In our town Small Town we were Protestant and Catholic with a sprinkling of Greek Orthodox. That was about it. We understood that certain church doctrines distinguished one from the other, but in our town back then, in day-to-day life we were more alike than different.
Our pastor was Rev. Harold House, a man more widely known as Howdy House. Another great name from our Small Town. What better name could a pastor have than Howdy? He’d been a newspaper journalist in his early years. I remember him as a kind and good pastor who preached the word in season and out.
Pastor was there to greet me when I went forward at age 9 to say I wanted to be baptized. He was also there when I stepped into the waters of the baptistery a short time later. I remember it like it was yesterday.
Pastor Howdy put me under the water, brought me part of the way back up, then put me under again and shook me. I’m not kidding. I don’t know if he thought I hadn’t gotten entirely “immersed” in good Baptist fashion, whether he was enjoying his own inside joke, or whether he was trying to take me out. But I got thoroughly baptized that day.
I grew up in a time when churches held Wednesday night prayer services. Pastor would do a short Bible study, than people would pray over requests and praises. Or maybe it was the other way around. In either event one lady stands out. I’ll call her Ms. F.
Ms. F prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed. I mean she prayed interminably, at least it seemed that way to a kid. Forever, prayed for every missionary we’d ever heard of, prayed for everyone on the sick list, Ms. F prayed and prayed some more. She even quoted God’s Word to God, thinking perhaps he’d forgotten what he’d said. To my knowledge Ms. F’s prayers were sincere, so I don’t want to make fun at her expense. It was just tough for a kid to sit through prayers that lasted longer than the incidents prayed about. One thing’s for sure, though. Ms. F was a classic Small Town character and I learned a lot during those mid-week prayer services about the methodology of public prayer.
Mr. P also offered prayers for the ages. He was one of the co-founders of our church and had a white pompadour to make Porter Wagoner jealous.
Then there was Mr. and Mrs. W, both elderly, faithful, white coiffed. Coolest thing to a kid? They drove a shiny, black, probably 1960 Plymouth Savoy with huge fender wings. It was the batmobile pulling up in front of our church every service. Glorious to a kid.
Another Small Town character lived down the street from the church—Mrs. S. Her claim to fame is that, as far as we could ever tell, she never wore anything, ever, except a bathrobe. You’d see her at all hours of the day, on her porch, in her yard, going for the paper, in a bathrobe. There’s sometimes a fine line between lazy and leisurely. Determining which description fit Mrs. S is above my pay grade.
Church and characters populated the landscape in Small Town. There are fewer churches, fewer characters, and fewer small towns now.
© Rex M. Rogers – All Rights Reserved, 2010
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