CHAPTER 24

REDDING

I was busy at my desk at the Mental Health Services the spring morning in 1976 when Bob phoned me that he had had an offer to go to Redding. We had agreed that under no circumstances would we move. I loved my job, even though 40 hours a week was strenuous. Grace Church, Stockton had been good to us and it was a comfortable berth. However, just the day before, Sandra Exelby had given me some bad news. When I first interviewed for the job one of the conditions I made was that I wanted to be on Social Security as I had all but ten quarters to make me eligible for a pension. I had been assured that there was no problem, and each month when I noticed that the deduction had not been taken out of my salary, Sandra would reassure me that it was just bookkeeping red tape and it would be all straightened out in time.

But when Sandra appeared at my desk with a glum face and told me that she had some really bad news for me I feared the worst. She said that she had just found out (after 8 months) that I was NOT to receive Social Security after all. She apologized all over the place. I felt so sick at heart that I could only mumble, "Thanks for telling me." I knew that the job was something where I was valued; I was learning a lot; and I hated to give it up. But when the phone call from Bob came, I suddenly realized that this was the answer. I knew Redding would be a promotion for him. He had contributed what he could to Grace and it would be a good time to move even though four years was a short term for us. There was only one United Methodist Church in Redding and I knew it had not been easy for Bob always to play second fiddle to Central, the larger U.M.Church in Stockton. (For example, even though we had a much more active college group than Central, a member of Central always provided them with all the lists of new Methodist students, and never gave us any hint‑‑we had to depend entirely on word of mouth.)

Anyway, I told Bob to go ahead and arrange for the interview. This was a part of the new system of making moves more sensitively (I believe this came about largely to counteract the gross insensitivity that Bishop Golden had displayed). I took a day off from work and Bob and I drove up to Redding. Charles Cox, the district superintendent, and his wife met us, and we had dinner together at a local restaurant. Charles told us that the present pastor, John Albright had alienated a lot of people but had learned his lesson and had made some amends. Then we went to meet the Pastor Parish Committee. It was a cold night and the meeting seemed very stiff‑‑about the temperature of the weather outdoors. After a while we were dismissed and went downstairs to wait in the car for Charles. We waited so long that I began to think he was having to persuade the committee, though he assured us it was only to talk about the problems of the present pastor. Then we went to look at the parsonage and I was dismayed at the ugly and broken furniture, frayed pieces of rugs, blackened hearth and lack of style. I had seen that parsonage at the time it was first built when the Troutners lived there and though it was cheaply constructed, I couldn't believe it had fallen into such disrepair.

The Coxes kept us overnight in their guest cottage next to the swimming pool. I lay awake for a long time in deep distress and finally started making a list of pros and cons. About 4:30 a.m. I wakened Bob and he helped me. We ended up with a long list of "cons" and very few "pros". The first con on the list was "vulgar ostentatious bedroom suite." I had been appalled when I discovered that the one room that was supposed to have "really good furniture" was the master bedroom with a very ornate, cheap looking king size bed, and bureaus with deep fake carving. When Charles Cox looked at our list, he threw back his head and laughed. He said it was the first time he had seen the furniture and he thoroughly agreed with me‑‑that it would be no problem to get the church to dispose of these items. I also asked for wall‑to‑wall carpeting. Never before had I made DEMANDS when we moved, but I couldn't see tripping over those threadbare pieces. One by one, Charles brushed away our objections and we finally agreed to accept the position.

Redding was a good move for Bob. The church desperately needed every skill he possessed. Their finances were in such dire straights that we were told later by a reliable source that "They would have had to close up shop in 6 months if you hadn't come." At first it didn't seem as if there was money for anything, and all the commission meetings were dull and discouraged because no one could do anything without any money. What was more, they hid the exact figures for fear of making things worse. Bob turned all that around and soon some of the members who had left the church began to trickle back and contribute.

Also the physical plant was deplorable. It was poorly designed to begin with. I liked to say it was a 5 story building (if you counted the balcony and the youth rooms in the basement) with no access to anything without making incredible detours. The D.S. used to shake his head and say, "I don't see how they could ever have designed it this way." That was bad enough, but in addition it needed painting outside and in. The decor in the sanctuary was dark and ugly. Many large and small repairs had been let slide. The first adult Sunday School class I attended was a bit noisy because the door was open. I started to go over to close it when Mrs. Erickson, the teacher said, "Don't bother, the doorknob doesn't work anyway."

"Oh yes it does," says I, "My husband fixed it this week."

Barbara Meese had been the intern working for John Albright and she stayed for a month or so after we arrived. She had a sunny personality and had established herself in the hearts of the people. But she was a part of the "hang loose" spirit of the church. Never mind if the kids drank some beer on their outings. It's natural for kids to dabble in drugs. Don't think you can talk about any thing serious at the Youth Meetings‑‑they won't stand for it. Just be glad they're at the church, not chasing around town (if they're necking in odd corners that's probably to be expected too). Barbara was a chubby girl and she wore a moomoo style gown when participating in the church service. I had the feeling that she wanted to help everyone to love each other in a sweet girlish way. The church service we inherited lacked coordination, style and above all worshipfulness. It wasn't really "loving". To me it was more mushy.

Little by little Bob was able to change things. The worship service improved distinctly and we had good response. However, it took some time for the young choir director, Don Lee, to trust Bob. Don was used to having his own way and never thought of consulting the pastor about what music he had chosen or when he planned to take a Sunday off. However, he was an excellent musician and the choir all liked him. Bob just gave him a free rein.

The youth group limped along. The Albrights' daughter had been left in Redding to go to Junior College. She took over the leadership of the youth group, which was something of a disaster. When I accidentally discovered a note from her planning to meet Paul and Jody Pryor for the purpose of "getting drunk", I faced Paul with it. He was more upset that I would embarrass Janet Albright than he was about what her responsibility should be. I felt that Janet was incapable of forming good relationships at her age level and was reaching down in the youth group to young people four or five years younger than she was. She had singled out Paul as a prospect and later Jody. Jody's mother, April Pryor, who was very hang‑loose herself, didn't like it any more than I did. But we had to be careful. When Janet finally left and we recruited some better leadership, we were amazed at some of the excellent youth programs that were developed.

Paul was a Junior in High School when we arrived in Redding. The year was 1976. It was a bad time for anyone with parental responsibity for teenagers. It was hard to be in communication and I worried, especially because we were so much older than Paul. I always believed he had enough brains to sort out the wheat and the chaff. And it's nice to be able to look back and feel that it came out all right.

In 1978, Paul graduated from Shasta High School in a ceremony mainly memorable for the lashing windstorm that blew the graduates' caps off, and as they raised their arms to rescue their tassled caps, their gowns swirled up around their heads. Many of the decorations were blown down.

Bill and Kathy were with us. Earlier that same day, Bill had graduated from the University of California Medical School at Davis. He and Kathy had been married in Munich the week before and it was the first time we had seen the bride and groom. It was a thrilling time to realize that Bill had achieved his ambition to graduate from Medical School and to realize that he was on his way to the career for which he had worked so hard. It was the beginning of a new and very precious relationship with Kathy and it was symbolized by her making the effort to come with Bill to Paul's graduation the same night.

When Paul announced that he wanted to go to the University of Pacific I told him flatly that I didn't think his grades were good enough for a scholarship and he ought to plan on Shasta College for the first two years. But again Paul pushed through to what he wanted to do. His counselor encouraged him and his scores on the S.A.T. were so high that he did win a scholarship and another phase of his growing up began.

As soon as we arrived in Redding I began to work for Art Thurman. Dr. Thurman had been our D.S. in Hayward and we had always liked him and his wife Jeannette. He needed a part‑time secretary and I still needed a job to complete my Social Security. For the next five years I would go to their home from 9 to 12 Tuesdays through Fridays, and often in the afternoon as well. He had converted the smallest bedroom into an office. It was crowded and two things made it even more squeezed: Art had a throne‑like chair that he had made in the 7th Grade Manual Training Class. Since there was no better place, it was put behind my right elbow at the entrance to the office and always made me feel as if I was in a trap.

In addition Art was very fond of a Chihuahua or Mexican hairless dog which was soon replaced by "Dolly", an ill‑mannered boisterous young dog of more or less the same species. Dolly felt free to climb on anything and do her business on anything, especially when the Thurmans were out of town and let Dolly stay in the house.

But these were small matters compared to the many assets of the job. I admired Art and had always liked Jeannette. They enjoyed our company I think because we were not "on the make". We often had supper together, went to a number of dumb movies or just sat around talking beside their swimming pool. It was the first time Bob had had a "professional" friend in the sense of just enjoying spending time together.

Jeannette needed something to occupy her time and when I suggested that she might become Bob's parish visitor, it seemed like a good idea to everyone. Jeannette's bubbly personality was an asset and Art was delighted to have her have something good to do. I went along for the ride many times on her afternoon calls. I was a good guide and we both understood what we were doing and helped each other in making friendly overtures. It was a great way for me to get to know the people of our parish and act as a liaison for Bob. Of course she was paid and I was not, but most of the time it was rewarding for both of us.

Meanwhile my job for Art was broader than just being his secretary. I edited the monthly newsletter, arranging for its printing and mailing; I made charts and posters; handled both personal and business errands when both Jeannette and Art were out of town, and had social occasions and meetings to help plan and attend. Sometimes I felt that I contributed ideas for which I got no credit, but on the whole I felt Art was a generous employer and a wonderful person. Theoretically the district superintendent is supposed to be a "pastor to the pastors", but most of the time they are too busy. Art was a good combination of a person with real integrity who took his Christian faith seriously, and at the same time he showed me a side of the Methodist Church that I had not seen before.

Art was political where Bob was not. When he was secretary of the Cabinet, I became more aware of confidential material. I saw more clearly how many clergy ‑ men and women ‑ are involved in a power struggle. Art was deeply wounded when some of the conservatives turned against him and actively worked to reduce his power: some had resented his becoming a district superintendent twice; some viewed him as a "fair‑haired boy" who was part of the "palace guard". Art was healthily ambitious but I don't believe he would ever have done anything mean or underhanded to gain power. He would have made a good bishop. He took on many extra jobs like raising money for the Chaplaincy at U.O.P., handling European Religious Study Tours, etc. He worked very hard at recruitment and at public relations.

I was impressed with how much pains he went to in helping the pastors on our district‑‑a kind of help Bob and I had never thought of asking for. At the same time I became aware, as Bob had tried to tell me, that the slant of the Conference was very liberal. One did not dare raise a voice against Gay Rights, Women's Lib, Ethnic Churches, or other liberal causes. One day I mentioned C.S.Lewis favorably. Art rather sneered, "Well of course he's just a right‑wing conservative..." I argued the point to no avail. Art had read "Screwtape Letters" back around l945 and nothing since. Art did respect me however and often asked my advice. And sometimes I felt he would have liked to continue our conversations but I tried to be very business‑like in their home.

Through Art I felt I came to have a greater respect for the structure of the Methodist Church‑‑and especially for the crucial role of a good man like him, having the patience to work through the bureaucracy. I was also very contented that Bob had never chosen to play the game of the "company boy." We never had to bow and scrape to the hierarchy.

It was a shattering blow on the night of April 1, 1980 when the phone call came from San Francisco that Art had had a massive heart attack. Ten minutes before, Jeannette had phoned me to ask where something was in the file. She had been talking to Art long distance and he had wanted me to get something‑‑then the phone had gone dead. Bob and I jumped into the car and raced the 5 miles to get to the Thurmans when we heard the news. Fearing the worst, we just wanted to be with Jeannette. We didn't even turn the lights or the television off. Then there were the harrowing minutes while we waited for further word. Then the decision to make the trip to San Francisco. We stopped in Willows where Jeannette phoned the hospital and learned that Art had died. Dear Jeannette‑‑a person whose whole life was loving Art and her family. We finally reached the hospital about three in the morning and stayed long enough to see her safely in the hands of her family and their dear friends, the Leslies.

Kathy let us in for an hour's sleep before we headed for home. Suddenly it began to dawn on me that I had lost not only a dear friend, but also my job. The district parsonage was to be moved anyway after Art quit. And of course Jeannette would be moving. I had to take care of the unfinished business, field all the calls, and help Jeannette through a hard transition. The telephone rang constantly. Art was beloved and deservedly so. There was the memorial service in the Bay Area and Bob was left to plan another memorial service for the whole district in Redding.

For the last three years we were in Redding I replaced Jeannette as the official Parish Visitor. I didn't handle the job exactly as Jeannette had done. She spent a lot of time on the paper work which I considered mostly a waste of time. I had my own ideas of what a Parish Visitor should be. I liked following up on the new people and I liked calling on people who wanted to be visited like those who were sick or bereaved. At the same time I felt that many people have illusions about what calling is all about. If you phone first, it is astonishing how many people will put you off. They want the minister to call but not now. It's almost as if they would rather complain about a minister who doesn't call than have a real minister come. BUT, if you just appear at their doorway, almost 100 percent of experiences are very positive. One can tell at a glance if it's a poor time. And I would always ask if it was convenient and stay just a few minutes if I sensed other pressures. But so often there were wonderful visits, even the short ones, that made us feel closer to people. And I always felt I earned my salary in increased attendance and membership, if I had had to be evaluated from that point of view.

Each year that we stayed in Redding brought new depth to our relationships. The Bethel Bible Program strengthened the church in an area where it had languished because of John Albright's ultra‑liberalism. It was hard for Bob to ask the church to support an undertaking that meant a financial commitment on their part including sending us to Madison, Wisconsin for training in the summer of 1978. At the same time we were planning to co‑host a tour of the Holy Land with Eldridge and Lois Trott. Bob balked at the idea that we might be "exploiting" our members. As it turned out however, both enterprises greatly enhanced the church life and I never heard anything but praise and encouragement. The trip in 1979 turned out to be so successful that there was a demand for another group tour, so in 1982 we combined leadership again for a Reformation tour through Northern European countries.

The Trotts were great people to work with and we learned a lot from both of those trips.

In January 1982 I started taking classes in watercolor at Shasta College with Bert Oldham. I had always liked the technique, but knew nothing about modern methods of stretching paper, etc. This turned out to be a stimulating activity along with my sketching. It also made me more aware of my limitations.

When I was asked to be First Vice President of the A.A.U.W. in charge of Program, I accepted thinking that I could have an influence in setting up a program on how to avoid nuclear proliferation (having just read Jonathon Schell's. "The Fate of the Earth"). I had a good time with the job, and I was told by more than one person that we had the best planned programs in 30 years. I also tried to lift their standards towards getting better speakers. I managed to get Congressman Pete McCloskey to speak on the nuclear issue. He had just been defeated for reelection and said he felt free to speak his mind. I thought it was an outstanding program. But afterwards I got some flack from Mrs. Weinberg, who claimed that he had been guilty of anti‑ Semitism because he had said something like, "Our greatest danger is not from the U. S. and the Soviet Union getting into a nuclear confrontation; our main danger is from some clash in the Middle East setting off a spark that might embroil the rest of us....and unfortunately, it is hard to get any discussion of this in the United States Congress because of the Jewish Lobby."

Another area in my life in Redding that was meaningful was my experience with Hospice. I took the training with Jeannette a couple of years before Art died. I appreciated the training and felt it fitted into what I had always believed about death and dying. When Grandpa had died in 1934, mother had taken me with her to Point Pleasant and I had shared in all the arrangements. At that time the body was laid out in state in the home and the services were held right there. Mother helped me to believe that "our bodies are our most precious possession" and the final gift we can give when we lose a beloved person is to care for the body with dignity and loving respect. Death was not something to be run away from. She liked to say, "If you have a sorrow take it in and see what it will do for you." After I had had several Hospice patients I was released from official responsibility because I was doing calling for the church.

In 1978 it was discovered that Paul Boerner had an intestinal malignancy. This was the first time that anything really tragic had touched our intimate family circle in our generation. I longed to help Molly. Both Molly and Paul were so courageous and realistic about everything that it made it easy for the people around them. I found we drew closer in every way through the next two years until his death on November 2, 1980, and afterwards. As I look back I think of the words, "When over dizzy heights we go, a kind hand blinds our eyes..." For even while they faced reality, Molly and Paul managed to make their lives cheerful. I'm not minimizing the pain and fear. At the same time it was inspiring for them to seem to be light‑hearted, which they were up until the very last weeks.

In the spring of 1981 Molly invited me to go with her to visit our three brothers. It was a precious two weeks and I felt very grateful. At the same time I knew that Molly had her own life to live. We would always need each other in special ways. And I was more convinced than ever that I had a special responsibility for Molly's welfare if she ever met an emergency. It was also touching to see that Bob's relationship with Molly deepened to become more like a brother.

As we were rounding out 8 years of service at Redding, Bob was approaching the age of 66. He had already served an extra year when he could have retired at 65. It made us feel good that the Redding folk urged us to stay on, but we concluded that it would be good to "quit while you're ahead". We thought a small half‑time parish close to the Bay Area might be a good transition since we hadn't focused on a good place to retire. Don Cunningham, (Art Thurman's replacement) told us in January that the Redding Church would be the first priority for the Cabinet. As it turned out, he didn't protect our interests very well, and we ended up dangling until nearly Conference time. We had our choice of Smith River (full‑time) or Farmington (half‑time). Smith River had the appeal of a new scenic wonderland, but we chose Farmington because it was closer to where we hoped to retire, and to be more available to the Bay Area.

During the first year we were at Redding we had bought a small mobile home on the Sacramento River at 518 South First St. in Dunsmuir. It was our only real estate investment and at first we thought we could rent it until we would retire and then possibly move there. It was a successful venture even though we have had some poor tenants as well as some good ones. It made us realize that we didn't enjoy the role of the landlord. ( Since I first wrote about this we had an opportunity to sell the place in 1984 and were glad to be relieved of the responsibility.)

When Paul left for the University we didn't find time to experience the "empty nest" syndrome. We were happy that he was getting an education and we were glad to find that we still loved doing things together. Each year seemed increasingly precious.

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