CHAPTER 12

MINISTRY IN CALIFORNIA

At last the train chugged in to San Francisco about six a.m. We had been up all night on another crowded train. I was trying to smooth my best navy blue suit to look respectable to meet my mother‑in‑law. Maja was supposed to meet us. But there was no sign of her. As we sat down to wait over a cup of coffee and a cigarette, we were interrupted by the strident voice over the public address system paging Bob. When he got to the phone, it was his Uncle Ted Rappley who told him that they were going to bring a wheelchair for me. "And how is Carol's broken leg?"

We were mystified. After a very short wait, Maja appeared. My first impression of my mother‑in‑law was of a determined person who was making a bee‑line toward us, staring at MY feet. Ted Rappley had called her the night before to tell her that Uncle Don had phoned to say I had a broken leg. Poor Maja. The night before she had returned from the Sierras where she had left Dick at Scout Camp, only to be greeted with the news that "Carol had a broken leg and must be met with a wheel chair." Another invalid to care for! First she had to unload her station wagon which was loaded with wood, then make a lot of phone calls and arrangements. And all for a hoax. She was close to tears between emotion, relief, and bafflement that anyone would pull such a stunt at such a dreadful time.

I, on the other hand, felt like the only unknown quantity in the situation and thought she must think I had something to do with it. So I was close to tears of frustration. While Bob drove her Nash across the Bay Bridge toward their home in Oakland both of us wept. Maja kept saying, "Who would have done this to me?"

It seems to me it was at least a couple of weeks before we learned that Uncle Don had wanted to get his brother‑in‑law to meet us (part of their tradition of practical joking) and had wired him about what came to be known as "Carol's broken leg", never dreaming that he would dump the problem in Maja's lap. Anyway, Maja enjoyed telling the story for many years.

At first I tried too hard to be a good daughter‑in‑law. I hadn't realized that I had smoked my last cigarette (for the rest of my life) in the San Francisco Station. Somehow I hadn't realized how anti‑smoking the West could be. I schemed the idea of sneaking out to the drug store, but I never carried it out. And each day became easier. I would say to myself, "I'll last another half‑hour and then I'll give in..." But then I would keep on making extensions. Bob and I wanted to help Maja, and at the same time we knew he had to find a job.

A week after we arrived we drove up to Wolfboro to bring Dick home. High in the Sierras, above Calaveras Big Trees, we found beautiful wild country. This was my first experience in camping in the Sierras. Bob and I left Maja in camp and hiked off in the wilderness. When we came to Highland Creek we were so far from human habitation that we didn't worry about bathing suits, but enjoyed swimming in the cold crystal water of a mountain stream. And then we found a green grassy meadow...

There was an opening for "Minister of Christian Education" at St. John's Presbyterian Church where Bob had grown up. When he was offered the job we hesitated, because we questioned whether it was wise to "go home" after seminary. But because of his father's recent death, and the opportunity to be near Maja, it seemed like a good interim position. One argument against the job was that Dr. Stanley Hunter, the senior pastor, had outstayed his welcome and there was a strong faction in the church that wanted to use Dink against Dr. Hunter.

The positive side was that we had a year and a half together in Berkeley which we both loved. I got to know Maja and love her dearly. We both drew even closer to the Newhalls. We touched base with a number of people from Bob's childhood, and I grew to know and love many of his family. I was astonished to discover that his family was not only large, but most lived fairly near. And I was even more astonished to find that on both sides of his family was an easy going sense of humor and fun. I don't know why it had never occurred to me that I was entering a whole orbit of DeWolfs. I guess I had naively thought of Dink as my personal discovery‑‑I had looked forward to meeting his brothers and parents. But as for Cousins and Uncles and Aunts and Grandmother and Great Aunt Mino, etc., etc., it was all new and by hindsight invaluable. Betty DeWolf had told me I would like Mrs. DeWolf(whom I promptly named Motherdee and then ended up calling her Maja), but later I realized that that year laid the basis for a lifelong friendship. The aunts took me in in the friendliest spirit and so did the cousins.

While we were finding a room to rent, we stayed several weeks at the Hunters' since they wanted to go on vacation and needed us to host the visiting speakers. We entertained Dr. Henry Smith Leiper among others. Cherry tomatoes were brand new and I served them as a garnish for dinner. I remember he bit one that shot an arc of tomato juice halfway across the dinner table. Next morning Bob had to take him to the train in our car, a 1931 chevy coupe that we had bought from a high school boy named Buster for $150. (He needed a better car so he could take his girl friend out.) Buster had painted two red stick figures (pedestrians) on each door in the spirit of the wartime air aces who chalked up the number of German planes they shot down. We thought it was gruesome humor, but we laughingly called the car "Buster".

Dr. Leiper had to catch his train, but Buster refused to start. Finally Bob and Dr. Leiper pushed the car down the slope until they could both leap in, and he did get to the station on time.

By the time of our first anniversary I was feeling strange enough to be suspicious. Bob bought me a gardenia for our anniversary, and I couldn't stand the smell. Soon Dr. Josephine Borson confirmed my surmise. I was pregnant. We always liked to feel that the green grassy meadow had something to do with it ‑‑ the date July 17th fitted in perfectly with Charles's birthday on April 26th the following year.

We set up housekeeping in a rented room with a bathroom down the hall. Our landlady had posted a sign above the john that said, "THIS is a COMMUNITY bath room ‑ if each participant will leave it as they like to FIND it ‑ it will always be a place of BEAUTY and comfort ‑ FOREVER MORE..." She assured us that the lady down the hall was "A good Christian woman," meaning that she would not steal our suitcases. I was sensitive to the smells in such a confined area, and one day when Bob was teasing me I flopped down on the bed and threatened, "You know about pre‑natal influence ‑ if you aren't nice to me, I'll have a little ogre..." Bob leered at me and said, "The books say it doesn't make any difference." So from that moment on we called the unborn baby, "The Little Ogre."

When a vacancy occurred in one of the Newhall apartments, Alice offered it to us. It was wonderful to expand into a real apartment with a living room, so well furnished and comfortable, and we lived there until 2642 College Avenue, the largest house we ever lived in, was ready for our occupancy. This was to be "The Junior Manse" (and Youth Center since it was next door to St. John's) as well as our home, but we were assured that it WAS our home, and we were under no obligation about it. Living next door to the church had more advantages than disadvantages, and we loved having the extra space. We fixed up a cozy study upstairs and used the spacious living room for many youth parties.

One of the best things we organized was what we laughingly called, "The DeWolf School of Theology." Some of Bob's old friends and some new young couples and wives of service men joined in very serious discussions. Among the members were Bob MacAfee Brown and his wife Sydney, Emma and Russ Usinger and Kenneth and Margaret Davis. Bob Brown was a Chaplain at the time, and we could see already what a brilliant mind he had. Kenneth Davis later help top level jobs in Washington under Eisenhower; later he became vice‑president of Bechtel in charge of nuclear power; he also advised President Reagan on nuclear power and would have been given a Cabinet post except for the fact that Reagan's administration was already top heavy with ex‑ Bechtel personnel.

One day a charming middle aged man appeared at our front door. He was dressed in expensive sports clothes, and his neatly cropped hair and well‑tanned face made him look as if he had just returned from Bermuda. He said he would like to talk to Bob in private, and they retired to the church office. An hour and a half later Bob returned with the incredible story. This man was a doctor who served with the armed forces in Italy. Out of compassion, he had performed an abortion on a poor girl and all his difficulties had sprung from that. There was much more to the story, but the upshot was that he needed to be "tided over" until the next day when he would receive a large settlement at Treasure Island. Bob offered to lend him our life savings of $37, but he said $25 would be enough, so Bob had written the check and arranged to meet him the following morning.

Of course he never showed up. $25 seemed like a fortune to us. Bob was sick at the betrayal, more so than at the loss of the money. We both agreed that our friend must have ENJOYED conning people, or he wouldn't have spent so much time over it. Through all the years that followed, however, we decided that it was money well spent. Bob and I were both pretty naive in our appraisal of people. I had smelled a rat immediately when Bob told me the story, but that was simply because I hadn't been the listener. Many times when Bob helped people after that, he knew that he was taking a chance, but he would say, "It's better to bet on people than horses..."

At last the time came for Charles to be born. I was four days overdue when my bag of waters broke and Bob took me to Alta Bates Hospital. Wartime conditions made for a terribly crowded situation in the hospital. I was admitted about 7 p.m. and put to bed in a room with 3 other women in labor. Several women were in the hall in the same condition. The nurse who made periodic inspections was curt and obviously overworked. Bob sat by the bed throughout the night, but was sent home for breakfast about 7 a.m. I had been told that my "pelvis was shaped in such a way that I might have to have a Caesarian". I thought (foolishly) that if I were brave enough this would not have to happen, and as Bob and I were talking at the time of becoming missionaries in China, I thought it would be terribly important to be able to give birth naturally. However, the nurse heard me groan involuntarily as she walked by my bed, and she snarled, "You have hours to go, you don't hurt that much..." She flung back the bedclothes and yelled loudly, "My God the head's showing..." I didn't know what that meant except for the obvious thought that things were happening. And things did happen. They immediately knocked me out, and the next thing I knew I was awakened and saw a nurse standing at the foot of my bed with the most beautiful bundle I could imagine. "It's a boy." He had ten fingers, one nose, dark silky hair, and to me he looked absolutely divinely perfect. Bob was there almost right away. They had given him a bum steer in sending him home.

I was glad that Bob's presence counteracted the negative vibrations from the nursing staff. I've thought many times what a shame it is to have a person remember you the way I remember that nurse, and how important it is for ministers or nurses or doctors to remind themselves that no matter how routine an event is for them, it will never be forgotten by the patient.

Another thing that bothered me in the hospital was that the nurses universally tried to dissuade me from nursing the baby. If I had not had strong convictions about wanting to breast feed, I would have been totally discouraged. The standard greeting was, "You don't want to nurse your baby, do you?" I held out. In those days they didn't even bring the baby to suckle until after 24 hours. But I insisted that he not be fed by a bottle. Once the nurse forgot to come and get the baby from me after he had had ample time. At first I just revelled at having my sweet little boy by my side, but after an hour and a half I began to worry that he might be "missing something" or I might be responsible for keeping him from his bath or I didn't know what. So I rang for the nurse.

When she came, I said, "You forgot my baby..."

Again the snarl, "YOU'RE not going to get your baby now..." As if I was a terrible nuisance to have rung for her.

"I've GOT my baby," I said coldly.

"Oh..." She snatched Charles up and went out of the room, and I was left to wish I'd just kept him.

At the end of 5 days I came home by ambulance! They carried me up the broad stairway of 2642 College on a stretcher and deposited me in our double bed. I was not to get up, except to go to the bathroom, until the baby was two weeks old! It seems ridiculous now, but if that's what the authorities tell you, you quickly assume you'll break in pieces if you disobey.

It was exciting just to be home. There were callers and flowers and Mrs. March, who was to take care of me, and Bob rushing in and out. Finally late at night he crawled into bed beside me. Just as he lay down, the bed collapsed with a loud bang. It was a cheap bed frame and it didn't hurt anything. But poor Bob. We both thought I was fragile, and he managed to lift me, the mattress and frame, and stagger it all back together without a bit of help.

Bob's mother had been keeping house for him, and although she meant to be helpful, she had reminded him at every turn of the "old days" when he was considered unable to manage without supervision. So we lay together lovingly while he told me how much he`d missed me and how he hated being "parented". Suddenly we heard a little whimper from the bassinet. And we had a wonderful giggling moment of truth as we whispered, "You know what we are ‑‑ parents..."

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