville, now called
Lubumbashi. I forgot to say what a refreshing
thing it was to see the Hughlett family reunited
after having been separated for more than two
years. We were happy for them.
When we arrived at Kananga, we got the
children off to Lubondai where their school was
located with all haste, for they were already
late. Remember Roseva Loring, the principal
was with us, so it was not too bad. I do not
recall who came for us to get us to our
respective places of work. This all happened in
the year 1945. If I recall correctly, we were
assigned to work at Wembo Nyama, where I
was the District Superintendent, and for some
of the time worked with Mildred in the
overseeing of the Regional Schools. Doubtless,
I was engaged in Industrial work, and if I
remember had charge of the Transport
Department for some time.
When we received notice that our Plymouth had
arrived at Lusambo, I went down for it, and was
telling Mr. Moyes about the tires and other
features of it. He said, "When I took it out of
the box it had some rather sorry looking tires on
it, and it was with difficulty that I managed to
get enough air in the tires to drive it home."
Sure enough, our $160 box had not protected it
too well, for they had stolen the tires (some of
them) and put at least a couple of junk-heap
ones on it, with big truck tubes that had
multiple patches on them. Fortunately, I was
able to buy new synthetic tires and tubes, but in
those early days of such tires, the tubes were
almost worthless. I had hardly gone 20 miles
when I was out working on them, and soon they
had many patches. We used that Plymouth all
that term, and finally sold it at the close of the
new term, in 1949 to a chief. I had put a new
engine in it, for the old one had worn out the
bearings, and the crankshaft must have been
worn out of round. The chief had little service
from it, for he knew nothing of caring for a car.
I got less for the whole car than I had paid for
the replacement motor.
Bishop Booth gave us permission to come
home a year early, for Jeanette was ready for
College. We located at Scarritt, and Jeanette
went to Martin at Pulaski. She was not too
happy there, because they did not offer French,
and she was going through the process of
adjusting to American life. We lived in one of
the Scarritt cottages, and it was a dark, dirty old
place, with the furnace making a lot of fuss at
night.
During the course of the year, the children were
at Peabody Demonstration school, and Mildred
at Scarritt. I was on the road a lot and so can't
remember too much of our life from day to day.
While we were home that year, Mildred had an
operation at Vanderbilt that incapacitated her
 34
for some weeks. She had a hysterectomy. I
remember trying to do some cooking during
that period, and the children didn't starve.
On one occasion, Jeanette brought home with
her, her new boy friend and we were rather
pushed to entertain him, for he had to sleep in
the room with me. Martin College wouldn't
even skip the extra charge because we were not
able to pay the school fees at one time. Money
matters were really tight, and we just had to do
without a lot of things we would have liked. I
remember having to go to the bank to borrow
the money for the hospital fees, for in those
days one had to pay it and then get reimbursed
by the Board. On one occasion I had to borrow
the money from mother to have Christmas for
the children. The bank from which I borrowed
money required that Mildred sign the note. He
(the banker) didn't ask for collateral, and said
that he trusted my honest face. That made me
feel good, for evidently some the loan
companies didn't think that I had too honest a
looking face. I had gone to them first for a
loan.
We were back in Congo for the school term,
and were assigned to Minga District as
Superintendent, with Mildred in charge of the
schools, both Station and Rural Schools. Our
term at Minga was very pleasant, and we soon
became acquainted with other facets of the
work while there. We moved into a new home
of native construction, which Julius Davis had
gotten chief Mukundji to build. The first rain
that came soon revealed that the roof was no
good, for it leaked like a sieve, and had to be
done over. We had to move all our furniture
back against the walls to have anything dry. It
was hard to get boards out of Joe Maw for the
food magazine, and so we were able to change
the house as we saw fit only after Joe had left
for furlough. We saw that the kitchen in the
house itself wouldn't work. It was not safe, so
an outside one was built, with the food
storeroom attached. This gave us some porch
room, and a place for our light plant, and later
for the motor which lighted the church. The
water at Minga was good, and did not have to
be boiled for drinking. This was in 1950. We
had the whole gamut of the work there part of
the time, for the Maws were gone, so Transport
and Industrial work was ours and most
everything except Medical work was ours. I
believe that there were single ladies on the
station part of the time to care for the work with
the Girls.
We particularly enjoyed the Sapys, a Hungarian
couple who came out to do Medical work. Dr.
Sapy was a hunter of note, and so we had
buffalo meat a good many times. I used to take
him out to hunt while I visited churches in the
district, and having bought a pick-up from the
ladies at Tunda, was able to haul it in to the
station. I shall never forget the time he went
out for hippo. He killed two or three and came
back home in his car. He told me that if I
would go for the meat I could sell it to the
Africans. I went, and finally got a part of the
hippo in the pick-up, and arrived home about 2
P.M. It was Sunday. The meat was "High" and
so rather than have it wait over till Monday, we
told the folk to come get it while it lasted. They
cleaned it up in short order.
There were lions of the man-eating type in the
river sections of the District, so we heard lots of
tales of people being eaten. I am sure that some
of them were true. We visited Lake Makamba
several times, enjoyed the good fishing for the
Tilipia, and were quite contented at Minga. I
helped train Museu Emile as a Superintendent.
I also trained others later.
Once I went to some kind of meeting in the
pick-up, and when I returned from Luluabourg
brought back a load of gas etc. There were
some bad hills which were very sandy, and the
tracks were covered with grass. In climbing
one the car struck a chuck-hole that broke the
welding holding the spring seat. I felt that
something was wrong, but it was night and so I
went on to the top of the hill. I stopped, but
could spot nothing in the darkness, but had
hardly passed a small commercial center when
the car stopped, with the engine still running,
and soon I saw the entire drive shaft roll out
from underneath the car to the side of the road.
What had happened was that the axle had
moved back and forth with the seat broken until
 35
the Universal Joint had broken. I had no food,
and no bed, so went back to the magazine
(store) borrowed a blanket, and slept in an
empty house, after sending a bicycle man to
Mildred asking that she get Joe Maw to come
for me. I had to wait most of the next day
before they arrived.
About a week later, I took the whole rear axle
in the back seat of our car, and had to go all the
way to Luluabourg to get the spring base or
support welded on. I took along one of the
chauffeurs, and when we had gotten back, and
attached the axle, we came on home. I suppose
that thereafter I tried to hit the holes a bit more
carefully. I remember one other repair job that
the truck required--that of replacing a bad rear
axle bearing. Fortunately I found one as I
passed by Lubefu, and was able to use it. We
sold that old pick-up for about what we had
paid for it, and had a few years of usage. Of
course, I imagine I had to replace some of the
tires.
Anne was next to go home to enter college, and
so we had one lone "chick" left. Anne
graduated at Lubondai from High School, and
so Gene Jr. was the only one left. While at
Minga, I worked hard to keep the Transport
trucks going, and helped keep the work going.
Mildred was busy with school, and with work
with the girls and women. Neither of us
realized quite the discipline problem of the
Girls' Home until we had to do some of it. We
did some building, and did a lot of visitation of
the district. Papa Lunumbi, Museu Kasongo,
and others served with me on the District, and I
helped train some of the men for the job.
I think Gene Jr. really enjoyed his years at
Minga and at Tunda, for he was more free to
play with the Congolese than his sisters had
been, and being a boy, he learned a lot from the
Africans. He was good at understanding the
language, and sometimes acted as interpreter
for us, when we were able to get out on the
district during the holidays when he was home.
He also picked up quite a bit of Tshiluba while
at Lubondai. Strange thing though, he could
not write it--i.e. Otetela. I suppose that comes
from the almost complete oral usage of the
language. When June 1955 came, we left for
furlough, and lived at Cookeville where
everyone was in school but me. We went to an
Ecumenical Conference on Missions at Bossy,
Switzerland, and spent two weeks at the end of
the Lake in a rural village called Bouveret, and
about a week at the Bible School in the city of
Geneva. These were happy times and relaxing
ones after a busy term.
In 1955, we left for furlough, and after we went
back to the field were sent to Tunda Station,
which was our first home in Congo. We
arrived in 1956, and I believe that Gene Jr.,
graduated from Lubondai in 1958. He really
enjoyed the hunting at Tunda, having carried
back to the field a .22 rifle, which we had
gotten him while we were living at Cookeville.
When we arrived home in 1955, Anne was at
T.P.I. in Cookeville, and helped us find a house
on the outskirts of town. She wanted to live at
home with us, and we found the house a little
too far from the college, so we searched for
another one. Anne and Allison soon found a
house that belonged to Mrs. Johnson which was
for rent. College students had been living in it,
so it required a bit of cleaning. Too, it had a
coal furnace and there were stacks of ashes and
clinkers in the basement, in addition to stacks of
old magazines and newspapers. During the
course of the year we got rid of both. Water ran
through the basement in a small stream all the
time, for the house was in a low place. We
soon had it liveable, and soon I was the only
one at home in the mornings, for Gene Jr. was
in High School, Anne and Mildred in College.
I was away a great deal of the time on
itineration for the Board. It was a joy to have
Anne home with us for that year.
We especially enjoyed the church at
Cookeville. Bro. Bruce Strother was the pastor,
and we came to enjoy fellowship with the
Strother family. The Annual Conference met at
Cookeville that fall, and it was a time of
renewing of old acquaintances. We were able
to secure from Mrs. Johnson a small plot for the
planting of greens which we enjoyed very
much. We rented an old piano for Anne, and
 36
she was able to practice at home. We also came
to know Allison at this time. I believe that he,
Mildred and Anne were in one class together at
the college. We liked his parents very much,
too.
We had bought a Ford Sedan to take back to the
Congo with us. It was a good car and gave us
much good service. Anne, and Gene Jr., both
were able to get their driver's license at
Cookeville. I had renewed mine at Nashville,
having to take the written examination, and the
driving proof as well. When the policeman
came to get into the car at Cookeville with
Anne, he happened to look at the license plate
and saw that it was New York or New Jersey,
and said that it was against the law to give a
driving test in an out-of-state car. When I told
him that I had taken mine in the same car, he
still said that it was illegal, so Anne had to go
get Allison's car for her test. When I went to
the courthouse for a Tennessee license, they
refused to sell me one on the ground that I had
not paid the sales tax on the car. I had gotten it
from an organization that was exempt from the
sales tax. I was stumped until I happened to tell
the garage man about the incident. He
immediately called the lieutenant governor of
the state who was a Cookeville man, and after a
few questions as to the length of ownership of
the car, I was able to avoid paying $60 some
odd dollars for the sales tax, and had my license
plates.
Somewhere we have an old picture of the car
with the top carrier loaded to the hilt, and the
inside so full that it was difficult for the three of
us to get inside--this was the day that we left
Cookeville to get ready to return to the Congo
in 1956. It had been a busy and fruitful year. It
was a year when we had our first T.V. when
Gene Jr. and I put up the first T.V. Antenna for
our set, necessary for reception. It was the year
when I tried to see that Gene Jr. took second
year Latin by correspondence school, for he had
to have it for his Lubondai graduation. I found
that I did most of the work, and that we made
86 on our final. Perhaps this was good after all
the years passing when I had studied Latin. It
was a year of trial for us in the young
adolescent changes coming over our son. He
had quite a siege with Measles. Richard and
Jeanette came to see us at Cookeville. They
were at Columbia Seminary in Decatur,
Georgia.
There had come about a change in Congo. One
of the things that we had to do shortly after
reaching Tunda was to set up a pension plan for
the workmen, and later for the preachers and
the teachers plus the people who worked around
the houses and elsewhere. It was a good
system, but crooked people stole most of the
money in the mid-sixties, and as a result most
of the men never received a penny for their
pensions. They paid so much and the people
who paid them paid so much. It is a pity that all
this fell into the hands of folk who either
neglected to send in the funds, or kept poor
records on the matter, and that the troubles that
came to Congo about destroyed the system. It
has probably been rectified by now. Too, the
Africans were taking over more and more
responsibility, and we had to work in the
background. It was difficult to train some of
them for their jobs.
I shall never forget at least one--Shutsha Pierre.
I tried to teach him to ride a motorcycle, but he
never learned to shift gears. I tried to teach him
to drive a car, but he just couldn't get the hang
of it. He was the big chief, and insisted on it.
He undoubtedly was the most difficult person
with whom I had to deal in these years of
transition. I suppose that he felt that the
position of responsibility gave him the position
of lordship. He acted that way and I can well
imagine does today. I remember once being at
the parsonage at W. N. and seeing the water
getting under the brick walls. I happened to
suggest that he get his sons to shovel a bit of
dirt next to the walls, and he launched a bitter
attack against me for suggesting that he put his
sons to work. Once when he had bought a
pick-up, he wanted me to pay the mileage for
his travel over the district, and was furious
when I refused.
The years of transition were not usually so hard.
We were able to take the changes in good spirit,
 37
and to find many Africans who made them with
us in the same spirit. When 1960 came, we
were planning for our furlough in June of that
year. A new family came to the field, and I have
never understood how they ever got to be
missionaries. They were sent to Belgium for
French study, and did very poorly, for the
language came difficult to them. We had tried
to help them before they came by suggesting
some of the things they would need. When
they arrived, we found that they had assumed
that they would be doing evangelistic work and
nothing more. They were emotional, and often
cried real tears at their lack of ability to learn
Otetela. They were missionaries whose
theology, gained at Asbury, was almost extreme
in its fundamentalism. Harry just couldn't do
much at all with his hands. He wept when I
turned over to him the work-line, saying that he
would never be able to keep it going. When I
showed him the light plant and demonstrated
how to crank it off, he just didn't seem to catch
the idea at all.
Perhaps I was too hard on Harry, for other folk
seemed to appreciate him, but I have yet to see
how the Board ever accepted him. Maybe I
was wrong. He was a spiritual man, but his
horizons were certainly limited. He didn't even
want to take out social security, for he had the
feeling that it was rather denying the power of
God to take care of him when he was old. I felt
sorry for him in that he seemed so naive. Those
were the days when the colonial government
was about to topple, and when the souls of men
were tried by fire, so I may have made the
wrong judgment of the man and his family.
We spent the term at Tunda doing most
everything--preaching on the district and at the
station, building, transportation for the station,
installing a pump to get water to the top of the
hill and hauling it to the station. I bought an old
pick-up from Wheeler, which would stall when
it got hot, which was a real help at the time. I
hauled gravel, sand and other things, and even
helped the folk get some of their grain from the
garden. I finally sold the thing to Luhata
Daniel, who was begging for it. I don't think
that he ever finished paying for it, but it was
good to be rid of it. He bought it even though
he knew its limitations and weaknesses. We had
a trailer too, and it was a big help. Jimmy Cox
of Cookeville sent us the money for a Chevy 3
ton truck, and I built the body for it. It really
was a godsend to the station, and had a lot of
hard usage. The soldiers finally took it over
and ruined it, as they did all of the other
vehicles of the mission.
Just before we left Tunda in June 1960 for our
regular furlough, the politicians were making
speeches all over the country, and getting
people ready for Independence. They were told
that they would be provided for by the
government, would take over the white man's
cars and houses, and would sometimes get his
wife. The colonial government became scared,
in my opinion, and even sent planes to drop
leaflets saying that they were still in power and
to remain tranquil. I really think that there was a
good deal of panic on the part of the Belgian
officials, for they were too ready to give up and
clear out. A lot of the killing and riots etc.
could have been prevented if they had
maintained a strong control, but I suppose that
they were fearing for their lives, and wanting to
get out before they were murdered, and
certainly the whole country was in an uproar,
and Lumumba was to blame for a lot of it.
We had already gone and went to
Oberammergau to see the Passion Play. We
had travelled down by train, and really enjoyed
the Play. It was a quaint little town, and I can
remember how surprised and shocked to see
what I thought were women carrying the
suitcases of the tourist. They were of course
long-haired youth, some of whom had a part in
the cast. We enjoyed our stay at the little hotel,
but were surprised when we had to pay for the
coffee extra at .75 cents. The trip by train was
most interesting, and a lot of it was along the
Rhine river. We were greatly impressed with
the comfort of the trains. Our tickets were good
ones for the Play, and American Express had
gotten them for us. I think they were
cancellations.
We had read no news of the outside world, and
 38
when we finally arrived back in Belgium, we
were told of the terrible happening in Congo.
We also saw while in Brussels the reaction of
the Belgians regarding their using the army to
get out those who had not been able to get out.
There were Demonstrations, which they called
"MANIFESTATIONS", and thousands of
people massed on the streets. Certainly there
were many killed in Congo, and many beaten
and tortured, and many women raped.
The new government, headed by Lumumba had
little power, and mob violence seemed to be the
order of the day. Later, when the United
Nations saw what was happening, and Russia
was trying to gain control, they came upon the
scene, but with the type of soldiers sent, who
were more interested in looting than in keeping
the peace, there could be little doubt that Congo
was in for some tough times. One has but to
read some of the books written during those
days to catch a glimpse that Congo was headed
for oblivion or for take over by some strong
power. Things went to pieces, and afterwards
one of the leaders of the country said that, "But
for the church, there would be no Congo."
Things were really rough, and many innocent
people died.
There is no way of telling how many of the
Congolese died at the hands of their own
brother Congolese. Tribal warfare was
rampant, and the whole country was wasted and
pillaged--that is all save Katanga. Tshombe
Moise was a strong leader, and quite early
during the troubles decided to declare the
independence of Katanga. Of course, he was
helped and advised by many Belgians to take
this course of action, for in Katanga's copper
lay much of the wealth of the country. From
the first, the United Nations decided that they
would not allow the country to be split, and
they did all they could to prevent this.
In 1961, upon our return from furlough, we
were asked to go to the Katanga, to an old
mission station called Kanene, and our special
job was to undertake the construction of a
church, for the old one was literally falling
down. The Bishop (Booth) wanted us to live at
Kolwezi, something like 100 miles away, and
go back and forth for this job. After staying at
Kolwezi a few weeks we flew to Kanene to see
about the possibility of getting on with the
construction of the church, and to ascertain if it
would be possible to live there. We found that
it was possible, and after preparations regarding
supplies etc., we decided to undertake this. The
old house was inhabited by bats, and had not
been lived in for some 20 years. We cleaned it
and set about making it liveable. We
constructed a water system, a bathroom, and
fixed a kitchen, plus the front porch surface and
pillars. The field rats were bad about running
into the house, and coming under the front door.
We killed twenty or more, and had lots of fun
chasing them about the house to kill them with
sticks. We had no traps or cats. The old house
served us well after repairs, even though some
of the leaks could not be fixed. We even had a
fireplace, and a fire felt good at night part of the
year.
We made a road to the good inexhaustible
spring, hauled rock for the foundation. Brick
which were already made were also hauled.
We searched for and found gravel, and sand for
building. It was quite a job to secure workers,
but with the help of the District Superintendent,
Morrison Matafawadi, who was a "peach" of a
man, we found sufficient workers to start. Our
gas and cement had to be hauled from Kamina,
about 100 miles away, and finally we secured a
beat-up 5 ton dump truck from the missionary
at Kolwezi. We had to have extensive repairs
made on it, and that at Kitwe in Northern
Rhodesia, now Zambia. It was a long day's
journey from Kanene, and required papers and
a lot of red-tape to get over the border between
Congo and Rhodesia.
We had a hard time securing funds on which to
live, for the mail service between Kamina and
Elizabethville (now Lubumbashi) was very
erratic in those days, and had it not been for a
supply of Travellers Checks which we had, we
would have starved. It was impossible to travel
toward Kolwezi or E'ville part of the time. The
Katangese army had a lot of road blocks to keep
out the U.N., and were always suspicious of
 39
anyone travelling, especially Americans. We
had to get our building supplies from Kitwe,
and one always faced going over the border,
and the customs at E'ville.
On one occasion, I was returning home from
down country with the truck and night had
overtaken me en route home. I came to a
bridge over a small stream that had been
partially stripped of its boards by another truck.
I stopped the truck and replaced what I thought
necessary to get across, and as I started off and
up onto the bridge I must have pulled back on
the dump lever, for I caught a glimpse of the
drum of gas just behind the cab window being
thrown away from its place. The back gate of
the bed of the truck was tied tight, so could not
come open and spill the heavy steel bars and
other things. I stopped when the bridge had
been crossed, and found that the body of the
truck had pulled all the boards off the bridge,
and that the drum of gas was sitting beside the
road, upside down. It was too heavy to try to
load, so I left it and went on home. Was I ever
glad to get there, and so was Mildred who had
been there alone for several days. It was on
Saturday night that I arrived, but I went back
that Sunday morning in the Volkswagen
Kombi, and picked up the gas.
We found Kanene located on a hill, accessible
only after crossing a causeway, which became
flooded in the rainy season. In fact some times
one had to leave the car over at the little
settlement on the road, and wade across on foot
to get home. In the valley below, the soil on top
was a black type, and very rich. They had told
us that the spot we had fenced for a garden
would grow nothing, but after several loads of
the black soil had been hauled and spread, it
produced an abundance of good vegetables.
We had so many beans, we gave them away.
We even had strawberries--not many but
enough to enjoy. Morrison Matafwadi, the
superintendent raised leeks and sold them in
Kamina.
We had brought from Elizabethville a small
kerosene refrigerator, and a kerosene bottle
cooler, which we used as a freezer. It would do
a beautiful job, keeping meat and other things
which we froze. We had a bottle gas stove for
cooking. Mildred had cooking classes for the
women of the station, and we had been able to
secure a practically new wood burning
cookstove at Kitwe for this work. They were
thrilled with this class--making bread and
cakes, etc. We also held Adult Education
classes in one of the villages nearby.
Sometimes the superintendent and I went out
for Sunday services. Occasionally we got as far
away as Kamina. I was helping the folk build a
church there, and succeeded in getting the
foundation put down while at Kanene.
Fortunately we were able to get our cement
there, and a few other supplies for building.
Things were very scarce during those days. On
one occasion, we ran out of yeast for making
bread, and I checked with the big brewery to
see if I could get some from them. They asked
for my bottle, which I did not have, and by the
next time I went to town, yeast was there, so I
did not get back to the brewery.
We lived at Kanene until October of 1962,
when we left to go to Kitwe, where we hoped to
get the mission plane for Kindu. By pressing
hard, we did get the walls of the church
finished, the stone entrance completed, the steel
windows and doors in place, and the roof put on
before leaving. I still wonder if they finished it,
and whether or not glass was ever put in the
windows and doors, or the cement floor poured.
I always wanted a picture of the building I
worked so hard to construct. As I remember,
we spent something like $3,000 on the building.
I also built a small hut for the person taking
care of the girls of the girls home. We enjoyed
our year at Kanene. It was very isolated, but
the people were friendly, and added much to
our lives. We would have been glad to stay
with them, but felt that we should get back to
Central Congo. I worked hard in building, and
once the scaffolding gave way with me, and I
fell to the ground with a lintel weighing more
than a hundred pounds, and very rough. It
bruised me considerably, knocked me out with
a blow to the head, and scared the builders
considerably. I survived, and got it (the lintel)
in place before going to the house for Mildred
 40
to doctor my abrasions and bruises. My leg
was black and blue for some weeks. We took
time for fishing once in a lake not too far away.
I wish we had done more of it. We had plenty
of fish for eating, on that occasion.
We set out grass, planted flowers, and learned
that cucumbers could be cooked for squash, for
we had so many of them for a while. Bishop
and Mrs. Booth have a son buried at Kanene.
There was a small air strip there when we first
went in, and we later enlarged it. It was soft,
but a fairly good strip before the Katangese
soldiers closed it and accused us of playing
along with the U.N. They were suspicious of us
because we were Americans, and the U.N. was
backed by America. The soldiers finally came
and closed our air strip, and planted tree
branches all over it. We had enjoyed the few
visits we had from the plane. On one occasion,
Paul Alexander, the pilot brought us some
chickens from Kapanga, or Sandoa. He had the
six hens and a rooster in a box. Paul was
travelling with a refugee woman, to whom he
couldn't talk. When the rooster let loose with a
loud crow, Paul said that he almost bailed out of
the plane. By the time they got to us, they had
laid an egg or so. They were a beautiful white,
and kept us in eggs. We even sold a good many
eggs to the Africans who begged for them. We
even raised some chickens.
The soldiers finally came and camped at
Kanene, and when they demanded I take them
to one of the villages nearby one Sunday so that
they could shoot down the goats and kill
chickens without paying, I thought it time for us
to be questioning as to whether we would stay
or go to Northern Rhodesia. We consulted with
the D.S. and he advised us to go, so we left a
few mornings later at daylight before the
soldiers were about, and were they furious.
They demanded to loot our house, killed our
chickens and ate them, and only the influence
of the D.S. kept them from breaking in our
house and looting it. We thought it best to stay
in Rhodesia until some of the worst was over,
so spent several months there--probably two.
When we came home to Kanene, things were
quieter, and we were able to continue our work.
We had no radio, and often the rail line between
us and the capital city was blocked, so for
weeks we had no mail. We finally had to drive
down and get some money. As I said, living in
this isolated area had its moments of tenseness,
especially when the soldiers mined all of the
bridges. We were careful so had no unheard of
events take place.
When October came, we left, returned our 5 ton
dump truck to Kolwezi, and went on to Kitwe.
Shortly after arrival there I was hospitalized for
hemorrhoidal operation. I had been having
trouble for some years, and all of a sudden I
could not get the things to shrink. The
operation was painful--rather the after-effects. I
lived through it, and stayed in the Kitwe
hospital for about a month. I was advised that I
should have a prostatectomy after recuperation
from the first operation. So, a short while later I
went back into the hospital for that. The after-
effects were painful too, but I was finally able
to be up and about.
We stayed in Kitwe at the rectory which we had
rented from missionaries of our church to use.
We took in good shows, enjoyed the movies,
and enjoyed the respite from the isolation of
living on an inland mission station. We
enjoyed the pastor and his wife, who were
Canadian missionaries. Our folk often came to
Kitwe for shopping or vacations. Once while I
was in the hospital one of the missionaries and
his wife were brought to those facilities. They
and their children were in a plane crash, and the
Enrights were banged up a bit. The children
were O.K. Another of our Central Congo
missionaries was there for a broken hip. They
found that she had leukemia, and she stayed
with us as preparations were made for her to be
flown home for her last days.
We left Kitwe and were flown by Paul
Alexander to Kindu, where we arrived as the
Field Committee was breaking up after meeting
in the house where we would be living for
seven years. Was that plane loaded. Paul had
to sit hunched over because of all the stuff we
carried with us. We spent the night en route.
 41
So, it was back to work, and to the classroom
for us. I wasn't too happy about that, but it was
an adjustment that had to come. Kindu had the
first two years of Secondary School. It was
called the Cycle d'Orientation. The first year
class had over 70 students in it, and were
meeting in one of the Primary School rooms.
One can imagine what teaching we did with so
many students, with no books, few pens,
notebooks etc. We lived through the
experience. We were soon speaking Otetela,
Swahili and French, and sometimes I fear a
jumble. Ukunda Andre was the Director. From
1963 to 1970 I taught and my teaching was
never inspected. I wonder if the inspector
would have approved it.
Kindu was a pretty sad looking place, for all the
disturbances that had come to it in the years
from 1960 to 1963 had left their marks on the
city. People were cautious, and there was an
atmosphere of lack of confidence in
government and other allied interests. The
place looked run down, and many of the stores
were closed. A good many of the governmental
offices were occupied by men who were there
to fill their pockets, and often when a person
had wind of the fact that he might be transferred
somewhere else, he paid himself his salary for
six months just before having to leave. And the
pity about the whole matter was that people felt
that he was doing the right thing. Even our
church people expressed approval of this sort of
thing.
Food was scarce, and Kindu was no longer the
rice bowl of that part of the world as it had been
in times past. Rice was brought in from
Arkansas. The butcher shop, run by our
Belgian friend Thommes, was open for some
months, but closed again as more trouble
seemed near. The larger stores were closed,
and only occasionally could one find canned
goods and other edibles. Fish could always be
bought at the market, but one had to watch to
see that it was really fresh, for some of the
women tried to put old fish off on you. One
had to be constantly on guard to keep within his
rights, for it seemed that there were few honest
folk left.
We managed to get along quite well, and could
always get a pretty good exchange for our
money that came in from friends every now and
then. Stealing which previously hadn't been too
much of a problem, was really bad, and one had
to lock everything up. Once while we were
away, some thieves carried off our light plant,
and because it was too heavy for them,
abandoned it by the side of the road. Another
smaller one, we never found. One night, a thief
cut the screen as Mildred was watching him,
and when she came to wake me up it scared
him off. Most everything not tied down was
carried off. There was always a wrangle about
pay scales. We used to have it up and down
with the few who worked for us. It seemed that
the demand was always for more and more.
The government finally came in, and set scales,
but this helped very little to keep down the
feeling that you were out to cheat them of their
wages. Most of the government people were
kind and rather accommodating to us.
It was difficult to keep up the standards for the
schools, and if close inspection had been made I
doubt that we would have had subsidy as we
did. Some of the teachers objected to the
church taking out the tithe from their salaries.
On one or two occasions a Syndicate tried to
muscle in on the teachers and get them
unionized, but Bishop Shungu was very much
against this. Bishop Shungu was the successor
of Bishop Booth, and did an excellent job in
administrative work, and was a good preacher.
He did tend to be a bit dictatorial from the
beginning, so continued to become more and
more that way until his episcopacy was rejected
by his own people. The tragedy of the situation
is that few of our African people are ready to
step down from such a high position gracefully.
He and Bishop Onema are now almost
irreconcilable.
When we went to Tunda to pick up what stuff
we had there, we found that our silverware was
stolen, and other things had been checked over.
The 400 day clock was partially taken, and the
rest left. The person who took these things did
 42
not know much. Our light plant had been used
until it was about shot. Anything that was used
was used hard. The big diesel plant had been
used until it was about broken and out of usage.
The water pump was about out, and things were
terribly run down. The Pension system was in a
mess and has not been straightened out to this
day in all respects, so the people who paid
money into it were the ones who got nothing
back when they need it so much. I think that
most of the money was stolen at Bukavu in the
Bank. All our stations were in a grand mess
after the events of the early '60s. There was
little that we could do about it.