The little church I grew up attending had, at one time, had a balcony. Over the course of time, they’d closed it off and turned the upstairs into two classrooms for kids (with a really steep stairway). I always thought it would be neat to sit on a balcony, so the first Sabbath I attended Pioneer, when I discovered the balcony, I proceeded to find a seat up there. A few minutes later, two other fellows came up and sat down beside me. Uninvited. A few minutes after that, three girls came and sat down right in front of us. Again, uninvited. That was an invitation to trouble.
One of the fellows who joined me was a natural cut-up who proceeded to begin entertaining. He was really funny, and I got so caught up in him that I completely forgot where I was sitting. A little later, I saw a motion out of the corner of my eye and watched a deacon heading our way. He handed each of us a small card that had letters of fire on it: “This is the House of God. We request your reverence or please leave.” I was aghast at what I had just done. I immediately turned off the other five students and began paying mind to the sermon. I thought about Belshazzar and his letters of fire. When I looked at the card later, the letters were plain black ink on white paper. But when he handed that card to me, the letters were fire. As I left the church that day, I decided I would not sit up there again.
The next week. I was sitting on the main floor watching the ushers take up the offerings. I decided I wanted to do what they were doing, and in short order that’s what happened. That began 4 years of ushering, which became a blessing to me personally. The lesson: remember where you’re at when you’re in God’s House. College lesson 1.
Lesson 2. I had been working in the mill room of the CWP (College Wood Products). I no longer remember what the program was, other than that an entertainment group was scheduled for campus the same evening I was working. I went to my night foreman and asked for time off. “John,” Mac said, “you’ll have to get someone to take your place.” Everyone was planning to go, so finding a replacement was really challenging. I finally found a fellow whose girlfriend had broken up with him, and he wasn’t about to go anywhere other than to work. I was delighted—until Mac cooled my excitement down. “He won’t do.” “But Mac…!” “John, you’re a Diehl saw man, and he has to do what you do.” The end result was that I didn’t go to the program. Several years later, I bumped into Mac at a camp meeting. I asked him if he remembered. He did, all right. “John, you don’t know how much I hated making you come in, but we had a run we needed to get out, and to do that, we needed you to work.” “That’s all right, Mac. I learned a lot about life by having to come in and work. It made me a better, more responsible person.” That lesson didn’t emerge for several years, but emerge it did.
Lesson 3. After 2 years of working in the mill, I changed to dorm housekeeping. My supervisor had been a sergeant in the WACS, which I assumed was why the Dean hired her in the first place. You’re probably familiar with Meier Hall (named after Fabian Meier). The stairs and entryway had 1” square ceramic tiles with grouting. I was assigned to clean the tiles and grout, which turned out to be one of the worst jobs I've ever had. After trying several cleaners, I put together a concoction of my own, went up to the third floor, and started work in earnest.
I had worked my way down to the landing when the doors into the Gold Room opened, and the graduate students and faculty started coming out. I thought it would be best if I vacated what I was doing—just in case I slopped a little. I stood up and, without looking where I was going, stepped on the side of my half-full bucket, which hit the wall and came back down through the stairs, hitting a poor Grad student on her way to class. She rushed out of the dorm moaning, “Oh my hair…Oh I’m going to be late…Oh my hair…et. al.” As I looked down, I saw the Seminary Dean and his wife doing all they could to avoid slipping on the slippery surface. I headed to the end of the hallway and sat down in the ironing closet, and groaned. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but I knew judgment was on the way.
I finally came creeping back to the scene, having decided to begin cleaning up the mess. In short order, my supervisor showed up, took one look at the mess, and proceeded to comment, “Well, you’ve certainly done it this time! CLEAN IT UP!” It took the rest of the day, but I finally got the rest of the stairs and landings cleaned up. I don’t know what the repercussions of what I did meant to my superintendent, but I would be surprised if she didn’t hear all about it. As she told me, “I wouldn’t worry. A friend of yours told me I shouldn’t have to do any further discipline, that you’d already paid enough.” So I didn’t get fired that time. However, later, when I exhibited a lack of responsibility with a key, I was just about done for. The lesson? Responsibility goes a long way.
Yes, I learned a lot in my classes, but I think I learned far more in real life by working my way through school than by simply taking classes. My personal gratitude to my day Forman at the mill, Jim Morse (I think that was his name), my night Forman, Floyd Macomber, and my dorm work supervisor, Lillian Shadduck. They made me a better person.
