11 comments/ 14891 views/ 4 favorites Marjorie's Story By: fanfare ************* A personal peek into her story. ************* Loving Wives but Non-erotic, I would guess? This is a composite of real-life experiences, heard and over-heard. As narrated by family ands, friends and acquaintances. Considering how many different versions were told by the individuals who had actually lived these events, I hope that this story is reasonably accurate to the people involved. And that I captured their true voice. As they would actually speak when telling of their lives. Yes, I have changed the names of everybody I wrote about. As far as I know, the original people are all deceased. But, they were a litigious bunch of old cranks! So, better safe than sorry. No sex, some graphic verbal violence, mass calamities and individual tragedies. But also charity and compassion, hope and happiness achieved. I suspect a number of the adult readers will recognize people and events in their own lives of similar consequence. ************* ************* Marjorie's Story Chapter July 1951 ************* It was a hot, Ohio summer Sunday as the children went chattering out of the church schoolroom. To join their parents in the kirkyard for the Lady's Auxiliary luncheon spread. I was sorting their workbooks back onto the shelf for next week. When the Pastor's wife came in to the little room. Surprised, I hesitated with an armful of booklets and greeted her, "Good morning, Mrs. McDowell." The other woman took a quick glance around the room, approving that even immediately after being filled with children, the classroom was neat and tidy. With a satisfied tone she replied, "Hello, Marjorie dear. When you have sorted those out, please come to the Ministry office." I must have looked confused. I couldn't think of anything I had done wrong, "Yes M'am. I'll be there in five minutes?" Mrs. McDowell smiled and kindly offered, "Do not fret dear. It is good news and your parents will be there." Relieved, I chirped, "Oh, thank you." Hastily, I finished shelving the children's workbooks in alphabetical order, more or less. Honestly, my mind was not focused on the alphabet, instead I was wondering what was going on. When I arrived at the outer offices I found Mrs. McDowell waiting for me. She shooed me into the Pastor's inner office, interrupting the conversation between the Reverend Dr. Rodney McDowell and my parents, Albert and June Howard. The distinguished elder of the church, came around his desk and clasped both of my hands with a reassuring pat, "Miss Howard, I want to commend you for the fine job you have been doing for us with your Sunday School class. The children can be quite a handful! However, they all respect you and their parents have told me of their good impressions of your efforts." I blushed at his warm compliment. He then requested, "Please, have a seat." My parents looked at me with proud faces as I sat next to them while Mrs. McDowell took a seat to the side of the desk. I then replied, "Thank you sir! I have so enjoyed my time assisting in the work of your ministry." "Yes, you work well with everyone and you are devoted to your Christian Faith." I could feel a tingle of pride at his praise but quickly realized he was trying to tell me something important. I listened with anxious curiosity. "Congratulations are due you upon your graduation from High School. With Honors I might add! Since then, I have been in discussions with your parents and have learned of your desire to further your education?" Now very embarrassed, I gave a mortified glance at my parents. They had a proud but sad look on their faces. My Father gave me a stern tilt of his head to encourage me to pay close attention to the good Doctor. I bit my lower lip as I obediently faced our Pastor as he continued speaking. I do not want to hurt my parents feelings by admitting my family's inability to help me pay for college. Daddy has not criticize me for my vanity about wanting to achieve a higher education. However, I could feel how badly he felt about his inability to provide me with the opportunity. "Mrs. McDowell and I have been seeking a way to help you fulfill your laudable ambition." I managed to choke out, "Doctor McDowell, sir. My family's needs must come first." "You are a devoted and faithful daughter to your loving parents." Mrs. McDowell wisely interjected, "Oh Rodney, do go on and tell the poor girl what you have arranged before we all melt in embarrassment!" He looked at his wife with a tight smile but admitted, "Quite right my dear." Looking back at my parents, he gave my father a thoughtful nod of acknowledgement and said, "Marjorie, we have been looking into finding a way to reward you for your devotion to your family and our church and we have found a scholarship for you." I bet my eyes about popped out of my head in astonishment! "It will pay all costs for two years at the Covenant Institute in Cleveland. Classes, books, a dormitory room, meals, almost everything. You will just need to bring your clothes and personal items. There will even be a small stipend for pocket money." I was flabbergasted, "Oh my goodness, that would be wonderful. Oh Momma. Poppa. Did you hear that?" My father gave a forced smile and replied, "Yes Marjorie-honey, Pastor McDowell has explained it to us. But please! Listen closely girl, there is an obligation." I turned back to the Pastor and in a puzzled tone asked, "Sir?" "Uhmm, yes, yes. The Covenant Institute is an offshoot of a one of Mr. John D. Rockefeller's Foundations. He was a faithful Covenanter. He also was a Sunday School teacher, as you know. His charitable legacy supports the Presbyterian Synod's missionary efforts abroad. In exchange for training you in clerical functions, pastoral duties and a foreign language, you in turn will commit to giving the following two years, working abroad at one of the Mission offices. During which service you will receive further education, both classroom and by correspondence. In addition, you will earn a small salary and an allowance for living expenses. At the end of which experience you will have earned a Bachelor's degrees in pastoral office management and charitable administration." As I listened astonished at that generous offer, I could feel my cheeks burning. I gasped out, "Oh my goodness, oh my. I, I do not know what to say. It all sounds so wonderful." "Of course my dear, this has been quite a surprise for you. I apologize for springing this on you so abruptly. Naturally, you need to discuss this with your parents before making such an important commitment. Binding you for the next four years." I have always prided myself on being calm and collected in every situation. But this time, my mind was in a giddy whirl. ************* The Reverend excused himself and with his wife, leaving us in private. For a second I sat stunned and silent in the chair, then my father cleared his throat as my mother pulled a hanky out of her purse. Impulsively I threw myself into their arms as they tried to congratulate me. Kneeling on the floor at their feet, I looked up at the two people I loved the most in the world. Oh, and my twelve year old sister, Anne!" With an anxious voice, I declared, "Momma, Poppa. This is my dream but I cannot run off and abandon you!" "Who will take care of you Momma, when you take sick? Poppa, it would be selfish of me to abandon you. You need me to help care for Momma and the household chores. Anne is still too young to take up such responsibilities." The turmoil on their faces was breaking my heart when Momma replied with a choked voice, "Oh my darling, I beg you, please. This is your chance to make a life for yourself." Then she whispered. "I can take care of myself." My father looked away, shamefaced to admit his inadequacy's as a husband and a father. After a brief internal struggle, a determined look settled on his face. "Marjorie-honey, please do not sacrifice this opportunity out of your devotion to us. We will manage. I have written your Aunt Ruth about coming to live with us in exchange for her helping to care for your mother." Momma looked at him, stunned. We all knew how much he disliked her younger sister. He had bluntly criticized Ruth for her loose living when she tried to borrow some money last Autumn. I could see that Momma was deeply moved at Poppa having the strength to swallow his pride. Overcoming his dislike of his sister to beg Aunt Ruth for such a burdensome favor. I know Momma feels guilty about being sick so often. If only Dr. Forrest could cure her. But the malignancy is slowly, remorselessly spreading and medicines have been of little help. Poppa wiped his damp eyes with a quick swipe of the back of his sleeve. Gently, he laid a hand on his ill wife's fragile arm and then, with a determined voice, said to me, "You must accept this scholarship offer. It will be a chance to improve yourself and see the world. You will be gone to school most of the two years and then traveling abroad for the two years afterwards." "Ruth will have your room and I can get Albert and Walter to help me enclose the back porch and make it a spare room for when you come home on visits." ************* ************* Chapter September 1951 - November 1953 ************* Miss Marjorie Howard studied hard the two years she was at the Institute. She majored in secretarial skills and bookkeeping, in addition to studying basic Japanese and Korean languages. When she graduated, she accepted a posting to the far east. Spending the next two years working at the Mission administration offices in Yokohama, Japan and then Pusan, South Korea. ************* ************* Chapter February 1954 - January 1955 ************* Yokohama, Japan ************** The offices of the Missionary Administration were in the Moto Building. Located in the Naka Ward of the City of Yokohama. The Central Post Office, next to the railroad tracks to the river bridge, is halfway between the Mission offices and the Kanagawa Prefectural Office. The temporary City Hall is for now, located in the CPO building. I found my stay in Japan overwhelming. It was just so different! Than the comfortable, Middle America neighborhood and the Covenant collegial campus that had been my only life experiences to date. This huge, crowded, noisy, foreign city was a stunning blow to my immature psyche. Everyone was so different! They look foreign, they sound foreign! They have strange customs and social rules that constantly baffled me. An alien environment, that is very different from what I had imagined when I had been sitting in a comfortable Ohio classroom, reading about exotic locations. Whatever I had expected six months ago, turns out to be a deeply disturbing reality. On the tram, to and from my apartment, or several times a week to the post office or a couple of times delivering forms to the prefectural offices. It felt to me like I was sleep-walking in a very strange dream. Now I better understand Alice's confusion down the rabbit hole and through the mirror. As a private joke, I began to address myself as Alice during inner monologues while attempting to make my way through the politely pushy crowds of little people wherever I went. Fortunately, the steady work at the administrative offices and our regular pastoral duties, plus twice weekly church services in addition to mandatory continuing education studies, provided me with a strong anchor of normalcy. Since I had also been trained in basic Korean language, as part of my pastoral duties I found myself working often with the Reverend Chon Hwanyan. He was a third generation Korean Christian who had been brought to Japan as a forced laborer during the Second World War. He had come back to Japan to work with the Joint UN/US Korean Refugee Administration. And he proselytized among the large population of Koreans who had remained in Japan after WWII In addition to the new refugees from the Korean Conflict. I shared a small apartment in the Naka Ward with Lois Saunders who also worked for the Mission. Catherine Lane, a secretary at the American Consulate and Vickie Smith, a nurse at the U.S. Armed Forces Medical Transit Center, are our other two roommates. I was required to deliver a packet of formal notification forms to City Hall. Counting myself fortunate that I was not the one who had to deliver copies to the Ward Offices or the Prefecture. The dock workers were very casual about insulting American women that strayed into view. I regretted that my still imperfect knowledge of Japanese, meant that I could understand the gest of their nasty comments but was still lacking in a sufficiently satisfactory response. Then of course, even if I was fluent, it probably wouldn't help me if I lost my temper and gave vent against the laborers. They were a mob of Japanese untouchables, mixed races and ex slave-laborers with their own degenerate dockside argot. They have become so inured by a lifetime of abusive treatment, that all they understand is a policeman's nightstick on their thick skulls. It is my Christian duty to forgive their transgressions but every day it takes me just a little more effort to find any sympathy for those brutally oppressed people. Of course I should not even think about returning insults. It shows how uncertain I have become here in this mysterious land of heathens. I fail to see that our Mission will ever, truly, reach deep into the Japanese psyche. I know that I should not take it so personally, but I do. I know there are Japanese Christians but I just haven't felt as comfortable with them as I do when I am working with the Koreans such as Reverend Chon. ************* Upon my arrival at the temporary City Hall, within the Central Post Office, I presented myself at the information booth. I must have made a grammatical error when I asked for the office of the Planning Commission. I found myself two flights up, being left ignored in a busy hallway for a good ten minutes. Finally a junior clerk shows up and with a perfunctory bow offers to lead me to the correct office on the next floor up. As we went up the stairs, I could feel the building shake from a passing train. My guide brought me to a counter with a neatly lettered sign, 横浜市計画委員会の市. The processing clerk behind the counter was an older and very polite Japanese gentleman. Who dismissed my guide with a wave of his hand, Since he is an older man of superior official rank, I gave a bow and waited for him to speak first. With a graceful head bow he introduced himself, "Watashi wa, toshi keikaku iinkai no tame no dai san jikanho Yashinorodesu." I replied with a lower bow. "Watashi wa Yokohama no chōrō misshon kanri no misuhawādo gozen" In really good English, Mr. Yashinoro said. "Miss Howard, is it? I am pleased to meet you. Please come this way to the anteroom." Several times during our training, we had been advised that, when you are dealing with foreigners in an official capacity. To acknowledge right up front that you could at least speak some of their language. Without that introduction? If they find out later that you can understand their side conversations, they may well feel personally embarrassed and publicly humiliated. He held open a swinging gate for me and waved me to enter. Behind the busy office was a secluded alcove with several overstuffed chairs arranged around a small table. As I took one of the chairs, he stood by and with another bow asked if I would care for some tea. It had been a dreary trip on a crowded tram and I replied, "Ocha wa sutekina kotodeshou. Arigatō." In my mind, I speculated if that look of quiet pleasure on his face was genuine or if that was his "being polite to the ganja, who think they can speak with those atrocious accents" face. He snapped his fingers and a serving boy appeared, who took the order for the tea service and vanished. Quickly reappearing with a steaming thermos jug of boiling water. Then a tray with a ceramic teapot, with matching cups and a small jar of green tea leaves. As the Third Assistant Secretary was preparing the tea, he asked in English. "Miss Howard, if it is not too forward of me? Could we please continue our conversation in your language? It has been a couple of years since I have had the opportunity to speak English. I must confess I have failed to practice as often as I should." "Goodness, of course Mr. Yashinoro." I replied. "You are very fluent in English and do I detect a British accent?" He again gracefully bowed his head and in a modest tone answered, "During the Pacific War, I was an electrical engineer. Stationed in Hong Kong and assigned to learn English for reading translating technical journals." Now here is where I fail to live up to the proper Christian standards. His casual mention of his war service implied a number of unfortunate circumstances, the thought of which, sent a chill up my spine. I scolded myself to not think about how the British POW's had been coerced into giving language lessons. Forcing my attention back to this "polite gentleman" as he poured our tea. Instead, I tried to look calm and change the conversation. "Hmm, that smells delicious." "A very fragrant leaf indeed." He agreed. After a few minutes of enjoying the pleasures of imbibing a truly excellent tea and a refill while we were discussing some of the current events. Both of us expressing relief that it appeared that the Truce in Korea was continuing. Holding up the manila envelope containing the forms I had brought, I explained. "These are formal notification forms for your department to approve several possible construction plans, the Synod is contemplating. My understanding is these are provisioned upon your department giving preliminary approval." Standing, I offered the packet with both hands and a bow to the Third Assistant Secretary, as dictated by Japanese customs. Standing, He accepted with a generously low bow considering my sex and low official status. As we both resumed our seats, he just sat there holding the large, heavy envelope. Doing me the courtesy of not opening the packet, just sitting there holding it in both of his hands. While listening as I outlined the Synod's intentions. "We wish to begin with considering well-located properties that can be made available to build on. Plus we intend to publicize a design competition for architectural firms. There will be at least one Church Sanctuary with annexes. At least one high rise or possibly two lower office buildings. And one or more residential apartment blocks." I thought his expression indicated that he was withholding questions until I had completed my exposition, so I kept going. "With the Planning Commissions preliminary directive. We can get definite budgeting approval for design and abatement studies. With, operational usage projections from the New York Synod Headquarters to enable property funding, either by purchase or long-term leases. After all that, we will return for the Commissioners final approval of our plans. That we may put out for bid the contracts for surveying, clearance of redundant structures, geological hazard tests, structural and utilities engineering and construction." Mr. Yashimoro allowed an expression of being impressed cross his face, he understood what kind of an investment we were talking about that would certainly benefit his city. Nodding his head, something he must have learned from his British 'tutors'. With a friendly smile, he quipped. "And finally, to put the spade to the ground!" I had to laugh at that. Of course while politely covering my mouth. "Ā,-shi Yashimoro! Anata sensei wa, totemo ki no kii arimasu." Marjorie's Story For a second, he seemed disconcerted. I had not realized, saying that in Japanese? With the gesture of covering my mouth as I laughed? With my head and eyes shyly lowered? Well, a few months after, to my mortification. In a Japanese version of Life magazine. An article I read mentioned that phrase is a common response from an attending Geisha to her male client's attempts at humor. Mr. Yamamoro must have known I did not realize what I had exclaimed. Therefore he was polite enough to just accept it as another gauche error by an ignorant Westerner. The Third Secretary immediately but thoroughly perused the forms I had brought. He marked several errors that needed to be corrected and parts where more information would be requested.. Generously, considering his busy schedule, he went to fetch two forms our project committee had missed including and explained to me how to properly fill them out. Thanks to his punctilious assistance, I was able to return the following week, with all the forms filled correctly. This assisted the Planning Commission in their tasks of confirming our bonafides through the Japanese Consulate in New York City. That it took only another three weeks before they issued us a Preliminary Permit. This was considered a record speed to getting any approvals out of the Yokohama Metropolitan bureaucracy. A couple of months after that ecperience, I was describing my meeting with Mr. Yashimoro to one of the more experienced, ex-military, pastoral administrators. He chuckled and explained, that Yashimoro may have the bureaucratic rank of Third Assistant Secretary but he has the soul of an efficient engineer! I suspect it was all because I was willing to sit down and drink a couple of cups of really superior tea and laugh at an older gentleman's joke. Gibing him the respect due his age and rank. ************* Marjorie had also been trained in the basics of the Korean language. During her pastoral duties she found herself working often with the Reverend Chon Hwanyan. He was a third generation Korean Christian. His grandfather had been converted as a young man and raised his family as Christians, even against persecution by the authorities. Hwanyan's father had been murdered by the Japanese Occupation troops for sheltering wounded Korean partisans. The surviving members of the Chon family barely escaped the cruel reprisals. A few years later, Hwanyan was forcibly conscripted for labor service by the Japanese authorities. In the second year of the Pacific War, he was shipped to Japan, as a slave worker building fortifications, winding up on a bomb damage road repair crew. Now Reverend Chon, he used the opportunity to bear witness to his enduring faith. He converted the other slave laborers to the Christian faith and organized them into a guerilla band. It was their good fortune to be sent out of the city by the Imperial asministration to work on repairing damaged railroads linking the anti-invasion fortifications. Before they could be starved to death, the War abruptly ended with Japan's surrender. Realizing that the guards had been momentarily stunned by the abrupt Imperial Order to lay down their arms and accept the Allies terms for Unconditional Surrender. Chon and his little band fled their compound and hid out in some wreckage along the crippled railroad. A smart move as at many locations, spiteful Japanese soldiers, police and militia were slaughtering any helpless prisoners within their reach. Chon was able to find and contact a U.S. Army Reconnaissance unit surveying immediate needs to feed the population.. Convincing an officer of his bona fides by supplying reliable information to the American authorities about remanent Japanese military redoubts, hidden in the countryside. His stalwart band, under Reverend Chon's guidance, returned to Korea to find their surviving families and to spread the work of the Presbyterian Church. When Joseph Stalin launched the Korean War. As the Communist armies (many Soviet Red Army in DPRK uniforms) drove deep into the Korea peninsula. The Church in Korea found itself beleaguered by a new, merciless enemy. The nightmare repeated, as once more into the furnace, when the Chinese Communists invaded. The Rev. Chon found himself back in Japan trying to organize civilian relief efforts to his stricken country. When the Armistice finally brought a sullen peace to the shattered land, Rev. Chon was constantly shuttling back and forth as a respected native advisor and skilled organizer for the Presbyterian missions. Marjorie had been assigned to his office in the Yokohama Mission and found him a shrewd executive and charismatic preacher. Rev. Chon relied upon her to run the office when he was away and never was disappointed at her competency and willingness to work hard. Upon his appointment as a Senior Reverend by the newly organized Presbyterian Synod of Korea, Marjorie went with him to take charge of and build up the administration office in Pusan. There she became good friends with Mrs. Chon Nam-jo, who appreciated that Marjorie's efficiency provided the Reverend Chon time to spend with his family. ************* ************* Chapter February 1955 - February 1956 ************* Pusan, Korea ************* I found myself very relieved to be posted to Korea. It was a comfortably homey feeling to be surrounded by fellow Americans. As we labor to expand the Mission & Relief office, in what had been a sector of the U.N./U.S. Allied Military Command Center during the siege of Pusan during the first years of the Police Action. Now, that the Armistice seemed to be holding, the Military Command functionaries had moved up the peninsula to the liberated Capitol, Seoul. The Pusanchin-ghu Refugee Center occupied maybe half the now redundant military base. A multitude of private relief groups have moved in to organize aid projects for the natives. As we all began the hard work to restore their devastated towns and farms in liberated territory. ************* There was a cold, wet sleet falling out of the dark grey clouds, as I dashed from the warm Quonset hut that was the bursars office to the warm Quonset hut of our dormitory. Well, I was trying to dash. The gooey mud swamped my galoshes, made it an exhausting slog as I waded across to the next block. Up the street, as I peeked through a narrow slit of the scarf muffling my face, I could see a road crew shoveling gravel from the back of a truck. We'll all be happy when they get the resurfacing done along this stretch of road. There was a monotonous cycle of hot winds blowing fine silt all over everything. Then drenching downpours that turned all of it to a smelly muck. Then freezing cold that made every step into a frustrating exercise of slip sliding endurance. Then it all repeated, over and over again. Finally, as I clomped up to the Church Women's Quarters, I stopped at the scraper post to break off the several pounds of mud accumulated on my boots. There was a few strands of tinsel nailed over the doorway and from the little windows were blurred views of handmade Christmas decorations the inhabitants had put up inside. I wearily climbed up the steps, careful to hold onto the railing and went into the entry porch. I was met by Mrs. Mye-an, our housekeeper. She assisted me in getting my galoshes off to be cleaned and to hang up my overcoat and scarves. After being out in the under 20 degrees, it was a welcomed blow to walk into the warmth of the dormitory. With it's comfortable smell of someone baking brownies and Betty's radio loudly playing holiday music from AFR-FE. With the handmade decorations put up it was very cheerful in a girl's reformatory sort of way. Or at least that's what the girls who have done social work joke about. For a second, tears stung my eyes as I felt a wave of homesickness. Then Cathy called my name and Phyllis waved me over to where a half-dozen women were clustered around Julia's bunk. Cathy, with her normal bubbly voice exclaimed "Julia's gotten engaged!" As she grabbed my arm and tugged me into the crowd. There were several envious voices chattering about Julia's good luck. The young brunette Julia Dannlly was an interesting contrast of smug happiness and dazed confusion. She blurted out, "Lieutenant Franks just popped the question. Aaron's been notified that his airwing is being sent home by way of Hawaii. And he wants me to go with him. His Major will allow me a seat on one of the transports. We can get married at Pearl and have a week or more for our honeymoon in Hawaii, before Johnny has to report to Tustin for de-mobbing." I joined in the chorus of envy congratulating the lucky young woman and wishing her a happy holiday in Honolulu. Working my way out of the crowd. I went back to the kitchenette where Mrs. Mye-an was helping Dorothy put together a celebratory supper. When I saw the food I laughed. "Ohh, where did you get that ham? Here Dotty, let me mash those potatoes." While I vigorously beat the boiled potatoes to a pulp, Mrs. Mye-an was stirring the pot of steaming green beans on the little stove. Dorothy was slicing the pink ham. "I traded two cartons of Luckies to Karen at the motor pool office for two canned hams and a half-a-dozen cans of veggies. Her dorm is allowed to smoke and the drivers are so eager to get their paperwork stamped and back on the road, they generously tip the clerks." I was mildly amused at myself that I no longer felt a twinge of guilt at taking advantage of being allowed to draw a cigarette ration, when none of us were smokers. Or, that the foods were undoubtably absconded items. These little acts of barter make the harsh conditions and endless work just a little bit more bearable. I took some of our precious supply of white butter out of the old icebox and a tin of Carnation to cream up the mash. Then the little Korean woman gently nudged my elbow and handed me the salt and pepper cans. We smiled at one other as I thanked her in Korean with my flat mid-western accent, that the housekeeper was too polite to openly laugh at. Besides, she was grateful to me for my efforts at speaking her native language and that I try to remember to include her in some of our activities. I always thought that when we made the effort to take advantage of the brief good weather to get out of the camp and visit local sights, having a friendly native speaker with us, results in better treatment by the locals. Mrs. Mye-an was the widow of a ROK Army officer, whose unit had been wiped out. Courageously covering the American troops during their retreat into the Pusan perimeter. Mrs. Mye-an worked hard to ingratiate herself with the women domiciled here. She wanted to find a permanent position as a housekeeper with a rich family of foreigners after all this was over. She would need references for that and she was learning to understand English. Even if she was too shy to try to speak in it very often. Hoping that would enable her to save enough money for a comfortable old age. She did not expect the ROK government to keep their vague promises of a widow's pension. ************* ************* Chapter March 1956 - May 1956 ************* During my posting to the Korean Presbytery, I met the handsome Reverend Malcolm Meade and over several months, we gradually fell into becoming engaged. Once Malcolm had found a posting for a ministerial couple back in Ohio, we decided to marry in June after our return home to the States. I found out later, that when my father received my letter explaining the newfound love between me and Malcolm. Including some history of the Rev. Malcolm Meade's education, training to the Ministry and our experiences at our pastoral labors, here in South Korea. That we were seeking to find a posting back in eastern Ohio. My father took that letter to the Reverend McDowell and asked him to check into the young minister's credentials. Dr. McDowell was able to get good references from Malcolm's instructors and co-workers. The Rev. Dr. McDowell' knew his ministry was successful enough that hiring an assistant pastor could provide the Good Doctor more time with his own family and for working on his next book. That decided him, to send Malcolm a offer of employment. ************* It was a long and tedious journey from the Far East, with brief stop overs in Honolulu and San Francisco, Denver and Chicago. Finally home again to Ohio. I had spent most of two years at the Covenanter Institute in Cincinnati Then another two years posted overseas to Japan and Korea. Those four years away have left me with a heartfelt longing for home and hearth. And especially for my family and friends and the comforts of the middle-class Middle-West. As our final train rolled past the green farms and bustling communities of Ohio, I pressed my forehead against the vibrating glass and said to myself, "God bless me, I have missed this beautiful country!" I must have spoken my fervent words aloud enough for Malcolm, seated next to me, to hear. He had been dozing over a book of biblical history written by his new boss the Reverend Dr. McDowell. As weary with travel as I was, he lifted his head towards me and asked, "I beg your pardon, my dear?" I turned from the window and as I rubbed at my forehead that had been pressing on the glass, said a little louder for the train noises, "I was thinking out loud dearest, that as we finally are nearing home again. How beautiful this country is with The Good Lord's bounty. And what a joy it is for me to give thanks for our safe arrival." He nodded his head slowly as he looked across my shoulder to the view rolling by. Turning his lovely blue eyes to me, he pursed his lips and admitted, "After seeing the devastation of war, we are indeed blessed to have the Divine Father's protective hand upon America's brow. That we have been chosen by God to inhabit such a fair and bountiful land. Your impulse to give thanks to the Lord displays why you are a pearl among women." I blushed at his praise and modestly replied,"My feelings of gratitude to the Lord are enriched with the blessings of your love." He chuckled in smug pride at my thoughtless complement. Reaching over he put his arm around me, pulled me closer and kissed me. First on my still redden forehead and then a brief kiss on my yearning lips. I was secretly relieved that this car did not have facing seats and the few people who could have viewed our embrace were looking out, chattering about their own views of the passing scenery. He saw me blush and gave me a possessively playful pinch on the cheek with a manly smile as he growled into my ear, "Soon! Soon, Miss Marjorie Howard, you will be Mrs. Malcolm Meade and we will have to discover just how many spousal duties will make you blush." I know my cheeks flushed beet red at his suggestive comment and I pretended to pull away in mock horror at the innuendo. His strong arms pulled me closer and up onto his lap as he kissed my lips again, with only a momentary resistance from me. It was broad daylight, in a car full of strangers we will never see again and we were both fully dressed of course. My weak femininity was easily seduced by Malcolm's rugged masculine charms. Suddenly I noticed that a passing Negro porter was rolling his eyes and smirking at our antics. Mortified, I wiggled loose from my fiancee's embrace. Briefly Malcolm looked puzzled. To dispel a gathering frown, I mockingly warned, "Puh-leeze Reverend Meade! What would your parishioners say if they heard of our going's on? You would scandalize Goodwoman Piety and Missus Prude." His frown vanished as he smirked, "My dear young lady. A pious and highly regarded churchman as myself would never allow his reputation to be sullied by the whisper of common gossip." Then, with a wicked smile, relishing my expected reaction to his words, "I am above reproach and suffer not from the tediously ordinary sins of the common folk. By definition, whatever I do with such a pretty lass such as yourself, must be an act of good intention and as such is beyond the criticism of petty morality." Now that alarmed me! In a scandalized tone I replied, "Stop that, Malcolm. You mustn't even joke about such things. We will be expected to set a good example for everyone in the community. Every sharp tongue will wag if we give the slightest appearance of falling into error." Just for a second, I thought I saw anger cross his face. Because I did not play along with his game? Was he disappointed in how prim and proper I was? That a mere woman had reproached him? Then it was instantly gone under a slight smile as he wisely smoothed over our mutual tension with gentle words, "You are correct Marjorie, I was being too forward and intemperate in my language. It must be my exhaustion from this tedious journey home." To make up to him for seducing him into voicing such scandalous words, I leaned back against him and pulled his arm across my shoulders. We quietly watched together out the window as Ohio unrolled past our train, until we heard the porter ringing the lunch chime. ************* Upon our arrival in Youngstown, we were met at the station by most of my family and friends and carted off to home. Alas, before I could start to unpack and barely having time to visit with Momma in her sick bed, we were off to meet with Malcolm's family. As Malcolm carefully steered my father's old Packard, I was staring blankly at the passing scenery. I was feeling a strong upwelling of grief at seeing the sunken condition of my poor Mother. I think Malcolm shrewdly guessed at my subdued attitude. When he briefly looked in to meet Momma, the first look on his face at her condition expressed strong emotions of pity and revulsion. I could not blame him. It has been a little more then two years since I have last seen her and it was a shock to me, better prepared by bitter experience. The malignancy continues to eat at her poor suffering body. There is just an empty shell left of that vibrant, happy woman who I remembered from my childhood. She, who has endured Hell on Earth. Never wavering in her devotion to the Lord. She has earned a seat among the Anointed in Heaven. "Marjorie. Marjorie darling." I dabbed at my damp eyes with a tissue and answered, "Momma never gave up hope. Never! She said that the Lord has called her to endure such suffering as an example for us. That we must never despair or falter in living up to our worship of the Divine." "A remarkable and brave woman, your mother. I only wish that I had known her, before." "Momma would have adored you. It seems to me that you are a lot like Poppa in your strength and obedience to duty." "I can only promise to try to live up to such a paragon of virtue." Now if any one else had uttered such a statement, I would have suspected them of sarcasm. However, my darling Malcolm was too upright of character. I felt a twinge of shame at my momentary lapse of belief in his innate goodness. I realized that Lucifer was taking advantaged of my womanly emotions to whisper sedition in my ear. Determined to deserve this dear man's trust, I stiffened my resolve and deliberately steered the conversation to more pleasant ideas. To improve our spirits for my first meeting with Malcolm's parents. ************* I know I must show Christian charity. I know that I need to work harder at practicing humility. But, my Gracious! Malcolm's parents triggered a certain sense of unease with their indifferent lack of affection at the return of their second son. They showed little cordiality to Malcolm and barely restrained hostility towards me as their future daughter. Marjorie's Story It was common knowledge, that his Grandmother's heirloom engagement ring was a specific bequest in the old lady's will. That it was to go to the first of their three sons who married and neither of Malcolm's brothers were even engaged. It quickly became apparent that his parents were reluctant to hand over the ring. I overheard Malcolm and his parents having a very loud argument behind closed doors before they would release it to us. Malcolm was so visibly proud when he slipped this beautiful ring onto my finger as a symbol of our engagement. We returned to Youngstown after a couple of days, Malcolm had put on a brave front but I could tell that he was disappointed at his parents reluctance to bless our union. I never did discover if it was me the Meade's objected to? Or, perhaps their own son? To this day I include them in my prayers, that the Good Lord will teach them charity and grace. I know that I mustn't judge, but the Lord only help's those who are willing to help themselves. His younger brother Randolph, just a few months later eloped with a girl from his College. The older brother Clarence married a couple of years later but I never heard that their unions prospered. The last I had heard was that after the failure of his second marriage, Clarence adopted a second-cousin, to raise the boy to be the heir apparent of what was left of the family estate. Whatever dark family history prevented the Meade legacy from continuing is lost in the fading memories of time. Pride goeth before the Fall! ************* Upon our return to Youngstown, enroute to my home. We stopped at the First Presbyterian Church to be counseled for our nuptials as well as the final interview for the position of Assistant Pastor and wife, by the Senior Reverend, Dr. Rodney McDowell. I was surprised and I think Malcolm was embarrassed, at how our restraint impressed the elder cleric, that we had mutually agreed to forego premarital relations. "You two will be a fine addition to this community. You are setting a sterling example towards fulfilling the multitude of duties required in this position." Leaning forward from his seat, the Good Reverend slapped a hand on his desk in in anger at the threat of degeneracy afflicting America's youth. "Strong leadership is required that your flock can feel that they are in safe hands. Too many young people today are careless in their dress and thoughtless in their comport. They sin without regard for the consequences and chase every frenzied fad as a sign of modern progress." I listened troubled at this vision of public debauchery as Malcolm sagely nodded his head in agreement with the Reverend's assessment. "They have no regard that these modern temptations are merely but another golden calf of idolatry. My concern is compounded as I observe the careening course of today's American society." I said a silent prayer, while preserving the proper modest silence for a woman of faith. As the good Doctor leaned back in his wooden swivel chair and took a sip of water from a glass on his desk. My fiance leaned forward, holding one hand out and with the finger of his other hand, tapping in cadence for emphasis with his comments. Malcolm propounded, "Dr. McDowell, as you wisely outlined in your History of Reverent Nations. 'That the greatest danger to God's Chosen are the seductive wiles of this world.' You conclude with, 'It is not foreign enemies who will endanger our people but the internal seduction of the Elect by their own gross weaknesses and slothful observance of God's Commandments." The good Doctor was visibly moved that Malcolm had been thoughtful enough to read his works. It would simplify preparing his new protege for the hard labor of tending the Lord's flock. I, on the other hand, would be working for Mrs. McDowell. With whom I had already worked for before leaving for the Covenant Institute and is as thoughtful an instructor as I could hope for. The lack of an older woman I could turn to for advice has been difficult for me. My mother's chronic illness had left her incapacitated and unable to teach me what every young woman needs to know. I have been fortunate in gaining the friendship of several women, at the Institute and Overseas. However, they were all of my age and almost as limited in worldly experience as was I. Mrs. McDowell quickly recognized my immaturity and took me firmly in hand to teach me what I needed to know for my marriage and my domestic pastoral duties. The good Reverend insisted that our banns be immediately posted, that our marriage could take place in June. ************* ************* Chapter June 1956 - August 1957 ************* Amidst my jubilant family and the tepid enthusiasm of the Meade relatives we were married. When I was writing the thank you letters for the modestly generous gifts my family and friends had given us, it became obvious that the much wealthier Meads had been very parsimonious in their choice of gifts. At the reception after the ceremony, Malcolm's mother pulled me aside and made it clear in a condescending tone of innate superiority. That the engagement ring was the major extent of his parent's charity to us. Her words, not mine! In addition, it was to be considered as Malcolm's inheritance. I meekly turned my other cheek and thanked her for their benevolence as sincerely as my saddened heart would allow. I am sorry that I did not inform my new husband of his mother's crass words. I did not want to risk spoiling his jovial mood. Besides, I think that he knew his family better than I and was always discounting their paternal roles. As I replied to the gift-givers, I graciously included a letter to Mr. & Mrs. Meade effusively as I could stomach, thanking their family for their modest effort. Later I would hear from another daughter that the Meade's had privately accused me of "insult by faint praise." There could be no one, who was not a Meade, who could possibly keep up the pretension of acting so much more holier than they. ************* After a brief honeymoon to Niagara Falls, we assumed the role of junior minister and wife at the First Presbyterian Church in Youngstown, Ohio. I gradually realized that relations with Malcolm were all about him getting me pregnant and keeping God's commandment of not denying your mate physically. That meant twice a week, in the dark, if I wanted it or not. Unless I was in my monthly courses. After pulling the hem of my nightgown up out of his way. He would climb over between my legs, push himself into me and grunt until he was done. Hr would go clean himself off before returning and once laying down, he would quickly fall asleep. I was expected to then go wash myself and upon my return to be careful not disturb him as I got back into our marital bed. I accepted that this was my lot, to take what satisfaction I could from sharing these moments of closeness with my husband Than again, at that time I did not even know that I was suppose to receive any pleasure from intercourse. It makes me sad to think, that Malcolm had never received love from his family and did not know how to give love to me, his spouse. As Malcolm strived to gain acceptance in hopes of receiving his own Ministry. I had to take on more responsibility in the church. At first it was managing the nursery. Then came teaching a Sunday School class for older girls. Next I served as a moderator of the single women's Bible Reading Circle. To prepare them for a God centered marriage. I had my own small income, because I was employed by the church. My salary was expected to pay the household expenses. Malcolm had his own salary of course. He paid the rent and utilities and bought us an old, 1939 De Soto S-6 4-Door Sedan. He kept promising to teach me how to drive but never did. Other than that, I have no idea what he did with his income. According to my husband, it was none of my concern. This was the picture of my happy marriage. Again, looking back on it, it wasn't so happy. At one time I did feel content but as the months passed, I was no longer even that. I think complacent would be a better word? Please do not misunderstand. My husband was never overtly abusive. He never hit me or yelled belittling things at me. At best, most days I was treated with lukewarm indifference, as he led his congregation down God's path. To all outward appearances, I was the perfect Minister's wife. I had suppressed so far the happy go lucky little girl I once was. I no longer believed that Margie Howard existed any longer. I determinedly ignored the sad fact that I was always more comfortable around other people, than my with own husband. That I never had the opportunity to enjoy making love with Malcolm. That I had to conceal that I ever had any opinions of my own. ************* Two months later, my menses did not appear and I began suffering morning sickness. I have never been comfortable with the female need for seeing and being "seen" by Ob-Gyn doctors. I'm not sure, I have always been personally modest. I suspect it has a lot to do with my feelings of despair of the Doctors inability to stop the remorseless progression of the malignancy that had inflicted my Momma and would excruciatingly slowly, finally kill her. It was my duty to our unborn child that I go to Dr. Prentiss at regular intervals, but I won't pretend I was ever happy about having to submit to those indignities. I think that the blasé attitude of the nurses was another sore point with me. I just could not accept their blatant lack of respect for a lady of my position and standing in the community. I just realized, that my sin of pride was being subtly encouraged by my husband. That his vanity, and I suspect envy, of more successful men. Compelled Malcolm to demand public acknowledgement as his due for him being the second leader of our religious community. Therefore his wife, myself, as the Mrs. Reverend, I was expected to reflect his level of status. Otherwise I cheerfully accepted becoming pregnant, though it would add to my burden of duties. Maintaining our snug apartment and assisting in Malcolm's pastoral duties. My beloved Malcolm was so happy and proud. He was cock-of-the-walk at the promise of being a new father. Even though his salary was small, there would be an increase in the family allowance. Suddenly, at the start of the third month of the pregnancy, I woke up one morning from painful cramping and found my bed clothes soaked in blood. This miscarriage was a stunning blow to both of us. Though the older and more experienced women tried to comfort me. That this is not an uncommon occurrence for women during their childbearing years. Reverend McDowell had thought he was successful in counseling Malcolm and that his young protege could come to terms with our loss. Unfortunately my husband was adept at concealing his true nature behind a mask of public piety. It took a few weeks for our lives to return to a semblance of normality. The doctor had told us that there was no specific cause for the miscarriage. After a few months, not without trepidation and prayer and with a certain intimate awkwardness, we decided to try again. This second pregnancy, confirmed in April 1957, was greeted with cautious optimism. When I passed the first trimester, hope blossomed in all of us. That this time, I would successfully give Malcolm a son. ************* ************* Chapter September 1957 - October 1957 ************* Midweek on a cool, overcast Ohio September day, I walked to the market. Malcolm had the car as it was his turn to visit with the unfortunates at the County Mental Asylum. I was feeling uncomfortably bloated and cooped up in our little apartment and I welcomed an excuse to get out of the house and stretch my legs. My preference has been to prepare for our hectic weekends by cooking several meals in advance and then refrigerating them to be taken out as needed. I refused to purchase those awful pre-packaged TV dinners. I suspect that they are not really safe. How do you know what some factory worker put into those things? Besides, we do not have a television set to eat the tinfoiled meals in front of. It is much more important for us to save whatever money we could spare, for buying a newer car for Malcolm. While I was in the produce section of the market, picking through a bin of potatoes for those that were unblemished and dry without mold. I overheard Mrs. Larson and Mrs. McNeal loudly gossiping over on the other side of the can goods aisle. They were going on about some rumors that several members of the wealthy Reynolds family had been arrested during a police raid on an illegal roadhouse and gambling hall. Then quietly released without charges. Bless Me! But those two could go on for a week describing everyone else's failings. I was starting to feel tired and my feet were swelling up and I just plain wasn't in any mood to tolerate the two parishioners clucking over me. With their endless prying questions, leering innuendoes flaying the reputations of their fellow parishioners and their bony fingers poking at my body. I suddenly decided to forego any more shopping today. By carefully judging the direction the two noisy women were moving in, I was able to get around them without being intercepted. I was fortunate that I was able to quickly check out and leave. This meant I would have to come back tomorrow for meat and fruit but at least I had escaped being pinned down by their harrowing tongues. As I headed home, I puzzled over why I was feeling so cranky and out of sorts. The baby was just starting to show and I thought that I was adjusting well to the daily discomforts. I crossed with the light at 15th Street and North Avenue, as there was little traffic. Suddenly, as I reached the other side of the street and stepped back up on to the curb from the crosswalk, there was a shockingly painful twist in my lower region. My left hand grabbed for the lamppost, my right hand dropping the bag of groceries to clutch at my midriff. Staggering to a halt, I leaned against the streetlight for support as waves of pain and nausea and an embarrassing urge to urinate swept through me. I dimly heard the sounds of stopping cars and people asking if I was okay? Then a blast of siren as a police car pulled up to the traffic jam. A minute later I vaguely remember hearing the officer's urgent voice calling for an ambulance over his radio. A large woman rushed to my side with a blanket, I think from the house on that corner, and wrapped it around me. I felt a sudden gratitude at her covering up my humiliation. It shows you how confused I was, being more concerned with my public image than my medical emergency. I was still refusing to comprehend that I was about to lose another baby. That woman had shrewdly realized what must have been happening to me. She grasped me in her strong arms and in a husky voice said, "Hang on to me dearie, I gotchyah. The cop has called an ambulance. They'll getcha to the hospital in no time." I vaguely remember thinking that Malcolm was going to be petulant that I had caused such a public scene. Dimly, I heard the policeman gobbling at me and a rushing sound from all the people around. Thankfully I must have passed out before the ambulance arrived. Another miscarriage, this time during the sixth month, at the start of the third trimester. This was not as simple and safe an event as the first miscarriage. I lost a serious quantity of blood and was hospitalized for more then a week after losing the second baby. I was sedated for a couple of days. I am told that I was rather incoherent. My sister Anne stayed by my side continuously. Father was shuttling back and forth between me in the hospital and Mother at home, being cared for by Aunt Ruth. It was several more days before anyone but family and Pastor and Mrs. McDowell were permitted to visit. Between the tranquilizers and being fussed over by everyone else I failed to notice that Malcolm was perfunctory in visiting me. When he was with me, he showed only a mechanical pretense at affection and concern. The Reverend McDowell shrewdly noticed the turmoil in his younger cleric, and as I would hear later, forcibly confronted my husband about his failure to display the loyalty of love to me, his spouse. Malcolm scarcely acknowledged the good Reverend's counsel with any more then a pretension of sullen contrition. I was barely able to contain my own grief and self-recrimination only with the dual comfort of tranquilizers and my faith that Christ's mercy will eventually overcome my inherently sinful female weakness. Finally I was released to go home to our little ground-floor apartment. It was a relief that someone had removed the crib and other baby items given us. That small, second bed room had been Malcolm's home office for preparing sermons and lessons. When we announced that it would become a nursery, Rev. McDowell arranged an office for Malcolm at the Church. I found that Malcolm had moved in a single bed and would be sleeping there. Telling me that he was leaving the larger bedroom for me and my needs. Finally, we were alone in the house, together. And that is when the emotional dam broke in a flood of grief and recriminations, that would tear Malcolm and I and our marriage apart. I was sitting on the couch in our living room sunken in misery. Anne had finally left back to our parents home for the night. As everyone thought it would be a good idea to give us some privacy for our grief. Malcolm came home and found me sitting in the dark. He went around the apartment and turned on all the lights. Then came back in and looked at me with such contempt. I was paralyzed by the anger on his face. He could not be blaming me for this tragedy, could he? I had began to reach out to him. Suddenly timid, I pulled back as if I had been burned as he ignored my silent plea and threw himself into the large chair on the other side of the coffee table. In silence he glared at me and I could see the growing fury work it's way across his face like a storm cloud across a range of mountains. I tried to speak but only stammered out a rush of confused apologies before he cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand. Then, in tone of hate such as I have never experienced, before or since. He spat out,"You stupid bitch! I told you to stay home." His nasty insult stunned me as the accusation confused me. When did he ever tell me such a thing? "You had to go shopping and buy something instead of staying home like a proper minister's wife. You are such a stupid woman and haven't the common sense God gave a fencepost." I was already crying at these words, mortified that my own Malcolm would utter such venom to me, his wife. "My child, both my children, are dead because you are a sniveling weak and worthless woman. Unable to complete your wifely duty for me and bear my children safely. How can I trust you when you cannot keep your sworn commitment to me!" He was practically shouting at me as my cries increased in volume. "You have turned out just as everyone warned me. A barren waste of my time and efforts to raise you up out of the poorhouse. Your bloodline is degenerate trash as you have proven by taking after your decaying mother." I think I screamed at this flood of verbal poison. In my weakened state, I was unable to defend myself any more than by curling up into a wailing ball on the couch. Malcolm saw the effect his words were having on me and, as a hungry predator goes after its crippled prey, he returned to the attack. "I let myself be seduced by a sniveling female failure. Daughter of Eve. Unable to bear me my sons! How fooled I have been by your empty charms. You are a dullard and would have corrupted my seed to produce idiots."