Those years of 1935 and 1936 when I was thirteen and fourteen were very pivotal years in my young life. Events seemed to occur at an accelerating pace. With puberty my voice cracked then deepened so that I no long sang boy soprano at church but could handle the baritone and even some of the bass parts.
I moved up into
the “big room” at Bona School into the ninth grade. Under the tutelage of J. B. Mitchell, I was
doing very well indeed. I always liked
school and was never tardy. I was also
never absent except for that time in Arcola when I had diphtheria, then a few
days early in 1936 when I came down with yellow jaundice. I guess it was a form of hepatitis. I still remember how very sick I was. My skin got yellow and my eyeballs turned
brown for a while. It stayed with me for
the rest of my life, too. In the Navy
and afterward, when I listed childhood diseases I had, they would stamp “Yellow
Jaundice” on my health record and I still am not allowed to donate blood.
My grades were
always good and there was no subject that I disliked or that was hard for
me. Regardless of the subject, I was nearly
always at the top of my class. It may
have been partily because Richard was also a top student and I was determined
not to allow him to outdo m e. Whatever
the reason, I always felt foolish if I failed to get 100 percent on any
examination.
The only other
student in my class of seventeen at Bona School that came close to me was a
slip of a girl, Mary Neil. She was one
of Cook Neil’s several daughters. They
lived in a shack just down the hill from the church on the west side of Bona.
I did not particularly
like Mary Neil. She had straw colored
blonde hair, was not particularly pretty, and could be snippy if not downright
nasty at times. I respected her,
however, because she was smart as a whip.
Almost invariably
when there was a bell-down it would be Mary and me that were the last two up
there. I felt foolish on the occasions
when she spelled me down. I never heard
in later years, but I expect that Mary Neil got a scholarship and went on to be
a teacher.
It was in 1935
that I got baptized and joined the Bona Church.
I am not sure to this day why I did that. I was much too young to make that decision
but, at the time, with several of my contemporaries going forward and joining
the church, it seemed like the thing to do.
It happened during
one of the series of revival meetings held by the gentle minister I described
back in Chapter 4. Since I cannot recall
his name I will call him “Brother Thompson” because that could well have been
it.
I did not really
feel any sudden calling but I was there one evening when Brother Thompson
preached a good sermon aimed at we younger people. There in the soft yellow light of the acetylene
fixtures, Thompson’s deep voice was almost hypnotic and he could be very
persuasive. During the invitational hymn
at the end, my cousin Mary Catherine, Claude Todd (the two of them later
married and he is not an elder in the Bona Church), Clarence Lee King, and some
others went forward. On an impulse, I
got up and went with them.
It is regrettable
that no one took a picture at our baptizing the following Sunday
afternoon. It is not done in an open
stream any more. These days Bona Church
as a baptism tank in the church. In
those days, however, it was done in a river or creek just as Christ was baptized
two thousand years ago. The Church of
Christ believed only in total immersion and members criticized Methodists and
others that simply sprinkled a little water symbolically.
Our baptizing took
place in a deep pool of the branch on my Uncle Claud’s farm. Fortunately, it was in the summer so the
little creek was fairly warm. All we
boys had on clean overalls and the girls wore print dresses. Brother Thompson was wearing the first set of
waders that I ever saw. I figured that
was all right as he was already baptized and he had to be in the water the
whole time. No point in his getting his
preaching suit wet either.
There was not much
to it. All the people who had come to
observe lined up along the bank and we baptizes got in a line. One by one we waded out to the preacher who
was standing in waist dep water. He
positioned us sidewise in front of him, said in that solemn deep voice, “I
baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Then he ducked us backward under the water and
raised us back up.
When I waded ashore
and was congratulated by people, to tell the truth I did not feel any different.
I expect that I went right on committing
my little sins and I know that the other boys did also. About the only difference was that we were
now church members and could take communion.
Sometimes we were called upon to serve communion or help take up the
collection.
My ideas about religion
have gone through a long evolution over the years and I do not attend any
church regularly now. I will not go into
that as it could be a whole separate book.
Let it suffice to say that I firmly believe in the Creator and Almighty
and I believe I am on good terms with Him.
I sort of facetiously refer to Him as “The Boss” once in a while but I
am sincere and He knows that. Whatever
power it is “up” there certainly took care of Richard and me during a shooting
war and He hasn’t done bad by us in peace.
I will have more to say about that later.
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