Tracy, CA

Tracy, California was one of the most important teachers in my life. I was sent there by the Lutheran Church when I completed my Teaching Minister Training in 1950. I had never heard of the place, really had no option other than to accept the assignment and   get there and go to work.

My job was typical of those days, teach grades 4-8 in the two room school, serve as the school’s principal, be the congregation’s youth director, instruct the Sunday School teachers, sing in the choir, play the organ for parts of the Sunday services (as able), teach an adult class each Sunday and in cases of emergency conduct the Sunday worship services, and in summer conduct a Vacation Bible School. It all sounded normal for the times. So I learned to love kids, work hard, know the community and get my Master’s Degree from the University of Pacific by writing my thesis  (usually beginning that work after 10:00 pm when the rest of the work was done.)

Tracy taught me frugality. My salary was $180.00 a month. The first year I could not afford to own a car. I lived in a bedroom of a most gracious family (Lydia and Arnold Zielske) who cooked my meals and did my laundry

I learned to appreciate being part of a small community. Tracy which today has a population of some 85 thousand had only 10,000 in 1950. My classroom kids did a joint project of studying the city. Because it was so closely knit some students interviewed the mayor or the recreation director, or the oldest merchant in town and even grape growers, catsup factory workers, and grape growers. When I walked down Main Street on Saturday mornings people greeted me by name. I played city-league basketball for D&W Billiards and softball for the local Shell Gasoline Station teams. 

The most important thing about Tracy though was that is where Jane and I established our first home after our marriage in 1951. We loved our $85.00 a month apartment. Jane played the organ for church services, taught art in my classroom and learned to can tomatoes, apricots, and Queen Anne cherries. It was in Tracy that our first son, David, was born. It was Jane who cashed our bi-weekly check, divided the money and placed it in designated envelopes beginning with our tithe marked “The Lord” right down to the 50 cents for postage each month.

We learned the value of friends, common people with uncommonly devoted hearts. The Hamlows, Paulsons, Childs, Erharts wrapped their arms around us, invited us over for meals, shared their beer and stayed in contact until one by one they passed away.

I now drive past Tracy as we bypass it on the freeways to the Bay Area. I now know no one there. But it still pulls at my heartstrings with its siren song of first love, first child, first full-time job, and first glimpses of the rewards of commitment to a calling and to people.

MACAU

Macau in the 50’s and early 60’s. That little note specifying the 50’s is critical. The current Macau bears virtually no resemblance to the old. Today’s Macau is the biggest gambling Mecca in the world. Its volume way exceeds Las Vegas. It has enough neon to shine half way up to Canton. That is nothing like the Macau that I visited probably 100 times 50 years ago, but have not set foot in now for some 20 years.

Macau was a Portuguese Colony. It was only30 miles from Hong Kong where I lived. But it was tricky to get there. We were not allowed to go through China. Borderlines in the South China Sea were carefully monitored and if the ferry I rode to get to Macau would stray it could become an international incident.

There was much to love about Macau. The view from the balcony of the Bella Vista Hotel was fabulous. The African chicken served at the Macau Posada was unrivaled. The hotel room in which I stayed did not have a bathroom or toilet, but the beer at the bar was always cold.

The ancient façade of the St. Paul Cathedral had survived a fire and a typhoon. The battered cross on top of it still stood and became the focus of a wonderful hymn written by the then governor of Hong Kong. The hymn: “In The Cross of Christ I Glory, Towering O’er the Wrecks of Time.”

I went to Macau because there were people there with lots of needs: spiritual, physical, psychological and educational, people in need of hope. The Lutheran Church did (and does) a good job there.

The first Sunday I was there I was told that children had to bring last Sunday’s leaflet with them to be admitted to class this Sunday. There was no space for new students. I am not so naïve as to not know that one of the factors causing this very large attendance was that a limited amount of relief food and clothing was made available at the church.

We wanted property to build a Lutheran Center and eventually received a title from the Government for a wonderful plot of land. However, when we finally got a decent translation of the deed which we had signed, we learned that in fact, the holder of the deed was listed as ‘Chinese merchant Titus Lee”, the same person who was our evangelist there. It was explained that no government official (fearing censure from the Catholic Bishop) would ever sign a deed, which showed a Lutheran Church as a property owner so the “merchant” phrase was used. We were assured that later the property could be transferred property to the church. That never happened. (See addendum below.)

Many refugees from Mao were desperate and wanted to get to Hong Kong. I recall one gentleman who lived with his family in a most primitive hut with no water, light, or furniture. He pleaded with me to help him get a visa. The he told me, “I am desperate.” With that he pulled out a packet, which I immediately recognized as street heroin. “If I don’t get my family to Hong Kong soon we will all be existing on this”, he told me. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that I noticed that on some of my subsequent trips I as always followed. As soon as I boarded my rented pedicab at the ferry station I noticed that I was being followed. This happened throughout two subsequent visits. Then it stopped. I don’t know that there was a connection but I do know that all of this coincided with the murder of a gentleman on our church steps as he was leaving Christian instruction one night.

Some of the immigrants, through sheer force of Chinese determination and effort managed to survive in Macau and find jobs besides making fireworks in their homes. But most wanted to get to Hong Kong. One of the families that I was able to assist in getting there were a great blessing to many. One of he sons became head of Lutheran Social Services of Hong Kong, a massive center of assistance to thousands. His sister is now a famous Hong Kong surgeon.

Macau is now, of course, famous for its gambling and extravagant hotels. But I am grateful for the people whom I was able to meet, who found their chances for a much better life than at the crap tables.

[Addendum]: Years after I left Hong I received a call from a Lutheran Church official in America. He informed me that the Macau church building, school and the land on which they had been situated had been sold. It appeared that the person who had been named as owner of the building as indicated above, had sold the property, taken the money and disappeared in America. Fortunately, church officials did eventually go to Macau, deal with he new buyer and were able to secure for the church a repayment to the church in what I believe was a total of US$1 million.)

San Antonio, Texas

I love San Antonio and always jump at any excuse to go there. I love its diversity. While the population is predominately Hispanic the city bursts with the energies of a variety of people. The military bases like Lackland, Ft. Sam Houston and Randolph Air Force Base constantly bring in persons not only from across the USA but from our allies abroad, While there are massive areas of low-income and not a few very poor people, the city has its share of the wealthy, many living in beautiful estates. Together they reflect the military, the health industry, the higher education world, all within an ever-prevailing aura of the Old West with plenty of cowboy boots and large Stetson hats abounding.

One of the words that always pops up when I reflect upon my time in San Antonio is sweat. Yes, that stuff that flowed out of my body during the summers of my college years. I worked in construction at the very lowest level. In weather, which was consistently over 100 degrees, I was the one (back before sophisticated  Bob Cats) digging foundation trenches with pick and shovel. My hands were seared with the iron of the foundation steel. My back blistered as I laid the roofing panels. The good news: I was in the best shape of anyone who reported for fall football practice in September after surviving an unforgettable orgy of fresh tamales and Lone Star beer when we finally had the topping out celebration of the building at which I was working.

I also did my share of philosophical and mental sweating. After a couple   years of teachers college I took off a year to teach in a 2 room Lutheran school. I had 42 in grades one to four. I hope by this time they have forgiven my inadequacies and plain old mistakes. Believe me I tried! The mental stress was at its highest 20 years later when the ambulance met us at the airport upon our arrival from Hong Kong. My wife Jane was in a virtual coma and it was at San Antonio’s Baptist Hospital that she was properly diagnosed and treated for a brain aneurysm. Family and friends provided unbelievable support to me and our children.

Of course, San Antonio is a city of romance. The historic Alamo hastens the blood flow of any true Texan. The San Antonio River and the River Walk stir up romantic feelings in even the most jaded. And for me San Antonio is the place where my now wife of some 62 years was first introduced to my mom, dad and family.

San Antonio evokes s feelings of sadness and absence. It was in San Antonio that I saw my mother slowly lose her formerly unquenchable energy. And it was at a bedside in San Antonio that Jane and I joined my father in a harmonious rendering of “Abide With Me” shortly before he left us to be forever with our Lord.

I wish I could conclude this little reflection by just sitting at a comfortable table on the River Walk savoring a margarita and some chips but that will have to await my very earliest convenience

New York

NEW YORK! I love New York. Actually I love all five boroughs of that wonderful city, but my favorite is The City, Manhattan, The Big Apple. From the first time I visited in the late 1940’s through the 8 years I lived just up the railway in Eastchester (while I served as Head of The Lutheran Schools Association Of New York) I jump at every opportunity to get my New York fix!

I love the people; and, of course, one is enmeshed in them the minute one steps onto almost any Manhattan Street, but it seems to be at its most frenzied pace around Times Square. What a thrill it is to be caught up in the swell of people from all corners of the earth, speaking every conceivable dialect all wearing all styles of dress, all sharing one common characteristic: they are in a hurry! Each person with their own agenda and a fierce determination to meet that agenda.

It was always a special treat when I got to Times Square with my long-time friend Howie Capell and he chose to drive his car. We would pull into Times Square. He’d spot a cop. get out of the car and wave to the cop with a” Hi “. Immediately the officer would be at our side, direct us to the nearest parking space (most likely marked No Parking) and wave us into the spot. If none of those was available the cop would personally walk alongside our car to the nearest public garage. He would signal the attendant and order, “Take care of my friend.” The valet would park our car at the entrance and there was never a fee. (These cops all know of how well Howie represented their fallen colleagues in the lawsuits following 9/11.)

Another way to experience Times Square and Manhattan Streets, The Empire State Building and Rockefeller Center etc. etc was with my nearly 90 year old Mother who was determined to “do NY.” She was in her wheel chair. Every time we got to a curb or an elevator or a rest room which she needed to use, someone was at her side asking how they could help and then doing it squared! My Mother declared, ”New York is the friendliest city in the world and I am from Texas where we know about hospitality.”

 I, of course, love to eat. In NY the picks were literally beyond imagination: Chinese food in Chinatown, Little Italy, street vendors with their pretzels, hot dogs, etc. very expensive famous eateries, delicatessens and bars ranging from the one with a view at the top of the Marriott to the neighborhood pubs around Union Square.

ENTERTAINMENT ON AND OFF THE STREET 24-7

Theaters, Carnegie Hall, The Met at Lincoln Center, The Blue Note for Jazz. Every conceivable Museum beckons. Madison Square Gardens awaits but you have to slip across the border into the Bronx to get to Yankee Stadium

Naturally I find the churches to be important to me, I never miss a chance to drop into St. Patrick’s on Fifth Avenue for a few moments of silence.  St. Peter’s Lutheran sits inside the Citicorp Building and the reredos behind its altar is a massive window framing the city it is called to serve. If one is around on Christmas Eve the thing to do is go to St. Luke’s Lutheran in the theater district. Just before midnight singers come from many of the shows, concerts, clubs in the areas (professionals all) and gather to sing in incredible harmonies the ancient Christmas carols.

I try to end my New York visit with the most meaningful worship of all. I go the site of the new World Trade Center. I stand silently for a long time at the Memorial Fountain. I let me fingers trace the names of the 9/11 victims; I image especially those who were numbered among the 60 who left behind a child or grandchild enrolled in a Lutheran School. I remember and I pray that the Lord of all cities would stop especially all killing done I n God’s name and send flocks of special angels to the big cities of the world, beginning with The Big Apple.