We had lived in Lakeshore, Ohio, ever since I was born. My parents had actually been married there. Lakeshore was a small town with a population of around 9,000 people. The name makes you think the town was situated on a lake, perhaps Lake Erie if you know anything about Ohio, but in fact it was located well away from it in the southeastern part of the state, much closer to the Ohio River than the Great Lake. I’m not sure where the name came from, but there were several small- and medium-sized lakes in the vicinity, as there are throughout Ohio, and that may have been the reason for the name. I guess I was never curious enough to look it up or ask anyone. There were no really big lakes anywhere around that I knew about, and it certainly wasn’t on the shore of one. Maybe the guy who named it was a wishful thinker.
The town was located in the rolling hills that make up that part of the state, pretty country much like western Pennsylvania and West Virginia. It was a pretty area. I thought so, at least.
Small towns are different from big cities. People tend to know each other. There aren’t as many people coming to live there or leaving to live somewhere else in a small town, or at least there weren’t in our stable little town. The major business there was Clendenon Brothers, a company that made china dishes for diners and coffee shops––the sturdy, beige-tinted plates and cups and saucers that everyone recognizes as belonging in low-cost establishments that serve breakfast all day long and sell a lot of hamburgers and fries and coffee, lots of coffee, and frequently are open 24 hours a day.
The china plant had at least a thousand employees and was by far the largest employer in the city. There was one main street and a lesser thoroughfare running parallel to it in the downtown area. There was one large school property which held two buildings. All the lower grades from kindergarten through 8th were situated in one building and the high school grades were located in the other building. The younger kids were broken up, too, so the elementary kids were separated from the middle school kids, even though they shared the same building. I guess the ‘powers that were’ thought the middle-school kids would pick on the elementary-school kids if they had the opportunity and, knowing middle school kids, I’d guess they were probably right.
I was just a run-of-the-mill, very ordinary kid growing up, nothing special or remarkable. I did the ordinary things. I met Jed, who was to become my best friend, when they moved next door to us when I was six. He was also six, and while I was outgoing, precocious and mischievous, he was shy and quiet. I watched as the large moving van pulled up to the vacant house next door to ours that summer morning. I liked big trucks, but never had been this close to one. Seeing it stop next door, that was exciting!
Shortly after stopping, shortly after the men in the truck swung open the large side doors on the van and put a ramp in place so they could walk into the van, a car pulled into the driveway. A tall man wearing a tee shirt and blue jeans got out first and looked around, surveying the neighborhood. He saw me standing on my porch watching and gave me a friendly wave. I returned it. A woman about my mother’s age got out of the other side of the car and opened the back door. A boy who looked about my age, though he was a little larger than I was, got out. He had blond hair that needed cutting; it fell almost across his eyes, and he brushed it to the side with the back of his hand. I was to grow accustomed to, even fond of, that gesture; he’d have it as long as I knew him. While I was studying this boy, a girl older by probably a couple years got out of the other side of the car. She slammed her door, then said to her father, loud enough for me to easily hear her, “I get to pick my room before Jed, you said so.”
There was an unpleasant ring to her voice. She sounded cross and like she was the boss. I decided I didn’t like her. Of course, I was six. I didn’t like any girls. Her mother, however, spoke to her nicely, with no sign of noticing the girl’s irritation or grating tone of voice. “Sure you can, Missy. Why don’t you go with your father right now and choose the one you want?”
The men were beginning to bring some large boxes out of the truck and setting them on the lawn. One of the men walked up and spoke to the man beside the car, and then the two of them walked up to the front door of the house. I decided it would be much better if I were over there where all this interesting stuff was happening instead of standing on my porch. I’d be able to see into the truck that way, too, which I wanted to do. So that’s where I went.
When I reached the car, the boy and his mother were still standing there. The girl had gone into the house with her father. I approached the woman and boy.
“Hello, are you moving in here?” I asked.
“Well, hello,” said the woman, amusement coloring her voice. “Yes, we are. I’m Mrs. Tuckman and this is Jed. What’s your name?”
“I’m Tim. Is Jed six?” I’m not sure why I asked her instead of him. It might have been because he had turned when I’d approached them and had his face pressed tightly against her skirt, his back facing me.
“Yes, he is!” said a pleased Mrs. Tuckman. “You look like you are, too. Is that so?”
“Yep. I’m six and I live right there with my parents and my brother Shawn. He’s nine. My father is a painter, and my mother teaches school. Not my class. Another class. I’m going to be in 2nd grade next year. Is Jed in 2nd grade?”
Mrs. Tuckman laughed. “Yes, he’ll be going into 2nd grade, too. Maybe you can help him. He’s a little shy. Aren’t you, Jeddy?”
Jeddy didn’t say anything, just pressed a little harder into his mother’s skirt. At this point I became a little frustrated with him. Maybe when you’re six you don’t have all that much patience. Maybe that was part of my problem, but I didn’t understand shy or hiding in my mother’s skirt, and I wanted to see this kid and get to know him so we could play.
“Why is he shy? Is there something wrong with him?” I asked, looking up at her.
Mrs. Tuckman laughed again. I kind of liked her laugh. It made me want to laugh, too. It made me think there wasn’t any reason for me to get mad or frustrated about anything. “No, he’s just shy. Did you see the movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?”
I nodded my head.
“Well, he’s like the dwarf named Bashful. Until he gets to know somebody, he acts like this. When he knows you, he’ll like you. You two’ll have fun together. I’m glad we moved next to you, Tim. You two will have each other to play with and get to be good friends. I just know it.”
That made me smile. I liked her pretty good right then. I had some reservations about Jeddy, but she was all right. I was glad they’d moved in next door, too.
Just then my mother came out of the house onto our front porch. She looked over at the truck, then saw me talking to Mrs. Tuckman. She walked over, smiling. The two of them introduced themselves and began chatting. I stood impatiently waiting for Jeddy to stop being shy so we could play. He would stand there, then peek away from his mother’s skirt. When he saw me looking, he would quickly pull back and bury his head again.
I’m not dumb now and wasn’t at six. After he did this twice, I’d figured out I had to not look at him if he was ever going to stop being bashful. So, I considered the situation, then went and got my tricycle out of our garage and rode it out to where our mothers were talking. Then I began riding it up and down the sidewalk where Jeddy could see me. That did the trick. Almost immediately he was watching me, and when I wasn’t looking at him, he turned all the way around so his back was leaning against his mother and his front was toward me. He still wasn’t as brave as I’d have liked. He reached over to where one of his mother’s arms was hanging at her side and pulled it across him so it was draped over his front, and held it there. From the way he was standing there, her arm across him, him leaning into her, I was pretty sure if I looked at him, I’d be seeing a lot of his back again really quick.
What I wanted to happen was to have him ride my trike. I figured if I could get him on it, if I could get him to ride a bit away from his mother, I might be able to talk to him. But how could I do that? I thought on that briefly, figuring it out.
“Mom,” I called, my eyes avoiding Jeddy completely, “could you ask Mrs. Tuckman to ask Jeddy if he wants to ride my trike?”
I looked away, but I could almost feel my mother smile. Then, I could hear Mrs. Tuckman speaking to Jeddy. A second later, my mother called me over, and I pedaled over to them.
I got off my trike and pushed it over next to Jeddy, all the while being careful not to make eye contact. Then I stepped back over to my mother and turned my back on the others.
My mother looked down at me and broke into a chuckle. Her lips said, ‘Pretty smart, Tim,’ while her voice said nothing at all.
Then I heard my trike clattering down the sidewalk and turning, I saw Jeddy’s back again, this time as he rode away from us. Mrs. Tuckman then thanked me, too. “You’re clever, aren’t you, Tim, and very nice, too.”
“I just want to play with him. I thought it would be quicker this way,” I replied, and watched as Jeddy got farther away from us. I then took off running after him. I figured that without his mother to hide against, now he’d have to talk to me.
And to no one’s great surprise, it worked out even better than him just talking to me. By the end of 2nd grade we were pretty much together all the time. Jed—he’d pretty quickly asked me to stop calling him Jeddy—remained shy, but I more than made up for that; I was noisy enough for both of us, and we just fit together fine. We did the things young boys did, playing together with action figures, playing hide-and-go-seek and tag with other boys in the neighborhood, walking to school together, eating dinner and spending nights together, just quickly becoming a major part of each other’s world. Jed, being quiet by nature and not very outgoing, let me be the leader of the two of us, and so most of what we did was my idea, which worked out well for both of us.
We were usually in the same classroom in school. We were put in separate classes in 4th grade, but Jed made quite a fuss about that and, surprisingly, his mother talked the school into switching him so, after two weeks, we were back together again. The school didn’t bother to try to separate us after that. We lived in a small enough town where everyone seemed to know everyone else, and no one wanted a hassle when nothing was gained from one.
It was the next year after that, when Jed and I were 10, that my mother told my father at dinner one night that there was a new church in town.
“It’s called the Christian Evangelist Church. It’s on the corner of 3rd Street and Evergreen, where the 1st Presbyterian Church used to be. I guess that congregation sort of broke up when their minister, Dr. Ainsford, passed away. It didn’t have a lot of people as members anyway, and I guess the church fathers didn’t have anyone to replace him. Anyway, the building has been taken over by this new church that’s just starting up here. And they have a new pastor. I heard his name is Reverend Horace Ellison. He just moved here. I was thinking we could all go to their first service this Sunday.”
She looked at my father and smiled, her eyes seeking approval of the idea.
We weren’t a religious family. We didn’t go to church on Sunday and we didn’t say grace before meals. Shawn and I had never been taught to say our prayers at night. Religion wasn’t part of our family’s culture. So, when Mom said this, I looked at my father, curious about what his reaction would be.
He looked back at her without speaking for a minute. Then he said, “What’s bringing this on, Marge? We’ve never gone to church. Is there some reason you’re feeling we should now?”
“Oh, no real reason.” She was being very nonchalant, almost forced, it seemed to me. “I just think it would be interesting and maybe fun. A lot of families do go every week, and we’d be more like them. It might be good for the boys, too. As you know, my parents go every week; I did too when I was young. It’s part of many people’s lives.
“Tim is getting to an age where I think it would be good to introduce him to some religious instruction so he can see what it’s all about, and Shawn hasn’t been to church, either. Going to church is very normal for families to do. Our boys should do it, too; when they’re older they can decide if they like it or not, if it has value for them. If they go now, they’ll learn about the Bible and get some religious foundation in their lives.”
My father looked at her some more, thinking about it, I guess. His pause was long enough that I wondered if he’d answer her at all. Then he said, “That sounds reasonable enough. However, you know how I feel about organized religion. But I think if you want to go and take the boys and see what it’s like, that’s fine. I don’t mind anyone going as long as they want to. I’ll stay home, though.”
“Okay, we’d like to have you with us, but, okay. The rest of us will go this Sunday. They have services at 9 and 11. I think we should go to the 11 o’clock service. It’ll give us more time for breakfast and to get ready without any rush.”
I was a little excited Sunday. This was something new. Shawn seemed excited too, although, at 13, he didn’t show his emotions as much as he used to. He was a big kid now, and he made it pretty clear, especially if anyone was around, that I was a little kid. I wasn’t allowed to run with him and his crowd any longer. He was still friendly at home, but outside home, he didn’t seem to want anything to do with me.
I found that strange and even hurtful at first. It was upsetting, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Besides, I’d been closer to Jed than Shawn for a long time now. Shawn had his own friends and his own interests, and if I was no longer a factor in his life, well, that was just the way it was.
Mom made us put on our best clothes, clothes we almost never wore. I had to wear dress pants with a white, button-up shirt and a tie, my dress shoes and even my dress-up jacket. Shawn had to fix himself up the same way. Mom made sure we’d both had showers, and then she made sure our hair was combed just right. When we were all ready, we got in the car and Mom drove us to the church.
There was a small crowd there when we parked in the church parking lot at 10:45 that morning. They were standing in small groups in the parking lot and on the large porch in front of the church, dressed nicely as we were and talking and waiting for the doors to open. Just after we’d left the car and were walking towards the front steps leading up the porch, the doors swung open. A tall, heavy-set man with a reddish face and snow white, long curly hair and wearing a long black robe stood by the open doors, smiling at everyone and saying, “Welcome, welcome, welcome everyone, please come inside, welcome, everyone.”
We joined the group walking inside. It was cool, cooler than outside, and after walking through a small entry hall, we entered a large room filled with long pews. There was a small stage in the front of the room. An elderly lady was playing an organ off to the side in the front. The stage was empty except for a speaker’s stand.
We found a seat in the middle. The crowd wasn’t large enough to come close to filling the available seats. People spread out a lot, so there were people here and there in the pews and the room looked just like it was: not very full.
The white-haired man eventually walked down the center aisle, stepped up onto the stage, the music stopped, and he began speaking to us. He told us his name was Reverend Ellison and, this was the first weekend of services in Lakeshore, and we were all welcome. He said he was delighted to see us.
He told us his church was a fundamentalist Christian church, that he believed in the Bible absolutely, that the Bible was the true word of God, and every word in it was a word of truth and divinely inspired, He said that those who followed the teachings of the Bible and were born again in their belief in Jesus Christ as our savior would be blessed and go to heaven and all other people would not.
He said that it was our belief, not our actions, that would save us. Then he smiled at us and said he had been chosen to guide us along the path to heaven, and since we had come to his church, we were already well on the way to salvation. Together, he said, we’d all be saved, and it was our faith in Jesus that would be our salvation. That eternal blessings were ahead for us all.
After that, he started talking about the church, how we should have a choir, we should have various committees, and to be successful, the church would need volunteers.
At that point I think I might have fallen asleep. This was all pretty dull stuff, talking about committees and volunteering and all, and what did I care about any of this? At the start he’d been talking about believing and salvation and paths and I hadn’t had the foggiest idea what any of that meant. Besides, I was hot in my tie and jacket and the back of my right heel hurt from the stiff shoe I didn’t wear very often. The unpadded wood bench I was sitting on wasn’t all that comfortable, either, and I was doing a lot of fidgeting before nodding off.
I’d been sleeping for awhile, I guess, when my mother gently shook me and I woke up. Everyone else was standing up and leaving. I stood up, too, and when it was our turn, we sidled to the aisle and turned to the back of the church. The line of people ahead of us was moving slowly, very slowly, to the doors, and when we neared them I saw why. Reverend Ellison was standing there, shaking everyone’s hand as they left and speaking to each of them.
When we reached the Reverend, my mother shook his hand and introduced herself, then Shawn and me. Reverend Ellison looked both of us in the eye and took both our hands. Being 10, I didn’t shake a lot of hands, and felt a little uncomfortable doing it with this guy because he seemed to hold onto my hand much longer than he needed to, forcing his eyes into mine. He did this to Shawn, too, and looked into his eyes longer than he needed to, also. I was happy when my turn was over and he finally let go.
He told my mother how happy he was we were all there and hoped we’d be back again next week. He said he hoped we’d come after that, too, and really hoped we’d join the church. My mother said we’d be sure to come. The reverend smiled broadly and said that was very good, and that he wanted to get to know all of us better. Then he then looked beyond us to the next people in line and that was that.
When we got home, Dad was watching the Browns pre-game show on TV. I ran over to join him, glad the game hadn’t started already and I hadn’t missed it. Watching the Browns on TV with my dad was one of the highpoints of the week.
“So, buddy, how was church?” he asked.
I giggled. “I think I slept through most of it,” I confessed.
“Nothing wrong with that. Lots of people do that. Did your mother get mad?”
“No, she just woke me up at the end.”
“Hey, I might even go with you if that’s all it is. I could use some extra shuteye.” He laughed, and I joined in.
The next weekend, Mother was talking about church all day Saturday. She’d had a call from Reverend Ellison during the week, and he’d asked her to be on the Greeting Committee. On Sunday, she was supposed to be at the church early and stand by the front doors with two other women and greet people as they entered. One of the ladies was supposed to write down the attendees’ names so a record of everyone who attended was kept. Mom was excited about greeting all the people who showed up and chatted nervously about it to Dad at dinner. Dad didn’t respond much and seemed generally uninterested in her chatter. When we were alone, I asked him about that.
“Tim, if your mother is happy with the church, that’s great. I went to church when I was your age, and in fact until I left home and got my own apartment after high school. My father was a strict Christian, and everyone in the family had to go. I listened to the sermons every week. I didn’t like them much. I tried not going once or twice, but that just wasn’t acceptable, no matter what the reason. So, I went to church. But when it was finally my choice of whether to go or not, it was an easy decision for me to make.
“But everyone’s different. If your mother wants to go, if church fills some need she has, that’s fine. I think we have to watch her though. For some people, church and religion become like a narcotic. And some people get mesmerized by the preaching and eventually allow the church to do their thinking for them. But that isn’t likely to happen, and nothing to worry about, really. Your mother is a pretty down-to-earth person.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and it made me wonder. I decided that when I went to church, I was going to listen to what was said and pay attention, then think about it. Dad had sounded very serious and I’d heard the caution in his voice. Maybe church was more important than just a social activity, just a way to spend an hour or so a week. Maybe there was more to it than that. But I was 10; what did I know? I just knew that my dad had sounded different when talking about it.