A beautiful October morning that started with windshield scraping and is now showing the glisten of maple leaves in bright sunlight. Drying just for me to gather and spread onto the strawberry plants within our garden.
It is October 16 as I compose this and I decided to sit in the living room sunlight and read a delightful book, A year with C.S. Lewis. It is a gift to me from one of my mentors and good and loved pastor. I read the quotes and entry for today and realized that today is the day that C.S. Lewis’ The lion the witch and the wardrobe was published in 1950.
I was six years old then and had just entered first grade at Loring Grade School about six blocks away from our home in North Minneapolis. My sister, Diana, was in fifth grade and soon to be in Junior high at Patrick Henry School about six blocks away to the east.
A few years have past since then and I have been through the usual life we all experience. Again, in C.S Lewis’ The problem of Pain, there is wisdom that struck me today as encouraging. This book was quoted in my Calendar for today and the assurance of my life unfolded.
“I have seen great beauty of spirit in some who were great sufferers. I have seen men, for the most part, grow better, not worse with advancing years…” 1.
As the sun advanced across the living room floor, I began to see my life once again. Many interesting escapades and many close calls along with poverty, imprisonment and bitter sarcasm resulting from my embracing that pain.
And yet, somewhat recently, I have begun indeed growing better and not filled with fear and hatred of the world and myself included with it. A gentling and calming that surprises my family and other friends. I still keep my wit and humor but it is now tempered with a romance of life that gently pushes the pain aside. I like it and the opportunities to give the little bit of that transforming Grace from our Lord are coming forth. The thrill of action and prayer abounds when the transformation and healing come forth from Him.
There is great hope and Faith growing within me and those are the very gifts of God.
It’s pretty good.. Jack Gator scribe
1. C.S. Lewis The problem of Pain The type writer photo is the one that Jack and Warnie Lewis used
Photo of Schmidt Music building in Downtown Minneapolis
It was supposed to be shipped to Naples, Italy. A complex money deal that went through the mail and that precious Martin D-28 I longed for, was put on a ship or airplane and shipped to me at my APO. It went somewhere else, no one ever found it.
Every time we went into Naples, our home port, I inquired at the local post office and of course, through the Navy postal service for that much wanted Brazilain rosewood, dreadnaught guitar. That one was a D-12-28, which guitar players know is a 12 string instrument, now of high value, In the five figure range.
I really wanted it as I was just beginning to learn guitar and had obtained an Italian Echo model which was OK, but I knew from my limited knowledge and observing vinyl record album covers, that Martin instruments predominated the guitars I saw. I wanted what they played, I wanted to play their songs and I really didn’t know what I wanted but I wanted something beautiful and perfect.
It never came. No one had any idea what became of it. The Echo was quickly sold when I went AWOL in Naples. Along with most of my fancy brooks brothers clothing and Rolex watch. My landlord sold them all as I need the money to escape from a man that had bad intentions for me. He too, was a sailor and I gave him up to the CID as the drug dealer on board ship. Those idiot agents put us both in general population in a marine brig up the hill.
A long story ensued, Escape and Capture (on this web site) After being discharged a year later in Newport beach, I returned to my home town and Schmidt Music store in Minneapolis. I inquired about my Martin 12 string Guitar and they also had no idea where it went. They offered to replace it and pointed to the guitars hanging on the wall. There was no 12 stringed ones but there was a six string D28 and it was the same price, $400 (that was 1967) with case. I took it as they had record of my payment. I Still have it. Brazilian Rosewood back and sides. Worth five figures or so now.
It’s been around the block (Motorcycle diary I) {also found in this web page}I have carried it all over the country. I have played it in a lot of clubs and later as a worship leader in a lot of church’s. I Don’t play it much now, usual excuses. It’s been repaired a few times for free due to me being the original owner.
I own and sometimes play other various precious wood instruments. A French Viola made by C.F. Minel from the late 1800’s, A Gibson A model mandolin made in the 20’s during the Lloyd Loahr era. A violin built by my dentist, Oliver Olaffson, when I was a child. That violin is so loud that most of the bands I played it with that all I heard in my left ear was my playing. (In ear monitors had not been invented when I was doing country western music)
Precious musical instruments that I do not get to take with me when it is my time to cross the bar, [old sailing term for coming to port]
I have begun to realize that property, possessions and riches mean nothing compared to my love of Christ and His love for me and His promises of joy and fulfillment in my life. Wanting something beautiful and perfect is the wish of everyone. That perfection above all things is only found by Crossing the bar indeed. The Cross is the gate to our home port. The bar is removed for us and it isn’t a sand bar. The old sailors knew things like that. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator. Scribe
At the outset of these two words, there isn’t all that much difference between the two. Jumping for joy or have a happy birthday. There is a vast difference however.
I was not happy when I was in Boot camp but oddly enough, there was a bit of joy that lingers many decades later. I look upon a photo in our gallery which is on a wall next to the staircase going up to the spare room (not the one in Narnia) We are all smiling for the camera, holding our class flags and in our dress blues. We sang for graduations of all the recruits and every Sunday for the church services for the officers and their families. It was pretty good duty. Our choir director was from the Mormon choir and he was very strict and knew his stuff.
I remember most of the names, their voices and where some of them wound up after we moved on to our new duty stations. I wound up in teaching electronics and Morse code at the A school in San Diego. It was pretty good duty and then I got stationed overseas with Comservron Six in the Med. We had formed what was permanent and this is Joy. It is the result of knowing someone beside you is willing as you are to go the limit to death. Love for your neighbor, you know the chapter and verse, it’s in the book of John.
That’s me, third from the left, front row. Fifth class Education Petty officer
It has been written about many times, movies made and statues dedicated to that bond. It is the reason for heroism experienced. It is the essential instruction given us by our Creator. Love one another as I have loved you.
I tried to explain this to the people I know and love in an informal and pleasant Bible study. Very erudite and educated men and all very respectful and delightfully so. We have laughs and we have the stunning moments when truth comes forth from words read and spoken. Our leader reminds me of one of the men in that photograph. We nicknamed him “Father Flanagan” he went on to the Pensacola air station to be a carrier pilot. I remember his voice as we all sang together in the Naval Bluejackets Choir. I still tear up when I hear for those in peril on the Sea
Something happened to all of us and hopefully, has happened to you as well. It was easier for us as it was the 1960’s and the draft caught all young men. It was my first lesson in the joy that lasts…forever. Happiness is self centered mostly and joy expands out from us as radiant beams of smiles and real truth. Truth centered within and will never be destroyed by anything. Life nor death nor angels and powers, present things or things in the future can separate us from His strong love.
You know who He is, everyone does. The giver of truth and creator of true Joy. Eternal Joy that is written on our heart. I don’t go to church for happiness, I go for the beauty of Joy and the confidence of being embraced by the one who made me. Just for now, just for this time to write it down and tell someone that it is not easy and many times hard to embrace this world.
No guarantees of happiness but guarantees of the revelation and reason we are here. To love one another as He has loved us. Before time began He knew me and treasures me. And you. This is Joy whatever may come. Happiness can be found in all the usual places, but Joy can only be found in the romance of God. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe extraordinaire.
A glorious summer day, with my entire family and early in the morning we headed to a nearby town for gravy and biscuits for breakfast. What a good way to start my birthday! I was driven past town, confused until it was announce I was being kidnapped and we were heading to the freeway and to Duluth. It was dreamlike to be on the way to visit that city again with it’s delights and crumbled history. It has been years since we were able to do this, and now all five of us were on the way to a day trip. What a surprise and honor to have a birthday present such as this.
New business’ and yet, there is a building just a block up from bustling main street, an empty Plumbing and Heating building, now apartments with good views of lake Superior. The rich mercantile shipping headquarters of the upper Midwest, empty. The busy city is now filled with people like us, romantically enticed by the oceanic lake and it’s history. Those warehouses were filled with tons of trade goods from everywhere and also from far north at York Factory on Hudson bay, furs and hides by the bundle to trundle to Europe on ocean going ships. This is Duluth history. Mansions nearby built from the fortunes of lumbering and shipping are now tourist attractions.
The iron ore docks are keeping the shipping going , but the warehouses are empty and the only big ships on Superior are ‘lakers’ with the big holds and hatches for iron ore or coal.
We parked up the hill a block and could smell the coffee roasting from our destination downhill. The street we parked on had it’s charm a bit tarnished by rain eroded old building sites with cracked brick sidewalks. A lone street person half way down, ducked into a narrow hidden alley with her purloined shopping cart and completed the contrast. She was muttering a bit to herself and on her way to …somewhere.
We continued down to the main street. Church bells began to ring from a cathedral visible. It had windows replaced with wood and the building next to it was careworn brick and the windows had no sign of life behind them. Duluth, a fascinating city. Old and new, tightly bound together and bursting forth yet again and again because of it’s beauty.
The streets are steep, bringing memories of San Fransisco and it’s trolly cars. None of those trolly cars exist in Duluth now but the car repair shops do a brisk trade in brake linings. Bicycles abound and a close look at the back gear cluster reveals chain rings about a foot in diameter. They call them ‘granny gears’ and there are limits to them too.
We enjoyed the perfect coffee and then drove down to Canal Park to join the multitude of people also seeking adventure. The bay touring helicopters buzzed about above as we explored the new stores selling remembrances of the boundary waters north of the lake. Beautiful leather handbags and camp gear ready for a portage but they were twice the price anticipated. Forty dollar hats and Kromer caps for half a days wages.
There is a glass blowing shop, open to the sidewalk as incredible things are made and shaped in the small foundry furnace with long rods. Rolled and cut and skillfully made into useful and beautiful creations. There is a skilled teacher there too and we watched as he showed a student how to make a vase with the northern lights colors twisted into it.
We ate smoked whitefish and the best and perfect onion rings. Those rings did not release the onions when you bit into them as others do. Upstairs I went alone into the violin shop and got an estimate on adjusting the sound post of my viola while a pleasant man conversed with me as his wife was trying out a violin among the many hanging above the cellos. The shop is a treasure on the third floor of the Dewitt Sykes building. Made of brick of course. The building not the fiddles.
The rest of the morning I sat on a bench near a sculptured water fountain. Steel fish with water streams coming from their mouths were delighting children as they carefully walked across the pond on flat stones while their parents walked behind them. I watched the people again and this time, alone on the shaded bench, began to pray single word prayers over the ones walking nearby. Peace, strength, connection. Fulfillment as directed by Jesus who was whispering them beside me.
I was delighted to be directed to an older man when my family was lined up inside a very busy, high quality ice cream shop. I did not want to wait in line and sat outside and until I was shown that man. Perhaps my age? I came to him and asked him if I could pray for him. Somewhat surprised when he was standing there he said ‘OK’ and touching his shoulder prayed for him.
Our last stop was at a distillery where we drank bourbon, scotch and brandy that was as good as I have ever tasted. It was as good as the 14 year old stuff that comes from Scotland. A bit more affordable and we could see the distilling piping and tanks where we sat. It was a perfect end to our day up north as the birthday bird flew me back from the birthday palace with it’s forty rooms, just for storing the cleaning up brooms. 1.
Back to the freeway and home while my oldest son and I joked about the billboards we see on our way on Sundays down by the cities. We saw the same ones with ‘Fear the flannel’ whatever that means. Also the man with outstretched arms telling us he will buy our homes instantly. Three of the flannel and 1 of the realtor. (The count on Sunday drives is 4 and six)
What a present, what a delight to be kidnapped on my transition day to being an octogenarian! I am home alone now as my family is off to work. They sacrificed a work day to be with me and it still is precious to me this morning. Life is pretty good. Jack Gator, Scribe
‘Markings’ This was the title of a book of notes. It was written by a very noted man from Sweden. Diplomat, ambassador, acquaintance of Presidents, kings and prime ministers. At his unfortunate early demise, he was Secretary General of the United Nations.
Dag Hammarskjöld from Stockholm Sweden. He was an avid mountain climber, very good at it and he would leave trail markers at certain ascent areas to remind him and other climbers. Usually a pile of rocks. Alike the rocks piled by the Jordan by Joshua. A mark and memory.
The rocks that Dag left not only guided him on descent, but also guided and reassured climbers on their way. ‘This way is doable, this is the right way, I remember for you, the correct route.
He was a man of deep faith and in this book was excellent advice for all of us. For us to unite in one life (via activa via comtemplativa)Calling and Vocation. He was bridging the chasm between the world of devotion and the world of work.
That book has astonishing knowledge to me. Recently I wrote a column titled Vocation. It’s in the archives, I used the Latin word Vocare to denote our job that results from the calling the Lord whispers over and over to us. When I listened to Him, I realized He was calling me to use words of devotion wherever I found my work.
For instance, someone that is called to protect and serve having a vocation of a policeman. His contemplative life joined with his ‘job’ I have never met an officer that did not have the base of him based on anything else. We have met some that didn’t and one can see the difference and the frustration. Same for us, all of us. “Why did I leave that repair job that paid well and find my self playing worship music for half the pay?” Things like that.
Yet, it was relaxing, being with a worship team and the presence of the Lord massaging my spirit. It was hard to rehearse and be in the ‘practice room’. The manual labor helped my changing strings and lugging that case around (or cases)
The obedience to our calling is the most important decision we make. The vocation falls in place. You will know where you are being led, it’s watching and listening to Him who knows all things about you and has made you just for the place you are being led to.
“The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day; What one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination. 1.
Wisdom from beloved writers and men of faith. It’s always pretty good. Jack Gator
1. C. S. Lewis They Stand Together. The letters of C.S. Lewis to to Arthur Greeves
It starts out simple enough. Mama and Papa. Our first acronyms of our world. Mamma E Papa in Italian (of course if you live in southern Italy you drop the last vowel. Mamm E Pap.
It’s easier to communicate in ‘shorthand’ it saves time and everyone knows it anyway.
We all use them and sometimes, it distinguishes us as belonging. For example: ER for emergency room, scrubs for clothes therein. DX or WX for radio lingo which translates to Distance and Weather. If you use those you are either a radio guy or an officer of the law.
Uniforms usually pocket protectors or turn outs and vests.
Lately, I have been accepted into an invisible society that wears all black and uses some neat acronyms. Bogo, Shader, Switcher and ME’s. There are a LOT of them in every subset of our world. I like ‘worlds’ describing command structures. They either confuse and you respond with “Hmm or that sounds interesting” instead of another acronym that shows they are also a member. AD or lyrics would work. At least there is no secret handshake.
I became aware of different societies at an early age when I became an amateur radio operator, or ‘Ham’ we communicated with Q signals showing we belonged and because it made long sentences into an acronym. Police have the same thing going for them. I can always tell if someone has a background in communication when they use A as in Alpha, B as in Bravo and so forth. Q is Quebec by the way.
Hams had uniforms too. Quick draw slide rules and pocket protectors were De Rigueur. Flannel shirts were optional. All the jocks had special words too. Not worth the ink to repeat.
We all do it, we all belong to a segment of society that has special words and language. Deacon, Bishop and repentance along with special clothing at times. Nothing wrong with those things either. All this is how we deal with the world and try to understand it. It’s tribal. If you believe in evolution, the concept of a trousered ape. Authur C. Clarke comes to mind with the movie featuring a thrown bone by a ‘caveman’ turning into a space station.
We use everything to make distinction between us. I belong. We do so wish to belong don’t we? Family is sweet and feels reassuring. There is certainly a family that we can join together and there are no uniforms and very few acronyms involved. The one uniform that seems to be recognized is a light in the eyes and a demeanor that draws you. There is desire to share lives and the excitement of encouraging one another. Jesus and His spirit and belonging to Him. You don’t even have to dress the same. Just draw a fish in the sand and you are bonded. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
The death sentence was hovering over all the graduates in the early sixties. The draft. Norm’s classmate, Vern Norton, came home in a box draped with an American flag. I always liked his last name, Norton. It reminds me of a bike I have always wanted, the Norton Commando. It did not seem pleasant to be shipped of to Viet Nam and die in the jungles for a war most of us did not comprehend.
Most of my classmates were still in college or married and had draft deferments. I was 1A and before being drafted, volunteered for the submarine service and was quickly sent off to Camp Nimitz, San Diego. Upon arrival, the laughing Marine DI told me me my draft notice had just been forwarded.
However, some enjoyment ensued as I was recruited into the Blue Jacket’s choir. Singing at graduations and church services for the officers on the base. Three sung notes was enough to either get thumbs up or down to join the choir. The director was a retired Mormon tabernacle choir director and knew music pretty well.
We got to wear dress blues right away and had ‘crows’ sewed on our sleeves so It appeared we were experienced sailors and a little older. Mine was an E6 and the other boots in our basic training were puzzled. I was designated as education petty officer, first class.
Upon graduation I was excited to go on to New London for Sub school and was interviewed with a few more tests. The high school straight A’s in advanced math and a general class amateur radio license at age 12 were the recruiters logical path to the nuclear technician promised. The new interview caught a color vision issue as I could not discern several shades of purple wiring. No tech job for me. No subs. (they are called Boats in the Navy)
A natural move was ‘A’ school as a radio operator and I was immediately put into a teaching position for Morse code and elementary electronics. Weekends off with liberty to visit old friends up the coast was a bonus. I really wanted those dolphins on my uniform though.
Later, serving on the surface Navy in top secret communications, I learned of the accidental sinking of the submarine SkipJack near the Azores. All 99 men lost, the nuclear boat still deep at crush depth. 1965. It might have been me on that boat and I would not be writing these columns nor be the father and husband I am now. The dates are possible, Nukes were new and the Thresher had sunk shortly before.
Saved from my dreams? How and why was I born with a slight color vision problem? It seems there was a plan for my life that has brought me to this place of writing about the one who saved me from an early death.
I am Telling you, the reader, about the plan the creator had for me that does not make sense very often to us. Time and again, I began to see a path that has put me right here. If you examine your life, you can see life changing episodes or decisions that have changed your life as well.
Myself, I was told I would be fired from being published by a newspapers new owner for including Jesus in my columns too many times . I didn’t like that after four years of being published every week (hundreds of columns) It seemed odd to be admonished for being a successful columnist. My readers that I met or knew were encouraged and often entertained by what I write. I assumed the new owner is not a fan of Jesus. I was not allowed to meet with him either. It would have been an interesting conversation.
I quit before I was fired, I was allowed to write a peaceful good by column. That newspapers editor said that he envied my faith. We are still friends. So many things happen in our lives that become path openings to more revealed beauty of the Lord. You know them when you look for them. The good and the bad times, the sorrow and rejoicing. He is with you, He is for you.
A process from the beginning of Norm’s life to the present. A purpose to communicate and to give information, sometimes critical information for survival and meaning to life. To himself at first and then soon afterwards, to others.
As a very young teenager, I passed the General class radio license and began this calling to others to talk and listen to other seekers. A beginning of a calling those two letters on the radio waves: CQ. I seek you. Training me throughout my life to seek. The only way to call someone in the world that you don’t know and will probably never meet. Texting without a cell phone. Protocall was essential and strict. You could loose your license if you used ‘bad’ language or manipulated with advertsing. It was great training to be a radio operator in the Navy and to have a top secret job, communicating with the CNO ( chief of Naval operations) to convey his instructions to us and our ship. To give specific instructions to our battle fleet. That fleet would be an oiler, a few destroyers and escorts and an aircraft carrier. Our carrier was the Enterprise, one of the first nuclear ones. Boy, was she fast!
Now, I am on a different ship. A warship of sorts actually. Called to another electrical job, helping a church communicate music and the Word from the Chief of Life to the ones who are drawn to seek Him. I felt it was a good path and it always has been so. I work at another desk with all sorts of knobs and switches to ensure communication is flawless and seamless to tell people drawn to where they can come and open their ‘sails’ to be filled with the breath of God.
He breathes over us with His Spirit and then, with our hands lifted high to the rigging, we rejoice once again to that movement and sway and even dance with Him.
The reason I have been called to this calm sea of people is to pray for that breath to be felt and even seen when they come to the calm waters. Sometimes I pray for the musicians as they are in the ready room (It’s called the ‘green room’ from old entertainment venues.) Also it is essetial to pray for staff to hoist the sails, knowing that His life giving Breath is coming to once again give the bread and water that lasts for all who come to eat and drink.
A hunger fills the sanctuary as the doors open and the ‘sailors’ that feel the wind of Jesus’ life, begin to worship. The people hear the navigator and then feel that Breath and rise as their sails billow and move them with delight and they raise their hands to the sky and worship the giver of life that moves them.
We man the boat, up in the rigging and drop the main sails off the main mast. Crank them tight and secure the lines. We Put out the jib and the top gallant too. There are uniforms that make us, the sailors hard to see. Getting out of the way as the room experieces beauty and the message carried of it. It is the reason people gather there. We together ride the waves of life as they splash and wet our hungry souls. We rejoice and know the voyage is true and right. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator, scribe
How can this be? A quilt of life that is surprisingly delightful and just as easily not comprehended. Everyone has this road of travel and when trying to explain our lives. For me, it seems like I am bragging about adventure and failure, fear and success and a thorough drifting about life as a blown about maple leaf in the street. Just there by some random wind. Wrinkled by the forces that put me there, run over a few times and still seen as it once was. Life that hangs onto creation, fluttering in the blown wind of God’s breath and now, seemingly bound for …somewhere.
To that leaf, it seems an exciting life, watching growth and seeing other maples growing nearby. Weathering snapping lightning and severe winds. Basking in life giving light and warmth and envying the oak leaves that are better at hanging on through the winters.
Being reborn every year and feeling the contribution of energy given in enough amount to give again the impossible sap that nourishes the created tree and the people that know the sap is also to nourish them with sweetness that always delights.
What is my purpose in life? To grow and feel my life unfold with reward and danger. Then be gifted and surprised by hearing it’s OK to be what I am and to move with the wind of the presence of God’s breath and guidance. It wasn’t always obvious I was being prepared to a purpose of serving when it seemed that survival and pleasure was my given life. Subjective or Objective reality. The Tau and the famous Greek philosophy or our own versions of truth which are subject to us and our emotions. Instead of listening to the perfect truth of Christ. ‘The abolition of Man’ by C.S. Lewis explains these things better than I can.
The trauma of violence of childhood, and then wandering throughout the land and being blown about by seemingly random events that formed me. Having my own secretary at 16 years old in a mansion in Minneapolis, working with the Boy Scouts communicating via Ham Radio to a far flung camp without a telephone. Then failing my calculus in engineering at MIT, joining the military and being caught up in a war at sea. More wandering and evading death in California many times, once with the audible voice of God I did not know, eventually I started an impossible auto repair business in rural Wisconsin. It was Successful and then I was blessed with marriage and two children and a beautiful and faithful wife. Hearing again those words that can’t be believed by many people. Gifts of God.
I saw my best friend, speak five words to me and enter heaven from 2000 miles away. Many things that eventually lead to leading worship in a tiny rural church that gave me and my wife documents saying we were now pastors. We put them in a drawer. My whole family built a house of prayer in a small empty main street shop if Frederic, Wisconsin and staffed it for almost 4 years. Singing and playing and praying. We were overcome with God’s beauty and love. We also traveled a little around the country worshiping with other lovers of Jesus. Our sons with us in DC and other places.
Now the maple leaf is indeed withered and quieter, still blessed with sustenance and beauty. And now joined with other people that have similar blessings and and need for sustenance and encouragement.
I tap into that flow of life once again that I am given by my creator, that gift of light and love that was always there. I am beginning to watch and stop and listen for the voice that is the best book and the words given to me. What’s next for the weathered one? Excited and puzzled and weary at times, I keep looking ahead to another chapter and move with that breath of life. Often I still look up at that tree of life and know the very atoms I am made from still spin within me. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson and written by Jack Gator
It began in the Navy when the Russian guided missile frigate came after Norm’s ship at midnight. The missiles were aimed right at him as he was walking aft for midrats. A Tomcat fighter came down from above at mach1 and the Russians veered off , That was a miracle and death was averted. (Six day war, a proxy war between Russia and us.)
Next time, Norm was in lockup for a drug crime he did not commit and the man he pointed out as the culprit was in the same bullpen as he was. He came after him at night and a best friend fought the man off. The next night, Norm and his friend escaped by climbing down a three story drain pipe and went on the run. Eventually, the charges were dropped and the record expunged. Military stuff. Brig time for the escape and an honorable discharge followed.
A motorcycle adventure with another good friend went sideways down in Kansas. They had foolishly given small town girls rides on their motorcycles. Attracted to these ‘romantic’ motorcycle men, by their bold appearance perhaps. They camped outside of the town and after the pleasant riding, the small town cop asked them if they would like to spend the night in his jail. Startled them and then the cop told them “their boyfriends are coming after you tonight at your campsite” We declined as jail was unappealing. We thought about the warning and what we would do if those townies came. Bruce ( a vet fresh back from ‘Nam”) put forth the idea that we could take the tent poles and hold them under our arms with only the metal ferrules exposed and they would appear to be shotguns. “Is that the best idea you’ve got?” It was, and sure enough the slam of pickup doors resonated close by and it was time for the walk to the parking lot. Side by side they walked in the moonlight with those tent poles pointed at the sidewalk and Bruce spoke, “Don’t shoot till they get close” The pickup doors slammed shut and the big block truck roared off.
The town cop showed up soon after to view the carnage and we stood there, unarmed, and told him it was all peaceful.
We decided to beak camp and head for Oklahoma quickly. Night riding and the traffic was light in rural Kansas.
As we motored into a very small town in Oklahoma the next day, Bruce’s bike came to a halt and with throttled twisted would not move. We quickly dissembled a few parts and found a woodruff key had sheared off to the driveshaft. Great. A young man appeared behind us and asked about our trouble and as he jingled his key ring. he proclaimed, “it’s Sunday but my dad owns the hardware store, let’s go take a look!” Inside the back door he pointed out a Graymill’s cabinet and the top drawer had woodruff keys in compartments. “Eight millimeter right? Better take a few” Very few people have experience with a shaft driven motorcycle and know the size of that key by glancing at the empty half moon slot. Especially in a rural town with about 600 people. A miracle for certain. ‘His dad owned the hardware store’, it took quite a few decades to understand that truth. his Dad owns everything. Everywhere.
Back at the bike the key fit perfectly with a satisfying ‘snick’ and we turned to thank the young man and he was gone. “What a conicedence!” people say sometimes about this story. Providence is a better word.
At our destination in Berkeley, I began to work for a group of men that smuggled heroin in airplanes. Good money. I really liked the drug. As I was getting ready to take another hit, I heard a voice in my room say: “Life or death, Choose now” I hesitated a bit, and then chose life. No withdrawal nor desire and I was quickly out of work. Bruce rode back to Minneapolis. He had been on painkillers when he was blown up overseas in battle and he knew the struggle with them. He left before I got hired by the ex-Luftwaffe pilot. Not warning just, “watch your six” The fed’s were very interested in the pilot from previous ‘business’ experiences and found me at my new job. I knew nothing and they also knew that. I went back to where I was living at that time. Enjoying Maclure’s beach in San Francisco while relaxing at my new home, the back of a Chevy pickup with a wood camper I had built. It had french doors and I would sit with the doors open and heat up a can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Next day I would go back to work in Oakland.
I lived in that truck that I traded for the worn out Enfield bike and made my living on a limited salary playing guitar in front of Safeway supermarkets. A big young man came up to me and stated. “what you goin’ to do if I take that guitar?” Immediately I told him, “I’ll just fight you for it till one of us dies” We stared at one another for a while, unblinking, and he turned away and said “that’s cool” Soon after I drove off to a commune in Eugene and stayed for a bit as the bread baker and part time mechanic. The bay area had lost it’s romantic appeal. The summer of love had faded. Saved again. Providence.
Back in Minneapolis I had a girlfriend I met on a folk music tour out east and we had a comfy little house on the west bank. I worked hard on a railroad track gang and it was OK. The truck was traded for a 1941 Ford coupe with a new flathead V8. One night, while I was out at the 400 bar, the neighborhood rapist victimized my girlfriend in our bed. The next night, I walked the streets of the westbank neighborhood with a German 9mm military luger tucked in my back, looking for that man. A half block away, a cop walked across the street and I quickly placed the gun behind a bush. I ‘lost interest’ in revenge and later came back and retrieved the side arm and gave it back to a gangster that gave it to me. Saved again by providence it seemed. The girl and I parted company. The usual consequence of trauma for her.
Five decades later, I had moved to rural Wisconsin right after the West bank experiences, got married and have two wonderful sons and a beautiful wife. Minneapolis had lost it’s charm and Bruce lived a half mile away from my new run down farm. The house got fixed up gradually and a new friend told me to remodel the kitchen because that is the way to find a good woman. It worked and I eventually met my wife. (That story is in ‘Bicycle built for two’ at this website) more providence.
Now, as a man that embraced his Lord Jesus (finally!) I realize who had my six, my back. Saved me again and again from myself and danger. I am Now on a media and prayer team at a large church, back in Minneapolis working with my oldest son, the team director. I know without a doubt that I have been set in a place I was meant to be. Almost 80 now and in love with my rescuer from sin. I Thank God’s Mercy and Providence again and again . It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
Jack gators grace notes 